#this is the first time i debated making two versions of a fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oncewhenalongtimeago · 1 month

Note

hiii i just wanted to say i really like how each of the protags in your fics have different personalities!!! adds a lot of flavour and depth i think to how hiccup interacts with each version of reader in different contexts :)

The Jealous One pt 6

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 1,964

You’re caught off guard in the woods. Hiccup might have a thing for rejection… Or you. He’s really not sure.

Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE

You wanted to kick as you braced your foot against a rock, pulling your cup up to your face again, shoulders pressing painfully into the bark of a tree, curved so that the center of your shoulder blades felt as if they were being dug into by two very thick thumbs.

You wanted to say that you were getting good at keeping it all stuffed inside -your emotions, as it were, not necessarily your lunch- but if you’d been good at that, you wouldn’t be here dealing with this with a large, leaking barrel of stolen mead. Day drinking.

Though you hadn’t participated, soon after you’d left your table, a fight in the hall had broken out and taken a lot out of you, having devolved into a full-on brawl that the majority of the Riders hadn’t been too pressed to join in on.

By the end, you were sure most of the busy folk, the ones who hadn’t been knocked out, had left, most of the Riders had either fallen asleep or had drunken themselves into a stupor and the more studious ones, being Astrid and Fishlegs, had already long made of in the night either to chase off another poor Viking with a sharpened axe and clenched muscles or to hide and cower until the night had been done.

For you, the distraction had made it much easier to make off with a barrel of mead, and you’d dragged it, half bent over, into the woods, arms straining at the heavy weight.

And just in time, too. It was usually after the first fight that the mead-ladies and cup-bearers always began to charge coin for each pint.

Your arms were so sore. But it was worth it.

You weren’t too far off from the bridge separating you from Berks main village, you and your tapped barrel hiding somewhere off in the trees just after the foliage began to grow thicker, so even now, from a distance, you could hear the stormy rocking of the ocean against Berk’s sturdy shores.

You shook off a light buzz as the sound of crunching leaves grew louder, louder than what was appropriate between the mingling of tiny forest creatures, in which case you meant the Terrors scrabbling through the trees as there weren’t so many woodland creatures close to Berk’s main village.

You rested the bottom of your mug on one of your knees, your legs spread apart so that you could lean forwards whenever you wanted to fill your jug, thinking slowly and taking the time to try and listen harder.

You wanted to groan, then. Many different vikings on Berk with prosthetics, peg legs and the like but what you’d figured for sure was an approach came packaged with the slight spring of metal against metal, which you knew could only belong to one Viking.

You debated trying to hide the evidence of your night spent out alone in the cold dangers of the woods but decided against it, instead pushing yourself up, palms against cold bark, the divets between strips pressing imprints into your palm.

You didn’t give yourself much time to loiters, legs placed slightly farther apart than what was comfortable as you stumbled, dropping your mug against wood roots and grass and upturned dirt with a clatter just as a familiar face made its way past the treeline.

You resisted the urge to grumble, nearly stumbling over a shallow tree root as you brushed past him, your shoulder checking his in your distraction.

“Where…” Hiccup asked, stopping slowly behind you, now shivering himself, the head of his hair wild and on end, “Where are you going?”

You were slightly drowsy, the hands on your arms working overtime in an effort to scrub away the cold. The wind did a great deal to help, brushing through your skirts as you made your way down towards flat ground.

“...To bed,” You mumbled, eyes nearly closed, buzzing with your sudden need to sleep and the weightful urge to drop, all the muscles in your lid looser than they’d be if you had any control over your own body.

You blinked sourly into the canopy of pine above you, the light glaring brightly through the spindly leaves against trees.

You didn’t keep time, not particularly concerned as early early morning turned to brighter still early morning.

You sighed, more a breath than a chirr, blinking groggily, turning in half as Hiccup moved to catch up with you, at a steady pace yet not fast enough to be called anything but a strong walk.

You stood on a small, flat rock, poking out of the ground like a tiny boat in the middle of a storming, wide ocean of grass, trees and shrubs, mimicking still, titanic waves all around you.

A Terror called out in the distance and a wind rushed past, nearly causing you to slip.

“Wait-”

You jerked as you felt the feel of hands grabbing onto either side of your upper arms, craning your neck awkwardly to face the one who held you aloft as your tilt neared the diagonal.

You grunted lightly, shaking him off with slow movement, burdened by many things and turned to face him.

The way he stood was easy, compared to you who was subtly off kilter, swaying with the breezes.

“I… I was a poor sport,” Hiccup said finally, voice thick with tension, reaching out for you in tone and hand; you felt a gentle tug on your tunic sleeve, the brush of a callous against the soft skin on the inside of your wrist.

He didn’t need to explain any more.

He was eager to apologize.

“Right,” You said, as your stomach dropped again, the beginnings of guilt prickling its way up the lining of your stomach like the sharp sprout of a plant bursting through thin soil.

He seemed much more awake than you, but the faded bags under his eyes implied he might not have slept as much as he’d… Liked to have implied, most likely.

A while ago, you would have forgiven him instantaneously. Now, you realized you didn’t feel that pull, the need to wait and languish. You still stewed, but it wasn’t with that simmering loneliness fueled desperation lying underneath a wave of discomfort.

It was a bit of a relief.

“I shouldn’t have...”

That wasn’t. It was awful.

You wondered how many times you could reject him before it became unreasonable.

You didn’t know what you wanted to say, but you knew he got it all wrong. You hoped he felt regret, though.

“You said things just fine,” You grumbled, shaking him off and letting your arms loosen, “I don’t care.”

He hadn’t been so insecure about his cousin since you were younger teens. You didn’t like him enough at the moment to try and find out why.

“And I’ve been thinking-” Hiccup continued anyways, grumbling slightly, “and I really- maybe I deserve it.”

“Right,” You said shortly, though not short enough to really imply that you’d been holding a grudge, still intent on leaving, feet shifting. The two of you were on the same step, practically standing toe-to-toe.

Of course you still held a grudge. Or, maybe grudge wasn’t the right word. Grudges were for things that were old, that had been long since made up for and pushed under the rug, then brought out and dusted off and looked over at night when secrets were best kept.

You’d had half a mind to let it pass. Not because you wanted to be the better person- no, because ‘letting it go’ didn’t always mean being the better person, not when you were still so upset, anger lying like a poised snake in your stomach, but because you wanted him to squirm.

To think about it just as much as you’d had to.

In this instance, however, you didn’t particularly think that holding to your anguish made you a worse person. It made you a wronged person, for sure.

You remembered how you woke up early to see him, to be the one to say ‘hi’ first. How he’d greet you, then how he wasn’t there. And again and again and again you checked, your heart soaring each time, only to be left sorely disappointed.

It was silly. And selfish. And something only someone a few years younger could do- keep their hopes up so innocently high and without any real expectation only to be disappointed each and every time by a result that through pattern they must have known to be sure.

You grumbled, shaking him off and turning to leave anyway. “Fine. Save your apologies.”

“-No, you’re right.” Hiccup folded quickly, “I-What?”

Of course, it would be just like him not to see your worth.

“...You haven’t paid this much attention to me since we were kids.” Seriously, why? You said sternly, pushing past the slogging fog clouding your mind.

“What?” Hiccup paused.

“Of course,” You scoffed, stepping your way off the rock and kicking your way past a large pile of leaves.

As you stalked- or, stumbled, more like- out the treeline and up to the wooden planking lining the wide floor of the huge bridge leading back to Berk, dark boots dirty and scuffling loudly against the wood, Hiccup watched you.

Hiccup watched you and he paused with mounting horror as his eyes followed you, whose long gray skirt was falling down to your ankles.

At this point, you’d refused two of his apologies, both times with a gloomy, stormy expression on your face, shoulders hunched and miserable.

You had asked him why.

And, well, there was a reason why.

He was a bad friend.

Deep envy, spiked as thorns in chest twisted as a friend of his became the friend of another, attention that had been allotted for him lost like spare coin. As what he knew to be a feeling or certainty became pangs of hurt when you became someone he couldn’t any longer recognize, fast speech becoming a slow, morbid, familiar prose becoming, dare he say it, ribbing.

Even now, he wanted to keep it up leave still, to escape off into the sky with the other riders in an effort to keep running away in part from a feeling he couldn’t name, a thing that grew and writhed as he realized that he’d mistaken the value of one friend for a group of a few others when he really should have made an effort to have kept all of his sheep in line.

It was a feeling that was familiar but that he hadn’t paid much mind to, even as he’d grown more distant from you, even as his eyes began to linger and as his heart pounded and eyes widened.

It had become unavoidable now, especially after you’d fallen over him, looking wonderful and fine and shining with the sun pressing into your back and glinting around your head like a crown made for you by the very Gods.

It was a feeling he hadn’t felt since… He was a teen, when he had been very much into... -But, it was slightly different; a little bit of want-to-see mixed with a heaping pile of desire-to-impress mixed with something a little bit more like ‘I-know-you,’ which, in hindsight, had always been there, at least for a while though it was a slight weaker now and had not always paired so brightly with the previous two.

And all of it was twinged by something else, wrapped up in a twisting, bitter, covetous cage, locked and keyed by a budding, intense resentment for his cousin.

Even in your drunken state you were so, so pretty. And now you were mad at him.

He had to wonder how he always got himself into these situations.

#Another ask i wanted to leave a part for #thank you #fav #wasn't sure anyone noticed #it was exciting #how to train your dragon #httyd #fanfiction #x reader #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #httyd imagine #fem reader #female reader

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sister-lucifer · 11 months

Note

are you gonna do more ticci toby x male reader? i really really juzt adore your writingz with him- and honeztly, the x male reader haz really helped me cope with feelingz and dyzphoria, zince i juzt dizcovered that i'll never be able to tranzition medically

it'z totally alright if you're not going to do more toby with male reader! i don't mean to prezzure you; they honeztly juzt make me zmile during a zeriouzly tough time.

Toby Cures Your Dysphoria REAL NOT CLICKBAIT

Ticci Toby x Trans Masc Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Toby reminds you that you are in fact a handsome boy:)

Content/Warnings: I guess implied reader dysphoria if that’s a warning? but like…Omg…guys…i think this is my first ever Toby fic to not have any real warnings. holy shit. oh my god. what the fuck

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

A/N: Although I don’t normally write fem reader, i’d actually be very happy to write a trans fem version of this for all my trans sisters out there:) especially since pride month is coming up. maybe i could do an enby version too!

also, i see and love you fellow trans anon. id like to see you in my inbox more often if you have any requests. i’ll even assign you an anon emoji if you’ll let me:)

“C’mon, s-say it! Say it!” Toby pleaded, a crooked smile spread wide across his face. His fingers were interlaced with yours, pushing you back and forth playfully.

“Haha, no!” You replied with a giggle, “That sounds dumb!”

“But you h-have to! You haaaave toooo!”

“No way!”

Toby sighed dramatically, blowing a strand of messy brown hair out of his face. For a moment you thought he was going to give up, but since when did you know Toby to be anything but a stubborn hardass?

He pulled you in to his chest, taking you to the ground with him with a rather jarring thump.

“Ow, you dummy!” You yelped, wincing slightly from the impact, though you couldn’t help but return Toby’s ever-present grin.

“Eheh…Sorry! But it h-had to be done!”

He wrapped you into a tight bear hug, possibly using a bit more strength that he meant to, but it did the trick.

“I-I’m not letting you go until you s-say it!” Toby declared matter-of-factly. You quirked a brow at this, immediately attempting to free yourself. This proved less than pointless, and you were even a bit surprised at how strong such a lanky boy could be.

You huffed in frustration, resting your chin on his chest as you glared at him, though you both knew you could never really be mad at him. It seems it was time to admit defeat.

“Fiiiiine,” You groaned, “But you have to promise to let me go.”

“Cross my heart, h-hope to die.” Toby replied without missing a beat.

You were silent for a few moments, possibly debating all the life choices that brought you to this before you spoke:

“I’m…a handsome and capable young man.”

“Yes you are!” Toby added happily, squeezing you one last time before releasing you from his iron grip. You sat up quickly, crossing your arms while looking down at him with a feigned scowl.

“Whaaaat?” He drawled, “N-No lies were told!”

“What’s with you?” You demanded, “You’ve been all over me all day; telling me how handsome I am, how I’m ‘such a perfect boy’…Not that I’m complaining, but it came out of nowhere. What’s up?”

It was then that you saw Toby show the slightest hint of embarrassment for the first time. He looked away from you and toyed nervously with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“Here…g-get off me so I can sit up, then I’ll t-tell you.”

You complied, watching him closely as you tried to figure out what could possibly be going through his head. He took your hands once he was sitting across from you, careful not to squeeze too hard. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds as he tried to find the right words to explain his thoughts.

“I just…I d-don’t want you to be too hard on yourself,” He began, pausing and allowing you to absorb his words before continuing. “You are a v-very handsome, capable young man, and I-I don’t want you to forget it. E-Even on the days when nothing in your closet m-makes you feel good or…or y-you have to cover your bedroom mirror with a-a blanket…”

Your gaze softened as he spoke, your hand floating up on its own to stroke his cheek. Not only had Toby been listening to you when you lamented about your struggles, he’d been observing you during them. As laid back and childish as Toby could be, he caught on to a lot more than he let show. It was moments like these that reminded you that underneath the unkempt hair and stained hoodie and scraped knees he was hiding some real emotional intelligence, especially when it came to you.

When he cared about something his instinct was to learn everything about it that he could. It just so happened that he cared about you the most, and there’s a lot of learning to be done about the feelings and thoughts another person.

You ruffled his hair with a soft smile which he quickly returned. There was no denying the hint of a blush that dusted his pale cheeks.

“Toby…” You called softly, “That…that means a lot. Thank you.”

He immediately lit up, pulling you into another tight hug. You hugged him back this time. He mumbled something behind your back, almost as if he was unsure if he wanted you to hear.

“What was that?” You asked, pulling away.

“I-I said…I love you, dummy.” His words were still a bit slurred, his eyes avoiding your gaze.

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and gave it a gentle pat.

“I love you too, dummy.”

#trans masc reader #male reader #trans reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta fluff #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby fluff #toby rogers

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spilledbeans116 · 6 months

Text

Just In Case

(Vegeta x Reader)

Vegeta x fem!reader -6,207 Words - SFW - No use of Y/N

Fan of Vegeta x Bulma? Find an alternate version here! (The first parts match up!)

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This fic is based on a headcanon I have involving the prince and his constant need to wear gloves. I'm putting this here as a side note, but the first chapter is a bit violent. I hope you all enjoy it.

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Nappa was smiling, as proud as a warrior-nanny could be given the circumstances. Vegeta had aced his first mission under Frieza’s rule without a single hitch, having wiped out an entire planet on his own in just a couple hours. They had hit three more after that, completing twice the work of an adult saiyan could have mustered up. And what, he was only 6? Never before had such latent power been shown in such a young saiyan; his power already rivaled Nappa’s own. On late night’s when the bar was full and Raditz and Vegeta were in bed, Nappa would sit and brag to the other soldiers of Frieza’s army how talented the kid was.

The bar was dim, the tables around having been emptied as all the patrons gathered around Nappa and listened to his tales. Among them were Ginyu, Burter, and Jeice, all three of whom were rolling their eyes at the display.

“You should have seen the way he shot through that thing! It was almost three times my size, maybe bigger!” Nappa hiccuped, taking a swig from his mug before slamming his fist on the bar’s counter-top. “It was incredible!”

From around the corner, a young saiyan who should have been in bed smirked. His smile quickly faltered however, as someone else spoke up.

“Psh, right,” Ginyu laughed, giving Nappa a shove. “Like a kid could take down one of those on his own. Even Guildo struggles with them!”

“No, Nappa’s being serious, I saw it myself!” Another soldier yelled, slamming his drink down on the bar. “The kid is a beast! A monster!”

Vegeta nodded, crossing his arms and leaning through the doorframe a bit to watch as the older men debated his feats.

At that Ginyu and Burter laughed, “please! He’s an ape!” Ginyu snorted. “You think that monkey could actually do that on his own? He’s weak, just like his old man. Maybe he got lucky, but nothing more than that.”

Vegeta clutched his cape and held it at his sides, his anger overtaking him as he fought not to run in there and sucker punch Ginyu in the face; he had already learned once that it wasn’t a good idea, and wouldn’t make an idiot of himself again. Ginyu didn’t believe he could do that? Didn’t think that Vegeta could fight his own battles or overtake a stronger opponent? Fine. He would prove he could; he would show everyone exactly what he could do. And he wouldn’t stop until they believed him.

—

Months had passed, but for Vegeta, time moved strangely. It felt fleeting and yet too long at the worst of times. Then again, he was still only a child. He had already gotten stronger, not that anyone but Raditz or Nappa noticed and he didn’t give a damn what they thought. Each day and night was the same, he was degraded by the Ginyus to his face and behind his back. His family was gone, his home was gone, and his race was all but eradicated. He was the last remaining saiyan royal and ruled over two; he wasn’t the strongest on the ship nor was he even close to beating Frieza… yet. That day would come, he reassured himself. Until then he was destined to be miserable, to spend everyday fighting to be better only to get no recognition from anyone. That much responsibility and pain weighing down on a child surely wasn’t healthy, especially not when they were forcing themselves to do even more than everyone else.

Vegeta couldn’t keep track anymore of how many planets he had slaughtered. Their cries of mercy fell on deaf ears. At night, he had nightmares about the faces of those that had met their end in his hands. He wondered who they were, what lives they lived. He was doing to them what had happened to his own home. He tossed and turned each night, enough for Raditz to complain to Nappa that it was keeping him awake.

Soon he turned 7, still a child in the eyes of a saiyan. After each fight he felt dirtier and dirtier, and visited the showers once, twice, three times a day. The soldiers on the ship joked that the prince was a germaphobe. He was too royal for their peasant germs. He was killing without purpose, without a fight and the guilt was eating away at him slowly, crumbling his sanity with each life he took. He was 8 when it happened.

Nappa was heading to the bar before he stopped. Something in him, some primal, strange instinct, told him to go to the boys room. He rushed down the halls and to their room, where Raditz was snoring loudly with his arm draped across his face. Vegeta, however, was gone. He couldn’t ask anyone else if they had seen him, as he’d surely be punished for roaming parts of the ship he shouldn’t without Nappa present.

Vegeta had gotten back late from a mission and decided to go take a shower. His body was covered in blood, none of which was his own. He watched as the red water swirled down the shower drain and slowly became pink, scrubbing his body with a bar of soap as he grunted to himself. Arms, chest, legs, feet, tail, and finally his hands. He lathered the soap between them, watching the bubbles form up and over his hands before rinsing them off in the water. To his surprise, the water revealed the blood was still there.

“Damn shit must have stained them,” he huffed, turning off the water and drying himself with a towel. He quickly wrapped it around his waist and made his way to the sinks, grabbing his toothbrush and lining it with toothpaste. Until he saw his hands again. No longer tinted red, they were coated in blood. The fur on the end of his tail began to spike as he stared at it, quickly flipping them around to see if he had any open wounds. He ran the water and shoved his hands under it, scrubbing at the blood to get it off.

“What the hell!” He snapped, watching as nothing changed. He began to scratch at it, trying to peel it off to know avail. He hissed as he turned the water up, the heat becoming blistering hot as he started to claw at his own hands in a desperate attempt to get the blood off of himself.

“Why isn’t it coming off!” He yelled, starting to get louder and louder as he grew more desperate. He felt filthy as his consciousness weighed down on him, his sleep deprived body and nightmarish life finally getting the better of him. “Get it off me!”

Nappa knew he had to be in the showers, as it was the only place the kid ever went to when he wasn’t in the dining halls or his room. With how late it was, the dining halls would have closed ages ago. As he made his way down the corridors of the ship he could hear something. It was quiet at first, but slowly became louder and louder as he got closer to the men's showers. He could hear Vegeta, screaming out in pain. Nappa shot off and slammed through the door to the bathroom, following the sounds of the hysterical screaming until he found the prince by the sinks. Vegeta was sobbing, hands burnt red from the water.

“The hell has gotten into you!” Nappa yelled, ripping him away from the sink. He was going to scold the prince when he saw the claw marks all over his hands. Vegeta tried to shove him away, crying out for Nappa to let go of him but it all sounded like gibberish to the older saiyan.

“What are you doing!” Nappa yelled at him as Vegeta slammed a hand against his face, trying to make his way back to the sink. “You’re hurting yourself, what are you doing!”

“I CAN’T GET IT OFF!” Vegeta screamed between sobs. “MY HANDS! THEY’RE COVERED IN BLOOD I CAN’T GET IT OFF!”

“Vegeta there is no blood!” Nappa yelled, grabbing his wrists and holding him still. “But there’s going to be if you keep tearing at your skin!”

“DON’T TOY WITH ME NAPPA JUST GET IT OFF ME! PLEASE I CAN’T- I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS PLEASE JUST GET IT OFF!”

Nappa grabbed the prince and his clothes, clamping a hand over his mouth as he ran out of the bathroom and back towards his room. Vegeta dug his nails into the flesh of Nappa’s hand, sinking his fang’s into Nappa’s palm as the older saiyan grunted in pain. Vegeta was still trying to scream but Nappa’s hand remained firm, refusing to let anyone see the prince like this. The door to Nappa’s bedroom slammed shut as he locked it and tossed the prince on the bed, who immediately tried to book it back out the door. Before he could grab the doorknob, Nappa was in front of him, blocking his escape in the dark room. Vegeta beat his fists against Nappa’s chest, trying and failing to shove him out of the way. Nappa knelt down, taking Vegeta’s hands in his before sliding a pair of white gloves over them.

“Look! There’s no blood! Now please Vegeta quit it!” He turned the prince’s hands over slowly, showing that nothing had seeped through. “See? You’re fine!”

Vegeta glanced down, a sniveling mess as he turned his hands over on his own and studied the gloves. They were white, pristine, new, and soft. They cooled his burning hands and the silken fabric felt nice against the cuts he had created. “Th-there’s no more b-blood?”

“None, Vegeta. There isn’t any blood. Okay?”

Vegeta nodded as Nappa stood up slowly, making his way to his cabinet and pulling out gauze and ointment. He applied it to his palm first after cleaning it with a towel, Vegeta’s fangs having taken quite the chunk out of his skin. Then he bandaged it, sliding his gauntlets on over after so the prince wouldn’t see the reddish hue that would seep out soon enough. After tossing the towel, he made his way back over to Vegeta, who had calmed down remarkably and yet was still standing in the same spot Nappa had left him. He was staring at his hands, eyes lidded as sleep finally began to overpower him. Nappa grabbed him under his armpits and lifted him over to the bed, setting him down and getting the ointment ready. As he began to pull off Vegeta's gloves, the prince started screaming again, kicking Nappa away and tugging them back down.

“NO!” He cried out. “NO YOU CAN’T TAKE THEM OFF!”

“DAMN IT VEGETA I NEED TO MAKE SURE THOSE SCRATCHES DON’T GET INFECTED!”

“NO! I’M YOUR PRINCE, I DEMAND YOU WILL NOT TAKE THESE OFF! EVER!”

“Vegeta,” Nappa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t keep them on forever you’ll have to-”

“I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!”

“Vegeta I swear to-”

“THAT’S AN ORDER NOW DROP IT!” Nappa didn’t say anything after that, handing the prince his pajamas and turning away. Vegeta changed quickly, grunting when he was done. Nappa frowned at the sight of the prince wearing gloves with his pajamas, but chose not to push it further. They’d deal with it in the morning and go to see the doctor then as well.

“Do you want me to walk you back to your-”

Vegeta was quick to cut him off, voice trembling as he ran his hands together in his lap. “Can I stay here tonight?” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper as he refused to meet Nappa’s eyes. Nappa looked down at the prince, an ache in his chest as he stared at the child that was forced to carry so much; but he was just that, a child. He shouldn’t have had to do any of this, not until he was much, much older. He should have been in the palace right now, spending each day training under his father to be the next king, not turned into a killing machine by a freak that regarded them as nothing.

“Of course, your highness. You can stay here for the night.” Nappa quickly went and changed into his sleep shorts, scooting Vegeta over enough so he could fit along with him on his bed. The prince held his arm tight, body trembling as Nappa laid awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together whatever the hell had just happened. Even after Vegeta had finally dozed off, Nappa remained awake, unsure with what to do with the prince.

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As time went on, Vegeta learned to live with it the best he could. The cuts he had caused on himself that night healed over, leaving small scars to forever remind him of his own shame and guilt. The blood he saw on his hands never truly went away after that but he learned to pretend he couldn’t see it. With time he was able to remove his gloves, but only for short periods before he’d quickly slip them back on. Just long enough to shower, trim his nails, or give the gloves a quick wash.

After everything that happened on Earth, after what he did to Nappa, it was as if he were a kid again. The gloves would not come off. Ever. He had killed the man who gave them to him, who had tried to shield him from himself. For what? A power move? Now the gloves themselves were another reminder of his sins, but he found himself unable to swap them with a new pair. Now he was living in some Earth woman’s home after embarrassing himself in front of Frieza and a low level saiyan piece of scum. He slaughtered the Ginyu force, which was a bit of a two edged sword for him. Kakarot was gone at who knows where and he was stuck here, failing to do anything substantial. He had truly lost all meaning to his life.

The gravity chamber the blue haired woman had helped build was where he spent most of his time. It gave him a break from dealing with everyone, including you. You were the most confusing out of everyone that was on this idiotic planet. He could never get a proper read on you. You were too… upbeat. He didn’t like to dwell on what he thought of you, and unfortunately found himself thinking of you during training at the worst of times.

He had put his hand up to guard his face at the last moment as the battle bot shot at him, successfully blocking it but not without slight damage to his glove. There, on his right hand, was a clean tear.

“Shit!” He yelled. “Damn it damn it damn it!” He blew the robot to bits before it could do anymore damage, throwing on his shirt and making his way back towards Bulma’s house. He felt sick as he glanced down at it, the deep red shade staring back at him through the slit.

He made his way in through the back door, speed walking through the living room and down the hallway to where his bedroom was located. He didn’t have spares, he had never needed a spare. He searched around for anything that could be used as a makeshift glove. He ripped apart shirts and tried to cover it to no avail, too stressed to tie the knots properly with one hand. He shoved the fabric under the glove, only to rip it further. “Shit!”

He didn’t know how to sew, he was a prince for the Gods’ sakes. He felt sick at the idea of what he was going to have to do but quickly realized there was no other option. He was going to have to ask for help.

—-

You were sitting at Bulma’s kitchen table, waiting for your friend to get back from her date with Yamcha so the two of you could go shopping. You were sipping a glass of apple juice, the only thing in her fridge at the moment in terms of drinks. The coffee maker was on the fritz ever since Vegeta tried to beat the shit out of it to get it working. Apparently the glowing blue button wasn’t obvious enough for saiyans. You paused mid sip, wondering if perhaps he was partially colorblind. Your thoughts trailed off as he was suddenly standing in front of you, arms crossed and glaring in your general direction.

“Juice? Seriously? What are you, five?” he frowned, opening the fridge and looking around for something.

“Good morning to you too, your highness,” you grunted, raising the cup to your lips. “I was going to have coffee but for some reason the machine is broken.”

He huffed in annoyance but said nothing else. You could tell he had just finished training as he was a dirty, sweaty mess. The singe marks across his suit only proved your point further. “There’s nothing in here,” he frowned, slamming the fridge door shut.

“Yeah, I heard someone has been staying over and eating everything,” you replied, taking out your phone and scrolling through it. “I have no idea who it could be though.”

Either he didn’t notice your sarcastic tone or he didn’t care. “Tell the other woman to go get more food then,” he snapped. “It’s not my problem.”

“You could go get it yourself.”

“With what money?”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re a prince, aren’t you?”

He slammed a hand down flat on the table, leaning beside you to try and meet your eyes. “The hell do you mean by that?”

Without looking at him you opened your text messages, Bulma’s name quickly popping up. “What do you think?” He tried to glance over at your screen to see what you were going to text her before you shifted the phone away; it was like he was a child. “Do you mind?”

“Are you texting her? Tell her to get the vanilla protein powder as well, I won’t eat the chocolate one. It’s disgusting.”

“Yeah yeah sure,” you sighed, instead typing “his royal majesty is awake and grumpy. Please get here soon.” She replied by laughing at your message before sending a picture of her and Yamcha laughing in whatever breakfast restaurant they were in. For now, you were stuck with him.

“She’s with the beta-male, isn’t she?” He frowned. You nodded.

“They’re on a date I think? I don’t know, sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

You were surprised to hear him chuckle at that. “True. However I’d say they’re made for eachother. They’re both annoying and a pain in my ass.”

“I’ll agree with that first part,” you giggled, setting your phone down and glancing over at him. You took another sip of your juice glass while he looked out the window. “Want me to make you a PBJ or something?”

“Sure. While you’re at it can you pour me some juice as well and put it in a sippy cup?” He grunted, turning to face you and making an effort to roll his eyes. You don’t know why you even bothered.

“Just trying to be polite.”

He seemed like he wanted to say something else before he looked down at his hand. He began to fidget with his gloves a bit, the white things worn to death. When Bulma had offered him new ones he refused, rather rudely you might add, so you chose not to mention them. When designing new training outfits with her for him, gloves were always discussed but never elaborated on. “When is the blue-haired woman coming back?”

You shrugged, “not sure.”

He sighed, and for a moment, he sounded relieved. You went to ask him what was up before he started talking.

“You’re a woman,” he grunted, pulling out a chair and sitting beside you. “You sew, right?”

Ever charming, this one. “Fuck you but yes, I sew.”

“I need you to fix my gloves,” he grumbled, continuing to mess with the one on his right hand.

“I can just make you new-”

“No,” he snapped, cutting you off quickly. “I need them repaired.”

“Fine,” you said curtly. “Just leave them by my door and-”

“No, you'll fix them now.”

You crossed your arms, “Vegeta I don’t just carry a sewing kit on me.”

He stared at you blankly before his eyes moved to your purse, which was resting on the back of your chair. “Then what the hell is that for?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and inhaled sharply as you chose to ignore his question. “Why should I help you in the first place? You’re not exactly-”

“Please.” The word was uttered so quietly, so pathetically, you were almost positive you had dreamed it. There was no way on Earth that Vegeta had said ‘please’ to you of all people. You skimmed over his face to find he was looking at the table. After a few moments and your lack of response, his eyes snapped up, his face flushing a bright red. “Stop staring at me like that! I’m not going to repeat myself damn it! It’s embarrassing enough!”

You blinked a few times, trying to hide the shock as you spoke, “come on, I have a kit in my room.” You placed your empty juice glass in the sink, beginning to walk towards the spare room Bulma had designated as your own.

The sound of his boots clicked across the wooden floor as he followed you. He was embarrassed to admit he found himself admiring your outfit. It was rare he ever saw you in anything besides casual or training clothes. Today, however, you seemed to be stepping it up. He felt his ears begin to heat up as he stared at your ass and hips before quickly looking at your hair. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Like what?” You frowned, glancing back at him.

His eyes briefly shot to yours before he glanced away. “You’re… dressed nice.”

You almost tripped when he complimented you, “oh, uh, thanks.” You said, clearing your throat. “Me and Bulma are going out later.”

“Why not wear your training gear? What if something were to happen?”

“Then I fight in this,” you shrugged. “My clothes aren’t what makes me a fighter, Vegeta. Plus with you guys around I’d only get in the way.”

“Sure, but you’re already weak enough as is. Extra protection wouldn’t hurt.”

You didn’t know if he was trying to make sure you were safe or simply making fun of you. “With how burned your suit is from the training bots, I don’t think armor makes much of a difference in the grand scheme of things.”

He simply grunted, watching as you grabbed the handle to your room. You opened the door and made your way to your desk, pulling out a drawer and rummaging around for your sewing kit. Vegeta stood in the walkway, staring at the floor before you pulled the kit out and set it on top of your desk. You tilted your head at him as you sat in your office chair, motioning for him to take a seat on your bed.

“I’ll stand,” he frowned, stepping in apprehensively and making his way over to you. He had never been in your room before; he never had a reason to be in it. It was very… you. He wasn’t sure how else to describe it. It had your scent and although he’d never admit it, he liked it. It made a shiver run down his spine.

“No, you’ll sit,” you countered. “I sew better sitting, and I don’t want you looming over me while I do it.” You flicked on your small lamp and smiled at him softly.

He grumbled under his breath, something about how he doesn’t ‘loom’ over people, before sitting on your bed carefully. He was trying to sit as close to the edge as possible to be somewhat polite. It creaked a bit as he did so, one of your plushies tumbling over and onto the floor. He sneered at it before you picked it up and set it back in its place.

“Alright, let me see it.”

He shoved his hand in your direction and you stared at him as if he were an idiot. “Vegeta you’re really starting to piss me off, give me the glove.”

“You can fix it as it is,” he snapped. “I’m not taking it off.”

You crossed your arms again and leaned back in your chair. “Are you trying to fuck with me? Is this a prank or something?”

“Why the hell would I do that!” He yelled, clenching your quilt in his fists. He heard the snapping of threads and quickly relaxed his hand. Whether from the glove or the blanket he wasn’t sure, but neither seemed like good options to damage. “This is serious! Do you think I’d ask you for help for fun?”

You wheeled your chair closer to him, motioning for him to place his hand in yours. He held it out hesitantly, palm facing the ceiling as you took it carefully in your own. A shiver ran up his spine once as he watched you trace the tear with your finger tips before he quickly looked away.

“I should be able to stitch it up, but I’m worried I’ll poke you with the needle by accident.” Vegeta didn’t say anything after that, face slightly pale and body tense. You squeezed his hand softly, “I need you to tell me what the deal with the gloves is. I won’t judge, and I won’t tell anyone else.”

“Like I’d trust you,” he snapped back as he ripped his hand away. “This was a mistake.”

You shook your head, setting his hand back in his lap as you began to thread the needle. “You don’t have to tell me I guess, but it would make everything easier. Maybe I can go get a spare glove from some-“

He was quick to cut you off, growing more and more agitated the longer he stared at the open slit in the fabric. “I should've just done this myself. God forbid you be good for someth-”

“Vegeta, I am trying to help you!” You yelled, finally having had enough. The prince seemed taken aback by your sudden outburst as you slammed the needle on the desk. “The first thing you do in the morning is belittle me, complain, and act like you own the place! Well you don’t! You treat me like shit, my friends like shit, and I still wanted to help you! Don’t get mad at me for trying to do something you asked me to do! If you want to do it yourself, fine, take my fucking kit and leave.” When you saw the look he was giving you, you immediately felt bad. His eyes were wide with shock, mouth slightly agape. It was the first time you had seen him make an expression that was anything like this.

You went to start apologizing before he ripped the damn thing off and tossed it at you. It thumped against your cheek before landing in your lap. You grabbed it and waved it at his face haphazardly.

“You didn’t have to throw it at me!”

“Just hurry and fix it!” He yelled back, crossing his arms and refusing to meet your eyes. His hand was shoved under his armpit as he tapped his foot rapidly against the wooden floor.

You quickly got to work, the prince growing more and more impatient as you fixed the tear. “Would you hurry up?”

“I’m trying! I want to make sure it’s done properly so I don’t have to redo it!”

He leaned forward slightly to watch you work. It was impressive how quick you were with it, precise as the needle wove in and out of the fabric with ease. He watched as you bit your lip and began to tap your foot just as he had. He watched as your hair slipped down from behind your ear before you quickly pushed it back into place. Your eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim lap light, and his heart began to race. For a moment and a moment only, he finally relaxed. Then you were pulling the seam closed, tying the knot and smirking at your work.

“Here, it’s done now you can-” He snatched it from you in an instant, struggling to put it on. You rolled your eyes, “a thanks would be nice.” He slid it on quickly, finally breathing a sigh of relief as he stared at the now closed seam. He could barely tell there had been a hole at all. He opened and closed his hand slowly to watch the fabric shift and ensure your work was good. Then he fell back on your bed and stared at the ceiling.

You wheeled over to him again, watching as he shut his eyes tight and laid limp against your mattress. “Thank you,” was all he mustered up.

“You’re welcome.” You replied, surprised he had even said anything. Your tone was soft when you spoke again, and he hated how it made him feel. “You can lay here as long as you need to.”

Your phone went off in your pocket and you pulled it out quickly, finding a text from Bulma letting you know that she was home and going to take a quick shower. You stood up to leave before Vegeta sat up quickly, grabbing your wrist.

“Can you stay?” He asked quietly, the glove soft against your wrist. You nodded, and quickly sat back down in your chair. He made his way once again to the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows against his legs as he clasped his hands together. He looked down at them, hunched over as he thought of what to say.

“Ever since I was a kid,” he started, voice so low and deep it sent a shiver up your spine. “I have been a killing machine. It’s what I was made for and it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You got up slowly and he paused before you nodded for him to continue. You shut and locked your door before walking back over to him and sitting in your chair. He nodded in thanks before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I don’t have many memories of my father, and the ones that I do have are… complicated. Nappa raised me, if you could even call it that. Raditz was more of a nuisance than anything. Our goal was to survive, and one day I wanted to become powerful enough to beat Frieza. What a joke” He scoffed, shaking his head and looking back to the floor.

“At first, taking lives was easy for me. I was doing nothing more than what I was assigned; I started to do more, go beyond what was required of me. The only one to praise me was Nappa, and even then it was never to my face. I was ridiculed and mocked, but it only pushed me farther, to do better. It was never what I wanted, but more so what needed to be done.”

He didn’t know why the hell he was telling you this; he had never told anyone this. And yet now it was as if he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t shut his mouth long enough to think about what he was doing. “What was once hundreds went to thousands, then millions. I was eradicating races in the blink of an eye. Soon they weren’t just obstacles to me, but people with faces and lives I had ripped away from them. I had so much blood on my hands; I still have blood on my hands. So much blood that I will never, ever be able to get off.”

He opened and closed his hands once more, the sounds of the fabric shifting in his grip. “I’m not a good man. Hell, I've never claimed to be one. But now Frieza is gone and it feels like everything I’ve done, everything I worked towards for years, was for nothing. The things I see in my sleep, what I feel when I’m awake, what I’ve gone through was for nothing.” He stopped for a moment, voice and tone becoming so quiet and serious you couldn’t believe it was the same person who had spoken to you just minutes ago. “I haven’t been able to look at my hands the same way since I was a child.”

He finally looked up at you, eyes lidded as he smirked. You realized he was on the verge of tears. “Do you know how sad that is? A beast scared of his own damned hands. I’m a damn disgrace to my people.” He laughed after that, wiping his eyes and setting his hands back down. “Look at me, a prince crying in front of a damn lower life form.”

You reached out hesitantly, tapping his hand with your fingers apprehensively. When he didn’t pull away you continued, scooting closer to him and pulling his hand up to lay between you both.

You carefully ran your hand over his, sliding your fingers up and under the glove before pulling away slowly. You looked at him again, waiting for him to react or move away, to tell you to stop. Vegeta shut his eyes tight but didn’t pull away, his face pale as you set his glove carefully in your lap. To your surprise, his skin was soft, with yours perhaps being even rougher than his. Then again, you suppose that made sense if the saiyan never fought without them.

You traced your nails gently over his palm, studying the grooves in his skin and how neatly trimmed his nails were. “Well,” you started slowly, his breathing coming to a pause. “I don’t see any blood now.”

Vegeta opened his eyes slowly, looking at your face carefully as you studied his hand. You were so delicate with him it made his breath hitch in his throat.

“Sure, maybe there was a lot there in the past, but not anymore. You can’t change what happened, but you can acknowledge it and move on, try to do better this time around.”

When Vegeta looked at his own hand, he almost gasped in shock. It was his hand, as normal as any other. He looked back to you as you ran your thumb over top of his, gently moving your hand back and forth from his wrist to his knuckles.

“You haven’t done good things, Vegeta. But I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you need time and care to heal, and the first step towards that was acknowledging what we talked about today.” You paused, thinking carefully over your next choice of words before smiling softly. “I think there’s good in you. No, I know there is.”

He watched the way your hair tumbled down and around your face, and how gentle your stare seemed to be. You weren’t repulsed or disgusted, but caring and considerate. He felt a blush rise first to the tips of his ears and then his cheeks before he pulled his hand away and slid his glove back on. He stood up after that, walking briskly across the room without turning back. He unlocked the door and opened it, pausing to think for a moment. Then, he made his way down the hall, wondering what the hell had just come over him as his heart raced out of control.

A few days later he came home to find a second pair of gloves folded neatly on his bed along with a note, “just in case <3.” His face flushed as he went to crumple it up, but upon reading it just one more time, he found he couldn’t. He shoved it in the drawer of his bedside table, grumbling under his breath as he left to go train.

#vegeta #vegeta x reader #vegeta x fem!reader #dbz fanfic #dragon ball z fanfic #dbz #dragon ball z

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fastcardotmp3 · 6 months

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(I really wanted to have my apocalypse ronance fic done by Halloween and that's simply not happening, so have this little guy instead <3) ronance; horror filmmaker!Nancy; future fic; 1k words

Over the course of the ‘90s, a collection of unconnected but similarly themed horror movies are made and released.

Minuscule budgets and narrow theater releases, they don’t go very far at first. In fact, they don’t go anywhere for a couple of decades, only gaining traction with a DVD release and a flash in the pan of a cult following.

They aren’t sequels of each other, these movies, but they have a great deal in common to the point where in the early 2010s an online community starts connecting not just themes, but also characters whose names may not align even though their stories do, a haunted town or house or swimming pool which might as well all be the same version of Hell.

Each cover boasts a promise of fake blood and big screams but never gets across the great deal of sincerity tucked between cuts in the film strips, no, it’s up to audiences to find that.

And eventually? They do.

No one knows who N.W. Holland is, the name listed as director and writer and producer and on and on endlessly into the credits, a pseudonym from the looks of it and one which stopped being used around the new millennium if IMDb is to be trusted. They talk about them though, this mysterious figure who made four films which are considered life affirming or changing to any number of fans.

They debate gender and political affiliation and whether or not they went to film school or just figured it out on the job. They talk about the tells in their writing and try and find them in newer movies with different directors, trying to catch their mystery in the real world beyond those four films.

They seek and search and wonder and bite each other’s heads off and still all the while…

All the while Nancy Wheeler stays in the shadows.

“You have to do it.”

“No, I don’t,” she shakes her head definitively, leaning against the kitchen counter in a modest two bedroom home in central Indianapolis.

“Come on, Nance!” Robin laughs all sharp with disbelief, the sheaf of papers clutched in one hand fluttering in the wind created by her gestures. “Look at this! I mean look at it.”

“I’ve seen it,” Nancy shrugs, turns to set her mug down and give herself a refill from the carafe behind her, effectively turning her back on both Robin and this conversation.

The sound Robin makes in response is a familiar one, that sort of fond frustration when Nancy is being intentionally obtuse about something coming out in a huff of air.

“Nancy.”

“It did what it was supposed to!” Nancy says with no shortage of indignation, but she also knows, no lacking in anxious unsteadiness either. “That’s why I let you read it, because it’s— it’s a final product as-is.”

“You and I both know that isn’t true,” Robin says, gentler this time, holding those endlessly heavy pages between them like they weigh nothing.

Although, Robin has always been good at that, hasn’t she? Taking Nancy’s baggage for what it is and storing it securely and carefully on her shoulders?

Robin Buckley is a thing of wonder, the way she wormed into Nancy’s heart and life, made a cozy little home there long before Nancy herself even realized. It was like waking up, the day Nancy started to understand what they were, years behind the times as far as Robin was concerned but finally having gotten enough of the rot out of her system by way of four movies about a best friend lost too soon and the girl who failed to save her.

(The horror of the final girl, that's what the forums call it. Nancy just calls it Hawkins.)

Nancy loves her and Nancy knows her and being known in return is something she is still, twenty-five years on, learning to cope with, but it’s just.

“It’s been fifteen years since I made a movie, Robin,” she exhales, heavy as she slumps back against the counter again with her arms crossed like she’s sixteen and protecting her soft bits again. Maybe she always will be.

“It’s been fifteen hours since you wrote one,” Robin drops the screenplay on the table to her right in a punctuating smack! of a sound.

“I just had to get it out of my system,” Nancy breathes down towards her feet, even as Robin steps closer, steps into her space, steps right up in front of her, “it’s not like the others, I don’t need to say this one out loud.”

“Nance,” Robin breathes, guiding Nancy’s gaze up to meet hers with hands on her cheeks, thumbs tracing just beneath her eyes, the thin frames of her glasses. “This is the one you need to say out loud the most.”

Nancy’s eyes sting. Her arms unwrap so her hands can fall to grip at Robin’s waist.

There’s a community online who would likely agree, but it’s not their opinions which Nancy cares about in this moment. Just Robin. Just the way Robin sees it in black and white right there on the page, typed on the same typewriter she’d used on the first one in 1991.

“It’s been so long, it’s so obvious I haven’t written in so long.”

“Sure,” Robin shrugs, wiping a stray tear before it even makes it to Nancy’s cheek and smiling like there’s joy to be had here, “but that’s the point. I can see it, all that time between the last one and this one.”

“Because this one isn’t as scary?” Nancy scoffs, but Robin just holds her more firmly and leans in until their foreheads touch.

“Because in this one you forgive yourself.”

Nancy cries. She sobs, standing in the kitchen of the home she’s built with this woman, just an hour from the town where her childhood was stolen from her, but a joyful home despite it all.

She breaks down and lets herself be held on this day, because what they both know is that it’ll start tomorrow.

There is a community online that’s been searching for more stories from N.W. Holland for decades, and they’ve never found them because they didn’t exist.

One year from now, a script folded and paged through and dog eared will turn into exactly what they’re looking for, but it will take some time for them to realize.

It’s finally her story, complete in its resolution and its forgiveness, after all.

It’s only right it finally bares her name.

#dot post #dot fic #ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #nancy wheeler horror writer i will never let you go tbh #happy almost halloweeeeen!

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inkblackorchid · 9 months

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I was gonna try to keep my mouth shut, but I can't. I just can't. I have to go on another Aki rant because I feel like I'm going to explode. It's about this scene:

This drives me insane and I'm putting this under a readmore. Expect incoherent screaming, all ye who enter here.

Ok. Ok. I have so many issues with this scene. Specifically, with the way it develops later, when Aki's busy trying to figure out how to save a child from being swept up by a storm:

And I just. Look, I think the fact that I already wrote a fic that basically completely turns Aki's reaction here on its head should basically tell you everything. But! But. Allow me to defend why I think this whole scene is one big heap of horseshit, with a bit of analysis of canon and actual evidence to back up my claims and shit.

The thing is, I have seen people give this scene a charitable read. I've seen people be happy for Aki to enjoy freedom from the psychic powers that have given her so much trouble in her life. And the thing is, if this were season one or season two Aki, I would be completely on board with that take. Unfortunately, this scene is preceded by the pre-WRGP arc. But more on that below.

Moreover, I can make an educated guess about what they were going for here (in terms of messaging, because this is a kids' show at the end of the day and messaging is something you have to be properly concerned with when it comes to these). I can imagine it running somewhere along the lines of "you don't need special powers to be a hero". Or even "you can grow past the hurt and/or the mistakes in your life and still become a good person or even a hero". And really, I wish I could believe that take. It's just. The writing simply doesn't add up. I wish it did, but it doesn't.

This is where we get back to the pre-WRGP arc. And not just that, actually, but the timeskip between the dark signers and pre-WRGP arc, too. Because the thing is, the last time we have seen Aki in anguish about her powers on-screen by the time the episodes above (108-109) arrive was during the DS arc, during the duel with her father, which happened during episodes 40-41. 40. to. 41. This was over sixty episodes ago at this point. And after that, that's it. As far as the DS arc is concerned, Aki's conflict about her powers is resolved the second she controls them for the first time when her father tries to interfere in her second duel against Yusei.

(Yeah, remember this moment? That was literally the last time we saw Aki in conflict with her powers.)

And I know some people would argue "but what about the dark signer duel with Misty?". And yes, I get it. Misty does accuse her of having murdered her brother with her powers and Aki gets incredibly (understandably) upset about it. But the thing is, we know that's fake, and during the duel, Aki knows that, too. She goes as far as insisting that there were no casualties at the duel where Misty thinks Toby died.

(Yes, I have screenshot proof for literally every dumb little thing in this show, why do you ask?)

It's only after Misty keeps pushing and backing her into a corner during their duel (and literally gaslighting her) that she begins to believe Misty's version of the events. Which is why this doesn't "count" as Aki being in conflict with her powers the way her second duel with Yusei does. At least not to me, feel free to debate me over this if you wanna.

Okay, but what am I driving at here? Fair question. Let me hop back to after the dark signers' defeat.

So, we know there's a half-year timeskip between the DS and the pre-WRGP arc (which was allegedly enough for NDC to connect the city and Satellite, deal with all the social issues that entailed, and also build a giant duel network, which I will never believe but I digress). Unfortunately, what exactly our main characters did during that timeskip is never addressed, it's just kind of there to segway immediately into the WRGP setup. So the only thing we can do is guess at what they got up to based on where they are as people by the time we get back to them during the start of the pre-WRGP arc. So where's Aki at when we see her again after the dark signers' defeat then?

Oh, she's attending duel academy again now! That's nice. So that probably means the student body isn't scared shitless of her anymore and she's not being ostracised anymore.

Wow, she's an exceptional student! That means she must be a really good duellist. So she got the hang of her powers, then?

...Ah.

Do you start to see my problem? Past the DS arc, we are not being given any indication that Aki is still struggling with her powers or still resents them or herself like she used to. You could be forgiven for thinking that she's healed in the meantime. She's fine. She has accepted herself and can now use her powers safely. Which makes her later claiming "she no longer needs that cursed power" a bit... hmmm. And another thing. The fact that she refers to it as "cursed" rubs me the wrong way. After the defeat of the dark signers, she literally never does that even a single time before the moment in the hospital during the storm. (I'd post all the screenshots to prove it here but for one, tumblr doesn't allow it, and for two, I hope you'll believe I did my due diligence without it.)

And it just irks me. If the powers are still a "curse" to Aki by episodes 108-109, why give us the moment above?

And why give us this moment, where she saves Sherry, Yusei, and herself with those powers?

And why give us this moment, where she literally uses her powers at a public event to protect people, and is evidently not cussed out as a witch for it? Neither of these moments do anything to indicate that Aki still hates her powers. They don't indicate that she sees them as a "beast of burden" or necessary evil of a sort, either. On the contrary, I don't think it would be too out there to claim all these moments make her look rather badass. Like a small celebration of "hey, now she can finally use these powers for cool and not evil things!".

Yet, somehow, we still end up with episodes 108-109, where the writers expect the audience to buy that Aki was secretly still hoping she might eventually be rid of these powers after all. And maybe this would be easier to swallow if there weren't also the fact that they later literally go back on it to add to this confusing mess. Because the thing is, we all know the finale scene after the three-way duel with Sherry where Aki protects them with her powers (which have suddenly reappeared, aha!) again and also finds out she can use these powers to heal. So not only is the framing of Aki suddenly being glad to have lost her powers extremely weird, it's also temporary anyway!

So my question is. What was the point. What was the point of all this if the writers ended up going back on it anyway? Because I want to believe there's a reasonable, charitable explanation that also makes sense with what they show us in terms of Aki's characterisation past the DS arc, but if there is, I cannot for the life of me find it. If anything, this whole thing feels like it completely contradicts itself.

First, they tie up Aki's conflict with her powers with a neat bow after she manages not to hurt her father anymore. Then, they launch into the pre-WRGP arc and blatantly tell us that she can now control them. No questions asked. Indisputable fact, and we get nothing that contradicts that, either. Then, we get a bunch of setup showing her using her powers, too, and what's more, we get other significant players in the cast taking notice of it, too, as though it might become relevant. Because Sherry isn't the only one who gets curious about Aki's powers.

(I will never understand how Placido's hood works together with his horn-thingies and have stopped trying at this point.)

The literal, central antagonists of season 3-4 also take notice of it. Like that means something. Like it'll come up again later. But, well. We know it doesn't.

Instead, she suddenly loses her powers out of nowhere (and we are never given a reason for it, either, which does nothing to make this writing decision seem anymore understandable). And, look. The thing that upsets me most about this isn't even the fact that it feels a little inconsistent with Aki's character post DS arc. If that were the only problem, I could still suspend my disbelief far enough to go along with the idea that she secretly still hated her powers quietly in the background and wanted them gone anyway. What really pisses me off is that it reeks of zero setup and knee-jerk decisions in the writing room ten miles against the wind. If they wanted us to believe Aki's glad to be rid of her powers, why give absolutely no indication that she's at odds with them past episode 41 anymore? Why let her state outright that she can now control them? Why show her on several occasions using them to her own and other people's benefit, the way a hero would? And if her powers are supposed to vanish and it's supposed to make sense, why is there no reason for it? They already used cyborg timetravel at that point, they could have literally come up with any nonsense related to that and it would have probably made at least more sense than just letting her powers vanish for no reason at all. Also, if the message behind all this is supposed to be either of the things I mentioned way above—if the idea the audience is supposed to be getting is either "you don't need special powers to be a hero" or "your past and/or your mistakes don't define you and you can heal and grow past them"—why reintroduce the powers, which, in this reading, would be a symbol of Aki's pain, of her mistakes and her dreaded past, at the very end, during the finale, then? It just doesn't add up, and it frustrates me to no end.

The writers wanted to make the moment Aki realises she can help people (well, one person, a child) without her powers seem triumphant so bad, but every time I watch it, it just completely falls flat for me. This isn't a triumph, this is a hot mess of bad writing decisions. All I'm saying is, if they wanted me to buy that Aki would be happy about losing her powers here, they were missing a hefty amount of setup and also shouldn't actually have given them back to her during the finale (no, not even as healing powers).

Moreover... I'll freely admit I also have a personal problem with this scene. I've seen this show and these episodes several times by now, and during my last rewatch and my current one, something about this scene has been creeping up on me, and I think I've figured out what that is now. So I talked about the possible message behind this scene already, and the reading I've given so far was fairly forgiving. But the thing is, there is another reading that has occurred to me that I can't unsee anymore. As much as you could make a valid case that this scene is trying to say that people don't need to be special to be heroes and save others, that past mistakes don't define us, and yadda yadda, there's also a much, much less pleasant way to interpret this scene: "You're better off if you don't stand out." And I'll freely admit, this interpretation probably occurs to me specifically because I was considered a "weird kid" at school, singled out by bullies, and avoided by "popular" kids (take a wild guess why I relate to Aki so much!). And over the years, you learn to downplay that "weirdness" because you become desperate to be accepted by someone, anyone. And given everything the show gives us about Aki's relationship with her powers, it'd make sense that this idea would be buried somewhere in her head, too. It's better not to stand out. Don't be weird. Sand down your edges so there's no chance people could get upset about them. You're better off being whatever everyone else considers "normal" than being whoever you are. It doesn't matter if this is a part of who you are, just become someone else. Someone who's easier to accept. Who's easier to love. You don't need your "weirdness".

You don't need this cursed power.

You know, the "cursed power" that Aki had from the beginning of the show, that was a part of her for years, and that the show didn't give any indication could vanish. The power that we were led to believe would just be there forever, because it was simply a part of Aki, not a conscious thing she (or the narrative) could choose. The power that we were, for all intents and purposes, led to believe she had mastered and maybe even accepted along the way. But sure, let's get rid of that. It's better if she's """normal""". And more convenient for the writers, too! After all, if she doesn't have powers anymore, they can't cause plotholes (of which the WRGP already has enough) and can't possibly give Aki any more badass moments, which makes it that much easier to sideline her. And let's package this weird, shittily set-up moment in a message about how she's better off without her powers anyway. She's happy! It makes complete sense that she's happy. She's finally normal like everyone else. Ignore the way people who might relate to the character could possibly interpret this moment differently. And ignore how none of the writing surrounding this moment makes sense.

...Sigh.

Okay, I think I've let off enough steam. I just. Yeah. I'm sorry, but I cannot for the life of me view this scene in a favourable way and watching it today made me want to chew glass tbh. My only solace is that they went back on this trainwreck writing decision in the finale. Which, really, just makes this whole mess really, really pointless, doesn't it?

For anyone who stuck around this long, thanks for reading. Sorry if this got extra-rant-y. Idk man, I just think “it’s worth the effort to accept yourself as you are, even with all the bits you might not like at first” would have been a better message than whatever this turned out to be.

#yugioh 5ds #aki izayoi #akiza izinski #ygo 5ds #5ds #character analysis #orchid watches 5ds (again)#episode 108 #episode 109 #orchid rambles

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joels6string · 4 months

Text

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x OFC

Chapter 15 - Bring it Home

Summary: The walls of Jackson finally welcome you home after months away.

Rating: E

Word Count: 6.4k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix it fic

Your fingers drifted over the icy metal of the doorknob, it had been weeks since you’d slept alone, and suddenly the thought of doing so again made you uneasy.

Chapter 14 || Series Masterlist

When Joel emerged from the darkened back rooms, the blood of two clickers splattered along his coat and his machete dripping, the archive room was empty. His chest was heaving, the fight slightly harder than he was anticipating, and his lungs burning as he took off in a sprint, searching through the endless corridors for any sight of you. He’d asked you to stay put, but he should have known you’d do the exact opposite.

“Millie!” he called out, “Millie! God damnit…” he added on as a hushed curse.

“Over here.” He hated the tone of your voice already.

Amid a sea of pages and strewn magazines, he found you on your knees, chin to your chest, your eyes fixated on something in your lap. He approached slowly, coming up behind you and crouching down to peer over your shoulder, finding you staring down at photos from a ballet show published in one of the magazines. Scanning the page for whatever was triggering your damn near catatonic state, he found nothing of note until he reached the tips of your fingers covering a picture in the bottom right corner.

There was no resistance when he pushed your hand to the side, a young woman with eyes in his favorite shade of green coming into view.

He’d recognize that smile anywhere, even on a much younger face. What the article was about he didn’t care, and he suspected you didn’t either, but the blatant reminder of what life had once been was never something easy to swallow. Whatever makeup you were wearing did well to mask the freckles he knew we were being suffocated, but your shoulders were still decorated with each and every mark he intended to press his lips to at the first chance he got. Your lips were rosy pink, as were your cheeks, smoky makeup making the entrancing color of your eyes even more magnetic, the skin of your nose and cheeks smooth and unmarked by scars and time.

But it wasn’t you. Not his version anyway.

Pulling the book from your fingers, he rolled it and tucked it into his back pocket. He debated what to do with it as he pulled your hands into his; would you be ready one day? Or would this always haunt you? Taking it home was best, just in case, and if he had to keep it tucked in the attic until the pages molded then so be it.

“Forgot what my face looked like,” you mumbled, tugging your hands from his, “At least now you get to see…”

“I don’t give a shit,” he’d barely let you get your words out, and when your eyebrows knit together he knew that was a little too harsh.

Thick fingers tipped your chin up, followed by three reverent pecks to the pink line across your face, your eyes pinching closed as you resisted the wave of emotion cresting in your stomach. Before he could pull away, you grabbed his lips with your own. It had been over a week since you’d done more than a soft kiss to his throat at night, someone had always been around, tasks needed to be done, and bodies were too tired to do anything more than collapse in a heap on whatever surface was the makeshift bed of the night. Now, you took advantage, unable to ignore the way your heart sped up and your skin heated despite the cool air surrounding you.

His jacket was too thick, your fingers craved something thinner to feel him through, the thought of it being nothing at all sending another jolt to your stomach. You’d turned to face him, knees slotted between his bent ones as he continued to perch on his feet, your hands fisted in his worn flannel shirt. It was your tongue that begged for entrance this time, his lips parting at the gentlest brush and meeting your fervor in kind.

A cloud of dust puffed up from the ground when he toppled backward, finally losing his balance, his hands bracing his unsteady body on the floor as your knees slid around his waist. He opted to settle down on his elbows, your chest following his down as you refused to lose contact with him for even a second. There was no fight for dominance, he was happy to follow your lead, allowing you to take his air and find comfort in the way your mouths pressed and pulled. It was natural the way he led you down further, laying flat on his back to give his hands the freedom to grip your hips and explore your thighs, your hands moving to either side of his head to hover over him.

The world disappeared in the fiery shroud of your hair, the dirty tresses that had fallen out of your top knot hours ago caging you into a world all your own. Soft grunts and whimpers echoed off the cavernous walls, the speed picking up as it all grew messier. The desire, the need, the euphoric feeling of his hands and his mouth, it was overpowering. Moving with little control, your core pressed down on the buckle of his belt, his mouth greedily swallowing down the pathetic little gasp that stung your throat as your spine straightened, the aftershocks twitching your fingers and pausing your ability to breathe; he enjoyed the sight so much his fingers dug into your waist as he repeated the motion, your whimpering cry so sweet on his tongue.

“You need your tape,” you mewled, resisting the urge to heighten what had begun to build.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, dazed, his face tense and eyes snapped shut.

“Tommy’s probably worried.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

Thick arms wrapped around your middle as he sat up and brought you with him, your fingers immediately threading through his hair as he picked up right where you’d left off. There was no stopping your girlish giggle that bounced off his lips, his own smile stretching lopsided on his face. The weight of the world vanished for a moment, the steady heaviness of dread, guilt, and misery had lifted and you were left practically floating after twenty years of being bogged down.

“Tape,” you laughed as he moved down to your neck, his breath warming the chill that had set in, “I wanna go home.”

“Home, huh?” he teased against your throat, his beard scratching over you enough to have your hips pressing against him again.

“Mmm.”

“I like the way you say that.”

Home.

When you looked at him, that’s exactly what it felt like. Honeyed hazel stared warmly back at you, his dirt-smudged face and swollen lips welcoming you back as you kissed him once again, your hands cradling his face as he reciprocated your gentle affection. He was the four walls that the shutters slammed against when the storm raged, the levees that held back the floods, and the warm heat of a fire in a blizzard.

“Anchors are supposed to sink.”

His words had haunted you, following you around with nagging regret. You shouldn’t have left. It had been weeks of wondering if you’d ever seen him again with the knowledge that his final request had been to come back to him. It was such a simple thing to ask of you, and somehow you’d failed. Yet here you were now, perched in his lap in a dusty old library kissing him like it was something you’d done a hundred times before. He was comfortable. He was warm. He was gentle. He was home. It had only taken you months to realize it.

“Promise me everything is gonna be okay,” you whimpered against his mouth, your eyes pinched shut as you toyed with his collar at the nape of his neck.

“I swear.” As much as you wanted to believe it, the promise was empty.

“Means no dying.”

“Mm. Suppose it does.”

“You can promise me you’re not gonna die?”

“I think…scientifically speakin’ and all, I damn well might—“

A playful slap to his chest had a short, gruff laugh cutting off his sarcastic response, “I’m serious.”

“Goes for you, too,” he grunted as he gripped the backs of your thighs and stood, your arms and legs wrapping around him as he steadied, “You gonna promise me you ain’t dyin’?”

“Joel…”

“Honey,” he sighed, placing you down to sit on the checkout counter, the affectionate moniker enough to have your breath hitching, “Don’t make me have to lie to you.”

It was a promise no one could keep.

“Then promise me you’ll try,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his as your fingers found his hair once again.

“I swear,” he assured softly, sighing before pulling away and offering you a hand.

Once your feet hit the floor, he didn’t let go, his grip gentle but strong as he led you back to the archive tapes. Warm, calloused fingers threaded with yours, and you couldn’t help the way you gravitated into him, pressing your body against him as your free arm wrapped around to clutch his bicep. The canvas of his jacket was coarse against your cheek, but the immediate peace you felt as his warmth seeped into your skin had your eyes fluttering closed.

“Okay…” he drawled as the archive room once again came into view, “Make this quick.”

Dusty old VHS tapes danced between fingers, murmurs of titles and frustration barely audible as you both searched for the only one that mattered. The ink had faded after decades abandoned, some close to being entirely illegible, his eyes squinting as he tried to make out which each aged strip of tape had etched on it. His grunts of frustration had you holding your breath to prevent the giggle bubbling in your throat, the battle finally lost when he rubbed the side of the box on his jacket like polishing it would help his case.

“Somethin’ funny?” he grunted, his slivered gaze shooting over to you.

“You need glasses,” you quipped, snatching the video from his hand and easily reading that this one held some former President’s inauguration speech, “This one isn’t it, either.”

“God damnit, there’s one more shelf.”

With only three to go, you found the coveted prize: the moon landing. Joel’s eyes lit up as he smiled, sighing in relief as he pulled it from your fingers, “Guess we’ll just pray it still works, then.”

The cold battered against you like a brick wall when you opened the doors to the library, Tommy having started a small fire for himself and the couple who sat cooking over the flickering flames. Days moved slower the closer to Jackson your convey got, sleep was more restless, tempers flared, a few brotherly physical altercations were broken up, and too many clickers for comfort were taken down as the gates drew nearer.

“We’re gonna have to send clean-up crews out,” Tommy muttered, chest heaving, blood dripping off his fingers.

“Yeah,” Joel sighed, collapsing down against a tree, “Everyone else okay?”

“Looks like it, your girl is over that way and seems to be all in one piece.”

In one piece, but hanging by a thread. The road home had made you all weary, you spent most days asleep between Joel’s shoulder blades on the back of the horse, your nights restless and panicked no matter how tightly he swaddled you against him. He’d found you staring out the window one night, watching for any threats that may come by, and no amount of gentle or stern urging had convinced you to return to the makeshift bed on the floor.

“Two more days,” he’d assured just moments before the infected that now lay dead at his feet had appeared, and as he looked at you staring off into the graying skies, he contemplated trying to convince the party to make it a straight shot back to Jackson.

“We should find somewhere to hole up for the night,” Tommy suggested, “I think that river runs somewhere around here, we can get some water to clean up with.”

“What if we just pressed on through,” Joel replied, his eyes still locked on you.

A heavy sigh clouded around both brothers, and Joel knew Tommy had been thinking the same exact thing. Snow crunched under the younger of the two’s boots as he approached the older couple emerging from their hiding spot and Joel took off in the opposite direction, cautiously slipping his hand onto your lower back.

“Ready?” he asked tentatively, “We’re thinkin’ maybe we just go straight on through. No stoppin’. Might need you to take the reins for a minute–”

“Sure,” you confirmed, turning to catch his hazel gaze with a soft smile, “You’re a mess.”

“Huh?”

Your hands worked a ball of snow until the white powder had turned to frigid water, your fingers gently wiping the blood spattering on his face clean with focus and precision. It felt oddly good, his cheeks hot and hairline damp with sweat despite the temperature. He was still getting accustomed to these gentle touches, you both were, but as the days wore on they’d become more frequent and less tentative. It had been too long for it all to be natural–giving and receiving–but through shaking breaths and trembling hands, it was slowly becoming easier. Hearts no longer pounded anxiously and the fear of rejection had almost entirely subsided, but there was still so much missing and it was a void you could both feel.

“Here,” you cooed, pulling a small tin out of your pocket and dipping your middle finger in the thick balm that it housed, “This might help you a little.”

The way his eyebrows knit together as you dabbed the salve onto his wind-chapped lips had a smile lifting your cheeks and he breathed in this moment and the way it made your eyes sparkle in the haze of twilight.

“Whatchu got there, Joel?” Tommy called as he approached, “That’s some nice lip gloss.”

“Shut up,” Joel replied as Tommy laughed to himself, not turning his head away before you’d finished your task, “That ain’t half bad,” he commented as he tapped his lips together, testing the new sensation.

“You’re somethin’ else,” Tommy chuckled with an affectionate lilt, “We’re good to ride through if that’s still the plan. One of us might have to man their horse overnight long as you’re up for it, Millie.”

“Should be fine,” you answered quickly, eager to get back into the safe gates of Jackson.

When the sun came up and your shift atop Lee and Corbin’s horse ended, Joel nestled you into the saddle in front of him where you passed out within seconds swaddled in his warmth and subjected to the steady sway of the trot. It was too comfortable here with your head tucked into the curve of his shoulder, his other arm wrapped securely around your middle as the paths grew more and more familiar. Tommy had begun giving the tour of the patrol paths to the two newcomers as the sun began to set on the final day, and when the tall wooden barricades of home came into view, he finally slumped down in relief.

“We’re home,” Joel whispered into your hair, somehow you’d slept the entire day away and he knew it was the longest stretch you’d had in months, “Wake up.”

Jackson’s stables welcomed you, Joel’s hands guiding you down to the ground as you breathed in the familiar scent of home. Tommy had quickly taken to tending to Lee and Corbin, Joel stopping you from approaching with a stern look on his face.

“He can take care of them,” he said, the sun a ring of fire around his head and shoulders, “Let’s get you home.”

Arguing would be futile and a shower was far too tempting, as was a couch and a mattress and a pair of sweatpants. It was a short walk from the stables, you just had to make it through the center of town first. Joel had already prefaced that word of your supposed death was sure to have traveled to every ear by now.

“Ready?” he asked quietly, and you nodded.

“Well, I’ll be damned! That ain’t a corpse as far as I can tell.” You couldn’t even remember the man’s name as he came and pulled you into a hug.

Before Joel could get you out through the doors, more people began filing in. It grew louder and louder, more hands and embraces than you could count, your heart hammering against your chest; Joel had been separated from you in the crowd as the words being said to you became indiscernible in the crowd and the air grew thick as space closed in.

“That’s enough!” a woman’s voice called out, “Move out! Joel, get her.”

Maria Miller. You’d never been happier to hear her voice. She was standing atop of pile of boxes, towering over everyone else despite her small stature, her blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail as the townspeople obeyed her every word.

A warm, rough hand circled around your wrist and tugged, Joel’s familiar brown canvas jacket stretching across his broad shoulders as he led you out into the open streets. He didn’t stop, continuing on towards the residential area past his own white house and around the corner towards yours.

“Wait!” a small voice yelled frantically from behind you, “Wait!!!!”

No sound could have had you moving faster. You wrenched your wrist free of Joel’s grip, turning to intercept the 15-year-old girl barrelling into your arms. Her hair was soaking wet, just a thin hoodie and jeans covering a body you knew was still too thin, and it took only seconds for tears to soak the front of your jacket. She was shaking from the cold and the emotions raging in her, the way she was holding you almost keeping air from your lungs.

“They said you were dead,” she was muttering over and over, not even a hand cradling her head to your shoulder or your shushing sobs were enough to calm her down, “You were gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” you choked, and somehow saying those words made it all worse.

This is what it felt like to let someone down, to break someone’s heart. It was painful and it was horrifying, it made your joints ache and your chest seize up; was this what love really was? As you held that crying girl in an iron grip, the weight of the consequences of your actions fell onto your shoulders. This was your doing. No one else’s. You were the one who left at the slightest hint of adversity, ran away like a petulant child, and avoided feelings you’d known were there for so long they’d boiled over and burned everyone in the surrounding area.

“I’m sorry,” you cried out again, your cheeks soaked.

Arms long enough to contain you both pulled you in, Joel’s chin resting on your head as you leaned into him, and you stayed in that shelter until Ellie finally lifted her head. Swollen, reddened green eyes stared up at you, her expression telling you she still thought this might be a dream, and your palms cradled her face to say the words you couldn’t.

“I missed you,” she croaked out, fighting the urge to let her head fall back down to the drenched patch of your coat, “You missed Christmas.”

“I know,” your voice quavered, “I missed you, too.”

“Let’s get you home,” Joel, who’d been silent and steady up until now, urged, dropping his arms as you slung yours around Ellie’s shoulders.

With every step, it felt like a small piece of the gaping hole in your chest filled in. Ellie had calmed enough to rattle off a few new puns she’d learned in your absence, Joel’s horrified groans at a few making smiles involuntary. When your house came into view, Ellie began to bob with excitement, confessing she’d visited every day and watered the plants and that her time on farming which she’d always dreaded had actually come in handy in keeping your green collection alive and well.

It was just like you’d left it, not a thing out of place. It was warm, Ellie having kept the heat going for the sake of the inhabitants, tension from months in the mountain winter’s air beginning to melt away. While Ellie retold her adventures in horticulture, bringing one back from the brink of death while separating two different stems from one pot that seemed to be competing, you and Joel stood by and listened, just glad to hear the sound of her voice again.

“Hey kiddo,” Joel piped up when she’d finished revealing she had watched a few of your movies, “Why don’t you wait for her to get cleaned up and then bring her on over to our place for dinner. There’s no food here and store’s closed.”

You audibly moaned when the warm water of the shower hit your skin. Time was limited as you rinsed weeks of dirt from your body and hair, needing to shampoo three times to get it all clean. Ellie had snuck in and warmed another pot of water, announcing it was done as she closed the door behind her. And you needed it. There were still razors in your drawer and clean towels in the cabinet, although they were a little dusty. Clean, comfortable clothes waited and after carefully combing the knots from your hair, you put the hood of your sweatshirt up and took off with Ellie down to the house on Rancher Street.

Joel had already started dinner by the time you arrived, his beard trimmed and face weighed down by exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in what was close to three days and here he was prepping food Maria had definitely delivered for him, his fridge was just as empty as your own.

“So…” Ellie began as dinner was being finished, “We can do Christmas tomorrow.”

“It’s February,” Joel replied in a flat tone.

“But she missed Christmas! And we have gifts for her!”

“S’fine by me, but I ain’t decoratin’ again.”

“C’mon! Don’t be such a Scrooge!”

“Scrooge? How do you even know who that is?”

“I watched the movie with Cat and Dina.”

“Yeah, Joel,” you hummed over the mug of tea still hot in your hands, “Don’t be such a Scrooge.”

“Don’t take her side,” he cautioned softly as he sat back with a grunt that signaled defeat, “Fine, but no damn tree.”

“A small one?” Ellie pleaded, “Just enough to put gifts under!”

“What? Like a bush?” he asked sarcastically, that crooked grin lifting the left side of his mouth, “Yeah, go on and chop down a Christmas bush. You know where the hatchet is. Just make sure it ain’t one of Eugene’s.”

With a promise to return tomorrow for the planned festivities, you bid her goodbye with another tight hug, Joel opening up the door and leading you home like he had so many times before. Small talk about the relief of being home filled the short walk, how nice it was to shower and have a homecooked dinner, and before you knew it you’d both walked up the three steps to your front door.

“Alright then, I’m sure you, uh, want your space,” he sighed, “Just come on by tomorrow when you’re ready. I’m sure she’ll be up makin’ the whole damn house a mess.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, butterflies erupting in your stomach, “Okay.”

Your fingers drifted over the icy metal of the doorknob, it had been weeks since you’d slept alone, and suddenly the thought of doing so again made you uneasy. It was safe now, and warm, you didn’t need to share a cramped space where danger lurked in every breath, but you were afraid you’d become too used to it. You’d had a few nightmares along the way, but notably less, though at the time you’d attributed it to the lack of time asleep. Maybe it had been him, though.

“G’nite,” he decided for you, batting your hand away and opening your door himself.

“Night,” you responded as you contemplated the risk of grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling him inside with you.

Would he kiss you goodnight? Could you kiss him goodnight? He was so tired, you were surprised he was still standing, the purple bags under his eyes hadn’t been this dark since well before Jackson. You both just needed a solid night’s rest, this clearly wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having right now. He likely wasn’t even capable of it.

Closing the door and entering your home didn’t bring the reprieve you’d hoped it would. It felt too empty, too quiet; when had you begun to detest solitude? Someone had dropped off groceries, multiple people it looked like, your counter full of items that hadn’t been there before. A note was pinned to your fridge by a magnet Indy had gifted you, the simple, messy penmanship scribbled reading ‘I thought I told you to stop pulling this shit. And you couldn’t even say hi?! These were all sitting on the porch, figured I’d drop them off. You better be with Ellie. Sophia and I are a thing…by the way…and I do still live at the same house, in case you were wondering. Same address. Same place… See you tomorrow (don’t make me go to Joel’s.) -Indy’

While you were placing all the donated items into the pantry, a soft knock echoed through the house. You debated leaving it unanswered, it was probably just another bag of food or something of the sort, or maybe it was Indy, but either way, it was 10 PM and you should be asleep, whoever it was should understand.

“Millie?”

You could have ripped the door off its hinges with how much force you tugged it open with, Joel standing on the other side with frost-blushed cheeks and a nervous expression.

“I…uh…” he stammered, averting his eyes to the icicles hanging from your awning’s roof, crossing his arms over his chest as his tongue knotted.

Whatever he had to say didn’t matter. Flinging your arms around his neck you pulled his lips to yours, tangling your fingers into his silky gray hair as he kicked the door shut and locked it behind him. His fingers dug into the skin of your waist when your tongue brushed against his, a groan of relief vibrating from his throat into yours. With no prying eyes to find you, weeks of pent-up energy flooded out. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d felt this throbbing at your core. Sex had been nothing but a tool, fodder for barters, or something taken by force, not something you’d ever wanted or craved, but when you pushed his jacket from his shoulders as your back thudded against the wall you couldn’t help but feel as frightened by it as you were thrilled.

The nerves didn’t stop you, however, your lips continuing in their dance and noses pressed to cheeks. His hands stayed on your hips, and you knew he was feeling all the same things you were.

“Upstairs,” you huffed out against him, his eyes wide as he looked for signs of hesitation on your face. It took all your effort to maintain a steady stare under the weight of his.

“Lead the way,” he whispered in a husky tone, goosebumps rising on your skin and leaving a fire in their wake.

The staircase stretched for miles as you led him by the hand to your bedroom, a fresh set of sheets and blankets put on by Ellie or Indy at some point in the hours since you’d gotten back. One less thing to worry about, but the list was still a mile long.

“Did they bring my bag back?” you asked as the door clicked closed, the empty hook jogging your memory.

“Uh…” he murmured, that hadn’t been what he was expecting, “Yeah. I think so.”

“Okay. There’s just..stuff in there that I need.”

“Uh-huh.”

You were stalling now, the butterflies in your stomach kicking up enough speed to churn, your fingers nervously wringing on your stomach. It didn’t help he was watching so intently, either, looking for the first sign of discomfort to talk him out of what he wanted just as much as you did. This was just one step you didn’t want to take first, you just didn’t know how to tell him. But it was act now or watch him leave, again.

“Can you…” you sputtered, closing your eyes and tipping your chin.

“Can I what?” he asked, the mischievous lilt to his voice was reassuring, his boots slowly creaking against your floor as he closed the distance between you.

Heat burned your cheeks so hot you knew they had to be glowing even in the dim light of the moon, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip that still tasted like him. His knuckle tilted your face up, your eyes shooting open to find him towering over you with his extra eight inches, and you did all you could with the expression on your face to beg him to continue. You tried to stay relaxed, mouth hanging open slightly, gaze fixed in what you hoped was curious and thankful. If you held his head, he couldn’t deny anything, so you threaded your fingers in his hair again, scratching affectionately before giving him a small nod. Can he … this?

A crooked smirk decorated his face before he kissed you, this time it was your turn to hum appreciatively into his mouth, and he swallowed it down as he pushed you against the door just as he had on the wall downstairs. He was slower this time, giving you time to relax or stop him if you wanted to, but you found yourself only easing into his arms that were wound around your waist, and in that comfort you braved undoing the lowest button of his flannel, pausing and giving him time to put a halt on everything. He didn’t.

There was no stopping the way you shook as you slid his shirt over his shoulders, his grip around you releasing until the fabric sat in a heap on your floor. You felt him tense, reassuring you that you weren’t the only one mortified at the thought of someone seeing what was under your hoodie and pants, but he had no reason to shy away. Dark hair covered his toned chest and stomach, a gnarled scar puckering the skin just right of his navel.

“What happened?” you asked, concerned despite whatever it was being fully healed. You knew that this one had almost claimed him.

“Rebar,” he answered, “Fell a few stories off a balcony. Went all the way through.”

“When?”

“Bringin’ Ellie to the Fireflies.”

So, recently, no more than a year and a half ago give or take. It wasn’t hard to find the matching roughened patch on his back, and when you kissed him again it was hard enough to convey the turmoil raging in your thoughts. There’d been a chance he could have died before ever finding you. And how much different your life would be, if you still had it. Your sweatshirt was too thick, it created too much distance between your skin and his, so when you stopped to take a breath you pulled away just enough to pull it off over your head, your hair in its loose bun falling down around your shoulders. It was still warm even in just the thin, worn tank top you had underneath, and you flattened your palms on his chest to push him back towards the bed, your nails grazing through the soft hair until he was sitting down in front of you, your body notched between his knees.

With a surge of bravery thanks to the way he was gratuitously drinking the sight of you in, you shucked your pants off as well, climbing into his denim-clad lap in just panties and the top. He needed no other invitations, the tips of his fingertips sinking into the plush of your ass as he gripped you tightly, his kiss growing sloppy as his focus was pulled to new areas and sensations. The ache between your legs was growing unbearable, and you could feel his own similar issue stiffly beneath you that was doing you no favors in containing the pathetic little mewls escaping into the dark. Your throat was currently being explored, the scratching of his beard heightening every brush of his lips and tongue, making it all the more impossible to keep yourself quiet.

“Can I take this off?” he panted, toying with the hem of your shirt, and when you nodded he did exactly that, pushing the fabric up to your neck as he ran his hands all the way up your body before finishing the job.

Before he even drifted his gaze to what he’d just uncovered, he grabbed you by the hips and laid you down, head on your pillow, his eyes drinking you in splayed beneath him. It was nervewracking, he was taking his time, a calloused thumb circling your pebbled nipple slowly. It felt so good your whole body jerked as it searched for more, and when his lips replaced his thumb that moved to give your untouched side the same attention, your spine arched off the bed as you cried out, holding his head against you as he suckled and swirled his tongue over your neglected skin. He seemed to be enjoying it as much as you were, grunting softly as he lavished you, exploring every inch of your breasts with his lips, grazing his teeth and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have you dizzy.

“Oh, shit…” he whimpered, dropping his forehead to your chest as he sighed, hot hair huffing out against you as you realized he’d just come from nothing but pleasing you.

You could finish yourself off quickly at just the thought of that, your fingers would make quick work of the spell he’d put you under, but after a moment to regain his breath he was back at your lips kissing you softly, the gentleness of it a cruel tease in your current state.

“Just, gimme a few minutes,” he breathed, yours pecking at his moving lips desperately, “Am I free to do as I please?”

The gravelly way he spoke and the things he said sent another burst of pressure to your core, and you wanted to scream he could do anything if it would stop the ache, but you held your frustration at bay and nodded. His mouth tasting its way down your torso distracted you from his hands pulling your panties down and throwing your knees over his shoulders, your bare cunt centimeters from his face when you realized your current position. One hand pinned you to the bed by the stomach as the other kept one leg firmly down, his tongue slipping through your soaked slit and tasting the fruits of his labor, a wanton cry ripping free from your chest.

“You know, I was never a big fan of sweets,” he commented as you wriggled in his hold seeking more, “But god damn.”

Tears stung at your eyes when he pushed up into your waiting hole, his thumb rubbing on your clit as he slid in and out, circling over your walls to collect all you had to offer. A thin sheen of sweat had you practically iridescent in the moonlight, hair sticking to your forehead and cheeks as you finally succumbed to the burning pressure in your belly. It was a perfect eruption of bliss and relief, his name falling from your tongue like a prayer. He seemed to enjoy that, his mouth working harder over your swollen, sensitive clit, fingers slipping into your channel and working to scissor you open while curling to press against a spot deep inside no one had reached before.

He gave you no time to come down, your body immediately responding and building up once again, needing more than just the two thick digits currently pumping in and out. The way you writhed beneath him and scratched across his back told him all he needed to know, the head of his cock pressing against your opening. You gave him consent with another sloppy kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue while knotting your fingers into his hair, the stretch as he pushed in giving you pause and making him freeze.

“You okay?” he asked, clearly trying to keep control.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, trying to relax the wince set on your face and the tension in your thighs.

“I’ll go slow.”

Gently, he pushed in a little more and waited, pulling out just enough to slip back in with more of his impressive girth and length. With every testing pulse, you eased more, your grunts of discomfort evolving to heavy breaths of bliss. You’d adjusted enough to take the second half of him in one thrust, his hips meeting yours as you sheathed him entirely, and you relished in the closeness this brought. His chest was pressed to yours, lips locked together, hands in hair, and you’d never felt better or safer.

“You feel so damn good,” he sighed, pulling out and slipping back into your now-drenched hole, you could feel the thick thatch of curls at his base growing damp from what was leaking free.

“Yeah,” you agreed, trying to find simple words for you knotted tongue, “You too.”

Every roll of his hips grew sloppier, his desire to be swaddled by you battling his need for friction as he climbed into the clouds, you wanted him to meet you there. You were so close to release, but you wanted to topple over the edge together with him, so you pathetically whimpered 'please' against his panting lips, flicking your hips and clenching your cunt until he tugged on your hair enough to hurt, moaning quietly into your ear. At the first sensation of him spurting hot and thick inside of you, you locked your ankles at the small of his back, letting this wave of euphoria slowly wash over you like the tide. It was gentle and warm, leaving every muscle lax and pliable as you cradled his head where he’d collapsed down onto you. It lingered, the buzzing sensation, his damp hair still soft as you combed through it.

“I’m,” he started, he’s half asleep already, “I got…snipped–”

“Ssshhh,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head while laughing to yourself. Of course he would be thinking about that even in his current state, “Just go to sleep.”

It didn’t take long for him to obey, his breathing slowing and deepening beneath your gentle touch. You fought sleep for as long as you could, enjoying the way he was relaxed and knowing it was you who had given that to him. He needed you, or at least that’s what it felt like here as you held him in your arms while he slept.

You wanted him to need you, to be his solace though you’d been nothing but his nightmare for so long already. The smell of his shampoo was still evident in his hair when you buried your face in the gray strands, two tears slipping free from your eyes and resting like dewdrops on the grass.

Love could also be this. But was that worth everything else?

Chapter 16

#the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #joel miller fanfic #gameverse joel #more than my father’s son

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fang-and-feather · 4 months

Text

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Rating: G

Category: F/M, M/M, Multi

Relationship: Arthur Conan Doyle/Isaac Newton/Reader

Prompt(s): Calendar from PolyamShipping Day at @polyamships and love letters from Day 4 of 12 Days of Arthur by @oigimi and @scummy-writes (hope it's okay to have a polyship fic for this)

Summary: Arthur receives a surprisingly heartwarming gift from his partners while they aren't home

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Version

Arthur had been having a good writing week, still, it was bothering him not having his partners around.

Isaac had been invited to give a lecture in another city, and since he would have some time, invited you and Arthur along.

Arthur was the one who refused to go because of his writing; he was somewhat inspired and in no need of a long distraction. You could have a trip together some other time, he told you. He would be okay by himself for a few days.

But it was the first time you had spent that much time apart, and he found it quite strange.

He went to pick up some coffee for a break, missing you bringing it, or being able to spend that break with either of you. At least you should be coming back today.

When he entered his room, there was something different. Someone had taken the opportunity, while he was away, to sneak in and leave a gift on his desk. But the only people who would give him a gift weren’t home. There was no way you would have arrived without him noticing. Besides, what reason was there for this gift?

Arthur picked the card that was placed with it to find out you sent something ahead because you wouldn’t be home at the planned time. Although someone else had snuck the gift into his room, the gift was from you.

Inside was a sort of daily calendar. It seemed simple, but each day had written in it what seemed to be a part of a love letter.

‘Our dearest Arthur

Although it’s early for a Christmas gift, we thought it was a good time to show you how much you mean to us.

I, especially, wanted to first thank you for supporting me through my homesickness every year. I miss home a lot this time of the year, and you always go out of your way to help lessen it, or at least comfort me. And it has become easier through the years.

There was never a moment where I regretted staying with you, and now with Isaac as well, and I’m glad that you understand that. I love how supportive and understanding you are.’

And that was only on today’s date. It was clearly incomplete, but enough to warm his heart. You didn’t need to thank him for these things, and you certainly didn’t need to write him a letter for it, let alone make such a gift.

Arthur debated if he should just read the rest now, or a bit each day, like you clearly had planned. He was curious and happy that you had made him such a thing. He leafed through the calendar, noticing some parts were clearly written by you, but others were in Isaac’s handwriting.

Isaac’s first entry was written:

‘I’m not as good with words as you, but I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you what I’m not able to do often and tell you how, despite all the awkwardness of our relationship, I love you.

When we first met, I genuinely despised your teasing and thought I hated you for it, but I know now that even that comes from a place of kindness. It’s not easy to deal with, but you just wanted to make me feel like a part of the group, and I feel grateful for that, even if I wish you had a less annoying way to do so.’

You should be enjoying your trip, but you took time to do something for him instead.

Despite his eagerness, Arthur chose to save the rest for later and treat it like a proper calendar. And when he read everything, he would write you two letters in response and find a way to surprise you, too.

He never expected that the opportunity to exchange a love letter with his beloveds would make him this excited. There was something special about putting your thoughts on paper and having something you could keep for a long time. He had written plenty of small letters for both of you, but this was the first time he received one first, and he couldn’t wait to read more of your thoughts and to finally share his with you.

Tag List: @tele86, @bicayaya, @nightghoul381

If you want to be tagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

#PolyamShippingDay #12 days of arthur #ikevamp #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp isaac #ot3: arthur x isaac x reader #polyamory #ikemen vampire #fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic

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manawari · 21 days

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Thinking about this Maze Runner AU and I'm thinking about extending it (and change a few things, as well as following the original series), maybe?

Of course, Sung Jin-woo obviously is in Thomas' place as the main character and the person (Greenie) who showed up in The Box. He's incredibly confused and freaks out the moment he sees a person. He then remembers his name, which shocks the guys around him since usually, a Glader won't remember one's name within a daylight. Everyone becomes suspicious of him, yet a kind Glader named Yoo Jin-ho shows him around and teaches Jin-woo about the ways in the Glade and how he must survive.

Hwang Dong-suk (Ben) attacks Jin-woo after he had been stung by a Griever during his run in the Maze. He chases Jin-woo until they're in the center of the Glade where the Gladers find the chaos and rush to stop Hwang Dong-suk. Lim Tae-gyu soon comes to a decision to banish Hwang Dong-suk, though Hwang Dong-soo (bear in mind that nobody else here remembers their memories so we can say Dong-soo and Dong-suk are friends, not knowing they are brothers), disapproves it and argues that Jin-woo is the one who must be punished. Lim Tae-gyu has to uphold his role as a leader in this and threatens to slit his throat when it's clear that Hwang Dong-suk is no longer human; this can spice things up as Dong-soo holds a burning grudge against Jin-woo and his future actions will eventually lead him to his death by the time the Gladers have escaped the Maze.

In the fic, Cha Hae-in came before Jin-woo, but if we're gonna follow what happened in the original story, then Cha Hae-in would come a day after Jin-woo. Then again, the Glade is shook and everyone believes W.I.C.K.E.D is fooling them and disrupting their peace. In the book, Teresa and Thomas were telepathic and had formed a bond while in the Slammer, realizing they have known each other before The Maze; I'm thinking about inserting this plot-point on Jin-woo and Hae-in. They'll share telepathy! And in the movie, which is on the funny side, Cha Hae-in chooses violence and starts throwing rocks at everyone from the top of the Homestead; Jin-woo has to be the one who calms her down and gently takes the knife Jin-ho has likely given her. And like Jin-woo, Hae-in has fragments of her memories and has brought along two syringes in her pocket, which came in handy when Lim Tae-gyu gets stung later in the story when the Grievers wrecked the Glade.

Roles:

First-in-command (Leader) — Lim Tae-gyu

Second-in-command — Choi Jong-in

Runners — Lim Tae-gyu, Cha Hae-in, & Sung Jin-woo [Hwang Dong-suk, former]

Builders — Baek Yoon-ho & Hwang Dong-soo

Cook — Yoo Jin-ho

Med-jack — Min Byung-gyu

Track-hoe — Yoo Jin-ho

Blood-houser — Kang Tae-shik

Gardeners — Yoo Jin-ho & Cha Hae-in

Slopper — Sung Jin-woo

Bricknick — Hwang Dong-soo

Bagger — Go Kyuh-wan

Map-makers — Choi Jong-in & Lim Tae-gyu

As for Group B, I'd say it includes the rest of the female characters in Solo Leveling. Park Hee-jin will be the first-in-command of the group while Eun-seok will likely be in Aris' place.

In hindsight, Woo Jin-chul was supposed to be part of W.I.C.K.E.D, but I decided against it and made him part of the Right Arm, which will probably make sense since they're the good guys™ and Song Chi-yul will be the leader. Go Gun-hee will be the one who's part of W.I.C.K.E.D and his role is the good version of A.D. Janson. But the actual A.D. Janson still exists.

Other thoughts:

— Teresa is labeled as a Traitor, right? And who's in her place? CHA HAE-IN. However, this can be debatable since the two female characters are different, but. . . What if? What if Cha Hae-in did it for the sake of her friends? What if she was manipulated into thinking it was for the better good? What if all she wanted was to get her memories back? What if she got threatened that Jin-woo would be dead if she won't betray him?

— what if Jin-ah is alive all along?

— what if Min Byung-gyu is not an immune?

— Sung Il-hwan is alive too. He's part of the Right Arm, though he's not revealing himself to Jin-woo. Kyung-hye is the one who died and Jin-ah became an experiment or an employee in W.I.C.K.E.D whom Hae-in later met.

— if we push through Hae-in becoming the "traitor" then Jin-woo will resent and hate her and Hae-in won't apologize for doing what she thought was right. JINHAE ANGST!

— Tae-gyu and Yoon-ho are the ones who use Glader slangs the most.

— Jin-woo treating Jin-ho like a brother; similarly to how he should've treated Jin-ah if he remembers her.

— Cha Hae-in is the one who solved the Maze.

— Choi Jong-in and Baek Yoon-ho tend to argue a lot. This plotline will never change.

— Eun-seok remembers Byung-gyu, though he's hesitant of telling the truth, thinking Byung-gyu might not believe that he was his childhood friend whom he got separated from due to The Flare.

— before their memories being wiped out, young Yoon-ho, Jong-in, Tae-gyu, Byung-gyu became friends with Hae-in and Jin-woo. The six of them would often sneak out.

— young!Yoon-ho being heavily traumatized as young!Minho in The Fever Code and that includes fighting the nurses and getting tied to a chair where a Griever almost kills him, sent by a scientist for his attempts of escaping.

— Lee Ju-hee having a telepathic link to Eun-seok, Jin-woo, and Hae-in too, which she hasn't realized until the four of them are gathered into one place. That's when her memories flush in. She's also the only one (besides Eun-seok, though he needed some time to understand) who doesn't resent Cha Hae-in.

— Lee Ju-hee secretly leaves the group in the middle of the night to join W.I.C.K.E.D in hopes to develop a cure. She may or may not left a note.

— Woo Jin-chul leading both groups the best way he can, as well as protecting the ones who are not Immunes. He's also not an Immune, yet manages to survive throughout everything.

— Woo Jin-chul formerly working for W.I.C.K.E.D and used to have a hard time gaining Song Chi-yul's trust until he revealed all secrets he knew from the organization.

— the ones who successfully escaped the Maze are the S-Ranks + Yoo Jin-ho. The rest are obviously dead or killed.

#just writing this post makes me wanna rewatch the movies #but damn i don't think i am ready to see those deaths again #i had to reread the wiki to confirm a few details haha!#the maze runner #solo leveling #sung jin woo #lim tae gyu #baek yoon ho #choi jong in #min byung gyu #cha hae in #woo jin chul #sl eunseok #lee ju hee

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midnight-pluto · 4 months

Text

COFFEE: special.02 — fun facts

COFFEE: tim drake x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: Tim meets a barista that gives him what he needed most — a large coffee with way to many shots of espresso. Though what happens when just a single action changes the other's life, forever?

coffee master list

assuming you have gone through the whole of my coffee smau — here’s some things that you might’ve not known, my headcanons, and external info

PLAYLIST: coffee — i made a playlist that i think fit this smau or just tim in general, so feel free to listen

coffee pg.00 was originally meant to just be a one-shot but I had the bright idea to turn it into a smau since I had been really interested in them at the time and I had already created the main casts profiles so i saw no reason to not go through with it

originally reader was supposed to be adopted and have 2 moms but I didn’t know if you guys would necessarily want that or how relatable that would be so I scrapped it and went with unnamed overbearing mother and father

i actually had this idea back in December of 2022 and meant to post it on wattpad yes ik laugh at me but i didn’t have the guts to do so and I already had a lot of unfinished work that will remain unfinished

this smau also sprouted up bcuz i had gotten back into the dc rabbit hole bcuz if this goddamn site which has now grown to be a huge source of dopamine for me — ik it prob isn't healthy but this site has grown to be a safe space for me in the process so any negative infringement on my blog has me in a nervous wreck for days on end; yes, this is a reference to when i got shadowbanned for a bit

wow i got way to personal there, whoopsie

I had also originally planned for reader to give Tim a sticky note attached to his coffee that said something along the lines of: “Good luck with whatever you need 8 shots of espresso for :)” but I for some reason didn’t so the special note at the end of the pages didn’t rlly make any sense

tim might be a genius but he has a terrible sense of direction which is multiplied tenfold when he’s sleep deprived, hence why he almost dropped you off at the wrong apartment once — pg.04

duke being readers bsf happened cuz i personally believe duke deserves more content about him

duke also always somehow manages to be the message bird whenever both you and tim have a fight given how tim's first resort is the silent treatment and you're petty enough to give it back so the most the two of you ever communicate during that time is through duke — pg.15

on that same note harley has become your couple counselor which always manages to become awkward due to the sole fact tim is trying his best to subtly glare at harley since she has repeatedly tried to break his kneecaps when he was on red robin duty; again, petty

this was written by a person who has never worked at a coffee shop before so if you see and inaccuracies and have worked at one, feel free to call me out on it — not so i can fix, but bcuz i find my mistakes hilarious dont ask why, i just do

i still struggle on how i format the titles of the pages and always have to look back on my previous posts to remember how i typed things out

i also suck at developing feelings and crushes with characters so if it seems rushed or sucks that will be my one and only excuse given the fact that i find it extremely hard to even gain a crush irl

nothing was proofread

tims favorite taylor swift album is evermore i may or may not make seperate headcanons about that later

planning on posting a wattpad version of this fic sometime around late january or february, i am still debating on starting an ao3 acc since the only thing i ever do on there is simply just read fics and im not sure if i like/understand ao3's format enough to start tho

TAGLIST: @grandstrangerphantom @marsbars09 @fabitheraven @lovelypitasworld @dyjcksn @mae77eris @sugarrush-blush @djchik @soundsfunbutno @apizzacalledmel @strangetrashblog @cipheress-to-k-pop @harleycao @unhingedtimdrake @a-homosexual-homosapien @aquarii-doodles @love-stay @criminallycan @hecate-frenchfries @job-ross-the-second

#coffee ☕️ - tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake x gender neutral reader #coffee shop au #tim drake x y/n #tim drake x you #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam #batfamily #tim drake

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yukidragon · 1 year

Note

I’m so excited for the groom of gallagher mansion. Like, he’s really hot, and seems like a sweet dork.

I'm excited for it too. The teasers we've gotten are really neat, and the design for Elias is so unique. I think a lot of us are looking forward to seeing an unusual, spooky, and sweet romance~! I know I had a lot of fun writing a little NSFW snippet of him and his beloved on their wedding night.

I wonder if I should continue with a part two if Elias wins the flashfic poll. I mean... MC was pretty intimidated by his size and we don't know how they'll handle it yet...

Though if we get to 1000 votes and that results in two fics for the price of one, I might feel compelled to make it three parts.

While the teasers do show MC as reluctant to marry Elias, with one of the warning tags being forced marriage, I'm actually debating going a different route with my own version of the MC. After all, there are plenty of fans out there who wanted to marry Elias the first time they saw him... and wouldn't this be a funny little exchange?

...

Elias: Will you marry me?

C: Okay.

Elias: I know this is sudden and we only just met... wait, did you actually say yes?

C: Yep. Let's get married.

Elias: ...

C: ...

Elias: ...

C, waves a hand in front of Elias' face: Um...? You okay?

Elias, blushing: Oh, my apologies! Please do excuse me for being so flustered, dearest. It's just that I... I didn't expect to get this far.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

#The Groom of Gallagher Mansion #TheGroomOfGallagherMansion #Elias Gallagher #Headcanon Ramblings #Ask

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saltyr3mix · 7 months

Text

EVERYONE ELSE GO HOME YOU ARE MY FAVORITE PERSON IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR THE NEXT HOW EVER LONG THIS TAKES YOU TO READ. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS.

Ladies, gents, all of the above below and in between here is my rambles about new life sparrow because he has infested my mind like the skulk that infests him.

OK WERE DO I EVEN BEGIN WITH THIS GUY

Okokokokookokooo SO

We love a flawed character who has good intentions and a not so good way of showing them. he comes off as over enthusiastic and insensitive at first with his studies of hybrids. which is....just a tad bit relatable as someone often seen as energetic i can be too much for people at times so i get it.

Also everyone that drew the parallels between the way Sparrow talks about hybrids and O!Owen talked about demons is correct. it's terrifying. and if sparrow ever goes down that arc i will write incredibly angsty fanfiction about it and cry.

If you haven't already im going to point anyone reading this in the direction of my New life smp fic, Storming sacrifices on ao3 by Salty_R3mix cause thats where a lot of this next part comes from.

i head cannon that on New life when players die/switch hybrids they have to fall into a coma like state to do so and it takes time in between those shifts. Sparrow is on the longer side of these shifts for the more drastic the change the longer. to go from human to machine and then machine to skulk. thats like a solid month or two of their body just reforming and recreating. both times.

ALSO THE MOST RELATABLE THING ABOUT HIM.

HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE HUMAN.

WHICH IS JUST SO SAME BESTIE LIKE IF I LIVED IN A WORLD WHERE PEOPLE GET COOL TRAITS AND MAGICAL POWERS AND I WAS JUST BORING? YEAH I WOULD STUDY THEM AND TRY TO BE ONE TO! BOLD OF YOU TO ASSUME MY LOVE FOR FANTASY AND MAGIC ISN'T ALREADY BASED OFF THE NEED TO ESCAPE THE REAL WORLD BECAUSE IT SUCKS AND ITS BORING ANDGHYKULKNBVGVUKL

Anyway hes also insane. like, i get it. but also you could have found a away to make the process less painful im sure. hes smart. but his egarness got the best of him.

Anyway one of my favorite things to think about and debate is the 'chip' in his head. cause to me and my messed up little mind that has read well over at least 20 hours worth of sbi hybrid fanfiction in the summer of 2022. to me that just sounds like instinct. hot take but i don't think it was that big of a deal. what was wrong with the situation was prior to becoming a copper golem, Sparrow was human. if any other hybrid became a copper golem. they would be a lot less bothered by it. Sparrow was not used to that sheer level of inhumane instinct that it overwhelmed him and he just let it. t Not knowing what else to do. until eventually getting so lost and consumed by it that he had to you know....blend himself.

I miss him though. i like robots. and he was so fun to draw. i draw him all the time. just because the design i made for him is one of my favorite things ever.

OH AND SKULK SPARROW. THIS MAN. HE IS SO MESSED UP. THE NARRATIVE CAME CRASHING DOWN IN FRONT OF HIM AND SCREAMED THAT HE IS DOOMED.

I haven't seen a character so demised by the narrative that wasn't my own since outsiders Apo and maybeeeeeeee Celio form wtd. beside the point.

He is so overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time its iconic. one seconded hes lonely after copper literally abandoned any former relationships. the next he can hear things through the skulk. but then he brings a guy down. kills him. decides to build a gate. AGAIN. WE KNOW HOW THIS ENDED LAST TIME OWEN. WHEN HAVE GATES EVER WORKED IN YOUR FAVOR. i think it's just a cannon event for them at this point. Owen with gates and Apo with levers. (GUYS IM JOKING HERE. DON'T CARY THIS CURSE INTO PIRATES PLEASE LET THEM BE HAPPY FOR ONCE)

Ok yeah. Im really excited to watch skulk and other versions of sparrow later realize that no matter what monstrosity he ends up as. he'll never be as free as he was human again. Every hybrid comes with their own form of instinct that he will be forced to follow. some lighter than others. and hell, even if he does end up as human again the effects are still there forever lingering.

ALSO I AM HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH THE 'Wait? His name is sparrow but he still answers to Owen. this clearly must have lore implications.' PEOPLE. To anyone who has ever had that thought you are the best. i've read i think 3? fics based of it and oh my word im obsessed with that idea and the different takes on it.

and here is where i come to a close. do i have more to say? probably. but my hands hurt and my thoughts are slowing in pace so if you want more feel free to ask id be overjoyed but ask another day. i mean i didn't even touch on his interactions with the other players.

i am so clearly sane and stable about this character btw. i don't know what made you think otherwise.

#new life smp #new life owen #new life sparrow #Thank you again for sending me off on this ramble i think i needed to get it out of my system.#And thank you for anyone that took the time to actually read this! it means a lot to know im not the only one that wants to violently shake #this character.

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hyperfixated-homo · 1 year

Text

The Disney Trivia

Ao3 Link (leave a comment if you wanna! it would make my day <3)

Summary:

It's been months now since the side's have made up, and started actually treating each other like family. Now, with everything back together, they have the brilliant idea to play a game of trivia!

In which, Virgil and Roman are the hosts (who knows more about Disney than those two?) and also may be dating, we'll get back to you on that one.

Patton and Janus are flirting the whole time.

And Remus just thinks Logan is neat.

A/N: Holy god that is the most I have ever written in a single session ever. I don't regret it at all, this was amazing asodijowajd. I missed a lot! But it was kinda necessary because the fic would have been hella long otherwise and some of it was contradictory. I hope you guys like it :)

Word Count: 5117

Ships: Mociet, Prinxiety, Intrulogical

Warnings: Mentions of Remus' heart squishing? I don't think there's anything to be really concerned about lmao

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because DISNEY Logan!”

“That’s not exactly a sufficient answer, Roman.”

Patton smiled at the two of them as they started bickering. Even now, months after their little family sorted through their drama and everyone started getting along, it seemed like some things would never change.

The sides sat together in a large debate hall, apparently a dreamspace Logan had created a while back for a video with Virgil. Back then it had been the two of them arguing over Thomas’ negative thinking, but now it was being used for something much more fun. The side’s first ever proper group trivia!

It was an idea Roman had a couple weeks ago, during their family game nights (which mainly consisted of uncontrollable chaos). He had thrown it out there randomly during a game of Kahoot, but forgot about it shortly after.

It wasn’t until earlier that week that it was brought up again.

Virgil had come up to him shyly asking if he still felt down to do a proper game of trivia, and had suggested the first theme: Disney!

Roman had agreed instantly, and the two of them spent a couple days planning and researching for the game.

The two of them would be running the game as hosts, while the other sides were split into groups of two. Janus and Patton had been dubbed team Mociet, while Logan and Remus were in team Intrulogical.

Patton was more than a little confused when Remus started giggling at the names, but shrugged it off.

The room had been decorated more interestingly for the fun occasion. Roman and Virgil had stated that they wanted to go all out for this trivia, even if it’s more of a joke than anything else.

The curtains behind were closed, colored black as they were before, but now had added detailing that made it a less monotone background. They had strung up simple banners on the wall, and there were more than a couple new lights in the room that they wanted to use for aesthetic purposes. The floor had been changed to carpeting that had a full rainbow gradient from one corner of the room to the other.

But most importantly was the art.

Hundreds of paintings of Disney characters lined the walls. Different, stylised versions of every princess, prince and villain imaginable had been drawn on them in bright, vibrant colors.

Logan was very confused when he saw them, noting that they wouldn’t be seen much anyways since the attention would be on the judges and the stage, so he didn’t understand why they would put so much effort into it.

Roman said that it didn’t matter.

(The amount of fun that he and Remus had painting them together more than made up for it.)

It was a very neat set up! And according to the boys, there were a couple other things too that they hadn't even shown yet, because they wanted it to be a surprise for when the game actually started.

“Wow, they’re still going?”

Janus’ voice cut through Patton’s thoughts, snapping his attention to the snakey side on his left.

“Huh? Oh- they stopped arguing about the scoreboard ten minutes ago. This is a new argument.”

Janus looked at him with a deadpan expression that Patton couldn’t help but smile at.

“It’s not that bad. We just need to wait for Virgil to get the cards! He’s not going to take that long.”

Janus’ eyes softened quickly, and he turned to look back at Logan and Roman. “Yes… I suppose so. We’ll just have to wait.”

Then he turned back around, suddenly seeming a lot more competitive. “What’s our game plan?”

Patton blinked. He had absolutely no clue what Janus was talking about.

“The what now?”

Janus sighed, fondly exasperated.

“How are we going to win this Patton? You probably know at least a little bit about disney. I’m going to be fully honest, I know virtually nothing. I would say that the teams are fair in that sense except Logan’s a massive Marvel nerd and Remus knows almost as much about Disney in general as Roman, so it really isn’t. We’re at a massive disadvantage here.”

Patton blinked, again.

And Janus sighed, again.

“Do we not- is there no game plan?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Patton looked between him and Roman. “…be nice and hope for the best?”

Janus looked at him for a moment, then once again turned away, mumbling something about how hard it would be to gaslight Virgil into giving them points. Patton was about to make a concerned remark when the door slammed open and the anxious side himself walked into the room.

“Alright losers, stop the fighting. It’s game time.”

Roman audibly squealed, immediately stumbling over to his stand.

“Okay everybody stand in your area. Go stand- you too remus, you stand normally by your podium. We’re starting! Play the music! Why isn’t- LOGAN, THIS IS YOUR DREAMSCAPE, PLAY THE MUSIC!”

Logan rolled his eyes, but complied with the prince’s request, snapping his fingers. The Disney theme started playing, and suddenly the lights shut off.

As the music swelled, new, brighter spotlights slammed on, and the four contestants were surprised to see that they’d been changed into stunning suits and corsets, similar to their outfits at the courtroom but clearly glamorized by Roman. Their podiums had changed as well, the old wooden stands being covered fabric of their own colors with their symbols at the bottom.

Before they had time to even mention the change, another bright spotlight illuminated their hosts. Virgil and Roman were also wearing new clothes, much more layered outfits with more designs sewn into them. Virgil was sat down behind a tilted table that no doubt hid the question cards, while Roman stood in front of them.

The short intro theme faded into a bright show theme, something Patton vaguely recognised.

Roman jumped forwards, welcoming them to the show and going over a prepared speech that played in time with the music.

“Welcome everyone to the first ever Sanders Sides Trivia! Not about us, but being played by us! Today we have a very special theme, suggested by my darling emo nightmare behind me,” Virgil blushed and gave a little wave “DISNEY!”

Patton cheered. Remus joined in, and then all four of them were clapping for Roman.

His eyes were alight as he walked in front of them, posture bubbly in a way that it only ever was when he got the chance to be on stage.

“Thank you! Thank you all!” He took a mock bow.

“Today on the stage we have our two wonderful teams! First up, Team Mociet! Featuring everyone’s favorite father figure, Patton, and the slithery snake himself, Janus!”

Remus whooped from beside them, and Logan and Virgil clapped for them loudly.

Janus loudly said “Totally hate being here today, how dare you invite me.”

Patton waved at everyone, unable to stop himself from giggling.

“And as their competitors today, we’ve got our brilliant book nerd, Logan, and his partner in crime (who may or may not have actually committed some crimes), Remus!”

He and Janus cheered for them, and Remus laughed maniacally while the two of them waved as well.

“I am, of course, Roman Sanders, and this is Virgil! We will be your hosts today everybody!” he continued. The four of them together gave them a round of applause, Patton and Remus yelling out compliments over the loud noise.

“Thank you, thank you. And thank you all for coming! We’re going to go over some ground rules first, before the game can officially start, so we can just jump straight into it!”

He made his way behind the table, as he said that, sitting down. The next part was apparently Virgil’s job to present.

“We’re playing by a point system. You are given points for getting questions right, giving us a good argument or just being cool in general. We’d set better requirements but honestly, I’m sure that all of you guys would find a loophole no matter what rules we set. So we’re not doing that. Points are given based entirely on how me and Roman feel about your answers.” He leaned forwards in his chair, and rested his head in his hands, elbows on the table.

“We can also add points at any time in the game!” Roman chimed in quickly “Not just during question times! For example, padre, I’m loving the attitude right now. Plus ten points!”

There was a loud ring, and then the curtains opened behind them to show a big board, with the two teams' scores on it. Team Mociet had ten points.

Virgil continued. “We can and will take away points, too. Not for getting questions wrong, but for other things. Arguments we don’t like, trying to cheat, sabotage, all that good stuff. Like, say, that stupid hat Janus is still wearing. Minus ten points. Bad hat.”

There was a sort of power down sound, and they watched the points be erased and go down to zero.

Janus didn’t say anything. He just looked at Virgil with the most “are you serious right now” face he could muster. Patton tried his absolute hardest to not laugh next to him. He mostly succeeded.

Virgil was not phased.

“Also, fun fact, even though we can’t actually participate or win, me and Roman can also get points. Because we’re just superior to you guys in every way. We have pretty general rules here, no changing the answer, no physical fighting, no attempted murder, the usual things. Basically just don’t break our monopoly rules and we’ll probably be fine.”

“We’re also not going to win anything.” Patton wondered how long Virgil and Roman had rehearsed this for them to be this in sync. “This is obviously just for fun. No need to get too competitive. I’m looking at you Logan.”

“That’s bold coming from the guy who played checkers with Janus for five hours because he refused to stop until he won a game.” Remus called out.

“That’s not what we’re talking about right now.” Roman replied “And honestly, you would have too if you saw how close I was. There were so many times I almost won. We tied at least-”

“ANYWAYS!” Virgil interrupted him. If Roman started rambling now they would never actually play. “That’s all we have to say. We might add or change some rules later on if things are too chaotic.”

“Right, right. Okay! With that all out of the way, let the games begin!”

A happy little tune that sounded somewhat similar to the ending of a looney toons episode played, and the lights flickered on again.

There was silence for a moment in the debate room, and then Virgil spoke quietly.

“So… how was that?”

“Guys that was amazing!! Oh my goodness I loved it!!” Patton was practically vibrating on the spot from pure excitement over the performance that the two of them just gave.

“Oh I absolutely despised the personal nicknames. Horribly kind of you.” Janus couldn’t seem to keep a smile off his face, clearly also very hyped up.

“I was not expecting the lightshow, I will admit. It was a brilliant choice to use that blackout period to change the scenery, we were all invested quite quickly.” Logan commented.

“Very good idea. We all look hotter than a hooker on a Friday evening in these clothes!” Was Remus’ response. An interesting complement, but a complement nonetheless.

Their judges were clearly happy with the positive reception, Roman hardly able to keep still in his chair and Virgil’s eyeshadow glowing a bright, glittery purple.

“Then let us not waste any more time! Onwards, to the competition!”

Patton let himself relax into a more comfortable standing position, as the category of the first questions were announced.

They would have an absolute blast playing this, he was sure. He just wondered if it would get as chaotic as their previous family times.

———

Everything instantly fell apart.

Well, instantly was a bit of a stretch. Everyone behaved for at least five minutes, usually the game nights spiral downhill as soon as it starts!

Patton just needs to keep looking at the positives. If not, he might literally explode.

“THUMBS both ARE and ARE NOT FINGERS, ROMAN. Some people, especially those in the medical field, do refer to them as such for simplicity's sake, but the truth is that the answer to that question is SUBJECTIVE. They have a DIFFERENT ANATOMY, ROMAN. I DID NOT ANSWER INCORRECTLY.”

“LOGAN THE QUESTION WAS HOW MANY FINGERS MICKEY MOUSE HAS. IT ISN’T THAT COMPLICATED.”

“DEFINE A FINGER FOR ME ROMAN. DEFINE IT. TELL ME WHAT A FINGER IS. IS A THUMB A FINGER TO YOU? IS IT? DOES EVERYONE HERE CONSIDER A THUMB A FINGER?”

Remus raised his hand lazily, pretending to not find this entire situation hilarious. “I don’t think a thumb is a finger. It’s a digit.”

“REMUS STOP SUCKING UP TO LOGAN LIKE THAT FOR MORE POINTS-”

It was honestly sort of amazing that they’d managed to start screaming at each other so quickly. They hadn't even gotten to the actual “debate for points” questions. These were just regular trivia. And yet they somehow managed to start a debate. About fingers.

When Virgil said that they could gain points by “giving a good argument”, Patton didn’t think he considered how far Logan and Janus were willing to go to convince the others that they were correct. Maybe he forgot that one debated for fun and the other liked to pretend to be a lawyer. This was bound to happen eventually.

Although, Patton wasn’t really focusing on that right now, but rather the fact that Janus was trying to change the points on the scoreboard behind them again.

“Jan! Stop that!” He whisper shouted.

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” He lied. Like a liar.

“Stop trying to give us points, we’re tied already, it doesn’t matter!”

Indeed, the two teams were tied at 30 points each, after seven questions. So far, they had been pretty simple, and the reason that their team didn’t have more points was because Virgil had randomly decided to subtract five from them, because he “felt like Janus was up to something. Nothing in particular but… something.”

He was right, obviously. Janus was trying to steal the question cards from the host table with one of his spare hands. But Virgil didn’t know that.

“No, you're right. I’m sorry sweetheart. There’s no point in cheating this early in the game, it’ll just make the others suspicious and make it harder to do so later on. I’ll save that one for later” Janus winked.

“That is not what I meant and you know it mister.” Patton crossed his arms, as if that would make Janus take him more seriously.

“Do I?” His mischievous smirk only seemed to grow.

“Yes! You do!”

“Sorry about that darling. I’ll get it eventually, promise.” Even if Patton wasn’t literally face to face with him right now, he would be able to hear the smirk in Janus’ voice.

“That’s-”

“FINE. YOU GUYS CAN GET TWO POINTS. IS THAT OKAY?”

“FINE.”

Roman threw his hand up and the scoreboard behind them changed to show the numbers 30 - 32.

All four of the other sides just stared at the two of them.

“Okay, Virgil, what’s the next question?”

He looked Roman up and down, squinted, and then looked away.

“Uh… when did snow white come out.”

“Alright. JANUS.” The deceitful side jumped slightly, then turned to Roman, smoothing out his outfit as if it never happened.

“Right. What’s the question?”

“Minus five points for not paying attention.”

“Wha- excuse me?” Janus stared at Virgil in shock. “That’s not fair-”

“Shoulda been listening dude. You keep forgetting that we can do that. Pay attention.” Virgil smirked at Janus’ barely concealed rage. “The question is what year Snow White came out.”

Janus rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Pfft, easy. 1957”

Roman stood up quickly, and in a dramatic gesture moved to point at Janus “HAH, WRONG! It was-”

“No, it’s not! It’s totally 1947! Are you just making stuff up to make me lose?”

Roman stared at him, immediately stumped. He spluttered out a “What? No! I promise it’s-”

But Janus was quick, and also an expert gaslighter. “Then did someone change the date on the flash card? Because it was definitely 1937! How could you get such an easy question wrong!?”

Roman’s mouth opened and closed a couple times, as if he was trying to refute the statement but couldn’t find the words.

“When did it come out then?”

Virgil rolled his eyes in response. “1937. Dude you were off by like twenty years.”

“No he wasn’t.” Remus’ voice. Yet again speaking purely to add on to this meaningless argument, adding flame to the fire. “He said 1937.”

Virgil looked at him like he’d grown four heads. “N- dude did you miss that entire conversation? He said 1957.”

“He did also say 1937, though.” Said Logan, as if he was helping them in literally any way. “Are we still counting it if he changes his answer before the actual answer is revealed? His final date was 1937.”

Roman just stood there, trying and failing to process their questions. Virgil answered for him.

“We. We’re not accepting that. Final decision. We’re the hosts here, and he’s not getting any points.” Then he turned to glare at Janus again. “Matter of fact, minus five points for trying to trick us.”

Now it was Janus’ turn to splutter, exclaiming various forms of “what the hell, Virgil?” and “why??? Just why???”

Patton sighed, leaning down to lay his head on his stand.

“Patton! This next question is for you!”

He snapped his head up to look at them, smiling on instinct. “Yeah! I got this!”

“I thought it was one question per team-” Logan tried to interject but Roman steamrolled over him.

“How many years was Genie from Aladdin trapped in the magic lamp?”

“Oh! Uhh… like a hundred thousand years right? It was a really long time!”

Roman looked at his card, then at Virgil. He just shrugged. “Close enough.”

The princely side turned back to Patton, a beaming smile on his face. “Great job popstar, 10 points for you! You’re doing fantastic!”

“Ten poi- he didn’t even get it right?!”

“Shush up Logan, he deserves it. Anyways, Remus!”

Patton found himself smiling as well. The fact that his kiddos would give him points even when he got it wrong, ah he loved them so much!

He looked over to see what Janus thought, only to see him quickly turn away to look at their friends. He caught a glimpse of a smile on his face though, a moment of fondness in his expression.

And then Patton found himself smiling a whole lot more.

It was nice. This was nice. Maybe a little bit chaotic, but when were they not?

Besides, it wasn’t that bad.

———

At some point during the trivia, Virgil and Roman had started to give themselves points. Which was fine, they had mentioned that they would do so at the start after all!

But then they started doing so increasingly often.

Like, every couple minutes often.

For things like how cute the other looked, or how smart they were, or how well they worked together.

And they gave each other a lot of points. Like, hundreds of points. Way too many points, considering the fact that it was over double the amount of points the two teams had combined.

So Remus and Logan, the competitive bastards that they were, of course immediately decided to comment on it and start a debate on whether it was appropriate to give each other points for things like “the color of their eyes” (Roman you can’t give your team points every time you look at Virgil because you think he’s pretty. If we could all do that then what is even the point of the point system in the first place?)

And the hosts immediately took offense, justifying it by saying that they were the ones in charge here, so obviously they got to decide what was and wasn’t a good reason to give someone points.

Which prompted Janus to start another debate about how unjust it was that the two of them were in complete control in this situation even though it was not through democratic election, thus making them the unofficial rulers of a self proclaimed biarchy.

To which they responded that since it’s not a government system, it doesn’t work like that.

And now they were talking about kingdom hierarchy, in the middle of a disney debate.

And yet again, Patton could not find reason to care, because Janus was once again attempting to change the scores in their favor.

“Jay! We said that you couldn’t do this!”

“We said? I think you mean you said, my dear. I never agreed to anything.”

Patton threw his head back tiredly. “Janus, that’s cheating. It’s not fair to the others! We aren’t even winning anything, there’s no need to keep trying to find ways to win!”

“Oh but Patton, I need to do something to assist you! After all, you’ve almost been carrying me this whole game!”

That was true. Virgil and Roman had tried their absolute hardest to find ways to discredit Janus’ every answer, and take away points from him at any chance they got. In direct juxtaposition, they gave Patton as many points as they possibly could, even for completely incorrect answers.

(Patton didn’t really know how to explain that the points didn’t really mean anything to him, and by now was answering wrong just to see how Janus would react when they gave him the points. The fact that they were somehow still above negative points was honestly just a bonus.)

“C’mon sugar, let me do this? Please?”

Well. If Janus was going to play it like that, then Patton was going to have to bring out the big guns as well.

He turned to him, opened his eyes, and gave him is best pouty face.

He saw the exact moment Janus’ face went from “smug flirting” to “oh no he’s cute”.

He had to fight to not blush at the way the snake looked at him.

(Janus couldn’t stop looking at his eyes, his lips, the soft curves of his face as he tried to win him over. Patton looked every bit like the sweetheart Janus kept calling him.)

He sighed, closing his eyes, and pretending that he wasn’t completely melting on the inside. “…I suppose it doesn’t matter that much. If it really upsets you, I’ll stop.”

Patton’s face split and without really thinking about it, he launched himself forwards to crush Janus in a hug.

Arms wrapped around him by instinct (too many arms for a normal person, probably, but Patton had always thought that more arms meant more comfort). He laughed out a small thank you, burying his face into Janus’ suit.

“Yes, yes, I’m amazing, I know. Go back to your stand, you’re making me look soft.”

Patton laughed at the comment, but did indeed stand up and go back to his podium (he didn’t mention the fact that despite the complaints, Janus didn’t try to separate himself from him until Patton did).

The others had been arguing for far too long now anyways.

“I’m just saying, we should definitely have guillotined more rulers! It would have fixed so many problems!”

Wait, what?

“Remus, that would be RIDICULOUS. They didn’t have the concept of free will, or rights back then. They just would have elected another bad ruler!”

“Guys what the hell are we talking about.”

The conversation died instantly. The four of them looked at each other, and then at Janus, and then back at each other.

“I uh… I have no clue.” Was Virgil’s reply.

Which was typical. And also understandable. But maybe not what they should be doing right now.

“…okay. Can we get back to trivia now. That’s… that’s like the only reason we’re here in this stupidly fancy room, still standing up, still killing my legs. Can we wrap this up please.”

Roman snapped into action, getting the cards and moving swiftly on to the next question.

“Right! Yeah! Y'know what, we’re going to do a couple flash rounds. Me and Virge will just call out some questions and whoever answers first and most accurately gets points. Good?”

They nodded.

The game continued.

———

“Order!” Roman called out in the loud room. “Order in the court! This is the FINAL question! Up for debate here my guys, gals and nonbinary pals. Completely subjective, alright?”

Everyone hushed up, ready to answer the final question.

“Who is the best Disney prince?”

“Flynn Rider.” Four voices called out simultaneously.

The hosts paused for a moment, before looking at each other, and then back at their contestants.

“Correct. Five hundred points for everyone. Good game!”

“Well, this was a miserable experience. I despised every part of it.” he smiled at Virgil and Roman, not out of mischief or irritation but of pure, unfiltered care. “Thank you for organizing this. It was wonderful.”

Patton nodded aggressively next to him. “Yeah!! We got super side tracked but by golly was it fun!”

Roman laughed, and Virgil’s eyeshadow seemed to brighten a few shades to match the pink growing on his cheeks.

“Yeah it was… it was fun or whatever.”

“It was enjoyable.” Said Logan from beside them. His voice was low, a little raw from how much yelling he did in the two hours they spent doing the trivia. “Even though it devolved quickly into something that was most definitely not trivia.”

“Maybe next time we should have another group host it.” Remus said. “Y’know, like the winners of this game get to choose a theme for the next time.”

All of them seemed to perk up a little at that idea.

“Who won?” asked Janus.

“Not you guys.” was Virgil’s immediate response.

Janus hissed at him. Virgil hissed back.

“Did we even count the points?” Roman squinted at the board behind them, as if closing his eyes would make the massive numbers on them make more sense.

“I believe you stopped trying to actually calculate it when you started adding thousands onto the board. Much less the millions.

Roman shrugged. “Eh. That’s fair. We don’t really know who won then. Maybe we can hold a vote or something.”

Logan hummed. “That would be appropriate.”

Patton felt a hand rest on his, atop his podium.

He smiled, and closed his eyes.

For a moment there was peace. The group was tired out, energy completely depleted after that rollercoaster of emotions.

“…Maybe Janus should be disqualified though. I would consider changing the question cards and the scoreboards quite an easy disqualifier.”

“He did WHAT.”

———

Maybe it was a little bit mean for Remus to tell Logan that Janus had cheated right at the end there. Everyone was tired after all, so there was no point in wasting any of their remaining energy on questioning how he did it.

But Remus was petty.

And Janus did try to mess with his score.

All is fair in love and war.

Besides, who would he even be if he didn’t try to cause a little chaos right at the end?

He looked over at the other sides from his spot in between his and Logan’s podiums, bent in a position that would probably be impossible, if he weren’t an imaginary person who could make his spine disappear if he wanted to.

Janus was trying to justify himself to a group of three angry light sides, although it was clear that most of that effort went into trying to explain his methods to Patton. Said moral side was making an attempt to scold him that would probably be more effective if he looked in any way mad, and not just like his kitty had clawed up his favorite couch cushion. Roman and Virgil were leaning together in their seats, heads leaning on each other and holding hands.

He turned to look at his teammate. Logan stood resting his elbows on the podium in a rare moment of relaxation. He was observing the “fight” just as Remus was before, but usual cold expression was replaced with a soft, happy smile.

Something about it made Remus’ heart squish strangely. Maybe he was having heart palpitations.

He untangled himself enough to poke Logan's leg with his foot.

“Psst.”

Logan turned to look down. The fondness remained on his face, albeit with a little bit of added confusion.

He looked really hot from down here, damn.

“What is it you need, Remus?”

“If you could see any marvel scene in real life right now, to study, what scene would it be.”

Logan furrowed his brow and tilted his head. “…Comic book or movie scene?”

Remus shimmied, moving around so that he could stand up.

“Either.”

Logan took a moment to think, looking away from him in concentration. “Hm… there’s a fascinating scene in the marvel comics where the Scarlet Witch removes the abilities of all mutants from planet earth, almost by accident, because she doesn’t want them and the humans to keep fighting. Although, I suppose that’s not exactly a visitable scene, since her powers are never really thought to be observable in that sense.” He looked at Remus again, who was now standing up. “I would want to see what Tony Stark’s lab looks like. I know most of the science there isn’t real by any means, but it would still be fascinating to see how he would theoretically create his suits and weaponry.”

That sounded really smart. And complicated. And like it would take a lot of effort.

Remus reached out and grabbed him by the hand.

And suddenly, they weren’t in Logan’s dreamscape anymore, but Remus’.

Although it didn’t look like what his dreamscape usually looked like.

There were tables and tables of tech all around them. Holograms and metal scraps and projects were laid out that looked incredibly similar to the ones in the original Marvel movies. There were some odd choices of weapons, for sure, some of them seemingly old fashioned and not at all what would actually be in Ironman’s lab.

It didn’t matter.

And it didn’t matter how much energy it took Remus to make the room. Or how much his head hurt trying to remember basic mechanics so that he could make anything here believable.

None of it mattered.

It was all worth it, for the way Logan screamed in happiness.

#sanders sides #sanders sides disney trivia saga #mociet #prinxiety #intrulogical #patton sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #shadow writes #fanfic #writing

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spilledbeans116 · 6 months

Text

Just In Case

(Vegeta x Bulma)

Vegeta x Bulma - 5,965 Words - SFW

Fan of Vegeta x Readers? Find an alternate version here! (The first parts match up!)

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From around the corner, a young saiyan who should have been in bed smirked. His smile quickly faltered however, as someone else spoke up.

“Psh, right,” Ginyu laughed, giving Nappa a shove. “Like a kid could take down one of those on his own. Even Guldo struggles with them!”

“No, Nappa’s being serious, I saw it myself!” Another soldier yelled, slamming his drink down on the bar. “The kid is a beast! A monster!”

Vegeta nodded, crossing his arms and leaning through the doorframe a bit to watch as the older men debated his feats.

—

Soon he turned 7, still a child in the eyes of a saiyan. I’m the eyes of anyone, really. After each fight he felt dirtier and dirtier, and visited the showers once, twice, three times a day. The soldiers on the ship joked that the prince was a germaphobe. He was too royal for their peasant germs. He was killing without purpose, without a fight and the guilt was eating away at him slowly, crumbling his sanity with each life he took. He was 8 when it happened.

“What are you doing!” Nappa yelled at him as Vegeta slammed a hand against his face, trying to make his way back to the sink. “You’re hurting yourself, what are you doing!”

“I CAN’T GET IT OFF!” Vegeta screamed between sobs. “MY HANDS! THEY’RE COVERED IN BLOOD I CAN’T GET IT OFF!”

“Vegeta there is no blood!” Nappa yelled, grabbing his wrists and holding him still. “But there’s going to be if you keep tearing at your skin!”

“DON’T TOY WITH ME NAPPA JUST GET IT OFF ME! PLEASE I CAN’T- I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS PLEASE JUST GET IT OFF!”

“Look! There’s no blood! Now please Vegeta quit it!” He turned the prince’s hands over slowly, showing that nothing had seeped through. “See? You’re fine!”

“None, Vegeta. There isn’t any blood. Okay?”

“NO!” He cried out. “NO YOU CAN’T TAKE THEM OFF!”

“DAMN IT VEGETA I NEED TO MAKE SURE THOSE SCRATCHES DON’T GET INFECTED!”

“NO! I’M YOUR PRINCE, I DEMAND YOU WILL NOT TAKE THESE OFF! EVER!”

“Vegeta,” Nappa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t keep them on forever you’ll have to-”

“I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!”

“Vegeta I swear to-”

“Do you want me to walk you back to your-”

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As time went on, Vegeta learned to live with it the best he could. The cuts he had caused on himself that night healed over, leaving small scars to forever remind him of his own shame and guilt. The blood he saw on his hands never went away after that. With time he was able to remove his gloves, but only for short periods before he’d quickly slip them back on.

After everything that happened on Earth, after what he did to Nappa, it was as if he was a kid again. The gloves would not come off. Ever. He had killed the man who gave them to him, who had tried to shield him from himself. For what? A power move? Now he was living in some Earth woman’s home, after embarrassing himself in front of Frieza and a low level saiyan piece of scum. He slaughtered the Ginyu force, which was a bit of a two edged sword for him. Kakarot was gone at who knows where and he was stuck here, failing to do anything substantial. He had truly lost all meaning to his life.

The gravity chamber the blue haired woman had helped build was where he spent most of his time. It gave him a break from dealing with everyone, including her. She was the most confusing out of everyone there was on this idiotic planet. He could never get a proper read on her. She wasn’t like any woman he had spoken to before. He didn’t like to dwell on what he thought of Bulma, and unfortunately found himself thinking of the damned woman during training.

—

Bulma was in her lab, a sweaty mess as she tinkered with the broken training bot that lay before her on her work desk. Her hair was glued to her skin and she sighed, wiping her forehead with her arm and setting down the wrench that was in her hand. Her yellow overalls hung off her arms as she attempted to cool herself off, her white crop top sticking to her body. She pushed out her desk chair, rolling and spinning across the room to her fridge. She opened it and pulled out a can of beer, pulling the tab and cursing as it foamed up and over her hands. She licked it off quickly before shaking out her hand and wiping it on her pants. She’d call someone in to clean up what had spilled on the floor later.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out, glancing over the text from Yamcha as she took a sip. “Caught up with some friends, will get there when I can.” She rolled her eyes, shoving it back in her pocket and not bothering to give a response. She didn’t know what to make of her weird situation-ship with him, but she did know that this was one of the reasons they weren’t actually dating. He was just too immature sometimes for her to handle. Canceling plans last minute, leaving her waiting for him to show up; she deserved better than that. She deserved a prince.

She laughed at that, shaking her hand and taking another drink before rolling her chair back to her desk. She had a prince living with her, and it was nothing like what she pictured. Sure, he was handsome and strong, but he was more of a pain in the ass than anything. She wanted to feel like a princess, not a maid. Yet here she was, cleaning up another one of his messes. She began to reconnect some of the wires in the bot before she paused. The sound of boots stomping their way into her lab made her roll her eyes long before he even began to speak.

“Woman!” As charming as ever she noted. “Woman! Where the hell are you!”

“In here your royal highness,” she huffed, picking up a screwdriver and unscrewing a latch in the machine. Oil sprayed out and covered her hands before she yelled and covered it with a rag. She sighed as the oil pooled around the table, the rag only soaking up half of it. “Damn it!”

Vegeta came to a halt in the doorway of the lab, arms crossed as he looked her over. She was a dirty mess, grease stains coating her clothing and her hair curling up slightly from the humidity of the lab. He frowned. “You look like shit.”

She spun around to face him, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “So do you.” Her eyes glanced over his form, noting the burns and tear marks in his blue one-piece outfit. “I just made you that suit, how is it already torn up?”

He bristled, the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand on end. “It’s not my fault it’s shitty material.”

“Maybe you’re just bad at dodging.”

“You’re ridiculous! Do you know how annoying-”

She rolled her eyes again, turning back to her work as she removed the rag and tried to mop up the rest with a clean one. “What do you want, Vegeta? I’m busy.”

“How dare you cut me off!” He snapped. He stomped over to her, slamming his hand down on the table. She didn’t look up. “Who the hell says I need anything from you!”

“Why else would you be here?” The two rags were tossed in the bin by her feet haphazardly, flicking oil on the prince’s boots. His nose crinkled up as he leaned against the desk and once again crossed his arms.

“I destroyed another one of those robots.”

Now it was her turn to get upset, slamming her hands down on the table and standing up abruptly, startling the prince. “Are you kidding me! So what, you need a new suit and new training aids?”

“Maybe if you built them stronger I wouldn’t have to keep coming into this mess of a lab and telling you to make more!”

She took a step towards him, jabbing a finger into his chest, “maybe if you weren’t such a dick you could realize that’s what I’m trying to do! These materials don’t just grow on trees!”

He didn’t like how he felt as he tried to hold her gaze. He didn’t like how he felt with her standing so close to him either. He could practically feel her breath against his face as she spoke, and those eyes; it sent a chill down his spine. He turned away completely, huffing as he continued, “whatever! That’s not even why I came in here!”

“Then get to the point so you can leave!”

He began to fidget with his glove on his right hand before glancing at Bulma over his shoulder. “I need you to fix my glove.”

“Done. I’ll make a new pair in a day or two now can you please-”

“No, I said you need to fix it. Not replace it.”

She groaned, running a hand through her hair and leaving oil streaks, “fine! Just leave it on the desk and I’ll get to it!”

“I need it done today. Now.” He grunted.

Bulma stomped her foot, “what do I look like to you!”

Vegeta turned, running his eyes over her before once again meeting her gaze. His tone was cold as he looked at her with a bored expression. “Do you want my honest answer?”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “That’s it! Find someone else to help you, I’m done!” She shoved the chair back into the desk, making her way past him and to the bathroom down the hall. He ran after her, shouting all the while.

“Woman stop!” She did not. “I’m serious, would you just wait a minute!” The door to her bathroom slammed shut, locking behind her with a click as Vegeta banged his fist against it. “Open the door this instant woman!”

Bulma turned on the sink and lathered her hands and arms with soap before scrubbing off all the oil and grime from her work in progress. She pretended she couldn’t hear the prince as he had his little temper tantrum outside the door. She splashed the water over her face next, drying it off with the hand towel hung up on the rack beside her. She glanced at herself in the mirror, her hair still a mess but at least she didn’t feel as gross. She’d have to take a shower later to get the rest of it off. Suddenly the prince was quiet, and she smirked as she realized he must have left. However, she would have been wrong.

“Please, woman. I need your help.” His tone was quiet, so quiet she thought she might have misheard him. Perhaps she was hallucinating. She opened the door suddenly, spooking Vegeta for the second time today. He was close, and she could smell the sweat on him each time she breathed in. Somehow, she didn’t mind it. She liked being this close to him.

“What did you just say?” He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Don’t make me repeat it,” he grumbled. “It’s already embarrassing enough.”

“Come on, I keep my sewing kit in my room.” She brushed past him, a shiver running up both their spines from the contact as her bare arm brushed against the tears in his suit. Both, of course, ignored it. Vegeta walked with his hands by his sides before quickly tucking his hands under his arms again in his typical fashion.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, frowning slightly at how disheveled he looked. Was it because he had pleaded for help? When he noticed her staring, his ears flushed. “What the hell are you looking at!”

She shrugged, “I’m not used to this side of you. I’m committing it to memory so I remember you have a soul sometimes.”

“Oh you shut it!” Her overalls were practically falling off her waist now, and the prince found it hard to concentrate on anything besides her hips. Just another thing to distract him during training. He grumbled a couple curse words under his breath as she stopped to open the door to her room. Stepping inside, the place was a wreck. Random items strewn about the floor, a mix of papers, gadgets, trash, and so much else. Her bed wasn’t made and a pile of laundry sat in the corner. Somehow, it was fitting.

“Your room is disgusting. How do you live like this?”

Bulma shrugged. “You keep me busy enough that I don’t have time to do much else. Besides, most nights I sleep in the lab.”

Vegeta made a face as he stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame, “is it really my fault?”

She raised an eyebrow as she rummaged around through her desk drawers, kicking aside a pile of magazines to get to it. “No Vegeta, I’m just joking with you.”

“I thought you had maids?”

“I don’t like them messing with my stuff. It’s… organized chaos.” She offered.

“I agree with the chaos part.” He huffed and looked at her walls as she bent over, studying the posters she had pinned up everywhere.

“You can come inside you know,” she chuckled, pulling the kit out and setting it on the table. “You can take a seat on my bed. I don’t want you hovering over me while I work.”

“I don’t hover!” He snapped, floating off the floor to avoid stepping around the mess entirely before sitting on the very edge of the bed. Beside him lay a bra, which he quickly covered with the bedsheet before he began to turn pink. Bulma giggled at his reaction as he began to turn more red. “What are you laughing at!”

“You. Has the mighty prince Vegeta never seen a bra before?” She snorted, threading the needle and turning on her desk lamp.

“Why the hell do you care!” He replied. “Of course I have! Tons even!”

“Mhm, sure,” Bulma snickered. “Alright, now pass me the glove.” Vegeta stuck out his hand and Bulma set the needle on the desk. “No, seriously. Hand me the glove.”

“You can work on it like this,” he replied, glancing at the tear before quickly turning away. He seemed pale now.

“Vegeta, I’m not great with sewing and I will stab you repeatedly with this needle. Give me the glove.”

“You’re a woman! How are you bad at sewing?”

“WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN!”

“DON’T YELL AT ME!”

“This was a mistake,” Bulma snapped, starting to stand up. “I agree to help you and for what! For you to treat me like shit? You asked me for this, you dingus! I’m choosing to do this! Just like I choose to let you live here! Like I choose to feed you, clothe you, and give you a little playroom like a stray cat! Even though you ruin all my shit and treat everyone like trash! If you don’t want my help, for fuck’s sake get out!”

For the first time ever, Bulma witnessed a look of shock take over the prince’s features. His eyebrows were raised as he stared at her, finally speechless. She felt bad for yelling at him but she needed to get it off her chest. Before she could say anything else, she was surprised to feel the glove slapping into her face before falling in her lap. “YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO THROW IT AT ME!”

“JUST HURRY UP AND FIX IT!” He shouted back, shoving his hand under his armpit as he began to tap his foot anxiously. She was going to comment on that but shook her head, grabbing the needle and getting to work. The faster she was done, the faster he would leave.

Vegeta found himself focusing on her to help calm his nerves. He watched the way thin strands of her hair would fall in front of her face before she quickly tucked them back behind her ear. Or how beautiful she looked as she concentrated on patching up the glove, biting her lip occasionally before she would relax again. Something about her drew him to her, and he hated how his heart raced when she was around. Suddenly she was speaking to him, bringing him back from his thoughts.

“It’s done,” she said as she tossed it back to him. He grabbed it quickly and immediately slid it on before opening and closing his hand a few times to ensure it wouldn’t tear again. He couldn’t even tell where it had been, and sighed as he spread out his arms and flopped back into her bed. She scooted over to him in her chair, bumping his knee with hers. “A thank you would have been nice.”

Vegeta remained silent, shutting his eyes and ignoring what she had said. Her eyes softened as she stared at him and wondered what he was thinking. “So what’s the deal with the glove?” She asked quietly.

When she didn’t answer again she sighed, standing up and turning to walk out. “You can stay here as long as you need to then. I’m gonna go take a sh-”

A firm and yet gentle grip took hold of her wrist and she froze, glancing back to see the prince was once again sitting up straight. His eyes were pleading as he spoke, “please don’t leave.”

She nodded, surprised at how gentle he was with her. She sat back down and crossed her legs before he let go of her wrist. He leaned forward, his elbows against his legs as he clasped his hands together. He looked down at them, hunched over as he thought of what to say.

“Ever since I was a kid,” he started, voice so low and deep it sent a shiver up her spine. “I have been a killing machine. It’s what I was made for and it’s all I’ve ever known.” He looked to Bulma for reassurance before she nodded. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t have many memories of my father, and the ones that I do have are… complicated. Nappa raised me, if you could even call it that. Raditz was more of a nuisance than anything. Our goal was to survive, and one day I wanted to become powerful enough to beat Frieza. What a joke” He scoffed, shaking his head and looking back to the floor.

He didn’t know why the hell he was telling her this; he had never told anyone this. And yet now it was as if he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t shut his mouth long enough to think about what he was doing. “What was once hundreds went to thousands, then millions. I was eradicating races in the blink of an eye. Soon they weren’t just obstacles to me, but people with faces and lives I had ripped away from them. I had so much blood on my hands; I still have blood on my hands. So much blood that I will never, ever be able to get off.”

He opened and closed his hands once more, the sounds of the fabric shifting in his grip. “I’m not a good man. Hell, I've never claimed to be one. But now Frieza is gone and it feels like everything I’ve done, everything I worked towards for years, was for nothing. The things I see in my sleep, what I feel when I’m awake, what I’ve gone through was for nothing.” He stopped for a moment, voice and tone becoming so quiet and serious Bulma couldn’t believe it was the same person who had spoken to her just minutes ago. “I haven’t been able to look at my hands the same way since I was a child.”

He finally looked up at her, his eyes lidded as he smirked. That’s when she realized he was on the verge of tears. “Do you know how sad that is? A beast scared of his own damned hands. I’m a damn disgrace to my people.” He laughed after that, wiping his eyes and setting his hands back down. “Look at me, a prince crying in front of a damn lower life form.”

She reached out hesitantly, tapping his hand with her fingers apprehensively. When he didn’t pull away she continued, scooting closer to him and pulling his hand up to lay between them both.

Bulma carefully ran her hand over his, sliding her fingers up and under the glove before pulling away slowly. She looked at him again, waiting for him to react or move away, to tell her to stop. Vegeta shut his eyes tight but didn’t pull away, his face pale as she set his glove carefully in her lap. To her surprise, his skin was soft, with hers perhaps being even rougher than his. Then again, she supposed that made sense if the saiyan never fought without them and she only worked with her bare hands.

She traced her nails gently over his palm, studying the grooves in his skin and how neatly trimmed his nails were. “Well,” she started slowly, his breathing coming to a pause. “I don’t see any blood now.”

Vegeta opened his eyes slowly, looking at her face carefully as she studied his hand. She was so delicate with him it made his breath hitch in his throat.

“Sure, maybe there was a lot there in the past, but not anymore. You can’t change what happened, but you can acknowledge it and move on, try to do better this time around.”

When Vegeta looked at his own hand, he almost gasped in shock. It was his hand, as normal as any other. He looked back to Bulma as she ran her thumb over top of his, gently moving her hand back and forth from his wrist to his knuckles.

“You haven’t done good things, Vegeta. But I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you need time and care to heal, and the first step towards that was acknowledging what we talked about today.” She paused, thinking carefully over her next choice of words before smiling softly. “I think there’s good in you. No, I know there is.”

He watched the way her hair tumbled down and around her face, and how gentle her stare seemed to be. She wasn't repulsed or disgusted, but caring and considerate. He felt a blush rise first to the tips of his ears and then his cheeks before he pulled his hand away and slid his glove back on. He stood up after that, walking briskly across the room without turning back. He unlocked the door and opened it, pausing to think for a moment. Then, he made his way down the hall, wondering what the hell had just come over him as his heart raced out of control.

#vegebul #bulgeta #bulma #vegeta #dbz fanfic #vegeta fanfic #bulma fanfic #dragon ball z fanfic #dbz

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