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redstarwriting · 10 months

Text

shit happens

spider squad x platonic!reader

request?: yes

request: “Okokok, first of all CLASH WAS SOOOO GOOD OMGGI come bearing a request only if u want to. Teen!spider!reader who is Miguel’s favorite because they don’t cause him trouble. But it’s only because they get severely anxious when they break rules (I’m not projecting, you are). So he assigns them to go on a mission with the problem children hoping they’ll rub off on them, but the problem children just corrupt them. I just need more spider children being chaotic together and tired spiderdad MiguelMwah mwah love ur writing )pls only write this if u feel like it)”

requested by: anon

word count: 2k

genre: platonic

Warnings: language, anxiety, Miguel being unrealistic with his expectations, electrocution, spider squad gettin thrown around

A/N: omg wait no bc same HAHA as someone with diagnosed severe generalized anxiety i get so anxious to break the rules even though my spirit always tells me to lol, i hope you enjoyed this anon! thank you for the request :)

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You were the golden child. There were quite a few teens in Spider Society, but you were by far Miguel’s favorite. And that’s all because you did what he said. Now did that mean you never questioned his authority? Of course not, you questioned him all the time. But you were too nervous to go against him. You were too nervous to go against anyone. It’s proven a problem in your job since the police are not your biggest fans, but luckily you befriended a nice police captain who eases your fears every now and again. Your weekly visits with Spider-Therapist have been helping with the problem, too. Which is great for you. But you still did what Miguel said. Mans could be scary.

And that’s how you ended up here. With Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy, Miles Morales, and Pavitr Prabhakar. There was an anomaly that needed taken down in Hobie’s world, and Miguel stuck you with the four of them. To say you were nervous was an understatement. “Right, so anyone got a plan?” Hobie asks, in his thick accent. “What? What do you mean, dude, we’re in your world,” Miles says, and Hobie shrugs. “So? Not my villain, dunno ‘ow to stop ‘im.”

“Okay, well we know that he’s an electro variant, so… what can we do with that?” Gwen asks, and Pav sighs. “Be electrocuted,” he says sadly. “Miles can handle that,” Gwen says, and Miles snaps his head toward her. “Miles cannot handle that! Why are we saying Miles can be electrocuted?!” Miles yells, and the other three shush him. “’ow ‘bout you, mate, any ideas?” Hobie asks you, and you shrug. You look around before pointing up to the water towers on the roofs of the multiple buildings in New London. “Water,” you suggest, and they all look where you’re pointing. “Smart,” Gwen says with a nod. “How do we get the water to him, though?” Pav asks, looking at you again. You frown. “I… actually didn’t think that far.”

“Well, ‘at’s, easy. We just bust ‘em. Get ‘im to fly near one and,” Hobie makes an explosion noise and uses his hands to imitate an explosion. “What? But what about all the people who will lose water?” you ask, and Miles cocks his head to the side. “It’ll get fixed fast, probably. It’s our job to fuck shit up and then have other people fix it cause if we don’t fuck shit up, shit gets fucked anyways,” he says, and you sigh. “But Miguel said to try and not cause too much of an issue—”

“Oi. Who gives a flyin’ fuck what ‘e said. Not me. And this is my bloody world, I’ll cause as much damage as I want to,” Hobie says, and you look down. “Sorry.”

“You don’t gotta apologize for nothin’, mate,” Hobie says, and you mumble another ‘sorry.’ “You know what? I think Electro can wait a minute,” Hobie says, turning towards you, “More important matters to figure out ‘ere.”

“Like what?” you ask, and he shrugs. “Why are you so nervous?” he asks, and you gulp. “I-I’m not, I just—”

“You definitely are,” Gwen says, and Miles throws in a ‘yup!’ with a nod. “Is it us?” Pav asks, a hint of sadness in his voice. “W-What? No, that’s not it,” you say, waving your hands in a frantic way to say no. “I just am nervous in general. It really isn’t that big of a deal, guys, we should be focusing on—”

“Nope. You’re not gettin’ outta this, you been in ya ‘ead this ‘ole time.”

“I’m always in my head, it really isn’t that big of a deal—”

“Is ‘at why you try to avoid everyone? Don’t talk to no one?” Hobie asks, and you gulp. “I-I talk to some people…” you mumble, and a small frown forms on Gwen’s face. “The therapist in Spider Society doesn’t count,” she says, and you look down. “Well, why not…? He’s a person...”

“Because he’s like 40, and you’re our age,” Pav says, “you’d get along better with us, bro.”

“Miguel said that if anyone could make us not as ‘moronic’ it would be you, but I feel like he just kinda takes advantage of you instead of recognizing the pressure he puts on you. I have some experience with that,,” Miles says, and you sigh. “He scares me, okay? If I break the rules then I might simply pass away from him yelling at me,” you say, and Hobie shakes his head. “Love, the rules are all bollocks. Made by people who just wanna control your life.” Gwen nods. “Miguel is cool, sure, but if anyone can get away with anything… it’s you,” she says, and Miles chimes in. “And if you’re really that scared, remember he literally chased me around his world and destroyed a train because of me. You’ll never piss him off to that point.” You stay silent, playing with your fingers. Pav reaches out and grabs your hands. “Rules are meant to be broken, (Y/n), I learned that from Hobie. And besides, the villains we face are the biggest rule-breakers imaginable,” Pav assures, and you nod slightly. “And rules are such rubbish. ‘ey’re always different anywhere ya go. Try not to put so much weight on your mind ‘bout it, breakin’ ‘em ain’t a big deal,” Hobie says. You do actually kinda feel better. Hobie brings up a good point. Rules are different everywhere you go, so breaking one every now and again isn’t that big of an issue. In fact, it can be kind of encouraged. “Besides, breaking rules is almost like challenging ideologies, you know? Like, in breaking a rule, you challenge a system in place that is telling you not to break them. No one likes that. Where would we be if people didn’t break rules?” Gwen says. “That was deep,” Miles says, and Pav nods. “'at was a wicked way a’ puttin’ it, Gwendy.”

That’s a good point, actually. You think for a bit. If you look at it as challenging a system, or even doing what’s right, who’s to say it’s a rule that shouldn’t be broken? Hobie smiles underneath his mask because he knows they’ve gotten through to you. “So, whaddya say we go blow up some water tanks, eh?” Hobie stands, rubbing his hands together. “Okay,” you say. Gwen and Miles fist bump, and Pav does a little clap. The five of you jump into action, immediately starting to taunt and lure Electro to get him close to the towers so you can douse him and put him out.

The plan was going pretty well for the first two attempts, but he eventually catches on to what the five of you are doing. Which makes it harder. Miles does, in fact, get electrocuted. As does Gwen and Hobie, and coming in as no shock to anyone, Miles is definitely the least affected. You were able to dodge all of the attacks. “You’re doing great, (Y/n)! Mind telling me how the fuck your spidey sense is so strong?!” you hear Miles yell. “MILES LOOK OUT!” Gwen screams, but it’s too late. He gets electrocuted again. “Ouch, bro! That one looked like it hurt!” Pav yells, and Miles, who is now lying face down on a roof, raises his hand up in the air, flipping him off. You snort, and then see Hobie fly past you, landing on another water tower. “Hey! Dumbass! Over here!”

“Oh, please. You expect me to fall for that? I know what your little plan is, and I’m not about to be put out,” Electro says, firing some electricity out at Hobie. Unluckily for Hobie, it breaks the water tower and electrocutes him and the water that pours out of it.

You land next to Hobie, who is now just laying on the rooftop, but he grunts and mutters some British slang that you wouldn’t understand even if he explained it to you. So, you know he’s fine. “I have an idea,” you say, and he nods. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But we need to make sure no one is on the street.”

“What’s the goody-goody plannin’ on doin’, huh?” he says, standing. “You’ll see, just make sure there are no civilians or anyone who will get hurt. And keep him distracted.” With that, you leap and go to another one of the water towers. You take a deep breath, thinking back to what Miguel said before the five of you left.

“Try not to destroy the city while you’re at it. (Y/n), I trust you’ll keep them all in line,” Miguel said, and you timidly nod. You’d love to not destroy the city, but it’s so hard doing that as a Spider-Person. But you also don’t want him to yell at you for going against his orders. Now you’re conflicted. “No promises, Miguel. We’re gonna do what we gotta do,” Miles says and Miguel sighs. “If anyone can reign the four of you in, it’s this one. Don’t let them pressure you into acting up, okay?”

You frown. Fuck that. Miguel is pressuring you into not doing your job right. You can’t always be perfect and careful. And lucky for you, the four of them were really good at distracting villains. You web two of the support legs, yanking them and breaking them off the water tower. It starts collapsing, but you catch it. “Shit, you’re heavy,” you grunt, but regain your balance, holding it on your shoulders. You twist your body, ripping the other supports off and making the water tower completely free. You get Electro in your sight and take a deep breath. You lift the water tower, tossing it up in the air before leaping out of the way and towards Electro. You shoot webs from both hands, connecting them to the water tower and yanking it towards you. You swing it around, connecting it with Electro’s body. Sure enough, it knocks him down and explodes on impact, drenching him. And you. And Hobie, Miles, Gwen, and Pav; but hey, you did it.

You land on a roof and look down. Sure enough, Electro is knocked out cold and completely out of electricity. You swing down, placing him in one of the technological cells that Miguel developed specifically for Electros, and nod. “That… probably could have gone better,” you mutter to yourself. Your self-deprecating thoughts were cut off immediately. “That was AWESOME, (Y/n),” Gwen says, giving you a thumbs up and hug. “Yeah, little Spider, that was bitchin’,” Hobie says, giving you a fist bump. “You made it look so easy! How did you do that, you have to teach me!” Pav says, clearly excited and impressed. “You were out here talking about how you didn’t wanna break rules so instead you broke an entire water tower? That’s cool, why don’t you try being less cool next time for the sake of us,” Miles says giving you a pat on the shoulder. You smile. “Thanks, guys.” Their praise was enough to make you feel better for completely and totally wreaking havoc.

But when the five of you return, soaking wet, Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose. “I said… to not destroy the city…” he mutters, looking at you with disappointment. You look down. “City’s still standin’, mate. (Y/n) kicked ass,” Hobie says, and the other three make sounds of agreement. “Y-Yeah, Miguel. All I did was break one water tower, it’s not that big of a deal,” you say, and he sighs. “One? You all broke four water towers on four different buildings! And you flooded an entire street! You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Dude. I’m a teenager. Shit happens,” you say, a sudden burst of confidence from being around the group of four allowing you to speak out. Miguel puts his hand on his jaw, sliding his hand down. “Remind me to never team the five of you up again,” he mumbles, and Hobie elbows you. “Nah, we’re a band now. Sorry ‘bout it,” Hobie says, motioning everyone to leave Miguel’s sight. You all follow. When you’re out of Miguel’s office, Hobie bumps your shoulder. “See, that wasn’t all that bad, was it?”

He was right, it wasn’t that bad.

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#spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #hobie brown x reader #gwen stacy x reader #miles morales x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #spiderverse #spiderman #spiderpunk #spidergwen #hobie brown #gwen stacy #miles morales #pavitr prabhakar

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kaicubus · 1 year

Text

Dating Shuntaro Chishiya

warnings ✩° : mentions of guns or weaponry, mentions of killing for the sake of you.

pairing ✩° : shuntaro chishiya x gn!reader

authors note ✩° : i was giggling writing all the funny bits in this. bro be ducking and weaving with his hands in his pockets LMFAO. also he was my favorite in season one,, but now it’s more kuina and arisu bc arisu is just so babygirl...i also feel like in the manga chishiya is MUCH more scary so i included some of those attributes in here.

- ‘Touch them and you die’ type.

- Chishiya acts confused when you're mad at him and he’ll drag out an argument for the sake of pissing you off further or messing with you. He could care less if you're actually mad at him since he knows that with a few words everything will be fixed, it’s like a game to him.

- Uses degrading pet names such as ‘bunny’ or ‘pet’ and on some occasions, ‘darling’ just to skew your perception of your relationship.

- If he could care less about anything, he could care less about what anyone else has to say about you. Meaning if he’s in a meeting where no one else is allowed but ‘special’ members of The Beach, Chishiya is going to bring you along and no one’s going to stop them. Even if anyone has the nerve or you're uncomfortable being in the presence of such high strung figures, he remains smug faced and unfazed.

- Embodiment of strangers in public and lovers in private. He doesn't really show affection that often in front of anyone else, but if you two are alone he’s somewhat intimate. Because of his dark mentality, it takes a while for Chishiya to fully accept the fact you both like each other so he’s still a little cautious of the idea of your guys relationship.

- Chishiya loves teasing you, to the point it’s almost bullying. He has an unfair advantage given his sheer ability to just pop out of no where despite him NEVER running and just keeping his hands in his pockets like a damn fool. But he likes coming up behind you and leaning onto your back, catching you off guard as he rests his chin on your shoulder and looks at you curiously.

- If he has a weapon and someone is seen flirting with you or making you physically uncomfortable during a game or not, he’s going to use it without hesitation.

- I imagine that before you guys started dating, Chishiya had betrayed//tricked you at least once. This would make your relationship a sort of enemies to lovers, at least on your end.

- Being better friends with Kuina than your own boyfriend since he’s the silent type, and Kuina is more fun than him—they both know this. She loves you anyways since you have WAY more emotion than Chishiya and you are also more fun than him or at least more caring.

- During games, you are Chishiya’s last worry. He knows you can handle yourself just as much as you know he could care less of who dies or who lives, you included. He’s always respectful of your ideas and is generally just silent when it comes to your paired games together.

- Have you guys seen Banana Fish? I headcanon that if there were a russian roulette game of some heart variation, he’ll take a bullet for you only to question why there’s none inside. Of course upon seeing Chishiya attempt to off himself to let you live, you're just a lot bit worried.

- Sometimes even if he is really intelligent and cunning, he’s pretty oblivious and therefore deemed stupid in your mind. But he’s not stupid, he’s just focusing on other things that are more important in that moment...

- If it’s not a high speed game, Chishiya will hold your hand inside his pocket and you two will just walk around at his slow ass pace. If it is though, you're the one pulling him along...with his hands in his pockets.

- Despite how mean he can be sometimes, he’s still capable of complimenting you and getting you flustered with his teasing.

“You're pretty fascinating Y/n.”

But he almost always ruins it with some backhanded statement afterwards.

“For someone with those mental capabilities, I didn't know you could figure it out.”

- There are times where Chishiya is sweet, like times where he’ll put his hand on your head and hold it there even if you two are on the move. Sometimes it can be annoying but other times it’s a really nice comfort to be compressed between the floor and his palm.

- He’s very quiet so he sneaks around and scares you a bunch, even if you're expecting him.

#alice in borderland #aib x reader #aib #alice in boderland x reader #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #chishiya imagine #aib chishiya #chishiya fic #chishiya #preferences #aib preferences #alice in borderland season 2 #alice in borderland season 1 #gn!reader #shuntaro chishiya x reader #shuntaro chishiya #kaicubus

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dottores · 11 months

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, dottore's past includes webtoon mindset.

notes: okay y'all i know I gave u a choice over what u want to see int he next chapter but free choice is only an illusion & mother knows best & I took ur wants into consideration & decided against it bc I had a rlly great idea that can only be implemented in this chapter bc there would be no other opportunities for it later on. but im rlly happy w how some of these scenes came out so hopefully u guys are too.

RISE OF A KING, FALL OF A QUEEN

This again.

You wanted to frown as you found yourself in a large room akin to a chamber with a tall, dome-like ceiling and marble pillars that stretched the height of the room. You were sat in a chair, wooden and creaky, and you could feel the cold shackles wrapped around your ankles without even looking down to see them for yourself.

There were six figures sitting before you, each on large seats that reminded you of Chief Justice Neuvillette’s back in the Fontaine courthouse. Even the air was similar--damp and heavy, it made your skin crawl.

He was on trial, you put together quickly, but for what? And… where?

There wasn’t much in your line of sight besides the six people sitting in front of you. No, that’s not right. You could see a few more figures from the corner of your eye--they were armed with swords and polearms, tense and ready to act. They wore uniforms of some kind but you couldn’t make out what they were from, you didn’t recognize them.

“Three hundred years,” one of the men in the six seats spat out. “It’s been three hundred years since the sages have had to gather for a situation like this. This should have been handled before it escalated to this, Sayid. He no longer brings shame just on the Kshahrewar Darshan, now he brings it upon all of us. This has gone too far.”

Sages, Darshan, this was the Akademiya. These were the Great Sages. The people lining the wall were the Matra.

“Attempting the forbidden, interfering with natural evolution, delving beyond the universe--three sins that he has committed and somehow this is still a discussion,” another voice--a woman this time--added on.

You thought that he should have felt anxious, upset, or even offended by the accusations but you could feel nothing. No tug at your heart, no feeling of your stomach dropping, just a cold and empty void where there should have been emotions.

“It is a discussion because there’s not yet any proof of the sins having been committed,” a tight, male voice rebutted. “What say you, Zandik? Will you defend yourself or just sit there silently?”

Zandik. That was his name--only now you could remember, though it felt as if you had never even forgotten it.

Your lips moved as he responded, voice apathetic and dismissive: “There’s nothing to say… as you said, there is no proof of sins that I have to defend myself from.” His lips pulled up into a thin smile as he spoke, one that unnerved you and you couldn’t even see it. From the expressions on some of the people sitting in front of you, they were just as unnerved as you were.

“He doesn’t even care, Sayid,” the first man hissed. “He won’t even address the accusations laid against him.”

“Sins are not the issue at hand,” a new voice spoke up, voice low and heavy. “We are here to discuss what happened to my Dastur in the Apam Woods.”

Finally, a reaction from Zandik. He raised his chin in response to their words, a feigned attempt at confidence but you could feel the discomfort that began to stir within him--the unease. Somehow you knew that whatever he had been told he was called here for, this had not been it. They had caught him off guard.

“What is there to discuss about that?” Zandik asked. His voice sounded the same as it did before--indifferent, perfunctory--but you could feel the way his heart was beating just a fraction faster than it had been before, you could feel the way his shoulders had stiffened. “It was an unfortunate encounter with a group of Rishboland Tigers. Tragic and should have been avoidable but one of the other trainees had forgotten to set up incense to ward them off.”

“Yes,” one of the men agreed with him, “so the official report says.”

You felt restless as if you wanted to bolt from the room and hide… or he did, for the most part, but some of it was your own. You had attended enough court sessions at Fontaine’s court to know exactly what your soulmate was being accused of… and you had seen enough guilty defendants to know that the accusations were likely not far off from correct.

Did he…?

“Yes,” Zandik agreed slowly, “because that is what happened.”

“Is it?” The man who initially changed the topic questioned. “The coroner has released to us the official report of Dastur Sohreh’s death. There were multiple trauma wounds… lacerations and contusions on internal organs… hemorrhage… but the fatal injury was a wound on the throat--a fractured hyoid bone caused by strangulation. You were the last person seen with Dastur Sohreh, were you not, trainee?”

“Sharnama,” a woman’s voice warned but the man only held up his hand, silencing her, waiting for Zandik to respond.

Zandik did not respond. You could feel the way he was scrambling for an answer, an explanation. You could feel how his heart was racing, how his body was tense. You could feel his anxiety and the realization dawning on him and it all made you sick to your stomach.

What did you do? You wanted to scream at him. Why did you do it?

As if they could hear your questions, the man continued. “Dastur Sohreh reported to me several acts of insubordination while you were under her tutelage--three times in which you acted without her authorization and brought risks upon the investigation team and an encounter with a ruin hunter in which you insisted on bringing the machinery back to the Akademiya to be disassembled and reverse-engineered, which I personally had to reprimand you for and had you removed from the author list of the investigation’s research paper. When did that happen in regard to Dastur Sohreh’s death, trainee?”

“A week,” the words were frigid and biting as Zandik finally spoke up. “It happened a week before her death.”

“Yes,” he drawled, “that was it.”

“I had nothing to do with her death,” Zandik said.

You thought you had gotten good at being able to tell whether or not people were lying. You spent three days a week in the court audience watching trials but you were in your soulmate’s body and you could not tell whether he was lying or telling the truth about murdering someone. His heart was racing and there was a twitch in the corner of his lip--the telltale signs of a lie but they could just as easily be a result of the anxiety stemming from being accused of murder.

(You wondered, distantly, if you were just making excuses so you didn’t have to face the reality that had so suddenly been thrown at you. You had enough experience in court to differentiate the guilty from the innocent.)

“I suppose we have no way of proving that… so you are not at threat of imprisonment,” was his only response but Zandik was not at ease by those words, as if he knew exactly what was coming next. “But with reasonable suspicion of your involvement on top of the allegations regarding your research violating three sins provides grounds for expulsion… assuming it is a unanimous decision.”

It was a question cast to the other five seated in front of Zandik. You noted how Zandik seemed more anxious at the prospect of expulsion than he did at being accused of murder and you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about that.

“Sharnama,” the only woman amongst the six spoke again, “you mean to make us the first council of sages to expel a student in centuries. The last time-”

“He murdered my Dastur, Anisa,” Sharnama snapped in response.

“I did not-” Zandik’s voice rose, harsh in defense of himself but he was cut off sharply.

“Enough from you, you had your chance to defend yourself,” Sharnama said, tone laced with venom.

“Sharnama is harsh but… the trainee has had a reputation since his time as a student,” one of the other men agreed after a few moments of silence. “His methods and theories… his interest in Khaenri’ahn machinery… It makes people uncomfortable.”

“Discomfort is not grounds for expulsion, Isami, but regardless, we cannot just dismiss all of these allegations. Should any of them prove to be true and it comes out that we knew and did nothing about it…”

“It would tarnish the integrity of the Akademiya,” the woman, Anisa, agreed quietly. “Sayid, Khalil?”

“This should have been handled when the accusations of him infringing upon the laws and rules our predecessors set up first came about,” one of the men said and you could feel Zandik’s throat spasm as he swallowed, panic beginning to set in.

“... Sayid?” Anisa pressed after a few moments of silence.

And you could feel it. You could feel that small, minuscule bud of hope begin to bloom deep in Zandik’s chest as he shifted a wild gaze over to the sage called Sayid. You had a decent understanding of the structure of Sumeru’s Akademiya after having looked into it because of your suspicions about your soulmate, you supposed this man was the sage of whatever Darshan Zandik was a part of--Kshahrewar, you remembered one of the other men mentioning before.

Zandik trusted Sayid to defend him, you could feel it and you could feel the way his face fell and the way his stomach dropped when Sayid looked away from him, as good an answer as damning him aloud as Sharnama took his silence as agreement, waving his hand for the matra to take him.

You didn’t think Zandik even registered what had happened until rough hands were forcing him to his feet, starting to drag him from the room, and then, finally, the rage hit--bitter and deep, overwhelming.

“Over rumors and false allegations,” Zandik spat out, hatred dripping from every word. “You’ll expel me for that?”

He got no response besides the harsh words of one of the matra urging him along but he struggled against them with every step, even with fingers digging deep into his biceps, bruising his skin, he was undeterred.

“You sages can’t even fall in line with the very virtues you set out to preserve,” he seethed, “and the sins that you deem so treacherous are just an excuse to chain anyone whose convictions do not fit your standards because you fear that a change in our way of thinking will displace your power.”

You had never felt anything like this before. This feral fury that had your blood on fire and your brain melting of coherent thought--uncontrollable and unquenchable, a type of bloodlust that shook you to your core and scared you because you could feel yourself angry too and you weren’t sure if it were remnants of Zandik’s rage spilling to you or not and you hated how you were being so influenced by his emotions that you couldn’t tell what was his and what was yours anymore.

“You’re going to regret this,” Zandik shouted as the matra pulled him through the doors of the chamber. His words, the sages’ words, they all echoed in your head over and over again--all of the accusations, his reactions, and you wondered what it meant and how much of it was true and you wondered who he was not for the first time and certainly not the last. “You’re going to regret this!”

He didn’t even bother to try the tricks he attempted last time--searching for something to read, yelling, blinking, he knew none of it would work and he wasn’t the type of person to make the same mistake twice.

The room he was in--she was in--was large and enclosed with an overwhelmingly sweet and sickly flowery scent that made his stomach churn. He had always hated floral scents and this was beyond anything he had ever smelt before.

And there were too many people. There were too many goddamn people. They were packed in seats before where his soulmate was sitting, they were lined up around the room as if they were waiting to do something, there were so many that the line was even pushed out two double doors, flowing into the hall.

What was going on?

Dottore couldn’t tell. His soulmate was facing the crowd of people--there was something behind her, he could tell that much. He couldn’t see any flowers so he assumed that whatever that scent was, was coming from behind her.

There was a man standing next to her--an older one with a cold, unfriendly expression and thick build. He watched as a woman approached the older man, disgust curling in his gut at the snot-faced expression painting her face, wide teary eyes and trembling lips as she reached for the man’s hand. Dottore wanted to step away, draw back and leave before the woman could set her eyes on him but alas, he was not in control of his body--her body--again.

The more he thought about it, the more odd this was. The last time he had witnessed her past through dreams, her emotions had been loud and intense, deafening. It had him spiraling because he couldn’t understand what he was feeling and he couldn’t tell if he was feeling it or if it was her.

Now, it was empty. There was no joy, no anxiety, no fear or sadness; just a cool void, reminiscent of how the past week and a half of silence from her had felt. Dottore wondered if that was why Celestia was forcing him to sit through another sequence of dreams--punishment for trying to push her away.

Succeeding in pushing her away, he corrected silently, there was an odd pit in his stomach at the thought. He should be happy, he had been worried that not even a direct strike against her persistence would deter her but he had found success in the first attempt.

It was what he wanted. He no longer had to deal with the frequent tugs on the thread. He no longer had to deal with the fluctuating emotions. He no longer had to deal with the good mornings and goodnights and the incessant questions.

The past week had been the most peaceful and productive he’s had ever since that damned string appeared and yet somehow, he was not happy.

It was what he wanted, he repeated but a part of him felt as if he might be trying to convince himself of it.

Around him, people were talking. He could see their lips moving and he could hear the words leaving their lips but they were unintelligible and garbled, it sounded as if they were underwater and only speaking half a word at a time, combining them to create words that didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t read their lips, no matter how hard he tried, it just looked as if they were speaking a foreign language.

The woman who had been talking to the older man now turned to his soulmate. Instantly, dread was rocketing through him--he knew what was about to happen and there was simply nothing that he could do about it.

Thin arms wrapped around her, tighter than he thought it would be and he wondered, hatefully, if his soulmate was some agent of Celestia sent to make his life a living hell. Three times now, he was forced to experience something through her that made his skin crawl. First, he was tossed around through that winter storm because she made stupid decisions. Then he was slapped. And now, there was a woman clinging to him, sobbing and speaking words that he couldn’t even understand and all he could do was stand there and let it happen because that’s what she was doing.

It took far too long for another woman to come along and drag her off. Dottore was livid, if he looked to the side, he was sure he would see snot on his soulmate’s shoulder and he could still feel bony arms digging into her sides.

He wasn’t sure how long she stood there. It felt like an eternity and only a few seconds somehow at the same time. People were passing by her in slow motion but they were gone in an instant. Dottore was distinctly unsettled, it felt like someone was fucking with his head, forcing him to perceive things wrongly.

Eventually, his soulmate was approached by someone new--a younger man with dark hair and purple-red eyes. He ignored the older man to her side, everyone else had stopped at him first and then moved to her but he had beelined right to her.

Something didn’t sit right in his stomach about that.

Dottore braced himself as best as he could as the other man reached out to grab his soulmate but instead of pulling her into a hug, he only grabbed her forearms, leaning his head down to say something that Dottore couldn’t understand again.

He was undeterred by her lack of reaction, trying again and again and again. Dottore had half a mind to bash his head in and tell him to leave, fed up by this whole situation. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to escape this. When he thought he finally succeeded, he was dragged right back in by Celestia and their fucked up games.

Then, at last, Dottore could hear again. His soulmate was snapped out of whatever daze she had been in and noise exploded around him: scraping of chairs against the ground, mindless chatter, a violin muted in the background, slow and mournful.

A funeral.

For who?

It had to be someone close to his soulmate from how they were all approaching her and suddenly, he was reminded of that night all of those years ago during the event where Pantalone was being officially promoted to Harbinger. Father, branded right on his forearm. He had yet to get a look at his soulmate through a reflection--he wondered if this was the funeral.

Most of the chatter was sympathetic, talking about the deceased and reminiscing old times… but not all of it was. He could hear whispers of men talking about what this could mean for the stability of the court, eyeing up the new opportunities that came with this death, some sounded excited rather than melancholic, like hyenas feasting on one of their own.

“There you are,” the young man in front of her said with a small smile that made Dottore frown. “Ignore all of them, they did the same thing when my grandfather died. Came to the funeral under the guise of mourning just so they could see if there was any instability for them to leech on. There wasn’t then and there isn’t now.”

“There isn’t?” his soulmate spoke for the first time--her voice was hoarse and empty, the only sort of emotion was a dull sense of doubt. “All they talk about is how I’m too weak to take over for my grandfather. They say a woman is unfit to be warden.”

“If they saw the way you could work your family’s-” he began loudly.

“Wriothesley,” the older man standing next to his soulmate said, a warning written all over his face.

“Sorry,” Wriothesley said, looking away.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” his soulmate said after a few moments of silence, voice quiet. “The instability is right in front of everyone’s faces. They can all see that they’re not here, Wrio.”

Wrio, Dottore thought to himself spitefully once he heard the nickname.

Wriothesley looked irritated at her words, glancing once at the older man again before speaking back up, “They didn’t show up at all? Your mother? Siblings? To your father’s funeral?”

There it was. Finally, a bit of emotion from her. She was hurt at his words, he could feel something pinching at his chest, a dark and unwelcome feeling but for some reason, it made him feel a bit more at ease after the past week of silence.

“They were busy,” she said quietly but Dottore could tell that she didn’t even believe the words herself. Neither did Wriothesley, if the expression on his face had anything to say about it. “They were, Wrio.”

Dottore wanted to roll his eyes once he heard the nickname again but instead, he distracted himself with what she had said. He thought back to the previous dreams he had of her past--being left behind by her mother and stepfather while they went to town, the argument with her mother and the slap… somehow, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had chosen not to go.

Wriothesley scoffed loudly, loud enough to draw the attention of some of the other attendees. “They’re despicable,” he spat out. “Especially that skeevy, rat-faced-”

“Come, Wriothesley,” a middle-aged man who looked just like the younger man said sharply, interrupting him before he could finish his sentence. “This is not the place for this topic. You can speak to your betrothed another time.”

Dottore blanched.

Betrothed?

Blood.

That was the first thing you noticed. The thick, nasty scent of iron was all around you--around him, whatever. It was disgusting, overwhelming. You wanted to throw up, you thought that if you were in your own body, you might’ve passed out but you were in his, Zandik’s, and he was totally unbothered by the smell.

Something was wrong with your eyes--that was the second thing you noticed. You had no peripheral vision, the only thing you could see was his hands resting on the lab table in front of you, fresh and dry blood staining his skin, dripping to the floor below.

He was angry, the third thing you noticed. You could feel the rage curling in his gut; his nails digging into the table, grinding against the metal. You couldn’t figure out what he was angry about and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know because you had a distinct feeling that it had something to do with the blood on his hands and the lab table.

Zandik finally moved, an awful scraping sound meeting your ears as his nails dragged against the metal when he pushed off the table. He paced up and down the length of the room, muttering to himself.

“Everything was right.”

“What went wrong?”

“-was supposed to work, don’t under-”

As he turned, you could see something--some sort of machine laying across the lab table that hadn’t been in your line of sight before. You wondered if these were ruin guards that he talked about so much. There was something pooling around it; from the distance you were at, you thought it might be oil but Zandik turned on his heel to move closer to it and a sinking feeling formed in your stomach when you realized that it was not oil, instead it was a massive puddle of blood surrounding the machine.

What the fuck? You thought to yourself as Zandik stood in front of the machine, taking one of its arms in his hand. The metal somehow felt cool and hot at the same time, uncomfortable to the touch. You wanted to let go of it, there was blood coating the metal and staining his hands even more, but Zandik’s grip was tight around it.

Why was a machine bleeding? You were sick at the thought, hoards of horrible possibilities running through your head but you didn’t get a chance to dwell on any of them.

Zandik sighed, annoyed, jerking away from the machine again to pace. His head shook back and forth in a rough manner that started to give you a headache, he did it over and over and over again and you wanted to scream at him to stop.

“This was supposed to work, Grand Sage,” he said, clicking his tongue sharply once, then twice, and then a third time. “This was supposed to work. I did everything right. Why aren’t you working?”

Is he talking to-

Zandik marched right back toward the machine, much to your displeasure. The longer he stared at the automaton, the more uncomfortable you felt. You could tell that it had been modified in several places, disassembled and put back together but it almost looked as if… he had put something inside it?

“Why aren’t you working, Grand Sage?” he repeated, humming to himself irritably as he tapped his fingers against the metal. “I even went out to fetch you a new core, you’ve always been so damn ungrateful, haven’t you? Everything I did for your Darshan and you still turned your back on me. Ungrateful, even when I’m trying to make you greater than man.”

-to the machine?

You wanted to wake up, you didn’t want to see whatever this dream was showing you. You wondered if it was some cruel joke the gods were playing on you by showing you this. Or maybe they were trying to help you, you considered. He had made his opinion on you clear and yet every day you were still tempted to reach out to him, maybe they were trying to help you move past him.

“Is this what you plan to do with yourself?” a low, unfamiliar voice spoke up suddenly from the opposite end of the room.

Zandik was startled, heart racing and head whipping to the side as he snapped his fingers together. Instantly, there was a loud whirring machine coming from behind him, metal scraping against metal--the sound of an automaton coming to life. His gaze focused on a figure stepping out from the shadows of the corner of the room, tall with graying hair and a mask that covered the entire right half of his face.

“Who are you?” Zandik demanded harshly and finally, you caught sight of him through the reflection of a metal cabinet. Red eyes stared back at you through a mask that covered three-quarters of his face and short silvery blue hair that had blood dripping from the tips of his curls. “Who are you?”

“So much potential wasting away in this poor excuse of a lab,” the man continued, undeterred by Zandik’s hostility. An eerie feeling swept over you--you weren’t sure if it was you or Zandik becoming unnerved by the man, maybe it was both of you. “Don’t you want something more?”

“What are you talking about?” Zandik asked sharply, a scalpel clutched tight in his fist--somehow, you knew that it was no match for the man standing before him and you had a feeling that he knew that too. “Did the Akademiya send you? Who are you?”

“I came after hearing rumors of an expelled student performing heretical acts… So far I’m unimpressed.”

The anger that spread through him was like wildfire, consuming all rationality and any other emotion he might’ve felt. In an instant, the automaton that had awakened behind him was moving, launching across the room at a pace that had you reeling, blades slashing outward but then at once, it stopped. A cold silence took over the room, Zandik’s brows furrowed and his lips turned down as the automaton came to a stop, shutting down right before his eyes.

“Interesting enhancements… but unchanged at its core, meant to be operated by those that created them, not a follower of the gods.”

“I am not a follower of the gods,” Zandik spat out violently, stepping forward before he paused as if reconsidering the man’s statement. “Meant to be operated… you?”

“Yes,” he responded, ignoring Zandik’s entire change of demeanor at his words. You thought you might feel even more unnerved now, at the excited feeling bubbling inside Zandik as he stared at the man, waiting for him to continue. “What are your goals, outcast?”

Zandik frowned. “That’s not my name-” he began but was interrupted.

“If I cared for your name, I would have learned it. If you prove yourself useful, you will be given a new identity anyway,” he told Zandik. “Now answer me, outcast, what are your goals?”

Zandik didn’t answer for a moment, staring at him, but then he glanced back at the automaton still laying on the lab table, the pool of blood beneath it now larger. Luckily, his gaze didn’t linger on it for long.

“I’m going to enhance humans so that we can rival gods,” Zandik said, raising his chin to focus his eyes back on the man. “What do you mean? Prove yourself useful? To whom? You?”

“Lofty goals,” was all he received as a response. Zandik bristled. “How do you plan to do that? With what resources?”

Zandik opened his mouth to respond but no words left his lips. Finally, he pushed out, “I’m making progress just fine.”

“Yes,” the man said dryly, his visible eye drifting over to the mess behind Zandik. “I can see that…”

You didn’t think you liked where this was heading. Zandik was still suspicious but now he was intrigued, ready to listen to this man and whatever he had to say, and you had a feeling that this man would bring nothing good.

“I can provide you with resources,” he offered. “Funding, rare materials… new test subjects. All of the finest and as much as you need.”

“What do you want in return?” Zandik asked.

“There is a war coming,” he responded cryptically, “and you are going to help prepare us for it.”

“A war?” Zandik asked, baffled. “A war against who?”

But you knew.

You knew.

It was the same war that had the Hydro Archon’s paranoia escalating. The war that forced you to hide your soulmark and thread your entire life, that had you looked down on and whispered about because you had to tell people you had no soulmate. The war led by the same organization that had sent your stepfather to Fontaine as an infiltrator, the man who had killed your father and ruined your life.

At once, all of your nightmares and all of your worst fears came true.

“A war against the gods.”

Betrothed?

Dottore was appalled, reeling at the knowledge that was just forced onto him. The scene shifted, Dottore was now in a smaller room kneeling in front of a woman that he recognized from the first dream he had of his soulmate but he couldn’t even focus on the situation at hand.

Betrothed??

Since when had she been betrothed? Dottore thought that would have been one of things that she mentioned when she was rambling on about her days at night. He thought it might’ve been something that was at least hinted at when she couldn’t control what words were being sent to him.

“I have to leave, mother,” Dottore’s lips were moving as she spoke but quite frankly, he didn’t give a shit about whatever conversation she was having with her mother. The lack of emotions she was feeling left a vacuum that allowed his feelings to spiral and he was having trouble trying to keep control of them.

He couldn’t even tell what the emotions rattling him were. He thought that he had become better at pinpointing emotions ever since he was forced to deal with hers but this was foreign--green and ugly, beyond just anger or sadness, stronger than anything he’s felt in centuries.

“You do not have to leave, you’re choosing to.”

Dottore thought he might feel insulted--disrespected, even, being given a soulmate only for them to be married off to someone else. Another cruel joke played by the gods to spite him, a cruel joke played by her to spite him. He wondered if this was her getting back at him for never responding to those goodnight tugs she always used to do: talking to him, trying to get him to fall for her trap and respond, only for her to be with someone else.

“I do, I have to go. There’s something I have to do.”

He shouldn’t feel insulted, or disrespected. He shouldn’t care at all whether or not his soulmate was betrothed to someone else. He never planned on speaking to her. He never planned on meeting her. And he absolutely never planned to do anything about the bond forced on him by Celestia. In fact, this should make him feel better. It meant that there was less of a chance for her to reach out to him again if she was in a relationship with someone else.

It freed him of her. This should be a good thing for him, so why was he so angry?

“You won’t even tell me where you’re going,” her mother snapped. “Best not be to the north, there’s only so much more I can defend you from peoples’ suspicions. They’re starting to ask questions.”

But it was not a matter of whether or not he should or shouldn’t care. It was the sheer audacity she had to keep reaching out to him when she was set to marry, or even has married someone else at this point. She was trying to play games with him and if there was one thing that Dottore couldn’t stand, it was someone trying to play games with him--be it the gods, other Harbingers, or some random girl that Celestia decided to tie him to.

“It doesn’t matter where-”

“Of course, it matters,” the mother said, fingers digging into his soulmate’s forearms. “What am I to tell Her Excellency when she asks about where you went off to? The last thing our family needs is the speculation that would come along with people thinking you went off to Snezhnaya.”

Finally, he felt something from her--something sharp and jagged tugging at her chest that drew him from his thoughts, an emotion he had become acquainted with through her intimately over the past few years: sadness, disappointment.

“Wow,” she said dryly, “that’s what you’re worried about. Suspicions against your family. Not whether or not I might be going somewhere dangerous.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” her mother said, livid. “Of course, I care about whether or not you’re going somewhere dangerous. I’m your mother.”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” his soulmate said after a moment, rising to her feet and pulling her arms from her mother’s grip. “You can tell the Hydro Archon I’ve left for Mondstadt.”

“Is that where you’re actually going?” her mother rose to her feet after her, taking a step forward, but his soulmate did not respond. Her mother’s face fell. “You’re going north, aren’t you?”

Dottore finally focused on the situation at hand. North? But the only thing north of Fontaine was-

“Aren’t you?” her mother demanded. “You’re going to Snezhnaya? Why are you going there? To find him?”

Him. She must be referring to Dottore. But why would his soulmate come looking for him if she had…?

“I didn’t say that,” his soulmate shook her head, looking away out toward the window. It was a dreary day, dark clouds hanging low and rain sprinkling down to the streets below. “I told you to tell the Hydro Archon I’m going to Mondstadt.”

“Why are you going there? Why? Answer me,” her mother’s voice rose, eyes tearing up as she stepped closer to his soulmate. She stepped back, freezing her mother in place.

“Have you ever communicated with your soulmate through thoughts? The words that show up on your forearm?” she finally asked, tone harsh and accusing, a sudden change of subject.

Dottore paused, trying to put together what this might be about now. This was another reason why he hated these damn dreams, he never had any context behind what was happening and Dottore hated not knowing things.

“What sort of question is that?” her mother hissed, taken aback. “Of course-”

Her mother cut herself off suddenly, brows furrowing and lips twisting into a deep frown. Dottore could feel his soulmate swallow thickly, watching the reaction to her question. She had been expecting this and he wasn’t sure if it was dread or satisfaction pooling in her stomach--maybe both.

“Have you ever thought about why you don’t communicate through it? Have you ever tried and he just doesn’t respond? Do you try flicking your thread? Does he flick it back?” his soulmate let loose a barrage of questions and a creeping suspicion began to arise, wondering if she was implying what he thought she was.

“What are you trying to say?” her mother shook her head, stepping away. “Enough.”

“I’m not trying to say anything,” his soulmate responded, turning on her heel to leave the room. “But maybe you should think about it.”

She didn’t say anything else as she left the room and finally, Dottore could think.

She was accusing her stepfather of faking the bond with her mother, Dottore realized. But how would he do that? He knew people were capable of faking bonds through old magics but as far as he was aware that type of magic was all but lost… Dottore’s mind was suddenly racing, remembering all of the things he had forgotten in the last dream he had of her past: what he had figured out about the spy in the upper ranks of the Fatui and they had a spy in Fontaine, one of Arlecchino’s spiders and Arlecchino was capable of the old magic, and his soulmate was coming north to Snezhnaya so obviously she must have reason to believe that it had something to do with the Fatui, could it be-

Dottore felt a headache coming on.

He had a feeling that this was going to be very, very bad.

You woke up with a sharp, shaky breath. Your hand flew to your chest as you sat up straight, reeling from what you had just experienced. Blood, anger, betrayal, hope--what could you remember? What could you remember?

You scrambled to the small table at your bedside immediately, grabbing your notebook and panicking to find the pen that had fallen to the floor. You dropped to your hands and knees, fumbling around in the dark until you found it beneath your bed. You didn’t even bother rising to your feet again as you made yourself comfortable on the floor so you could start jotting down everything you remembered.

A cold, empty room. Six people. Exile? Sins and virtues. Lots of blood. An automaton. Uncontrollable, sickening rage. An unfamiliar figure. War.

War.

But what was the context? Your head was pounding as you tried to remember, you wondered if Celestia was warning you against trying to push too hard for information you’re not meant to remember yet. You didn’t care. You had to know.

War. The rebellion stirring in the north. But what about it? What was the damn context?

You glanced down at your forearm, frustration pricking at you as the window above you rattled against the Snezhnayan winter storm. You could feel the freezing air even from inside the warm room with the fireplace burning on the opposite wall--it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, the cold storms at the estate that you thought were the end of the world paled in comparison to this.

You wanted to yell at him, demand to know who he was and what he had done, beg him for the answers that you should’ve received by now… but you remembered the words scrawled across your forearm, the cruel words that cut deeper than any of the nasty words that had been spat at you by people throughout your life.

He did not care about you, you reminded yourself, you have more self-respect than this. Do not reach out to him.

You sighed heavily, arm dropping to your side as you stared back up at the window, watching a branch scrape against the glass over and over and over again. You were only on the Snezhnayan border but already you were feeling anxious--you had half a mind to turn back but the only thing stopping you was the memory of your father, the lust for justice, vengeance. You couldn’t turn back, not until you had all of the information you needed, not until you were sure you could return to Fontaine and have your stepfather imprisoned in the Black Cells.

There was a heavy feeling in your heart as you pushed yourself back off the floor, putting the notebook away and taking a seat back on the thin mattress of the inn you were staying at, the wood of the bed frame creaking beneath you.

You had a distinct feeling that your journey to find proof against your stepfather would lead you to him as well.

He sat upright, eyes wild as he tried to figure out where he was. His heart was racing, anger was still flooding his blood, he breathed in and out deeply as he tried to regain control of himself. He was back in his lab--not dealing with any more of those god forsaken dreams. He wanted to spit out a string of vile curses up toward the gods but he refrained, trying to piece together what he could remember before the vague memories faded.

He flipped over the parchment he had been taking notes on before he had fallen asleep, rubbing the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed his pen to the paper and noted down all of the hazy details.

Flowers. Wrio? Betrothed?? Mother. Leaving. Snezhnaya.

Dottore exhaled, gaze zeroing in on the third word of his list--betrothed. He glanced down at the thread connected to his thumb, inhaling deeply as an unfamiliar emotion began to churn inside of him. Before it could take hold, Dottore diverted his attention to the last two words.

Leaving. Snezhnaya.

What did that mean? What was the context? He couldn’t remember. Was she coming to Snezhnaya? Was she in Snezhnaya and leaving? Or did the two words not have any connection?

No, they had to be connected. It was something important, he knew that much at least, but what? The answer was on the tip of his tongue and again that temper of his began to thin, what was the answer? What was the goddamn answer? Why was she coming to Snezhnaya?

Should he ask?

The option rang damning through his head as he looked down at his forearm. She could be in danger if she came to Snezhnaya--the nation was becoming more and more antagonistic to outsiders, especially outsiders from Fontaine and Natlan and especially because of the masked hostile that was running through Fatui camps and slaughtering their underlings. No matter how much Pulcinella and Pantalone demanded that they take caution with outsiders, there was no telling what a heat of the moment reaction could lead to if there was a possible threat and Arlecchino had made clear that Fontaine was on the verge of becoming a threat to the Fatui.

As he contemplated his choices, Dottore suddenly paused, another realization hitting him suddenly: if he had dreamt of her past then…

Then she dreamed of his past.

Dottore waited, staring at his forearm--waiting for the questions, the disgust, the horror. It was inevitable, he knew it. Last time, he assumed they dreamed of similar time periods of their life. Hers was when she was young, five to twelve years old between both dreams, he assumed; and the word he received from her was cursed, which was directed at him from when he was a child up until he was chased from the village at ten. And if the time periods were similar… that left his Akademiya and post-Akademiya era up as options for what she could have dreamt about, and neither of those periods of his life were particularly pleasant.

He waited and he waited and he waited… but nothing showed up on his forearm, not a question nor an accusation, no emotion spread through him that he thought might’ve been hers--just emptiness, just like it had been for the past week and a half.

Dottore exhaled heavily, leaning back against his seat and staring up at the ceiling above him, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with this and how he was supposed to make sure she didn’t get herself killed traveling through Snezhnaya.

The week and a half of peace was over and he realized, quickly, that it had only been the calm before the storm.

rbs appreciated!

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #dottore x you #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you

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mucherbuncher · 3 months

Text

Daryl x Reader

daryl x reader fic

requested by my mutual

this is my first time actually writing a one shot on tumblr and honestly i’m so exited. i’m still tryna figure out this app bc i literally downloaded it feb. 7th so plz forgive me i’m just a girl. also ignore that none of the “i”s are capitalized i really don’t care.

HOW DO YALL CHECK THAT WORD COUNT??

no warnings other than talking about eating sun disgusting ass food

if i do a part two there’ll be sm!t 🫣

I drew into the dirt absentmindedly with my fingers, bored out of my goddamn mind while Daryl cooks a snake over the fire. I didn’t look at it, because as queasy as i already was from hunger i wasn’t gonna make it worse. I had already eaten a few worms yesterday, something i’d never thought i would’ve done. To be honest, it was Daryl’s idea.

I had been doing everything to stay by his side after the prison fell, including silently obeying him and following him around like a lost puppy. I probably could survive on my own, but having someone by my side made it way easier. I got lucky being stuck with him, at least in the survival sense. Emotionally, or even socially, he was on airplane mode. He barely spoke, barely even looked at me. I didn’t mind it so much for a day or two, but it’s about to be day four. I couldn’t take it anymore.

He used his dirty knife to cut the snake in half, then peeled the skin off. It sorta reminded me of those giant gummy worms that you could get at a candy store, except pink and charred with visible bones.

“Here.” He reached across the small fire to hand me it. I looked up in disgust, hesitantly reaching out to eat the… thing.

It was chewy, like a well done steak. It didn’t taste like that though. It tasted pretty earthy, almost like a bug or something. The closest thing i can compare it too was grasshopper flavored fish. Wow, so appetizing.

I ate my entire half, and ripping off a small piece of rib bone from the spine to clean my teeth. I stared into the fire, like Daryl did. I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth, unfortunately only spreading more dirt onto my face. Daryl looked about the same.

“What are we doing?” I blurted out, my voice a little hoarse from not talking all day.

Daryl looked up from the fire, staring at me blankly. His eyes practically glowed that pretty steel blue color, and I already felt slightly unnerved from his stare.

“Are we even gonna try to look for anyone, or are we just gonna keep running everyday?” I continued on, my voice growing stronger as I felt more emotions setting in.

“No point.” He grunted after a few seconds of silence.

“But there is. We need the rest of the group, they could all be still alive, together, maybe.”

“Look around, do ya see anyone waitin for us?” He spat, his voice getting a little louder.

“Your a tracker, so track.” I hissed, my eyes narrowed as i felt more and more frustrated with this man.

“Fine. Get yer ass up.” Before I could even think or retort back, He grabbed his crossbow and started kicking dirt into our little fire.

“Daryl, it’s dark…” I muttered, suddenly feeling small at the way he’s acting so pissed.

“This whatchu want, right?” He grabs my arm and yanks me upwards, and I stumble a little before tearing my arm back.

“Stop. Stop it right now.” I stare into his eyes, clenching my jaw a little in anger.

He starts pacing, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He’s trying to hide his face from me.

“There ain’t no point… what if- what if they’re all gone? I can’t… i won’t…” He wipes his eyes with the back of his arm, and i realize, he’s fucking crying. I can handle children crying, even other girls. But when a grown man cries… it makes me want to start sobbing.

My heart sinks and i feel an awful twinge in my stomach. I shouldn’t have pushed him. Fuck me…

“Hey…” My mouth has gone dry, i’m not totally sure what to do here. With the fire gone, and only the moonlight to allow me to see his face, im struggling.

“S’ not… I don’t know what to do.” He chokes a little, and that was my final straw. I pull him in towards me, grabbing his huge tan arms gently. I take the back of his head and put it against my neck, rubbing his back gently. His hands fall limply at his sides as he gives up.

“S’ gonna be alright. We can start lookin tomorrow, alright? You’ve got me. I’m here.” I speak softly and slowly as i reassure him. I’m hoping i’m saying all the right things. He wraps his arms around my waist tightly, restricting my breathing a little.

I hold him there for a long time, rubbing his back slowly as he silent cries into my shoulder. It felt right, comforting him. I was good at it. He needed this badly, and i hoped my optimism would rub off on him.

I pull his head off my shoulder, cupping his face in my hands. They look tiny here, holding him like this. I wipe some of the tears off his pretty face with my thumbs. His eyes bore into the ground, not meeting mine. I knew he felt embarrassed, but it was just the two of us. I wasn’t going to tell a single soul, nobody could make me spill his secrets even through torture.

I brush away some of his greasy brown hair, kissing his forehead gently. His eyes snapped up to meet mine. Shit… was that too much? I force myself to keep a calm expression, gazing at his puffy red eyes.

“M’ gonna start the fire again, okay?” I say gently. He nods, taking a step back and sitting down on the ground.

I fumble the lighter a little in my hands as i grab the kindling, and a small flame peeks through. i slowly start adding more fuel, until a steady flame is going. I scoot back to sit next to Daryl again, gently guiding his body down until his head is resting on my lap.

“C’mere.”

His huge body weighs down on my thigh, but I honestly didn’t care at all. I brushed my fingers through his messy hair, careful to not tug on any knots as i did so. He looked sorta beautiful like this.

Wait what the fuck. My mind started racing. This man was easily forty years old, covered in dirt and sweat and walker blood. Id known him and treated him like a friend for nearly two years now, but now… I treated him as if he was glass. He probably felt like it, broken after standing strong against all the hardship he’s faced his whole life. I knew bits and pieces, how he depended on Merle since he couldn’t rely on his shitty dad. His mom has been gone since he was a child.

I needed to be here for him. He’s become my protector, but I, a young woman, cared for him in a way i hadn’t for anyone else in a long time.

His chest rose and fell peacefully, and I knew he was starting to fall asleep. There wasn’t much to protect us from the elements other than a small wool blanket we’d been sharing for the past few days. I grabbed my bag, and carefully moved his head off my thighs to rest on the bag instead. I stepped around his body and curled up against his chest, making myself little spoon. I grabbed his crossbow, curling that close to my body just in case. I felt his arm swing around me, pulling me just a bit closer than i already was.

“Ya okay here?” He asked, speaking softly into my ear.

“Mhm.” His deep voice sent a shiver down my spine. I closed my eyes, smiling just a little. What a funny man.

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x female reader #daryl dixion x reader

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daisylark · 2 months

Note

Hey, this is kinda gonna be a rant so if you're not in the mood for that feel free to delete.

I saw your post -

https://www.tumblr.com/daisylark/741324260680794112/man-takes-a-womans-spot-in-a-womens-shelter-and?source=share

- and it hit me a certain way. Yes, I understand that this man is making it up, it's a fantasy. But I am a woman who has actually experienced living in a homeless shelter with a man, and it got to me.

I was 19 at the time, this was about six years ago. Literally the first thing he said to me when I walked in was that he still had his dick. (He phrased it as being intact and not having had bottom surgery.) I had no idea what he was talking about. at the time I was unfamiliar with trans ideology. Frantically googling to figure out what was happening was how I originally found radfems, bc they were the only people calling this shit out.

I could go on, but the thing that really gets me is that this experience was six or seven years ago, right. I'm in a better, more stable place in life, and have been seeking therapy for several years now. And the worst thing is THAT EXPERIENCE SPECIFICALLY has been a consistent impediment to getting to help.

Because even when I find a therapist, which is harder than you'd think, and do intake, which is exhausting and damaging every time, etc etc etc, so far no one can handle the specific trauma that I have from seeking shelter when I was at my most vulnerable and being gaslit and forced to cohabit with a man by the ppl who should have protected me.

And because my story is such a hot button issue, everyone kind of blue screens when they hear about it. Y'know? It's a little much to believe, in the current political climate, if you're trying to be a good progressive or whatever, that a 6ft pwecious wittle twans woman would act like that in a woman's homeless shelter. He was in his 40s btw. Ppl don't want to engage with it. They want me to be quiet. They've already decided I'm exaggerating.

The last therapist I had I started talking about this experience and the way it damaged my trust in institutions and so on, and the therapist interrupted to be confused, called him "they," and was asking about how he identified. I can be sitting right in front of someone I've known for months and the moment a man is brought up his hypothetical feelings take precedence over me.

So I understand that the reddit post is made up. But I saw it and I had to say, this shit fucking happens. It happens and it's real. The fawning over him doesn't happen quite like that, but in my experience, if a man is admitted to a woman's shelter his needs are already being prioritized and that is unlikely to change. I hate these men - the ones who go to the shelters, the ones who fantasize about it, the ones who support it. I won't forgive anyone who supports it.

Thank you for hearing me out.

Thank you so much for sharing this. I am so sorry that this happened to you. These are exactly the kind of things that we are afraid of. These are the things that people insist never happen, but they do.

These kind of things were the main things that peaked me. That a man's feelings would matter more than a woman's physical safety. It's horrifying.

#radical feminism #radblr #terfblr #terfsafe #gender critical

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daleyeahson · 1 year

Text

Girl on Film | Perv!Eddie Munson x Best Friend Reader: Part 3

Summary: After days of not seeing or hearing anything from Eddie, you finally snap. When you confront him about your feelings, it’s not exactly what he had hoped to hear.

Warnings: angst, cursing, I’m just gonna go ahead and say 18+ minors dni mainly bc of what has happened before and that stuff gets briefly mentioned in here so… yeah lol

Word count: 2.9k

previous part | next part

A/n: I’m sorry this took a little longer than expected to get released! I’ve been a little busy and tbh at first I didn’t know where I wanted this story to go so that also slowed the whole process lol thank you guys for your continued love and support! You have no idea how much it truly means to me.. Enjoy! x

It’s Monday morning and Eddie slowly stirs awake. Stretching as much as he could, he turns his head over to look at the alarm clock. 6:45am. He then turns his head to the opposite side only to be met with the sight of your naked body. Your back facing him and the sheets covering just the lower half of you. Panic sets in before he has a chance to really take in the view. He starts to freak out as his questions from last night enter his mind once again.

He tries to convince himself that he’s just overreacting and that you must’ve genuinely felt the same way he did, right? If you didn’t, why would you do all of that with him? Why would you play along with the whole camcorder situation? He began to think that maybe it was just a spur of the moment thing for you. That maybe you just wanted to have fun with this and not get romantically involved. He also thought of how maybe you’d wake up and regret this whole weekend and then things would be forever changed between the two of you.

With every question of “what if?” or “why?” that crossed his mind, he knew one thing for sure. He did not want to stick around and find out. He couldn’t handle the possibility of rejection or the idea of losing you as his best friend. He needed to think things over before diving into that conversation with you. So, without a moments notice, Eddie does what he does best. He runs.

Or at least he tries too. He gently gets out of the bed, trying his best not to wake you and rushes to go take a quick shower. While he’s in the bathroom, you wake up to the sound of the water running. Still a little bit groggy, you slip on another oversized t-shirt since the one you had on yesterday was now torn in two thanks to a certain someone. You decided against wearing pants, not having the energy this morning to deal with putting them on. Plus, at this point, Eddie has seen you in a lot less, so you figured he wouldn’t have a problem with it.

You make your way to the kitchen in desperate need of something to drink. You pour yourself a glass of water and casually sip on it while having your back leaned against the counter. You hear the shower turn off and soon afterwards, the bathroom door opens. In such a hurry to leave, Eddie doesn’t even notice that you’re standing in the kitchen.

“Mornin’ Eddie, sleep well?”

“Jesus Christ!” He jumps at the sound of your voice. “I didn’t know you were awake,” he gives a nervous chuckle, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I haven’t been up for long.. What’s got you up and ready to go out the door so early?”

“Uh…” Eddie pauses for a second, trying to find what to say. He doesn’t want to bring up the real reason he’s leaving, so he says the next thing that comes to mind. “School! Gotta head off the school, ya know, don’t wanna be late.”

You look at him and say with a raised eyebrow, “Since when did you, Eddie Munson, care about going to school, let alone getting there on time?”

He smiles softly at your comment, knowing that you had a good point.

“I figured dealing with the third go around of this shit, I might actually want to try for once before I end up graduating with Henderson’s class.”

You laugh. You know you’d never let that happen, but it was funny to picture him and Dustin posing for a photo together with their cap and gowns on holding their diplomas.

“Well before you go, do you want some breakfast? I can fix you something real quick. I know the stuff they serve in the cafeteria isn’t the best.”

Growing more anxious the longer he stands there, Eddie shakes his head, “N-no thanks. As much as I would love to, I don’t have the time. Still have to run home and change out of this,” he gestures to his sweats, “and you know how long it takes to get my whole get up on. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I get there before the first bell rings.”

You try not to show a look of disappointment on your face. You wished he would stay a little longer, but you understood his reasons. If you were in his shoes, you’d want to do everything possible to make sure you didn’t have to repeat your senior year again too.

“Oh, well, I’ve got to start getting ready for work in a few anyway, so no biggie. Give me a call though afterwards, yeah? I’ll be back home this evening, probably around six.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just gives you a slight nod and walks out the door. Driving off in his van, he makes his way back home. Once there, he heads to his room and spots the camcorder still sitting in the same spot he left it. He really did plan on going to school, but after seeing that and being reminded once again how all of this got started, he decided to stay home. There was no way he could focus on any of his classes after that.

You started getting ready for work not long after Eddie left. Taking a quick shower yourself and changing into your uniform. You pulled your hair back to keep it out of your face and applied a light, natural makeup look. You weren’t one to really wear makeup to begin with, but being a waitress, it seemed to help get you better tips so you didn’t mind having to wear it while you were at work.

You worked at a small diner right on the edge of town, only a 15 minute drive from your place. It wasn’t the best job, but it paid the bills. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy it, you loved your coworkers and got along well with the regulars you had, but being on your feet for hours on end for most days of the week was exhausting.

Your work day was the same as always. A group of older gentlemen would always come in early for some breakfast which usually consisted of biscuits and gravy all while talking for hours, getting refill after refill of coffee. You gained a few more customers when lunch rush hit, but things never picked up until it came closer to dinner time. You’d always get busy around then, mainly having truckers stop by for a good hot meal after being on the road all day. You didn’t mind though, you loved hearing the stories they’d tell about the places they’ve been and things they’ve seen. It always helped make the work day go by a little faster.

When your shift came to an end, you made your way back home. Feet aching from the day, all you wanted was to get out of these clothes and go to bed. You didn’t even think about the fact that Eddie said he would call. All that was on your mind now was getting some much needed rest.

When Tuesday had came and gone and still no word from him, you started to wonder why Eddie hasn’t been back over or called. You didn’t really pay much mind to it, thinking he must’ve been exhausted like you were last night after playing his gig at the Hideout with the Corroded Coffin boys.

Wednesday was a different story though. That evening, you made your way over to Family Video to pick out movies for the sleepover this weekend. It was supposed to be at Eddie’s place this time, but after not hearing from him for days, you weren’t sure if he even wanted to have it. You walk in and was greeted by Robin who stood at the front counter.

“Hey, y/n! Picking out more movies for you and Eddie this weekend?”

“Yeah,” you say in an unsure tone, “I guess I am.”

“You guess? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sigh and start to explain everything to her. Just the part of not hearing from Eddie in a while, she didn’t need to know the rest and you still hadn’t even talked about it with Eddie himself. It would feel wrong to discuss those things with another person before him, even if Robin was one of your closest friends.

“It’s just, I don’t know. I’m not sure if he wants to have the sleepover this weekend. After he left my place Monday morning for school, I haven’t heard from him since. I figured maybe he was tired from his gig last night, but I still haven’t heard anything from him today either. It’s just weird not seeing or hearing from him, ya know? He’s never done this before.”

“Wait, you said he left Monday morning for school?” She asks and you give her a nod. “Eddie wasn’t at school Monday. Like at all.”

“What?” You looked at her with confusion written all over your face.

Not at school? What does she mean not at school? Why would he say that’s why he had to leave your place so early and then not go? Maybe he was late getting there and she just didn’t see him.

Robin went on to explain, “Yeah. He borrowed my biology notes and was supposed to give them back to me at lunch, but he wasn’t there. I asked the guys at the Hellfire table if they’d seen him but they said he never showed up that morning.”

What the hell? Why didn’t he go? More importantly, why did he lie to you about going in the first place? Your blood started to boil at the thought of him lying to you. You had been friends forever, why would he feel the need to lie? You explained to Robin that you had to go, not getting the movies you had planned on picking up. You needed to get home to think about some things. What the fuck was Eddie’s problem?

Thursday evening rolled around and still no word. You finally decided to give him a call instead of waiting for him. You knew he should be home from school right now, if he even went this time, and he didn’t have band practice or anything like that. You reach for the phone and dial his number. After a few rings, a mans voice spoke on the line.

“Hello?” Wayne. You didn’t think he’d be home right now. He must’ve been getting ready to leave for work when you called.

“Hey, Uncle Wayne, is Eddie around?” You ask.

Wayne looks over at Eddie standing in the living room, signaling for him to say that he wasn’t there and couldn’t talk.

Wayne sighs before answering, “No, I’m sorry, sweetheart. He’s not here at the moment. I could take a message for him if you’d like though.”

There it was, another lie. Now he’s even getting other people to do it for him? Unbelievable.

“Just tell him to give me a call when he gets a chance, okay?” You tried to not sound frustrated, but Wayne could tell you were upset.

“Will do.” He hangs up the phone and looks up at Eddie once again.

“Boy, I don’t know what the hell is going on between you two, but whatever it is, not talking to her about it isn’t going to solve the problem.”

Eddie looks down at his feet, embarrassed that Wayne is lecturing him over something that he should’ve already taken care of.

“I know, Wayne, it’s just..” he tries to think of the best way to explain this to his uncle without having to go further into detail about it all, “things are just a bit..complicated right now, okay? I promise I’ll talk to her soon. I just need some time to think about things.”

Wayne takes the hint that Eddie doesn’t want to get into the subject of what’s going on and gives him a sympathetic look. Not really knowing what it was that was making things complicated between you both, but knew whatever it may be was causing his boy to be in misery.

Grabbing his jacket and getting ready to head out the door, he turns and with a sigh he says to Eddie, “Well, whatever it is, you guys have been friends all your lives. You’ll be able to get through it, okay? Don’t sweat it, kid.”

And with that he heads out the door, leaving Eddie to stew in his own thoughts about everything.

You on the other hand, were pissed. Outraged. Angry.

How could he lie to you like that? Why would he even do such a thing? And then ignore your call when you finally reach out to him?

No, you weren’t gonna have it. Eddie was going to talk to you face to face about this whether he liked it or not. It was something that needed to be done, and you knew exactly when to do it.

It was finally Friday, you had just finished your shift at work and was heading home to change and shower. Eddie was making his way over to the high school to start setting up for his Hellfire campaign. You knew if he wasn’t going to come to you and talk about things, you’d have to go to him. And that’s exactly what you planned on doing. You knew he wouldn’t miss a Hellfire meeting no matter what, so he would definitely be there. He wouldn’t be able to hide from you no longer.

You arrived at the high school and made your way to the room where the boys would be at. As you got closer to the door, you could hear them screaming at one another. Most likely over something that just happened during the campaign. You then heard a familiar sound. One that usually filled you with joy, but this time it just made you fill up with more rage than you already had.

Eddie’s laugh.

It pissed you off to no end hearing it. Hearing him having a good time, as if nothing was wrong. As if he hasn’t been avoiding you like the plague all week.

Without any hesitation, you burst through the door. The room falls silent as everyone looks over to see who interrupted them in the middle of their campaign. When Eddie’s eyes finally met yours, he could see how upset you were.

“Oh shit.”, He whispers to himself.

You march your way over where he was, sat on his throne, and you point your finger at his face.

“Where the hell have you been? Hm?”

Before Eddie has a chance to say anything, you continue on with your rant.

“All week! You haven’t called or stopped by to see me all fucking week! You never do that. Ever. We have been best friends forever and now suddenly, without warning you decide to just disappear? What the hell is your problem? Why have you been ignoring me?”

Eddie sat there, speechless and paralyzed from shock. He wasn’t expecting you to just show up randomly. He thought he would have more time to think over things before talking to you. He also didn’t expect to be having this conversation in front of the entire Hellfire Club, either.

“Say something!” You yell at him. Still, Eddie can’t find the words. Mouth moving as if he wants to say something but nothing comes out. You were mad before, but now standing here having him just stare at you not saying a word, it sends you over the edge.

“Fuck you, Eddie.” You spewed hatred towards him. “I can not believe after everything you did to me this weekend, you have the fucking audacity to not only ignore me and my calls, but blatantly lie to my face and have Wayne lie for you too. I already know you didn’t go to school Monday, Robin confirmed it for me. I seriously can’t believe you right now!”

You were fuming and after a few seconds of Eddie still not saying a word, you look at him and reach your hand out.

“Give me my key.”

“W-what?” Eddie finally is able to breathe out a word, and of course, it’s not what you wanted to hear.

“You heard me…Give. me. my. key.”

When he doesn’t move to give it, you yell again, still beyond frustrated with him.

“NOW!”

With trembling hands, Eddie reaches for it. He slowly takes the spare key to your apartment off the key ring and places it in your hand. You walk back over to the door, turning to him one last time before you leave.

“Don’t bother calling or coming over anymore. Not until you actually grow the fuck up for once. Until then, I’m done. I don’t need to put up with you and all of your bullshit, especially not after what happened.”

You slam the door shut, leaving the boys there in silence. Walking back out of the school, you feel hot tears running down your face. In this moment, you could care less. You just wanted to go home and forget about everything that has happened this past week.

Eddie is left sitting there, staring at the door trying to hold back the tears in his eyes that are fighting to spill over the edge. Gareth is the first one to break the silence.

“Dude, I don’t know what you did” he says looking away from the door and back over to Eddie, “but whatever it was, you really fucked up.”

Still not saying a word, Eddie thought to himself.

He really did fuck up this time.

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#perv!eddie #part 3 #it’s finally here #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #joe quinn #daleyeahson #joseph quinn #joe quinn smut

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starlightts-posts · 2 months

Text

FOOLED || Ao'nung x Sully!reader

part 2 | part 1

change of plans; i'll have to write yet another part for this request bcs i realized i can't write lmao 🥲 i forgot how to do it, so i apologize for this never-ending wait i'm putting u through

enjoy my poor try to write!

Ao'nung could tell the image of the breathtakingly stunning healer was clouding your mind and found your abrupt bursts of frustration whenever she waved at him with a toothy grin decorating her sparkling turquoise skin quite humorous, attractive even.

Mireya was certainly a beauty among the Metkayina tribe but she was fragile. Your sharp glares and silent growls damaged the unguarded shield around her gracious heart, which forced her feet to carry her sobbing frame inside Ao'nung's marui pod every evening. Despite his warnings and frequent eye rolls, Mireya continued to visit the boy who was clearly becoming irritated by her unannounced appearances outside his home.

He was desperately trying to peel her hands off his muscular arms everytime you were passing by with your sisters, allowing his thick tail to show his annoyance. He would gift you precisely wrapped presents almost every week to reveal his tiny attempts to court you - it started with shimmering seashells that eventually turned into luminescent bouquets - but it was never enough for Mireya as she continued to follow him around like a lost puppy.

Ao'nung wanted your undying love, not hers. He even mentioned it to you during your nightly strolls along the shore, stating that he would rather suffer in solitude than experience mating with Mireya, who basically owned his mother's blessing.

Ronal wished only the best for her firstborn and saw rich, successful future in the Metkayina girl. And the fact that you managed to build an unbreakable bond with Ao'nung in such a short period of time was something she just refused to accept. The idea of seeing Ao'nung with a hybrid, someone who had pure demon blood flowing through their veins, disgusted her.

She observed the way her son seemed to be left breathless everytime you walked away from his tall figure after a polite farewell, which often ended up with Ao'nung chuckling and firing some teasing words after your swiftly moving body. She even caught the way her son spoke highly of you during every dinner, lunch, breakfast - you name it.

She noticed how affectionate her eldest child was whenever he had you by his side, how protective he was over you - she noticed how you were able to handle his childish behavior with ease, no evident struggle present, and yet, she still refused to accept your relationship.

"I am not having this type of conversation, mother." Ao'nung pinched the bridge of his scrunched nose, silencing his growl in deepest part of his throat before it managed to roll off his obnoxiously bold tongue.

He was standing in front of you, shielding your defeated spirit from his stern mother with his lean body. His other hand was keeping you close alongside his tail that robbed you of any escape. Ronal was holding her chin high to display her disapproval once more, but all she received from her firstborn was a disappointed sigh.

Ao'nung brought your intertwined fingers up and proudly pulled you out from his cold shadow. Your drastically different form entered the afternoon sunbeams and blinded Ronal for a split second. Your thin tail was flickering nervously behind you as she inspected the position you were in.

It was awfully obvious what happened during the unusually uneventful eclipse last night, she could sense the abrupt change in the middle of her ribcage - you were officially sharing a neural connection with her son.

The woman began to circle the two of you with a creased forehead and allowed her fingers to wrap around the base of your tail. You hissed through clenched teeth when she left a painful tug behind before her hand moved to your tense shoulders. She spotted a bite mark in the crook of your neck, stifling a snarl.

"Not fully mated." She slapped your precisely knitted braid aside and received a warning growl from your lover. "Just marked," Ronal taunted with a huff, quickly placing one of her hands over her growing belly when your tail twitched her way. "Disappointing."

"That is enough." Ao'nung bared his fangs at the pregnant woman as his hand pushed you forward to create some space between you and his mother. You licked your chapped lips and let your ears fall, trying to ignore her harsh words about your mixed blood and the title people had been using to address you and your younger brother for several years. "She is not an outcast, mom! Quit listing her differences, for Eywa's sake! She is a fucking Metkayina now, accept it!"

"Her rites of passage are unfinished," Ronal reminded her son with a click of her tongue, ignoring his usage of the inappropriate language. "She is not one of us-"

"-yet." Ao'nung interrupted her upcoming remark with a growl and temporarily released your hand to point to his mother's rapidly beating heart. "As for now, I need you to respect my partner - whether you like it or not."

Before the spiritual leader could interject, your furious mate captured your hand once again and dragged you away from the cold-hearted woman, muttering an apology to his younger sister who had to witness the conflict. You bowed to Tsireya quickly and followed Ao'nung out of center of the lively village with flattened ears.

part 3 coming soon! i'm so sorry 😭

#avatar #avatar imagine #avatar the way of water #aonung x reader #aonung #james cameron avatar #neteyam #lo'ak #tsireya

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hwaightme · 1 year

Text

Come fly with me

✈️ pairing: pilot!yunho x gn!journalist!reader ✈️ genre: fluff, love at first sight, bit of angst, slice of life ✈️ summary: Aerophobia - the fear of flying. And clearly, something that your boss has no idea exists. While you curse the universe and the metal bird, your handsome seatmate ponders if it is possible to redirect this flight, from Gwangju, to your heart. ✈️ wordcount: 9.0k ✈️ warnings/tags: language, general cuteness, a lot of hand holding and stealing glances, panic/anxiety, aerophobia, discussion of past trauma, mention of grave injury (side character), you never really know what someone has been through ✈️ a/n: Hello!! Here is a lil one shot bc Yunho is renting out my brain. Thank you so much for your love and support, all reblogs, notes and asks welcome! Much love and big hugs (P.S.: not me reading FAA docs and flight handbooks lol)

The chances of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.

The odds of a plane crashing are one in one point two million.

Between the years twenty twelve and twenty sixteen, there was only a one in a one point three seven billion chance of dying in a commercial plane crash, and a one in twenty million chance of being on a commercial flight and experiencing a fatal accident.

But there were fatal accidents.

In those same years there were crashes where people died.

And what about those planes that disappeared?

What about the malfunctions?

What if something happens and two planes just fly into one another?

What if the wing breaks off?

What if one of the windows breaks?

What if something happens to the pilot?

What if everything on the plane just malfunctions?

Those odds… still not in my favour.

Damn this work trip.

And damn how packed it is.

Damn this window seat.

Right. By. The. Wing.

Damn that flappy shit on it that looks like something is about to break off.

Why do I have to keep this blind open goddamn it I am having a stressful enough time as is with the plane vibrating like a hungry beast.

Your mind was racing at the speed of light as you cursed your workplace over and over again for sending you on a business trip. On a plane. Of all modes of transport. The mode of transport that had a track record of making you ill, and one time made you faint. Actually, that had been the best flight of your life since you had been conked out for the most of it. No, this was the one mode of transport that seemed to be fine, but just as you would begin forgetting that planes equaled mass destruction, you would check your colleagues’ freshest news reports and once again, crash, burn, genocide.

It was not that you were a scaredy-cat, not by any means. You were a journalist, for fucks sake. You could handle pretty much anything thrown your way. Well, anything except planes. They were not a pseudo-activist who you could expose for not knowing what they were fighting for. They were not an official figure whose corruption you could bring to light. They were not a dog that you could interview for a fun ‘alternative news’ segment. They were a machine made to trap people for set periods of time, can them like sardines, pop their ear drums, and if all went well, regurgitate them on some other metal bird playground, and lie in wait until another bunch gets loaded up for a ride.

But of course, out of all the people in the office, including those who would kill to get out of Seoul and those who were basically known as the nomadic reporters, your boss had to appoint you to go on a three-day trip to Gwangju. The one person who almost exclusively worked in the capital. Who had no experience in working abroad. Hell, the one person who had literally refused to attend a social event because it was held in Busan and the travel plan included flying there. You were the antithesis to such trips, but your boss could not give less of a shit, apparently.

He even had the audacity to praise you in front of your colleagues and say you were ‘just the right person for the interview’ – all when the topic, and the professional background of the individual you were to be meeting, were so far out of your regular scope and within your nightmare space that no amount of reading would make you neither proficient, nor truly appreciative. You were convinced that the universe was out to get you. An alarming interpretation had crossed your mind – perhaps this was your boss wanting to find an excuse to fire you?

A new wave of panic settled in as you made feeble attempts to play a mental game of ‘whack-a-mole’ with your not so friendly musings. Why couldn’t you just exchange the tickets, take the train or a bus, or event drive there yourself? Why did you have to follow orders at your own expense? Just as you were beginning to transition from using familiar curse words to describe the situation to recalling anything and everything you had ever heard either in a foreign drama or in real life, you were gently stirred from the activity by a change in lighting.

You peered to your left – the culprit was a man, broad-shouldered, on the taller side, clad in a stylish sheepskin coat with a white turtleneck and some well-tailored trousers to match. You couldn’t quite see his face fully, but you guessed it would happen sooner than later, seeing as he was in the process of fitting his carry-on into the luggage compartment above where you were sat. Not wanting to intrude any further with your stares, you glanced away, instantly regretting it and exhaling sharply as your eyes were met with the metal wings of doom outside.

An airplanes wings are designed to flex up to ten degrees, and during the average flight the flex can reach up to seven degrees. The wings have been stress-tested time and time again so they cannot break off and the plane will stay balanced and-

But what about the Lockheed L-188 Electra II? What about the Lockheed C-141C Starlifter? Their wings just decided to go on holiday why can’t the wings of a commercial liner do the same? Oh, and the second one had a fuel leak – when do people check that? Did they check for this one? What if something happens and the fuel tank explodes?

“Would you be willing to switch seats by any chance?” a calming voice suddenly interrupted your nervous flow, and you snapped your head in its direction.

That man. Oh no, he was handsome. Dark hair, which was the tiniest bit tousled, kind eyes that you swore glinted at you, and a heart-stopping million-dollar smile. Now you had to keep up appearances too, to not seem like a total wuss, at least for the duration that you had to sit in this can. You heard his question loud and clear, but to allow your mind to process, you asked him to repeat with a quick:

“Sorry?”

He tilted his head and pointed towards the seat closest to him, “Ah, well, technically, this seat is mine, but… would you want to switch?”

Who was this man and why was he reading your ;mind? Was the universe pitying you finally?

“Yes, let’s do that!”

You shot up from your seat, nearly hitting the one in front of you, and slid out to give way to the brave soul who could look out of the window. As you two were settling down and he was giving you his thanks, you were not sure whether your heart was beating fast because of your fear of flying, or because of how you lucked out on your seat mate. Probably both.

It was hard to resist stealing a couple more glances at him while he was checking something on his phone. He had a reassuring aura about him and judging by how well-practiced his motions had been as he was settling in, he appeared to be quite a frequent flyer. He was so relaxed it made you envious. But you had no better way to get back to muting your phobias aside from absent-mindedly fishing out the airplane safety instructions manual from the pocket of the seat in front and reading it with the intensity of a final year student preparing for the KSAT.

You pored over the calls to fasten your seatbelt, to check that there was in fact, a life vest under your seat, to be prepared to pull on some random strings on an air mask if they were to be ‘made available’…

Abandon everything and run ‘in an organised manner’…

No high heels…

Someone probably would try to wear them still, even if we all had to go down that inflatable slide.

Slide down in the Dracula position…

You heard a chuckle to your right, and upon turning a little, you noticed your seatmate studying you, his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He looked you up and down, from the safety manual that you were now gripping a little bit too strongly, and finally locking eyes with you.

“Thought so.” he came to some cryptic conclusion, leaving you perplexed.

“Thought what?” you could not help but give into your curiosity.

“Aerophobia?”

“Is it that obvious?” you groaned and shut the manual to return it to the pocket. You felt as though you turned into a child who wanted to be taken more seriously, with your body refusing to suppress a slight pout. Yes, planes, for all their bird-imitating glory, were never going to be your wingmen. It was hard to ooze attractiveness when you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown.

“Well, there were some signs, but I only noticed them because I was paying attention,” before you could respond to the subtle flirtation, he continued by introducing himself, “I’m Jeong Yunho. Yunho is completely fine though.”

“L/N Y/N. Then Y/N is fine by me too. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You might just be giving me a run for my money with those deduction skills!” You complimented him, delighted when you could elicit and even brighter smile. This flight was slowly but surely becoming a little bit more enjoyable thanks to the outgoing eye candy in the window seat.

“Are you an investigator, better yet, a special agent out on a mission?” he wiggled his eyebrows, further lightening the mood.

“I doubt I would ever be able to pull Brad Pitt-level stunts and board the plane in an unconventional manner like he did, but the mystery aspect is enticing. I’m a journalist and reporter.”

Something you could only describe as recognition flashed across his face as he clapped his hands together. By now, he had his body turned to the greatest extent possible towards you, his knees nearly touching your thighs. You had to admit, you were worried that a flight attendant would come and scold him, or that this would end up being a hazard during takeoff. But at the same time, the attention was a welcome relief.

“Oh wait! I have seen you before! You mainly cover local news, right? Or at least spanning Seoul Capital Area?”

“Funny to use ‘at least’ there, but yep, that’s me-”

“Your exposé on the fitness center money laundering scheme was amazing, it was like watching an action thriller.”

Well, that fell short. You giggled. Yunho was evidently trying to impress you by praising your work, but mixed things up right at the end. As you were still a junior, the times where you were allowed to as much as breathe in the direction of a live broadcast or even a pre-recording were few and far between. So far, you had only made a couple of appearances, and most definitely not in the crime segments – though you had indeed helped write the script.

“That’s not me. Close enough though. My mentor was the one on the screen.”

The utter confusion on his face spelled disaster for your composure, so you bit the inside of your cheek lightly, eyes sparkling. He covered his face with his hand out of embarrassment, and, once he had regained at least some of his courage, apologized, assuring you that your name did ring a bell and that he had heard it announced.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I was one of the writers.”

“Score! Otherwise, I really don’t know how I would be apologizing to you aside from buying you a drink.”

“Something tells me that you were a step away from messing up intentionally.”

“I wouldn’t do that on a short-haul.” Yunho was back to being his cheery self, his only distraction from you being the need to turn his phone on to airplane mode.

This action, meaningless on its own, but in context… left a sour taste in your mouth – a reminder that you were still in a tin can with planks glued onto either side, and that it was about to start grumbling and rumbling across to take off. You saw attendants start preparing for the safety announcement, making you retract into your seat and sigh. How you wished you were as carefree as this charming stranger.

“You know a bit about me, since you are so attentive, but I am intrigued as to who you are.” You inquired, trying to take your mind off what it considered to be imminent danger.

“I don’t want to spoil the fun! Give me a little taste of your own deduction skills.” He challenged playfully, though his tone revealed fleeting notes of concern.

You paused. You had already taken him to be a frequent flier, though for what reason was beyond you. You did not have enough experience racing through airports to be able to distinguish between different types of passengers. But what did stand out to you, was that comment about the reportage – the event that had been covered occurred within the Incheon Metropolitan City area, thus was presented through local branches only.

“You are in Incheon pretty frequently, right?”

“Terrifyingly accurate comment, but yes.” He confirmed while nodding. You felt proud of yourself for managing to have at least some of your skillset still intact.

“And what is bringing you to Gwangju? If it is okay to ask, of course.” You resumed your miniature interrogation, rushing as the announcement began to resound across the cabin, and a flight attendant was demonstrating how to put on the life vest, top up the air, where the emergency exits were… a flurry of information streaming right at you.

“Visiting my parents.” Yunho’s calmness had not changed a single bit since he had boarded the plane, and he was answering you in a level, measured out manner.

“Not during a standard holiday?”

“Here’s the hint: my line of work limits annual hours of… redacted for now.”

“That just makes me think you work abroad most of the time!” you exclaimed, recalling the shock you had when you had first entered the workforce and experience the full package of overtime, minimal breaks, and high demands. There was no guarantee that it was not the same in other countries, could even be worse, but as the old saying goes: ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’.

After he shook his head, shattering your theories, you fell quiet. Everyone had settled in their seats, and now information that was sending adrenaline to pump right through your veins was being shared. Even the demonstration of the flashlight on the vest was ominous. Once the routine had been completed, the rumble of the engines grew a little louder, and you were still making no move to return to the conversation, Yunho leaned over and exclaimed in a low voice:

“I’m a pilot. Indeed, am based in Incheon, and being abroad is very much part of the deal so I would say your logic was impeccable.”

“No wonder you look to be right at home.” You stated, albeit it came across as a little jealous. The air-mobile and your personal panic inducer began to demand more attention as it steered from the airport, leaving a still outstretched landing bridge behind.

“Maybe you are right. I do spend more time in planes than in Gwangju.”

“Sounds like the triangle between me, my apartment, and the office.” You concurred – at least locally the enforce workaholic culture was universal.

With your fingers, you tapped out an abstract rhythmic sequence with your fingers, then moving to feel for the position of the different buttons, side-eyeing them to make sure your seat, nor the electrics were broken. You were tempted to check if the seat could lean back but you were convinced that if you did that the world would collapse. Or at least you would be in trouble. As it turns out you had a flight law enforcement representative right next to you. A good-looking and so far, so sweet, but still.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you crack the Incheon bit?” he detracted you from your near scratching of the synthetic material, and you pressed your hands into your lap to supress their light tremor.

“Ah, you gave it away when you mentioned the news. That was only shown in Incheon.” You curtly responded, your concentration escaping you after you felt the metal bird jolt.

It was crystal clear to Yunho that your phobia was getting the better of you. After not having flown since at least a decade ago, each one of your senses was going into overdrive, screaming catastrophe. Your eyes were slightly widened, breathing becoming more shallow threatening to turn into hyperventilation, and, of course, you not knowing what to do with your hands (or really, yourself) sealed the deal. He needed to help you. Using whatever technique that came to him. And quick.

“Lightheaded?”

“Uh huh…” you could not deny it. That was just how it was. You, alone with your uncontrollable palpitations and a lump in your throat were on the verge of just control alt deleting your consciousness for take-off.

“Uhm… may I… wait, this might be very tactless, and you have every right to tell me to go- …wherever, but may I hold your hand?”

“What?” you snapped out of your thoughts and gaped at Yunho. What strange form of crisis-based moves-making was this? Or was he making fun of you? The engines were becoming almost deafening while you were still struggling to isolate your seatmate’s voice.

Even though he had not shown any signs of malice, you still expected the worst. Always did when it came to discussing travel, since the majority of your interactions often resulted in your conversation partner revealing some aggression-based schadenfreude. They were happy to pity you and diminish all of your other qualities just because you were scared of this one thing. But even though you were actively searching for any form of darkness, you could only find a caring soul, wholly preoccupied with your wellbeing.

“It is so you know that there is someone here with you. Just by feeling. Kind of like a grounding technique?”

“Oh, I would kill to be on the ground right now.” You twisted his words spiralling into dread.

“Sorry, I’d like to live another day, so you’ll have to bear with this. May I?”

Spooked by some noise from outside of the airplane, you did not dare raise your voice and instead resorted to nodding back your confirmation. As soon as you gave the sign, you felt his steady, warm and soothing hand tentatively touch yours, moving it a fraction and intertwining fingers until the palms were pressed together. Yunho gave yours a quick squeeze, as if in mute encouragement.

“This is so embarrassing...” you mumbled, shaking your head.

After the plane had come to a halt before the final turn onto the runway, you felt feverish, and overwhelmingly guilty. You had convinced yourself that you were ruining this wonderful man’s entire flight, by acting like such a child. And on top of this, he was a pilot, so if anyone had the right to consider you ridiculous it would be him.

“If it is the hand holding then I totally understand I can-”

“NO PLEASE THAT HELPS-” you yelped, practically yanking his hand back with yours and returning them to resting between you, “oops I said that too loud didn’t I…” this really was one moment of humiliation after another. Heat rose in your cheeks as you pondered whether it was too late to stop the plane or not.

“You should hear me scream on roller coasters. Now that’s loud.” He countered your insecurity, making you chuckle. You felt Yunho’s thumb brush over the back of your hand – it was not unpleasant. At all. “I must say, you are already doing really well.”

“Funny.”

“No, really.” Now, the engines were really starting up and you gripped Yunho’s hand a little tighter, this led to him making a split-second decision – a final resort. “But how about this. You close your eyes, okay?”

“What are you trying?” you raised an eyebrow, meeting his confident gaze with your own panicked one.

“Just, I know I am a stranger but, trust me for the next couple of minutes, okay?”

“Sure…” you did not have any of the forcefulness and pride left in you, so you quickly agreed and shut your eyes, but that led to you beginning to hyper fixate on the quietest, most insignificant of noises, blowing their impact out of proportion.

“Now, listen to my voice only.” Yunho instructed.

He was alarmingly close, almost right by your ear as he whispered:

“Let me guide you.”

Your heart fluttered, as you tried to push at least some thoughts to the back of your head, in order to focus on Yunho. This surely had to be one of the most original and thrilling ways you had ever been hit on. And terror-promoted-

Oh you had not even recounted the statistics for hijacking and for those types of attacks yet. How foolish of you! How were you going to remain safe if you did not have the likelihood of you perishing because of an air criminal or air pirate in the front of your mind!? You raked your brain for the 'fun facts' you had enjoyed reviewing last night, when Yunho cleared his throat and tapped your intertwined hands with his free one.

“Okay, so, first, let us set the scene. There is this neat thing called the Pilot’s Operating Handbook, which helps the pilot of a given aircraft determine whether it is safe to fly. And they would not do anything until all checks are done."

Where and what was the guarantee of that? You wanted to ask, too aware of the vibrations that were travelling from the floor of the cabin and turning into your jitters. But Yunho sounded so sure of what he was saying... damn it, he was using ethos-based marketing against you. What if he had lied about being a pilot?

"Also, the runway, the wind speed and direction, and a grand bunch of other things are all checked, one by one, to make sure that everything works as expected. You following me so far?” he informed, and paused to check up on you.

Yunho was using the opportunity to study you to the fullest. The little squint as you were fighting against the desire to shoot your eyes open and search for invisible troubles. The slightest hint of a pout etched on your rosy lips, signifying displeasure with your surroundings. He could not control his smile as he was admiring your battle spirit.

It was hard for Yunho to imagine you being as vulnerable as you were with him right now, due to sheer circumstance. Had anything been different, he might not have even had the chance to introduce himself to the beautiful stranger in what originally was the window seat.

“Yes but… what if something does not work?” as much as this experience was exposure therapy, in the moment, you did not give a shit and was sticking to your ways.

“That is not in the job description. And the engineers do a damn good job too. Just like you are now, okay, Y/N?” Yunho scolded softly but finished with more encouragement.

“I am so sorry again-”

“Nothing to be sorry about."

Of course, you would not know just how much you were reminding Yunho of himself in the distant past. How, when he had been a child, he was not able to even stay on airport grounds because of the noise, and the images that would flash in his head. He only hoped that for you it was a 'lighter' phobia, not stemming from true disaster.

"You know how the plane was just turning right now and making some noise?” Yunho cut his rumination short and returned to his miniature lecture.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is the pilot using rudder pedals, kind of like pedals in a car, pedals on a piano... whichever is closer to home for you, to steer the plane. Basically, we must make sure that the nose of the plane is well-aligned with the centre of the runway. And now, release of the brakes…”

Just as he said it, you could pick out a distinct change in the mechanical cacophony. You chuckled - it was like Yunho was conducting the actions of the beast.

“Now, do you hear this rise in sound? This rumble? Quite ominous, isn’t it? But it is just the pilot advancing the throttle gently to take off power, while keeping their feet on the rudder portions of the pedals and their eyes on the super cool engine instruments.”

He almost sounded like a technical kid getting a DIY kit for their birthday. The excitement in Yunho's voice did not falter as he continued to dive into more and more detail. Did you understand any of it? No. Was it more than pleasant to listen to Yunho having the time of his life explaining it? Yes.

“As the speed picks up, there is more pressure on the controls, but more specifically the rudder and elevator. Then we quickly transition to having the plane being flown more than it is taxied and having three axis manoeuvrability. What is really cool about commercial aviation, and pilots like the one flying this plane, is that we are actually able to feel plane controllability and are able to adjust pressures to make take off just right.”

The take-off procedure was being presented to you like a picture book. A straightforward scheme of a few steps, a celebration of a pilot's mastery. You daydreamed of how your seat mate would look like in the famous uniform, doing exactly what he was recounting to you.

“Okay so we are passing this stage now… and here we are approaching lift off. How we call the angle at which the plane takes off the ground is quite funny: the attitude. And after this… we are going to adjust the pitch just a little to make sure we get the best climbing rate.”

Yes, keep on talking this odd terminology that you were not even attempting to get a grasp on anymore. Probably would have been a good idea in light of your interview, but you could barely remain conscious as your inner world was experiencing high magnitude worry-quakes.

“Now, do you feel that? this is the pilot beginning to apply back-elevator pressure, and this is done to lift that little wheel at the front of the plane up. This is the attitude being created, we call it the rotation for lift off. Ah there it is now he is adjusting… adjusting… now the wings are being levelled, and the plane is remaining right on track, aligned with the centreline of the runway.”

Good for the plane. Good for the pilot. Good for Yunho. You just did not want to die. You squeezed Yunho's hand harder and harder, an action on which he did not comment. On the contrary, he resumed the soothing motion with his thumb that he had tried a bit of time ago.

“And now… we keep on going and… we are going steady.”

You eased off the grip, cringing at how forward, how ridiculous you likely seemed. It was hard to open your eyes back up again, so you took it slow. One eye. Then the next. You were still there. In the can. Which was now in the sky. Zooming across it at whatever speed. Yunho was still there. And still holding onto your hand.

Thanks to his guidance, you had not gone into a full-blown panic, nor had you passed out – an achievement really. But as you were regaining your senses, returning to a more neutral mode of worry, your need to show that you were an independent adult and did not require support returned, and you gingerly tried to remove yourself from his hold, as much as you wanted to stay in the same position for the duration of the flight.

Though Yunho allowed you to do so and waved off your numerous apologies. He was of the same mindset – the contact had been near electric, making this one of the more exciting of his flights. He would be lying if he said that the thought of finding an excuse to hold your hand again did not cross his mind. But he was drawn in even more by the contrast between the you from a few minutes ago and you who was boring holes in the seat in front, evidently counting seconds as you were measuring out your breathing. He was in awe of your perseverance, and how brave you had been to even book the tickets. To be in the cabin. To just, be there.

He was perplexed by why you were going to Gwangju by plane if you had a phobia. His own mother, over a decade after the life-changing incident his family had experienced, still had not gotten over it. Sometimes, looking at the racing clouds in the sky had caused her to tear up, and choose to spend the day shut indoors. Such was life. Even though his father was still alive, and had recovered for the most part, the fear of planes, the roar of the engine – a lethal predator, of flying like Icarus, too close to the sun, remained.

Flying was in his family. His grandfather, his father, him… had all committed themselves to the life of a pilot. And his younger brother, too, was in training. The lineage was to continue, despite the close brush with death that had nearly made Yunho’s father one with the world above. Prior to sustaining grave injuries, he had been a test pilot with a stellar reputation, and one successful flight after another. He was known for being able to land planes that had exhibited faults mid-flight, was able to tame high-speed jets that grew unstable, and was a gifted aerobatics master when he could unwind and choose a trusty steed for himself. His father was his role model. Regardless of what had happened.

It had been a freak accident. A miscalculation resulting in a catastrophe. Better yet, the company that had commissioned the testing had managed to keep the accident under wraps, and only after his mother near rioted and escalated the conflict to the local government and threatened to take it to the media, did his family receive compensation and as laughable charity, some physiotherapy courses. Nothing could compensate a broken heart of a person who had been told that they would not be able to do what they lived for anymore, however. Yunho was just a child then. But the fear that had had come to occupy his home was ageless.

It was not easy, living every day not sure whether his own father would be able to walk him to school. Play football with him. Stand together with him for a photo during a family trip. It was not easy on his mother, who had almost totally turned into a carer, splitting herself in pieces to raise two boys, to work, and to be her husband’s strength, both mentally and physically. Her sleepless nights, when Yunho had caught her bawling silently in the kitchen, trying to hide away from the rest of the family, had imprinted themselves in his mind.

The bitterness in his father’s words as he cursed everything related to the event, and the forlorn gazes he sent the awards, the books, the photographs in his office. Although he had been able to walk again, after years of forgetting the feeling, his meaning was only a memory. This was what had shaped Yunho’s initial impression of the world of flying. That it was a place of misery, hurt and false promises. He had vowed then to never, ever step onto a plane. Never once to approach an airport. Never once to give himself up to that dream that he had been born with. His personal ‘fear’ was not quite that. It was more the rage, the sense of injustice – why did it have to be his father? Out of spite he did not want to continue the dynasty.

His mother had been relieved when Yunho had announced at the dinner table that he wanted to be an engineer. And he made a pretty good job of convincing himself that this was what he really wanted. He had even gone to cram school for mathematics and physics and participated in some competitions. Not that he had ever felt purpose or found joy in it. He was just riding the wave of stability. And simultaneously cursing it.

As time for the national exams was fast approaching, and he needed to specify what kind of engineering he was going to do, he had been stumped. How could Yunho pick between a variety of subjects which he had virtually zero interest in, and pursued because of childhood trauma? So, he did what he could only call an act of desperation and approached his father for career advice. Yunho had assumed that the discussion was going to go nowhere. That his father, who had become a consultant and trainer (though permanently grounded), would only dismiss him and say something along the lines of ‘it did not matter anyways, everything could fall apart at any moment’. But surprisingly, he was responsive. Moreover, he had reminisced with Yunho about his early days, ones where he had not been sure what to do.

Then, he had posed Yunho a question: what was it that his heart wanted to pursue? If he were to forget everything, any and all external influence, what would he pick? After much deliberation, he peered at the poster of a Boeing-777 that hung across from him, and merely stated:

“Flying.”

After years of fooling himself. Running away from what his inner self was yearning for. Only this path seemed right. That night, his father and him had made a deal. To not disappoint his mother, and gain some basic understanding of aircraft, he was to pick aero-engineering, and in secret, simultaneously begin flight lessons. His father had activated his network, and once Yunho had gone through that first year, made a smooth transfer to become who he was now. A fully trained commercial airline pilot. True to himself, his dreams and his future.

When his mother had first found out, she was in hysterics. It was as though someone had brought the news to her that her son had passed away. Maybe that would have hurt less – less than the fear for what could happen, the anguish she would be experiencing every time Yunho would lift off. But he had made up his mind. And would indeed rather die than face the prospect of being anything else than a pilot. This was what he was made to do, and it felt right.

On the one hand, the reason why he wanted to help you was because he wanted others to feel the same way he did about flying. It had become his mission to bring comfort to passengers, to inspire future generations of pilots, and to share just how fun it could be. On the other, he had learned the hard way about what phobia and detestation was and could not bear to see you experience it. He had grown far too good at detecting its approach, so much so that he could live through it with you.

Maybe this was a strange way for him to cope and process his own life’s events, but it sure was damn near magical when he saw that he could take away at least a fraction of the weight you carried. After all there was only so much baggage you could bring on board with you.

Yunho’s heart was conflicted. When he had just boarded and got to his row, he had told himself that he lucked out, having an attractive seatmate and one who appeared to be as curious in him as he was in them. And now, he was almost feeling attached to you since he had helped you overcome the take off. It was inexplicable. A little irrational. But he wanted to talk to you. And to keep on holding your hand if you were okay with it.

When you considered yourself to be more or less recovered you sighed in relief. Having Yunho logically talk you through what you had labelled as horror film material had done what you thought was impossible – made you reconsider if planes really were as terrible as you thought. At least the ones where Yunho could be with you and chant plane speak over the screeches and groans of the engines and brakes. You turned your head a little and noticed Yunho watching the Earth transform through the window. He was leaning back and appeared to be deep in his mind palace. You tapped him lightly on his upper arm, which made all his attention come back to you.

“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me through this, really. You did not have to, Yunho, but you saved me just now.”

“Really, as I said, it is not a problem, Y/N.”

“But still. As you probably can tell, this really is nightmare fuel for me-”

“I am more than happy to continue, just so you know. If you need me, I am right here.” He offered, flustering you.

The sincerity of his words made you dwell on his desire to help. He was nothing short of respectful, but you felt that the story ran much deeper. Perhaps because he knew what it was like. But you were not about to force him into sharing all the potential skeletons and sprinklings of trauma, if anything it would make you appear ungrateful and downright prying. The atmosphere was just right for now, thanks to Yunho.

“You best be worried, because I might just pick you up on that offer, since I have a lot of revision to do before actually doing the job I was sent to do.” You answered, running a hand through your hair. You wondered whether you should use the rest of the flight to actually do some preparation for the interview or… the second option won out immediately, and you were back to enjoying Yunho’s company.

“Ah, so you are on the flight not by your own volition?”

“Yep. My boss is rather creative when it comes to picking out his entertainment.” His chuckle made a dopey grin appear on your face.

“And what do you mean by revision? Will you be joining the ranks?” he realised he barely knew anything about you aside from the odd mix of bare bone basics and auto-completed nonsense, courtesy of his imagination.

“Probably not, still need to sit as a passenger for a long, long time before that, you know, learn by observation!” you joked, attempting to conjure a vision of yourself as a pilot, but the irony of it was too much. “I am going to be doing a mini-documentary and interview with Hwang Taehyuk. He is a recently retired pilot with many accolades and, apparently, a very exciting professional life so-”

“This really keeps on getting better.”

“What keeps on getting better?”

“I had the chance to co-pilot with him a couple of times. Absolutely the most amazing guy on the planet. Total goofball too.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you threw the rhetorical question out into the air, but almost instantly continued, “You know, you are making me glad that I took this flight.”

“Like I said, if you need a plane nerd rundown of what’s going on at any point, just let me know and I can even draw some diagrams for you on a napkin.”

“Not just that, though now you promised me some diagrams and I do want to see them. It’s just, the beauty of how things have aligned. That makes me... quite happy.”

“Seconded.”

For the hour that it took to fly from Seoul to Gwangju, you were in deep discussion with your seatmate, turned acquaintance, turned to something that could not exactly be called a friend – an ‘interest’, rather. It was a process of progressive mutual discovery, stepping beyond first impressions and learning that, in fact, both of you only wanted to know more and more as the minutes and stories flew by.

Feverishly you shared your lives with one another, in a manner not dissimilar to that of someone retelling a missed episode to make sure that from then on, everyone would be moving forward together, at the same pace. You and Yunho explained your dreams, your hopes for the future, whilst inadvertently looking for, and finding similarities in them. You soared through conversation and landed being much closer than either of you could have predicted.

Everything was on the table – from embarrassing stories to going through each other’s camera rolls (under strict supervision, but that was a given). To prove to you that Yunho was truly a pilot and not just a plane nerd, he had shown you some photos of himself in uniform, zooming in to show you that the epaulettes were very much real and that he was earning his stripes. You commended his determination and had even taken an interest in how the career ladder functioned, but really what you could comprehend the best out of that discourse was that he chose the right job even if just for how handsome he looked in the attire. Yunho really was one of a kind, inside and out. He reminded you of a day in early spring, when the days were steadily growing longer, and the winter breeze finally departed, instead letting the budding leaves and blossoming beauties take over and instil a happier sense of tomorrow. He was the one to start to thaw your previously deadest perceptions and blood-curdling associations.

It went without saying that your fear of flying did not go without mention. A dreaded topic for you, you had initially tried to brush it under the table, but it was pointless to do before a person who had just seen you through take off, and for the duration of the flight sometimes paused your dialogue to check in with you. In addition, if he noticed your concentration drifting because of a foreign noise, or because of a little tilt or turn, every time Yunho would explain the reasoning behind it the best he could. Though it would take much longer to get over the phobia, his dedication made you swoon.

You had revealed to him that you had been diagnosed with aerophobia back in early primary school. It was genetic, with your father’s family line showing particularly strong symptoms – so any reunions were either planned with military precision, or simply did not happen, because Jeju Island was not so ‘all modes of transport’ -friendly. Back then, you had no idea how serious your condition could be, seeing as you were minimally exposed, but the times you were had been haunting you since. Your choice of work had not helped with your condition either, since you were constantly exposed to the worst locally, nationally, and globally. Though you had to be an objective messenger and remain unperturbed, aviation-related accidents often left you a whimpering, misty-eyed mess. At least you had become an expert in reading and responding to emails while your vision was blurry.

This was probably the first time ever that you had shared this aspect of you without either being interrupted or misunderstood. With Yunho, he listened carefully, and bewilderingly, drew parallels between your reality and his. It was obvious that he was holding back on some more upsetting facts out of care for how you would react, but you could figure out that his path to becoming a pilot had been on the bumpier side. He did end up drawing some free body diagrams for you and explaining the aerodynamics involved in a flight, lighting up every time you would ask him a question, or even when you would lean in, so your heads were almost touching, brows furrowed and processing.

Yunho had provided you with more anecdotes about the pilot you were going to interview, and even suggested that he could come along to introduce you – apparently the guy liked to keep his circle small and was not one to trust outsiders until they gained his respect. There was something surreal about being on the plane with Yunho – it made you believe that you two would last forever, and that what he was initially proposing, and then downright promising you to do, would really happen. Here was to be hoping that you would not part ways and at least be able to recognise one another in a crowd.

Landing went a little smoother for you than take off, perhaps because you had automatically searched for Yunho, and gingerly placed your hand on his lower arm. Too shy to do the same as before, you had remained in that position, focusing on the fabric of his coat. Meanwhile Yunho was frozen, like a person who had been chosen by a cat as the perfect napping spot. He remained close to your ear, once again whispering through the steps, though seeing your lowered anxiety, allowed himself to veer off the script a little more and crack a couple of jokes.

You left the plane as if you had been companions to begin with, checking if the other had left anything behind, chatting as you made your way across the jet bridge. Unlike the rest of the passengers who had decidedly become track and field athletes as soon as they were hit with airport air conditioning, Yunho and you moved slow, off to the side of the giant glass corridors, just so that time would not pass by you. For the first time, you were grateful that the line for passport control had gotten quite long by the time you reached it – all the more time to sneak glances at one another, kid around, and act like you had known each other forever. When you had reached the front of the line, the border control officer had even mistaken you as a couple and let you through together. Not that you would correct them.

Baggage claims. A time to reminisce, as it turned out. Standing side by side, you recollected each other's musings and theories as though you were revising, flipping through cards and supporting each try at a response with ripples of laughter. This was a plane that neither of you wanted to land, and kept on praying, repeating the same wish like a mantra: may this last.

If only this damn luggage could continue spinning forever, or would just be lost in the metal bird's belly. Somehow, life on the ground appeared to move faster than that high above. The hustle and bustle, people moving to and fro with their identities shoved into flimsy wheeled boxes, kept together by duct tape and overpriced cling film. Everyone had to have a plan. A destination. Up in the air, that could be removed. Troubles minimised for the duration of the flight. The only direction being to a random dot of choice, labelled as a city, town, base, important only because of plans that resume upon landing.

To Yunho, this was the biggest disillusionment he had experienced in his first flight. When he had been a little boy, he believed that everything radically changed after such a journey. That pilots were like wizards. But, as it turned out, he was only serving other people's plans. Just like this time, he was following a specific agenda. But you had made it colourful. Meaningful. The time suspended in mid-air well spent, and in need of a ‘to be continued’. As you made your way closer and closer to the airport exit, after having collected your belongings, he only had one thing on his mind. How could he prolong this metaphorical flight with you?

Without any prior agreement, nor any feat of telepathy, you and Yunho halted. It was time to part. Both you and him knew it, and yet neither of you were making the decisive move to do so. Instead, you chose to dawdle and stand, facing each other in the middle of Arrivals, luggage by your sides.

“Are you... going to be taking a taxi? Or is someone going to meet you?” he broke the silence with some small talk, while his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest – somewhat comical, now it was his turn to be panicked.

“I’ll catch a taxi. Yeah. And yourself?” You asked, not caring for the response, but for the prolongation of time that it brought. You were not looking forward to departing from this bliss between destinations. Back to rushing somewhere. Trying not to lose yourself amidst the events you had to pursue.

“Car rental.” Yunho swore he could hear turbine noise in his head as he was dashing from one idea to the next. Was he about to lose you?

“That’s neat.” You kicked the air with your foot, and stuffed your hands into your pockets, readying yourself for an unwanted goodbye.

You raised your head and faced him. Two people, fumbling for a way to stay like this. Were both of you waiting for some divine intervention? For a third person, a passive observer to suddenly step in and give you a friendly nudge? All the signs were pointing to a sure-fire success, and yet hesitation, doubt and insecurity remained as the devil on both your shoulders. Perhaps this was not meant to be, and you merely served one another as a time passer, a cure for boredom, and eventually destined to bid your farewells. Your lips parted, and you inhaled, about to say the dreaded words, when-

“I can drive you.”

“Huh?”

“If you want.”

He officially short-circuited as he could not wait any longer. Had Yunho been a poet or a writer, hell, maybe even if he had stayed an engineer, he could have come up with something more impressive, but at the end of the day, the message would be the same. Let’s go together. Let’s go anywhere together. Come fly with me.

Now, it was one thing to hope, and a wholly different one to expect, and you sure as hell had not been doing the latter. So, when Yunho took the leap and reached out to you, and to your future self, you needed to take a moment to internally squeal. And then try your best to keep it cool and answer like a proper adult, rather than the inner giddy schoolchild who was on their umpteenth celebratory somersault.

“I would want that. But aren’t your parents waiting for you?” your response was light and breezy, and an attempt to showcase, once again, that you had paid attention to him and could recall why he was here in the first place.

“Well, I mean, I don’t usually do this… but if you are into meeting parents so early…”

“Oh, come on!” you giggled, playfully hitting Yunho’s upper arm as he grinned wide.

“Totally serious, Y/N, I am totally serious.” He responded, sarcasm dripping from his words.

He pointed in the direction of the car rentals and took the small suitcase you had brought with you in his free hand. Ever the gentleman.

“And if you are free at any point, I would love to show you around.” He continued as you ambled on, barely any space between you.

“As long as it is by foot or car, I am free today and tomorrow afternoon.”

“I wish I had the car from Back to The Future so that I could impress you with my piloting skills, alas, I’ll have to disappoint you with… are they advertising new Kia models? Y/N, not all is lost!”

“Now to figure out which one looks most like a Yunho-mobile.”

“We’ll figure it out, take an online test that matches MBTI to a car or something.”

“Don’t tempt me, or I might actually do that.” You warned in jest and proceeded to take out your phone to make a point. This seemed to have an effect on Yunho, as he stopped abruptly and began searching for his own device.

“Oh! That reminds me! Your five-star guarantee Uber driver would like to have your number. You know, for announcing his arrival, of course.” As you typed in your digits, and then proceeded to save his number on your phone after he had texted you a string of airplane emojis you ideated out loud:

“I can already see the review I shall write: car may or may not take off and grow wings during journey. Passenger discretion is advised."

“If that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to hold your hand again, or maybe something more serious to protect against turbulence?” he winked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I think I’ll have to write a piece about your methods.”

“Just make sure to mention that they are exclusive to Jeong Yunho, your private pilot,” well that was an original, yet explicit expression of interest, “and speaking of reporting, I am taking you to teacher Hwang’s for some proper networking.”

“Yeah, and what about my crew?”

“Pilots are no strangers to crews, trust me on that.” he answered promptly.

“I can imagine.”

You and Yunho stood still, eyes locked. Your 'spring' ahead of you.

“Now, shall we be off?” he gestured towards the rentals office, but not removing his gaze.

“Go on ahead, be my guide.”

Given half a billion potential soul mates, your chance of finding your true love is one in 10,000.

1 in 50 airplane passengers meet the love of their life on board an aircraft.

And when it came to you and Yunho, the probability was simply 1. 100%. No other way.

Perhaps it was a good thing that you were scared of flying.

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softhairedhotch · 6 months

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Do you have any Trans!Aaron headcanons?

yesss lemme give you some <3

when he was younger and first realised he felt like a boy, he definitely pushed away those thoughts because he figured he didn't have time for it with all the things he had to do in the future (care for his mom and brother, working a shitty job, getting into law school) and he assumed no one would understand or care

i feel like he worked a few jobs as a teen so he could save up enough for testosterone/top surgery/bottom surgery if he wanted that too because he wanted to get them all as soon as possible

he used to bind unsafely bc he had no proper way of doing it :( so it took a while for his ribs/chest to feel okay again after that. he sometimes still gets pains because of how long he did it for when he was a teen/young adult

him being trans is the reason he wears a lot of suits, especially tailored ones, because it makes him look and feel a lot more masculine <3 but as he gets older and has been on t for years, he feels a lot more comfortable wearing casual clothing around his coworkers and in general

he's not out to people, only the ones he's closest too. so haley knew, jessica also knew but that's because they grew up together, and so does sean. jack probably knows, but might not understand properly until he's older, and maybe dave knows too. the rest of the team doesn't.

he's insecure about his top surgery scars which is why he's never seen shirtless or always leaves to change elsewhere and alone. i feel like after foyet stabs him a few times in the stomach, he feels a lil bit less insecure about his top surgery scars because it's not the only scars on his front anymore. but now he's insecure about all the scars because of the memories they hold and he hates the idea of people asking questions or acting like they know what he's been through </3

when there's a case that includes transphobia, he gets really really angry about it. just like jj does when the case involves kids. but the team can't figure out why it affects him so much and why it has him overworking them without even meaning to. he hardly sleeps when he's on those cases, too focused on solving it and getting the asshole in jail, and dave or whoever knows has to prompt him to take care of himself or tell him to take a breather :(

he hates having to tell people. his biggest worry is them seeing and treating him differently. that's why he never wants the team to find out; it keeps him awake some nights when his dysphoria is at its worst and his anxiety about others finding out terrifies him

if penelope found out, probably accidently by looking at his file or maybe walking in on him shirtless, she'd be sooo supportive and promise not to tell anyone and make sure that he knows she's always there for him if he needs someone to talk about it <3

he likes to work out and stay in shape because it makes him feel both healthier and appear more masculine and he likes the way it feels

he likes his hair really short. having it too long makes him dysphoric as hell and he feels nauseous. that's why it's so short sometimes bc he can't handle having it past his ears or long enough to reach his eyebrows

i think that's all i have rn <3 thanks for asking!

#trans aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #casks #aaron hotchner headcanons

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myfairkatiecat · 24 days

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Team foster keefe headcannons?

YES YES YES OMG

So first, the angst

Sophie and Keefe have some hard stuff near the end of canon bc Keefe has a really hard time letting go of his urge to never trust, to separate off, to run away, and to steal from Sophie to do it (has anyone else noticed the sheer amount of times his little rogue plans involve stealing from Sophie?? Because I DEFINITELY HAVE)

There’s a scene similar to the one in nightfall where Sophie tells him off for it again but then she realizes that what he really needs to hear isn’t that he has to work as a team, but that whatever he’s thinking or planning or considering—he doesn’t have to do it alone. It can be the worst idea in the universe and Sophie won’t immediately shut him down. She’ll head him out and brainstorm with him and she PROMISES. She tells him she wants to be there for him and she can’t do it if he keeps shutting her out.

And when that seems to be working, she adds, “I promised you I wouldn’t let you mess this up, didn’t I?”

Tearful hugs.

Sophie realizes that actually being willing to listen to Keefe’s most outlandish ideas both broadens her own horizons and strengthens her connection with Keefe. Also, in some ways, it’s really helpful for Keefe as he heals from years of never even trying to be someone who could be taken seriously (because that always hurt too much. Because he’d come home to-)

For a while after the ending of canon, Keefe and Sophie spend a lot of time in the forbidden cities just… existing together. And they’re able to get therapy and a human understanding of mental health is HUGELY helpful for Keefe (not writing off abuse as a thing that doesn’t happen) but also for both him and Sophie (PTSD->insomnia and all the things)

And they’re able to heal from everything that happened in canon together. And eventually they’re able to come back to the lost cities.

And these two are freshly mentally strong and also have been around humans for a long time and they’re ready to dismantle the whole lost cities political system bc abskdhskshssj

And now they’re back to a fluffy, lighthearted Sokeefe dynamic that we all miss.

Keefe keeps up all the silly flirting and Sophie loves it.

Did I mention they’re dismantling Elvin political systems? Also matchmaking. Bye bye. Discrimination against talentless people? Twins and triplets? NO MORE. Not if Sophie and Keefe say so

They do some of this by being really huge figures from a well known rebellion that a lot of people used to hear about, sure. But also I think that as a couple they just sorta become the Elvin version of social media influencers, and become sorta this idolized power couple by the lost cities. This is how they’re able to sway public opinion, bit by bit, to question all the stupid systems the elves have

Silly fun flirty Sokeefe is back in the picture, just like they deserve.

Obviously their pasts aren’t erased

Sometimes Sophie still is kept up at night

Sometimes Keefe needs to be reminded of things

Sometimes they aren’t totally okay

But they’re better than they were. Their hearts aren’t broken in the same way. There are still scars, of course, but they’re healed.

And honestly they deserve to be a power couple taking on the lost cities injustices (oh did I mention their friends are TOTALLY IN on this part? Including their Elvin social media campaign. Biana and Marella handle their public image ofc)

Anyway this is definitely a roller coaster of angst and crack and fluff but WHATEVER HERE HAVE THE HEADCANONS!!

Thanks for the ask!

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #Sokeefe #team foster keefe #keefe sencen #sophie foster

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tequiilasunriise · 10 months

Text

Blake 'only child' Belladonna suddenly finds herself with three new siblings

In my previous post, I talked about some headcanons I have fer the ship Snowleopard regarding how the parents would interact with the kids. Now, it's time to unleash some ideas I got fer how Blake and the Schneeblings would interact if their parents dated in a super healthy bi4bi4bi pilfish polycule, or as I like to call it, Bellaschneebling headcanon time >:)))

-First and foremost, poly pilfs = endless potential fer never before seen Winter and Blake shenanigans

-Can y'all imagine Winter acting 'weird' towards Blake- appearing outta nowhere to give advice like 'your form would be better if you did xyz' or randomly giving Blake water bottles throughout the day or glaring at strangers and being super tensed and serious when they're out in town together in an otherwise chill walk to meet up with the others- and when Blake goes to Weiss outta concern and explaining the situation Weiss is like, "Oh! Oh my dust! Blake, do you know what this means???"

"If I did, I wouldn't be asking you for help right now."

"Blake, my sister officially sees you as her own younger sibling!"

"Are, are you sure?"

"I'm positive! Winter is not the most conventional when it comes to showing it, but she really does care in her own way. When she gives you criticism, it's because she knows you can do better and she wants you to the best you can possibly be. The water thing is something she used to do for Whitley and I growing up, I've always believed it because she picked it up from Klein that making sure people stay hydrated is a form of love. The glaring thing is probably because people were staring at your ears, I know I do it all the time."

"...Excuse I think I need to lie down and cry a little."

-No because fer real it's so funny to think that the once snobbish Schneeblings are all ready to throw absolute h a n d s fer their new Faunus sister like, "Oh, you're a racist prick? Whitley, please call a paramedic because-" *gets into summoning form where Arma Gigas launches Winter at the asshole*

-Meanwhile instead of calling for medical staff to clean up the bloodbath that's about to ensue Whitley's just typing away on his scroll doxxing the shit outta the racist asshole's worst secrets and wow Blake feels so loved right now, like, kinda concerned, but very loved right now

-Anyways, it's funny to joke about Winter scolding Blake when she learns about her terrorist past, but overall after her growth in V8 I think she'd be more like, "While I still don't approve most of the stunts you pulled as a vigilante child, stealing from the hyper-exploiting SDC is... fairly understandable."

-After clearing the air about Blake's past, we get Winter being lowkey protective of Blake bc MANNN does that Eldest Daughter Older Sister Instinct ™ go crazyyyy sometimes like this shit does not discriminate. Winter sees a new younger sibling figure and BAM she's already taking the young Belladonna heir under her wing

-Blake has no idea how to handle having an older sibling figure looking out fer her because she grew up as an independent only child who could only count on herself. To make matters worse it's the eldest Schnee she was never personally close to now, uh, giving her almost backhanded compliments as advice fer fixing her form, suddenly popping up asking Blake if she's ate yet, small lectures on the importance of a balanced diet and how important it is that she takes care of herself, etc etc

-In the end, Blake can tell Weiss was right and these random interactions from Winter come from a genuine place of care and she's honestly super honored to be accepted as a younger sibling to the stern woman

-At one point, Winter asks Blake to spar with her because she wants to study her newest sibling's fighting style up close and personal and therefore assess any weaknesses she should strengthen. At first Winter's like "Oh she's mainly a sword user I'm an expert on swords alright I have a foundation on how to fight her" but then Blake switches over to chain scythe gun mode with her cleaver sheather in the other hand (see black trailer) and suddenly all that goes OUT THE WINDOW OKAY DANG

-I personally headcannon that Winter never really got to see Blake go all out in her fighting, and since Blake really wants to impress her new older sister she pulls out her best moves and tricks and Winter is really impressed!!! She still beats Blake bc she's a master huntsman with tonnnss of experience (not to mention maiden powers giving her boosted strength and endurance) but man she has never fought someone like her new sister before!! She's so!!! Versatile!! Especially with those dust infused clones that kept her guessing

-Winter doesn't outright say it but Blake can tell she's proud of her new sibling from that prideful glint in her eyes and wow okay is this how Ruby feels everytime Yang praises her because this feeling is GREAT

-Speaking of Yang, she teases Blake relentlessly at her becoming Winter's new target of Eldest Sister Protectiveness™ and Ruby joins in like, "Get used to it, Blake, trust me I'm the expert younger sibling here."

"Hey!!! I'm not as weird about it as Winter is!!"

"Uhhh huhh- WHA YANG AKFMAKFKQK!!"

-As Winter and Blake watch the Xiao Long-Rose sisters wrestle on the ground, the eldest Schnee daughter turns to her newest sibling and says, "While I accept you as my family, I don't believe our dynamic will ever reach that... level."

"Oh, agreed."

-Yang and Blake both being sisters to Weiss through relationships because I am a filthy, filthy Whiterose shipper. When the parents first told the gang that they were dating, Yang was like, "HAH! Sorry Blake, but imagine being a sister to the ice queen herself!" to which Blake just replied, "Uh, Yang..." and tosses a pointing thumb over to where Ruby is hugging and comforting a confused as all fuck Weiss with forehead kisses and everything and Yang is just like, "Damn, you got me there."

-(Weiss did come around to adoring the Pilfadonnas pretty quickly but she was just so confused and shocked at first like weiss.exe isn't working like my girl bluescreened so hard so just give her a minute to process please and thank you)

-What I'm saying is can we get Yang antagonizing Weiss on TWO (2!) separate fronts? "Hey you're dating my baby sister" shovel talk type shenanigans only turn around with such a shiteating grin that only "Hey I'm dating your sister and there's nothing you can do about it" bullshit can pull? Please? Suffering Weiss™ forever and ever

-But know what's better than Suffering Weiss™? Suffering Weiss™ AND Suffering Winter™ babbbyyy :DDD!!

-I really need Robyn teasing the utter shit outta Winter at how quickly she got attached to Blake in an Older Sister Must Protect™ way shortly after learning of her mother's relationship with Blake's parents. Why, you may ask? Because I am also filthy, filthy Schneewood Forest trash who is going to insert my Schneewood Forest Reconnecting Exes AU into any Winter related thing I can

-To add to the Suffering Schneeisters Agenda™, we're going to move on to the Whitley and Blake potential in my Snowleopard rotted brain

-At first, Whitley is 'testing' Blake to see if she's worthy as a sister (he's actually just being a little shit and already knows of Blake's many merits) and Weiss is telling him to knock it off because bro is borderline ANTAGONIZING her to see what he can get away with

-But then it's like oh damn are those ninja moves are actually cool as fuck okay yeah she's defo waayyy cooler than his other sibs and next thing you know Whitley is very publicly announcing Blake as his new favorite sister by far just to mess with Weiss and Winter and see their reaction

-They know he's just being a little shit and they roll their eyes and say, "I'm glad you're finally warming up to Blake as a sister" but like, deep down they're grumbling, "I could do those cool ninja flips too.. probably..."

-Just like how her token only child ass isn't used to the protective care of an older sibling, Blake isn't used to the lowkey hero worship that comes with a younger sibling looking up to her. It's a strange feeling at first, and takes a bit to get used to, but in no way bad. Whitley tries to act all above it all at first, but Blake easily catches the way his eyes sparkle when she recounts her White Fang adventures to him and finds herself rather fond of the younger boy since he's finally letting go of his old snobbish ways and shaping into a good kid. Yang is just so proud of her girlfriend and says, "Yeah, it's quite a bit of pressure to live up to their expectations of you, but that feeling of wanting to try for them anyways never really goes away."

-Once Whitley lets himself relax around Blake he actually comes up with epic prank ideas involving her clone semblance and oh my god bro they're absolute menaces together because let the kids be KIDS your honor

-Suffering Weiss™ is at an all time high especially when Yang joins in on the fun because she'll never miss out on an opportunity to flex her title as the CEO of Suffering Weiss™ Instigation

-Suffering shenanigans aside I think Blake would be a really good influence fer Whitley. He'd be super open to Blake's suggestions/guidance on how to use the SDC resources he's now in control of and together they can work on ways to help better the Faunus who have been exploited by the SDC fer so long

-Family bonding where Blake makes and pours some tea fer the Schneeblings, and she nonchalantly mentions how this tea recipe is the one she grew up with and often shared with her family and how some of her happiest childhood memories are laced with the warmth of this special tea and casually says, "I'm just so happy that I can make new memories with my new family- are you guys okay?!"

-No the Schneeblings aren't all in various state of Big Emotions right now whattttt (Weiss has tears in her eyes and a shaky smile, Winter is turned away staring at a random wall with her jaw visibly clenched, Whitley is trembling a little tryna process all of this because for so long he was alone and isolated)

-We all been knew that Weiss would not hesitate to kill fer Blake but it took Winter and Whitley like .2 seconds to throw themselves onto that same train once they really got to know her, making Blake Belladonna prolly one of the most protected people in all of Remnant (she's got all three of the Schneeblings and everything that the SDC can provide, her badass parents with all of Menagerie at their beck and call, the rest of her friends who are formidable warriors like Xiao Long-Rose sisters, JNR, Qrow, etc etc etc)

-In conclusion, the Bellaschneeblings have my whole entire heart and I hope y'all love 'em too, I'll prolly post more headcanons of 'em when I can :DD!!

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