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levis-coffeecup · 8 months

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chapter 20| Through the Storm

WC-4.9k

Summary

The underground is filthy and dark. Dim lights, dull alleys, and desperate hearts. A place Levi knows as well as the back of his hand, and a place he would do anything to get out of.

Chapters of life roll by and with the turn of a page, things drastically change. In front of him is the opportunity to live on the surface. And the flimsy bridge that he has to cross. From an uncivil criminal to a disciplined soldier.

But life on the surface seems tougher amidst all the mockery, civilities, and the gaping hole left in his heart, after the demise of his dear friends Isabel and Farlan.

Content/Warnings

canon- compliant, canon-typical violence, spoilers for No Regrets OVA, descriptions of PTSD, grief, depression, heavy angst and themes, strong language, self-hate, physical assault.

Author’s Note

Hi guys!

It's been long. And I am incredibly sorry for promising to publish chapter by Sunday, yet doing that today. I feel incredibly guilty, like I've been taking everyone who reads this story for granted.

I've genuinely been quite busy. I have my college, my part time job and I also have to cook and clean for myself. And in all honesty, I've also lost my interest in completing this fic. So i have to push myself, rather than actually looking forward to writing it. But I'm not giving up on it yet, I've promised a few people that I will get it finished, and so I will.

@musumusuhasi a huge reason for one of the scenes in the chapter is because you told me Mae was always very cutesy, and never strong. I hope I've made that better, and if not please do let me know! (And if you don't read the fic anymore, then that's understandable too:)

Also since I've posted after a long time and if you've forgotten what happened in the previous chapter; here's a recap. Mae and Levi attend Ivan's wedding. Mr. Mendes is still mad at Mae and yells at her about Levi being a bad decision (ends up revealing that Levi is an underground thug.) Mae feels defeated because Levi didn't tell her this and starts losing faith in their relationship. She talks to Ivan, and Ivan comforts her, and lets her know that Levi still loves her, and their love for each other is pure.

Song for this chapter is I can't help falling in love with you.

Chapters

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

Masterlist | Playlist | Other Works

JAN 847

The wind growls, as it blows harshly. The morning sunlight barely reaches the ground.

In the stroke of a night, the rain has turned into snow. The first snow of Mitras, but it seems more like a storm. And Mae is not prepared at all.

Her fingertips have gone numb, and the ache in her head seems never ending. Her dress is wet from all the snowfall. And she shudders as she walks through the snow covered ground.

It feels like death is close. Her entire body shivers, almost violently. But a certain fire inside her keeps her going, despite the odds.

The world seems abandoned, people stay cooped in the warmth of their houses. And pellets of snow hit her head, as she walks ahead. It’s been hours since she’s been on the road. And she swears she wants to cry tears of joy when she finally spots the two-storey building with the Military Police symbol painted on it.

Her pace fastens, and with the last of her energy she pushes past the gate.

And everyone at the police station looks up, as they see a young lady on their door. Drenched from head to toe, turning blue from all the cold.

“I-I h-have a missing c-complaint to file,” Mae speaks in between shudders, leaning against the doorframe, tired enough to collapse at the moment.

And the officer in front gets up. He decides he doesn’t think too highly of her. For one it's way too risky walking out in the snow so underdressed. She could have died in some corner, and no one would have even noticed.

Nevertheless, he takes one of the coats hung on the wall and offers it to her. “Here, you’ll die in the cold if you dress up this way, miss.”

And Mae still shivers from the cold, But her eyes are resolute.

“Sir Ellias, “ she reads the badge attached to his shirt. “I have a missing complaint to file.”

And Ellias gawks back at her, sizing her up.

He doesn’t understand what brings her here. Wearing no gloves and a light jacket in a fucking snowstorm.

And so he wraps the coat around her trembling shoulders, and leads her towards his desk.

“Levi… his name is Levi.” Her voice comes out raw and vulnerable.

Levi has disappeared. She has checked everywhere. He wasn’t in their hotel room. He wasn’t anywhere near the wedding location. And he wasn’t even around all the popular tea shops in Mitras.

His wallet lays on their hotel bed, long forgotten. And the suitcase, packed with half his clothes, remains untouched too.

It's been 8 hours since Mae’s talk with Ivan, and there is still no sight of Levi. She has waited for him the entire night, and now the snow on the ground is at least a foot high.

It's too late… She worries something must have happened to him.

A young lady places a tray of warm tea on the table. Its smell wafts through the air, and Mae’s eyes well up. The drink warms both her throat and her heart.

She just hopes Levi is alright wherever he is.

“The name is Levi you said?” Elias reconfirms as he puts it down on paper.

“Mhm,” she nods vigorously. “He is quite short but his build is strong. His skin is pale and his eyebags are really big and prominent. His hair is black and he works in the Survey Corps… He also has-”

Elias stops writing. Face morphing into one of confusion. ”Wait…” he cuts her off. “Are you talking about Humanity’s Strongest? Captain Levi? Or is this someone e-”

“Yes.” Mae answers, exasperated. “It's him, he’s gone missing.”

Hope glimmers in her eyes.

People know Levi, and she’s one step closer to finding him.

But disbelief settles in Elias’s.

Slowly it shifts to mirth. A beat of silence passes by, and then a soft chuckle escapes his lips.

“What the hell, why are you laughing?” Mae scoffs, eyebrows scrunching in disapproval. ”This is a serious matter.”

Her words only makes him laugh louder. It adds to Mae’s temper.

“EXCUSE ME.” She bangs her fist on the table and gets up. And even though exhaustion is heavy in her voice, her eyes burn bright red.

“Have you ever seen that guy? Is this some sort of a prank?.” He speaks in between laughs. “Even death would be scared of him.”

“So you are telling me he couldn’t have been caught up in this snow storm and might need help?”

“He is fully capable of protecting himself… you’d know that if you’d met him.”

And Mae’s lips tremble as she remembers the last time she saw him.

He wasn’t even able to meet her gaze. He looked so vulnerable… Like a kitten left astray.

“He’s not made of stone.” her voice comes out as a whimper.

“But he’s got a heart of stone,” Ellias rebuttals as he crumbles the missing form and tosses it towards the bin.” Humanity’s strongest can look after himself… There’s a reason why he’s Humanity’s Strongest…”

And Mae gapes. Her head throbs, with the texture of pain. Her body aches for a minute's rest. But somehow she finds the energy to create a scene.

And she leans forward towards Elias, with her hands placed on the table and her arms stretched straight

“EXCUSE ME…” she sneers. “I’m here to file a missing complaint and it's your duty to look into it. Instead you’re telling me that I’m lying... Just because you’re a lazy bum who can’t get himself to work… people like yo-”

The door is yanked open with a bang, Mae flinches and Elias looks towards it.

Out comes a tall - middle-aged man, wearing a large black overcoat and a… bowler hat even though he’s indoors.

His jet black hair is gelled to the black. And his face sports a pronounced scowl. “OI!” He calls out. “What’s all this ruckus this early in the morning?”

The atmosphere suddenly changes, and Ellias straightens himself. Slightly scared.

“Sir…” his voice trails off, a lump forming in his throat.

“I have a missing complaint to file, I’m afraid it’s not being taken seriously.” Mae beats him to it, as she pushes her chair back..

“He doesn’t work in that department,” Ellias pokes in, but Mae moves ahead regardless

And Kenny smirks in glee at the sight of her.

Missing complaints are not something he concerns himself with. He’s here to work for the King,, not to solve some minor civil problems and save some damsel in distress.

But he’s bored, and she’s a wreck. It will be good entertainment.

“Sir… Captain Levi has been missing for the past 8 hours, and we all know how harsh the snow storm is.” Mae explains , hoping she receives the help she’s here for her.

And Kenny’s eyes blow wide, more with concern than surprise.

Captain Levi. The title sounds pleasant to his ears.

Now he can’t help but stay.

“See, I told you she is crazy” Elias sputters to cover up. “I think the cold has gotten to her head or something… which maniac walks out in the cold like that.”

“THE COLD HAS NOT GOTTEN TO MY HEAD.” Mae’s eyes flash dangerously at Elias, and she shifts her attention towards Kenny. Deeming him more competent.

But Kenny only lets out a snicker. “He’s strong, he can take care of himself very well.”

I’ve made sure of it. He wants to add. But some things are better left unsaid.

“AND HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT? YOU DON’T KNOW HIM? HAVE YOU EVER EVEN MET HIM?” She yells, absolutely appalled at the insensitivity of these men.

And Kenny takes a step towards her too, towering a foot above her. His nostrils flare in anger, and he glares at her, his aura almost threatening. Not a lot of people have had the audacity to speak to him in such a way. “Who are you to him?” he seethes through clenched teeth.

But Mae doesn’t back away either.

“I’m his lover.” she spills out, without an ounce of hesitance.

Sheer surprise flashes in Kenny’s eyes for a second. Slowly it fades and the creases under his eyes melt into that of laughter. “Aah, that runt grew up finally.” he chortles

And Mae looks at him, appalled and disgusted. “And who are you to him?” She counters . Half in mockery. Half in contempt. He doesn’t even wear a badge that tells his name. She’d be surprised if she’d find even one reliable officer in this damned place.

And Kenny falls silent for a millisecond, face conflicted.

“….Nothing.” He lets out a weak laugh. “Just go back home, you’ll find him there.”

And then he takes a step back in resignation. A little emotional, a little exhausted. “Take good care of him.” he mutters under his breath, before he coops back into his cabin.

—--------------------------------------------

A heavy sigh falls from Levi’s lips as he steps into the premises of the Survey Corps headquarters. The midnight moon shines over. And the stone walls embrace him, it's cold grays have never seemed so inviting.

It’s been an entire day on horseback. Nevertheless he should be grateful the stable manager at Mitras recognised him, and rented him a horse, free of cost.

And as glad as he is to be here, there’s also a heaviness in his heart that he can’t shake off.

It's the kind of pain that only Mae is capable of causing.

She isn’t next to him.

He left without a thought. Running away from the haunting unhappiness in her eyes. And now he’s left with only his feelings to keep him company. Cold and empty.

He wonders if the marriage went out as planned? Were the celebrations as grand as the decorations? And was the buffet as large as they were setting it up to be?

Most of all he wonders if Mae is okay? He wonders, if just like Kenny, that was the last time he saw her as well?

Memories of yesterday trickle into his mind. The disappointment in her eyes, and the complaints in her mind. And he sighs, exhausted. Wondering if the heaviness in his chest will alleviate.

He needs tea, he tells himself.

The torches on the walls flicker, dimmed by the constant breeze. Winter is just around the corner and darkness engulfs the hallways.

And Levi relaxes a tad bit. Finding solace in his darkness, it’s what is familiar to him.

He rounds the corner and enters the kitchen. Sadly for him, a familiar brunette is already seated on the dining table next to the kitchen.

Hange. His features twist into a scowl.

They are the worst person he could possibly find at this time.

And Hange swivels as the sound of his footsteps reaches their ear.

“Levi!” They exclaim. “You’re back early.”

And Levi looks at them coldly, completely ignoring their existence.

He was so close to sulking. But now he looks emotionless again. It's like something has shifted in his head. And now the person next to him will only face his anger, never his sadness.

He makes his way to the kettle. And he prays that Hange stays put in their chair.

But Hange is relentless as usual. Hyperactive, and curious. They spring up from their seat and follow Levi into the open kitchen. Ready with their barrage of questions.

“So how was the wedding?” Where is Mae?” It's probably the dim candlelights that impairs them from seeing the scowl on Levi’s face. A few moments more and he will snap. Hopefully in a tame way.

“Don’t tell me you dropped her back home, this late at night?” They wiggle their brows suggestively, as they linger behind him. Watching him boil the water from over his shoulder.

And Levi doesn’t even turn to look back at them, as he puts his hand on their shoulder and pushes them backwards. “Fuck off, “ he threatens

Hange’s lips part. Usually with Levi, they can never tell when he’s mad, because he always looks mad. But tonight, the anger in his voice is primal.

And they can only head back to the table, and shove their head back into their research books. Looking over occasionally to give Levi a onceover.

He looks at the pot of boiling water a little too hard. His jaw is clenched tight, and his footsteps are a little too loud.

His hands shuffle through the cabinets. Banging the shelf doors shut. And Hange doesn’t understand how Levi doesn’t recall the spot he’s specifically designated to his beloved tea. None of the other Survey Corps seniors are even allowed to touch it.

Frustration fills him up, and he curses, rather loudly.

And the Levi in front of Hange, is completely unlike the Levi they’ve always known.

The Levi in front of them is messy and unorganized. Grabbing a hot vessel bare hand, and then hissing at the burn.

The flipping of their pages stops, and all they see in front of them is a problem to be solved.

There’s an obvious tension in the air that drowns in all the quiet. And Levi finds himself falling into the endless pit of sadness inside of him, again.

He tries to forget the disappointment that he saw in her eyes. He tries to forget the things that Mr.Mendes said about him, harsh but so true, they still make his heart hurt. But its all too recent, all too fresh in his memory.

Mae was close to crying back then, he could tell by the way her lips shuddered.

He doesn’t understand why he still feels so sad. After all he knew that things between them were bound to end. He doesn’t understand why he always gets his hopes up, when he has a habit of losing people left and right.

And he doesn’t understand why he sits on the same table as Hange, taking the farthest chair from them. When he can easily take his tea to his quarters.

Maybe it's the fact that he’s been left alone again. And being in the vicinity of someone, even if it's someone as annoying as Hange, seems comforting.

Even if that comfort is temporary.

He’s so much of a disappointment.

Sometimes he wonders why Erwin and Hange keep up with him?

It's probably because of his strength.

The smell of tea floats through the air, but Levi doesn’t touch it.

And Hange notices. “I can’t wait for the day when you’ll marry Mae as well.” They chirp out of nowhere. Hoping to make him feel better.

And Levi does manage to throw one of the harshest stares at them, before he winces.

“She found out.” The words slip out of his mouth. Accidently, perhaps. It's one of the rare times where his emotions run so wild, they can’t help but take charge.

“She found out what?” Hange repeats. Their ears practically flying over.

Slowly they shift to the chair next to him.

And Levi sits rigid, holding his head where it hurts, it feels like the walls in his brain are caving in.

And yet, he fights.

He fights Hange’s company.

He fights his needs, his desires.

He fights himself. Adding fuel to his own struggle.

It’s what he has done his entire life.

It has left him worn out.

To the point where he doesn’t have the strength to resist anymore.

The walls around his heart are slowly crumbling down.

He’s lost her. His world feels dark.

“She found out that I’m an underground thug.” His voice comes out weak… barely above a whisper. The position life has put him in is hard to believe. Because here he sits, opening up to Hange of all people.

Kenny would disapprove so much of the emotional bastard he still is. Losing hope by a mere person leaving him behind.

But he does it for Mae, he tells himself.

And Hange’s eyes widen, surprised that Mae didn’t already know about this. It's abnormal, and unhealthy. They were pretty sure Mae was the person he was closest to.

A silence spreads, its claws fatal.

Levi takes Hange’s silence for judgment, and decides to go back into his invulnerable shell. “Doesn’t matter, things were going to end anyways,” he mutters coldly, and then he loudly slurps his tea.

And Hange still sits in shock. She found out, his words echo in their head. Which means he didn’t even tell her himself. “LEVI!,” They urge, breaking out of their stupor “Till when were you going to keep this hidden from her!”

Forever if possible he thinks to himself. He can always keep a few parts of him hidden.

And his silence tells.

“You weren’t planning to tell her, were you?” They question, but they know it's true.

The quake of his heel never fades , and his shoulders still slouch. They’ve never seen him look so defeated. He’s too afraid of disappointing. He’s too afraid of being abandoned. And he’s too afraid to voice out that he didn’t want Mae to know, because he was afraid she’d leave him.

“Why would you not tell her Levi….? Hange racks through the potential possibilities. “Was it because you were treated harshly by the soldiers when you first came in….”

Everything comes off as a surprise to them. They could have never guessed that all the taunts thrown his way were something that bothered him. Not by the look on his face anyway. Guess he’s a little more sensitive than they had anticipated.

“You were discriminated against in the Survey Corps, because it's the military and rules are important here. You broke the order, you broke the regulations so obviously people didn’t like it. Also your first impression was HORRIBLE…And just because everyone in the military condemned you, doesn’t mean Mae will too… You can’t pretend to be someone else and hide parts of yourself from someone who is in a sense your life partner Levi?”

There is a stiffness in the air that constricts. And Levi feels like he’s being put on the spot, when he’s caught vulnerable. He feels angry, he wants to yell, he wants to push Hange away… or maybe– or maybe he’s just scared.

And he sits there forcing his eyes shut as Hange’s words sink in. He’s repeated this mistake before, fitting himself into the likes and standards of Kenny, just to please him. So much so that sometimes he doesn’t even recognise the softer, more emotional parts of him.

“To love, means to accept the person for what they are…” Hange places an arm on his shoulder, and he looks at them, his gaze tender. “And if she doesn’t… then good for you. At least you know she wasn’t the one.”

And Levi does find Hange’s thoughts beautiful. But he also knows that no one will go to such lengths for him. He knows that he’ll be abandoned by the Survey Corps as well, if one day he wakes up weak.

He tears his gaze away from them. Knowing that if he looks too long, Hange will see through all his imperfections.

They have a habit of not keeping their nose in everyone’s shit anyways.

But Hange’s mind is already working at a speed that he should be afraid of. And they almost jump from their chair, as a realization strikes. “This is the problem isn’t it Levi!... The thought that she might leave you…. You ignored her because you knew she was bound to leave you or be disappointed in you in some way... You thought she was better off with Ivan, then you taking the pain of losing her.”

Levi’s eyes widen. They are threateningly close to knowing him.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW EVERYTHING?”, he seethes as he grits his teeth. Half embarrassed that Hange knows about his pitiful behavior with Mae when Ivan was here.

“I… I have assumptions,” they gulp. Fearful for once

The clock ticks, and slowly his features soften “Mae told you everything, didn’t she?” he sighs, as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Well but I’m always open to hear your perspective as well.’

“Oh fuck off Hange.” He sneers as he gulps his tea down, and pushes the cup to the side.

He feels horrible, so out of character, and vulnerable. But he doesn’t feel unsafe.

And he has a shit ton of problems that he knows he can’t solve by himself. Especially when it comes to Mae.

And what's the point hesitating now, when his pride has already been tossed into the bin.

“I don’t know how to keep her Happy Hange… It's not the same anymore, she’s unhappier, doesn’t talk with me too much.” He looks down, his voice somber.

“Says you Levi… the person she used to smile just at the sight of?” Hange’s voice is soft, their eyes full of genuine concern.

And despite his uneasiness with discussing his personal life out loud, and getting his behavioral patterns dissected by none other than Hange, he settles into his chair.

The night is long and Hange seems welcoming,

—--------------------------------------------

Heavy gray clouds conceal the midnight sky. The rains are relentless, boisterous with thunder. And fog wraps around the tall trees like a blanket.

The winds blow fast, Levi can hear it rattle against the glass windows.

His quarters are warm though, fire crackles in the hearth, casting an orange tint. And his cloak is leisurely draped over his shoulders.

Scented candles are lined up on his window sill.

And lavender tea he brewed for himself has now run cold. Halfway finished

It's something Mae made him do, when sleeping was becoming difficult.

She crafted a whole ass routine for him, to help him relax and sleep longer.

He drums his fingers on the table, sitting idle, Frustrated that he’s done with all his paperwork.

It feels so damn lonely. Like those days, when she’d quit her job from the Survey Corp and he was haunted with thoughts of her..

The sound of thunder fills up the space.

The temperature has dropped all of a sudden. Surely it must be snowing in the interior. And Levi feels guilty for leaving Mae behind so thoughtlessly.

None of them were prepared for snow.

Another round of thunder reverberates around. Lightning strikes and Levi shivers. The night is uncannily similar to the night when he lost Farlan and Isabel.

Just another testament of how he is not made for happy endings.

And he can only watch as every second painfully passes away.

Tick-tock, tick-tock

The fire cackles

Tick-tock, tick-tock

The wind whistles.

Tick-tock, tick-tock

The lightning feels blinding.

Tick-tock, tick-tock

A distant sound adds to the mix. It's rushed and heavy, pounding closer to his gates.

And Levi is pulled out of his reverie, as then the door barges open

In front of him stands Mae, with her hair partially drenched, and her dress splattered with mud.

The closed umbrella in her hand, makes a pool of water on the floor. Dripping wet.

His eyes widen.

And so do hers.

“Levi,” his name slips past her lips. And for once she didn't overthink. The umbrella in her hand drops to the floor, and the door behind shuts close, as she leaves everything behind and darts towards him.

She doesn’t hesitate, as she sits on his lap, and throws her arms around his frame. Surrendering to the intensity of emotions in her heart..

Levi's body tenses at instinct. His heartbeat picks up the pace and the butterflies in his stomach come alive once again.

It's just been 4 days, but he’s missed her so damn much. For a moment he wonders if he’s still daydreaming

And it's only when he feels her shivering against his chest, that he gives in. “Y-you’r-re c-cold,” he stutters, as he wraps his cloak around her. His hands splay over her back, rubbing it to warm her up quickly.

And she too, huddles closer to his warmth. The sound of his low baritone, brings her so much comfort, and she shuts her eyes close, to pause this moment.

Their breaths mingle, hearts beating in sync, together.

In this moment they are so vulnerable.

She cries, into his chest. And he’s made sure that nothing in his life is important enough to make him cry. But for god's sake does his heart sob with joy.

He looks at the messy trail of mud her shoes have left behind. And her fingernails that are dirty with grime. He looks at her shuddering shoulders and her hair, wet and cold.

She’s traveled through the storm for him.

She’s come back to him. Despite everything

And he doesn’t know what the future holds for them, or even if she'll be alive the next day. But he does know that no matter how cruel and brutal this world gets, his heart will forever be labeled hers.

Her hands leave his chest, before they slowly come up to his cheeks. She cups his face, as she pulls back and looks at him. Silence stretches between them. Or maybe it's the pause one takes to admire something beautiful.

And fresh tears fill up her eyes as she strokes his cheek.“Why do you make me worry so much? Couldn’t you have told me that you were leaving? I-I was so scared something happened to you.”

His knees feel weak at the thought. Like he’ll shatter to the ground, if not for her holding him so close.

And his breath shudders, sodden with emotions. “I-I’m s-sorry.” he gulps. Voice heavy with guilt. “I-I thought you would be u-upset. Wouldn’t w-want to n-near me anymore.”

“I would have wanted to hear about your past from you. I was more disappointed in the fact that you didn’t tell me, when everyone else knew about it... I am your lover Levi… I consider you my better half, then why is it that I know so little about you?”

In her questions, Levi feels a kind of reassurance. Perhaps it's the fact that she’s still making an effort to stay with him.

It's a feeling he can't put into words.

As if his sun-burned body has finally found the cooling shade of a tree.

As if his directionless quest has finally found a destination.

There is such a prickle in this moment, and the way she holds him, tightly, yet with gentleness. It makes him question all the nasty thoughts he has had about himself.

Because he was convinced that he was way too crooked for anyone to find any beauty in him. And yet she dares to sit on his lap, so close to him. Cradling him as if he’s something precious.

Words fail him. And he can’t help but think if he could just kiss her, and pour all his love into it. If he could kiss her and express all that his speech never could. They all seem so beautiful in the romance novels he reads.

If only he could kiss her and not succumb to his overthinking head.

And so he brings her hand closer to lips. His heart hammers, almost violently in his chest. And his hand shudders with nervousness. Yet he dares to take her knuckles and kiss it.

Hoping it conveys everything he can’t spout out loud.

That he’ll fight for her. Even if it's parts of himself that he’s up against. “I;m s-sorry…I’m s-sorry, I thought you’d h-hate me”

And Mae smiles as she looks at him. The first genuine smile she’s given him in months. “We’ve got to work on a lot of things to make this work,” Her words are blunt, but the way she delivers them is so gentle.

And Levi blinks up at her. Grateful that she has not given up on him yet. “We do…” he hums.

There’s fear in both of their eyes. The fear of messing up. The fear of losing one another. So many things still remain unexpressed. So many fears, desires, wishes. If only they were given a voice. Both Levi and Mae would know that their love for each other is boundless.

“You promise you’ll tell me everything and we’ll talk about us tomorrow?” Mae says as she tries getting out of his lap. Desperate in need of a shower

Surprisingly, his grip around her waist tightens. He holds her there, listening to the sound of her breath.

And despite the wreck Mae is, she finally feels so wanted. The butterflies in her stomach tumble. And she can barely contain her happiness.

“I will… “Levi presses a kiss on her forehead. “Now go take a shower, I’ll set up the bed for you.”

“Will you sleep on the bed, next to me?” she asks on her way to the shower.

And Levi never sleeps on the bed.

Because Levi lives every moment with the unsurety of whether he’ll make it to the next. He lives every moment considering the possibility that the titans might break in.

Yet now as he looks into her warm brown eyes, he can’t help but wonder if for one night he just lets loose.

The worst thing that could happen is that the titans breach the wall, and he ends up dying with her.

Indeed that sounds like a soft epilogue. To die in each other’s arms, to not die alone.

Everyone comes to this world on their own, and they die on their own, because inherently everyone is alone. And yet to hold on to each other, as they take their last breaths. To have a moment of bliss before death separates them.

“Levi!” Mae prods again. A brow raised in question. “Will you sleep on the bed with me?”

And his lips quirk up a tiny bit, as he timidly nods a yes.

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 7.4k / genre: pacific rim au with brief smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: there are no secrets in the drift. if jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he’d turn away from you.

warnings: sexually explicit content (briefly), unprotected sex (please be safe when you have sex) / reference to injuries but nothing graphic, giant robots powered by love punching big alien monsters

a/n: this is a birthday gift for the amazing @yeojaa. happy birthday, erin. this is completely self serving and is stuffed full with inside references that I hope you’ll enjoy. I wrote this in two days and it kicked my ass because I did so much reading and researching that turned out to not even come up in the story 👁👄👁 you know when I said I was studying? I lied. I was writing HAHAHAH ily I hope you like it hhhh (this is unbeta’ed so please forgive any mistakes it’s 1:30am as I’m scheduling this) (also summaries are so hard, I’m sorry)

Jeon Jungkook really is the perfect posterboy for a Jaeger pilot.

Broad across the shoulders and trim at the waist, all sharp punches and hard muscle, resilient and tough, with a face that’s the perfect balance of angles and softness; the cut of his jaw easing up and into his pretty mouth, the line of his brows subdued by his warm eyes—he’s a Goddamn vision, raw masculinity overlaid on rich veins of boyishness, glittering stratum that sparkle and shine even under the harsh lights of the Shatterdome.

He pouts when he thinks and his hair hangs a little in his big, big eyes and he has dimples that appear when he grins, teeth poking out onto his pretty pink lips, like someone took a rabbit and turned it into a man and packed on pounds of muscle alongside. Undeniably powerful and strong, but youthful and sweet, too.

Alongside Kim Taehyung—arresting and beautiful and somehow affable and approachable, all at the same time—they’re exactly what South Korea needs right now, propelling the country’s new look for their renewed assault against the kaiju. They’re the lucky new Rangers who’ve claimed ownership of the only Mark-5 that their homeland has produced, Bulletproof Striker, a fucking gorgeous Jaeger bristling with the latest and greatest technology that the world has produced.

But that doesn’t mean they’re the best that South Korea has to offer.

Cypher Zero is smaller, lighter, older, but she’s fierce. Just like her pilots. You and Yoongi might not be the burning beacons of hope that Jungkook and Taehyung are, polished and buffed to a squeaky shine, but you don’t need to be. You’re vicious and victorious and show no signs of stopping. The kaiju kills painted on your Mark-4’s shoulder are evidence enough of that, notches for each monster taken down, spray painted in one tiny corner of the huge swathe of burnished metal plating, the red edges of her midnight skin.

Bulletproof Striker is almost untouched, deployed just once since her recent launch, flawless exterior so at odds with Cypher Zero’s battered facade. Cypher’s beautiful, of course, but bears the history of your skirmishes, inside and out: scuffed paintwork, dented metal, rust dripping down from the ladder rungs dotted across her, melting into the obsidian of her hull.

Jungkook and Taehyung move in a way that’s practiced, disciplined motions of combat that their Jaeger echoes in turn. Her mechanical movements reflect those of the men inside her head, skilled and superb. Stunning. But you and Yoongi? You fight dirty, violent and rough; messy bar room brawls; shattered glass and clawing hands in beer soaked backrooms, tinged sulphur yellow under dirty lightbulbs; two kids who fought against a world that was against them.

(Two damaged people coming together in the Drift to make something even stronger than the sum of your parts.)

(Two damaged people who survived the rough hands of the Jaeger Academy, trying to take them, push them, shape them, break them.)

(Life isn’t kind. You’d learned that young, surrounded in the splintered remnants of your childhood home, the facade of family and happiness already gone, long long long ago, leaving you aching and lonely and cold. The prospect of fighting thousands of tons of alien hatred, lifting out of the depths of the uncaring, dark sea? At least you can see the kaiju coming. Broken households and loneliness? A little harder to lay your hands on.)

(But out of everything you lost, you’d gained one thing—Min Yoongi, another quiet, damaged thing, but with the biggest depths of warmth and love underneath that hard surface; your best friend, your brother-in-arms, growing alongside you, with you. Damaged kids turned bitter teenagers turned razor-edged adults, outcasts in solitude, but together. Not alone.)

(The deeper the bond, the better you fight. Falling into the Drift with Yoongi had been easy, years of tangled connection bleeding into the images that flashed across your brain. The same memories from different angles, overlaid with different emotions, undercurrents eddying under the surface that caught both of you and swept you up in its flow; the same mind, bridged by hundreds of tons of metal and technology and firepower underneath you, linked together in the silence of the Drift.)

There’s reverence, in the way these two new pilots look at you both, reverence and awe and respect alike: older Rangers, more experienced, history written across the worn edges of your Drivesuits, the paint flaking away from your battle armour, scuffs and scrapes on the once unblemished veneer; knowledge etched into the feline slant of Yoongi’s eyes, the turn of your shoulders and hips.

You know Jungkook’s track record. You know of the endless months of assessment and sparring and psych evals and Drift tests and simulation drops that every successful Ranger has to go through, and Jungkook had trumped them all, stood atop them like a conqueror surveying his hard-won lands—gifted, talented, some even said God-touched. And yet for all this indomitable talent and skill, there’s still humility at his core, a willingness to defer with respect.

That deference is obvious whenever he sees you. Jungkook’s dark eyes will touch your own, for a moment, dark and deep and bright—and then his gaze will skitter away, cockiness and bravado dissolving into something submissive, yielding. (Shy.) You’ve watched him orbit you, the younger ranger caught in your gravity, always nearby—the Shatterdome is only so big, for its magnitude and sprawling corridors—but never broaching that final gap, that little step, into Cypher Zero’s space, Yoongi’s space, your space. Keeping himself at arm’s length.

South Korea’s golden boy, less afraid of the Kaiju than he is of his sunbaenim.

Jungkook and Taehyung are both beautiful. But you and Yoongi are less so, unapproachable in ways that the younger pilots aren’t, private and prickly, like grasping a patch of stinging nettles with bare hands, stinging and burning.

As if Jungkook isn’t terrifying and gorgeous in his own ways. As if he doesn’t shine brighter than the sun himself. Taehyung moves through the world with a thoughtless, charismatic ease that Jungkook doesn’t share—but he’s still magnetic, bold and brilliant, monstrously skilled at everything he puts his mind to, training again and again and again to get it right, get it right, get it right.

To get it perfect.

But there’s no level of perfectionism that can surmount the twisted, unpredictable nature of the kaiju belched forth from the breach. No matter how good you are, how strong or fast, how smart or seasoned, sometimes you still get caught in that hurricane, even in a Jaeger.

It doesn’t matter how many engines are packed into each muscle strand. It doesn’t matter how fast the pistons and levers and gears shift and move. It doesn’t matter that the pilots in her cockpit are impeccable and incredible. Under the cloak of deepest night and pouring rain, blanketed in darkness and water from the heavens above and the sea below, movement is impossible to track—and when Steelbrute rises from the waves, no one sees the kaiju coming.

Bulletproof Striker takes the hit. Jungkook and Taehyung fight back but they’re blindsided and overwhelmed, and their Jaeger falls to her knees in the churn of the Pacific Ocean, salt water crashing over her in choppy waves as Steelbrute’s merciless maw gapes wide open.

Cypher Zero is 250ft tall and weighs 1410 tons. You and Yoongi are tiny specks of organic matter in a fearsome behemoth of titanium and tungsten and graphene and circuitry, commanders of a weapon that’s the same size as a skyscraper—and yet you wouldn’t think that for how fast you move. Zero hesitation. No verbal communication. Cypher’s legs cut through endless waves and gain momentum with each crashing step that slams into the seafloor before you leap forward in a flurry of motion and Drift powered fury.

Your motions in the Conn-Pod are ragged and incensed, your arms and legs moving in sync with Yoongi, with Cypher Zero, a snarl ripping out of your co-pilot’s usually quiet mouth as the kaiju lurches underneath you. The world narrows down to this: throwing yourself into the fray, jagged knuckles edged with plasma pummelled into Steelbrute’s skin in a scuffle that’s vicious, aggressive, until Bulletproof Striker regains her footing.

The sun is rising, grey and cold on the horizon when Steelbrute finally sinks into the sea, toxic blood flooding the water with neon blue. When you step out of the cockpit, Yoongi’s fringe is matted with sweat, and you can feel all the places the circuitry suit sticks to your skin—piloting a Jaeger is mentally and physically exhausting, every muscle and organ and bone working overtime for endless hours as you fight tooth and nail. Without the helmets in the way, there’s nothing stopping you bumping your foreheads together, heedless of the sweat slicked there; Yoongi’s hand rests at the back of your head, a familiar cradle.

“All good,” you say. Yoongi lets out a quiet bark of a laugh, rough and exhausted.

“I want a nap,” he says, like he always does, even if you’re a long way away from that, still fully suited and due to speak to the Marshalls. There are so, so many things separating you from the bliss of sleep.

One thing that’s not part of the normal routine, though, is the other pilots catching you, demanding your recognition, respectful (Taehyung) but insistent (Jungkook). You know that Yoongi doesn’t like attention or hero-worship, but there’s nothing except gratitude, here, bent heads and words of thanks. You’d saved their lives, after all. Saved their Jaeger from being torn apart, pain screaming through their own bodies of flesh and bone, connected to their metal monster. Of course they’re grateful.

You dismiss it with a hard cut of your hand.

“It’s nothing,” you say.

You’re speaking the words you know are in Yoongi’s head—years of friendship and shared Drifts leaving his thought processes wide open to you—although you know you’re sharper than he is, harsher than he is, even, for all that he looks like the cold one from the outside. Long lashes and silken hair don’t translate to something soft and feminine and pretty, and you’re all ragged edges and rough parts, bleeding into the delivery of your words. Yoongi rounds the words in his mouth and places them into the world with a rumble of quiet strength that belies his past, but you? Your tongue is cutting and terse and drips with distrust, even when you don’t mean it to, staring at these two boys, Jungkook’s eyes so brown and large when he stares back at you.

The truth is that you care about humanity, of course. You care about humanity and you care about the millions of people in the cities that line the coasts and further inland, and you care about your fellow pilots, skilled but soft-hearted as they are. You’re stronger. You have to be. That’s what Yoongi is, that’s what you are: fighters. You fight dirty because you fight to win, not to protect yourselves. You’ll fight and you’ll die for this, for them, even if there’s no friendship there. Not yet. You’re still too distant, for all that you’d thrown yourself in the line of fire to rip the kaiju from the younger Rangers.

And when Jungkook levels a look at you, there’s a flicker of something. A spark. All the glittering of his warm eyes comes together like the cascading sparks of molten fire that fall when metal is cut through— his eyes score through you, down down down, right to your core, underneath all the armour you’ve laid about yourself throughout your life. Your heart stutters. You’ve been watching Jeon Jungkook, and he’s all cocky Ranger bravado, or innocent brown eyes and shy, curving smiles, and yet.

And yet. You know he sees this soft part of you, somehow. Past the thorns and sharp leaves, past the hard husk, into the rich, bursting sweetness inside, oozing red gems of pomegranate that yield so easily to the fingers and mouth.

(He’s temerarious and modest and wickedly perceptive too, it seems.)

“That was our kill,” he says suddenly. Taehyung—the voice piece of the two, the one who’s been smiling and speaking, easy and slow—goes still at his side.

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes pierce through him, but Jungkook keeps his focus on you.

“Steelbrute. Our kill. It was a hit from our rockets that took him out,” Jungkook says, eyes still glinting with that sparkling shine. Slicing through you with an explosion of light. “Not your blades.”

Silence steals over you, for a breath. It’s never truly silent in the Shatterdome, an iron fortress that never sleeps, but for a second, there’s quiet. It wraps around you. Tight. Almost deafening.

But then you break that silence.

You laugh.

You laugh at the cheeky grin that pulls at Jungkook’s lips, the boyish lift to his face. You laugh at his shamelessness, the sudden 180 from his earlier fear. You laugh at the way he’s diluted this astonishing, formidable thing—humanity coming together to destroy alien predators that threaten the planet—into a competition.

“You’re a menace, Jeon Jungkook,” you say.

Stinging nettles you might be, but if you’re grabbed hard and fast by confident hands, you don’t wound. Jeon Jungkook defers to respect, avoids confrontation, bows his head and quiets his mouth, but he knows, now, that he can do this. That he can push you like this, and you’ll let him, sway against it, let yourself be pushed.

Yoongi slides you a glance out the corner of his eyes, a light touch, a tacit agreement to an unspoken question.

“You can have it. Steelbrute’s yours.” There’s the smallest curl to your lips as you speak for you both. There’s something weirdly easy and familiar to this, to this interaction, even if you’ve barely exchanged words before now, giving this triumph to the other pilots hand over fist.

(Giving it to Jungkook on a platter.)

You can see the flare of triumph in Jungkook’s eyes. You know it’s not for the notch of their first kill, one they can add to their Jaeger. It’s for something far harder to achieve, something far more ephemeral: digging down and past your cool veneer and lifting out a smile, spreading it across your lips like warm butter, liquid gold.

And he keeps making you smile.

Jeon Jungkook, you find, is a force of nature, relentless, an ocean. Sometimes he’s soft, loving waves of glittering blue that crash on pearly white beaches, playful and bright. Sometimes, he’s intense, the crashing waves of a storm tossed sea, powerful and unstoppable. Always, he’s striking, even when he’s not trying—even more so because of it, moving without thought or uncertainty, a silence settling over your thoughts whenever you see him like this. See him in this raw state, so unafraid where before he’d curbed his tongue and bent his head in front of you. Now, he’s just himself, without filter.

Taehyung is there too, of course. Both pilots join your small, fiercely private circle, not just a path from you to Yoongi any more. They become intertwining lines, a pattern that’s drawn between the four of you, pilots, friends. And you learn, that for all that you’d thought that Taehyung was the dominant one outside of their Jaeger, social and extroverted and unabashed, Jungkook isn’t quiet. Not when he’s comfortable.

(Not, now, when he’s with you.)

He’s a myriad of things, endlessly deep, so different from you, from Yoongi, but—the truth of it settles inside you, your joints, the marrow of your bones, the blood that pulses forth from your heart each time it beats in your chest, liquid life running through you.

Drift compatibility.

Not that it matters. You already have a partner. You’re never going to open yourself up to anyone that isn’t Yoongi, who’s seen every part of you already. There’d been no fear about letting Yoongi see inside your brain, your heart, the raw, bleeding parts of you—because he’d already known them. Just like you’d known his. Yoongi stands to your right, inside the Conn-Pod and out, a driving force, even in his silence.

But Jungkook is softer, sweeter, for all his raw power and skill, respect engraved into his every motion, even when he’s teasing and making you laugh. Even when he ignores the social guidelines that he should follow, does follow for others, everyone except you.

And you don’t mind. You don’t bite out insults at him when he slides into the quiet hollow you’ve scraped out, a small space with just enough room for the people you keep in your heart. You’re still barbed and spiked, warding away unwanted attention, but for Jungkook, the claws retract.

You’re still you, of course. Jungkook calls you mean, says that you bully him, even as he’s flopped across your bunk, eating your rations, shovelling coveted popcorn into his mouth. He might pout and sigh and cry oppression, but you’re soft on him and he knows it. That quiet hollow in your heart is a little larger, now, a little louder. Jungkook is brazen in his claim of this space, spreading each of his limbs wide as he fits himself into every part of it. He doesn’t know every piece of your past, and you don’t plan to let him see all the messy parts bundled in your chest, but. But he’s still there.

And you let him stay. You make a home for him inside you and let him take the key. He might tilt his head and goad you, might pretend there’s a genuine challenge in the set of his jaw, but you know it’s all tempered with admiration, veneration. Friendship.

(And where he clearly respects you, you admire him in turn. You’re reminded of your differences every second he moves and breathes and just exists in front of you, but you don’t have to be similar to someone to realise just how incredible they are.)

(But though you’re different, there are similarities. You’re not a mirrored image, a reflection, like you are with Yoongi. Instead, you’re a line drawn between two separate places, an isohel, sun lighting up your world for the same sweep of the clock even for how far apart you are. Sharing that same, tenuous thing, for all your contrasting parts.)

(This thing that’s growing, held in your hands. This soft, gentle thing, shimmering, frail, unfurling slowly but undeniably. Tinged with happiness, disbelief. Disbelief that you’ve found this, that you can see Jungkook across the echoing cavern of the Shatterdome’s main hall, so far in the distance, barely visible at the foot of his Jaeger—and something will settle in your chest. Featherlight, iridescent. Something comforting.)

When you fight the kaiju, now, it’s with a deeper reserve of desperation. Taehyung and Jungkook aren’t just fellow pilots, dongsaeng that you’re obliged to look after: they’re your friends, something more than that too, part of the rare handful of people in the world who understand, this overwhelming pressure to fight and win and protect the things you love. The people you love. They understand what it’s like to step into someone else’s head, to be connected to that person on a level that’s unfathomable, anchored in a depth of love that’s endless. You’re their aegis, now, their shield.

(Jungkook’s shield.)

Maybe that’s what’s to blame. Maybe that’s why you’re so sloppy, this time. Maybe that’s why you throw yourselves in the way of the blow that was meant for Bulletproof Striker. Maybe that’s why Ojousan shreds Cypher Zero’s chest apart, her head, why Yoongi is almost ripped from you, his fear and pain screaming through your neural connection. You feel everything he feels and more beside, your heart hammering in your throat as you scream, Jaeger’s arm swinging up and around in tandem with your own motions as you try to rip the kaiju away, anything to protect Yoongi, so scared of losing him, always always always, scared of being left alone.

But you’re not alone.

Bulletproof Striker lifts up like an avenging angel. Her horns roar a challenge, an echoing battle cry as the younger pilots move in. Heavier and stronger, keeping her balance even in the turbulence of a fight, she takes the hits, gives back her own, sends the kaiju down into the crashing waves, waits for it to rise. But the monster is crafty and quick and even as you’re lifting your left arm—Yoongi’s hurt, so hurt, you know this, feel this, but he moves with you to ready the plasma cannon buried in the mechanics of your Jaeger’s hand, even if he’s keening with pain—you watch as the other pilots, too, fall victim to the clawed tail of the kaiju, screeching through layers of alloys and across their Conn-Pod.

Terror strikes through every part of you and morphs into hate. You hate the kaiju, hate your own weakness, hate the pain that’s been saved from being written into your own body while Yoongi screams and sobs even though he still fights. Your motions are anguished and desperate as you battle to overcome this beast that’s almost taken away everything that matters to you—and Cypher Zero, Yoongi, as damaged and hurt as they are, come through. (Like they always do, for you, always.)

And somehow, despite everything, for all the self-hatred and pain and fear, you pull through. You pull through. Damaged and hurt but alive.

Barely.

Barely alive.

(One hand gives, the other takes away.)

It takes hours for them to pick Yoongi’s Drivesuit from his body, crumpled around him from Ojousan’s claws, cutting into the soft flesh of his body, body ruined further by the fighting he’d been forced into despite his injuries; so many of Taehyung’s bones are shattered, and when you finally see him awake and with his eyes open, there are burst blood vessels that cast red across the usually warm expression, his friendly eyes.

You should be grateful that they’re alive. You should be on your hands and knees, weeping, benedictions dripping from your graceless mouth as you thank whatever merciless God above decided to turn their gaze on you and grant you this leniency. So many pilots have died and will continue to die, you know this, but somehow your partners are still alive.

And you are grateful. You are. But there’s bitterness on your tongue, twisted across your palate, sour and acrid and filling you with its taste. You’d been foolish and reckless and you’d almost lost the things you cared about most, even if you’d destroyed the kaiju, torn it apart and left its fluorescent indigo blood to corrode the ocean.

That’s what’s important, isn’t it. Saving humanity. One person, two people, four people—you’re the tiniest cogs in a whirring engine of billions. Unimportant. Just a spinning part that keeps the machine going.

When you’re not with Yoongi or Taehyung, an unmoving presence from their hospital beds, a hovering gargoyle carved from stone, you’re with Jungkook. Always, always, always. Somehow you’d both escaped without the injuries inflicted on your partners—you’d manage to break your little finger, and Jungkook had a black eye and a twisted ankle, and the both of you had mottles of bruises cast across your skin, pulled muscles, an ache carved into your bones, but that was it. That was it. It was almost laughable, how unscathed you are.

You hate it.

(It should have been you.)

Your legs—unbroken, unharmed—hang over steel scaffolding, motionless as you watch the tiny specks of people scuttling across the catwalks that criss-cross Cypher Zero’s body. You can see under her skin, damage peeling back all the layers of metal that should be holding her together. Endless showers of sparks fall and scatter as she’s stitched back together. Your beautiful girl is so damaged, so disfigured.

(You’d caught Yoongi as he’d fallen from the harness, listened to the horrible noises that had torn out of his lips as he’d dripped blood and pain over your shaking hands.)

The bland food you’d scraped off your dinner tray settles fitfully in your stomach, still one second, nausea bubbling up your throat the next.

It’s one of the rare times you’ve been alone, since… since everything. You’ve been taking comfort in Jungkook’s presence, unwavering and understated, needing someone there when staring at Yoongi’s battered face proved too much. Even with his own upheaval Jungkook’s been there, at your side, always close. Eyes locked on you and taking everything in, the tired set to your face, the expression that tugs down your lips, and still, he stays.

But he’d disappeared after you’d eaten, a peculiar look on his face—you know him well enough now to recognise that look, that it means he’s got something in his head, some plan he means to unfold. It’s the first time you’ve seen it since Taehyung had been pulled out of the Conn-Pod. It’s some semblance of normality, an expression of something other than pale-faced dread and bone-shivering guilt.

(You feel it too, that survivor’s guilt. Taehyung and Yoongi will recover but it’ll take time and so much suffering and you wish you could take that from them, heft that burden onto your own shoulders.)

(You know Jungkook feels the same.)

(You see it written in the tense lines of his body. Hear it unspoken in the words he shares with you. The bruises on his skin melt from red to purple to blue to yellow, but even if his body heals, his brain and heart bear the scars of helplessness.)

Jungkook reappears, finds you at the heavy steel door that leads into your room, rusted and worn but silent as it swings open in front of you. His eyes are wide and he’s breathless, like he’s been running, chest heaving as he sucks in air through his parted lips, a flash of teeth and tongue as he smiles.

Despite everything, you smile back. Helpless for that smile, always, happier now for the sight of it, for how little you’ve seen it. You want to see that smile every day. You don’t want him to worry for anything. You want him to feel the same way you do, when you see him: that quiet, maybe selfish thought that things are okay.

Maybe he does. (His eyes are so warm.) He presses something into your hands, something soft and round like a well-practised secret, and then he’s gone. You can tell by the gait of his stride that he’s going back to Taehyung, giving you a moment of lonely reprieve to wash the grime and dirt off your useless body before you follow in his footsteps, stationed at Yoongi’s side.

The door swings shut behind you.

You lift your hand.

It’s an orange.

It’s a small, overripe thing, hard nub of the stem falling away from the skin with only the lightest brush of your fingers. You stare at the fruit, its brightness cutting through the muted sepia tones of your surroundings, a point of colour in an otherwise dull room.

You haven’t seen an orange in months. Rationing is tough on everyone, even Jaeger pilots. You’d mentioned in passing, so long ago, an old habit of yours. Before something else floated above it, more important and interesting, you’d made a fleeting statement that had flitted across the surface of the conversation: you liked eating oranges in the shower. Liked that nice, cool citrus sweetness in your mouth while the rest of your body was caught in the fall of warm water.

It’s such a small, tiny thing. Just the briefest lament—there are more important things than the fact you can’t have shower oranges any more, after all—and you’d forgotten you’d even mentioned it.

But Jungkook hadn’t.

It’s almost syrupy sweet, this orange. You savour each slice, pressing them between your teeth, feeling the rush of juice burst forth through the pith and skin, and it’s so good you could cry.

You do cry.

Your mouth is full of orange and your eyes are full of tears and your head is full of—of—something, something so all encompassing that it overwhelms you, water cascading down the aching planes of your body as you crumple inwards. Jungkook had protected you with the overwhelming power of Bulletproof Striker, and he’s protecting you now, soft and considerate and kind, vulnerable and human. Stripped of tons of metal and technology, Jungkook wears his beating heart on his sleeve and is none the weaker for it.

This seemingly small thing means so much, so so so much. You understand him, and he understands you too, knows that this gesture is indicative of support and care and nurturing, a tiny fragment of peace he can offer you in the tumult of everything out of your control.

A tiny fragment of peace that’s part of a greater whole, all the things that Jungkook gives to you.

When the Marshalls gather you and tell you the plan going forwards, you’re unsurprised.

It makes sense, of course. Four pilots down to two still leaves a pair, and Bulletproof Striker is nearly functional even if Cypher Zero will stay out of commission while she’s rebuilt. Simple maths. One Jaeger, two pilots. You and Jungkook.

You’re scared.

You know you’re Drift compatible. Every fight in the Kwoon Combat Room is evidence enough of that. A dialogue, each challenge is meant to be a dialogue to show physical compatibility, and it is: there’s perfect sync in how you each move to strike, even if your motions are so different, muscles burning and breaths coming faster each time you attack, parry, strike, block. It’s not about winning or losing. It’s a conversation, one that you and Jungkook fall into without thought.

And he would be the perfect partner. That much isn’t in doubt. Loyal and open and strong, honourable and brave and kind—and you know him, have grown to learn so much about this golden boy, this bright, brilliant boy. He’s fucking indomitable and anyone would be lucky to find themselves in the same Jaeger as Jeon Jungkook.

But there are no secrets in the Drift.

To let someone in, you have to trust them. And you do, you do trust Jungkook, probably far more than makes sense, some unspoken thing between you burning like a wildfire. But while you trust him, confident in his strength and his heart, you trust yourself less.

You’ll be flayed open, naked and defenceless. He’ll see right to the core of you, every dirty corner of your crumpled soul, every shameful part of your foundations, uneven brickwork layered into your shaky temperament; strong one second, weak the next. He’ll see that you’re hard inside, too, biting and acidic right down to your shrivelled heart. This nascent thing that you’ve been building with Jungkook, been keeping safe in the cradle of your careful hands, will sputter out and die.

“Baby.”

Yoongi’s voice is comforting, a familiar rumble that rolls through your ears as you rest your head in his lap.

“And I mean that you’re literally being a baby,” he continues, and you curl your lip back from your teeth in a small snarl, menacing.

Yoongi just continues to thread his hands through your hair.

You’ve Drifted with Yoongi often and long enough to know how every thread of thought unspools in that skull of his. You know he has every confidence in the unshakeable pillar of your soul. He’s a brother to you, a connection that thrums deep in your veins even without the intimacy of the Drift, and the love you hold for him is undying and true.

But whatever you have with Jungkook is so timorous in the face of that.

“It’s different.” Yoongi looks down at the twist of your face. You know his thoughts and he knows yours too, your face and heart an open book to him. “But different isn’t bad.”

You keep your mouth shut, keep the words swallowed down in your throat, shoved down to the pit of your stomach. Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

“Baby,” he says again, softer, lower. This time, you know it’s an endearment.

At the end of the day, no matter what fear grips cold and endless at your insides, you’ll do it. You’ll Drift with Jungkook. You’ll throw everything you have into the pyre, watch it burn and turn to ash, if it means you can keep everyone safe. To save Yoongi, Taehyung, Jungkook—you’ll open yourself up to the mortifying ordeal of opening up, laying yourself bare. You have to.

It’s chaotic, anyway. The day that your practice Drift is scheduled is the day the next kaiju rises out of the breach, that dreaded rift between our world and theirs, because why would you be allowed to breathe, even for a second?

It’s a scramble into the cockpit. There’s no time for trial runs or test Drifts. You fly or you fall. Everyone’s in a state of orderly upheaval as you’re suited up and left to stride forwards into a Conn-Pod that isn’t yours, in a Jaeger that isn’t yours.

(Left to stride forwards to stand next to someone who isn’t yours.)

Your Drivesuit is grey. Jungkook’s is white. There’s a subtle hologramatic sheen laid across the planes of his armour, leaving him a multicoloured vision that shines out under the flicker of the cockpit’s endless tiny buttons and lights. Your own suit is a matte, gunmetal with accents of burning scarlet, far more battered and worn. Dark and wild in the face of Jungkook’s radiance. He’s the perfect answer to the kaiju invasion. You, though, feel like an interloper in a space that wasn’t designed for you, this circle room that’s been home to Jungkook and his true, real partner.

But he’s looking at you like there’s no one else he’d rather have by his side.

He doesn’t care that everything about this moment just cements how he’s too good for you in every conceivable way, elevated above you. Doesn’t care that you’re just a temporary stop gap. There’s trepidation, of course, skittering nerves that dance across his face for this first Drift, surrounded by all the commotion that’s swallowing the world up outside the cockpit. But there’s also that fire in his eyes, one you’ve learned to expect: Jungkook is a wildfire and will surmount any obstacle in a blaze of white-hot light.

And he wants you along for the ride.

(Burns bright for it.)

“You ready?” He asks, and the tiny tremor in his words takes you off guard even as it soothes a balm over the rash of apprehension that prickles across your skin.

(Because he’s nervous, too.)

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer, truly.

His eyes crinkle into a smile, crescents of happiness as his lip peels back from his teeth. It should be jarring, seeing his sweet bunny smile in the pit of a Jaeger, so at odds with the military polycarbonate that girds his body with protection, the masculine edges of his face—but it’s not. The world is just a backdrop to Jeon Jungkook, dropping away as you fall into his eyes, twinkling stars of brightness and warmth that hold you safe, even now.

Peace and contentment steals over you. You’re almost shocked by it, the way your own face softens into a smile, the rising beat of your heart. Every ragged messy edge in you is smoothed over by Jungkook’s presence and you glow for him.

When the Conn-Pod drops, there’s the familiar weightlessness, the sway of your body in the harness as you fall. Anticipation roils through you as Bulletproof Striker’s head locks into place, whirring mechanisms securing you to nearly 2000 tons of metal, so much heavier than your own Jaeger. You’ve taken Jungkook’s usual place and he’s taken Taehyung’s, the right hemisphere, the dominant pilot, familiar with this machine in a way you’re not.

Not yet, at least.

“We’ve got this.”

Jungkook’s voice cuts through the noise, the AI talking at you, a narration of events you’ve long grown used to. You turn your head to look at him. He’s already looking at you, intent and sincere. Like always.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, we have.”

There’s no point being afraid. In a few seconds, Jungkook will be in your head, washing over every part of you—and you’ll be in his, pressing your ethereal touch into every facet that comes together to make Jeon Jungkook who he is.

Seconds pass. There’s a little hitch in his breath, a stiffness to his limbs, and he shuts his eyes. You breathe in deep, deep, deep, sucking in a harsh breath into your greedy lungs—

—the timer hits zero—

—and then the Drift slams into you all at once, all encompassing and consuming, threading your minds together.

(Drifting with Yoongi is easy, the familiarity of coming home after so much time away.)

(But this?)

(This is throwing yourself into a cold lake on a hot summer’s day, bracing and refreshing and breath-stealing all at once, shocking life into every one of your limbs, so sharp and fast you’re scared you might drown before you breach the surface, water holding onto you and not letting you go. This is driving reckless and fast down empty roads, watching the world pass you in a blur, laughing in delight at the pleasure of it all. This is scaling a cliffside with nothing but your own hands and determination, digging your fingers into the unyielding rock, pulling yourself up-up-up, never letting yourself fall.)

(This is having Jungkook beside you. This is having Jungkook diving into the lake with all the grace of an Olympian before he rises to the surface, tosses his hair carelessly out of his face, and spits a mouthful of water at you with laughter in his eyes. This is having Jungkook behind the driver’s wheel, shifting gears without thought, looking away from the road to watch the way your hair dances in the wind. This is having Jungkook climbing beside you, waiting for you at the top, holding a hand out to pull you up and over so you can sprawl out beside him, exhausted and exuberant at the top of this mountain, basking in the sun with Jungkook just a hair’s breadth away from you.)

(He takes one look at you. He takes one look at all the dark of your memories, the cascading mess of your insides, the hidden things that are open to him in the Drift, cut open and peeled back for his gaze—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He sees everything, past skin and muscle and bone and nerves, even deeper, right into your heart—)

(—all the torrents that eddy the deep waters of your soul—)

(—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He doesn’t look away.)

(Can’t look away.)

(Doesn’t want to.)

(Never wants to.)

(Jeon Jungkook takes one look at you, your whole being, and he knows you.)

(And he doesn’t want you any less.)

It’s just a second, a flicker, a breath, this first connection in this Drift, falling into each other. But it’s also a lifetime, two lifetimes, four lifetimes; your memories, Jungkook’s memories, Yoongi’s memories in yours, Taehyung’s memories in Jungkook’s. Layers and layers and years and years piled over one another, a tumbling sprawl—but it’s easy. It’s easy, so easy, Jungkook seeing you, you seeing him, everything he is, everything you are, everything you are to each other, with each other, for each other. The important things. The things you need to know to navigate this together, in sync even before now, reading each other to a level neither had even realised.

And when you’ve killed the kaiju. When you’ve walked Bulletproof Striker back to shore, brought her back to the Shatterdome, back home, it doesn’t end. You lift out of the Drift, step out of your Drivesuits, as different as they are (as different as you are), and it doesn’t end.

Jungkook’s eyes linger, as heavy as a physical touch, and even as congratulations for a successful drop are bandied about you, he doesn’t leave your side. He keeps his hand against yours—not intertwined, but brushing, the curl of his fingers against your own. Touching. You’re not the protector here. He’s protecting you, in a way that doesn’t leave you feeling inferior or weak. You feel soft and warm and small and safe, pulled inexorably towards him, supported, buoyed up, and you don’t feel selfish for it.

Because he wants this.

He wants to be your comfort and your support.

He doesn’t want it to end.

(You don’t want it to end.)

And when you finally break away from those crowds, released from the shackles of responsibility and expectation—when you’re finally left alone, the two of you with each other, there’s no hesitation when you come together.

He lays you out beneath him and has you sobbing, back arching into the pleasure he draws out of your body, playing you like a maestro. Because he knows you, after all. He knows exactly how to trail his lips across your skin, your neck and stomach and thighs, painting marks across your body like it’s his personal canvas. He knows exactly how to have you twisting underneath him, how to pull those pretty sounds from your lips, fucking you with his fingers and his tongue until you’re a shaking mess. He kisses you sweet, merciless, letting you claw at his skin as you beg for more, more more more, wanting it, needing it, wanting him, needing him.

And you know he’ll give it to you. He’ll give himself to you, give you everything you ask for. You know how he wants to see you fall apart and you know how to move your body to have him gritting his teeth and staring in awe. You know how desperate he is to worship you, to show you his adoration and reverence, and you open up for him, unfurl like a flower, dripping nectar. When he finally presses into you, hot and long and thick, it’s so good you could cry. You draw him in-in-in, into your body and arms and heart, pressing your lips to the sweat at his brow, the taste of skin and salt and Jungkook bursting across your tongue.

There’s no Drift here, no curl of memories and unspoken thoughts between you. It’s physical and human, the crash of your bodies against each other, skin on skin, the thrust of his cock pressing into the dripping folds of your cunt. It’s the other half of that connection, the final piece, this thing you have with Jungkook, this perfect balance you have with him. It sears itself across your body and into your soul: it’s pleasure and passion and devotion carved into each touch of your lips and fingers, each roll of your hips, each time Jungkook makes you cum, gasping for him.

When he’s finally come apart inside you, spilling into your willing heat as you shake beneath him, arms and legs wrapped around his body as you pull him as close as you can, unwilling to let go—it still doesn’t end. You’re so wrapped up in Jungkook, in his arms, his heart, and you know he won’t let you go, either. He presses his lips against yours, chases those kisses, quiet and chaste to open-mouthed and dirty as the mood takes you, and then Jungkook rolls over you again, a spark in his eyes as he decides he’s still hungry for you.

You know, now, that all that time ago, when you carved that space for him into your chest, he’d done the same for you. He’d laid his heart at your feet and waited there, kneeling, for you to accept it, patient and willing. Staring at you with all the deep love you never thought you deserved, never thought you’d receive. But here he is. Here he is, love burning in his dark brown eyes. Eyes that have seen all the damaged, aching parts of you and love you anyway.

“I’m yours.”

Jungkook shines so bright at your words, a supernova of joy. His smile is so wide and his gaze is so soft, for you, for you, for you.

“Everything I am is for you,” he murmurs, letting the words curl into the air, settle across your skin, sink deep inside your chest. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel this touch of him inside you, wrapped around your heart.

And when you lift your hands, he comes so easily. He presses his cheek into the curve of your fingers, lets you hold him, lets you cup those lovely cheeks in your palms.

“I love you,” he says.

Right now, in this instant, there’s nothing but him. No kaiju, no Jaegers, no crumbling world, nothing. There’s only him, and you, together.

“I love you too,” you reply—and when you smile, gentle and tender, Jungkook falls in love all over again.

Burns bright for you.

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Warlord Reactions to MC Dominatrix

This is just some random thoughts on the romanceable warlords and how they might react to a dominatrix MC. All in fun, and probably not the first to think about this. I blame @scruffymctee for putting this in my head.

Approx. 900 words

Nobunaga

“What are you wearing, fireball?” He looks excited and curious, completely down with it as MC ties him up and takes out a riding crop. He enjoys the feisty, assertive side of her, and likes watching her move in that tight, tight leather. He’s not terribly fond of pain, but I think he’d like getting spanked so long as MC kisses and makes it better later.

Hideyoshi

“You - what are you doing? Those clothes don’t look very comfortable. And what is that in your hand? Do you need me to carry - mmmfff?!” (ball gag is necessary for Hidemama) He is horrified that MC is wearing such revealing clothes, and confused by the props. Handcuffs, ball-gags, whips, and nipple clamps . . . but secretly, excited too. It’s not often he can give up control to someone else.

Mitsuhide

“Little mouse, you look . . . delicious. What are you planning to do with that whip? Shall I show you some techniques?” Mitsuhide would be completely amused by a dominatrix MC. He’d follow along with whatever she told him just to see what she would do next. It would be hard to surprise him, but some modern day toys would do the trick. Beware though, as any technique used on him would definitely be used on MC later!

Masamune

“If you’re going to play rough, you better slap me like you mean it.” Masamune would enjoy the game, playing sub to MC’s dom. Given his guilt complex and PTSD over events in his past, he will need a lot of aftercare no matter how much he enjoys being dommed. I can see him asking for dominatrix MC when he needs to give up control, something that’s hard for our one-eyed dragon to do.

Ieyasu

“Hey! Be careful! That actually hurt!” Ieyasu will be a complete grump about it, complaining over every pinch, slap, and restraint, but secretly he will enjoy the attention. Especially once he figures out he gets extra-special aftercare treatment. Beware though, because he may turn the tables on MC and play a dom-doctor to sub-patient game.

Mitsunari

“Are you going to tie me up? What is that for? You want me to call you Mistress?” Wide purple eyes follow every move and ask questions at every turn, with the potential to kill the mood. BUT if you let our innocent angel read up on modern BDSM how could you! , he’ll return to the dungeon ready and willing to play his part. I think exploring new sensations would be fun for him, but be prepared for awkward questions in inappropriate places.

Sasuke

“Nice cosplay! You even got real handcuffs! Is that from Akame ga Kill? Or Sorcerer Hunter?” Sasuke takes some convincing that dominatrix MC actually plans to dom him. He doesn’t mind being a sub, in fact, he enjoys it. The positions are clearly defined and he likes being surprised. The hardest part for Sasuke is being immobilized. He can handle all the hot wax MC wants to drip, but slap that boy in cuffs and blindfold him and he will start to sweat.

Kenshin

“Untie me this instant! I need to touch you . . . please?” Kenshin goes along with dominatrix MC, curious at first and always willing to do what makes her happy. But the teasing and the torture get to him fast - he is used to being in control, and not being able to touch MC when and how he wants to is the real dom with him. Despite his frustration at being powerless when in bondage, Kenshin would definitely come back for more. He secretly enjoys yielding to MC and letting her decide how far things will go.

Shingen

“Goddess, I worship at your feet. If you wish to walk me with a leash, then lead on. I am your toy.” Shingen does NOT take much convincing. He isn’t much for real pain, but being forced to obey MC’s every whim is fun for him. He loves being teased, especially games of self-restraint where his own pleasure is denied until he has MC’s permission. Expect Shingen to be a dungeon regular.

Yukimura

“What? No! No no no, I haven’t been a naughty boy! You - you weirdo boar woman!” Yuki is scared of dominatrix MC. Scared because seeing her in those clothes excites him. He hasn’t had to obey a woman and it doesn’t come naturally. That said, I think he’d end up enjoying it once he relaxes. Just don’t expect him to ever admit it.

Kennyo

“Wh-why are you dressed that way? Is this some Oda devilry?” Kennyo would be completely turned on by sexy dominatrix clothes, but really not into the idea of being dominated. He’s been through too much to be into masochism, and he’s already disciplined. Self denial is his second nature. I guess what I'm saying is that Kennyo’s done all this before. But I think the abbot could be persuaded to have some kinky fun with toys. Think pegs, vibes, and other battery operated devices.

Motonari

“What’s that yer wearing? And why do ya have gloves on too?” Motonari would be nervous going in, partly because of his personal trauma and partly because he’s a cautious guy. It requires a lot for Motonari to trust anyone, and the level of trust he’d need to allow for bondage is huge - I don’t think he’d let himself be tied down or blindfolded. BUT dominatrix MC could have a lot of fun with our pirate and a bucket of latex. I think he’d be excited by the prospect of being coated in latex, able to touch but not touch MC in a thousand naughty, inventive ways. MC spankings and other torments would require a lot of aftercare, but the pirate would be amused by her taking the initiative and demanding what she wants.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen masamune #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen kenshin #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen shingen #ikesen yukimura #ikesen motonari #ikesen kennyo #ikesen sasuke #ikesen hideyoshi #warlord reactions

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softenerescape · 3 years

Text

Feedee Teasing

Part 1: Greed

So this greedy whale wants some food does she?

Look at yourself! Look at all that flab! You’re disgracefully obese and you still just want to eat more and grow fatter?!! Hungry for more to fill your shamefully huge overhanging gut are you piggy? Well okay then you bloated cow if that’s what you want then maybe it’s time you were taught a lesson! You really want more food? You’ll get more food alright! Open wide piggy! Let’s just stuff you so full of fattening treats that people will stare in horror as you swell up like a big fat human shaped balloon shall we? Give you all you can eat, yes even you porky! And then more, and more, and MORE. Strapped down and forced to eat, eat, eat! A never ending flow of sinfully fattening cuisine to stuff you full to the brim, overfull, until you swear one more bite might just make your stomach explode, a 24/7 overfed sow, so much food you’ll swear you can feel yourself getting fatter by the minute as you’re wheeled from restaurant to restaurant, buffet to buffet, and made to eat and eat until all the food is gone as everyone stares aghast in morbid fascination at the size of your belly spilling out in front of you, at your huge bloated body slowly but steadily bursting the seams of your clothes as you gorge yourself on dessert after dessert until every last one is gone.

Well?! Is that enough fucking food for you greedy-guts? Poking your belly makes you burp! Nope, there’s still room in there! Off to the next place. Do you like donuts? Four dozen for starters? Doesn’t matter how ridiculously full you are, you’re going to eat them ALL. Everyone knows you’re probably too helplessly horngry to resist anyway haha! Greedy gluttons as naughty as you never can say no can they? So why not wash them all down with full cream milkshakes! Just hook you up to the drink machine and pump you up until you can’t take any more? Sound good you obscene tub of lard?! Then everyone can watch you blow up with fat until you burst from your clothes, until you’re so fat not even your shoes can fit your bloated round feet! What’s the matter piggy? Too full? But that’s never stopped you before! You’ve gotten too fat to move? Well no matter then you’re not going anywhere till you’ve eaten every last donut in the store. Aww you’re so heavy your chair has collapsed. Damn you’re a complete fucking whale aren’t you? Don’t think that means this is over! We’ll just have to haul you around on a big 1 ton trailer or something. All that obscene fat wobbling unsteadily down the road as you travel to your next awaiting feast. I know! We’ll put some mattresses on it, several cause one won’t be wide enough before long, maybe soft rubber ones so we can hose you down between feedings. Haha we can do that at a carwash, imagine the looks you’ll get! Huge soapy obscene fat rolls as thick as a man’s waist glistening in the sun!

Where next? The chocolate factory? Okay and then the ice-cream factory! Think you can eat it all? Well you’d be in no position to refuse now that you’re a massive helpless fat blob! You’re so fucking greedy it’ll probably only take you a couple of weeks. We’ll make you eat yourself so fat and round it’ll be a struggle to wiggle your arms. So much blubber! Unable to do anything except watch yourself grow and grow until you’re the fattest woman there ever was and ever will be. Swelling up fatter, and fatter, and FATTER until you’re nothing but a gigantic horny round butterball. Constantly tempted with so many naughty tasty treats. You can’t help it that they taste so good can you? You can’t help it that they make you swell up like a balloon! A big horny balloon.

Whimpers and moans muffled by huge handfuls of cake as you feel your enormous bloated body expand by the minute, plumping up, up, up, as your huge overstuffed stomach extracts calories from ungodly amounts of food, forcing them unceremoniously into your fat reserves. So huge and FAT that you’d wonder if you might actually burst whilst your titanic belly digests your next meal, oh dear! Yes indeed you overfed sow, that’s far, far too fat for your own good! But even then it’s a good bet you’d STILL be hungry, wouldn’t you porky? Look at yourself and admit it haha! Guess we’d have to launch food at you somehow from a distance, no way we’re risking getting any closer to a girl who’s clearly so greedy she’d be in danger of eating so much she could blow any second lol!

That’s what happens when you’re such a shamelessly naughty greedy glutton! Be careful of the path you’re starting down fat girl! That appetite of yours is clearly already out of control! You better put down that box of donuts before it’s too late!

Part 2: Gluttony

You waddle to the fridge. I can hear your panting and wheezing and grunting for the effort of moving your gelatinous body. You're addicted to glutting that doughy body. You're never full, even when you're not hungry. You chew and slurp and pour thousands of calories down your throat. Meanwhile, your fatty form pleads for mercy. You know what the doctor said. You're already morbidly obese -- even with all your supposed dieting -- and your cholesterol is still climbing, your sugars are all off. You're so massive that you're winding from the effort of standing on your weak knees in front of the fridge.

Do you even care? You can barely hold yourself up, and you've only been standing a couple minutes. You're far too greedy to pull your lips away from the quart of cream you're sucking down. Instead you ease yourself to the floor, heavy body still landing with a thud. That feels so much better on your pained joints, doesn't it? Now you can focus on how turned on you are. How good all that cream swelling your blubber feels. You switch arms because one starts to tire, moving on to the next quart of cream with ease. You suck down more than your greedy mouth can hold. Two trails of cream seep from your greasy mouth corners. What a thirsty piglet.

Underneath the mountain of growing lard, you squeeze your thighs together. It just feels so good, your empty hog brain can barely process it. You feel sparks shoot from between your legs and crawl up your spine. You toss the second empty and your gut gurgles. All that gas rolling around just makes you hungrier and hornier. As if you aren't always hungry and horny, right? You used to pretend that, once upon a time. Good to see you've slipped so far into the pit of hedonism that you're incapable of thinking that deeply. It doesn't matter anyway, right? Eating and cumming over and over while you bloat and grow... that's how you'd rather spend your shortened life.

You reach your stubby arms into the fridge and pull down a mess of Tupperware. Most people don't have this many leftovers in their fridge, you know? But I keep cooking and cooking for you, making more food than you can handle. For now, at least. These fridge raids keep happening more frequently... is your appetite getting that much more insatiable? You don't think about that, though. You don't think about anything. You just tip container after container into your desperate maw. You make a giant mess, but it doesn't matter to you. Under the food stains and drippings, you feel pleasure. Your gut gurgles and gas slips out of you, but you barely notice. I hear your wheezy sniffing. It sounds shockingly close to real pig grunting. You smile dumbly at the wretched smell and suck more slop down.

What's happened to you? Is the old you still hiding under all that sweaty, stretch mark littered flab? Is the old you screaming, begging this new gluttonous monster to stop? Or since resigned, submissive to your gassy, growing form? A bassy belch rolls off your tongue. You're drooling -- is it from the taste or your room temperature IQ? It doesn't matter, because you work the cap off a two liter, and greedily suck it down. You get even gassier, and your smile looks dumber and dumber. Pleasure is painted across your features. Your eyes aren't even focused, just glazed over and half lidded. Are you high, or is that all you? Not to mention the trail of slobber and food remnants coating your chin, and the bits hiding in the chins below that. You've hardly got a neck anymore. Your body just keeps blowing up, and you can't even stop yourself. The better it feels, the less you fight. And from the looks of it, it feels heavenly.

You have no appetite control, that much is obvious. Just like your self-control and discipline, it has withered away. You force gas out of your gut with your thick fingers, then resume cramming in calories. I bet that feels so good, doesn't it? Look at how hard your nipples are. Those swelling tits. I bet you're making your undies pretty wet too. Too bad I can't see them between gargantuan thighs and an overfed sphere of a gut. Another belch rolls off your tongue and your eyes practically end up in your skull. Your stomach is too stretched to ever be normal again. Even if you stopped your constant grazing and night long stuffings, your capacity is through the roof. We can't eat the same meals any more. If there's not an excess of fats, sugar, butter, or bubbles, you won't be full. You need to be full to the brim, and more. And if bleary eyed fullness doesn't stop your over-indulgence, a piddly salad never will.

You just keep sucking down all that grease. Don't think too hard about it. Keep growing. Get dumber. Get fatter. It's okay, piglet. Nobody is judging you. Nobody knows that you used to be a quarter of this size. That you used to walk without breaking a sweat, that you could see your toes before, that you used to eat healthy. Don't think about before. Think about now, or nothing at all. I'll keep cooking for you, making sure my sow gets all the necessary nutrients, like lots of carbs and sodium and sugars. All you have to do is tip another Tupperware in your mouth, crack another soda open. The weight will pile on, and you'll get all the pleasure you need.

Let's see how long your body can handle it, shall we?

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the-slasher-files · 3 years

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Alright allow me to overanalyze on Asa Emory’s character, if you don’t mind...

THE COLLECTOR AND HIS DOGS

Basically this is just me nerding out over dogs and the life of having working dogs also the connection Asa might have to them, so don’t mind me. Now if you do not know I am a person who owns 3 dogs myself, is a big dog lover, have worked with many many different types and characters of dogs, and also follow different sports and clubs with dogs involved. So from experience and research this is where I get this info I'm gonna share ;) hope you enjoy my ted talk🔪💕

In the first movie The Collector Asa has a German Shepard chained up outside the home, using it as a first of many strings in protection. Later on in the movie you get a better look at the dog and what it can do; searching and wanting to lock onto a target, any target. Now this is different from protection work and leads more into a German dog sport called schutzhund. This sport is the ability to test just how good your working dog is at working, it is based from protection work, to tracking, to obedience, to bite.

This training style is very severe in some cases, and this is what the police use for their training more often than not. It takes a very particular person to have dogs in this sport, even if it is just for fun. And we all know just how particular Asa is lol.

Now who is the type of person to put their dogs into this? A very interesting one. First of all, anyone who is really into this work will hand pick the type of dog they want, from breed to working lines (meaning how well the dogs parents did in competition, as well as how the breeder is with other dogs). Now you can choose as well where you get these dogs from, could be from Europe to America doesn’t matter, it is up to the soon to be owners choice. Either way these dogs are expensive and need heavy hours set into them to achieve the level of training Asa has his dogs working on, and even more so in the second movie by working together. These people often have a huge thing with power and control, which we already know from Asa, but also they usually need/have extreme self-discipline wanting to be perfect in every aspect, could be a dogs position next to you if they aren’t as close that gets you fucked up because they could not defend you properly. Everything needs to be flawless.

With all this work, self-discipline and control it can be extremely rewarding, especially for Asa in this case to see someone get their face ripped off, it is in his sadistic nature. Even having the dogs presence is often enough to intimidate anyone, in a lot of police work situations people will flee or hide somewhere if they know it is just a single officer, but once the dog gets brought in people more than likely surrender, fast and easy. If anyone of Asa’s collection pieces chooses to run or hide, the dogs can sniff out where they go, they can out run people and will bite, at least without the dogs people could have a chance. Another good thing about dogs is that they alert, if Asa is working and the dogs bark he will know exactly where that person is easily.

So to overview what I just rambled about before getting into the next topic, Asa is a very control oriented person, needing to have power over something and be very strategic in doing so. Getting off on the intimidation and fear factor of his victims, and even more so when people get bit. These dogs are also for his own protection, caring about himself and his beautiful collection first, and maybe even caring for the double life he leads more. It also can make Asa’s life easier, not having to always make the kill himself, and this leads me to believe that it isn’t really the kill that gets him off, it is the chase, the skill he has taken and the victims skill of getting away that drives him. Almost uses the dogs in more annoyance just because people aren’t dying and getting in his way or messing with his stuff. I mentioned skill a sentence back and I want to bring it up again because I think it’s important; Asa can appreciate the skill of his victims, it makes it more thrilling but also I think he has a deep appreciation for his dogs skills, being extremely hard working and intelligent creatures, like himself and some victims. Now with the thing about Asa taking his favorites, he is trying to find the right one, the perfect one, making more sense for him to have dogs, Asa can mold his perfect dog, using only working dogs, dogs that love to please and want to be perfect for you.

Now moving on to the next topic - Connections. So this could go two ways, a good way and a bad, no in between. The majority of people grow extreme bonds with their dogs, especially their working dogs, all the hours you put into the training and you have to trust your dog and they have to trust you. In the military specifically dogs build one of the strongest connections with the soldiers, they are their comfort because they see the same things and yet still have a wagging tail, they can save each others lives, protect one another and appreciate each other deeply for skill and for love. Now there are other people, most common in police work because the dogs can sometimes be too intense or have certain contracts but, these people don’t take their dogs home or when they are home they stay in one room or kennel mostly. Sometimes there are dogs that just can’t adapt to home life and just want to work, but sometimes they can make wonderful family and house dogs. At the same time it is up to the owner choosing what they want for the dog.

Something strikes me with Asa that he genuinely loves his dogs but at the same time some of his actions make me think twice. In the first movie the dog is chained up away from the dangerous traps of the inside, he is protecting the dog at first, but moving along in the movie he releases the dog into the home going after Arkin. Now this is the dogs job mind you, so Asa trusts him, but also you can see a lot of traps or dangers have been removed so the dog can work safely and knows the dog is smart enough to avoid some of the obvious traps. He lets him work but also wants to help the dog, perhaps not wanting the dog to get seriously hurt or maybe just finally finishing Arkin off. Also the scene where Asa is outside and calls off the dog when he is biting a guy, again maybe for safety of the pet maybe just to watch the man struggle. Ultimately the dog dies in the first one, but Asa watches very carefully when the dog is going after Arkin, and there is almost a ‘sadness’ or maybe curiosity to Asa’s face, and I think he knows in that moment his dog is sadly dead.

In The Collection you don’t see the dogs really work that much, you only see them barking at Abby then barging in the room with Asa, so it is hard to really see any connections. From both movies I would say Asa takes the dogs with him for the most part, takes them to ‘jobs’ and brings them to the hotel. Now at the hotel it is important to notice the dogs do not have free range or else we would see them probably a lot more. My best guess is that Asa cares for the dogs and doesn’t want them getting hurt by his traps until he knows who the people are, that’s when he loses it, literally going in all guns a blazing. When he does bring the dogs out they are only with him, aka his control and protection side coming out. Now in this scene Asa has an assault rifle that he uses in tandem with the dogs, but I noticed carefully watching the scene, Asa never shoots towards the dogs, he lets them work, again trusting them deeply, if he did shoot around not caring for them the bullets would have defiantly hit Arkin and wounded him or killed him. Of course after this scene we don’t really get to see Asa in any sort of grief, (which I really wanted lol) he is just busy trying to kill everyone else and not get caught by the cops.

Then in the final scene of The Collection we see Asa’s home, this is like months after the events at the hotel from what I can tell, but we see no dogs, not a trace. Simply he maybe could not have gotten anymore dogs since his collection was destroyed and he doesn’t really need dogs to protect his stuff any longer, or maybe Asa did not find new dogs that he wanted yet, or just maybe they were locked in the house away in a room, keeping his house spotless. Who knows it is all up to the person watching, I don’t think they expected a dog crazy person to be diving this deep lol.

So my final thoughts. I personally think Asa really likes his dogs and they bring him good company and something to have power over in his regular life. Once you have a dog, especially dogs that take so much work and training time it is very hard for people to just stop having dogs. Also being a biologist I think he can deeply appreciate them for their intelligence and skill. If anyone says Asa would like cats you can fuck off because look what happened to the cat in the first movie, it was clumsy and got itself killed, plus look at his house, not a thing knocked over lol, a cat would never do for him. Anyway thank you for coming to my ted talk and letting me nerd out! Fill free to add your own thoughts.

This is Aero from the first movie, a German Shepard that might be from some European lines, but looks mostly American to me.

Now I sadly couldn’t find these dogs names, but these 2 are a little different. To me the one on the left looks like a European line longer fur german shep. While the one on the right looks like a belgian malinois maybe with some shepard in it.

#welcome to my ted talk #character analysis #asa emory #the collector #the collection #horror #slashers #slashy types #my writing #dr emory #dogs #working dogs #the collector 2009 #the collection 2012

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hualianff · 3 years

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More Than This VI 《V》

It’s no surprise XL gains his own taste of fame after walking the red carpet with one of the most sought-after actors in the country. He doesn’t mind it, going as far as to create a few social media accounts to interact with fans and scroll through their photos and edits of him. He has a few fan sites too, but only for fancy events where he chooses to be recognized in public.

XL and HC agreed before sharing their relationship with the public that they would maintain a strong sense of privacy when it came to their personal lives. They only share what they want to. The paparazzi who manage to take photos without permission are immediately disciplined so it doesn’t happen again.

(“I can’t believe you did it.”

“Hmm, Gege said he was okay with it.”

“I know! But I didn’t expect you to actually....” XL stares at a recent selfie of them HC had posted on his Twitter, taken the night HC won his award. “We look like we just had sex.”

“Nobody’s gonna know.”

XL raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his boyfriend. HC insists again.

“Nobody’s gonna know-”

“They’re gonna know,” XL says with a sigh, pointing to the hickey marks clearly visible on the photo. HC rolls over closer to XL in their bed, scrutinizing the image on XL’s phone.

“Oh, I didn’t see those when I posted the photo.”

“San Laaang!” XL cries, pushing at the taller man’s shoulder before burying his face into his pillow. HC makes XL breakfast in bed as an apology and promises to not drunk-post anything again.)

Eight months after officially dating–which is over two years since they met–HC asks XL to move in with him. XL doesn’t even need to think about his answer, a simple “Yes! Yes please!” escaping his lips. Both HC and XL’s faces light up with overjoyed smiles.

They seem to have had the same idea about where to live, purchasing a home they’ve been eyeing for months! The best aspects include a massive yard (front, side, and back) for XL to tend to, a hot tub, and a spacious living and dining room area to entertain guests. It’s not the grandest or most impressive residence by size or feature. In fact, the first months have them living in a half-finished, rusty house with the prettiest garden you’ve ever seen.

It gradually gets better. HC and XL knew they would have to do a lot of work to improve the shape of their home. Over the next year, they repair and remodel the house themselves, simultaneously adding value to the property and curating the style to fit their dream home. XL makes sure to post progress photos on his social media. His most recent selfie of HC and himself in hardware glasses got over 500k likes! He pinned HC’s comment that said, “Gege is my own very handyman!”

(HC, in a sleeveless tee, shorts that show off his ass, hair pulled back into a high bun: “Gege, you’re the boss now. Tell me what to do.”

XL, struggling not to gawk at HC’s side boobs: “O-okay, first, can you smash those cabinets-”

Cue them making out against the counter when it’s the only part of the kitchen that is fully done.)

***

Having a partner who considers the outdoors as a second home is a special experience. XL often takes HC on dates to national parks and plant nurseries. They go on weekend camping trips where XL teaches HC how to properly filter water, summit long stretches of terrain, and stay warm during cold nights with below-freezing temperatures.

(HC, trying to fit into XL’s sleeping bag: “Hi, gege-”

XL: “San Lang, you have your own sleeping bag that you can actually fit in.”

HC: ‘But I’m cold. Gege helps keep me warm.”

XL: “Fine. But let’s use yours because it’s bigger.”

HC, kissing XL’s forehead: “Thank you, my love.”)

On their hikes, XL points to different plants, explaining their origins and why he finds each one particularly beautiful. At first, HC picks up random flowers on the way home and then he asks XL about what flower fate gave him that day to gift his beloved. (“San Lang, that’s not allowed!”) HC eventually stores all the random facts in his mind, always eager to listen to XL talking about his passion. He also learns to keep his hands from digging up “poor, helpless plants from their home soil.”

However, this unfortunately doesn't prevent HC from accidentally squishing some plants in their yard that he thought were just weeds.

(HC, thinking he’s a good partner: “Get out, stupid weeds. CHOP CHOP!”

XL: “SAN LANG STOP, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

HC: “Gege always works so hard. I just wanted to help you in the yard today because you deserve it.” 🥺

XL: *sigh* “I appreciate the gesture, San Lang. But those particular grasses took months to grow, and you just killed them-“)

***

Countless media outlets try to stir up trouble like they typically do with celebrities. Especially when HC has roles that involve romance, articles claiming HC and XL are on the brink of breaking up receive lots of attention. However, what gains more attention are the videos the couple posts on Youtube or Instagram live of their reactions to their “scandals.”

(XL, reading a headline: “Actor bachelor Hua Cheng and co-star Yushi Huang seem to be cozying up after a late-night shoot.’”

HC: “I’m not a bachelor, the fuck?”

XL, smiling: “You could be. Me as well. We can be bachelors together.”

HC, chuckling: “All right. If gege is, then so am I.”

The comments: “That doesn’t make any sense!?”

HC, reading another headline: “HC’s lover found with a mysterious third party??”

XL, exclaiming: “Oh, that’s Shi Qingxuan! You know, the designer for all our red carpet outfits!” 🥰🥰

HC: *nodding along*

XL, cheekily: “-and my secret second-lover”

HC: *blanches* “What.”

XL: “Kidding!!!! San Lang is the only one for me, hehe.” *kisses HC’s cheek* “Okay, next one!”)

Everyone watching the videos is 50% confused and 50% entertained as HC and XL make light of any drama the media portrays them in. Viewers accept that of course, the rumors aren’t true; HC and XL are still very much in love.

They’re in love with each other and will continue falling for many years to come.

***

HC doesn’t like watching himself on screen. However, he does enjoy previewing his own movies for the first time with his boyfriend.

While XL watches the new movie, HC observes XL’s reactions. It helps that XL is a conversational movie watcher too. XL’s narrations consist of horny comments during the sexual scenes (“Ooh, that’s hot. Nice tongue.” “Thank you?”), side remarks about the plot and characters (“San Lang, your character is very rude.” “...”), and dramatic reactions to the huge reveal scenes where HC becomes a human punch bag. (“Oh my goooosh, San Lang!! It was him all along- AHH!!”)

As a perfectionist, something you have to be in HC’s field of work, HC is incredibly self-critical of his performance. Which is another reason why it’s nice to have XL watch alongside with, who never has a shortage of praises for his boyfriend.

(HC: “Fuck, why did they leave this shot in the final? I’m supposed to be mourning for my dead lover but instead, I look like I’m crying out of daddy issues. Why did no one tell me!? It looks so bad-” *pointing to himself on the screen* “-stop looking so constipated-!”

XL, squeezing HC’s nape and massaging his shoulders: “San Lang, no one thinks that except for you. You did everything perfectly. Please acknowledge your hard work and just enjoy the movie.”

HC: *sigh* “You’re right. Okay. Thanks, gege.”

A beat of silence. HC cuddles closer to XL.

HC: “Love you.”

XL: “Love you too.”)

***

XL now knows HC’s movies well enough to quote HC’s lines in his movies to make him laugh. HC happily indulges him, questioning after breaking character, “Gege, are you sure I’m the actor out of the two of us?”

One time, HC and XL are in their kitchen re-enacting a scene with HC as the investigator going to a bartender for more information on his suspect. HC has XL caged against the counter, asking in a teasing manner, “How can I repay you for your help tonight?”

XL lowers his eyelids, looking up through his lashes, flawlessly depicting his character. “Any restrictions on your offer?”

“No, darling. Name a price, a brand, a desire. Right now, anything is on the table,” HC says huskily. XL slyly bites his lip.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

XL brings a hand up to cup HC’s jaw, then smooths it down his neck, traveling down his bare chest. XL tilts his head to expose his neck, wanting to build up his boyfriend’s anticipation. But before he can say his next line, HC effortlessly throws XL over his shoulder like a bag of rice.

“San Lang, wait, this is not how it went in the movie!” XL shouts, a little dizzy from the sudden lift turning him upside down. HC takes long strides to their bedroom, plopping XL on their mattress and blanketing him with his larger frame.

HC only utters a husky “we’re improvising” before diving down to devour XL’s lips. XL’s arms hook around HC’s neck, holding him impossibly close.

***

After a filming shoot where HC’s character gets beaten up–HC performing his own stunts–he heads home beyond exhausted. He just wants to take a relaxing shower and cuddle his boyfriend in their warm bed.

HC arrives at their house a little past midnight. He opens the door and finds XL’s back facing him, quietly humming a song as he takes care of the vase in the living room. The sight makes HC smile.

However, as XL turns around, the vase slips from his hands and explodes into pieces on the ground.

“San Lang! What happened to you!?” XL cries out, the panic in his voice only comparable to the day he had confessed. HC stands in the doorway confused. Was something wrong with his appearance?

XL is on him in an instant, his pupils shaking as he frantically asks, “Does it hurt a lot? What happened!?”

HC blinks, expression blank as he still doesn't understand what has freaked XL out. But as the shorter man gently caresses HC’s face, it suddenly hits him.

The make up!

HC urgently starts rubbing the fake bruises off his face. “Gege, I’m okay! It’s just make up, none of this is real. See?” He holds his hands out for XL to see as the pigment stains HC’s palms. “I’m so sorry! San Lang is dumb, he didn’t mean to make you worry,” HC murmurs as he takes XL between his arms. He really loves this man too much.

XL’s teary eyes shine glimmer as HC embraces him. “Y-you’re sure you’re okay?”

HC nods, leaning into the slender hand that cups his cheek.

“Thank goodness,” XL breaths out as he buries his face into HC’s neck. His next words are slightly muffled. “It looks…so realistic.”

“Yeah, the make up artists are all quite talented, aren’t they?”

XL clings tighter to HC.

“Very much so. Let’s shower so we can properly wash it off.”

“All right,” HC says. “Wait, we?”

XL tugs HC toward the master bathroom.

“Hush, let’s go.”

***

They lay in bed together after four long months of separation. Both of them had been in different parts of the country; HC filmed a drama series while XL traveled for several high-profile projects. Their respective busy work schedules limited communication to brief video chats and text messages, which never seemed enough.

Now, with his head resting on HC’s chest, their legs overlapping comfortably, XL finally feels like he’s where he belongs.

“Why did you choose me?”

Tactical fingers massage XL’s scalp, lulling him into a serene state of bliss. XL nuzzles further into his boyfriend-sized pillow.

“It’s not like I can choose who I fall in love with, Gege,” HC states with a light chuckle. “But if you want an answer, it’s because you are everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner.”

XL looks up at his boyfriend, mouth forming a shape of an O.

“That simple? Even when we made a deal to have no strings attached?” XL asks. HC groans at the reminder of their initial agreement.

“Yes, which was a dumb decision on my part.”

“I agreed to it too. We were both dumb.”

They are silent for a moment. It’s not the first time they’ve talked about or referenced their insecurities when it came to confessing their feelings. XL’s luck when it came to dating someone who could love him for every part of him was practically nonexistent. HC’s constant grappling for his self-identity and worth rendered most of his relationships superficial. And temporary.

Always temporary.

“I can’t believe you thought I didn’t like your plants though. They’re so pretty. And fascinating.” HC says, breaking the silence.

“They take up half our living room space.”

“So? You work with plants all day. They’re bound to be a part of your personal life as well.”

XL’s heart bursts with a sudden fondness. It’s a wonderful thing to be appreciated for the little things.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says happily. HC hums in response, sending vibrations to where XL’s cheek lays on his chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you were a famous actor for the first three months we…”

“Met up for sex?” HC finishes with an impish grin.

“Yes,” XL laughs.

“It was nice not to be recognized for once. With you, I could just be myself,” HC says with ease he never thought he would be able to do. He’s struggled with letting himself be vulnerable his whole life. It turns out, HC just had to find the right person. And thank god he did. XL is more than HC’s outlet from his career. He’s become HC’s closest friend who knows him the best; he is HC’s number one supporter in any endeavor he pursues; he makes HC feel important. XL sees and loves HC for who he is. No amount of fame or wealth could come close to comparison.

“Gege?”

“Hmm?”

“Does it ever bother you that my life is always everyone else’s business?” HC softly asks.

“Well, the fame can be a bit…uncomfortable,” XL admits. “But you’re an amazing actor. And a remarkable person. I can’t blame your fans for loving you so much, you know? I also got to ride in a limo-“

“Which you rode very well-”

XL flicks his boyfriend’s forehead.

“You’re so predictable.”

“You would’ve said the same thing given the chance. Don’t lie, gege.”

They go back and forth a little longer, never once creating unnecessary distance between each other as they roll around until they’re on their sides. Facing each other in their bed that’s been vacant for months, HC and XL are inseparable.

“As I was saying, fame is something that comes with your job–your passion. You can’t control it, nor does it solely characterize who you are. Besides, I get to be a part of your life! That’s all that really matters,” XL continues. He shifts forward so their bodies are closely pressed together. XL plants a kiss on HC’s chin, then whispers a confession that tilts HC’s entire world on its axis.

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone like you.”

HC’s world spins and spins until all that he sees is his beloved, gleaming brighter than all the galaxies without the power to disrupt their orbit. He wraps his arms around XL and kisses the top of his head.

“Me too, Gege.”

Bonus:

HC watches wearily as XL salivates at a showering scene where HC’s bare ass flashes in the frame. XL turns to HC with a serious look in his eyes.

“San Lang! Hiking has done your ass wonders.”

XL sneaks a grope to a meaty cheek. HC chokes.

***

“You can’t be late to your own premiere!” XL cries incredulously.

“Try me,” HC purrs into XL’s ear, delicately kissing the lobe.

XL gasps as teasing hands roam around his torso, one of them slipping down to cup his behind. He vaguely thinks about how SQX is expecting them in the next hour to help with their red carpet outfits. But when hungry lips attach to the sensitive column of his neck, XL is a goner.

“Gege doesn’t have to do any work. Just lay back and look pretty.”

(Brainchild with @no-one-says-hi!)

#tgcf #heavenly official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #cerdrabbles #fluff #Actor HC #Landscaper XL #fine.

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ziamhaze · 3 years

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My Future in Fic

Yeah, so, the 100k fic that I’ve been working on for the past six months? The one that was going to be uploaded to AO3 last week? Yeah, it’s accidentally getting published...

Where do I start?

I suppose with a massive thank you to anyone who’s clicked on any of my fics over these past two years. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. I never ever thought about writing as a career. I’ve never written anything prior to my Harry Potter AU Compartment 451. I didn’t even take an English class in undergrad or grad school. I genuinely just had an idea for a fic I wanted to read and since no one had written it, I had to do so myself. Since then, I’ve written every single day for 2 years. I left my job in the entertainment industry, got accepted to one of the best creative writing programs in the world on a scholarship, and now one of my stories is being considered at Harper Collins. Yes, the Harper Collins. It’s the longest shot in the world, but for legal reasons I was not allowed to upload the fic version on any website prior to submission. Even if they don’t pick it up, I’ve been advised to continue to shop it around to agents.

What I can do, however, is share the premise.

If you’ve been following my tumblr and watching my tags - I SEE YOU ALL OUT THERE - then you’ll know that this fic was meant to have Zayn with his signature undercut hairstyle and one more little thing...

Someone sent me an ask a while back about what this fic was supposed to be about. I believe I said something about it being an adaptation fic, but not from a film/tv show/other piece of literature, from a song. This next fic was meant to be an adaptation of the song Younger by Ruel. Later on, it also took shape with the help of Remember by Liam and a few others that you can find here.

The miniature summary is as follows:

When his father suddenly passes, twenty-nine-year-old Liam Payne is brought back to the Sydney suburbs where he grew up. He doesn’t plan on seeing his childhood best friend, Zayn Malik, at the burial service. They haven’t spoken since going from brothers to strangers one fateful day fifteen years prior. But Zayn puts an end to this when he approaches Liam after the burial, offering his condolences and asking if Liam can help his archaeological research team with photographing their newest project. The unexpected closeness forces each man to wade through uneasy emotions. For Liam, a mixture of grief, lost identity, and confusion over why he’s willing to interact with the one person he swore he’d never forgive. And for Zayn, a tidal wave of anxiety that comes from finally facing a part of himself he’s always chosen to deny. When We Were Younger is a story heavily rooted in blurred identities and exploring what loss can look like in two different scenarios: death and friendship.

For obvious reasons, their names will be changed. Liam, to Hutton. Zayn, to Cairo (his ethnicity will also be changed to Egyptian). As you can see, it was meant to be my big ‘enemies to lovers’ fic. Technically, it’s ‘best friends to enemies to lovers’, but you know.

Right, so what does this mean for me going forward?

I still have so much inspiration when it comes to writing Zayn and Liam as characters. I don’t plan on putting a complete stop to writing them, but with my career taking this large of a turn, I do have to prioritise my time. That said, as of now, I can’t afford to write long-form fic any longer.

Soon, I’ll be starting a PhD program where I’ll be writing another full-length novel for mass publication. For fun, here’s a little insight on the two ideas that I’ll be pitching:

1. Underground boxer (loosely based off Liam) falls in love with arms gang leader (loosely based off Zayn). Throughout their love story, the latter has to outrun the psychological trauma his father (the leader of Zayn’s rival gang) still throws his way.

2. Cold War AU. Paris, circa 1950/51. Ambassador’s son (loosely based off Liam) befriends new student (loosely based off Zayn) at the international school. Paris is a ticking time bomb; war is about to break out at literally any second. The two clearly have feelings for each other, but can’t act on them because homosexuality in the 1950s...yikes. When war does break out, the two are separated, and as Liam’s character goes out to find Zayn’s, he learns a secret of his that changes everything.

Whichever I don’t write for the PhD will be the novel I write following it.

In the meantime, I’m going to continue to write (and edit) like crazy. Ever since I randomly wrote C451, there hasn't been a day that’s gone by where I haven't written something. It may have only been a paragraph or two, but never zero. This is how you get better. This is the equivalent of going out and shooting free throws for 30 minutes a day. You have to put in the work in order to get better. I'm very lucky that I'm incredibly self-disciplined and I've been able to crank out as many stories as I have over the past 2 years.

That said, I’ll be writing shorter little oneshots. I have several ideas that I’ve been sitting on, but haven’t ever thought to write because I HATE writing short stories. Little ideas that don't have huge plotline/climax potential, but that I want to just see on paper, I'll probably end up writing. If I had to guess, I'd say they'll come out to around 10-15k. Also, sequels? Prequels? Haha, you never know...

I’ve also got a series called “Sleep Drabbles” that are, yes, you guessed it, a series of drabbles based around one theme: sleep. I also have a few scenes that I want to write which are based on ziam’s kids, not actually ziam themselves. If there’s enough demand for that, I can upload those too, but they’re quite niche, so I don’t think the general fandom would be very interested.

As far as frequency for all of this, I have no idea. I’ve always done things at my own pace and written stories that I want to write, for myself. That won’t ever change, so I don’t want to commit to one drabble a week or one short-length fic per month. It takes me weeks (months for this last fic) to research and interview the necessary people to get character arcs correct/believable. I love that part of writing, and so if I have a little story that I want to write that may only be 10k but takes me ages to put together how I want, then so be it. I will always be around to answer asks/messages and please, continue to tag me in your writing tag posts! But please, no prompts.

So, that’s my future with fic.

Again, I cannot say thank you enough to every single one of you. Every single thing that people tag me in (@malik-payne , @zqua1d , @zentiment , @liamisthesun , @redyellowberry I’m looking at you), I appreciate and love! The recommendation lists that people have put me on, THANK YOU! It’s wild to think that I used to look to rec lists for years and now I’m on them. @ziamfanfiction THANK YOU for always having my back with exposure! @paynefulperiods , my beloved beta reader, THANK YOU for always encouraging me and putting up with shit first drafts. @march-z5 , THANK YOU for always being on call for ideas and listening to me bang my head against the wall at 4 am.

Now, might fuck around and make a fake picspam for the fic that never was...

Also, all of the behind scenes pages for each of my fics are now public, so feel free to check those out here.

I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for making this journey possible. I know people say that a lot when they gain a following of any sort, but I truly truly mean it. You have to have talent in order to be an author, but you also have to have people who want to read your stuff. Proof of concept is a real thing.

So thank you a million times over.

Speak soon my friends.

#ziamhaze #my writing #ziam #ziam fanfic #ziam fanfiction #not sure what to tag this #also gonna be reblogging for a while bc I know people are going to be curious about where the next fic is and won't have seen this

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nashibirne · 3 years

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Against all odds - 2.17

Here’s the next part of my fic! I’m sorry I haven’t updated it in a while, but I hope you like this part anyway.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x ofc

Summary: Henry finally meets Lestat

Warnings: None, only mentioning of sex

NO BETA! So maybe…bad english

Tags: @hell1129-blog @willkatfanfromasia @mis-lil-red

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes

Previous Parts:

2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 2.8 2.9 2.10 2.11/2.12 2.13 2.14/2.15 2.16

2.17

A few weeks later Anna and Henry were sitting in her kitchen, drinking coffee. They still were perfectly happy, loving each other dearly.

The premiere of Macbeth had been a huge success and so was meeting Henry's parents for the first time. They were really nice and uncomplicated. It felt natural to talk to them and Anna got along with them very well.

So now that they had taken this hurdle successfully the next one awaited them already.

"You're really ready for this dinner?" Anna asked with a frown, pouring Henry some coffee. "It's only three hours time and I'm damn nervous." she added.

"Sure. Can't wait to finally meet them." Henry gave her a reassuring look. "Really, babe."

"All right. Good." She still didn't seem to relax. "Remember what I told you, okay? Don't let Lestat provoke you."

"Anna..." Henry let out a deep sigh. Ever since they had got the news that Jonas, Julia, and Lestat were coming to stay at Braxton for a couple of days, she kept on telling him this. He knew she was tense about him meeting Lestat but he really thought she was exaggerating with giving him all these warnings and instructions for handling her ex. They had talked this through countless times and she was still worried that this dinner was going to be a disaster.

"Listen, Babe. I promise -again- I won't let him provoke me, okay. He can insult me as much as he wants, I'm not going to react."

He leaned over the kitchen table in her cottage, cupped her face, placing a tender kiss on her lips.

"Henry, that's not the point. He's not going to insult you. Lestat is much more subtle. He will try to get under your skin. To make you feel bad. To make you feel inferior. He wants to prove that you are no good for me and believe me, he's a great manipulator. You have no idea..."

He kissed her again, interrupting her mid-sentence, brushing his tongue against her lips.

"Don't try to distract me, Cavill. I'm serious. You don't know Lestat."

"Right, I don't know him because you refuse to talk about him."

"I know." Anna stared at her coffee mug, stirring the hot liquid, lost in thought.

"Then talk to me now. It's better for me to know at least anything before facing him. I mean, besides the facts I know already. He's french but grew up in Germany. He's a solicitor. You went to an international private school together. You've been best friends ever since. He was your boyfriend for almost 14 years. He had a new girlfriend but broke up with her a few weeks ago and he very likely still loves you."

"What more do you need to know?" Anna shrugged.

"I need to know what kind of person he is. What kind of man. How did he become your best friend and later your lover? Stuff like this."

Anna sighed. "All right. I'm going to tell you about Lestat Dalmasso. I don't think it will be helpful but if you want to know...listen carefully.

Right away from their first day in elementary school Anna, Jonas and Lestat were absolutely inseparable. People used to make fun of them, calling them the triplets because they were so close. Lestat was there for them when their parents died, mourning too, because he loved them almost as much as his own parents. He protected the twins, took care of them, helped them to carry on with their life. They stuck together like glue, knowing each other by heart.

And they stayed close throughout their entire time at school, although there was a slight shift in their relationship when they were teenagers. The boys were all about sports and girls at that time, both total jocks and players. Jo was captain of the rowing team, Lestat was a skilled fencer, but their favorite discipline was laying girls at parties. Anna on the other hand wasn't into parties or sports. She loved her books and her boyfriend Tom. Besides working damn hard for good grades, she spent her time at home with Tom, being the good girl her grandparents didn't have to worry about.

But still, despite the fact that Anna didn't share the boy's love for sex, sports and rock 'n' roll, they were the very best friends, sharing all kinds of worries, thoughts and joy. In the last year of school Tom broke up with Anna and Lestat was her greatest support, listening endless times to her mourning for her first love, drying her tears, making her laugh again.

After graduation Anna got a scholarship plus her uncle had pulled a few strings, so she was able to follow in her mother's tracks by studying in Oxford. It was limited to two years but it meant the world to her.

When Anna returned from Oxford it was a total shock to see Lestat again. He had changed so much in these two years when she had been in the UK. He almost seemed like a different person. When she left he was a cute teenage boy who covered up his many insecurities by an eccentric, arrogant behavior. The spoiled brat of rich french parents who cultivated acting like a dandy, breaking girls hearts by the dozen. Despite his unconventional way of dressing and his ostentatious pretentiousness he had always been the star of their school. Everybody wanted to be his friend but the only real true friends he ever had were the twins. They were the only ones who knew the boy behind the mask of cockiness. The sensitive, highly intelligent guy with all those self-doubts and issues. Their best friend who was the most loyal and caring person they knew, always reliable, always coming up with solutions and ideas. The great pretender who would let them -and only them- see his true self.

The Lestat she found in their kitchen the day she returned from Oxford was no longer an insecure boy. He was a man now, handsome, mature, witty and very attractive. Sexy. Hot. In her wildest dreams Anna couldn't have imagined to ever fall in love with him, but this was exactly what happened right away. It felt like she was struck by lightning, coming out of the blue, unannounced but wonderful. The feeling was mutual and there was no chance in fighting it.

Jonas was furious when he realized that his best friend slept with his sister. He tried to talk them out of it, tried to convince them that this could never work, that they were too different. That this would end with at least one broken heart and a shattered friendship. But love was stronger than reason. Passion made it impossible to be sensible. So finally Jonas gave up. But not without making them swear an oath. If they would ever break up they would do anything possible to save their friendship.

"So that's the reason why you don't shut him out of your life. This oath." Henry said, when she'd finished talking, holding Anna's hand, stroking it gently with his thumb. "Yes, we owe it to Jonas to save our friendship. That was the deal." she sighed.

Three hours later Anna and Henry were standing in the castle's entrance hall meeting 'the german bunch' and Milton Arnold, Viscount Brankhurst, and his new girlfriend Mary who attended the dinner too.

Julia and Jonas greeted Henry with tight hugs, genuinely happy to meet him in person. Lestat was a little more distant but not unfriendly. He shook Henry's hand, a warm smile on his lips, looking him in the eyes. "Nice to finally meet you, Henry. I’ve been looking forward to this." His english was almost without an accent. 13 years in an international school obviously paid off.

"Nice to meet you too." Henry had to admit he was surprised and impressed by Lestat's appearance. He was a tall man, taller than himself, at least 6 ft 2. He was not as broad as Henry but buff too. Athletic and fit, like someone who runs a lot, doing his cardio regularly. Moreover he was really handsome, his face narrow with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, his hazel eyes speckled with golden spots, his hair dark blonde and wavy. His suit was tailor-made, elegant and classy, giving him a distinguished look. He had a special charisma, radiating self-confidence and cockiness with a hint of snobbery. It wasn't hard to imagine that he was a lady-killer.

The dinner went quite well and everybody started to relax, having some glasses of excellent wine and delicious food. Lestat didn't seem to be looking for trouble. He was very interested in the things Henry told them about the renovation of the farm and his engagement at the Royal Shakespeare Company and he entertained the party with stories from his and the twins' childhood and youth.

After dessert George and Thomas got up from the table, preparing to leave.

"We're going to retire now, my dears, leaving the young folk to it. Enjoy yourselves and good night. Henry, please join us for breakfast tomorrow, will you?"

"Sure, thanks George." Henry answered, smiling.

After saying their goodbyes they stayed in the dining room for a while, chatting and laughing about this and that. Milton and Mary shared the story of their first date that had been quite disastrous but with a happy ending obviously. There was a slight change in Lestat's behaviour, who now concentrated on stories about Anna and himself, addressing her directly, getting quite familiar. His innuendos and almost flirty tone started to unnerve Henry, making him tense. He moved closer to Anna, laying his arm around her shoulder, kissing her tenderly on her cheek, demonstrating who now was the man in Anna's life.

Jonas seemed to notice the changing atmosphere too.

"Let's move to the drawing room, it's time for some music." he said.

"Sure." Lestat answered. "It's been way too long we made music together anyway."

The drawing room was gorgeous - light and beautifully furnished- with a grand piano placed in the corner besides the windows.

Jonas started to play some cheerful pieces of music that eased up everybody's mood.

He was a very skilled player. Henry knew he played the drums in a band in his free time but he obviously knew how to play the piano too. Which wasn't really surprising, since their mother was a pianist and their father a piano builder. After a while Anna and Jonas performed a wonderful ballad four-handed. It was the first time he heard his girlfriend sing and he was surprised how beautiful and touching her voice was. Warm and full, with a hint of roughness that really turned him on.

Lestat looked at Anna continuously, not even trying to hide his ogling from Henry.

"It's my turn now." he said after Jo and Anna had finished. Lestat started playing and everyone in the room recognized the song immediately. It was "Against all odds" and he seemed to sing it only for Anna, looking her right in the eyes. She started shifting in her seat uncomfortably, avoiding Henry's gaze. Jules and Jonas exchanged glances, obviously irritated too. Milton and Mary were too polite to show what they were thinking but Milton's forced smile gave it away anyway.

Henry was so tense now, his whole body stiffened, he clenched his teeth, his hands were balled into fists. He tried to pretend that he was fine, to play it cool, but he was sure Lestat could see right through him, reading him like an open book. He knew now what Anna had meant when she had predicted that Lestat had something up his sleeve.

"How can you just walk away from me

When all I can do is watch you leave?

'Cause we've shared the laughter and the pain

And even shared the tears

You're the only one who really knew me at all."

Lestat's voice was deep and dark, with a captivating timbre. Henry got up, standing behind Anna's seat, placing his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them gently. Anna didn't look at him, but she laid her hands on his, stroking them, building a connection.

I wish I could just make you turn around

Turn around and see me cry

There's so much I need to say to you

So many reasons why

You're the only one who really knew me at all

So take a look at me now

Well there's just an empty space

And there's nothing left here to remind me

Just the memory of your face

Now take a look at me now

'Cause that's just an empty space

But to wait for you is all I can do

And that's what I've gotta face.

Lestat didn't even seem to notice Henry, still looking at Anna only, finishing the song as if it was the most normal thing to do.

"Are we done with this shit show now?" Henry asked after the last few tones, his voice restrained, his eyebrows narrowed.

"Shit show? That's a rude way to comment on my....performance. You didn't like it?" Lestat got up from the piano chair a cocky grin on his face.

"What I don't like is another man singing cheesy love songs for my woman."

"Your woman? Do you own her now?"

"Lestat, stop it." Anna's voice was sharp like a knife. "Shut the fuck up, okay?"

"I'm not the one being rude." Lestat shrugged.

"Just leave it be." Jonas said, touching his friend's arm to calm him down.

Henry and Lestat were facing each other now, staring in each other's eyes. Henry was about to freak out. The smug smile on Lestat's lips, the challenging look in his eyes...everything about him made Henry want to punch his handsome face.

It was Milton who finally got between them, interrupting their staring contest.

"Guys, let's act like civilized gentlemen, all right? This isn't the time nor the place for this. So let's drop the topic." After a few seconds Henry took a step back, taking Anna's hand. "Sure. I'm sorry."

Lestat just nodded slowly, turning around, sitting down on a loveseat, his long legs stretched out.

"Maybe we should go." Anna said softly.

"What. Now that we're having so much fun?" The sarcasm in Lestat's voice scared her. "We haven't even started telling embarrassing stories from our life or discussing our relationships."

"Right. Let's leave it at that." Henry said, his words sounding like a threat but Lestat continued anyway, ignoring him completely.

"I mean...for example.... isn't it funny, Anna. Four men in this room, and you’ve fucked three of them...."

Anna's heart skipped a beat, her face turning red with anger and embarrassment. She simply couldn't believe he'd really said that.

"God. You never disappoint, Lestat."

"Oh, I didn't know it's supposed to be a secret." Lestat smiled innocently.

"Well, now it isn't a secret anymore." Henry was surprised how calm his voice was, because his heart was racing with fury. "But don't worry, Lestat. I've known it anyway. Anna told me about the encounter at the students party."

To Henry's big surprise it was Jonas who freaked out now. Anger in his eyes, his voice full of bewilderment.

"You touched my sister? How dare you Milton. I told you to look after her at Oxford, not to fuck her. I can't believe it...."

"I'm sorry, Jo. It was once only...."

"Oh great, fuck and go. Yeah, that sounds a lot like you..."

"Would you please stop it, Jo. This is none of your business." Anna interrupted them, almost yelling now. "What happened between me and Mils is none of anyone's business at all. We're fine with it and that's all that matters. What do you mean by 'I told you to look after her' at all? You thought I'd need a babysitter?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Screw it...I hope you're happy now, Lestat."

Anna turned around, sinking into Henry's arms, exhausted and sick of fighting, hugging him tightly. She felt like a rag doll, all tension gone from her body. Henry kissed her forehead, embracing her. "It’s all right, princess." he whispered softly in her ear. “Let’s go home”

#Henry Cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x ofc #cavillry #henry cavill

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

Looking Respectfully ~ J.M.

A/n: This request SENT ME I loved it!

Request: “...Jack Morton x male reader we’re he sees jack naked after a shift and is like “I didn’t see anything” and walks away and jack keeps coming up to him trying to talk to him or something. It can be a Vera stone reader since that seems like the trend.” By anon

MASTERLIST

This was totally stupid and unfair.

Y/n Stone was an incredibly talented magician and spending all day scrubbing up after seemingly endless sacrifices was a waste of his time! Just because he was technically new to the Order and a freshman didn’t mean he didn’t know what he was doing, or shouldn’t be far higher up the ranks, and everyone knew it. He had talent, but he also had training. When magic had been so quickly discovered by him, his mother had realized she would have to teach him to use it responsibly or he’d keep watching her and bad things would happen to him and those he cared about. He’d been training since before he was in any kind of school let alone college. He was a harder study than some blonde haired, blue eyed girl with dreams too big and self control too low. He was more dependable than some werewolf boy with white hair and a pretty smile and...

He should have been doing better than he was, goddamnit!

It didn’t matter what he thought, or what everyone knew though. No matter how much he glared, people pretended to order him around until he gave them the same look that his mother was known for. His mother, Vera Stone, who was Grand Magus! Oh, did he mention that? He was raised by the single most kickass witch ever and he was SCRUBBING BLOOD AND GUTS OFF OF ALTERS! He was made for something more than-

Y/n forced a deep breath into his nose, releasing it rather hotly. He needed to calm down. It would do no good to lose his cool. People already looked down on him; if he so much as batted an eyelashes or instinctually flinched they’d hold it against him. No weakness. No emotion.

No distractions.

The thought alone had dared fate. The fierce way he demanded himself to stay absolutely focused on his work. The way his mind immediately filled with blue eyes and blonde hair, but not Alyssa. No, when he closed his eyes he saw a charming smile and he heard a voice layered thickly with sarcasm. He remembered ramming into someone and landing on the floor, and the way a pair of arms had pulled him off of the ground by his arm with no help from Y/n, or hesitation or struggle, like Y/n weighed nothing. Y/n wasn’t small enough for it to be as easy as it seemed, no way in hell.

It was as impossible to ignore as his yearning to be Grand Magus. His yearning to be well learned and above all, see his mother’s smile when he succeeded and surpassed what she expected of him. He would surprise her and make her proud... and yet as clear as that feeling was in his heart, there was another. A feeling he had denied himself with complete success until he’d met one man who seemed set on ruining everything.

Jack fucking Morton.

Honestly, Y/n should have known better. He shouldn’t have thought it. He shouldn’t have demanded he stay focused, knowing the one thing that could distract him was always in the one place Y/n didn’t want him to be.

Like now, Fate seemed to be having fun messing with him.

“OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY!” Never before had Y/n exited a room so quickly, or lost his cool in such a way. Usually he was level headed, and if it had been literally anyone else it would have been fine. But it had been Jack Morton. It HAD to be Jack fucking Morton.

And he had been naked.

Oh my god.

Y/n turned away from the door, dropping the cleaning supplies he had been meaning to put away, in the middle of the hall, and simply booking it down the hallway, past his friends who had been waiting for him. He didn’t even stop when his mom called for him - he just sped walked all the way outside and to his dorm room. He got a text from his mom but he just quickly told her he was sick and then turned his phone on silent because holy hell THAT DID NOT JUST HAPPEN!

He lay on his back, in bed, staring at the ceiling above him. He was trying to reason himself through this. He was Vera Stone’s son. He was the greatest magician of his time. The youngest ever in the history of the Order to genuinely be set up for Grand Master, and not even Alyssa could deny it wasn’t because of his mom. His skill was all due to him. He had the discipline to learn such powerful stuff as quickly and as in depth as he had. He was powerful and unbreakable and unbeatable. He’d even learned other things in case he couldn’t use magic! He was well taught and had a promising future and had control over himself and... and...

And he was reeling because he’d just seen Jack Morton nearly completely naked.

He tried to distract himself. He drew and read and practiced some easy magic. Everything he tried he lost interest in quickly, unable to focus. All he could see were those wide blue eyes and that shock of white hair and the curve of shoulders and the layout of his chest and his lips parted in shock-

He shut his eyes tight. He couldn’t let this happen. He had to control it, like he always did. He had to keep it locked up and hidden because this was unreasonable. He had gone ages not being attracted to anyone, and being perfectly content learning magic and leaving it there.

No matter what he told himself or what he did in attempt to draw his mind away or what he insisted, nothing was working.

His eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling again as if it had been the one to betray him; as if it wasn’t his own heart that was his enemy in this moment. He groaned, feeling panic rise in his throat. And all he could think was: “Shit.”

Y/n tried. He REALLY tried to steer clear of Jack for the next... forever, if he could manage it. He wasn’t getting even close though as even on the days they didn’t happen to have duties in the temple together, Jack somehow found Y/n just in the halls, or in a bathroom or in the one class they shared together or while Y/n was on the way to his tutoring session. No matter how hard Y/n tried, he’d not even made it a full day without Jack popping out of absolutely nowhere and begging to talk to Y/n about “what had happened.”

It was nonsense, and Y/n made it clear every time that he thought so. “This is ridiculous, Morton. There’s nothing to talk about stop acting like such an idiot.”

Alas, Jack had bested Y/n yet again in coming up with the perfect response, as Y/n was a terrible liar. “I saw your face when you opened that door! It was red. You were blushing, and you never blush. And you panicked, and you never panic! And... you checked me out.”

“Did not!” Y/n had gasped the first few times, continually offended.

“I saw it!” Jack threw back each time.

Until he had gotten bored and Y/n had simply stopped responding to Jack, which seemed to feed the faux blonde even more.

Y/n was at the end of his rope.

And Jack knew it.

Finally, there was a day that Y/n had no excuses. He had nowhere else to be and no way to get out. Jack had trapped him in the temple, after everyone else had gone home. Y/n had been stuck on cleaning duty, and Jack had offered to help. When Y/n had insisted he didn’t need anyone else’s help, his friends had left, but Jack had been stubborn, and now the two were alone and would be for some time.

“So are we going to talk about it or are you just going to keep avoid me like I have some contagious sickness that’s going to kill you?” Jack demanded after several minutes of tense, awkward silence.

Y/n scoffed. “We’re cleaning up animal innards and you want to talk about how I walked in on you changing?”

Jack shrugged. “I wanted to talk about how you totally have a crush on me.”

“Over animal innards?” Y/n repeated, beginning to glare as he scrubbed at the blood caking the floor.

An odd expression crossed over Jack’s face. “You won’t let me talk to you any other time and it’s not ideal, but yeah. Over animal innards.” He looked at Y/n, but the other boy didn’t say anything so he just sighed and went back to work. As casually as if speaking about what he was headed to next - like it was small talk and totally normal and they weren’t cleaning up blood and guts - Jack said very quietly, “I like you too. It’s the only reason I’ve been trying to contact you.”

Y/n slipped. He caught himself before he face planted into the blood, but his eyes shot up and locked on Jack’s face. He was looking back, smirking. It wasn’t a teasing smirk though. Not one that lead Y/n to believe the werewolf was pulling his leg. No, it was the look of a man who had made a huge gamble and it had gone perfectly in his favor. His eyes danced with victory.

Looking back at the floor, Y/n swallowed and tried to orient his thought. He kept scrubbing, his heart hammering in his chest. “You free Saturday?” He couldn’t pull off the same casual tone as Jack; his voice broke at the end.

“For you?” Jack eased. “Always.”

Y/n’s face didn’t lighten a single shade below cherry red the rest of the day.

#jack morton x reader #jack morton imagine #jack morton #jack morton x male reader #the order imagine #the order #the order of the hermedic blue rose #the order x reader #the knights of saint christopher imagine #the knights of the order of the hermedic blue rose #the knights of saint chrisptoher #the knights of saint christopher x reader #male reader

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dragqueenpentheus · 3 years

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hi mr spruce!!! since you recently graduated, i wanna ask about your university experience. anything you wanna share including tips for being chronically ill and managing time would be much appreciated!!!!

FOLDS MY HANDS. OKAY. HERES THE DEAL. IT WAS HELLISH. but also a really valuable thing in so many ways. i'm gunna make a lil numbered list of tips and thoughts an opinions bc time management while chronically ill is. NO joke.

honesty hour ask me anything!

1- art school is paying a LOT of money to get your heartbroken during critiques. it also pushes you to do art every single day. which is the best way to improve anything but ESPECIALLY art. i worked my ass off in second and fourth year especially. deciding if any degree is worth it is VERY hard. but i think particularly with art school when with discipline and outreach and research and life drawing nights can achieve. i knew i wasn't going to be able to rely on myself for ALL of that-- especially after my diagnosis. the world got bigger and scarier and the guidance was really needed in order to make any kind of growth. also i HAD to move out of my dads house i was NOT doing well. the change of city was a HUGE help

2- BE SO BLUNT AND HONEST WITH YOURSELF AND OTHERS ABOUT YOUR ABILITIES. jesus christ after realizing how easy it was to swallow pride and send a message asking about extensions and for help CHANGED how i interact with deadlines. when teachers or clients ask when you will be ready with your work. add a week. add a few days of only that's possible. don't feel guilty about being honest and saying i need to go the fuck to bed.

3- the instant i graduated i regretted not committing to one extracurricular and going for it. i think it's worth it. our program worked us VERY hard, but i personally wish i had found something to raise my confidence a little more. been more brazen and present and chasing things i was excited about. i should have gone to at least one knitting circle at my local yarn store.

4- bribe yourself and mean it. you have to earn your treat. BUT you can set your own parameters. if it's a hard day-- make the reward continual and after smaller tasks. couple of chips after doing a question . couple more after another one. but don't EVER chat on it bc ... then it's just too easy to cheat from that point on 😔

4- set little deadlines. use your phone calendar. set little alarms but name it things with emojis and endearments.

5- call yourself endearments. no more cruel words. call yourself sweetheart as you wash some blueberries for your post five questions snack.

6- try not to let resentment about a particular project or even your whole program creep in. be real but think about the things you love and are excited about in a particular project

7- talk to your student center. you can like. request better chairs in your classrooms. insane. i didn't know that for years. could be different school to school but??? most are not looking to get smeared for ableism on social media lmfao

8- little playlists helped me like crazy and continue to do so. especially school during the pandemic which is heartbreaking and lonely. the most valuable part of art school imo is the other artists you meet and grow with. having a whole year of that ripped away was GARBAGE and lonely af. RADIO. PLAYLISTS. TRADE PLAYLISTS WITH YOUR CLASSMATES. MAKE SPECIFIC VIBES ABOUT THE SILLIEST THINGS. I HAVE A PLAYLIST OF SONGS THAT ALL HAVE ANNA IN THE TITLE AND THATS ALL THEY HAVE IN COMMON. I HAVE A PLAYLIST OF SONGS THAT I WOULD SING IN MY COFFEE HOUSE REVENGE FANTASY. score your life and it'll become cinematic.

9- learn about REM cycles for powernaps. set a timer for ten minutes and stick to it. bribe yourself if you have to. it will help if you can't get a full night. take a bunch of forty min and wake up again. get back to it. call it if you have to. it's NOT a failure. it's a gesture of love and care.

10- just god work so hard on loving yourself and learning about the things you love. that's what life is FOR babe. putting moments you adore on the tip of your tongue and letting them melt. you are the PRIORITY. remember the world doesn't revolve around you or your self worth OR your achievements. your good days and your bad days weigh the same to the world. it's got to be you that takes the time to be soft with yourself and have your days matter. being chronically ill means that's a LOT of fucking work and you need a LOT of help. ask for it and give yourself it without shame, hesitancy or remorse.

11- granola bars and juice boxes. nuts. baby bell cheese. you are not going to have the energy after a full day of working to make yourself a real meal. keep some in your room (please not the cheese unless u have a mini fridge)

I LOVE YOU. i'm putting vibes out into the world for it to take care of you as well. stay safe. get a treat.

#reply #anon #irl #personal #i hope this is. hm legible and in anyway worthwhile and. NOT preachy #i learned this shit the hard way. and learning is different than internalizing #mostly this is a collection of lines i heard from other people that changed my life lmfao

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thegreenwolf · 4 years

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(This post was originally posted on my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/its-okay-to-not-hustle/)

There’s this meme going around Facebook right now, saying “If you don’t come out of this quarantine with a new skill, your side hustle started, or more knowledge, you never lacked time. You lacked discipline.” Thankfully multiple people have already skewered it, but it continues to be shared around by the sort of person who is trying to one-up everyone else, or who’s just plain clueless–or, for that matter, just trying to guilt you into buying whatever they’re selling.

Now, there’s not a damned thing wrong with self-promotion. That’s how indie artists, authors, and other self-employed folks get the word out. You have to be able to talk good talk in order to get people’s attention. But leading with this meme? Guilting people for not leaping from sudden unemployment straight into the thick of the ever-shifting gig economy? That ain’t gonna fly, Brocephus.

You Have Good Reasons to Slack

Excuse me while I dust off my counseling psych degree a sec, here. *ahem* We are in a very sensitive, turbulent time right now. We’re in the middle of a pandemic, the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a century in the Western world. We are in a hugely traumatizing situation here. Not just for the financial losses, but the fact that COVID-19 has killed thousands of people and left many more with permanent lung damage. We still haven’t gotten a handle yet on exactly how contagious this thing is, how long you’re contagious for, or whether you’re immune once you’ve had it, assuming you survive. We don’t have adequate testing, emergency rooms estimate that for every positive test there are 10-20 people out there infected and untested, and everyone with a cough is suddenly Schroedinger’s COVID case. Governments worldwide are slow to react in spite of the rising death toll. People have had friends and family die horribly from this thing in a short period of time. Even people who didn’t already have issues with anxiety, depression and other mental illnesses are feeling stressed, strained and scared–and, yes, traumatized. This image is guilt-tripping people who are actively being traumatized.

So we’re already starting with a populace that is dealing with this collective trauma, as well as whatever personal trauma each individual is experiencing. Not always easy to seize the day when you’re going through that. And I can think of a few other reasons that might further complicate this whole “Just get a side gig!” thing:

–They’re a parent who suddenly has all their kids at home, all the time, demanding time and attention and food, AND they still have to work eight hours a day from home, or maybe even more if their S.O. is unemployed/sick/etc. By the way, if someone trots out Isaac Newton or William Shakespeare or some other historical guy who managed to do epic things during a pandemic, remember that they usually had wives or servants to do all the laundry and cooking and cleaning and (if applicable) childcare for them.

–They’re disabled or chronically ill, and don’t have the ability/energy/etc. to just go and make something happen, just like that. Imagine if you just randomly got the fatigue from a really bad flu, and you never knew whether it was going to last a day or a month. And if you tried exerting yourself when you were feeling better, chances are you’d slip back into fatigue-land. That’s what a lot of my chronically ill/etc. friends have to deal with, to say nothing of issues with accessibility of resources for starting a side gig.

–They don’t have any money for the supplies needed to start a side hustle, or the supplies have been hoarded by hobbyists preparing for a Pandemic Staycation.

–They don’t have the skills for something that just requires what they already have (like, for example, writing on a laptop you already happen to own). Often these skills are things that can’t be perfected in a few weeks at home, but may take years to develop before they’re really marketable–like, for example, the skill to make a decent living on side hustles.

–They have anxiety, depression or other mental health conditions that make it hard to function even in the best of times, but even moreso in this…well…mess. Even people who were mentally healthy before are going to be developing diagnosable anxiety and depression disorders before all’s said and done. And speaking from personal experience, those of us who look successful on the outside can still be internally hamstrung by these conditions at times.

–Plus there’s the fact that we’re not supposed to, you know, leave our homes, which narrows down the field of potential side gigs by a lot.

Even doing something less financially-wrought like learning a new skill or subject takes time, energy, and sometimes money, any or all of which may be scarce for the reasons above and more.

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

I am saying all of this as someone who is arguably an expert on the side gig. I have spent the past eight and a half years 100% self-employed (and a lot longer doing it part-time) as an author and artist, able to cover all my bills and expenses, and for a time I was the primary breadwinner of a multi-person household. I have like ten different things I was doing for a living before this all hit, a pretty diverse set of streams of income, even if most of them just up and evaporated in the past few weeks. And while I’m definitely a hell of a lot leaner now than I was a month ago, I still have my head above water for the moment. So I think I know side gigs.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m overall healthy. I have a dog who is a lot less demanding of my time than kids would be. I have my own space where I can focus more or less without interruption. More importantly, I have the skills, the knowhow, the drive and the personality to go out and seek new opportunities. And I’m used to fluctuations in income, though admittedly this one’s unprecedented. Don’t gauge yourself by where I am now. I’ve spent twenty-two years building up my art business, my first book came out in 2006, and I’ve had a series of really good opportunities come my way that I had the privilege to be able to make the most of. I am not your measuring stick, so don’t say “Well, if she can do it why can’t I? I must suck!”

If you’re feeling crappy because you aren’t hopping to it and carpeing the diem and getting everything done, here’s what I have to say to you: Look, you just had your world turned upside-down. Job loss, scarce commodities, sudden lack of outside childcare, restricted movement and inability to be around much of your support system, and did I mention a pandemic is happening, too? Any single one of those things would be difficult for just about anyone to deal with, never mind all at once. And I don’t even know what all else has already been going on in your life–unstable or unsafe living situation, other health issues, breakups and other losses, interpersonal conflicts. You know, normal life stuff.

You’re Not Lazy, or Screwing Up, or (Gods Forbid) Undisciplined

It is totally okay if all you’re doing right now is surviving. It’s okay if you feel like you’re drowning, overwhelmed by all that’s happening both on a global level and more personally. It’s okay if all you can manage right now is to get out of bed and stumble through each day a moment at a time, struggling with a tidal wave of emotions. It’s okay if you’re just trying to keep your kids busy, dealing with a crowded home every single day, or trying to keep COVID-19 at bay. It’s okay if, instead of firing up DuoLingo or opening an Etsy shop, you spend your evenings vegging to Netflix or reading a book or playing hours and hours of Animal Crossing.

Not every moment in your life has to be about being productive even in the best of circumstances, and that goes exponentially so right now. Be patient with yourself, and be kind. You may be one of those folks who literally has to spend all their time scrabbling to try to cover the bills or get some leeway from bill collectors, and you have to dedicate your waking time hunting for resources just to try to get through this week. Believe me, I feel for you, I have a lot of friends in that situation right now, and I hope all of you can find some relief and assistance.

May I suggest something? If you have the energy for something more than the bare essentials of getting by, put that energy toward self-care, whatever you can manage under the circumstances. You can use it to recuperate, to rebuild your emotional and physical resilience. That way if things get rough again in the future, you have more internal reserves to build on. If your usual methods don’t work or aren’t accessible due to lockdown, ask others what they’re doing to keep themselves grounded in this trying time.

Just because you have more time doesn’t mean you don’t have to throw yourself right into something productive! Don’t feel pressured to just go-go-go the moment you have a little freedom to move. If you do decide you want to try a side gig, or a new skill, or learn all about some specialized topic of interest, go for it! If you have the energy and attention and opportunity to pursue something new, it can be a great coping skill during this traumatic time. Just don’t pressure yourself; keep it fun.

One last thing: I want you to save the image I have at the top of this post. And then if you see someone post that meme, saying “Come on, you lazy bums, get up and make that side gig happen! Learn new stuff! Do all the things! No excuses!” you pull out this version, and you look at the edits, you remember that it’s okay to be where you are, and you get back to doing things at your own pace no matter what someone else says. (I find visualizing stapling a printout of the edited version to the offender’s forehead to also be therapeutic, but that may just be me.)

Hang in there, okay? It’s going to be a rough time, but you’re not alone, and what you’re feeling right now is shared by so many people. So just let yourself be where you are in this moment, and we’ll see what hope tomorrow brings. And remember that whatever you’re capable of in this moment: it’s enough.

Did you enjoy this post? Please consider supporting my work on Patreon, buying my books here on my website, buying my art and books on Etsy, or tipping me at Ko-fi!

#COVID-19 #mental health #executive dysfunction #anxiety #depression #mine

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acaciapines · 3 years

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i liked your daemons post! also did i read that wrong or did you mention you have a daemon in passing? i have so many (excited, curious) questions (is it part of a religious practice? a mental discipline? something that just happened? do you know other daemon-havers or is it a solitary thing? how "pretend"/fictional is it and what does that mean to you?) um anyway feel free to ignore this or answer privately, also tell ada i said hi

ah you have uncovered my breadcrumbs kjfgfdg i was gonna make it a bit more clear in the trends post 'cause it effects my reading of daemons but yeah! ive got a daemon. technically two.

i am not the best person to answer these questions since ive only been doing this for about a year but i will do my best! if you want more/better information the daemonism community on tumblr (under that tag) is a really good place to start, as well as the daemon forum, though you need an account to see some of the stuff.

anyways! i think my best way of describing it is like...hmmm some sort of mental practice? sometimes i just say a spirituality of sorts but it's not entirely that since i'm not a huge subscriber to 'the daemon is the soul' when it comes to real life. the long and short of it is i've always talked to myself and always had a sort of...not imaginary friend, thats not the right word, but a sense of missing someone. and then i found daemonism and was like OH yeah okay this makes a lot of sense. and decided to just go all in. its the act of giving a personality and self-hood to the other side of conversations you have with yourself, is where i started with things.

i see my daemons as being as real as i am--like, what is consciousness, at the end of the day? who fucking knows. certainly not me! if i can be alive and real then my daemons can be, too. if you talk to yourself whose to say you cant give a personality to the voice talking back? so i did that. and then me and ada joked a lot about what if there was a second daemon rattling around in here. and then there was a second one, and now i feel...yeah, that's it, yknow.

again, other people can give better answers. the daemonism community on tumblr isn't like, huge or anything, but i'm in no means the only person who does this, and if you pop into the tag you'll see the bigger blogs that post about this stuff and get an idea as to what it's all about. its different for everyone!

some of this stuff i'll get into more when i finish the trends post--a lot of how i see and write daemons is based on Real Experience which is what i mean when i say im aware i come into this with just the nichest view on things. like i can confidently say that the number of people who, one, have a daemon, and two, write daemonfic, is probably like. less than 100 people. (and if you ARE one of those people. hey whats up.)

thanks for asking! i dont mind talking about this stuff 'cause it is a big part of my love of daemons, and half the reason this is on my mind 24/7.

#daemonism #how do i even tag this #long post

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heavyarethecrowns · 3 years

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Forget Wills and Kate - it's Harry who's found love - May 2007

Gazing into the flames of a campfire on the banks of Botswana's Okavango River, a scruffily dressed young man took a sip of his beer and let out a prolonged sigh.

Minutes later, he was pouring his heart out to the three strangers sitting beside him.

"Apparently, he had fallen in love with some girl in Cape Town who was the daughter of a rich businessman in Zimbabwe.

"He seemed really serious about her, saying he couldn't understand how he had fallen head-over-heels only four days after meeting her," one of those fellow travellers later recalled.

The love-sick youth was, of course, Prince Harry, then on holiday in Africa during his gap year. And the girl who made such an impact was Chelsy Davy.

Three years on, almost to the day, Harry is preparing to wave goodbye to his girlfriend and march off to war.

Much has happened to the young prince in the intervening period: officer training at Sandhurst; periodic brawls with the paparazzi; and his father's marriage to the woman Harry once blamed for causing his late mother so much anguish.

But, to the surprise of many observers, one of the few constants in Harry's life has turned out to be the coltish, snub-nosed girl he met in Cape Town.

Indeed, some of his friends believe that an engagement is almost certainly on the cards, though probably not for a few years yet.

Of course, feelings can change. A tour of duty in Iraq, fighting for his country, may accelerate the progression from pampered prince to more mature man of the world: he may want to close the book on his youth, open a new chapter, find a different kind of soulmate.

But maybe not. Even 12 months ago, few could have predicted that Harry's long- distance relationship with the coquettish daughter of a Zimbabwean wheeler-dealer and former Coca-Cola model would outlast William's romance with the eminently proper Kate Middleton.

The truth of the matter, however, is that Harry has always seen himself and Chelsy as better suited and more capable of going the distance.

"And now," said a well-placed source this week, "he's been proved right."

The 22-year- old prince has become increasingly irritated by what he saw as the "hype" surrounding William and Kate's relationship.

A friend of Harry's says: "Harry doesn't want to be subjected to the level of interest people have been taking in William and Kate.

"It's his idea of hell. But he also feels very frustrated at the way people are so dismissive of him and Chelsy.

"They are always portrayed as a pair of poor little rich kids who will burn themselves out sooner rather than later.

"In Harry's mind, there is nothing ridiculous whatsoever in the idea that one day, in the not-too-distant future, Princess Chelsy could be standing on the balcony at Buckingham Palace - even though she would probably be hiding a cigarette and a bottle of Malibu behind her back."

Despite the stream of paparazzi photographs that reveal a fondness for partying and a distinctly beach-chick style, the 21-year-old Zimbabwean has been an "A" student at school and university.

Harry would not want to change anything about her.

While others - including his own father, according to Harry - find themselves transfixed by Chelsy's more obvious charms - the prince has always believed that his girlfriend has some sterling qualities that Kate probably lacked.

"Harry has always been quietly very proud of the fact that Chelsy - or Chedda, as he affectionately calls her - loves him for who he is.

"In fact, she sees the fact that he's royal as more of a hindrance than a help," says a confidante.

"As the hugely popular daughter of a multi-millionaire businessman with homes in at least three different countries, she doesn't really need to take advantage of Harry's birthright."

One source close to the prince suggests that he actually sided with members of William's circle who felt that Kate Middleton had started to take advantage of the relationship.

"Harry had sympathy with those of William's friends who felt Kate had begun to rather enjoy her fame by association a little too much - unlike his own girlfriend, who he thinks is a 'real class act'," the source explains.

'When she first met William, Kate had few friends of her own - but over the years, she carefully assimilated herself into his circle.

"There was a feeling among some of William's friends that Kate had become a little too self-aware - she even had the cheek to bag herself a cut-price Audi, thanks to her royal links - while publicly insisting that she wanted to be treated as an ordinary girl."

Although Chelsy and Kate were photographed together on several occasions, most notably at the Beaufort Polo Club last summer, Harry's girlfriend apparently didn't particularly take to Kate.

"It wasn't that she disliked her - it's just that they had nothing in common. One only has to look at them to see it," says the source.

"Chelsy is a lot sweeter than she looks, but she is still a very outgoing girl who likes a beer and a fag.

Thanks to her rather indulged upbringing, she is incredibly sociable and self-confident - qualities that don't come naturally to Kate."

Others more sympathetic to Miss Middleton's cause, suggest the reality is that Chelsy has been just as keen to turn a royal relationship to her advantage.

She may protest about the attention, but she has not raised objections about her new status as international cover girl.

Last year, the society magazine, Tatler, even bracketed her with the Duchess of Cornwall as one of the most powerful blondes in Britain.

Her brother Shaun, meanwhile, has taken to styling himself as one of Harry's official bodyguards, and has been known to chase after photographers when they try to take the prince's picture.

Yet, in Harry's besotted eyes, Chelsy and her family can do no wrong.

Courtiers who have expressed concern about the Davys' controversial business links to Zimbabwean despot Robert Mugabe, have been told that she is a "non-negotiable" part of his life.

And he is undoubtedly entranced by the relative normality of his girlfriend's close-knit family.

Which is perhaps hardly surprising. By the age of 13, Harry had weathered not only his parents' separation but had also been forced to cope with the tragic - and endlessly raked-over -death of his mother.

Since then, his upbringing has been marked by a lack of parental discipline, thanks to his loving but laissez-faire father.

Even those with reservations about Chelsy concede that she has had a positive effect on the headstrong, devil-may-care young prince.

"It's far from a coincidence that when Harry does slip up - the times when he falls out of nightclubs drunk and brawls with photographers in the streets - Chelsy isn't around," says one who knows them both well.

"Believe it or not, he has matured in recent years - in large part thanks to Chelsy, whom he is incredibly protective of - and really does try to keep his head down.

"They are so besotted with each other - like a couple of lovebirds, really - that when they are together, nothing else really matters.

"Their body language is so different from that of Kate and William, who always used to look more like brother and sister.

"The trouble is that when Chelsy isn't around, Harry is easily led astray."

On their recent jaunt to the Caribbean, the couple barely left their luxury condo in the exclusive Glitter Bay resort in Barbados, preferring to lie, holding hands, by the pool.

And at last Friday's raucous Blues and Royals party to celebrate Harry's deployment to Iraq, it was William who stayed out clubbing until 4am with a bevy of beautiful girls.

Harry and Chelsy quietly sipped cocktails in a private booth before slipping off discreetly at 1am.

Lately, friends have noticed that the relationship seems to be deepening - although that is not to say there haven't been some pretty intense spats.

Unlike William, who was accused of leaving Kate to flounder under the weight of expectation while he forged on with his own life, Harry has been actively encouraging Chelsy to make solid plans for their future.

Bristol University has flatly denied rumours she plans to do a postgraduate degree there in the autumn, but friends say she is definitely planning to spend more time in England, where she has many friends from her days as a boarder at Stowe, a co-educational public school in Buckinghamshire.

She has even cancelled her plans to return to Africa over the summer and will instead wait for Harry to return from Iraq on leave.

"Chelsy hates the weather here, but is desperate to be nearer to her darling Haz. She is willing to make sacrifices if it takes their relationship a step forward," says a friend.

And Harry has already asked Chelsy to attend the memorial concert in July that he and William are organising to mark the tenth anniversary of their mother's death, though they are still discussing whether she should attend the formal church service later that month.

A Clarence House source says: "The problem is that every senior member of the Royal Family will be there, and Harry knows that taking her is tantamount to making a public statement on the future of their relationship.

"He doesn't think that it's fair on her to open the floodgates just yet."

In the immediate future, he knows that he needs to concentrate on leading his men in Iraq.

The highly charged public debate over his deployment to the Gulf has radically increased the pressure on him to make a success of his career - and he wants to show that the Army's confidence in him has not been misplaced.

"After what happened to my mother, I'm not afraid to die - but I am frightened for those around me," he recently confided to one close friend.

Although he did once petulantly threaten to quit if he were not sent to Iraq with his troops, his attitude has changed in the last few months.

"He knows that the situation is bigger than him now, and he'll take whatever he is told to do on the chin," says a royal aide.

Indeed, those who know him well say he is haunted by the fear that one of his men could be captured or even killed because of him.

"That's something he just couldn't bear, and he knows he would be held to account for the rest of his life.

"The men in his troop have tried to reassure him - joking that they will all wear ginger wigs to confuse the enemy, which is typical of Army gallows humour - but he is wracked with guilt," says another friend.

Iraq, however, is also Harry's big opportunity to strike out from under his elder brother's shadow.

For the first time in his life, the spare to William's heir will be taking centre stage.

"Harry loves his brother very much, but he is acutely aware of the way in which he is overshadowed by William.

"He is determined to go to war and make his family proud," says a friend.

But unlike William, he will have a long-term sweetheart to sweep into his arms when he returns.

#duke of sussex #prince harry #chelsy davy #article

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