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kimakento · 4 months

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so this is how it feels

synopsis: nicholas has been in love with you for quite some time now, but he struggles to reconcile with that love when it goes even far enough for him to develop hanahaki. but you’ll never know that he yearns your love back. ⌙ 2.6k

pairing(s): wang yixiang x fem!reader x koga yudai

genre(s): angst

warning(s): swearing, blood, passing out, low self-esteem, bit of toxicity

tags: hanahaki!au, unrequited love and more. (too lazy to write it out sorry 😞)

author’s note: this was requested by my fav @loserlvrss i actually read a hanahaki fic the other day and HAD to write one myself, this is a bit self indulgent but as always hope you enjoy !!! i js wanted to get this out quicker, might make a part 2 idk i hope this is gut-wrenching enough for you bae 🤞

a few years ago, when nicholas was asked by one of his friends what his type was, he blanked out. while staring at his friend, dumbfounded, he scoffed, claiming that he didn’t care enough to have one.

love wasn’t something that he needed at the time, much less cared about. he pondered about how romantic love was supposed to feel like or what love even was, it wasn’t one of his priorities, though.

but now, if anyone ever asked nicholas what love was, he’d reply with you. the girl who occupied his every thought, his every dream, his every waking moment — maybe that was an exaggeration, but you were love to him. love was the person who made you feel feelings, nicholas couldn’t quite put it coherently but he just knew it was you.

and if you were love to him, why were you with him and talking about another man right now? nicholas despised him, he loathed that he wasn’t the reason for the goofy smile on your face, that he wasn’t the reason for your random fits of giggles, that he wasn’t—

“nicholas! are you even listening?” the train of thoughts cut off when a pout crept up on your face, emphasising your discontent. however, as time passed torturously slow, an unsual sensation in his chest began to settle, but he dismissed it. nicholas set his hazy gaze on you, watching intently while you parted your lips to speak, the same ones he so badly wanted to claim as his.

“just look at what he posted, k is definitely doing this on purpose.” you said while shoving your bright phone screen in his face, nicholas squinted his eyes to focus on the photo of yudai while the subtle tickle buried deep in his chest intensified. balling his fist, he watched as your enthusiasm became more evident as you slightly bounced on your bed, humming along to a melody, only stopping when he spoke.

“why don’t you just tell him about your feelings then?” more like ‘why couldn’t he tell you about his.’ it was rich coming from him.

“it’s not that easy, nicho,” and he thought he understood that more than anyone. “yudai—“

“can this wait? i need to use the bathroom right now.” nicholas was only a mere two seconds from just leaving, he couldn’t bear hearing that stupid name anymore. ‘yudai’ this, ‘kei’ that, he just wanted your attention on him and only him.

his steps felt heavy as he dragged his feet towards the bathroom; nicholas felt so shameful. distance from you felt like the proper solution. as he entered the bathroom and locked the door, his head fell against it in a dramatic thump. so much thoughts ran through his mind, it felt unbearable.

involuntarily, he let out a small cough into the palm of his hand.

fuck, am i sick right now? he thought.

but then—he saw it, a delicate and dainty pink petal; one that looked like one from a cherry blossom. that’s when his heart dropped. staring nervously at the out-of-place petal, it crumbled away painstakingly slowly, disappearing into flecks of dust whisked away by the air.

“what the fu—“

the vulgar sentence was cut off by another cough wracking his body, bringing a second, pale petal with it. nicholas’s eyes darted around anxiously as his breath hitched. this cannot be happening. not now. not like this, when you’re in the other room. with trembling hands, he slapped his hand over his mouth hastily. yet his ragged breaths only seemed to intensify the creeping pain in his chest, the ache refusing to dissipate.

completely oblivious, you noticed nicholas’s prolonged absence and decided to walk towards the bathroom, calling out his name while concerned.

“nicho, are you okay?”

in between half-stifled coughs he let out a meek mumble, “i…i’m fine.”

bringing your hand up to cover your face, you shook your head while tutting at his response.

“okay then..? just shout my name if you need anything!”

once he heard your retreating footsteps becoming fainter, nicholas retracted his hand from his mouth and noticed a small petal was placed fitly in his hand; he grimaced.

it was hanahaki. he was suffering because of his unrequited love for his best friend. why was it always him? bad things always had to happen to him.

a sharp pain struck him in the chest and he clenched his shirt to find relief. nearly doubling over in pain, nicholas ran over to the sink, putting one of his hands on each side while coughing violently. his grip on it was so hard that his knuckles turned white. after a few more minutes, it seemed to have subsided, but that was only the calm before a storm—a big one at that.

sheepishly, he turned the bathroom door handle and stepped outside, hearing the sound, you hurried over to him.

your hand came up to cover his forehead, feeling his body temperature before stating, “you look pale, and you’re hot. i really think you should go home.”

nicholas’ face flushed from your gentle touch, he didn’t even pay attention to the growing ache tightening.

a smile crept up on his face. ‘i know i’m hot, you don’t have to tell me.’ he wanted to say, but before the first word came out, he coughed into the palm of his hand.

another petal.

this time, a streak of blood painted the innocent, pink petal.

concern washed over you and you placed your hand over his shoulder, the petal just out of your line of sight. quickly, nicholas nodded his head before clenching his hand; just to hide it.

“what about you? you’re going to be lonely here.” he gazed down at you with drab eyes. mesmerising were your eyes, the eye contact you held with him enchanting him more with every fleeting moment—no, he wasn’t allowed to think that.

you responded with a small smile, “it’s okay, me and yudai are going out. you know, i think he likes me back. i might take my chance sooner or later—“ that name again; why is it always him? nicholas thought. that familiar pang pained him again and he clutched his other hand, gritting his teeth through the pain. it only seemed to worsen whenever you mentioned that guy—nicholas didn’t even want to think about his name.

after recognising the complicit frown on his face, you interrupted yourself and dismissed it as him being ill. “—but enough about that! you should go home.”

in defeat, he weakly nodded before grabbing his jacket and making his way out of your home. the outside world felt cold and the chilling wind whisked everything away as he kicked a nearby pebble.

opening his fist, he threw away the blood-painted petal in a rage.

nicholas hated—no, he loathed koga yudai. he hated how he had to fight for your attention, he hated that he even developed hanahaki because of his stupid, unwarranted love for his friend. most of all, he hated you for being so oblivious. but who was he kidding? wang yixiang could never hate you. even if he tried his utmost hardest.

the subtle tickle in his throat began again, almost like a never-ending story.

then he looked up, trying to distract himself by watching the clouds. it all became useless when your face appeared again in his thoughts, and he’s reminded of the strong gaze you held just minutes ago.

nicholas picked up his pace, walking through the park that you both do every week. shoving his freezing hands into his pockets, he notices a familiar face in the distance walking in the opposite direction.

koga yudai.

great, his day seemed to be getting worse. a bitter expression adorned his face as the taller man continued to walk towards him, almost passing nicholas in the process before finally recognising him and visibly brightening up.

“hey, nicholas! funny seeing you here.” his tone was light and airy, usually the type that friends would have towards each other. but they weren’t friends, they would never be friends; or at least that’s what nicholas thought.

the latter’s voice was flat and disinterested as he replied dryly, wanting to end the conversation. “yeah, nice.”

before he could walk away, yudai placed a hand on his shoulder to stop his sudden rush.

“do you know if she’s at home? i don’t know if you were told, but we’re going out right now. i really want to make a good impression.” on yudai’s face, he held an almost lovesick expression, which made nicholas feel sick.

the mention of you brought back the long forgotten pain. with a weak shake of his head, nicholas excused himself and walked away hastily.

kei was perplexed but thought nothing of it as he continued to your house, making note to ask you about it later.

the wooden bench nicholas chose to sat own was cold. his fingertips brushed against the splinted wood as his other hand covered his mouth, to attempt to silence his defeaning coughs that wracked his already-vulnerable state.

for months in a row, this continued—you’d call to talk about the ‘oh so romantic’ moments with kei or to talk about how kind he was, or to even just update nicholas about your situation with yudai. then that same pain would start again, and pink petals, sometimes painted with a streak of red, would fall out of his mouth. it only worsened when you announced that you and yudai were a thing.

he was genuinely sick of it.

his pain seemed to have become palpable in every way.

but today, was a day like no other. nicholas was hunched over, eyes widened at what lay there, tainting the white, marble sink in his bathroom.

a whole cherry blossom.

he turned the tap, indulging the clear water to run; all to tune out his thoughts. the petals of the blossom crumbled, and some were taken away by the water. with trembling hands, he threw the running water at his face, with this continued on for a couple of minutes with a few sighs of fatigue in between.

when leaving the bathroom and sitting onto his bed, he began to sink deep into thought. nicholas didn’t know how to get rid of this, the disease that plagued his soul, the one that he was terrified of bringing up out loud, much less to you. this unknownness was unfamiliar; therefore horrifying. help couldn’t be an option for him, yet he couldn’t just hope it all went away. but—

before nicholas could finish his thought, his phone vibrated from a text.

my life </3 wanted 2 ask if u wanted to go to a get-together with our class with me n k at one of their houses (u don’t have to come, i know how much u hate these.) sent 1:38pm

the last part of your text, though not important, made his heart flutter. as he reread the message he noticed the phrase ‘me and k’. armed with frustration, he was reminded of the blossom again. and with a bitter taste in his mouth, he replied back.

nicho!! ok. txt me the address. sent 1:43pm

as you squinted to read his message, your mind wandered. the crude reply sounded unlike him and so you responded. nicholas stared at the three dots that flowed on his screen, anticipating your reply.

my life </3 u good? u sound out of it ): if u’re sick u should stay home. sent 1:45pm

nicholas hated seeing you sad, he never wanted to be the cause of your unhappiness but he also didn’t want to see you with yudai. he took a deep breath to calm himself, choking himself up when he coughed.

it was another whole flower. however, there was no blood this time. his stomach churned as he doubled over and the feeling of wanting to throw up intensified. nicholas wanted nothing but to get the hanahaki disease out of him.

tapping your foot impatiently, you texted him again.

my life </3 nicho? where r u? wang yixiang. i’m concerned now. read 1:54pm

every passing minute made you more anxious, resulting in you picking at your fingers.

with trembling fingers, nicholas responded with a simple ‘i’m okay’. and you let out a sigh of relief knowing he was fine.

‘please come to the get-together’ you said, ‘it’ll be fun’ you said. yet what was fun about watching you all over kei? what was so fun about leaving your friend hanging and barely even speaking to him? what was fun about being so oblivious about his painfully obvious feelings?

while everyone cooed at the ‘cute’ couple that was you and yudai, nicholas stayed slumped in the corner with an empty glass in his hand; subtly glaring at you both with watchful eyes.

as you interlocked your fingers with kei’s, you bridged the gap between you, meeting his lips with yours.

thoughts distorted and eyes narrowed, nicholas swore he could hear his porcelain heart shatter into minuscule pieces.

there it was again, the ache in his chest, now rising up his throat.

placing his glass on the table, he sped up the steps to find the nearest bathroom. finally, one door he opened turned out to be it. and wasting no time, he hurried in and locked the door; running to the sink, he couldn’t stop the strings of coughs from his mouth. flower after flower appeared, each with more streaks of blood than the one before.

so, this was how it felt? to fall in love with you? nicholas wondered if it would’ve been different if he had confessed before everything. everyone warned him to not develop feelings, it was always going to be a bad idea. he never listened.

and these were the consequences.

the flowers were nonstop and like infinity, they continued on and on and on. each blossom pained him more, making him wince. his vision slightly darkened and his breath hitched.

then it quickened and it felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen. the room started spinning and the temperature dropped. or it didn’t, he didn’t know. nicholas’s senses were all distorted and that made his brain unable to recognise or process anything. everything felt foreign and weird. while staggering, he fell to the floor in one swift motion.

“nicholas?” he heard a voice echo.

another cough. another pretty pink cherry blossom. one as pretty as you.

“nicho?!” again, the same familiar voice. his eyes stayed open long enough to watch the door creak and you come out behind it. your face showed worry as you scrambled down, clutching his shirt.

voice cracking, you whisper-shouted, “nicholas! listen to me, come on.”

your shaking hands reached into your pocket, dialling for an ambulance.

and then you see it, a flower on the floor, laid prettily next to his motionless head. your hands tremble trying to reach out to touch it, but you’re distracted when nicholas mumbled softly.

“what’s wrong?” you asked quietly, tears threatening to fall.

a small smile appeared on his face, “i love you.”

“i know, i love you too. but this isn’t it for you, please.”

“y..you don’t get it… not in that..way.”

the last thing he remembered was seeing your eyes blinking cluelessly. it took you a couple of seconds before your eyes widened. you turned away from him, concealing your hurt expression and you heard nicholas sigh.

“nicholas, i..i’m sorry.” you managed to say while turning to face him, only to see his eyes shut peacefully.

even though he knew there was no chance of you liking him back, nicholas would still always love you and choose a life with you in it in a heartbeat.

#&team nicholas #&team k #koga yudai #wang yixiang #&team x reader #nicholas x reader #k x reader #nicholas imagines #k imagines #&team imagines #&team drabbles #&team angst #✍🏾 — kimakento writes

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im-overstimulated-and-im-sad · 3 days

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🐝 🧩 please

Hi 🥰🥰

🐝- Tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them

🥺🥺

(Spoiler: it might be one than one thing)

@dreamingofmickeywaffles - You were my first friend in this fandom, the first one who wanted to talk to me about my writing, for twenty something odd chapters you were the only one commenting on my long fic and you read it when it was single spaced (shoutout to the mutual who told me to add spacing- you won’t read my stuff but you did me a solid by telling me more people might read it if it was spaced out evenly) @dreamingofmickeywaffles - back to you- I can’t wait for the new season to start so I can talk about it with you and I don’t think my long fic would have reached over 50 chapters without you 🥰🥰

@sznofthesticks - Rachel- I don’t even think I can adequately put it into words but I shall try- you mean so much to me and I am so grateful for you and you have the most patience in the world to listen to me complain cause I have what should be the easiest job in the world and I am so bad at it - ILYSM and I hope that I can be as good of a friend to you as you are to me ♥️♥️

@anewkindofme - It is not an easy thing to do to find a kindred spirit in fandom and it makes me so happy to be your mutual- I look forward to your comments so much, 🥰🥰🥰 They mean so much to me, and I want tk spoil what is coming up in my long fic for you so badly (I never will unless you ask though lol)

@carlos-in-glasses - You commented on every single chapter of a fifty-plus chapter fic- I cannot get over that 🥰🥰🥰 It was truly the highlight of my day for two months getting those comments at the end of the day- your reblog tags from the Sunday post I just blushed when I read them 😍😍😍

@actualalligator - You are so kind- I was so nervous to reach out and say hi I’ve never written this genre but you’re amazing at it so I wrote a sequel tk your fic here it is and you are amazing about it - I love writing tarlos fics and discussing ideas with you, and I am anxious for when I can be getting back to Judd and TK in the barn

🧩- what will make you click away from fanfiction immediately?

Pretty much if don’t agree with it- like irl I cannot correct people even if I know they’re wrong and I would never leave a comment on a fic telling someone that how they interpreted it isn’t how I saw it but this happens a lot- an example of this is that there are a lot of fics that sound good but write TK as though dealing with his father is a nuisance for him- like “ugh why is my dad calling it’s my day off doesn’t he know to leave me alone” I have seen a variety of this in a number of fics, which confuses me because the in canon time we saw Owen call his son on his day off, TK invited him over unprompted. But in that case, I just back out of it and am like okay something else-

Like with the rewatch recently I saw a number of people commenting how TK was annoyed to find Sadie there because he wanted to spend alone time with Carlos and the audacity of his dad to not realize that- and I was like wow I did not get that at all, my thought was oh TK’s exasperation (which I don’t completely see in that scene) but would be that his dad is taking on another potentially dangerous adversary, tense the fire insurance comment- but I respect everyone sees the show they want, and the tag system does its job, if it’s a kink or something I don’t want to read then I wouldn’t click on it to start- but if the author has made a decision and it isn’t one I vibe with I am always ready to elect to ignore it and back out and find something else.

Thank you for the asks!! 🥰🥰

#mutuals i love you so much 🥰🥰🥰#911 lone star #answered asks

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rebelrebelwrites · 1 year

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Fic Friday! ❤️ Rebel’s Weekly Fic Recs

As always, this week's recs are...

As always, please mind the tags on any recommended story for your own personal preferences.

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The Classic You’ve Heard Of But Somehow Haven’t Read Yet: i cannot heave my heart into my mouth by @fallofrainblog

What you need to know going in:

It’s a Sauron POV fic! Also something I read early on in my fandom days, back when I was still lurking and delaying the inevitable development of a true hyper-fixation. 😆 This one-shot follows Sauron throughout RoP S1 as he encounters Galadriel, steadily following more in love with her despite his stubborn desire not to do so — at first. Spoiler alert: he falls fast. What I love about this fic is how intentional it feels; it breathes, if that makes sense, as Sauron, by his own estimation, is drawn to Galadriel and her light, "betrayed" by his human body and heart for wanting her as badly as he does; wanting to bask in her light and strength of will. And, don’t get me wrong — she wants him back, at least while she still knows him as Halbrand — but the intensity of his feelings, however mercurial, bursts onto the page and draws you in, too. The moments of tenderness, the blaze of lust and burgeoning love, then the angst, betrayal and desperate longing… it really runs the gamut of great. This fic may traverse familiar territory in the way of post-S1 plot, but every moment feels… dare I say? Precious.

Complete, Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The AU You Need to Immerse Yourself In Because, Well, Wow: The Venus of Valinor by @thecoziestbean

What you need to know going in:

When I saw this fic pop up (I think on Tumblr? I can’t recall) and read the summary, it was an immediate read + subscribe. This modern AU features Galadriel as art world royalty trying to protect a family secret — that many of the works in her family’s storied collection are straight-up fakes. (A shitty Feanor strikes again, friends.) How? By enlisting the help of the wily, way-too-sexy art thief Halbrand. A riff on the 60’s film How to Steal a Million (which I admittedly have not seen), this fic is in early days but already endlessly entertaining — and, not to mention, sexy. Get ready for deliciously flirty banter, a determined but slightly desperate Galadriel, and as always, a definitely morally dubious Halbrand. Where we go from here, I don’t know, but I’m very intrigued to find out.

WIP, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr, Twitter, and AO3.

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The Complete But Never Forgotten Masterpiece: It Will Come Back by @nocaptainonthisship

What you need to know going in:

Oh man, this fic. It broke me a little, but in the best way. It’s a modern AU that can also be described as a coffee shop AU, but that doesn’t encompass all this fic is and does. The premise is simple: Galadriel falls for her coworker/neighbor, Halbrand, and they begin a casual, toxic relationship that feels so achingly well-realized the angst and hurt will have a knot forming in your chest. The relationship bends and breaks in so many ways over the course of years, and delves into some dark places (so as always, mind the tags) but in an effort to not spoil anything, I’ll just say that it comes with an explosive, blisteringly satisfying ending that will haunt me. Immediate bookmark? Hell. Yes.

Complete, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The WIP That Will Wreck You (In the Best Way): i'm a sinking ship that's burning, so let go of my hand by @orcas86

What you need to know going in:

Can you tell I’ve been delving into more and more AUs lately (and loving it)? 🤣 Another gnawingly good entry from @orcas86, this modern AU sees Galadriel as a principal ballerina, subject to the meticulous and often mean eye (I’m so sorry, had to do it) of Halbrand, her company’s creative director. The two bite back and forth at each other in this twisted, intoxicating way, all while Galadriel is spiraling all on her own to feel something in the stifling world she’s stuck in (of her own making). This fic delivers on all the drama, jealousy, possessiveness and angst you could ask for — plus, scorching smut as always. 🔥

WIP, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr, Twitter, and AO3.

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The Can't Stop Consuming No Matter What Time It Is Fic: cause i'm mistaking honey for the bees by @alicuntisms

What you need to know going in:

Aaaand another modern AU that’s got me in a dirty, dark chokehold (which is why it’s impossible to not inhale upon reading, but again, mind those tags). This fic has Galadriel and Halbrand in college; her younger and admittedly more vulnerable, and him, a graduate student who becomes enraptured and unhealthily obsessed with her at a frat party and in the resulting aftermath — to the point that she gets caught in the maelstrom of his feelings for her: possessive, heady, and definitely boasting a mean, unpredictable edge. The toying with each other; the fickle, ceaseless push and pull between the two of them is seriously edge-of-your-seat, 👀👀👀 reading. And, again, the smut? Sinfully hot. 👌👌👌

WIP, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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🤩🤩🤩

Me at all these fics:

Don’t see your story on this list yet? Keyword: yet. Please don’t fret! I can only recommend so many each week, but I am always looking for more stuff to read, share, and generally shower with love, so please feel free to reply with your own fics or your personal faves. I have plenty more to recommend… ❤️

Until next week!

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fozmeadows · 3 years

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race & culture in fandom

For the past decade, English language fanwriting culture post the days of LiveJournal and Strikethrough has been hugely shaped by a handful of megafandoms that exploded across AO3 and tumblr – I’m talking Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Dr Who, the MCU, Harry Potter, Star Wars, BBC Sherlock – which have all been overwhelmingly white. I don’t mean in terms of the fans themselves, although whiteness also figures prominently in said fandoms: I mean that the source materials themselves feature very few POC, and the ones who are there tended to be done dirty by the creators.

Periodically, this has led POC in fandom to point out, extremely reasonably, that even where non-white characters do get central roles in various media properties, they’re often overlooked by fandom at large, such that the popular focus stays primarily on the white characters. Sometimes this happened (it was argued) because the POC characters were secondary to begin with and as such attracted less fan devotion (although this has never stopped fandoms from picking a random white gremlin from the background cast and elevating them to the status of Fave); at other times, however, there has been a clear trend of sidelining POC leads in favour of white alternatives (as per Finn, Poe and Rose Tico being edged out in Star Wars shipping by Hux, Kylo and Rey). I mention this, not to demonize individuals whose preferred ships happen to involve white characters, but to point out the collective impact these trends can have on POC in fandom spaces: it’s not bad to ship what you ship, but that doesn’t mean there’s no utility in analysing what’s popular and why through a racial lens.

All this being so, it feels increasingly salient that fanwriting culture as exists right now developed under the influence and in the shadow of these white-dominated fandoms – specifically, the taboo against criticizing or critiquing fics for any reason. Certainly, there’s a hell of a lot of value to Don’t Like, Don’t Read as a general policy, especially when it comes to the darker, kinkier side of ficwriting, and whether the context is professional or recreational, offering someone direct, unsolicited feedback on their writing style is a dick move. But on the flipside, the anti-criticism culture in fanwriting has consistently worked against fans of colour who speak out about racist tropes, fan ignorance and hurtful portrayals of living cultures. Voicing anything negative about works created for free is seen as violating a core rule of ficwriting culture – but as that culture has been foundationally shaped by white fandoms, white characters and, overwhelmingly, white ideas about what’s allowed and what isn’t, we ought to consider that all critical contexts are not created equal.

Right now, the rise of C-drama (and K-drama, and J-drama) fandoms is seeing a surge of white creators – myself included – writing fics for fandoms in which no white people exist, and where the cultural context which informs the canon is different to western norms. Which isn’t to say that no popular fandoms focused on POC have existed before now – K-pop RPF and anime fandoms, for example, have been big for a while. But with the success of The Untamed, more western fans are investing in stories whose plots, references, characterization and settings are so fundamentally rooted in real Chinese history and living Chinese culture that it’s not really possible to write around it. And yet, inevitably, too many in fandom are trying to do just that, treating respect for Chinese culture or an attempt to understand it as optional extras – because surely, fandom shouldn’t feel like work. If you’re writing something for free, on your own time, for your own pleasure, why should anyone else get to demand that you research the subject matter first?

Because it matters, is the short answer. Because race and culture are not made-up things like lightsabers and werewolves that you can alter, mock or misunderstand without the risk of hurting or marginalizing actual real people – and because, quite frankly, we already know that fandom is capable of drawing lines in the sand where it chooses. When Brony culture first reared its head (hah), the online fandom for My Little Pony – which, like the other fandoms we’re discussing here, is overwhelmingly female – was initially welcoming. It felt like progress, that so many straight men could identify with such a feminine show; a potential sign that maybe, we were finally leaving the era of mainstream hypermasculine fandom bullshit behind, at least in this one arena. And then, in pretty much the blink of an eye, things got overwhelmingly bad. Artists drawing hardcorn porn didn’t tag their works as adult, leading to those images flooding the public search results for a children’s show. Women were edged out of their own spaces. Bronies got aggressive, posting harsh, ugly criticism of artists whose gijinka interpretations of the Mane Six as humans were deemed insufficiently fuckable.

The resulting fandom conflict was deeply unpleasant, but in the end, the verdict was laid down loud and clear: if you cannot comport yourself like a decent fucking person – if your base mode of engagement within a fandom is to coopt it from the original audience and declare it newly cool only because you’re into it now; if you do not, at the very least, attempt to understand and respect the original context so as to engage appropriately (in this case, by acknowledging that the media you’re consuming was foundational to many women who were there before you and is still consumed by minors, and tagging your goddamn porn) – then the rest of fandom will treat you like a social biohazard, and rightly so.

Here’s the thing, fellow white people: when it comes to C-drama fandoms and other non-white, non-western properties? We are the Bronies.

Not, I hasten to add, in terms of toxic fuckery – though if we don’t get our collective shit together, I’m not taking that darkest timeline off the table. What I mean is that, by virtue of the whiteminding which, both consciously and unconsciously, has shaped current fan culture, particularly in terms of ficwriting conventions, we’re collectively acting as though we’re the primary audience for narratives that weren’t actually made with us in mind, being hostile dicks to Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans when they take the time to point out what we’re getting wrong. We’re bristling because we’ve conceived of ficwriting as a place wherein No Criticism Occurs without questioning how this culture, while valuable in some respects, also serves to uphold, excuse and perpetuate microaggresions and other forms of racism, lashing out or falling back on passive aggression when POC, quite understandably, talk about how they’re sick and tired of our bullshit.

An analogy: one of the most helpful and important tags on AO3 is the one for homophobia, not just because it allows readers to brace for or opt out of reading content they might find distressing, but because it lets the reader know that the writer knows what homophobia is, and is employing it deliberately. When this concept is tagged, I – like many others – often feel more able to read about it than I do when it crops up in untagged works of commercial fiction, film or TV, because I don’t have to worry that the author thinks what they’re depicting is okay. I can say definitively, “yes, the author knows this is messed up, but has elected to tell a messed up story, a fact that will be obvious to anyone who reads this,” instead of worrying that someone will see a fucked up story blind and think “oh, I guess that’s fine.” The contextual framing matters, is the point – which is why it’s so jarring and unpleasant on those rare occasions when I do stumble on a fic whose author has legitimately mistaken homophobic microaggressions for cute banter. This is why, in a ficwriting culture that otherwise aggressively dislikes criticism, the request to tag for a certain thing – while still sometimes fraught – is generally permitted: it helps everyone to have a good time and to curate their fan experience appropriately.

But when white and/or western fans fail to educate ourselves about race, culture and the history of other countries and proceed to deploy that ignorance in our writing, we’re not tagging for racism as a thing we’ve explored deliberately; we’re just being ignorant at best and hateful at worst, which means fans of colour don’t know to avoid or brace for the content of those works until they get hit in the face with microaggresions and/or outright racism. Instead, the burden is placed on them to navigate a minefield not of their creation: which fans can be trusted to write respectfully? Who, if they make an error, will listen and apologise if the error is explained? Who, if lived experience, personal translations or cultural insights are shared, can be counted on to acknowledge those contributions rather than taking sole credit? Too often, fans of colour are being made to feel like guests in their own house, while white fans act like a tone-policing HOA.

Point being: fandom and ficwriting cultures as they currently exist badly need to confront the implicit acceptance of racism and cultural bias that underlies a lot of community rules about engagement and criticism, and that needs to start with white and western fans. We don’t want to be the new Bronies, guys. We need to do better.

#race #racism #c-drama #fandom #fan wank #fandom wank #microaggresions #culture #the untamed #bronies #whiteness #ficwriting #fanwriting #cultural bias #discourse

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harbouredsoulss · 3 years

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Let’s Talk About Love - Part 1

Author’s note: It’s me again, writing about our lover Angel! I seriously need to put some Ez fics up but I cannot stop myself. I was listening to ‘All The Stars’ by Kendrick Lamar, and SZA when this came to me and I just knew it had to be about Angel. I was inspired more so the beginning of the song, rather than by the entire thing. Specifically, “Love, let's talk about love. Is it anything and everything you hoped for? Or do the feeling haunt you?”

If it isn’t too much trouble please make sure to Like, Reblog or even comment! It would be greatly appreciated. I am so happy with all the love Is There Somewhere has received! I appreciate each and every one of you, who has liked & reblogged!! 💖

Part two is here!!!

Also if you want to be notified for when I post, I am more than happy to create a tag list, just let me know! 🙌🏻

Angel Reyes X [OC]

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 1.1k words.

Summary: The idea of love haunts Angel Reyes. He doesn’t know how to commit himself to it. So he sticks to what he knows and does what he does best and he uses his best friend to do that. But the thing is, she’s madly in love with him and Angel being the most clueless man in the world, has no idea.

There was always an elephant in the room and it was colossal, yet there was nothing I could do about it. All I could do was dance around the fact that I was deeply in love with a man that did not feel the same.

I often watched him, mainly from the corner of my eye, always longing to be his; owned by him, body and soul.

He stood before me now, distress clearly evident on his face. Both hands clasped on either side of the door frame, eyes signalling that he wanted to come in. To relieve himself of whatever it was that was eating him up inside.

Angel always came to me like this. I was the one he could come to for relief – release. Perhaps I allowed this to go on for too long. Letting him arrive with all those insecurities, those fears, and let him dump them at my doorstep. But I knew, as well as he did that, I would never stop him.

My heart was close to bursting at the seams with the amount of love I carried for this man. I want to continue to take this, and accept it as enough. I was desperate to. Yet I don’t think I could last realistically, for much longer.

“Angel.” I answered the door, voice breathless. My confidence waned, resolve breaking as I glimpsed his crumpled face looking at the ground, eyes refusing to meet mine.

Angel was selfish. He knew this, and he hated that about himself. Hated that he found himself at my doorstep every night, seeking solace the only way he knew how.

“Can I come inside?”

All it took was a brief nod and he was in, a faint smell of gasoline, mixed with a faint musk that I knew was my favourite aftershave of his. After shutting the door, I turned to face him, finding his gaze still avoiding mine.

“Do you want something to drink? Eat?” I offered, already knowing the answer.

“No. Thanks. I just came here to… to talk.”

Talk? That was a surprise. It seemed these past couple months, to me, Angel didn’t know what that was. I couldn’t help but let out a bitter chuckle. Talk! Angel Reyes wanted to talk.

“Okay,” I sighed, arms crossing my chest, “go ahead.”

His gaze finally met mine, widening slightly as they took in my appearance. I was partially clothed. My panties were on, covered by a large oversized hoodie – his hoodie, that ended just above my knees.

“I-I’m not good with this shit but I-I just wanted you to know that I see it.” An unfamiliar feeling coursed through my body. I couldn’t tell where this was going. See it? See what?

“I see what I do to you. What this,” he gestured between the two of us, “does to you.”

“I come over, every night without fail and you let me inside, to your home – your body. But I can’t do this. I can’t hurt you like this anymore. I see it querida, I see your face when I leave. I want you, so fucking much – always but not like this.”

Confusion, shock, and frustration were some of the feelings that bubbled inside. I couldn’t understand where this was coming from. I agreed with everything he said, but I couldn’t quite help but let the anger rise. I was Angry that he was the one making this decision. That he thought he was doing it for me, when it was obvious that what I felt - how I felt, was not what this was about.

“Angel, where is this coming from?” I couldn’t help but keep the exasperated tone out of my voice. This man was infuriating.

“Me. I have eyes; I can see you. You’re fucking miserable and it’s all because of me.”

Shaking my head, I had to bite back a laugh. What a sick and twisted joke this was. Here the love of my life stands before me, ripping me in two. When not too long ago I was considering doing the same thing. Ending us, albeit begrudgingly.

All the while he is thinking that he’s helping. Giving me whatever it is he thinks I desire. At least, that’s what he’s deluded himself into thinking.

“Angel,” I started, frustration close to boiling point, “maybe instead of assuming, maybe having a conversation would have been productive. Work out what I am feeling. Actually asking me! Instead, you just decided you knew.” I threw my head back groaning, gripping the roots of my hair. I was seething with the audacity of this man. The man I am so desperately in love with.

“Angel,” I started again, voice cracking as I tried my hardest not to cry. I could not cry, “I am so fucking in love with you it hurts. That’s what you see when you leave every night. You see shame. Shame of what I feel because I know you don’t feel the same. I want you just as badly, but our wants are two different things. You want my body. I want your body and soul.”

I couldn’t say any more. I had to stop. It pained me too much to continue. But I had to. I had to let it pour out.

“I just wish that maybe we could have had some kind of conversation. But you always jump onto something, whether it be a thing or a thought and you don’t think to consider anything else. If you thought you were hurting me, why did you continue? Why did you keep coming by if you knew what this was doing to me? Why not speak to me earlier?

He was so self-destructive, and I tried to lessen the hurt but I had had enough. He needed to know what his actions, and words does to people and that there are consequences.

I could tell I had shattered him; I could see it with his shaky intake of breath. The words stung. His hands were in his front jean pockets, his face impassive as he stared at me. Though he wasn’t really looking at me; his mind was at work here. I tried to reach out to him, take his hand in mine. I wanted to plead to him, and beg him to stay and to tell him I loved him. That he should forget what he said – what I said. But as soon as I reached out, he took a step to the side, knocking into the coffee table.

“Uh you know what,” he responded, all emotion devoid from his voice, “this was obviously a mistake. I have to go.”

“Angel wait, come on, we have to talk about this.” You can’t just say this shit and leave, I wanted to scream.

“Angel, please.”

But he ignored my pleas.

His steps did not falter as he left me standing there, staring at the front door now hanging open. I rushed towards it, watching as he backed his motorcycle out of the drive and sped off into the night, leaving my heart shattered into pieces.

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dollsome-does-tumblr · 2 years

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tagged by @earnmysong -- thanks, buddy! :D

nickname: once a million years ago, I was called “nita” quite a lot! and i still am sometimes by my dear fandom friends i’ve known since the early 2000s!

zodiac sign: sagittarius. i know nothing about zodiac anything, though. i’m always like, “this doesn’t sound like me at all” re: descriptions of saggitariuses, and then I’ve had people tell me because that’s due to rising signs or ... falling signs or ... moons and suns and crap. i don’t know. i truly can’t express how much i just DON’T UNDERSTAND IT!

height: 5′5″. just right in the middle there!

last thing i googled: “candy cane pancakes” to see if such a thing exists, hahahaha. (trying to write seasonal gilmore girls fanfic is very research-rigorous, okay!) candy cane chocolate pancakes sound like they could be good as a concept, right?

followers: 7,392. i am truly so sorry that y’all have to see my posts all day every day. you are bearing it like CHAMPIONS!

song stuck in my head: maybe the non-anna kendrick version of the “cups” song because i’ve been watching a lot of mum on britbox and every episode starts and ends with it!

hours of sleep: ordinarily i tend to sleep 7-8 hours but i just cannot seem to fall asleep easily most nights these days (probably because i keep accidentally spending my days eating sugary stuff), so i’m all discombobulated and making my fitbit mad at me!

dream job: literature/writing teacher + writer of some sort (books, maybe also tv and movies just because i love tv and movies so much. also, if anyone wants to pay me to write snappy fanfiction one-shots, that would be really ideal.) if we are talking the TRUEST, LEAST PRACTICAL dream job of my soul from the time i was a tiny, melodramatic toddler: actress! diva! legend of the stage!!

lucky number: i like 19 a lot for some reason.

currently wearing: very worn-out navy blue sweatpants and a rather pilled teal fleece pullover. FASHION!

aesthetic: i once made this little aesthetic moodboard! i guess i would describe it as ... plants?????

favorite song: “send me on my way” by rusted root + “orinoco flow” by enya + “wuthering heights” by kate bush = the holy trinity

favorite author: my lady jane austen!

favorite animal noise: my dog when she huffs, disgruntled, at how terrible her life is because no one’s told her that she’s the most beautiful being in the universe for like five minutes. and to be fair, i deserve that criticism if i’ve lapsed in my duty that badly. i also like birdsong!

tagging: truly anyone! if you’re reading this right now and you think ‘huh, i’d like to fill this out,’ please do it! follow your heart’s song!!!

#dollsome's deep thoughts #also it felt weird to answer such fandom-lite questions #who am i without my opinions on television you know?

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mizelophsun11 · 3 years

Text

Mizeloph's Tale Chapter 5

Pairing - Right now it is still General Kirigan x OC Sun Summoner, when it switches to Kaz Brekker x OC Sun Summoner I mention it in the pairing

Summary - Everything is changing with rapid pace and it is up to Anna to keep up with everything that is happening. While she might be struggling at times, she is also to seep up a good front and make a friend along the way.

Word Count - 1800

Anna was taken to her new room by the Oprichniki of the Little Palace, once she was shoved inside the doors were closed behind her. The sun had already begun to set so she knew that there wouldn’t be a lot of time to explore. Deep down, Anna knew that she should be upset right now, her entire life was thrown out of control. However, she felt like there were no tears for her to shed, her time with General Kirigan had watered down her sadness. Anna walked around the room, she found an attached room with a bathtub, it was all very elaborate. She walked back into the main room seeing a desk, noticing that there was paper and a pen on the desk. Anna thought of writing letters to her friends so that they could continue to stay in touch, she hoped that maybe she would be able to get them to the Little Palace. Anna walked over to the desk and began to write a letter she would send to Mal and Alina.

Dear Mal and Alina,

If you are getting this then you know I have arrived at the Little Palace, everything is so fancy here, I even have a bathtub. I almost don’t know where to start, everything has happened in such a short amount of time it’s all too much. I want you two to be here so badly, everything just feels overwhelming and maybe if you were both by my side I wouldn’t feel like this. Hopefully I can get you two to the Little Palace at some point, maybe I could show you both around. Please, I need to hear from you two to know that you are both alright, I will try to make sure you are both able to get here to the Little Palace soon.

Sincerely,

Anna Mizeloph

After finishing her letter Anna decided that it would be a good idea to get some sleep, she had no idea what would be going on tomorrow. Before she got into bed Anna went through every compartment in her room and eventually found a knife. She pulled her hair out of the ponytail and took some of her clothes off so she would be more comfortable when she slept. Anna pulled the comforter back and got into the bed, once she got under her comforter and closed her eyes she began to dream. Snow, Anna had remembered how this dream went, she turned around and saw the magnificent stag. She had only dreamt of the stag when she felt lost. As Anna stepped closer to the stag she felt like everything was at peace and there was nothing to worry about. However, as soon as her dream had begun, Anna was awoken by a knock at the door. She quickly sat up and set her hand near the pillow with the knife under it, but as maids walked in she sighed and swung her legs over to the side of the bed.

Genya walked up to her and looked over her once “Saints, have you ever bathed?” she brought her hand up to Anna's face looking at a few scars “and what happened to your face? This is going to be a bit more of a challenge than I previously thought” she sighed and snapped her fingers to get the maids attention “fetch my kit” the maids in the room scrambled around and a few of them brought Anna over to the tub in the attached room

They began to undress her and Anna almost wanted to fight them but she knew that they were only doing their job. Still, she had never had this much attention so of course she was going to be feeling self conscious. Once she was out of her clothes she stepped into the tub that now had warm water in it. Anna had never had such a nice wash before, the water had always been cold, for the first time being clean was comfortable.

However, the maids were not being too kind in scrubbing her arms “hey! You don’t have to be that harsh, you’ll rub my skin off if you keep doing that” Anna said pulling her arm away from the maids “plus I can wash myself thank you very much” she took the spunge and began to wash herself glaring at the maids

Genya smiled a little, she hated having the maids around so it was nice to know Anna did not like them like she did “In an hour, you will be presented to King Pyotr and General Kirigan has asked that I make you look presentable”

“Wait, what did you just say? I am to meet the king? Oh my..” Anna could not believe that she would be meeting with one of the most influential men in Ravka

“Yes, in an hour” Genya said trying to stress that preparations needed to be done quickly

“Oh..” Anna realized that all of this talking was wasting time

“Yes ‘Oh’ so lets get on with it” she motioned for the maids to get her out of the tub and give her a robe

“Oh my, what is this material?” she had never worn something so comfortable underneath her fingers then put it on

Genya looked at Anna rubbing the robe “it’s Velvet”

Anna smiled holding the robe close to her body “this feels absolutely wonderful” she had never worn something that felt so nice

Genya could tell that the robe meant a lot to Anna, it crossed her mind, wondering what other luxuries had Anna been denied “alright.. Now where to start with you”

“I would start with her hair color, make her look less like she just got her head shoved in snow” some of the other maids giggled at the comment

Genya glared at the maid and clapped her hands “everyone out, Now!” the maids stopped giggling and quickly rushed out of the room

Anna watched them leave then grasped onto a piece of her hair, twirling it between her fingers, feeling self conscious about it again. She had hoped that maybe once she was in the Little Palace her white hair wouldn’t be something that people pointed at. Genya looked at Anna and noticed that she was touching her hair and sighed.

“Your hair is beautiful” Genya smiled a little approaching Anna

Anna looked at Genya “really? Thank you..” there was one boy who had once called her hair beautiful in Ketterdam, it had been so long ago. Alina and Mal always said that they liked her hair and that it was cool looking, but they hadn’t used beautiful before

“I am glad you hate those miserable maids as much as I do, I don’t pick my staff the Queen assigns them to me, I wish she wouldn’t, but there isn’t much that I can do about it” Genya started to get her things in order to help Anna look good

“Yeah they definitely seem like a rude bunch who don’t know how to keep their mouths shut” Anna said making Genya laugh a little, Anna laughed a little too “um.. Could you please not change my hair? It’s strange, but for once in my life I don’t want it to be changed”

“Well I am glad you don’t want it to be changed because I didn’t want to change it to begin with” Genya started to work on Annas face tailoring the scars she had “I want to make sure that you don’t look terrible, some of this is on the surface, but there are other pieces that run deeper”

“You are a Healer? I thought they normally stayed on the front lines with the Second Army” Anna asked as she was handed a mirror and saw that the scars she once had on her face where gone

“I’m a Tailor, I can fix and modify, the Second Army wouldn’t have much use for me on the front lines” Genya said as she continued working and went to Anna's hair making it look soft and well kept

“I’ve never met a Tailor before.. Why is that?” she asked, liking that she was learning more about Grisha

“I’m almost as rare as you, though I’d hardly say saving the Queen from sagging tits makes me as important as you” Anna laughed a little, Genya smiled and continued “This only last for a few days, but it be enough for now to meet the king, after we can work on that hair of yours to always keep it soft”

As Genya started working on the final touches to make sure that Anna was presentable for the king. There was more Anna wanted to find out about the Tailor who was working on her appearance. One of those questions was when she had been tested, for Anna she did not know much about being tested to be Grisha as a child. After all she had been thrown to the side when testing came and went, she never understood why and sometimes wished she had asked.

“So.. um how old were you when you were tested? You don’t have to answer, but I was just curious” Anna asked kindly not sure if it was a sore subject or not

Genya smiled at Anna’s kindness “I don't mind talking about it.. The testers found me when I was 11. That is when General Kirigan gifted me to the Queen, but I have been working on myself since I was 3”

Anna was blown away “3? Since you were 3? That is amazing” but then suddenly it dawned on her “wait.. Wait! I cannot go in front of the king!” she started to panic, Genya noticed and through of what she could do to help her calm down so she gently began to brushed her fingers through Anna's hair

“You can and you will, there is nothing to worry about” Genya’s fingers lingered through Anna’s hair

“I have done no formal training, I need to have more time to prepare, I haven’t even known I was Grisha for two days!” Anna in the moment felt Genyas fingers run through her hair and started to calm down

“Maybe you’ve only been aware for two days” Genya said, Anna looked up at her and took a deep breath feeling Genyas hands running through her hair. Anna smiled a little remembering when Kaz would run his fingers through her hair when she was scared. Anna was quickly brought back to the present “but you have been a Grisha your whole life” she continued to run her fingers through Anna’s hair making a mental note that this was the best way to calm her down when it is just them “and now you are here to tear down the Fold”

Author Note - Thank you so much for all of the support! I am extremely thankful to the ones who have been reblogging my chapter. I also love seeing the comments everyone is leaving so if you would like to write one I look forward to reading it! I also am thrilled about my growing tag list! If you would like to be added just let me know and I will try my best to add you! I just had someone added and their name is not popping up, but if this happens to you I will personally messages you when a chapter is added!

Tag List - @rika90 @itsemy01 @hotleaf-juice @teatimeforusreaders @benbarnes-supremacy @graciefullygracie @aleksanderwh0r3 @klaudosh

#shadow and bone #sun summoner #shadow and bone fanfiction #the grisha series #grisha fic #grishaverse #ben barnes #freddy carter #general kirigan #kaz brekker #general kirigan x reader #kaz brekker x reader

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mediocre-writerr · 3 years

Text

superheroes [leah rilke]

bring us through: part 8

leah rilke x reader

requested: Hey could we get a part 8 of bring us through where the reader saves Rachel from the shark attack but ends up getting swept up in the current and wakes up around another part of the island and it takes her a few days to get back to the others. Meanwhile the girls think she’s dead but then everything ends up okay. Thanks!

*not my gif*

The waters overlapped Rachel’s body as she just laid afloat, finally at peace with herself. You haven’t seen Leah in a bit, but you took Nora’s word and assumed she was off clearing her thoughts.

Oh how you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Especially when you saw your girlfriend limping towards you group of girls like she’s about to chop off someone’s head. You’re about to go over and confront her when you hear Nora scream.

“SHARK! RACHEL!” you look out towards the ocean and see a heart-dropping fin making its way towards her. And in a split second Nora goes running in after her.

“Nora no!” you begin to run after her when Shelby grabs your hand.

“What do you think you’re doing??” she questioned you and you bit your lip looking down at the ground, “Are you insane?! You’re not gonna go out there and save her!”

You broke out of her grip, letting out a soft sigh, “It’s finally time to do the right thing, Shelb.” And you took off running without one look back. Despite all the pleads from Shelby and Leah and all of the girls.

The water was warmer than usual. It wasn’t freezing iced cold like the first time you were knee deep in this water. You were a lot faster than Nora, the waves pushing you forward, to what possibly could be your doom.

When you got to Rachel the shark was gone, but she was bleeding badly. You held onto Rachel trying to swim as fast as shore as possible, but the current was dragging you back out. So you pushed her towards Nora.

“Take her to shore! Get her fixed up! Go! Now!” you yelled and all she did was nod, taking her unconscious sister in her arms, “I’m right behind you!”

You tried fighting back the current when you felt a jaw of teeth pinching into your leg. You let out a yelp and before anymore damage could be done, you were being brushed off by the current. Going into the unknown.

When Nora and Rachel got back, the gird tended to Rachel’s wound immediately. But Shelby and Leah were on the lookout for you. The twins were fine, but you were nowhere to be seen.

“Nora, where’s Y/N?!” Leah shouted.

Nora looked back to the ocean to see you weren’t right behind her like you said you were, “She said-she told me she was gonna be right behind me. I don’t know what happened.” she struggled to get out, “There was so much blood and I uh I couldn’t see what was happening.”

Leah got dangerously close to her face, “This is on you. This is your fault! Why don’t you tell them Nora?! Why don’t you tell them that you knew all along what going on?”

“What is she talking about?” Martha spoke up, looking between the two girls. Dot was trying to stop the bleeding as much as possible.

“Announcement everyone! She has known this entire time that our plane was gonna crash! She has been in touch with people and telling them all about our progress here, isn’t that right?!” there was silence, you could hear a pin drop, “Oh c’mon Nora tell the truth now! Y/N saved both of you. If it weren’t for her you’d be dead right now! And the only person who deserves to actually be alive right now is missing and there’s a high chance that she could be dead! Tell them!”

Fatin put her hands out between the two girls, shaking her head softly, “Not right now. We have someone who could die right here, right now. And someone who’s missing and possibly dead. It’s not the time to turn on each other. No matter how much they deserve it.”

“She’s right.” Dot chimed in, “The only thing we can do is help Rachel and keep an eye out for Y/N.”

Leah scoffed, marching away from the rest of the group. Falling into the ground, Toni tilted her head towards Shelby, gesturing for her to go talk to her. She nodded and followed after her.

Neither of the girls dared to speak. If they spoke about it then this wouldn’t be some fucked up nightmare. This can’t be real, can it?

What seemed like hours passed by and there was still no sign of you. “What if she’s dead?” Leah whispered.

Shelby shook her head, “No, she can’t be. She’s fine.”

“Shelby-“

“No, Leah! Y/N cannot be dead, it can’t be her. It should be me. I should be the one dead right now. Y/N’s such a sweet person. She’s been my best friend through all of my bullshit, I can’t-I could barely admit my teeth are fake. She deserves to be here next to you, not me.”

Leah didn’t say anything else. She just wrapped her arm around the blonde’s shoulder, pulling her to her side. The blonde nuzzling her face into the brunette’s neck, crying softly.

A few days had passed and you were nowhere to be seen. The hope that was barely in the girls was now gone. Rachel was recovering nicely, but none of the girls could seem to celebrate that. Not even Rachel.

Little do they know, you washed up on the shore on the opposite side of the island. At first all of it seemed to look different, like you drifted onto an island all by yourself. But when you explored more and found Fatin’s waterfall, you knew you were in the right place.

It only took you so long because of your wound. The shark bit into your leg pretty deep. The bite mark still visible, so you did what you learned from Dot. You stripped off your shirt, leaving you only in your bra as you created a tourniquet on the wound. But as time went on the pain was becoming more and more unbearable. It started slowing you down, but you had to make it to the girls.

“What are we gonna do now?” Martha asked.

“I think the respectable thing is to build a grave. Everyone deserves to be remembered somehow.” Nora suggested.

But Toni shut that down real quick, “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it weren’t for you.”

“It’s not my fault she ran after me!” she shouted back.

Toni scoffed, “Yes it is! You’ve lied to us for months!! Months, Nora! We trusted you! Y/N’s probably fish food by now! But you know how she is, you knew she would go after you and save both of you. Because that’s just the type of person she is: selfless, compassionate, and brave. Everything you want in a person and I’ve known her for a couple months!”

“I had no choice!” she shot back.

It was Fatin’s turn to chime in, “Yes you did. We all had a choice. You could’ve chosen to tell us that this was some sick experiment. Or better yet you could’ve told the authorities when you found out what this place was really gonna be.”

“My best friend is dead! The one person who ever understood me is dead! My soulmate is dead! Dead, Nora!!” Shelby finally came into the conversation, “What if I was the undercover spy and I knew all about what was going and Rachel died? Would you be so okay with me right now?! Y/N is the twice the woman than we will ever be. She didn’t fucking deserve this!”

And that’s when you saw the girls come into view. Toni flung her fist right for Nora’s face. And that’s when you took off running towards them. You know Toni’s temper and also how fragile Nora is.

You ran in between the two of them, pushing Toni away, “Hey, hey, hey!” you shouted, “Calm down, let’s all calm down.”

All of the girls stared at you like they just saw a ghost. Leah was the first to break out of her trance, reaching out slowly to touch you. When she could fell her fingers tracing over your face, she gasped softly. Tears falling from her ocean blue eyes, “Is that really you?”

You reached out softly, wiping away her tears. The feeling of your hands lingering on her face caused a sob to let out. She crashed into your arms and you snaked your arms around her waist tightly. And she didn’t want to let go, like if she let go, you’d disappear from her grasp.

But when you finally broke apart, Shelby was standing there biting her fingernail, “I thought you were dead, you idiot!” she punched your arm, before falling into your arms as well.

“I know I’ve almost died like a thousand times, but this just proves that you’re stuck with me forever.” you whispered to her.

“Thank god. I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t.” she whispered back.

///

tag list: @hstoria @shalifoestilinski @yourssincerelyj @greysky22

#the wilds imagines #the wilds #leah rilke imagine #leah rilke #leah rilke x reader

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nyxelestia · 3 years

Link

Vox article about the infamous wall of tags fic.

tl;dr at the end

What it’s about and why we care / article quotes:

All that, by itself, isn’t enough to make STWW remarkable — not on a website as wild and unpredictable as AO3. Yet the fic has become impossible for many AO3 users to ignore thanks to a unique quirk: Its author has linked it to more than 1,700 site tags (and counting).

Guides to how to block the fic have cropped up. For example, I use a Chrome extension that blocks fics with too many tags (you can specify how many tags is too many — I picked 50); there’s also simple site code that you can add to your custom site “skin” to block the fic completely from search results, as well as other workarounds.

But the usefulness of these options is limited. Site skins only work for logged-in users. Website extensions don’t work on mobile. Many other workarounds aren’t compatible with adaptive technology like screen readers used by disabled people and others — and if you think having to scroll past the tags on a phone is obnoxious, imagining getting stuck on it while a screen reader laboriously recites all 1,700 tags out loud.

(Emphases mine.)

My take on this specific fic:

I was sympathetic when I thought that maybe the author is just unaware of what they’re doing - but they have been made aware, they know exactly the effect they are having on other users and the community at large, and they’re still doing it.

[The author] acknowledged the controversy around their fic but emphasized that they were operating completely within AO3’s rules. “If AO3 has a category or a big red warning checkbox to say ‘click this to read crazy fics’ then I should put my fic in there,” they joked. “People are free to search (my) fic or exclude the fic using tags.”

Virtual1979 also remained steadfast when I pointed out that their fic was breaking the site for disabled users, stressing that the onus should be on AO3 — not them — to make enforceable site changes.

So now my sympathy’s all dried up. I do not remotely believe them when they say they aren’t a troll. Maybe they truly didn’t start out trolling, but they were repeatedly asked to stop, told about the impact they were having, and have themselves admitted on their Twitter account that they are laughing all the way to the bank.

A tweet they have since deleted - I did not think to grab a screenshot. So here is a screenshot of them saying they routinely delete their own Tweets, and their reaction to people who ask them to stop over-tagging their fic:

Maybe they started out as a well-intentioned new poster, unfamiliar with AO3 or how tagging works. And knowing fandom, I’m sure they faced some harassment for it. However, given they’ve been repeatedly asked to stop, and explicitly told how they are negatively affected so many other users’ ability to interact with the fandom and the website as a whole...and do not care, and continue to keep at it?

Freedom of speech gives them the right to be an asshole, but it also gives me the right to call them an asshole.

But, I do understand why AO3 isn’t banning them, and I agree with AO3′s current decision not to remove this fic. There needs to be some deeper changes, but banning this specific author or fic right now would likely cause more problems down the road than it solves right now.

What is the line for “Too Many Tags”? What would it mean for authors of non-anthology works? What impact would banning this over-tagged fics have on other over-tagged-but-not-as-badly fics? What will it mean for our culture of curating your content and experiences if blacklisting tags gets compromised due to such limits?

I’ve been frustrated by over-tagged fics before, and I certainly hope this will make other, well-meaning, good-faith authors reconsider decisions while compiling anthologies of their disconnected works going forward. Neither of these mean fans should expect AO3 to respond to mob rule and ban this fic.

My take on this article beyond this specific fic:

I disagree with the implication from the article that this is related to fandom’s longstanding issues concerning racism (and other -isms and -phobias) in fanfic. After all, the vast majority of fandom’s racism, sexism, misogyny, etc. isn’t tagged. At most, you can expect that certain ships or tags probably mean there will be certain racist tropes.

This does a disservice towards fans of a ship who don’t partake in or propagate those racist tropes - I myself included in that group. I routinely got comments on my fic from people who expected me to use racist tropes and fanons because of the ship tag on my fic, as these tropes were (and really, still are) so strongly associated with the ship. More importantly, there is no reliable way to tell from a fic’s meta-data whether there will be something in the fic the author doesn’t identify.

The fundamental problem with racism in fandom is not “people are making these racist things” but “people refuse to acknowledge these things they are making are racist” - and AO3′s meta-data is entirely self-identifying.

If an author does not think their work is racist, then they will not tag it as such, which means the rest of us will have no way of knowing until after we’ve already read the racism.

“Curate your own reading” is very applicable to things authors are willing to identify and tag in their own works - such as kinks, violence, etc. But if it is something the author did not intend, and does not agree with/identify, then readers who oppose it cannot curate against it.

Which is why I find this paragraph so misleading, specifically the part I bolded:

Throughout 2020, during sustained discussions across social media about structural racism and other toxic elements in fandom, AO3 users repeatedly requested that the site add basic features that could help users avoid involuntarily engaging with fics they found toxic or harmful. For example, currently there’s no real way to officially sanction a writer who includes racist elements in their fanfiction — the site’s abuse policy FAQ doesn’t mention race, and there’s currently no way to “warn” readers about racially charged elements in a fic. (You can warn readers about other controversial fic content, like character deaths, non-consensual scenarios, and underage characters.) And there are many readers who’d like to avoid engagement with fics and authors they deem to be racist.

These are tags an author can add onto their own work...but readers cannot warn other readers about an author’s work! And to be clear, I think that’s a good thing overall - readers being able to add their own tags to someone else’s work leaves way too much room for abuse, which would happen far more than readers warning other readers about things the author refuses to identify or tag. My point here is that apart from “how to deal with works and authors you already know are assholes”, there is no connection between this specific fic and its ensuing mess, and the broader problems of pervasive racism in fandom.

The only thing the wall of tags situation and the fandom racism situation have in common, at least in relation to AO3, is that fans want to block certain authors or works whom you already know are assholes. This, the Vox article got right.

However, there are many, many ways to be an asshole other than racism. There are many reasons to block specific works or authors besides racism. There are many types of abuse and harassment besides racism. Acting as if “blocking toxic works or people” is inherently and automatically about the on-going discussions about race in fandom reduces racism to individual acts and actors, and ignores its nature as a systemic problem.

tl;dr

While there are work-arounds to avoid that fic with 1700+ tags (and others), these workarounds are very limited in their helpfulness.

Author has the right to do this, but freedom of speech also gives the rest of us the right to call them out for their poor behavior. I 100% believe they are now an intentional bad-faith actor / troll, even if they did not necessarily start out as one.

Despite my disdain, I understand and agree with AO3′s decision to not remove the fic or ban the author, however much I hate them both. All of AO3′s decisions have ramifications and implications beyond the immediate situations they are made for. This one fic/author should not get to chip away at AO3′s mission against censorship.

Apart from the very broad nature of blocking toxic people or abusive works, I don’t think this situation has anything to do with racism. Implicating individual behavior and tagging as a related referendum is reductive to the systemic nature of fandom racism.

#ao3 #otw #fandomshatepeopleofcolor #racism in fandom #wangxian #on fandom #fandom meta #the untamed #long post

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skinsharpenedteeth · 3 years

Text

Coming Up Easy - First Sightings

I am *SO* sorry this is so hella late this week. It's been... a fucking week. CW: One mention of a homophobic slur.

You can also read this on AO3!

CUE - First Sightings

Unpacking boxes was not one of Alex’s favorite activities. He hadn’t had many when he’d moved because he hadn’t wanted to rent a truck or deal with shipping things, so the twelve boxes he’d been able to load into the late nineties Ford Explorer encompassed all his worldly possessions. He’d finally gotten a chance to start unpacking the miscellaneous boxes after a trip to Ikea for bookshelves, a bed, and a couch. Furthermore, he’d promised himself he’d explore his new city more and find second-hand shops for other household furniture and accessories, but the bookshelves would be enough to finally clear away the last of his unpacked boxes.

Alex opened the last box and looked inside. His heart softened a little as he saw the small shoebox of photographs he kept. Promising himself he’d look through it later, he unpacked the few other knick-knacks out of the box and took them to the bookshelves to start placing them. The box didn’t reenter his mind until after dinner when he found himself lounging across his new sofa with a cold beer in his hand. The box stared at him from the floor where he’d left it. Setting down his beer on the floor, he quickly got up and grabbed the box, and brought it back over to the couch. He flipped open the top and gingerly picked up the pile closest to him.

Michael and him in the desert with guitars. Liz, Max, Michael, and him at a church car wash. Michael, Kyle, and him all leaning against a bathroom wall in various stages of being phenomenally sick from drinking too much. Him and Michael hanging out at the UFO Emporium. Him and Michael eating pizza and playing video games at Max and Isobel’s. Him and Michael in college at a frat party. Him and Michael. Him and Michael. Him and Michael…

It hit Alex quite suddenly that basically since he and Michael had become friends they’d been fairly inseparable. They’d dated other people and had friends that the other didn’t like, but as a rule, it was always the two of them against the world and it had been since they were fifteen. He picked up his phone and snapped a photo of the photograph he held in his hand where they were sixteen, pimply, awkward, and bent over laughing outside the high school band room.

Me 8:46 p.m.>> Who the fuck are these dorks? <<Picture sent at 8:46 p.m.>> <<Michael 8:50 p.m.>> Holy shit, look at those nerds!! <<Michael 8:51 p.m.>> Though I gotta say, the emo one is pretty hot. If I were sixteen, I’d definitely have a crush on him. Me 8:52 p.m.>> You did not have a crush on me at 16! I was so tragic! <<Michael 8:53 p.m.>> You were not. You were fucking feral. You took exactly zero percent shit from anyone. It was hot as fuck. Me 8:55 p.m.>> You are definitely misremembering the amount of bullshit I put up with. <<Michael 9:00 p.m.>> Do you know what you were doing the first time I saw you?

Alex cast back in his memory. He remembered the first time he was aware of Michael, but not necessarily the first time Michael was aware of him. He always assumed it was at the same time.

Me 9:02 p.m.>> Uh? Scribbling emo song lyrics on my bio lab notebook? <<Michael 9:03 p.m.>> Nope. <<Michael 9:03 p.m.>> You were having a fight with Kyle during gym because he tagged your gym shirt with the word “faggot” in pink sharpie.

“Mr. Manes, you cannot wear shirts with inappropriate text on them. This is the gym. White shirts only,” Coach Heim called at Alex as soon as he walked out of the locker room and started towards where the rest of the class was lounging in the middle of the basketball court. Alex could see Kyle elbowing his football buddies and smirking, barely containing their laughter. Alex felt his face grow hot with embarrassment and fury. He kept walking towards the group.

“MR. MANES! GO CHANGE YOUR SHIRT!” the coach yelled, putting more authority into his deep baritone. He was a fit, balding adult who generally was an alright guy, but Alex was swelling with indignation. He stopped a few feet away from the group so he didn’t have to yell to be heard.

“I don’t have another shirt, sir. This is my gym shirt,” Alex explained through clenched teeth. As the rest of the class got a good look at the words emblazoned across his chest and stomach, he heard them begin to snicker and giggle quietly.

“Well, you can’t wear that one. You’re smarter than this, Alex, why would you wear this out of the locker room?” the coach asked, not sounding unkind. He shot the gathered students a dirty look and they quieted their laughter.

“Because it’s all I had to wear and it’s not my fault it was defaced. Some pink-fingered fucking COWARD of a football player must’ve thought it’d be REAL FUNNY to break into my locker and--” Alex started, voice growing louder as he let the heat behind his cheeks infuse his voice.

“I did no such thing!” Kyle yelled, cutting in on Alex. Coach Heim looked over at him, eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe to tell Kyle to sit down, but as soon as Kyle stepped forward away from his buddies, Alex pounced. He landed the first hit on Kyle’s cheek, the meaty smack of their skin satisfying to him. Kyle shook it off and came at him. Before he knew it, they were rolling on the ground hitting each other as hard as they could in anyplace visible. The pain was nothing new for Alex and he kept his head clear as he tried to aim for spots that would hurt long after he was pulled off.

Too soon, arms were wrapped around his chest and a much bigger body than his was pulling him back and off of where he’d pinned Valenti to the ground. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, his ears still ringing with rage, but he could see the thin trickle of blood from Kyle’s split lip and he felt himself smile at the shock on everyone else’s face as they watched him get dragged back. He would not take Kyle’s shit this year. He would not take anyone’s shit.

Alex rubbed his fingers across his eyebrows and sighed deeply. He had been so ready to cause someone else pain by then. His dad had only gotten worse towards him when Kyle started to pull away because it meant that his “unnaturalness” was evident to everyone. His fight then and the fights in the following year always had more to do with his dad than with him being ashamed of being gay. He put the photos down in the box and went to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. His phone chimed as he unscrewed the top and after a deep drink, he checked the message.

<<Michael 9:13 p.m.>> Uh oh, you’ve left me on read. You okay? Me 9:14 p.m.>> I’m fine. Sorry. Just got wrapped up in my head for a minute. Me 9:15 p.m.>> How did you see that? You weren’t in my gym class? <<Michael 9:16 p.m.>> I was hiding under the bleachers skipping english. Me 9:17 p.m.>> THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY! <<Michael 9:17 p.m.>> Right? Nothing to do anyway. It was fine. It’s in the past. I graduated high school, didn’t I? No harm, no foul.

Alex laughed quietly to himself, staring at the message screen. He went back to the couch and flopped back down across the cushions with a sigh.

Me 9:20 p.m.>> You did. Even graduated college. I guess you’re right. <<Michael 9:21 p.m.>> When do you remember seeing me for the first time? Me 9: 23 p.m.>> I feel like it was biology when we were lab partners. I was supposed to be with Max, remember? <<Michael 9:24 p.m.>> Yeah, I was with Liz. Max had no chill back then. How the fuck did it take Liz until senior year to notice that he liked her? Me 9:35 p.m.>> Had no chill? *Has* no chill.

“Michael! MI-CHAEL!” Max hissed loudly from his seat next to Alex two rows behind where Liz was sitting. The class period was just getting started and everyone was still milling around trying to find their assigned seats. Michael looked over his shoulder at Max who was looking desperately at him. Michael mouthed ‘what?!’ and gave Max an irritated glare.

“Switch with me!” Max whisper screamed. Alex was smirking into his notebook as he watched the exchange through the side of his eye. He hadn’t really noticed the curly-haired boy before, but the eye roll he gave Max was epic. He started to turn back to the front when Max whispered again. “I’ll pay you!”

Michael turned back around abruptly and narrowed his eyes.

“How much?” Michael asked, not whispering but keeping his voice low enough not to carry to the teacher who was about to start taking roll. Max looked desperately towards the front of the class at Liz’s back where she was ignoring what was happening beside her in favor of actually paying attention. She was about the only one.

“Fifty,” Max called out.

“Seventy-five and you buy my lunch for a week,” Michael countered. Alex was highly amused. Max darted his eyes over to Liz’s back again and nodded. Michael grabbed his stuff and moved quickly towards the back of the classroom while Max grabbed his stuff to go forward.

“Sorry!” Max called out to Alex softly before he left. Alex watched him slide into the seat next to Liz smoothly and take out his notebook. She looked over and smiled at him in confusion, turning to look back at where Michael was now taking his seat next to Alex. Alex looked over at him and was struck full in the face with his mischievous grin.

“That sucker, I would’ve done it for twenty-five,” Michael shared with Alex conspiratorially, leaning closer to him while he spoke so his voice wouldn’t reach Max’s ears. Alex felt himself blushing a little at the somewhat flirtatious smirk Michael was giving him. He’d been aware of Michael, but hadn’t really ever paid him any mind. Now he was near him, he could see the interesting light brown of his eyes somewhere between gold and green. He also smelled a little like lake water and the woodsy, spicy deodorant Alex had smelled on Mr. Valenti. It was weirdly comforting.

“So he has a thing for Liz or is he that afraid of failing bio that badly? I’m not stupid,” Alex asked, clearing his throat and trying not to seem offended by Max’s desperation to switch partners.

“Oh, he has a major thing for Liz. It’s gross. Like, she’s pretty, don’t get me wrong. But he’s been writing Mr. and Mrs. Ortecho-Evans in his notebook since third grade or some shit like that,” Michael revealed, taking out his own bio notebook from his bag and setting in on the lab table in front of him. Alex took in what he was saying and nodded.

“So it’s not cause everyone says I’m gay?” Alex asked, voice low and a little nervous to see Michael’s reaction. Michael looked over at him, eyebrows drawn together and something like sympathy passing over his expression before he responded.

“No, man. Max doesn’t give a shit about that and neither do I. You weren’t planning on trying to date him, were you?” Michael asked, shooting him a grin. Alex grinned back, relieved to hear that someone in the school who was so upstanding and obviously straight like Max wasn’t a complete jerk. Michael didn’t seem too bad either.

“Nah. He’s not my type. I like musicians,” Alex joked, shooting Michael a side-grin.

“You don’t say? Do you play?” Michael asked, eyes forward now in a semblance of paying attention to the teacher. Alex glanced up towards the board, but continued slouching over his lyrics notebook.

“Guitar,” he replied shortly as the teacher started explaining their first lab assignment.

“Cool. Me too,” Michael said. Alex could see him studying him out of the corner of his eye. “We should jam sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

And they did jam together eventually. A week later they’d gotten together and Alex had learned that Michael did not know one end of a guitar from the other. He’d let Michael borrow his brother Greg’s guitar and then taught him everything he knew over the course of the next three months.

Me 9:40 p.m.>> Man. Who knew we’d still be friends this long after. <<Michael 9:45 p.m.>> I did. Once you taught me to play guitar, you were stuck with me for life. There’s an unbreakable bond built when one dude teaches another dude how to finger... Me 9:46 p.m.>> Jesus Christ. That was terrible. <<Michael 9:47 p.m.>> Bet you’re laughing though. Me 9:48 p.m.>> I plead the fifth. Also, I gotta get to bed. Early day tomorrow. <<Michael 9:50 p.m.>> That’s some responsible adult behavior right there. Gross. Me 9:51 p.m.>> You’re gross. <<Michael 9:52 p.m.>> I am gross. I’m going to take a shower and change that, however. When will you be young and fun again? Me 9:53 p.m. >> Shut up. Go take your shower. <<Michael 9:53 p.m.>> Fine. Go to bed. Think about me in bed. Me 9:54 p.m.>> *You* think about me in bed. <<Michael 9:55 p.m.>> Always do. Night Me 9:56 p.m.>> Night.

Alex heaved himself off the couch and went to his room. The apartment always seemed so dark and lonely when he finished talking with Michael. He needed to work on making friends. That would help him not miss him so much.

#coming up easy #malex wip #malex #coming up easy update #michael guerin #alex manes #fwb malex

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drakewalkerfantasy · 3 years

Text

The Last Goodbye (Tatum x F!MC)

Summary: The second goodbye of two friends doesn’t hurt any less. The first goodbye of two lovers does hurt even more. The issue is he doesn’t want to leave, and she doesn’t want him to leave either. But will they admit it to each other? Or will they pretend that it’s okay and that he must to follow his dreams even though it hurts them both as hell.

Words: 2944

Rating: PG

Warning: a lot of heartache / memory of death / loss

Authors notes: Dear anon, thank you so much for the request. I really hope you will enjoy this. I’m not particularly happy how I wrote Tatum’s POV, but I just couldn’t think of anything else even after multiple times rereading this. Sorry if this is not what you expected.

A/N 2: Please let me know if still want to be tagged and what I can improve, I really want to improve my writing and make it even better. Also sorry for all the mistakes in my writing I hope at least it readable (couldn’t ask my husband to proofread)

Tatum stood outside Claire’s door listening to the person on another side of the phone call he just received. His heart thumped rapidly, while the words finally sank in, echoing in his head with persistent consistency. He never thought that these words, the words he wanted to hear for months now will become a burden and he will need to deal with the consequences of his earlier rush decision. The one he made even before he saw Claire... before his old, buried feelings resurfaced with a new-founded strength... before their first kiss and the last... and before he knew that she is in danger not only from some paparazzi, but in actual danger and all he could think of now was that he needed to protect her at all cost. Not to run to another part of the planet like a coward far away from her, but to stay by her side like a man.

Distantly, he could still hear Winston speaking. Heard him vaguely, describing the opportunity he will get with the transfer, but all he could think was Claire and the taste of her lips. The unforgettable taste of the peach lemonade on a summer's day. And all he could wish for was to stay only to keep her safe.

“...Are you taking me off Claire’s security detail?” Tatum finally managed to squeeze through the overexcited chattering of Winston. “No, sir. That’s... I mean...,” tried to say Tatum, but Winston interrupted him every time when he tried to say more than a couple of words. God... thought Tatum closing his eyes in irritation. This guy speaks even faster than Claire, and I thought she is a chatty one. The small momentary smile appeared on his face before quickly disappearing, when he thought of the girl he didn't want to say goodbye to... The memory of their last goodbye flashes in front of his eyes, drowning out the chatter for a while.

He steps closer to her. Her hands in his, his head bent down and he presses his lips just to the corner of her's, lingering there for a moment longer. And he knows that it’s goodbye. Wanting to be brave enough and kiss her fully. But knowing that if he would do that they both would pay the price and he wasn’t brave enough to risk her happiness. He used it all just to come here... he risked it all just to see her for the last time. So instead he hugs her firmly as if he knows that he will never come back..

The red lilies still in his hand waiting to be laid on his mother’s grave. The white roses placed on the grave of Claire’s dad. And his hands wrapped tightly around her waist, watching at two graves next to them. Two lives that were lost and he has no illusions that this will be any different. Her face is buried in the crook of his neck, feeling how she crumbled in his arms, and her body shook with tears. Wishing to be brave enough to stay. Wishing to keep the promise, he never made.

“That’s great. Thank you,” said Tatum absentmindedly pulled back from the memory, knowing that there is no point to argue. Hoping that Claire will be able to change their mind, if she will want him to stay... that’s it... thought Tatum, if she would want him to stay.

He sighed, pressing his forehead to the wooden door before softly tapping at it and entering her bedroom with a heavy heart, feeling as if it would break in half from a single sight of Claire. So instead he lowers his gaze at the floor, not able to meet hers, knowing that she would see straight through his stoic facade in a matter of seconds.

“Come to say goodbye?” said Claire, and he could hear the hurt and pain in her voice, that she desperately tried to hide, but it was so evident in her eyes that he couldn’t miss it, when he looked up.

“How did you...?” asked Tatum, the shock clearly written on his face, while his heart skipped a beat.

“If you don't want me to hear your private phone calls, don’t take them right outside,” Claire said, averting his piercing gaze.

“It wasn’t private. I had no idea Winston was planning a reassignment for me,” confessed Tatum. It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t a truth, at least not the whole one. He should have told her before, should have confessed how desperately, the first two weeks, he wanted to go back. He hated it here at first, but then... but then that damn almost a kiss, the slightest press of her lips to the corner of his, after he walked her back to the State Dinner at Dionne’s Estate, and he knew that he was a goner. And he also knew that the look of pain, and loss, and fear would have broken him. The fear he saw before, five years ago. The fear of losing him as she did her father... the same as he did his mom.

“Do you think someone found out about us?” The question breaks through his thoughts making him snap to reality.

“As far as I’m aware, no one knows,” said he, musing if that is why they were sending him away, but quickly shaking this thought off. She doesn’t know about the reassignment request, reminds he himself. And he knows despite everything that he deserved the promotion. The issue is... he doesn’t want it anymore. The silence hangs between them, after he finally speaks, confessing that he requested it a month ago, and it hurt as hell, when he looked into her eyes, the moment after confession.

“Are you that unhappy as my head of security?” asked Claire, the hurt in her eyes deepens even more, making them look like pools of dark chocolate with shots of aged intoxicating whiskey.

“I’m not unhappy, Claire. I filed that request back when I was first assigned here, back when all I could think about was returning to the military career I’d worked so hard for.” sighed Tatum, wondering when was the exact moment when his dreams have changed, when the young boy finally grew up leaving behind his dream. Wondering when he realised that this is exactly the place where he wants to be. His eyes meeting Claire’s looking how realisation downs on her and her eyes softens, becoming a tiny shade lighter than they were before, but her words aren’t what he expected to hear and they are a complete opposite from what he wanted to say.

“And this is your chance to do that. To follow in your mom’s footsteps...,” she murmured stepping closer to him. Her eyes locked with his, mesmerising him, captivating, and he wants to scream... to tell her that this is not what he wants... not what he wishes for. At least not anymore... not after he walked into her life again. Not after she stormed into his, attacking him with the damn crown, making him pin her to the ground losing himself into her deep chocolate eyes. But he cannot say a word. His head bends slightly giving her a nod, as if admitting the lie she just said. Not a lie... but the truth, that just stopped to be it, unbeknown to her.

And instead of refuting her words, he just confirms what she feared. “They’re offering me a promotion. A big one. I didn’t expect it.”

“I guess people just don’t say ‘no’ to that sorta thing, huh?” she said. Her voice slightly cracked, but she smiled anyway even though he could catch the glimpses of glistening tears welling at the corners of her eyes, while she looked to the ground. Making him feel all the pain and all the loss she felt.

“Just a month ago this news would’ve meant everything to me. But now...”

“Now?” asked Claire. Her eyes met his, and he could swear that he could hear how her breath hitched from the intensity of his gaze and from the hope he wasn’t ready to give her.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you,” after a moment of silence admitted Tatum, knowing that here was no way he could hide it from her.

He could feel how his heart ached looking at Claire across the room, too far away and not too far enough to miss how her body stiffened. Knowing that she wanted to cross the room and to kiss him hard... fiercely. The same way he wanted to kiss her.

His gaze dropping to her mouth, noting how her teeth dig into her bottom lip, not missing the slightest shake in its curve, but in the midst of this, missing the most important message her eyes send him... that just like him not wanting to leave her, she didn’t want him to leave either. Both restraining themselves from saying what they really wanted.

“You should go. I want you to go,” whispered Claire in a barely audible whisper, and he could swear that he felt how his heart broke and the sound of shattering pieces deafened him with pain. She wants him to go, he thought. His fists clenching, and despite how badly it hurted he still forced himself to smile softly and to ask her the next question, as no matter what, he still cares for her deeply.

“What about you?”

“The rest of the security team will keep me safe,” she shrugged, stepping a bit closer, slowly closing the distance between them.

“CoCo...,” he muttered, also taking a step in her direction, their gazes locked, not able to look away, while he continued to speak. “I hate the thought of letting you down,” he tries again, hoping that she will ask him to stay, that she wants him to stay. Hurting so much, that he misses another glimpse of pain flashing in her eyes covered by determination just a split second later.

“You’ll only let me down if you abandon your dream career for me,” said Claire, taking another step closer.

“So... you’re saying I should go?” whispered he, another step closer to her.

“Yes. You should be keeping thousands of people safe, not just one... me,” whispered Claire. Her eyes stinging with tears, but she blinked them away. Her gaze holds his, while he finally takes a deep breath and nods, as if admitting defeat.

“Then this really is goodbye,” said Tatum, taking the last step closer to her. His heart thumping loudly, and his fingertips brushing against hers.

“Right now?” blurted Claire, and he could feel how her hands started to shake against his, just slightly, but enough for him to feel it.

“The reassignment is effective immediately. Winston’s already sent someone to cover my shift,” admitted Tatum, the pain aching in him. And he would want to look away, but he cannot force himself to do that. His eyes locked with hers, feeling enchanted by her, mesmerised. Feeling that he cannot resist her anymore... needing to kiss her for the last time.

Their hearts heavy, taking that last tiny step toward each other. Trying not to imagine anyone else standing guard outside Claire’s door... not wanting to imagine anyone else.

Feeling how his breath hitches, when Claire put her hands on his shoulder, drawing him into a kiss. He doesn’t resist, his arms circling her tightly as if holding for the dear life, not wanting to let her go.

And he kisses her softly despite the firmness of his grip. His lips flutter against Claire’s, and he pauses, raising a hand to stroke her cheek, the three little words ready to leave his lips, but he pushes them back, knowing that they would hurt them both even more.

“Just... don’t forget me,” said Claire. Her voice came rough and raw... and desperate. And he fears that she will ask him something else he cannot give her or promise, but she doesn't.

“Never did, never will,” whispered Tatum against her lips. His voice like a gentle caresses to her shredded soul... like a soft whisper of meadows on a windy day. His way to say I love you, when the words are failing him.

And he kisses her with all the passion of a man who knows he’ll never see her again. His tongue sliding against hers, trying to memorise every single thing about her. Her taste, her scent, her touch. Kissing her fierce and sloppy, hard and rough. The way it would hurt and bruise her soft lips. The way it will make her remember him and never forget. The selfish kiss of a man who dies. The last kiss of the man who lives. And he could feel the taste of salt blossoming across their tongues, the mix of his and hers. Not able to tell for certain which of them shed the first tear.

Claire’s arms wrap around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair, while he squeezes her lower back desperately, pressing her body as close as possible.

Finally, he pulls away, trailing his hands along her sides as he reluctantly releases her. Trying to memorise her every curve. To remember her every dip. His heart aching knowing that this is goodbye. Not knowing if he would ever come back or will he be brought in a metal casket with honours... but it isn’t a death he is afraid of... oh no... the fear that he has... the one that he desperately tried to push back from the moment he got off his phone call was the fear that something will happen with her and he wouldn’t be here to protect her. The same way as he wasn’t there during her first attack near the lake.

Finally Tatum takes a step back. His stoic expression belying the sadness Claire sees in his eyes. The sadness and fear, but in the midst of this she still misses the most important message in his eyes: he doesn’t want to leave her...

“Well... I guess I should be going. Paperwork to file and all that,” finally said Tatum with a sigh, reluctantly walking to the door, when he turns to her for the last time, watching how the last drop of tear falling from her eyelashes.

“Yeah. I’ll... see you around,” finally whispered Claire.

He opens his mouth to respond... wanting to tell her that it's unlikely, but he closes it before resolutely walking out of her room without another glance... knowing that if he will look back, he may never leave. His heart aching, and his pulse thumping loudly.

And he does not look back as the sight of her standing like that is achingly familiar and he knows that the single look at her will hurt as nothing else did. He saw her like that, all these five years ago. Him walking away, while she stood at his mother’s grave, looking at him with the teary smile, watching him to walk away from her life as he was doing now. Hoping against the hope that he will be lucky again. Her hands wrapped around her waist, wishing it didn't hurt so much this time. But it did hurt the hell even more.

The next day, it didn’t hurt any less. His every movement was followed by the memory of her tears and the pain he saw in her eyes the second before turning to leave her bedroom. So opposite of the picture of her hidden in the depth of his duffel bag, the one that will accompany him wherever he will be sent. The chocolate eyes with the wrinkles of laugh around them and the teasing smile forever captured on the white paper, so opposite from tears and pain in her eyes that will be ached in his memory.

He numbly took his duffel bag checking his carefully hidden treasure before walking to meet with his commanding officer in Dean’s office. His thoughts solely on Claire, while he listened to his orders. The tears in her eyes and the shake in her fingers. The way she looked at him. And the way she kissed him, while he kissed her in return. The soft caresses of their lips before turning into inferno.

He hoped, while on his way to Vancross's private airport, that when the reality will settle down it will hurt a little bit less and that he will be okay... that she will be okay. But it still hurt the same. And he knew that no matter how long time will pass it still will hurt the same, no less… probably even more.

His heart thumping loudly, singing a sad melody, while the image of her following his every move throughout the airport. Her eyes, the colour of the warm coffee and childhood memories. Her soft lips, that always taste like a peach lemonade on a hot summer day. Her smile, the one that warms him every time, whenever it reaches her eyes. And her voice, the telltale melody of her emotions storming inside of her. The one way of telling how she really feels. And the one that he can hear even now calling for him, with the notes of panic and hope colouring it.

His steps falter just slightly, while he walks to the gate, reliving the events of the past month. Their first meeting and their goodbye... their first kiss and their last... their scandal and their escape. And the way she didn’t wanted him to get hurt, same way as he would do anything to keep her safe.

He shakes his head, when he hears her again calling for him in desperation, piercing through his fogged mind, reaching out for him. And he is almost sure that he hears things, until he hears his name called for a third time.

“Tatum wait!” He hears, and he stops dead, slowly turning to face Claire.

Tagging: @choices-bound @jamespotterthefirst @mercury84choices @k2624 @thefrenchiemama @choicesreal @starrystarrytrouble @boneandfur @walkerswhiskeygirl @sophxwithers @ramseysrookiex @suitfer

#tatum x mc #tatum x f!mc #tatum mendoza #foreignaffairs #choices foreign affairs #anonymous request

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yutahoes · 3 years

Text

Mono no Aware

(Part Four)

Intro - One - Two - Three - Four

Mono No Aware, ‘the pathos of things’, a melancholic appreciation of the transiency of existence. That fleeting moment when you realized that something you love is bound to disappear. Like life.

pairing : grim reaper! Yuta Nakamoto x female doctor! Reader

chapter word count : 1k words

chapter genre : angst

chapter warning : mention of death, mention of blood, cursing

author’s note: I’m sorry for some medical inconsistencies. The medical practices are just something that I just researched in the internet or watched in snippets of medical dramas. Special thanks to @mel-yjh for answering my medical related questions.

The moment Y/N entered the hospital doors, she immediately tied her hair in a ponytail. Doyoung is waiting for her with a clipboard at hand. "Sorry. I know it's your day off but the patient doesn't want a male surgeon." He said while walking to the elevators. "And all the other female surgeons are unavailable at the moment."

"What happened? Is she scared of guys?"

Doyoung nodded. "A trauma in guys. She was sexually assaulted. We didn't know so the head doctor gave her to me." He explained that made her nod. "It's an easy surgery. You'll do well."

And that's the assurance she needed right now.

Once the elevator doors opened, a female nurse was running to them. "Doc. Doc. The patient…" Y/N had to look at Doyoung before running to the emergency room.

The machine was already beeping signaling that her vitals are unstable. The whirring sound of suction can be heard, she's losing a lot of blood already. This is bad. They should have waited before doing a surgery. Doyoung was right, it is a simple surgery at first but the risks now are really bad. She needed to do something.

She cannot let this patient die in her hands once again.

Y/N isn't that smart, that was Doyoung. But she listens attentively in class and even does her best to learn about things that aren't taught to them. She thinks that was the attribute that convinced the head doctor to accept her in this hospital.

She did her best to save the patient. Desperate to not add blood on her hands. "Doc, the vitals are already stable." She breathed hard in relief.

She's safe. She's fine. You did it, Y/N. She kept saying to herself. The assurance she badly needed right now.

The patient is fine but the frightened feeling didn't leave her. She's so scared that something bad will happen. What if another complication happens? What if the surgery isn't as successful as she thought it was? What if she dies in her hands again?

A chilling breeze passed her, sending goosebumps along her body. What is this she's feeling right now? When she looked up from the floor, she saw a man standing at the doors of the emergency room. The guy at the coffee shop. Ambulance guy. But wait, no one is allowed to enter this room.

"What are you doing here? Only medical…"

"You can see me?" There was confusion both in his voice and expression. She nodded at the question. "You can really see me?" He asked once again then glanced at the watch on his wrist.

His actions were odd. Why does he keep saying that? He's human. Of course, she can see him. "Doc." One of the nurses from the surgery called. "I thought you're leaving." She said that made her nod, staring at the man who was just looking at the two of them. "What are you looking at?"

She can't see him?

Y/N shook her head. "I'm leaving. Thank you for today. Great job."

Is she crazy? She's seeing things that others cannot see?

"Follow me." The man said. This is bad. She might be really crazy. But why is she even following him?

Even if they were passing a lot of people, no one seemed to notice him. Whereas, some of them gave her a greeting or a smile.

Is he really invisible? Is she the only one who can see him?

And why are they suddenly on the rooftop? All alone? "Can you really see me?"

"Can you stop asking that question?" She whispered. "What are you? Are you a ghost?" The man shook his head. "Maybe a figment of my imagination? Am I crazy?"

"You're not."

"You're scaring me."

"I'm not here for you." Not here for her? What does he mean? He's here for someone else? Why? "Ahn Minjoo." He mumbled while staring at his watch. "Her pin is gone."

Ahn Minjoo? Her patient earlier? "She's safe. She finished surgery."

"You saved her?" Y/N nodded that made the guy sigh. "She's supposed to die."

What the hell is this guy saying? Anger was bubbling inside her. "There are some complications but she's safe now. She won't die." How dare he say that her patient will die? "Ahjussi, who the hell are you?"

He shook his head. "Nevermind." He whispered then turned his back to her. "There's no soul to claim anyways." A soul to claim? What exactly is this guy?

She still has a lot of questions. And before he could leave, Y/N held his wrist to stop him. A strong wind blew when their skin touched and she felt her head throbbed that instant.

Her skin felt warm yet so cold. She could smell the faint scent of blood and hear metals scratching against each other, her vision blurred as a person held her in his arms. "Please save yourself," she whispered as her vision turned black.

"Y/N," Doyoung called when she opened her eyes. "Are you alright?" She nodded, sitting up from the bed.

She knew this place, even coming here a lot of times before. But why is she in a hospital room? "What happened?"

The male doctor felt her forehead with the back of his hand. "You passed out outside the emergency room, Ms. Jang found you." She passed out? Outside the emergency room? "You didn't tell me you're sick. You have a high fever yet you have done surgery. That's amazing Y/N."

"Is she safe?"

Doyoung nodded. "She's fine. She's in recovery now."

She nodded. "I'm glad she's fine."

"Take some rest. You can call the nurses if you want anything." She giggled at that, arguing that she's not a patient. "You're not. But I don't want death to come to you, Y/N. So take care of yourself." Doyoung closed the lights and gently closed the door that left her alone.

She felt a sharp pain in her head as a silhouette of a guy's back flashed on her mind.

Death.

In the form of a man.

Five

Next chapter will be longer, I promise. I’ve only written until chapter six, I think. And so far, the story is becoming really frustrating (I’m so bad in slow burn stories 😣) Feedbacks are highly welcomed. Please do tell me what you think although the story isn’t even progressing well. 😂

taglist : @readers-posts @ailoveyuta @aiforyuu @ytzvivi @mel-yjh @shiningstar-byulxx @cosmiclatte28 @kyuwoyo (please send me a dm, a comment, or an ask if you want to be tagged)

#yuta #yuta chaptered #yuta angst #yuta nakamoto #yuta nakamoto chaptered #yuta nakamoto angst #nakamoto yuta #nakamoto yuta chaptered #nct yuta #nct 127 yuta

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ka-za-ri · 4 years

Text

Descent Pt. 1

I told myself I was gonna take a break. I lied. I wanted to write a whole bin of Sin for Simeon. I’m sorry, not sorry at all. Let me know if you want to be a part of the tag list: Chapter Masterlist: Here Crossposted on Ao3: here Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10]

Paring: Simeon x Reader Wordcount: 4,900 ish Genre: Smut Tags: Masturbation, Voyeurism, hints of dirty talk? Summary: Sent from the Celestial realm to observe and study humans; Simeon made a name for himself as the illustrious author of The Tales of the Seven Lords. After reaching acclaim for his first series, he's having trouble writing his next great hit. Good thing you're there for him as his manager and editor to help him work out the... kinks in writing.

Trip

The most dangerous aspect of humans was their innate ability to tempt even the most stalwart and steadfast of angels into a world of sin. Simeon was not immune to their ways, no matter how reclusive he became. It was easy to study them from afar, learning about them through numbers and sales numbers. The masses were easy to sway with a few pretty words. Blending in with humans was a trivial task for him. All he had to do was make a few public appearances for book signings and some launch parties for a new series; otherwise he was free to observe and study from afar.

After the international success of The Tale of The Seven Lords, Simeon found himself feeling rather empty. He needed a new project to keep him entertained in the human realm. However, no matter what he started to work on, it didn’t inspire the same sort of passion he had for his older series. He needed a new genre, a new style of writing to refresh his passion for words. If he was going to make it in an ever changing market, he would need to adapt as well. Yet, no matter what genre he tried, every draft he came up with seemed too mundane and overdone.

Everything except, for the temptation of writing something much more salacious than his last work.

Just entertaining the thought had him on a slippery slope of falling from the grace of the Celestial realm. Sure, the strict protocols of olde had been loosened over the centuries. Many angels realized that enforcing perfect adherence to the standards of purity set so long ago no longer applied to modern times. Rules had been loosened and enforcement had relaxed to the point where Simeon was almost positive if he wrote an absolutely obscene novel, he didn’t risk losing his Celestial powers.

The only problem was that he had no experience in the genre at all. He threw together a vague plot and outline, thinking it would be all he needed to inspire him. Surprisingly enough, the publishing house allowed for the drastic change in genre, confident that he would be able to create another best seller. Just having that much trust put in him made him want to succeed even more with the haphazard novel idea.

But, despite his determination to make his new manuscripts lewd, he was at a complete loss as to what, and how to write them properly. The outline he presented to you seemed excellent on paper. Even if it had a few plot holes, you knew he could patch them up with a little work. So, it was natural that you would push the approval and leave him to his own devices to work on the manuscript. You were sure that an author of his caliber would be able to break into a new branch of the literary market without any issues.

But, after several months of waiting, you had no contact at all from him regarding the progress of his new book. The industry needed proof of his work in order to justify their investment in him. Being so renowned, the pressure was on him to create something magnificent. You could only imagine the kind of stress he was going through and as his manager and editor, you were responsible for making sure he met deadlines. You hated to rush his process, but there was no way he could meet the dates set by the publisher if he didn’t give you something to work with soon.

After trying to reach out to him several times by phone and email with little to no response, the only option left was to go to his abode and see just what he was hiding from. No other outline he submitted had passed so this was his one and only chance to continue his writing career. You patiently waited after knocking on his door, hoping he would answer and wasn’t going to ignore you any further. You knew how serious writer’s block could be; but you hoped he wouldn’t let that get in the way of being a professional.

Luckily, the door opened soon enough and you were ushered in by an extremely tired and frazzled looking Simeon. He lead you to his office after you had taken off your shoes and changed into the guest slippers he offered. Simeon didn’t speak to you during the whole exchange, a shell of the soft spoken and attentive author you had come to know after so many years of working with him. He shuffled into his office, an obvious slouch in his posture and slumped behind his desk before gesturing at the empty chair across from him.

“I’m guessing you know why I’m here.” You said and he sighed in resignation, burrowing his head in his hands and running them through his hair. You felt terrible adding stress onto him, he looked ragged, like he hadn’t slept in days. The bags under his eyes were so dark, they almost looked like deep bruises.

“Yes… You want a manuscript…” his normally soft voice sounded hoarse and you wondered if he had eaten or drunken anything at all that day. “I’m almost done with the first draft… would you like to come and see?” He turned his laptop towards you and you started reading what he had so far.

All seemed well and good at first. The characters were believable and the premise, though a bit cheesy, was definitely acceptable for the genre. The further you read, the more you noticed large gaps in his writing. Whole paragraphs seemed to be missing and sentences ended midway. Dialog was left unfinished and by the time you reached the end of the first chapter, it was a mess. You could already feel the inevitable headache you were going to get from editing for him.

“Uhm…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not my best work.”

He tried to smile, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. You reached out to him and held his hand, rubbing your thumb in reassuring circles on his palm. “You’ve worked hard on it, still. What’s got you so hung up though?”

He got a little flustered at your question, nervously running his hand through his hair and looking to the side. Writing such a topic with no experience in it was proving to be difficult for him. He could research all he wanted and consume all the media he could to aid him, but there was just something missing. His lack of knowledge was showing and he wasn’t sure how he could keep being composed about his failure so far. He gestured at the screen and shrugged, trying to get his message across without using words; but, when he saw your confused expression, he had to speak. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” he finally admitted. “I want to write this so badly, but I don’t know how to… describe the scenes the way I want to.”

You sat back in the chair, crossing your arms over your chest and nodding. You could only imagine the difficulty he was having in producing the quality content you were sure he was used to coming up with. With deadlines looming above your head, you needed at least a chapter to submit to the publishing house so they knew actual work was being done. You sighed, trying to think of ways to jump start his creativity. The gloomy atmosphere of his office didn’t seem help. The lights were dim and the curtains were all drawn. It didn’t feel like a place that could invoke the imagery he was going for. “Let’s move somewhere.” you suggested finally. “Do you have a room with lots of sunlight? Maybe a change of mood will help.”

“Ah… there’s the sunroom..” he said. “But I don’t know if just changing where I am writing will help the situation. If it hasn’t gotten done here, I doubt it will anywhere else.”

“Just try it.” you encouraged, already unplugging his laptop and taking it with you. “It’s so gloomy in here, even I’m getting depressed just sitting around. Come on, which way is it?”

“Ah… this way.” He said, shamefully shuffling out from behind his desk and showing you the way to the sunroom which overlooked a rather well manicured garden with a variety of flowers in full bloom. You marveled at the bright, airy feel of the room and took a second to really appreciate his choice in decor.

“Wow, would have never pegged you as the kind of guy who gardens.” You teased, flopping onto the couch he had in there and lounged in its plush confines. Looking through the glass ceiling, you watched a few clouds drift by while Simeon got comfortable in a recliner in the corner of the room. You could tell he was still a bit frustrated, but you knew getting him some sun would do him good.

“Well, when I don’t have any pressing deadlines, being with the plants helps relieve stress. It’s unfortunate that I cannot give you a tour this time.”

“There’s plenty of opportunities in the future. They’re not going anywhere, and neither am I. You know I’m going to keep hounding you until your manuscript is finished.”

He chuckled, nodding and opening up his laptop. You let silence pass between the two of you, going back to watching the clouds while the sound of his fingers flying across the keyboard lulled you into a daydream like state. You grabbed onto one of the large, decorative pillows he had on the couch, clutching it against your chest while you made up stories in your head about the clouds above. If you weren’t so stressed about turning something into the publishing house so soon; it would have been a perfect, calming afternoon.

The clack of the keyboard stopped after a little bit. Whatever inspiration Simeon had when he entered the room seemed to have fizzled out and he was stuck in yet another rut, writing one word and deleting it over and over again. You sighed, turning to watch him as he gnawed on his thumb, mumbling to himself.

“What’s not working?” You asked, your curiosity piqued.

“Just… this scene… it’s not working. I can’t envision it.” He grumbled. Looking up at where you were laying on his couch, clutching onto the pillow, he was suddenly struck by a brilliant plan. The worry lines on his forehead disappeared and he broke out into a slight smile when he realized how he could get his creative juices flowing. “Help me… I need inspiration.”

You sat up straight, ready to assist in any way you could. “Okay, what do you want me to do?” You asked.

Simeon squinted, in the right light, you looked similar to the main character he had written. His plan could work if you reenacted the scene he had in mind. The issue was actually explaining the scene to you in a way that didn’t make his body feel overheated. He was already playing with fire by writing such a lewd book, pushing his limits further felt like he was sliding right down a slope heading towards a great fall. There was no other way, he reasoned. As long as I do not defile her, it’ll be fine. Taking a deep breath, he got up from where he was and walked over to you.

“I need you to…. Uhm… Well.. how do I say this… I’m having trouble writing a love making scene and I need some… visual aids.” You blinked, processing his request and then looked him up and down, feeling your whole body heat up at once. You were sure you had kept your crush on him a secret. To have him ask you so suddenly to provide visual aid for an explicit novel felt like too big of a jump for you to comprehend. “Oh… Oh no, no, no. You don’t have to do anything with me.” He said, gesturing wildly when he saw you pointedly stare at his crotch. “You can just pretend that this is the ‘lover.’” He took the pillow from your arms and laid it on the couch.

You didn’t know if you should have felt relived or disappointed that he wanted you to reenact a sex scene with a pillow and not him. It was all quite a bit to take in, but the desperate pout on his face was something you couldn’t ignore. And both your jobs were on the line. You sighed in resignation. “Okay, okay… But only because we have deadlines coming up.” You said. “You’re lucky you’re cute. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”

Simeon smiled for the first time that day, hurriedly moving back to his computer and preparing to take notes on what you were doing. “I’m ready when you are.” he announced once he opened up a separate document.

“You sure you don’t want me to just, you know… do you?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow as you started to undress. It was embarrassing for sure; but part of you relished in seeing Simeon so flustered when it came to the nature of lewd things. You wondered why he had bothered submitting such an outline at all when he wasn’t familiar with how to write erotica; but his determination to branch out to other genres had won you over in the end. It just fell upon your shoulders to show this man how it was done.

“I… No… I can’t. I need to write.” He stuttered. Do not defile her, do not defile her. Her womb is sacred and not something you can toy with… Even if he wanted the first hand experience, he still had rules to abide by.

“Alright, whatever you say. You’re the boss.” You shrugged, unbuttoning your blouse. “Don’t forget, part of the sexiness is in the tease.” You explained, taking your time to sway your hips side to side as each button came undone. Trying to seduce a pillow was so much more boring than trying to seduce Simeon. The things I do for this job…

You made sure to waggle your ass as you peeled off your pants, tossing them to the side along with your blouse. There was something thrilling about being in a room made of glass. Any woodland creature that decided to come visit his garden at that moment would also get an eyeful of your progressively bare body. The rush of having Simeon watch you as you stripped had your heart racing.

At the very least, you knew your efforts weren’t in vain. You could hear the furious clacking of the keyboard as you gave the pillow in front of you a sultry look. As lame as it all was, it was still rather arousing to know you were being watched by the man who you had crushed on for so long now. “Alright… sir. I’m going to need you to lay down. You have a problem that only I can take care of.” You said to the pillow. You tried hard not to laugh at how ridiculous the scenario was. It wouldn’t do to break the mood, especially when you could tell Simeon was definitely getting some writing done.

You got back onto the couch, straddling the pillow between your legs once you were in nothing but your underthings. Licking your lips, you pretended that Simeon was under you and not the decorative cushion. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel his lean body under your own, squirming in discomfort as you took control of the scenario. There was just something about how gentle and soft spoken he was that made your heart flutter with the need to dominate him until he was a flushed, moaning mess.

Using that fantasy in your mind, you slowly started to gyrate your hips onto the pillow, throwing your head back and moaning. “Oh yes…” You breathed, pleasantly surprised at the stimulation you got from the friction of your panties rubbing against your spread core. You hummed, content with the thought of Simeon holding onto your hips to keep your steady. If he wanted to watch, then you were going to give him the best show available.

You grasped at your breasts, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your bra until they were sensitive little buds that made you gasp. As you continued to grind against the pillow, you could feel your essence starting to flow, no doubt you were going to leave quite a substantial wet mark on the pillow if you continued. You wanted to pause and warn Simeon of what was about to happen; but when you turned and saw the look of concentration on his face, you didn’t dare break his focus.

He’ll just have to deal with it later… You figured going back to that happy place in your mind where the writer in front of you was actually under you. Closing your eyes, you imagined what it would be like to hear him moan as you pressed your heat against his cock. Surely he must sound absolutely angelic when he cums. Pushing slipping your hands under your bra, you pushed the fabric away, peeled it off your skin and threw it into a random corner to pick up later. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.” You purred, looking down at the cushions below you, wishing you had something sexier to talk dirty to; but you would have to make do with what you had.

Leaning down, you grabbed a pillow to act as your ‘lovers’ head and started to kiss it. It was so hard to ignore just how disappointing it was to make out with a lump of fabric and not the beautiful man in the corner who was so engrossed with his writing, you might as well have been invisible to him. You could only use your imagination to fantasize about how soft Simeon’s lips must be. He always took such good care of his skin and he had an ethereal glow about him, as if he was blessed by the sun itself. You moaned into the pillow, hating the rough canvas you were pressed up against, but at least your pussy was getting something out of how much you were humping the pillow.

You came up, gasping for air after having half smothered yourself with a pillow and glanced over at Simeon again. Even as he was furiously typing, you could see that he was at least a little affected by the show you were putting on. Good, I would have hated myself if he’s not even a smidgen turned on by this. You smirked, looking down at your ‘lover’ and pretended to whisper sweet nothings to them before getting off the couch.

Simeon made a small sound of protest when he saw that you were no longer straddling the pillow, but he quickly shut up when he saw that you were divesting yourself of your panties. “Oh… carry on.” He mumbled, going back to his document, though his eyes continuously flicked up towards you to make sure he was capturing the moment properly.

Feeling your bare pussy rub against the rough fabric of the pillow sent shivers of pleasure up and down your body and you moaned, riding it harder than before. The stimulation was great, but it wasn’t enough. Really, you wanted to have Simeon buried balls deep in you and not at his computer. However, your priority was your job and that meant sticking to what you had to work with. “Fuck…” You groaned, clenching your inner walls around nothing and wishing that you had at least a toy to fill you up and give you something to ride.

You ground against the pillow, your essence soaking the fabric and leaving a sizable wet mark, but you didn’t care. It was all the stimulation you could get and you were going to work it for all it was worth. One hand went back up to your breast, rolling your pert nipple between your thumb and forefinger, whining at the mixture of pain and pleasure you were giving yourself. “Yeah… you like watching me touch myself, babe?” You asked no one in particular; but truthfully, you hoped Simeon was really enjoying what he saw and heard..

His fingers on the keyboard never ceased moving as he vividly described the scene before him. He was so wrapped up in his work, he didn’t even notice himself getting hard. There was too much to write and no time to think about the attention the rest of his body was asking for. He licked his lips, his gaze constantly going back and forth from the document to your body. You were acting out the scene so well, he couldn’t stop writing; he needed to record every detail. You were everything he had imagined his main character to be; effortlessly confident, commanding in the bedroom and dripping with sex appeal. Even if it was a spur of the moment suggestion, he had no regrets considering he was getting so much more writing done in the last half hour than he had in the past two months.

Your breathing came out in short little pants as you tried to chase a release that just wouldn’t come with so little to work with. You reached between your legs to fondle your sensitive clit, groaning loudly as you made love to yourself. You didn’t know how long the scene was supposed to be, but your thighs were getting tired of riding an inanimate object and you just wanted to get off now.

“Mm fuck.. You feel so good…” You breathed, closing your eyes and imagining Simeon sliding inside of you. The first pass must feel so good. You fantasized about lowering yourself onto his cock slowly letting him savor every inch that entered you. In your head, his bright blue eyes glittered in lust, watching his dick disappear into you until your hips met and he would moan at the feeling of being completely buried in you. “Yeah… just like that…” You moaned, rubbing circles at your clit while your inner walls clenched rhythmically at air.

You went back to dragging your pussy across the fabric of the pillow smearing your essence all over to get as much out of the scenario as you could. Your fingers rubbed your clit harder, pushing you ever closer and closer to release. “Oh… Oh… I’m so close…” You whined, announcing your climax mere seconds before it happened. The last push you needed was looking over at Simeon and seeing him completely engrossed in what you were doing. His fingers frozen on the keyboard and his comfortable pants with a rather impressive tent in them.

“Fuck. Simeon.” you cursed, cumming all over the pillow. Your fingers slowed their pace around your clit, rubbing your labia back and forth as you rode out the orgasm. You fell forward onto the pillows beneath you, still slowly humping them while you let the initial high pass and the afterglow set in. It wasn’t until the haze of pleasure passed that you realized you had called his name while getting off on his couch in front of him.

Simeon swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way you called his name. Everything had gone smoothly until you had cried out for him while in the throes of your climax. He had stopped everything he was doing just mere moments before you did that; and now, he didn’t know if he had the mental capacity to continue with what he was writing.

For once, he was tempted to throw away whatever celestial blessings he had to take you and be the real reason why you screamed his name.

Shoving the indecent thoughts to the back of his head, he turned back to his document, writing a sentence and erasing it, repeating the action over and over again while his brain looped the beautiful image of you as you came on his couch. Now, he noticed the tightness in his pants, the obvious boner he sported as a result of such an experiment. But, he couldn’t be mad at it. He had achieved a groove in writing and he was sure he could finish the draft you needed in time.

Simeon let you rest a bit and gather yourself together on the couch. No doubt both of you were aware of the slip, but he could pretend it didn’t affect him as much as it did. Eventually, you had the courage to look back up at him, only to find him busily typing away at his computer. Sighing, and running your hand through your hair amused that he could stay so calm, you got up and started to get dressed. “So, I’m guessing moving somewhere else worked?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“Hmm… yes.” He agreed, half paying attention to what you were doing. He couldn’t bear to look at you while you were exposed and waited patiently until you were fully clothed until he made eye contact and spoke to you again. “I definitely got some good notes in. I’ll just need a little more time to flesh out some of the filler scenes and I’ll email you the draft in a couple of days.”

You let out a laugh, surprised that he was able to focus on work still after what he had just witnessed. He truly was as innocent as he presented himself to be sometimes. “Alright, well. I’ll look forward to reading it.”

“Will you be back?” he asked, looking at you with hopeful eyes. “You were so helpful, I think I might need more help for the rest of the book.” Not, like I want to see something like that again… No, I just need it for research purposes…

“You know I’ll be back.” You laughed heartily, ruffling his hair. “I have to bother you at least once a month to make sure you’re on schedule to finish.”

Simeon slouched into his chair and let out a soft laugh in relief. “Of course, how could I forget.” In his mind, he was already planning new scenarios for you to play out. There would be much more research to be done, and supplies to be obtained before your next visit. But, all those things could wait. For now, he closed his laptop, noticing how low on battery it had gotten.Time had slipped by him, the sun already well on its way past the horizon. “It’s getting late…” He commented, trying to change the subject to something a little safer than the masturbation session you just had in front of him.

“Yeah… I’ll get going and let you work in peace.” In a moment of bold recklessness, you stepped forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “See you next time, babe. Can’t wait to see what you’re gonna make me do for you.” you teased, giving him a coy wink before showing yourself out.

As soon as the door was firmly shut, Simeon let out a deep sigh, laughing out loud at the predicament he had put himself into. He wanted to quit everything and dissolve into the ground. He wanted to continue writing and see your body writhe in pleasure. He wanted to also defile you and sate himself inside of you. Most of all though, there was a growing darkness within him, one he didn’t even notice just yet; and that part of him craved to see you put in your place to beg for him like the god he knew he was.

Pushing all his desires down and curbing his lust for the time being, he moved his computer back to his office and let it charge for the rest of the evening. His mind still swirled with the image of your exposed body riding that pillow in the sunroom. The early evening sunset made your body glow with an almost angelic light; and for once, he felt jealous of an inanimate object.

Quietly padding back into the sunroom, he looked at the soiled cushion; feeling a surge of heat rush through him when he saw the wet spot you had left behind. Licking his lips, he approached it like it was a wild animal, tentatively poking at it. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend to still feel your warmth lingering on the fabric. He could feel shame rising up in him as he laid down on the couch, rested his head on the pillow and took a deep breath, memorizing the scent of your arousal.

His hand reached down between his legs, slipping past his pants and to his hard length that needed his attention. Turning his head to smother his moans and to surround himself with your unique smell, he teased and pleased himself, putting himself in the scenario you had played out just mere moments ago.

“Oh… oh fuck…” He groaned surprised at how little effort it took to make him cum and ruin his pants to the thought of you bouncing on his cock and calling his name. He was quickly falling down the deep end of temptation and he could feel the darkness of sin encroaching.

The scariest part was the fact that he didn’t care at all.

#Obey me #obey me smut #Simeon x Reader #Obey me fanfiction #Obey Me!#I just want to give this angel all the love and sex he deserves #11 planned chapters so far #Please enjoy the sin #my writing #obey me simeon

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cateringisalie · 3 years

Text

My list of bearable Binal Bantasy VII tags is thinning...

But seriously. Being skeptical of Tifa’s narration of past events is not without merit. By the time the Lifestream scene rolls around she has been through three comas and some grevious injuries. The Lifestream scene is as revelatory for her as it is for Cloud.

The new assertion she was in any way actually friends with Cloud is not only in conflict with the OG’s portrayal but counter to Cloud’s development, her development, the growth of their relationship as adults and why (in general) people have them stay together post game.

Its unnecessary, frustrating and further damaging Tifa’s character who is spinning off further from who she was.

That Tifa and Cloud were not actually childhood friends does not mean they do not have a relationship in FFVII. It does not mean they cannot be together. Tifa “falling in love” with Cloud at the water-tower does not for a second make their later relationship any more meaningful.

All this new ship information does is make the relationship have longer longevity than previously assumed. As if whichever relationship has lasted longer is betterer and stronger. As if this should automatically undercut any other relationship Cloud or Tifa can possibly experience.

(in fact - and darkly cynically - this feels a lot more like enforcing that Cloud/Tifa and Zack/Aerith operate in near exactly the same way. The pairs fall in love in record time (two years prior to the Nibelheim incident both times as far as I’m ware), the boys go missing and the girls never move on with their lives. I get the boys have gone missing without a shred of explanation or closure, but now for both of them people are willing to wipe out a quarter of their lives waiting. Teenagers are resilient you know? They will be inconsolable if this happened but they would bounce back a lot faster and cleaner than they would expect. The approval of the never moving on this is purely to keep the shipping uncomplicated. There can only be one pairing for Tifa, there can only be one pairing for Aerith. And if you think otherwise you’re wrong in canon. And who wants to write or read about a non-canon ship? Unless its yaoi/yuri in any case. I am so tired)

Childhood friends incidentally is not, however much some insist, a common trope of the series - unless you stretch it a fair amount and it encompasses a trivial number of the pairings. And none of the big ones (you know; Squall/Rinoa or Tidus/Yuna).

Could Tifa do with more backstory? Of course. Did Tifa’s mother deserve a name? Absolutely! But not like this. Not when Cloud helping round up cats in Remake is now tied to finding Tifa’s cat in a new authored backstory. This speaks again to the constant magpie-ing of existing imagery and moments from older parts of FFVII to feed the present. The retconning in of importance by changing the meaning of otherwise unimportant moments.

Tifa is not and never was under any obligation to like Cloud as a child. She did not bully him, but neither should she expected to involve him in anything she did. I understand the book has muddied this gloriously, but for what effect?

I mean, I know where the desperation to make Cloud and Tifa childhood friends stems from. I know why you want Cloud to have fallen in love with Tifa at like age 5 or something and for Tifa to fall in love with him at 13. And I rail against it all the time that its not necessary. Being first does not mean better.

Maybe I am old, cynical and exhausted, but I kind of like watching Cloud and Tifa grow closer in FFVII. I like watching Cloud and Aeris grow closer in FFVII. I like to experience these things where I can... experience them? I don’t like reading books which assert things in blunt statements that clarify exactly what the writer intended. I certainly don’t have the patience to wait for a later book to clarify what happened on-screen when I have drawn my own conclusions based on my preferences. Especially as this is all contributing to that continued sense that the OG is a smelly, badly designed embarrassment we would rather tiday away for the crime of being graphically inferior (never mind it was championed on its looks on release) and “goofy” (and apparently unable to run the gamut of emotions I remember from serious to comedy, to silly, to tragic, to pessimistic and quietly optimistic and moving).

I’m coming back to this point to stress it - I want to see the relationship growth. Remake gave me that for Aerith and Cloud even if the details aren’t to my taste. First meeting is awkward because hey, random stranger/Cloud is tired. Cloud gets involved and spends more time with Aerith. And the high-five thing is used as a clumsy/awkward/eh but clear metaphor for how their relationship develops over the course of their time together.

To the point that yes, it makes sense for Cloud to want to rescue her. Less sense for Elmyra and Tifa to be “Well they might not vivisect her” and then delay for two full chapters, but the whole thing flows.

And here’s where I get accused of being a fake fan: I don’t like how Cloud and Tifa’s relationship develops in Remake. Flirting. Tifa being mildly fazed by Cloud claiming its been five years. Scared when he almost kills Johnny. Maybe hurt depending on your resolution scene (hey podcast people! No Gold Saucer multiple dates because too expensive? How are there branched resolution scenes in Remake then?). But there isn’t growth. They seem to fit into each other’s lives without worry, bit of flirting, strange super-intense moments jammed into inappropriate sequences (the train roll, climbing the plate, Cloud remembering the promise unprompted, Tifa not actually engaged with Avalanche’s plans). There’s no sense anything has changed between them, the missed five years has done anything to them.

And I’m sure some would take this as proof of correctness. But... somehow Remake is better for realism despite a lot of new clumsy, but this relationship is not dinged for being implausible? No way does that five year gap not seriously impact any prior relationship to say nothing of developing from scratch.

See this was a neat thing about the OG; while Tifa seemed to have an edge over Aerith by knowing Cloud longer, he was in effect meeting them at the same point in his life and more or less starting from scratch with both. Both ships are valid, and even if Cloud is with Tifa come the end, it doesn’t mean he can’t have romantic feelings about both women.

Oh, but Nojima has changed his mind/always intended it this way. And? I can change my mind about liking what he’s written - and my patience and tolerance of Nojima has waned massively since 1997. To the point where his involvement invokes a pained groan from me.

Plus the hilarious attitude that this is from the same people who insisted “the OG will always be there, stop moaning about Remake”. Well guess what? I don’t like Remake and I don’t really want it around. The OG is better.

Yes, Tifa is under-served and sure, it could be clearer about shipping (but the apparent hostility to ambiguity and personal interpretation is deeply distressing. These things can mean something to you and don’t have to mean the same thing to everyone. Interpreting the romancs - again - not a competition).

BUT

I will take the OG version of Tifa where she believed in the cause, where she had friends (again, yes, the relationship between Tifa and the rest of Avalanche is not well depicted, but it was better than actively curtailing it), where she ran a bar THAT ACTUALLY OPENED AND SERVED CUSTOMERS, where she hated Shinra, where she didn’t know how to treat Cloud because she had only really talked to him once in her life and DESPITE THAT that they great closer and spent their last night before THE END OF THE WORLD together over the Remake.

Where Tifa is wary of Cloud for about 5 seconds, twice and then defaults to constant flirting. Where Cloud is near smothering Tifa every second they’re together and she doesn’t tell him to fuck off once. Where she’s allied with Avalanche but hates their methods (and the pacifists are in a shop around the corner and she is not with them because...?). Where she has some absurd contrived plot about medical bills and buying Seventh Heaven for Barret and Marlene.

Which would lead to a whole other rant titled “Marle is the Worst” but this has dragged on quite long enough.

But seriously; if you argue that we can’t hate Remake because OG is always there, then you have to stop applying Remake back to OG and using it as proof. Which is exactly why many people bemoaned the Remake at all. OG is one thing, Remake is another. I don’t care for the latter.

And I know if anyone does read all this it will be about the meanie Cleriths who diminish Tifa for no good reason. And yes, they are indeed acting in bad faith. But what makes you think for a second evidence will convince these people?

In particular, the argument has raged so long and always will because if people do not like a ship they will not accept it as canon (if they care about this as a factor) NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS. Literally. Look at Loki if you want the most recent example of this.

Canon is to many “what I want” and often does not tally with the general interpretation. And you know, if being “canon” or guessing right early wasn’t triumphed as such a vital thing, we might not get these really terrible and pointless arguments.

Canon is a prize but here’s the big secret: fandom - in general - does not care. FFVII is an excellent case example given Sefikura overwhelms the other ships (and I think AZGSC is close?). And that’s not canon. That’s not even in the ballpark of the Cloud/Tifa vs Cloud/Aerith arena (even give that the former is roughly twice the size of the latter, you already won, so please stop?). Canon is only important if you think its important - and you get some more official art of sequences you can gif. And maybe you get kissing/implied sex/marriage/kids, but most of all you get a smug sense of superiority. And the last is why I have no patience with this.

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booksforevermore13 · 3 years

Text

The monster within me (doesn't exist)

Summary: "Hate you?" Sirius pulled away and held Remus by his shoulders, "You ass, we could never hate you."

There's an unwritten rule in the stones that the Marauders stick together. No matter what. Remus learns that in his second year.

Author's Note: Just my version of how the Marauder's learn about Remus' furry little problem. Read it on Fanfiction if your prefer!

...

Remus had always loved the wind, for it came so boldly, rousing him to a wakefulness, an alertness, that let him savour each and every moment in the Forest despite the nearing torment.

In soft breezes, finer than silk, and smoother than water, it sang past the trees, sending the dried autumn leaves on a dancing funfair ride, hypnotic and beautiful. The warmth that had been in the wind just last week had either evaporated into the sky or leached into the earth, making way for the beguiling autumn breeze.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself in his mother's garden, listening to the birds chirping away and the slight buzz of the bees come to suck the nectar from his mother's begonias.

But he wasn't there.

Remus grunted as a jolt of pain snapped up his back, numbing his shoulders and sending nervous tingles down his spine. He stopped in his tracks and doubled over as his stomach lurched. His eyes teared up as webs of pain started slithering up his body, flaring up whatever they touched.

He should have gone to the Hospital Wing. The pain had started weeks before it should have and he knew he should have gone and informed Madam Pomfrey as soon as the first aches had started, but he hadn't. He hadn't because James and Sirius had been planning a prank for the last few weeks and Remus couldn't find it in himself to lie to them again, to say he had the flu when it was far from that. He needed a chance at normalcy, a chance at actually feeling human, and in his ridiculously miserable life where things rarely lasted, he needed every chance he could get.

Remus felt his legs give out as he fell on his knees, sure that he had scraped the skin off, but he hardly noticed. A blinding pain had started pulsing in his head, moving across his forehead until it became a constant, growing hum. A shriek left his throat as he collapsed completely, clutching his head, clutching his body as his bones snapped and his ankles turned all the way around, as his spine cracked and he bent backwards.

And then all he knew was pain.

...

White walls and white ceilings.

That's what he woke up to.

How Dickensian.

Remus' eyes ached as he looked around his small confined space, hidden from view by scratchy, white curtains.

Normally, he'd wake up to Madam Pomfrey looking at him, her grey irises tinged with concern and underlying pity. She'd ask how he felt and he'd answer 'fine' even though he felt far from fine, and she'd start fussing over him, giving him a dozen potions one after the other, so that in the end he felt as if he was munching on wet sand and wanted to throw up all over her spotless white curtains.

This time, however, there were no grey irises, no condescending questions and no potions. Nothing even remotely similar to what normally happened.

Remus' throat closed up in dread as he remembered the events of the previous night. He hadn't made it to the Shrieking Shack. He'd… he'd collapsed and… and he had screamed in pain but that was all he remembered.

This… this shouldn't have happened. Had he hurt anyone? Had he hurt…would Dumbledore expel him, now that he'd messed up?

He'd messed up. Merlin, he'd messed up so bad. He should have gone to Madam Pomfrey as soon as the pain had set in. A person like him didn't deserve normalcy, and now due to his own careless whims, someone could have been hurt. What if he had bitten someone?

Remus' breath grew haggard as the thought crossed his mind. He wouldn't be able to bear it if he was the reason someone else got turned. If someone else had to bear what he had to bear every single month. He couldn't have, could he?

Merlin, he felt like a monster. He was a monster.

Remus heard the curtains open and his head snapped to the right, expecting Madam Pomfrey to come hurrying in, her voice drowning out his thoughts as she fussed over him.

Instead, he met with crescent-shaped glasses, blue eyes behind them, but they didn't have the twinkle he associated them with. There was a grave expression on Dumbledore's face and Remus knew almost immediately that he'd ruined everything.

"Did I do something… did I hurt..." Remus managed to croak out, his throat constricted with tears.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus breathed in shakily and nodded as Dumbledore took a seat at the edge of his bed. He couldn't trust himself to talk, or else he knew he'd fall apart for ruining whatever he had left.

"No one was hurt, in answer to your question," Dumbledore said, and Remus let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

"—but I believe this time, it was different. More excruciating, I suspect."

Remus nodded, "I'm sorry I didn't come here earlier, this… this could have been—"

"Mr. Lupin, you were found on the edge of the Forbidden Forest by the centaurs. You were bleeding profusely, and had we not got you here the moment we did, you would not have survived."

Remus gulped, his hands shaking. "Are you going to expel me, Professor?" he asked, feeling sicker by the minute.

Dumbledore looked at him through his glasses, as if he was deciding Remus' fate that very second. "Had a student found you there, then things would have been very different. Calamatic, even. The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds, Mr. Lupin, and yet if you hadn't decided to take that certain path, then I believe there would have been casualties."

"There is no easy way to tell you this, Mr. Lupin, but the events that occurred last night could have gone very badly indeed. Kindly don't hesitate to refer to Madam Pomfrey if and when a situation arises not unlike this one."

When, he said when. Would this happen again?

Remus watched as Dumbledore got up from the bed, still peering at Remus through his thin glasses. He turned around to go, moving the curtains aside slightly, before facing Remus again.

"And no, Mr. Lupin, I will not be expelling you. Not today or anytime soon. We all make mistakes, Mr. Lupin, but this cannot be categorized as one."

Remus could have almost cried in relief, his chest lightening as Dumbledore stepped out of his corner, his robes trailing on the white ground.

Everything seemed to be white around here, much to Remus' distaste.

"I believe you have visitors," he heard Dumbledore's voice across the room, and he frowned, hardly registering what he had said before the curtains were yanked aside and he was met with a set of concerned grey eyes.

"Sirius," he breathed out, his eyes watering as the black-haired boy threw himself against him, hugging him gingerly as though he knew he was hurt.

He didn't, did he? There was no way he could.

"I was so worried," he heard Sirius say. "We met Dumbledore in the corridors and he was going to the Hospital Wing, and you were the only one there so we thought something was wrong and you had become sicker and he was coming—"

"Sirius, I'm fine," Remus said and Sirius let him go, pulling away as he took a seat beside him on the bed. James and Peter stood behind him, identical frowns of concern and question on their faces.

"Are you really?" they asked at the same time, and Remus laughed.

"I am now," he said and he meant it.

...

"Lily's reading the same book," James declared as he took a seat beside Remus.

"What?" Remus craned his head over to where James was sitting, the growing ache in his limbs dull and constant.

"Pride and Prejudice," James frowned, "She's always reading it."

Remus shared a look with Sirius, smiling as they looked at a very pondering James.

"It's her relief book," Remus said knowingly. He'd noticed it too, albeit upon James pointing it out to him, but he'd noticed it and once he noticed something, it became awfully hard for him to unnotice it.

"What's a relief book?"

"Everyone has one," Remus said, before correcting himself. "At least, all readers have one. It's something you turn to when you're stressed or sad or simply want to bash someone's head in a wall."

They were silent for a while and Remus turned to his book, his eyes scanning over the pages, yet nothing registering in his head as he waited for their response.

"What's yours?" Sirius finally asked and Remus frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"What's your relief book?"

Remus thought about it it, the question slightly blowing him off course before he raised the book he was reading.

"War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells," Sirius read off the cover. "What's it about?"

"Aliens." Sirius made a face and Remus hurried to explain himself. "It's about people from outside the planet and people from here, and uhh… it's about destruction and uhh… collateral damage.

Collateral damage. Maybe that's why he liked the book so much. There was a hell lot of collateral damage in it. He was collateral damage. His entire life was collateral damage from a bloody freak accident.

"—are you stressed then?" he heard Sirius ask and closed the book shut.

"No," Remus swallowed. "I just really want to bash someone's head in a wall right now."

"Yeah?" Sirius smirked. "Who?"

"No one you know," Remus replied.

"Is it James?"

"No."

"Is it Peter?"

"No."

"Is it me?"

"Oh, hell no."

"Then is it you?"

Yeah, Remus wanted to say. But he settled on, "No."

…

He didn't see them for hours at a time. He'd come out of Charms by himself, no Sirius joking about Flitwick's moustache, he'd go to lunch alone and there wouldn't be a Sirius urging him to eat an extra piece of chicken or offering him his share of treacle tart.

Remus half thought he'd done something wrong even though Sirius had told him he'd done nothing of the sort.

But he'd been distant lately, turning Remus down for a game of Exploding Snap, avoiding the Common Room when Remus was sitting there, doing his homework, not tagging along as Remus went to the Library.

He'd done something wrong, he knew. He always did something wrong. Messed up everything good that came his way.

He stepped out of the Common Room, sorely missing the company of the other three as he made his way to the Library.

He'd found himself spending less and less time there, for without the company of Sirius who was solely there to get ticked off by Madam Pince, the Library felt too quiet.

And yet, Remus found himself making his way there, his footsteps quick and silent, his shadow appearing to slink across the growingly dark walls.

He pushed open the wooden door, squinting as the golden-yellow rays of the sun fell directly over his eyes, and made his way to his designated corner of the library.

Remus had expected to be the only one there. He almost always was. He'd certainly not expected to come across three overly-familiar figures, two of them poring over a book while the third tried to look over their shoulders.

"Sirius?" Remus heard himself wondering out loud. "Peter? James?"

Their heads snapped over to him, Sirius jerking in surprise as the book fell out of his hand and landed near Remus' feet.

"What-what are you doing here?" Sirius asked, albeit a bit loud as Madam Pince shushed him from her desk.

"I could ask you the same thing," Remus said, hurt brimming in his chest as he bent over to pick up the book. His back ached as he did, and rightly so, because the full moon was approaching and Remus nearly recoiled as his eyes landed on the drawing of a werewolf and then of a man transforming into one.

Panic creeped up his throat as he looked at the three of them, his eyes directly on Sirius' as his mouth moved, but no words came out. "Wha-what's this?" he managed, the book thumping as it fell on the desk.

"Why are you reading about werewolves? It's not in our course yet. W-why then?" Remus asked, his words frantic as he looked at James, Peter and Sirius one by one. They each had a guilty expression on their faces, and deep down, Remus knew they had figured it out.

"It's not… Remus, we… we were just… just," Sirius stuttered. He never stuttered.

Remus breathed in heavily. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry, I didn't, I'm not… I am."

And then he ran out of the library, Sirius's shouts for him to stop unheard by him.

…

"We must remember what ruthless and utter destruction—" Remus's voice cracked and a tear slipped out of his eye, sliding down his cheek and falling on the ground, "our own species has wrought, not only upon animals—" and then he stopped and wiped his tears, but didn't make a move to get up from the ground.

He didn't know why it affected him so much, them knowing. Maybe it was because he didn't want them to know he was a monster, a killer, maybe it was because he didn't want them to be disgusted by him, even though he was disgusted by himself. Or maybe it was simply because after all these years, he couldn't stomach his own identity.

Remus closed his eyes, his eyelids spilling out the tears gathered at the corners.

The daylight had dwindled to a barely perceptible lighting of gloom, and Remus couldn't find it in him to get himself up. His shirt was soaked, the moisture from the moss seeping into his skin, sending slight shivers down his back. Dusk had set and he knew he had to go back but he didn't want to.

He wouldn't be able to bear it when he went back to the castle. Their stares, their terrified stares that showed they were revolted by him. Sirius looking at him as if he was a…a…

Dumbledore would surely throw him out now. He'd already messed up once. Now that they knew, he'd have no choice but leave.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he sobbed, his silent cries seeming to echo among the oak. He hardly heard his name being screamed out, or the footsteps nearing him until his eyes snapped open and he saw a frantic Sirius crouching beside him.

"Everyone's looking for you!" Sirius screamed before lunging towards Remus' lying form, pulling him up in a hug.

Remus flinched, his body tense before he relaxed into Sirius' body.

"Everyone?" he asked, his voice scratchy from all the crying. Everyone? Did everyone know?

Sirius sighed. "Just James and Peter," he said. "We've been looking for you everywhere! Have I ever told you you're an ass?"

And then Remus burst out crying, his sobs loud and torturous, tears rolling down his face and onto Sirius' shoulder. "You hate me now," he cried. "I ruined everything, I can't, I didn't mean to—"

"Hate you?" Sirius pulled away and held Remus by his shoulders. "You ass, we could never hate you."

Remus sniffled as tears fell on the cold, wet ground before he felt nimble fingers lifting his chin up to meet stormy grey eyes he would have recognized anywhere in the goddamn world.

"Remus," Sirius urged. "Remus, we don't care if you're a werewolf, we really don't. For all we know, you have a furry little problem you've to take care of once a month and that's that. Nothing more—"

"I'm a werewolf. You should stay away from me. I could hurt you, I could… I could kill you. You have no idea—"

"Remus, I've seen you in your bloody Mickey Mouse underwear. You couldn't hurt a cockroach if you tried," Sirius said.

"But—"

"If you say we should stay away from you one more time, I'm going to stab you with a rusty knife," Sirius said fiercely. "You are a Marauder. There's an unwritten rule in the stones that Marauders stick together. No matter what."

Sirius hauled himself up, before offering a hand to Remus, who looked at it for a few seconds before gingerly taking it.

"And going off to the Forbidden Forest? That sounds like something I would do, which means you shouldn't," Sirius said, before sighing heavily. "Your back is wet, did you know?"

Remus nodded, shrugging to get his wet shirt loose when he felt Sirius drape his sweater over his back.

"You need it more than I do," he said as Remus gave him a questioning look.

Remus gave a watery chuckle before they lapsed into a comfortable silence, navigating through the woods by the dimming light of the sun.

"We have a plan," Sirius said a few minutes later. "A plan to help you when you transform."

"It won't work—"

"Shh," Sirius glared playfully. "Why do you think we've been in the library all week? The library. Me in the library. People should pay to see me there."

"Sirius," Remus said exasperatedly.

"Shh," Sirius glared. "Don't be such a sour wolf."

"A what?"

"A sour wolf," Sirius repeated with the most serious expression Remus had seen on him yet. "And fair warning, if James decides to kill you for being an ass, don't blame me. I'm innocent."

Remus laughed, a real laugh this time.

"That's not fair at all," he said softly as the school grounds came into view.

Maybe he couldn't bear being a werewolf, maybe he was a monster and maybe he wasn't, but he had Sirius by his side, and James, and Peter, and as crazy they were, hell, he was crazy too but he was glad he had them. They were part of his life, and a colossal part too, but they were there and he was happy.

#fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew #marauders #werewolf #slight hints of wolfstar #beginning of a wolfstar relationship #wolfstar #lily evans #the marauder's second year #my version of how the marauders learnt that Remus was a werewolf #Albus Dumbledore #written for the quidditch league fan fiction competition

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