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dreaming-about-fanfictions · 3 years

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Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 22 of 27: Astoria

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

Choose Me Instead Masterlist

Words: 2.5k (it’s rather short today, ik) Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader, post war Warnings: none

Happiness.

That was one of the feelings Astoria expected to set in when Pansy told her the news at breakfast.

Happiness because you’d be no longer a concern of hers. Relief that the plan Mrs. Malfoy told her about worked. And hope – hope for a future with him. Not the man she loved but the man she needed. Weeks and months she had spent worrying, plotting, desperately trying to find a way to get you out of the picture – and now you were. However, she felt none of what she had expected. Because just when Pansy finished her sentence, Astoria’s gaze landed on Draco who came through the doors of the Great Hall, accompanied by Theo and Blaise.

Her stomach plummeted at the sight of their grim faces. They weren’t talking or laughing. Even Blaise who was always ready to crack a joke in the most inappropriate situations walked towards their table with a blank expression on his face. Theo kept glancing at Draco, worry written all over his forehead. The same worry that filled Astoria when she saw his pale, grey face.

Draco must not have gotten a lot of sleep the night prior, judging by the dark circles underneath his eyes which he kept locked on the ground and then on the plate as soon as he sat down. Astoria watched him playing mindlessly with the knife next to his plate and didn’t seem to notice how Theo put a piece of bread on it.

“Eat something,” he said but the blond man didn’t react. Any remaining hunger left Astoria’s body.

“He looks like shit,” Daphne stated in between bites. She had turned her head in the direction of the Trio as well, sharing a knowing glance with Theodore.

Astoria crinkled her nose as she looked her sister. Even with no make-up and in an oversized sweater was she the prettiest girl at this table.

“He does,” Pansy agreed. “But he’ll recover, right? I mean, that little adventure he and that Gryffindor had was just that, wasn’t it?” She looked at her friends. “An adventure? It’s time for him to return to the real world.”

Return to the real world. Astoria nodded. Yes, it was time for him to do just that. Return to the real world with her. But why did she steel feel this way? Why did the sting in her heart not fade?

“I’m not sure.” Daphne shrugged. “I know first-hand what he’s like after an adventure … It’s different. He probably loved her.”

Astoria suppressed the urge to snort. Suddenly, her sister turned her head and looked directly at Astoria. “Makes you wonder …”

The younger Greengrass narrowed her eyes and her cheeks turned red.

“Wonder about what?”, Pansy asked, completely clueless.

“If it’s worth it.”

“If you have something to say, Daphne, say it,” Astoria hissed. Pansy looked back and forth between the two sisters with wide eyes, irritated about the sudden change in the conversation.

Daphne didn’t flinch. She leaned forward and spoke with a lowered voice: “What did Mrs. Malfoy say to you yesterday?”

Anger bubbled up inside of Astoria. The same anger that had plagued her for so long. She had thought it’d leave her as soon as you were no longer around but only now did she realize that it wasn’t you who made her so mad. “Are you suggesting …?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” her sister cut her off. “I’m asking you a question.”

Astoria put down her knife abruptly and stood up with so much force that she hit her leg on the table and a glass fell over. She was done with this. With her.

Daphne rolled her eyes and took a bite from her toast. “Where are you going?”, she then asked.

“The library,” her sister said in a sharp tone. “A place where I don’t have to listen to your groundless accusations and your nonsense about sleeping with Draco.” She tried to sound stern when she spoke but the anger kept scratching at her tone and a smug smile showed on her sisters face. “What?”, Astoria spat out.

“I’m right then?”, Daphne asked. “You and Mrs. Malfoy had something to do with this very sudden end of their relationship? Let me guess, Mother was involved as well?”

The amusement in her voice disgusted Astoria. She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. With a huff, she turned on her heels and left the Great Hall, balling her delicate fingers into fists when she passed Draco who still hadn’t touched his food.

“That was mean, Daphne,” she heard Pansy say behind her.

“It was necessary.”

Once the chatter from the other students began to fade away behind her, the anger vanished and got replaced by tears that filled her eyes. She didn’t know if she was angry or sad or maybe both. All she knew was that she wasn’t supposed to feel this way. When Mrs. Malfoy had come to Hogwarts, she had told her about how she’d handle this mess. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Draco’s mother said and squeezed her cold, trembling hands. “It’ll be fine. I promise you.” And Astoria had been relieved – relieved that someone seemed to care for her. For her pain and fears and by Merlin, in that moment she wished for nothing more than for her own mother to be more like Mrs. Malfoy. A wish that now might even come true. However, seeing the pain she caused Draco left her feeling guilty and ashamed instead of hopeful.

A body slamming into hers pulled her back into reality. Astoria stumbled and caught herself in the last minute. “Oh,” she let out a sharp breath.

“Sor-,” you swallowed the last syllable of the word.

Astoria’s breath got caught in her throat. You looked surprisingly well put together. She didn’t know what she had expected – after all, she didn’t think you to be someone who’d suffer publicly but seeing you so calm and tidy did leave her a little irritated. Your eyes were the ones that betrayed you – looking past the blank expression in them, Astoria noticed the slight redness. It was the same redness she had seen one too many times in the mirror after nights spent crying. You must have tried to fix it but Astoria still saw the residues of the restlessness you had endured the night prior.

“I’m sorry.” The words slipped out and she wasn’t sure if she meant the bump in that happened just now.

You looked at her as if you were searching for something hostile in the sudden friendliness of Astoria’s tone. When you didn’t find anything, you mumbled: “It’s fine.” You kept on walking down the hall.

“I –”, Astoria started but then closed her mouth again.

You stopped, slowly turning around. “What?” The blank expression was no longer seen on your face. It got replaced with cold annoyance. You looked at her expectantly but Astoria was at a loss for words. “I’m surprised you didn’t already prepare for this moment.”

Astoria blinked. “Excuse me?”

“He’s yours, congrats,” you said bitterly. “You won. You and your family and this fucked up world you’re still trying to uphold won.”

There it was again – the same guilt she had felt when she looked at Draco during breakfast. “I …I did what I had to do.”

“Right,” you scoffed. “You’re a Slytherin after all.”

A line appeared between Astoria’s brows but you had turned your back on her once more. “Get off your high horse for once, will you?”, she called after you, her wits returning.

You stopped but face her.

“Stop acting all high and mighty,” Astoria continued coldly. “You made the decision to break up with him.”

“I had no choice.”

Astoria wondered if she had only imagined the words from your mouth. They were spoken so softly, so broken, they barely reached her. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

You stood there for another second before slowly beginning to walk down the long hallway. Astoria watched you, frozen in place. Everything she ever wanted was right in front of her. The only thing she had to do was reach for it. So what was stopping her?

***

It was guilt that stopped her. Guilt that didn’t leave Astoria for days.

It came in waves – washing over her when Draco sat next to her in class, his eyes searching for you in the classroom. It threatened to drown her, suffocate her, when she saw how the corners of his mouth twitched when he heard you talk to your friends. He was trying so desperately to hide his pain, to return to the way he was at the beginning of the school year. Before you had the chance to steal his heart and crush it mere moments later. However, Astoria saw right through him. He was too far gone to return to the man he was before he found you. Now, whenever Astoria pretended not to look, Draco watched you from the shadows of the last row and the bleachers of the Quidditch field. In those moments, the guilt returned, accompanied by regret and shame and she wondered if it was worth it.

Just like Daphne had asked.

Astoria never saw the two of you together again. You stayed with your friends, the Weasley girl and Granger rarely leaving you out of their sight. The occasional hateful glance was sent your way by Weasley but you full-heartedly ignored her. Her, and Draco, and the rest of the Slytherins. Well, not all of them. One early evening, the sun had just begun to set, she saw Blaise and Theo sitting down next to you outside but Pansy had pulled her away before Astoria got the chance to eavesdrop.

A week passed and Draco remained only a shell of himself.

“His nightmares returned,” Blaise told her one afternoon in the common room.

“It’s not like they ever left,” Theo chimed in, not looking up from the book in his lap.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “They’re way worse now though,” he replied and leaned over to Astoria. “He’s using that potion again.”

“He’ll be fine, Blaise,” Theo closed the book and shot his friend a warning glance. “Stop gossiping now.”

Astoria felt the glare from her sister from across the common room in that moment. Happy now?, her eyes seemed to ask. Are you finally happy, sister?

No. No, she wasn’t.

And still, she wouldn’t a change a thing.

***

It was late when Astoria left the library and made her way back down to the Slytherin common room. Her eyes burned, her neck hurt, and she kept yawning, longing for her soft pillow and warm blanket.

BANG.

Astoria tripped on the steps and barely caught herself by grabbing onto the railing. She continued downstairs, slower now, almost tip-toeing. Reaching the end of the stairs and the hallway, she guessed the sound had come from the end of it. She stopped and pulled out her wand. All sorts of ghosts and creatures found their way into the castle from time to time and Astoria was not keen on a night trip to the hospital wing.

“Screw you, Malfoy!”

Astoria’s eyes widened. You.

“Oh, we’re using last names again?”

Draco.

“Fine, Y/L/N.”

Two figures appeared at the end of the hallway and Astoria quickly jumped to the side, hiding behind the statue of a knight. Her heart pounded in her chest. She should leave. It was the proper thing to do as this was clearly a conversation not meant for her ears. However, Astoria couldn’t bring herself to walk away. She peaked around the statue.

You came down the hallway with long strides and Draco followed you. Both of your faces were flushed with anger.

“What do you want from me?”, you asked him and even Astoria shivered from the coldness in your voice.

“What I want from you?”, Draco sneered. “I want you to stop lying!”

Oh-oh. Astoria watched as you whirled around to face the Slytherin. “When will you get this into your head, Malfoy? I’m not lying to you!” Every word was accompanied by a tap of your finger against his chest. Draco caught your hand by your wrist and held it still. You let out a sharp hiss.

“Merlin, when will you ever stop this charade?” He shook his head in disbelief and his voice was as cold as ice when he continued. Astoria felt awfully reminded of a younger Draco. “All you ever do is lie! You lie to your parents, your friends, everyone who you say means something receives nothing from you except lies and deceptions. It seems to be the only thing you’re truly good at, the only thing that –”

“Shut up!”, your voice was shrill and you tried to pull away from Draco but he held tightly on to your wrist.

The scene unfolding in front of Astoria engulfed her and so she didn’t notice how loosely she was holding on to her wand – until it hit the ground beneath her feet, the wood clanking against the stones. Draco’s eyes shot in her direction at the sudden noise. Astoria gasped and hid behind the statue again. She put a hand over her mouth, her heart beating even faster now. Had he seen her? She fully expected him to be coming her way but no footsteps could be heard. Astoria remained in her position for a few more moments before slowly bending down to pick up her wand. She let it slip into the pocket of her cloak before she peaked around the corner again.

Draco’s gaze was fully fixated on you again. He had come closer and Astoria saw how his mouth moved. She made out faint whispers, yet both of them had lowered their voices enough for her to be unable to understand the words spoken. She watched the two of you with furrowed brows and then her eyes widened at what happened next:

Draco let go of your hand and pushed you up against the stone wall in one swift movement. You didn’t resist. Instead you hissed something at him before looking to your side. Draco grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, leaning in even closer.

Astoria’s mouth felt dry all of the sudden and the realization of what he was going to do next dawned on her. A strange sensation settled in her stomach and the feeling of watching something she had no right to see became overwhelming. She watched your hips move forward slightly and wondered if it was intentional or just a natural reaction to his touch. You whispered something – was it a curse? A confession? Or just another lie to protect yourself from the damage you had done?

The sensation in her stomach grew stronger. Astoria began to feel sick – and then it happened. You tilted your head and leaned in. When your lips touched, Astoria finally turned her gaze away.

***

CHAPTER 23

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! <3

Harry Potter Masterlist General Masterlist Tag List 1/2: (closed for this story!)

@writerdee1701 @youareinllve, @sjmahoney, @detroitobsessed, @takura-rin, @jadam268, @wynterwind, @renaissance-confiance, @doitforthevine67, @ilovemollyweasley, @flowerpowerpixie, @gold-flowing, @starkssnarks, @bookcornerkins, @harpersmariano, @markedsweetly, @iraniq, @pointlesscoconut, @hvrcruxes, @pillowjj, @idkatee, @magicwithaknife, @graystherapy, @nxstalgicnxbxdy, @sunsetsofanemoia, @tommy-holland, @lordfxxker, @streetfighterrichie, @awaken-the-sirens, @destiels-assbutt13, @pockitparks, @just-addicted-to-bangtan, @cuddlykoala101, @zpandaqueen , @natsiboo, @jjjmaybank, @justmesadgirl, @books-and-tings, @slytherinprincedracom , @katiaw2, @saintkore, @nctnight, @lifestragedy, @obxmxybxnk, @spideydobik , @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @aspiring-ginger, @dracomalfoyswifey, @jpow345, @realistic-breadstick, @abbs-is-tired, @alwaysbeanunknownfan, @niallsarmveinstho, @is-this-a-febreze-commercial, @acciowilltolive, , @sexytholland, @faangirl101, @donttellany1iusetumbler, @mendesmuffinsss, @lilxnvm, @kill-the-teen-memories, @darkusangelus, @itsbebeyyy, @hesaidimcrazy, @jenniweaslee, @hpxpjo, @brisbubble, @xomaymay, @shitnstuffillregret, @serialkillme, @angel-tears15, @panicattheeverywherekid, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @nobleking, @tashii-blr, @ddaeing, @randogirlo-fando-main, @sadgirlnumber92899, @captivateing, @bitchyegirl, @smiithys, @ninipoo1, @intheawks, @nothanksnyla, @calpal-4ever, @dracosathenaeum, @belsandthings, , @kiwi-sloan, @xdmx, @lexi-ravenclawdracomalfoy, @kvyenxay, @live-awkward, @babebenhardy, @bitchysweets-blog, @cravingmusic, @frau-moon, @ohissandhalasta, @broken-but-beautiful-cassie, @lil-black-heart, @vminenthusiastt, @dracos-sluts, @mrmoonyy, @saucysuazo, @fuzzzwald, @matsuno-nadeshiko, @amber-arsenault , @loveableasshole, @spideycures,

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco x you #draco x y/n #choose me instead #astrids fics

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princeanxious · 3 years

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Why would you hide the Villain remus and Janus thing in the tags, I'd read the hell outta Hero Virgil turned Villain

you mean this??? shdbic aaa Yeah I want to write it, but i also want to write a lot of things. xD but this is def one of those things i’d love to write a short-ish one-shot about just so I can write it.

can you imagine? Virgil, young and anxious, manifesting powers of the light and dark variety, able to manipulate shadows and summon electricity with such fine precision because he’s spent so long fretting over accidentally hurting someone with it that he refused to even dare try and step into the hero scene until he was 150% certain that he’d trained his powers to disconnect from his emotions so that he’d never have an outburst that could even harmlessly shock or scare someone. He’s so in control over his powers that its to an insane degree just because he wants to make sure he cant hurt anybody on accident.

(complete ramble continued under the cut bc boy howdy this got so long it might as well be its own short one-shot)

And, he’s worked so in depth with his powers because of course he can’t just suppress them!(Suppressing electricity based powers doesn’t get rid of that energy, it just makes that constantly generating energy stay put and build, which makes it even more dangerous when it’s finally released, so suppression is a no go) So of course not only does he work extensively with learning how to control his powers, but also how to healthily use them and expend his energy safely, effectively, and skillfully as he grows into them. Might as well push your limits of learning just how much your power can do if you have to learn how to exist safely around others by controlling it, right?

So, by default, by the time Virgil is both old enough and confident enough in his powers to consentingly apply for registry to the worlds heroes association, he’s both insanely skilled with his powers, and also insanely talented(the equivalent to a child prodigy, not that many people in charge of the worlds hero association believe that, though.). The people who had been interviewing him believed the same, thinking him to be just another super teenager boasting about his skills when they couldn’t even sense his power, thinking that what little power Virgil did have was not even worth bothering to report anything substantial about the interview. That he’d oughta go try the villain’s headquarters, because at least they take in wandering powerless for henchmen all the time.

Virgil, feeling pissed but not quite enraged yet, because what teenager wouldn’t hate it to be so invalidated and demeaned at being out right dismissed as a threat, let alone considered more of an invalid for not having powers, starts to display his power.

First it’s the main interviewer’s phone that they’d been glancing boredly at, drained suddenly of all power. Then it’s the landline of that specific room, then it’s the lamp, the computer suddenly shuts off with zero warning and nothing of it turns on. The lamp in the corner of the room goes dark, bulb by bulb, and the printer in the room dies. Virgil’s eyes are glowing violet but he hasn’t moved any more than the annoyed twitch of an eyelid. the light’s overhead turn off, leaving the lights in the hallway still on, leaving the remaining light in the room coming from the single window in the room and the open doorway.

He reaches up a hand, and snaps once, and shadows swallow up the light over the hallway and the window, acting as a wall from the inside and out.

Now the only light in the room is his glowing eyes.

The second interviewer is struggling to summon fire from her hands to light the room, but it doesn’t work. The energy she’s using to summon the fire is immediately sapped by Virgil’s force, there isn’t even a spark. The first interviewer can feel Virgil’s power now, it’s bright and burning. It’s like he has a core in the middle of his being like a sun’s core because its storing so much power, and the only reason they can see it now is because Virgil’s using his power. He has so much control that even on a nonphysical level it’s nearly tangible, the way that they can see his shadow powers conceal even the existence of his power, now that they know what their looking at.

In mere seconds, this kid has tipped the world on their head and put the fear of god into them, an undetected yet undeniable threat in the making.

They watch his eyes tilt with his head, and the distinct sound of the entire building powering down is unmistakable, shouts of surprise and confusion due to the failure of the buildings many fail-safes failing to trigger. And then, with another snap, all power is restored to normal in the blink of the eye, all machines and lights are functioning perfectly, not an irregular shadow in sight, and all at once Virgil reads as a normal human teenager, not a whiff of power to be sensed. He looks pretty peeved, though.

“Maybe I will try my luck at the Dark Side then, at least they care about the people that look to be taken in. Let me know if you changed your mind, I’d love to have a do-over. With a different set of interviewers, mind you.” before he walks out of the interview room, off to blow off some steam legally and safely.

Imagine his outrage when a week later he’s served a summons to court, deeming him a “Threat to Society” and “better left in jail until the court can be convinced of his good nature” because he’s an “out of control juvenile gifted with an unprecedented amount of power that he couldn’t possibly control without strict legal supervision and interference and cannot be trusted to continue to exist as a normal citizen until the W.H.A deems it safe.”

Faced with possible lifelong inprisonment and zero control over the rest of his life because an association of supers think that they know better and that he’s some stupid teenager that was set loose on the world with means to only cause catastrophe and devastation, or freedom at the hands of some ambiguously grey moral decisions every once in a while and being treated as a normal human being even if he has to be a henchman to another super for a while?

The decision isn’t a hard one to make.

So imagine his surprise when he’s not only accepted into the Dark Side after being respectfully asked to demonstrate the full extent of his power and his control over it, but instead of becoming a villain’s henchmen, he instead gains the full title of Villain(with another Villain(Janus) stepping in to mentor him and show him the ropes of the rules and everything), and even further: Gets his own henchmen assigned to him.

A pair, Patton and Logan.

Patton has a partial shapeshifting ability, but it only really lets him turn into a big frog man, making him perfect for doing any of the main heavy lifting for the team, and also perfect for protecting Logan when under attack. He’s built like a himbo and is absolutely 100% a himbo, heart of gold, super strong, buff dad bod, the whole sha-bang.

Logan has a power that is one part linked with memory, one part linked with technology. His brain can retain information like a computer databank, and he can get any misfunctioning technology to work if he can get his hands on it or a connection to it. He avoids all the quirks that interfere or damage real databanks and technology(like magnets, water, and short-circuiting) and can semi-directly connect with devices he is familiar with, without having to hold/touch/look at one.

All together, they have the beginnings of a well rounded team: the brawns, the brains, and the leader with plans and the power to make it happen. Even before finding out their reasons for coming to the dark side, Virgil becomes ride or die for them. (And honestly, they’re also pretty ride or die for him too, not even starting with the fact that they’re both like 26-27 and Virgil is an 18 year old anxious mess that had to make the decision over being the bad guy or losing any and all autonomy for the foreseeable future, which is gonna fuck up any kid and young adult’s brain. So, lowkey adopt him as a younger sibling even though he’s the boss of them and just barely taller than them.(Virgil is a tol lanky boi, and while Logan, standing at 5′9″, is but an inch shorter than Virgil at the start, Virgil still has growing room and peaks at about 6′4″ by the time hes 22. Patton at his normal height is like 5′6″, but frog man height is like 8′3″)

Oh, and they definitely make the Worlds Hero Association regret not taking Virgil’s existence kindly, Big Time.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #luka writes #luka write this #janus sanders #supervillain vee au #ask to tag

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stephspurs · 3 years

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A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction - BONUS MOMENTS

Surprise!!! I'm back with a select few bonus #bamelia moments!! I just couldn't let the love story of Ben and Amelia die, I hope you don't mind. Love Always, Steph xx

PSA: To all new readers, you don't have to read the series (link below) to understand this, however it would help so that you can understand the preconceived emotions behind the chapter!

Champions Again | di nuovo campioni

warnings; none word count; 1865 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. link to fic masterlist here

They had done it, again. The Chelsea boys were lifting their second team trophy for the year, they had just won the Supercup. This was Amelia’s first competition final with the Premier League giants and if she had her way, this wouldn't be last. She was beginning to get addicted to the feeling of winning, of proving to every little girl out there and every sexist male she had ever come across, that anything boys can do, girls can do better. She was letting her results speak for themselves, she was making history and there was nothing that could bring her down from the ninth cloud she was currently riding.

As proud as she was over her own achievements, she was equally as proud of her friends. Whilst she wasn’t part of their Champions League victory, she knew that this moment was just as special to the team that just loved to win. The scenes before her were ones she hoped she would never forget - the look on Jorgi’s face as he lifted his third trophy of the last few months, the crinkles beside Mason’s eyes as he grinned at the camera that was desperate to capture every moment of the evening, the tinge of pink on the apples of Ben’s cheeks as he stood with his hands on his hips while he watched Amelia give her first post-match tactical analysis to the Sky Sports reporter - proud that she was his girl. These were the moments that made Amelia forget all of the hard times, or rather made her realise that all of the hard times were worth it to see her friends, her team, her man smile.

With every great victory comes an even greater after party, and even though the Super Cup final coincided with the start of the season, the boys still believed that they deserved an afterparty to celebrate. Captain Cesar Azpilicueta had kindly offered the grounds of his Surrey home to host the bunch of rowdy boys, and their onslaught on mates and partners on the Sunday afternoon between the Super Cup final and the first match of the Premier League 21/22 season. Whilst they were under strict instruction from the higher powers of Chelsea Football Club (namely; Thomas Tuchel) to keep the drinking to a minimum and to keep themselves out of trouble, the boys were allowed to be boys for one more night.

______________________________________________________________

“Benj, what are you wearing? I don’t know if I should wear a sundress or denim shorts! Please, I need help!” I shouted out to Ben who was currently somewhere in his large house.

“Why would my outfit be able to help you with that decision” I could hear his voice getting closer, his footsteps getting louder as he began to ascend the stairs up to the main bedroom that I had slowly started to take over in the last couple months.

“An opinion is all I’m after - stop being cheeky mate” I shoot back at him as I begin to stand up from my place in front of his wardrobe. It was still his wardrobe, he hadn’t asked me to move in yet so it was still technically his even if it was half full with my clothes. As I got to my feet, I turned to see him leaning in the doorway with his arms and ankles crossed over each other. Wearing a tee shirt and some denim shorts himself with a cap covering his ungelled hair - a request from me because it was much easier for me to run my hands through if it wasn’t laden with gel...and because it gave me an excuse to push it out of his face whenever I felt like it (which was often).

“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed in that outfit to be fair, however, that would also mean we would be skipping this afterparty altogether and be spending the afternoon celebrating in an entirely different manner” He states staring at me while I’m currently standing with my hands on my hips, staring at the shorts and tank top combo I have laid out on his bed - again, his bed not ours - he hasn’t asked me to move in yet so it was technically his even if it did have the new bed sheets I purchased a couple weeks back with the matching throw cushions on it. The barely-there outfit that I was currently sporting and that had him licking his lips as he pushed himself off of the doorway to walk to me and wrap his arms around my body from behind was a bralette and a pair of his Chelsea shorts.

“Ok sorted, you’re in denim shorts so I’m going to wear mine too. Done ok move get off me I need to change or we’re going to be late” I exclaimed as I pushed him off me with my hips. A bad move? Absolutely not. I got to feel all of him against me and remind him of what he gets to come home to every evening, if he choses.

“Wow what's the rush now Mils? Why are you walking around like you’ve got ants in your pants?” He questioned as he tightened his grip on me and turned me so I was facing him, looking up into his curious baby blues.

“And don’t say nothing, I’ve picked up on all of your tells already” He further questioned as he could see the wheels begin to turn behind my eyes, desperate to come up with an excuse to mask my jitters so I wouldn’t have to tell him the truth.

“I regret ever letting you become friends with Fede, he’s spilling all of my secrets...Ok fine. I’m nervous to see Jack. I haven’t seen him since...ya’know and I haven't spoken to him since I gave him a telling off before international break and Ben I promise you I haven't thought about him once but I’m still worried that there's unresolved anger there from him and I don’t want to get into it again just when we’re getting back into the groove of us and it’ll impact your friendsh-” my rambling was cut off by his lips, which were simultaneously reminding me to breathe between my words and leaving me breathless at the same time. He always did have a way with his lips, the power they held over me was unmatched by anything.

“Calm down love, I promise it’ll be okay. Jack and I have had it out already, a long chat on international duties which may have only been prompted because Mase and Dec locked us in the kit room after our first session, sorted it all out.” Ben reassured me as he began to rub his thumbs over my cheeks and his hands held both sides of my face.

“I do know he wants to apologise to you though - so don’t be surprised if he tries to do that early on in the evening. You know just how awkward he can be so he’ll probably spring it on you before you’ve even put your bag down.”

“Oh great, I’m gonna need to do a couple shots before we leave the house - you’re good to drive right?” I said as I walked from his grasp and down the stairs to grab the bottle of vodka for some good old fashioned dutch courage.

______________________________________________________________

Ben was right about Jack, he had approached the couple only moments after they had arrived at Azpi’s house. Amelia had spotted him making his way towards them so she began to walk in a different direction to Ben, stretching their interlocked hands and letting him go as she mumbled something about needing to put her bag down. Ben really knew both of them too well. Jack gave Ben a hug hello, still in the grovelling stage of repairing their friendship.

“Hey bro, how’s it goin?” Jack spoke as he pulled away from Ben.

“Yeah bro all’s good with me, how are you? Congrats on the move again, million dollar geez you are, aren’t ya? Don’t forget me when you're mingling with Messi in a couple years” Ben joked back with the boy who has been literally a brother to him for the last few years.

“Ahhh you’re jokin me, could never forget a brother could I? We’re basically blood at this point I reckon. Where’d Mils run off ta?” Jack questioned with his arm around Ben’s neck, both of the boys looking out into the garden for the girl in question.

“Right here super Jack” Amelia spoke from behind them. During their brief discussion, Amelia had put her bag down and ran inside to grab herself a drink before walking out to face the music of Jack’s apology. Overhearing how lighthearted he was with Ben, coupled with the reassurance that Ben had provided her earlier in the evening plus the two or three vodka shots she had downed in their kitchen before coming to the afterparty had meant that she left her worries at the door.

“Mils, darlin', you already know what's coming but I truly am sorry...to both of ya ya’know. Benny, we’ve already had it out and it took me ages to get over that black eye but please believe me when I tell ya I am so sorry for treating you that way Amelia. From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry and I regret nothing more than how I made you feel.” Jack could feel himself getting teary whilst thinking about how he made the girl feel, how he made his best mate and chosen brother feel, how he really put a spanner in the works of their blossoming relationship.

“Jack, I’m not going to say it was ok because it wasn't. But it wasn’t just your fault, I also played a part in it that has me cursing myself every day for ruining things with Benj. I forgive you, Jacky.” Amelia spoke while reaching up and wrapping her arms around Jack’s neck to give him one of her signature squeezy hugs, to truly convey that she was moving on from their tumultuous past and hoped that he could stop beating himself up over it and do the same.

Jack had left the couple to return to the table and grab himself a refill of his drink. Ben’s arm had found its natural position around Amelia’s shoulders as they both stood there looking out at their friends. However, Ben was looking down at Amelia. Without missing a beat and keeping her eyes focused out on the yard, Amelia spoke only loud enough for Ben to hear.

“So, you gave Jack a black eye over me huh? That’s hot”

Amelia took a few steps forward before turning to look at the expression on Ben’s face as she continued to walk away from him, backwards. The slight shock turned into a full on smirk as he walked towards her eager to close the gap between them with a kiss. He knew she loved him with her whole heart, but he hoped that she would understand just how much he loved her right back.

The Proposal | la proposta

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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 3 years

Text

I really wanted to get the next chapter of Nothing Sacred, All Things Wild up this week, but work was crazy and I also got caught up in another story (I can’t control my muse)...so instead I’m offering up a long snippet of the dystopian/space colonist fic I started off a prompt I got a while ago for an “Arranged Marriage + a/b/o” request I got from an anon.

A/B/O is not my cup of tea, so I twisted it into an arranged marriage by an artificial intelligence instead:

He wakes up angry, sweat soaking through his pillow, heart racing, stomach cramped. The alarm is buzzing from somewhere beneath the bed, where he must have knocked it.

“Turn it off,” Ygritte mutters into his shoulder, before rolling away with the rest of their thin blanket.

He complies, letting the shock of the cold floor against his feet spur him into full wakefulness. “I take the test today.” It’s raining. He watches the drops splatter against the small window near the ceiling, and he wonders if Ygritte remembered to check the bucket beneath the leak before she crawled into bed the night before.

Their garden apartment doesn’t do well in the rain. Jon still doesn’t understand why it’s even called a garden...there’s nothing green about their cramped basement residence, besides the mold growing beneath the sink.

“Oh yeah. Happy birthday...we’ll get drinks when you come home.”

“If I come home.” He could be part of the one percent, after all. That is the Institution's promise. Everyone is SOMEONE. Anyone can be part of the 1%. Are YOU?

Jon knows it’s unlikely. How could he, an orphan from Mole’s Town, have the magic combination of pheno-, geno-, and personality type to be chosen for the Colony? No...he’s just another loser of the 99% who will waste his twenty-first birthday behind the Brutalist concrete walls of the Institution’s testing center, playing lab rat for the day, until the examiners come to the inevitable conclusion that he’s just another nobody.

They’ll spit him back out on the street, leaving him free to carve out a pathetic existence on a slowly dying planet.

He doesn’t bother washing. It’d be a waste of precious water when he knows full well they’ll scrub him down at the testing center. Instead he spends his last moments at home drinking a pot of weak coffee, trying to remember anything he was taught in the schools he barely attended. His energy would be better spent bracing for the coming indignity of having every part of his body and mind exposed and dissected.

“Is the area of a circle, two pi times the radius? Or is that the circumference?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ygritte lights a cigarette at the stove before joining him at the table. “It’s not that kind of test.”

He knows that. It’s another Institution promise. The Test doesn’t ask WHAT you know. It asks who YOU are. Are YOU the 1%

How the fuck would Jon know? It’s easier for him to remember that the area of a circle is actually pi times the radius squared, than it is for him to explain who he is. He has no idea. That’s kind of what being an orphan is all about.

Ygritte could at least throw him a bone and tell him what the test is like. She took it two years ago, though she won’t talk. Most people won’t. There are no rules against it, but The Test is treated like dysentery. Unless you live behind the gates, you’re going to get it at least once in your life, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna go around describing your diarrhea to the world.

Grenn went to White Harbor for the test a month ago, and though Jon had to buy him six beers and two shots of whiskey before Grenn would shut up about his first-ever train ride, he did give Jon a few insights into the rest of the experience.

Not that the train isn’t worth the excitement, especially when the ride is paid for (another Institution promise. No matter your means. No matter the distance. EVERYONE makes it to the Test. Are YOU the 1%?) Technically, Jon has taken it once before, from Winterfell to Mole’s Town as a baby, but he doesn’t remember.

Now he can’t believe anything that moves so fast could feel so smooth. He’s topped out at ninety miles per hour on the best snowmobile Donal Noye patched together, but that left his teeth rattling and his ears buzzing for hours afterward. The train is moving at double the speed, but he could be in the godswood, for how quiet the near-empty economy cabin is. He shares it with a twitchy young man who never looks up from a cheap tablet, and a black raven perched in a large cage who spends the entire ride staring at Jon with one eerie black eye.

The testing center is located just across from the train station, in an intimidating building that used to have a name. Jon has a vague memory that it was a prison before the Institution took it over. Before that it was something else.

He doesn’t balk when a masked orderly leads him to a small room, tells him to strip, and then takes off with his clothes. He knows they’ll be returned at the end of the day. Of more pressing concern is the man and woman who enter talking too quietly to make out at the other end of the room, while a nurse rolls in with a small cart covered in collection tubes, gauze strips, and butterfly needles.

Everyone wears surgical masks, latex gloves, long white coats, and black clogs.

Jon remains naked beneath a small paper covering.

He has given blood before, and the messy, life-saving transfusion Mance performed to save Tormund three years ago was far scarier than the rapid, methodical draw that's taken from him now. Still, it’s disconcerting to think of the secrets the Institution will glean from his blood. He’s uncomfortably aware that they’ll know who his parents are before the day is over, even as he’ll continue living in total ignorance.

Another Institution promise. The Institution values EVERYONE’S right to privacy. YOU control the right to tell the world who you are. Are YOU the 1%?

Before he’s finished the recitation in his head, five tubes are full, and the nurse pats a cotton ball and a band-aid over his arm. She tosses a granola bar on his lap before rolling out of the room with her cart of samples.

Next comes a physical exam, where the other two examiners speak only to each other as they record his height, weight, blood pressure, and note his every blemish and scar in flat affect.

“Post-burn contractures across the palmar and dorsal aspect of the left hand, adduction and extension in the metacarpophalangeal joint of thumb fall outside normal range of movement.”

“Keloid scarring along the right gastrocnemius muscle, five point three centimeters in diameter.”

“Slightly hypertrophic scarring beginning at left brow and running medially down across the left orbital cavity to the cheek. No ptosis noted. No apparent damage to the eye.”

He should feel worse beneath the weight of each fault. Instead he relaxes. He was nervous for nothing. Failure was always inevitable. The Institution would never invest in a malnourished kid with a burned hand and a badly healed leg wound. They are famously secretive about their selection process, but some reasons for failure are common knowledge. As the crows like to say, no cripples, bastards, or broken things.

So, he chews his granola bar slowly and even closes his eyes for a bit, letting the examiners move his limp limbs as necessary for their measurements. He imagines himself a cadaver during the early stages of an autopsy.

As long as they don’t cut me open….

When an white-haired man enters and lays out what look to be a series of tiny torture devices, Jon wonders if he stopped caring too soon. He white-knuckles it through an excruciating dental exam that ends with his first real exchange of the day.

“Have you ever been to a dentist, kid?”

There is still a tube in his mouth, sucking up his spit and a hook pressing at his gums, so Jon just shakes his head. There are no dentists in Mole’s Town. Just Chett, who used to work at a slaughterhouse down south and will pull a rotten tooth for the price of a bottle of whiskey. Jon wouldn’t give the creep the lint in his pocket, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let him near his mouth. Instead he brushes his teeth so hard his toothbrush regularly snaps in half, and prays something else kills him before gum disease has a chance.

“You’ve got better teeth than I see behind the gates, boy,” he pulls the hook from Jon’s mouth to dictate into a small microphone hanging from his mobile workstation. “Review DEFB1 on ID 17630343BA. At some point the focus will need to expand beyond the holy 22 and get back to the basics. Who is going to care about neuron growth if every fourth planter is born with anodontia?”

Jon understands little of what the man is saying, but he’s heard enough to know he’s at least got as good of teeth or better than some of the rich tossers who live within the heavily guarded gated communities where the Colonists are actually culled from. Behind their high walls, wealthy sons and daughters of the only one percent that really matters, spend their youths preparing for the Test in homes and classrooms pumped with filtered air, where the water runs clear, and no one ever goes to sleep with their bellies cramped from hunger or disease.

The Institution promises that ANYONE can be the 1%, but EVERYONE knows that's a lie.

---

The physical exam ends at last, after several more rounds of sterile humiliation. Jon isn’t sure which was worse; having to lie within a noisy cylinder while a disembodied voice reminded him not to move, or being asked to run naked on a treadmill, wired with electrodes.

When it’s over, the last examiner provides him with a sweatsuit that is softer and better-made than anything he owns, and he wonders if there is any way he can smuggle it out with him at the end of the day. Another orderly comes in with a waxy crisp apple that hardly seems real even as a spray of tartly sweet juice hits the back of his tongue. He’s given a pill as well that he swallows down with a cup of water so clear and so cold, it’s an act of incredible will-power not to ask for more.

It’s only after, when he’s led to a small room with two chairs, a table, and a pulsing white orb in it’s center that he thinks to ask what it’s for.

“This will make the answers come more naturally during your interviews,” the man explains before leaving him alone. “We want you to answer as truthfully as possibly, but we understand that can be difficult under the stress of the Test.”

He supposes people lie all the time on the Test, trying to game the system, though Jon doesn’t have the first idea how he’d go about doing that, nor does he have any reason to try. He’s not going to the Colony. This is all just a spectacular waste of time, and it’s a race day, which means he’ll have to pull extra shifts at the Rookery to make up for what he would have made beyond the Wall.

By the time a petite woman with a neat low bun, and cracking, grey scar across half her face and neck enters, Jon is reckless with anger.

“I’d like to go home.”

“Hello, Jon,” she smiles as she sits across from him, and she’s the first person he’s seen since he entered the building who isn’t wearing a mask. She’s also the first person to call him by his name. “My name is Shireen.”

“Where’s your mask?”

Her smile dims slightly, but she maintains her gentle tone. “I’m here to facilitate the interview portion of your Test today. Before we begin, is there anything you need to feel more comfortable? Something to eat, drink, a bathroom break? Should the temperature be adjusted?”

He’s sour with anger so he takes everything she offers, suddenly eager to make everything as inconvenient as possible for the Institution. Shireen takes his requests with an easy smile, however, escorting him to the restroom herself. When they return to the room, there is a bowl of hearty soup with a chunk of bread that is soft and airy beneath it’s golden-brown crust. Beside it is a tall glass of water and a smaller cup of green liquid that Jon eyes suspiciously.

“What’s this then?”

“I thought you might like some juice. It’s mostly apple, with some kale, cucumber and celery in it as well, I suspect.”

It’s the best thing Jon has ever tasted, and while part of him wants to fling the rest of it at her frustratingly serene face, it’d be a horrible waste, and he’d be the biggest loser. So, he takes his time, savoring each bite and sip, rolling the bright flavors across his delighted tongue.

“Feeling better?” she asks after the tray is cleared.

“Is that an official Test question?”

“No.”

“Let’s get on with it then. I can’t afford to miss the train home.”

“As you may know, it is not individuals who decide the 1%. Our artificial intelligence algorithm, The Seven, determines who is the best fit for the Colony. That is how the institution guarantees objectivity in its selection process,” she taps the pulsing orb on the table. “Though we find people are more comfortable responding to another person, so I will be facilitating our discussion as The Seven records and analyzes your responses. Are you ready to begin?”

He shrugs.

“I’ll start with a series of statements. After each, please say a number to indicate the degree to which you agree with that statement, wherein one equals strongly disagree and five equals strongly agree. Three indicates you neither agree nor disagree. Do you understand?”

“Five.”

“Okay. Statement Number one: At social events, you rarely try to introduce yourself to new people and mostly talk to the ones you already know.”

Jon knows everyone in Mole’s Town, and he doesn’t want to socialize with most of them.

“Two.”

This goes on for a while, each statement absurdly divorced from anything relating to Jon’s life, but the numbers spring easily from his lips as he relaxes under Shireen’s soothing voice, and kind face, and the lovely feeling of a full belly and soft, warm clothes.

It’s when the format shifts, that he begins to feel strange. Shireen starts with questions that are easy to answer. Where were you born? How many years of education have you completed? What was your favorite class and why? What do you do for work? Describe your strengths. When are you most satisfied in your job? Do you live alone or with others? How many others do you live with? What is your relationship to the person you live with?

At this point, the questions grow more invasive; more personal. A voice tells Jon that the Institution doesn’t need to know how many times he and Ygritte fuck a week...but the answer escapes all the same.

“Four or five times a week.”

“Do you use contraception methods?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to have children with your partner?”

“No.”

“Given your age and your partner’s, without contraception, given your regular intercourse the odds of conception are--”

“She’s sterile.”

“How do you know that?”

“Most everyone in Mole’s Town is. It’s something in the water, or the air, or our weak genes. It doesn’t really matter the cause. If it’s not the one; it’s the other. She’s been fucking since she was fifteen, and nothing’s ever caught.”

“How do you know that you aren’t the sterile one?”

He shrugs. “I probably am too, but I’m not her first partner as you say. I’m not her second or third either.”

“How does that make you feel?”

He glares, and Shireen clarifies.

“Your partner’s sterility?”

“How do you think it makes me feel?” he pushes back from the table, letting his chair lean back on two legs.

Shireen only gives him a minute shake of her head, and waits for him to answer the question.

“Angry. I feel fucking furious about it.”

“So, you would like to be a father?”

“I’d like the freedom to choose. I’d like Ygritte to have that freedom.”

“What is your least favorite thing about humanity?”

She can’t be serious with that question. It’s like asking him to name all the stars. He takes a deep breath. Shireen waits. He stands up and paces. Shireen waits. He finishes his water and asks for another. Shireen calls for a refill. He drinks that too. Shireen waits.

“My least favorite thing? That we’ve given up. We let this machine,” he points at the orb, “decide who doesn’t have to. It’s like….it’s like the men in Mole’s Town who wander into the snows when winter grows too cold, and there’s not enough food or warmth to go around. Grown-ass men who could be fixing furnaces and braving the cold to find the resources their families so desperately need. Most of the time they don’t even have the fucking guts to tell anyone what they’re off to do. They just wander away one day, and winter takes them.

That’s what the fucking Institution is. We’re all those men in Mole’s Town who’ve just given up, despite the blood still pumping through our veins. We’re sitting around, waiting for winter to kill us, so that a few can live. And there’s no one left to be mad about it either, because it’s a fucking machine that decides our fate. It’s like being mad at the wind. What’s the fucking point? But just because there is no one to be angry with, that doesn’t mean the rage goes away...and winter isn’t killing us fast enough."

“So you want to live?”

“I want humanity to want to live. I want humanity to want most of humanity to live. I want us to care about more than the one percent.”

It feels radical, saying it here; behind the walls of the Institution. It feels like he’s put the last nail in his own coffin. Shireen watches him as he cracks his knuckles, one at a time, waiting for her to say the interview is over; it’s time to go home.

Instead she asks an even crazier question.

“Do you think there is an essential connection between the morality of an action and the morality of the intentions behind it?”

#my writing #work in progress #jonsa fic #jonsa dystopian au #kind of inspired by songs of a distant earth #when I get to the new planet #whenever that happens #shireen!

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chimmyrockbison · 3 years

Text

MASTERLIST Updated 03/20/2021

COMPLETED AO3 FICS [Kim Taehyung/Park Jimin]

1. The Sound of Your Heart

Summary: There was something so easy about it, it was almost scary. Taehyung didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to feel this overwhelming fondness; but not unlike his head, his heart was hard to persuade once it had decided a path. And Taehyung was scared that it had decided on the mute new boy with pretty features and a warm smile.

Words: 144,014

2. All the King's Men

Summary: Castle servants Jimin and Taehyung find themselves involved in a game with the Crown Prince.

Words: 52,531

3. golden haze

Summary: Taehyung watches Jimin’s mouth twist into a pout, forming the word ‘fucking’ with his thick lips before he’s whipping out his translation device again. Taehyung doesn’t have time to stop him when various pornographic images pop up on his holographic screen, Jimin’s eyes widening with intrigue, his mouth falling open at the suggestive images in front of him.

(or: lonely college student taehyung harbors an alien fugitive in his apartment. nothing goes as planned.)

Words: 34,850

4. Drag'on Together (Love Is Its Own Magic)

Summary: “I swear to God, Taehyung if you stop to pick up one more rock because you think it might be some sort of rare stone, I’m leaving you here,” Jimin huffs as he tries to sound intimidating.

“Jiminnie, we both know you wouldn’t survive a minute without me, so stop with the empty threats, okay?” Taehyung replies, happily ignoring his dark-haired friend.

Jimin would argue, he would, if it wasn’t for the fact that Taehyung was right.

The time Taehyung and Jimin finds a blue rock and it turns out to be so much more.

Words: 30,554

5. even the weariest river

Summary: It's moments like this that make Taehyung panic. The open derision on each courtier's face, the scorn of his brother as he turns from his prey. The slit of Park Jimin's eyes, just barely open and dark and hateful, as Taehyung swallows and squares his shoulders and says—

"I want to claim him."

The tides of war change, and sweep Taehyung and Jimin along with them.

Words: 152,979

6. i fell in love with the pizza delivery guy (and then i blew him in the bathroom)

Summary: Send your best delivery guy. Preferably cute, preferably packing.

“You're the one who ordered me,” Taehyung says. Not exactly a question; more of a statement.

“Well, I ordered pizza; you just happen to be a delightful bonus,” Jimin clarifies, lips drawn up in a smirk that sets Taehuyung’s blood on fire in a most delectable way. “Although, had I known a pretty face like yours was working there...maybe I would have been more specific with my instructions. At least I know for next time.”

(or, Jimin orders pizza and a little something extra, and Taehyung delivers without really knowing what he's signing up for)

Words: 18,438

7. Grand Jeté

Summary: Refusing to spend another night alone, Taehyung surprises his perfectionist of a boyfriend Jimin at his dance studio with the intent of dragging him home. But their pent-up emotions from spending time apart has the visit ending with a lot of kissing and a little experimenting.

Words: 8,200

8. Already Midnight

Summary: On New Year's Eve, Taehyung is drunk. So drunk that he doesn't recognize Jimin as his boyfriend. When Jimin kisses him at midnight, Taehyung threatens to call his man- aka Jimin.

Words: 3,951

9. Worth The Risk

Summary: The rules are simple: no kissing on the lips, no petnames, no cuddling after sex, no sleepovers, no labels, and no catching feelings.

It should be simple. In fact, it would be simple, if it weren’t for one tiny thing...Taehyung is pretty sure he’s in love with Jimin. And that’s absolutely against the rules.

Words: 23,645

10. Common Ground

Summary: Taehyung is rich, a little bit bratty, a lot a bit spoiled, and failing calculus. Jimin works full time, tutors, and is a straight-A student. There's a rulebook somewhere that states very clearly that people like Jimin should never associate with people like Taehyung. But rules are meant to be broken. And opposites always, always attract.

Words: 44,136

11. This is not a dream

Summary: He would think they were ships in the night if not for the fact that every night, Jimin lays his head in Taehyung’s lap and Taehyung runs fingers without nerve endings through his hair. If they didn't have this false, teasing closeness long enough to learn every detail of each other's lives, long enough that Jimin is the person Taehyung spends the most time with by a mile.

(Jimin leaves. Two months later, he falls in love with Taehyung.)

Words: 12,370

12. Shooting Stars and Silver Moons

Summary: Yoongi and Jimin make a bet, Taehyung makes bad decisions.

(Or: "I'm kind of pissed you didn't choose me to fake date, I'm your best friend")

Words: 20,206

13. the whole world is blue

Summary: Taehyung is not going to confess. That kind of thing never ends well. The movies are wrong. It doesn't always turn out to be mutual. Real life isn't so romantic like that.

Words: 10,829

14. Swipe Right

Summary: As a best friend, Jimin will do anything for Taehyung. This includes being his fake boyfriend to ward off the unwanted attention Taehyung is receiving after using a dating app and agreeing to meet someone.

Words: 26,085

15. Define Me in Terms of You

Summary: This is either Taehyung's greatest idea, or his worst.

“So, let me get this straight. You want me to teach you how to play guitar, join a fake band and enter a competition just so that you can impress a guy you like?"

Words: 9,808

16. i just adore you asking for more

Summary: Taehyung is a successful model looking for a discreet release. Jimin is a professional dom who won’t judge his browsing history.

Words: 90,201

17. Sirius

Summary: "Dude, our entire relationship could be an Ed Sheeran album."

Words: 16,955

18. it's your heart i wanna live (& sleep) in

Summary: The first time Jimin sleeps over at Taehyung's, it's an emergency. The other times after? That's a different story.

Words: 22,658

19. kissing up on fences (and up on walls, i don't want to fall)

Summary: They’ve always been close, Taehyung and Jimin. Where one went, it would be rare to see them without the other. This is a fact Namjoon knows better than most, having coexisted with them in close quarters for such a long time.

Namjoon had not, however, for all his proclaimed wisdom and prudence, had the foresight to see that they’d become this close.

(or: the five times the other members thought they were dating, and the one time jimin starts to wonder if they really are)

Words: 8,738

20. The Usual

Summary: Alternatively titled: The Regular

Jimin will date anyone, except for boys who serve coffee.

Words: 27,935

21. i'm so sorry but it's fake love (tbh, not really)

Summary: when chaebol/commitment anti-fan park jimin learns he's being married off, he does the smartest thing in the world: hire a fake boyfriend he found on the internet (aka Craigslist's personal ads)

all he needs is just three months with said fake boyfriend to convince his parents to leave him alone. after that, he'll get back to his regular programming.

except, not really.

Words: 209,565

22. Gravity//Oxygen

Summary: He already lost his parents.

He'll be damned if he loses Jimin's smile too.

We stay together.

Always.

Taehyung is out for revenge. And he'll do anything to get it.

Words: 180,321

23. A Screenshot of Youth

Summary: There’s a sharp intake of breath, Taehyung’s grip tightening over Jimin’s with a gentle squeeze. “Jimin,” his voice is serious, and Jimin watches him, strangely endeared. “Let’s be friends.”

And it’s like this, that they begin as friends in the heat of a sweltering summer, twelve years old and too young to think much of it, hands twined together under the blanket of a setting sun.

(In which Jimin and Taehyung grow up together.)

Words: 18,496

24. i'll take the desert, you take the coast

Summary: “Everyone I know is a candlestick nearing its demise. They’re afraid of bringing meaning into their lives, of cultivating that glow. But you, prince Park Jimin, you are different. You glow with the passion of more than a thousand suns.”

Words: 30,973

25. just to get a taste

Summary: The one where Jeongguk dares Jimin and Taehyung to kiss and it unravels a lot of feelings. But mostly more kisses.

Or the one where Jimin's heart is stupid and Jimin's best friend is actually irresistible. Who'd've thunk, huh?

Words: 24,375

26. tell them it's the end

Summary: Five months after Taehyung suddenly walked out on him, Jimin finds out that Taehyung has yet to inform his family, who absolutely loved Jimin, about their split.

Jimin tries to swallow his feelings as he once again “dates” Taehyung.

Words: 13,802

27. stay with you

Summary: Taehyung wondered why he always see this blonde man, getting wasted every night. Its such a shame seeing his pretty face wasting every single night of his life in this bar.

Until he saw his eyes, and he understood why.

(Or Jimin is broken and he wanted his happiness back.)

Words: 12,875

28. ring the changes

Summary: That's the nature of one-sided confessions. Things change.

Words: 45,248

29. summer, winter, spring (i'm falling for you)

Summary: The school starts to take notice of Jimin.

Taehyung has always noticed.

Words: 41,786

30. Make Me-al

Summary: In which Jimin starts to work at Jin's restaurant and there he meets Taehyung, the new rookie waiter that kinda gets him off his nerves (the feeling is mutual). Yet, the tension between them is hotter than the ovens from the kitchen...

Words: 26,886

31. such stuff as dreams are made on

Summary: "sir no one, may i have this dance?"

or: kim taehyung, a kitchen boy, sneaks into a royal masquerade. park jimin is the prince he never expected.

Words: 38,753

#ao3fic #bangtan #bts #bts fic #jimin #taehyung #vmin #vmin fic #vmin au

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tlou-1 · 3 years

Text

Joel Miller x Reader (Home) Chapter 21

Chapter 21 - Joel is in a really bad way, you and Ellie await to see how and if he will recover

Contains | SMUT and a minor glimpse/reference to PTSD

A couple of days pass and you still had’t left the surgery, you had barely left the chair sat across from Joel’s bed. He still hadn’t gained consciousness, from the beating, the drugs, the stitches. On the second night Molly brought you a change of clothes and suggested you head home for some sleep and to check on Patrick.

“I left Patrick with you for a reason Molly. I am not going anywhere until I know he is okay” you said shortly to her nodding your head towards Joel. You would be no use to Patrick like this and what child should have to see his parents like this at such a young age, you trusted Molly to look after him for a couple days.

“Fine but at least change your clothes, your jeans are soaked in blood.” She sighed pointing at the pile she had set out for you. For the first time you looked and felt the clothes you were wearing, the dried, crusted blood on your knees creating a smell of iron which filled your nose with nausea. You washed and changed like she asked but after sat right back into the same seat.

A couple hours when dusk had set in Ellie appeared at the door, neither of you seemed to know what to say to the other. Nothing would make this better, the only person that could was lying in the bed next you both unable to do so. Ellie pulled up a chair next to you and you took her hand, she clenched it tightly. You both fell asleep together on those chairs that third night.

In the morning, Ellie brought you both two mugs of coffee, “I hate the stuff to be honest but I love the smell.” She sighs.

You smile slightly at her, “I know exactly what you mean”, neither of you could smell the stuff without thinking of Joel.

You reach your hand out to Joel’s and squeeze it. Ellie props herself at the foot of the bed as you feel something brush across the top of your hand. You look down to see Joel’s thumb stroking the back of your hand slowly.

“Ellie” you whisper gesturing her to look down at the movement.

“Joel can you hear me? I am here, Ellie is here too” You call to him.

“Oh I can hear you darlin, I’d know those two voice anywhere” he says quietly and horsely. He sounded rough but even hearing him call you darlin, well there wasn’t many words that could describe the sense of relief.

You press your forehead to Joel’s hand which you were holding and let out a deep breath which became a small cry.

“I thought” you start but you couldn’t finish that sentence.

“That I would leave the two of you and Patrick? Not today anyway but I see you are already into my coffee stash” he says taking his time with each word, it was difficult to talk and his laugh barely made it past his lips. Neither you or Ellie laughed, it was clear he was trying to lighten your spirits. Joel could barely see out his swollen eye but he could still see and feel the look on your faces, he grips your hand tighter.

“Joel I’m so sorry” Ellie begins to cry, really cry with her eyes and nose leaking its like she can barely catch a breath. You want to reach out for her but Joel is already there, putting his hand out to her hush her.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear. Nothing” He says sternly pulling Ellie’s conscious back into the room. You all sit together a few moments before Joel asks Ellie if he can have a moment with you. “I’ll just go clean our mugs” she suggested offering to take the empty mug from your hand.

There is such a long silence once Ellie leaves, you were about to say something when -

“What on earth were you thinking?” He whispers angrily at you.

“What? What was I thinking? Are you really asking that now?” You repeat his words defensively.

“What about the baby, did you think about that? Or Patrick?”.

“What about thank you for saving me Y/N? I don’t know where I would be without you Y/N? Hmm?” Your voice gets a little louder and you continue.

“All I could think when I saw you, like that was that my husband and father of my child was about to get beaten to death in front of me and our daughter. I was not - I wasn’t going to let that happen. You said you wouldn’t leave, you made that promise, I was keeping it.” Your voice shaking as you spoke.

Again Joel says nothing for a bit before a quiet “Thank you Y/N” escapes his lips, he is clearly still frustrated.

“And the baby?” He asks.

“Joel we haven’t even been to the doctor to confirm if I am pregnant, I am probably too old for it, just because I am late doesn’t mean-“ but he interrupts.

“When in the four years that I have been with you have you been late?” He asked bluntly, the answer was never but you just had a feeling he wasn’t right this time. He was mad, of course he was mad but how you make a ‘rational’ decision in that kind of situation. Maybe the grenade was a dud, maybe it wasn’t, maybe you might have died, maybe you wouldn’t, maybe you were pregnant, maybe you weren’t. The only thing that was certain was Joel was going to die if you didn’t do something, so you did the first thing that came to mind. It seemed hard for him to understand that, maybe he thinks his life isn’t worth that much, ‘what an idiot’ you thought when so many people loved and depended on him.

“What would you have done if it was me? If you saw me beaten half to death in front of you, would you leave me there?” You asked, he was silent again and you both knew he would never have walked away. Ellie joins you both again “Everything okay?” She asks.

“Yeah we are good kiddo” Joel reassures her with a soft smile. He grimaces slightly, clearly the painkillers beginning to wear off. After Doctor Henry has a good assessment of Joel she explains it’s going to be a couple weeks for a full recovery, “I ain’t staying here for a couple weeks. I want to be in my own house” Joel insists. You pull Doctor Henry aside as you prepare to move Joel home and explain your own situation, “If you let me take a couple samples, I will run some tests and should be able to tell you in a week or so” she smiles.

Joel spends the next week in your bed at home. By the second week he is beginning to get back on his feet for short periods of time, he manages to walk downstairs and joins you and Patrick to watch a film “What we got tonight?” He asks pulling you into his arms, you let out a large sigh and sink into him. “Patrick picked Monsters Inc again” you point to Patrick who has moved off the sofa to a spot right in front of the TV wanting to be as close as possible. “I’m not pregnant Joel” you whispered so only he could hear, you couldn’t see his face but he squeezed you shoulders tighter and pressed a firm kiss on the crown of your head, “Are you okay?” He asks, you nod your head. You really were okay, “I am. I am really happy with my family. I don’t need anything more than I already have”. You both go back to watching the film and don’t talk about it again.

That night in bed, Joel turns to you and wraps his arms around the back of you, you feel his hands trail under the shirt you were wearing. “Joel” you groan slightly and press your back into him further, you can feel him stiff against your ass, “Mhm?” He purrs against your ear, “You are still recovering” you state, he wasn’t really in a fit state yet. “I am” he nods and his hands further higher up your top, cupping your breasts. You turn to meet him and press a kiss on his lips before breaking away and venture towards the end of the bed. “Where do you think you’re going?” He asks trying to sit up, you push him back down and begins to pull his underwear away. You lower your head and trail your tongue along his shaft from the bottom to the tip, he let out a hiss as you took him entirely in your mouth. Working away at him with your mouth and hands you feel him tense as he moaned “oh Jesus baby” and finished him off.

You both fell asleep, you leaning into Joel but being careful with him as good as he was doing, he was still in some discomfort. You watched him sleep, it felt good feeling his chest rise and fall under the palm of your hand. As you feel him breath, you begin to feel him move restlessly under your hand, his breathing becoming erratic. You gently nudge him but it seems to make him worse, you sit up and press your hands at either side of his face, “Joel, Joel wake up! You’re having a nightmare”. Before his eyes flash open he raises his hand to your throat, his grip tightens but quickly loosens as soon as his eyes open and the realisation of who he had in his grip crosses his face. You get your breath back and Joel still hasn’t moved, his eyes wide open, “I - I am sorry. I don’t know wh-“ he says flustered, seemingly unable to move or even blink.

You move closer to him, almost sitting in his lap, you take his face in your hands and try to force him to look at you “Hey it’s okay, I am okay Joel.” But he is still struggling to look at you and try to pull his face to look at the ground.

“I just keep seeing it” he says in almost a whisper, you can feel his cheeks are becoming slightly damp.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead you reply “It’s going to be okay, I promise”.

#tlou #The Last of Us #The Last of Us Fanfic #The Last of Us Fanfiction #Joel Miller #tlou Joel #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #Joel x Reader #Joel Miller x Reader #the last of us part 2 #tlou ii #The Last of Us Ellie

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Chapter 46

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Despite his insistence on carefully contrived plans, and his aversion to impulsive action, Nie HuaiSang is more than capable of thinking on his feet.

He had known that this moment would come eventually. Some day, an attack, a carefully aimed arrow, a cup full of poison, something would slip past their barriers. Wei Ying may survive it, or he may not. This has been the indisputable truth of their existence, a truth universally acknowledged, although rarely ever discussed.

Nie HuaiSang’s flesh makes a pitiful shield, and a saber in his hand is equally as useless. His skill lies in other areas, and his task, regardless of danger the Emperor faces, is to protect the throne. Many arguments have been had between them on this subject, some so heated, it had seemed unlikely that their friendship could survive them.

HuaiSang has no loyalty to the Empire. Oh, he can praise and flatter, and speak flowery words of dedication and devotion with the best of them. But deep in his heart, he has always been a simple creature, with simple and straightforward priorities.

His Sect, his brother, Wei Ying, Jiang Cheng, these are things worth living for and dying for. Everything else, including the rest of the Empire, would always take the second place. It seemed inconceivable that he could turn away from Wei Ying in pain, Wei Ying dying, in order to protect some collection of insubstantial ideals, some flimsy peace between regions that have always yearned to fight, to protect some golden monstrosity of a seat that HuaiSang himself would never choose to occupy, not for all the silver and jade in the world.

It took a great deal of time, and many bitter arguments, to accept that some day, Wei Ying may die, but that the Empire must continue to exist in his absence. It had been even more difficult to accept that HuaiSang must be the one to bring this about. To accept that there will come a time when he must step away from Wei Ying, no matter the danger, no matter the consequences, and perform those duties that the Emperor cannot.

He has assumed this responsibility, regardless of personal misgivings. He knows what he must do.

And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the reality of the task.

There is a small, hand-picked contingent of the Nie Sect, whose only priority is preserving HuaiSang’s life. Most of the time, this protection is adequate, verging on excessive. After all, HuaiSang rarely moves far from his comfortable lodgings in the Emperor’s palace, nor has he left the Immortal Mountain in nearly three years. He has rarely ever needed their protection, as the majority of the dangers at court cannot be fought with a sword. Still, having failed in their duty mere days ago, this small contingent had sprung into action before HuaiSang had even fully comprehended the danger.

He finds himself practically carried off the dais, a wall of Nie Sect uniforms surrounding him from all sides. It is not clear how far they intend to carry him; HuaiSang has never bothered learning their contingency plans, nor has he expressed any interest in listening to the instructions Nie ZongHui had insisted on issuing at least a dozen times a year.

But he cannot leave the hall; not yet.

His heels, hanging nearly a handspan off the ground, kick out. At the same time, the sharp edge of his fan finds the unfortunate ear of a Sect member he does not recognize. He does not feel pity for the man, whose tight grip will probably leave bruises on HuaiSang’s upper arm. They release him, more out of surprise than any intention, and HuaiSang tugs his collar straight, feeling rumpled and off balance.

Now, he can see Wei Ying still standing on the dais, the black chest at his feet. He can see the dark coils of smoke wrapping around his body. The hall is a chaos of noise and confusion, cultivators who should be the best, the most skilled in the whole of the Empire, stumbling into each other, overtaken by panic. HuaiSang feels it too, a quivering unsteadiness beneath his breastbone, a fear that threatens to spill and incapacitate.

A hand latches around his arm again. This time his fan is precise, striking the bridge of the man’s nose.

“Enough,” he snaps, “I am not leaving.”

“Young Master,” Nie SuiLin says, “the Lieutenant General has ordered--“

“The Lieutenant General does not issue orders to His Majesty’s Most Favored Person,” HuaiSang bites out.

Back to Young Master already, is he? The Emperor is still standing on the dais, on his own two feet, but Nie SuiLin dares speak as if the Emperor is already dead.

He resists the urge to kick the man again, this time with more force. Irritation and fury coil in his chest, suffocating the fear, pushing it to the background. Nie SuiLin looks furious as well, but he will find his fury no match for HuaiSang’s.

HuaiSang has a million tasks to perform, each one more difficult than the last, and he does not have time for nonsense.

“You--“ he points his fan at the poor man whose nose he had bloodied, “Find the General. He is to lock down the Immortal Mountain. Guards at every gate, every entrance, every palace window, every crack in the wall where someone may slip out. Once the city and the Emperor’s palace are secure, I will need him in the banquet hall. You--“ he points at another, “take charge in here. Empty out the hall of everyone who is in the way--“

A blast of power propels him back into the wall of men, nearly knocking him down to the floor. The sound of the guqin drowns out the chaos of the hall, each note forceful enough to make his ears ring and his teeth ache. Through the wall of bodies, he can see the glow of spiritual energy battling the darkness, the familiar white of the Gusu Lan Sect in its midst. The black smoke roils and snaps, fighting to keeps its grip.

His bones feel rattled. Every one of his muscles is vibrating with the sound. His hands are shaking.

Useless as he would be, the urge to join them, to do something, anything at all, is overwhelming.

Irritation sweeps through him again. No distractions; no self-pity; no fear. He needs to focus.

He snatches the collar of the man with the bloody nose, “Find the General! Go!”

A hand latches on to his arm again, and he whirls, ready to beat Nie SuiLin until the man is bloody as well. Jiang Chen grabs his wrist before the fan can land, his expression tight and exasperated.

Although he shouts directly into HuaiSang’s face, his voice is barely audible over the now combined harmonies of the guqin and the xiao, “We need to secure the hall!”

HuaiSang closes his eyes, just for a moment, for a space of a single breath, so he does not leap at Jiang Cheng’s throat. Instead, he tugs a nearby Nie Sect member close, and shouts the same order into his ear. He sends another to find Nie ZongHui, with orders to escort all the Sect Leaders to the banquet hall and keep them there. His mind is trying to move too quickly, thoughts overlapping, contingency plans unfolding, reforming, and being dismissed, all in the matter of shaky, half-taken breaths.

Secure the Immortal Mountain. Secure the palace and the throne. Protect the Emperor. The Jiang Sect will take control of the Imperial Guard. HuaiSang needs to reach Wei Ying’s personal study before anyone else. He needs to--

He latches on to Jiang Cheng’s sleeve, “The Wen Sect?”

“On their way.”

He is stalling, and Jiang Cheng knows this.

HuaiSang need to go. He needs to go right now, before the other Sect Leaders have an opportunity to think, to consider their own contingency plans, to place the succession in peril.

Instead, he watches Lan WangJi’s break Wei Ying’s wrist. He watches Wei Ying release an object, its shape indistinguishable from the coils of black smoke. He watches Lan WangJi pull Wei Ying away from the dais, away from danger.

HuaiSang does not notice that his fingers had wrapped around Jing Cheng’s arm until they are pried off, with more gentleness than Jiang Cheng is ordinarily capable of displaying. Xiao XingChen had stepped up to Lan QiRen’s left shoulder, two more Fan Sect cultivators bracketing Lan XiChen. More join in, their power insignificant next to the Lan Sect, but the cursed object appears less powerful now, its prize removed from its grip.

HuaiSang cannot see the place where Lan WangJi has laid Wei Ying down on the marble floor. He does not know if Wei Ying is dead or alive. Only when Jiang Cheng’s hand grabs a fistful of his robes, does he realize that he has moved forward, intending to push his way to Wei Ying’s side.

“You have to go,” Jiang Cheng says.

“I know,” he snaps, jerking out of Jiang Cheng’s hold.

Stupid Wei Ying. Stupid Empire. He is not crying. His eyes are watering. His eyes are watering because he is furious, and surrounded by idiots. Incompetent idiots, who touch things without thinking, hop over rooftops looking for an arrow through their throat, and never consider their own safety first.

Idiots who insist on preserving some stupid, pointless legacy HuaiSang could not care less about.

With a growl, he turns on his heel, and grabs Nie SuiLin by the front of his robes, “Come with me.”

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #short chapter form nie huaisang's pov #ily chickens

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ri-ahhh · 3 years

Text

for the win

After dealing with a lifetime of insecurities, Winnie Walker finally gets the courage to pursue her dreams, with a few bumps along the way. But that confidence may not carry over when it comes to a certain hazel-eyed football player who’s had her attention for much too long.

A/N: this was a random inspo that hit me out of nowhere a while ago and I was gonna make it an epic oneshot, but I think I’ll just break it into parts instead. So, hence, this is part one. Hopefully you like it enough for it to be even worth posting more.

warnings: none yet, other than this is def gonna be as cheesy as you think it is

***

Winnie Walker has always considered herself an enigma. Not in that annoying, ‘I’m so cute and quirky’ type of way, but rather in the way that made her someone who never quite fit into one defined space. The kind perfected by years of self doubt, an emotionally distant mother, and the random ebb and flow of confidences and insecurities that always helps her remember that she is, in fact, perfectly un-extraordinary: her face is too round, but she’s always been called pretty; her personality is dry enough that she finds it challenging making female friends, but she fits in well with the boys; and she has a penchant for being the last one to talk about anything she might be feeling until she puts a pen to paper and speaks through the mouths of others.

Sports and writing were her main passions, but it still took until her senior year of high school to decide that she wanted to be a sports journalist. Not just a journalist, though -- more than anything, she dreamed of stepping out into the light as a broadcaster. Shy by nature but an athlete at heart, it once again put her in that enigmatic grey space where she wasn’t sure what the hell she was thinking.

But it’s what her heart was calling for her to do. For the first time in her life, Winnie Walker felt sure about something despite everyone’s doubts -- including her own. She grew up an athlete, and some of her fondest memories as a child were caught between either being in her dad’s man cave with all of his friends, cheering on their team of choice for whatever sport was on, discussing heatedly what plays should or shouldn’t have taken place. Or, on the volleyball court.

The full ride offer from USC that was presented but never came to fruition because of a devastating knee injury in one of her last club tournaments haunted Winnie in the months leading up to her high school graduation.

Her mother, Dahlia, was not-so-secretly thrilled. A stage mother through and through, she had always supported her daughter as she made headway in her sport as a star player, but it was an open point of contention that Winnie planned to follow her passion for it all the way to college. She wanted her middle daughter to attend the local university, get a nice marketing degree, and settle into a high rise in downtown Dallas, where she could point at during brunch with her friends and brag about the pretty penny her kid made with her perfectly nice degree she attained in her perfectly nice hometown.

That’s not Winnie, though, and everyone except Dahlia knew it. No one was all too surprised that she still wanted to escape to California (again, except her mother), even if they were slightly shocked about her decision for a major. The reactions from her friends and sisters and dad had her even more excited as she scanned the email of her academic acceptance into USC. It finally gave her the courage to spill the beans to her mother as well.

Dahlia Walker very much scoffed in the face of her quiet, introverted, hopeful daughter sitting across the kitchen island while she scrubbed at the dishes from dinner.

“Winona, sweetie, you refused to even speak at your sister’s wedding as the maid of honor, and you want to be on TV? With all those... men?”

Winnie cringed a little bit and rolled her eyes at the slightly far-off look on her mother’s face as she no doubt started imagining the sweaty athletes the reporters would stand next to post-game.

“You don’t think I could do it?” she asked flatly, flicking a chip of her nail polish off her finger so it flew across the otherwise spotless granite — her mom hated when she did that.

Dahlia’s hands picked up their pace again in the suds, slowed down by whatever middle-aged fantasy was going on in her mind. She shook her head, the highlights in her perfectly styled blonde bob shifting under the recessed lights.

“The girls who do that are just so bouncy. Friendly. They curl their hair.”

Winnie bit her lip. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Her body felt deflated. “I knew I could count on you to be supportive.”

“Oh honey, I’m just trying to be realistic with you,” her mother said dismissively. Like she didn’t realize the pang her words caused to spread in Winnie’s chest; it should have been be all-too familiar by then, but the sting was never weakened with age or predictability. “And California? Are you really ready to be so far from home? You hardly ever even leave your room.”

It had taken everything in Winnie to hold back the open scoff she longed to throw at her mother; instead, she just stood up and left the kitchen, along with any childish hope that Dahlia might ever make an effort to really know her middle daughter.

Because anyone that knew Winona Elle Walker could predict just how much she would thrive in California. In the persistent sunshine that never quite reached the peak of being too hot for very long, unlike the nearly six months of 90 and 100-plus degree days of summer she knew so well in Texas. Within close proximity to a beach that didn’t have swamp-colored water washing ashore.

In a place well over a thousand miles away from Dahlia.

And that’s exactly how Winnie found herself in LA: thriving. She made friends easily, enjoyed life on the USC campus while she studied the exact major she had set out for the first day she sat down in her first class -- Navigating News in the Digital Age class -- and it was a relatively cheap flight home if she ever missed it too much. Winnie started feeling less like an enigma, and more like someone whose quirks were becoming more of a benefit to her success than she could have ever imagined.

Now, as a woman in her senior year, nearly 22 and set to graduate in only a few months time, she’s finally up for the most coveted position in her major: being the prime time student reporter at the biggest sporting events of the school’s entire athletic program — the Trojan football games. Reporting at football games was a job always reserved for seniors, and she had been driving her roommate — and best friend in California — Naomi crazy all summer prepping for the spot’s audition.

“Winnie, babe, you know the plays backwards and forwards. You’ve understood more about the rules of football since you were a kid than I’ll ever know as a grown woman. You have all the key players’ and coaches’ names and numbers memorized. You couldn’t be any more prepared,” she smiles, good-natured irritation clear in her eyes and behind the blinding smile that shone from her mocha-colored skin.

It softens some when Winnie stood from the couch, and Naomi reaches over and slaps her retreating ass just hard enough to make Winnie yelp and giggle. “Not to mention those squats are paying off big time, bitch. You’re gonna kill it.”

Winnie rolls her eyes and continues to make her way to the kitchen to refill her wine glass. “The camera won’t see my ass, but thanks.”

Naomi winks. “No. But Grayson Dolan might.”

Grayson Dolan — the walk-on that had stunned everyone when he was thrown into a game his freshman year after two of the starting tight ends had become injured on two consecutive plays. Now a senior himself, he’s led the team ever since in receiving yards, receptions, and TD’s, and is a clear prospect for the NFL in the coming months.

He also happens to be the player Winnie had drunkenly admitted she had a crush on during a girls night last year, and her friends have yet to let her live it down. She had felt ridiculous saying she had a crush as a 21 year-old, but that’s really all it was; he was hot, an extremely talented player, and she barely knew him beyond that one time he had spilled a drink on her at a frat party, and the rather interesting reputation that followed him around campus. There was nothing more to it.

Even if her attraction to him hasn’t died down in the passing time.

Winnie only blushes and pours herself a little extra, blaming the Maison No. 9 when Naomi throws her head back with a cackle and calls out the matching pink in her cheeks.

The morning of her audition, a mere two weeks into her fall semester, Winnie has butterflies fluttering madly in the pit of her belly. Her truer nature of being somewhat shy and timid in these situations has never left, always flaring up in moments of self-doubt and unpredictability. Undoubtedly, however, this audition deserves all the nerves; it’s a clear stepping stone into network broadcasting, and would almost guarantee her a spot as an intern at FOX Sports next semester.

She stares at herself in the mirror for a moment, silently urging herself to get her shit together, and takes a deep breath before eyeing Naomi’s curling iron plugged in by the sink adjacent to her own.

Winnie hasn’t curled her hair once in the nearly four years she’d been in LA. Not for nights out, or auditions, or even a date. A brief moment of madness overtakes her as she stands there staring at the metal device, her hand starting to reach out as words that should be long forgotten ring loud and clear in her head. For a second, the pale beige paint of her apartment bathroom turns the light blue and grey color scheme of her childhood one. Her mom had ‘surprised’ her with the the renovation one year when she decided to redecorate the house while Winnie was at volleyball camp, insisting she had chosen Winnie’s favorite colors, when in reality it simply matched the rest of the monotone suburban house that Winnie secretly couldn’t stand. It was boring, and typical, and...stuck, despite its relative newness.

With that, the fog clears as quickly as it had come, and she sets her jaw determinedly. She hasn’t let Dahlia psych her out for this long; she isn’t about to let now be the first time since she’s been out here on her own.

And maybe Naomi was right. Maybe she’d catch a certain tight end’s eye with a tight end of her own, after all.

The nausea suddenly returns as she shakes her head and reaches for her straightener instead, flicking it on before sectioning off her hair.

“No wonder you’re so fucking single, Win.”

#dolan twins #grayson dolan #blurb #g blurb #why am i posting this in the height of everyone elses amazing oc’s #stupid

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derekfoxwit · 3 years

Text

Doctor Dorpden’s Critical Tips of Prestige

Note: This post was made with satirical intentions in mind. I’m only emphasizing because I’ve had a couple of comments on previous joke posts I’ve did take it seriously. With that said, here we go.

Tip 1: For starters, remember that when looking at the work, if the Mystic Knee twitches fast enough to punch a hole in a wall, this suggests that the work should be near the lowest of the low. No further development of opinion is needed.

Tip 2: For an equal degree of sophistication, give the warm comfort of nostalgia at least 5 times more chances than the new thing that MAY seem actually poggers.

Tip 3: If you have the anecdote of encountering shitty fans, then use them as a scapegoat for the show they flaunt over being shitty. Clearly, they’re always making the show the way it is.

Tip 4: If you haven’t heard much about a newer film or show you’re yet to watch, there’s an 85% chance that film or show is actually not worth your time. The Father (2020) isn’t as widespread as Joker (2019) for a reason.

Tip 5: At this point, just go for the Asian Artist Dick. I’m actually in the mood to see merit in that because I want to look edgy against cute doodles. Stop attacking Uzaki-Chan, you cowards!

Tip 6: Avoid the electronic tunes. They’ll make you smell like a bum, for there’s no structural in a music album that’s nothing but wubs.

Tip 7: If you see a Tweet that looks dumb, use it as a means of generalizing all the fans of a work as sharing that same opinion.

Tip 8: If the cartoon I’m given doesn’t provide me with mature ideas such as slicing an Arbok in half or fake boobs, then the cartoon might as well be on the same level as Teletubbies.

Tip 9: You know the music is (c)rap when it brings up drugs, regardless of lyrical context.

Tip 10: Raw mood is the indicator of quality cartooning. If you’re quick to assume the worst in the newest HBO Max original cartoon, then you got thyself a stinker. Same thing if you were super bummed out when watching a new thing, regardless of anecdotal context.

Tip 11: When you’re not given continuous throwbacks, ensure you’re as reductive and over-generalizing about the works shown as possible.

Tip 12: If your hazy and imperfect as hell recollection of a children’s film, whether it’s Wall-E or Lilo & Stitch, would describe said film as “too sugary” or “key-waving schlock”, then that HAS to be the case. No meat on that bone whatsoever.

Tip 13: Simpler, more graphic style that isn’t as realistic as old-school Disney or Anime? You got yourself a lazy style with zero passion put into it.

UPA? Who’s THAT?!

Tip 14: Don’t trust anyone saying that western children’s cartoons had any form of artistic development after 2008 (with, like, TWO exceptions). If it did, why didn’t we go from stealing organs in a 2001 cartoon to showing opened stomachs in a 2021 cartoon?

Tip 15: Big booba is always important to the strong female character’s quality.

Tip 16: Only MY ships count, for they provide me with a feeling of intelligence.

Tip 17: “PG-13″ and “R” rating just simply mean you’re not caring for expressing themes in a sophisticated manner. It’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 18: In this age of smelly radicals, “Death of the Author” is more important than ever. Without it, this’ll imply that a classic like The Matrix was secretly toxic, due to what the Wachowskis have to say about it being an “allegory of trans people.”

Tip 19: Turn the fandoms you hate into your torture porn. Ask in Tweets to Retweet one sentence that’d “trigger” them. Go out of your way to paint all of them as blind consoomers. That’ll show them, and it’ll show how much more intelligent you are compared to those clowns.

Tip 20: Whatever the Mystic Knee dictates upon the first viewing of a work is what shall indicate the full structural extent of the film.

Tip 21: The mindset of a 2000s edgelord is one that actually understands the artistry of the medium of animation. Listen to that crazy but ingenious man.

Tip 22: Because sheer ambition makes me feel manly, the high pedestal you bestow upon a cartoon work should be based mostly on the mere mention or mere suggestion of serious topics. This means that pure comedy is smelly.

Tip 23: Is the new work tackling subjects that you’ve loved a childhood work of yours for covering? Just assume it’s super bare-bones in that case compared to the older case, for there’s nothing the older work can do to truly prove itself otherwise. Seriously, Letterboxd. Stop giving any 2010s cartoon anything above a 4/5

Tip 24: If the Mystic Knee is suggesting that the work is crummy, then consider any explanation off the top of your head for why the work in question is crummy.

Tip 25: Sexual and gender identity is inherently political, so don’t focus on them in the story. It’s no wonder why Full Metal Alchemist has caught on more than the She-Ra reboot.

Tip 26: Since I got bothered by a random butt monkey type character in a crummy cartoon, I’m now obligated to assume that having a butt monkey will only harm the writing integrity of the cartoon.

Seriously, Mr. Enter....what?!

Tip 27: We’re at a point where pure comedy for a kids’ cartoon is doing nothing but dumbing down the children. Like seriously...... I doubt Billy and Mandy would ever use farts as a punchline, unlike these newer kids comedies.

Tip 28: The difference between the innuendo in kids’ cartoons I grew up on and the ones Zootopia made is the sense of prestige they give me. Just take notes from the former instead.

Tip 29: Wanna make a work of artistic merit? Just take notes from the stuff I whore out to. It’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 30: Always remember this golden rule: If the newer work, or a work you’ve recently experienced the first time, was truly great, why isn’t it providing the exact emotions from your younger, more impressionable years?

Tip 31: If the Mystic Knee aims to break the bones of a character doing certain things (.i.e. having body count of thousands; lashing out to character; etc.), that means the character is bad and deserves no redemption.

Tip 32: If you want me to believe there’s any intrigue or depth in your antagonist, give them redemption, for I am in need of that sorta thing being spelled out. Looking at you, Syndrome. Should’ve taken notes from Tai Lung.

Tip 33: In a case where you’re going “X > Y” (.i.e. manga compared to western comics), ALWAYS CHERRY PICK! Use the recent controversies of the “Y” item while pretending that the “X” item has never had anything of the sort.

Tip 34: BEFORE you bring up those comments that shat on the original Teen Titans cartoon back when it was new, whether for making Starfire “more PC” or whatever.......the DIFFERENCE between them and me is that THEY were just bad faith fools that couldn’t see true majesty out of blind rage. I, however, am truly certain that calling any western TV cartoon from 2014-onward a work that transcends its generation suggests a destruction of the medium.

Tip 35: Based on fandom growth, it shows that any newer show isn’t being watched much by kids, but rather loser adults that act like children. Therefore, there’s more prestige in what I grew with.

Tip 36: The focus on children is bad at this point since the children of today have attention spans that flies would have.

Tip 37: A select few screenshots (or even one) of either a less elaborate attacking animation, less realistic game graphics, or a less on-model image in a cartoon indicates EVERYTHING about the work’s quality.

Tip 38: Consuming or writing media where characters go through constant suffering is little more than gaining pleasure out of it. YOU SICKOS!

Looking at you, Lily Orchard!

Tip 39: Whether it’s a sexual awakening story or just simply a romance, focus on a character being lesbian, trans, bi, etc., then it shouldn’t be in a kids’ work. It’s too spicy for them by default. Kids don’t want romance anyway.

Tip 40: The very idea of a western cartoon with no full-blown antagonist (i.e. Inside Out) is a destruction of animated artistry. Sorry, but it’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 41: Unless it’s my fluffy pillow, such as Disney’s Robin Hood, it should be obligated to assume the inserting of anthros is only there to pleasure the furries. Looking at YOU, Zootopia!

Tip 42: With how rough and rash The Beast was, it shows that he was more of an abusive lover. Therefore, I refuse to believe that Beauty and the Beast has any of the meticulous moral writing that most of Disney’s other 90s films has.

Tip 43: When you suggest one work should’ve “taken notes” from another work in order to do better, BE VAGUE! Those who agree will be shown to be geniuses.

Tip 44: Remember how morally grey Invader Zim was? That really goes to show how little the Western Animation scene has been trying since that show. Really should just be taking notes from that series (and of course anime).

Tip 45: Even if I have a radar that clearly indicates such, hiding the item I look for inside an enemy is always bad, for I refuse to believe it would be inside the enemy.

Goddamn it, Arin!

Tip 46: People struggle understanding your gender identity or pronouns? All there is to see in that is a giant cloud of egotism that reads “My problems” zapping another smaller cloud that reads “other people’s problems”. Seriously, kids are starving, so WHAT if you identity confused someone. Grow a spine!

Tip 47: Stop pretending that adaptations should colorize how a story or comic series should be defined. No way in FUCK can a cartoon or film incarnation become the definitive portrayal of my precious superhero idol.

Tip 48: Enough with your precious “limited animation” techniques, YOU WESTERN HACKS! All you’re doing is admitting to sheer laziness and lacking artistic integrity. Now if you excuse me, I’ll be watching more anime, since that gives me a sense of prestige.

Tip 49: If getting five times more detail than the 2D animated visuals have requires someone getting hurt, so be it. No pain, no gain after all.

Tip 50: Yes, I genuinely struggle to believe there’s this majestic level of layered material without having the most immediate yet still vague re-assurance practically yelling in my face. But that’s STILL the work’s fault, not mine.

Tip 51: Every Klasky-Csupo cartoon has more artistic integrity than any of them cartoons with gay lovers such as Kipo or the Netflix She-Ra show.

Tip 52: If Sergio Pablos’ Klaus is anything to go by, we have no excuse to utilize those smelly as fuck digital animation “styles” found on Stinky Universe, Suck-Ra or Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turds.

Tip 53: Stop projecting your orientation onto works of actual talent. Seriously, how does Elton John’s I’m Still Standing expel ANY rainbow flag energy?

Tip 54: Hip hop and electronica have been the destruction of music, especially the kind that’s actually organic and not farting on the buttons of a beeping or drumming gadget.

Tip 55: The audience for cartoons has become significantly less clear over the years. We should just go back to Saturday mornings of being sold toys or shit kids actually want.

Tip 56: PSAs for kids shouldn’t be about ‘woke’ content. They should be actual problems such as doing drugs; not playing with knifes / outlets / matches; or acceptance.

Tip 57: The instant you realize a detail in a childhood work that’s better understood as an adult, you’re forced to paint that work as the most transcendent thing in the world. It’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 58: Before you lash out on ALL rich people, remember this: #Not All Rich People.

Tip 59: There’s nothing to gain out of the (c)rap scene other than becoming a spiteful, gun-wielding thug that sniffs weed for breakfast.

Tip 60: Since the Mystic Knee told me to get anal about prom episodes in several gay cartoons, this shows that writing about one’s younger experiences just makes you look pathetic.

Tip 61: Another smelly thing about Zootopia is how it was painting a police chief as stern and exclusive. #Not All Chiefs

Tip 62: Me catching a glimpse of Grave of the Fireflies as a kid and turning out fine shows that you may as well show kids more adult works without worry. No amount of psychological questions being asked will suggest otherwise.

Tip 63: There’s a reason why the Mystic Knee keeps leaning more toward the 90s and early 2000s than most decades. That knee KNOWS where there’s a sense of true refinement.

Tip 64: The BIG difference between rock and electronica? Steward Copeland actually DRUMS. All that the likes of Burial, Boards of Canada, Depeche Mode and several others did was push drum buttons.

Tip 65: One exception to the golden nostalgia is when the work in question doesn’t stuff your face with fantastical, bombastic stories. At which point, there can only be rose-colored blinds covering Nickelodeon’s Doug. Nothing of merit or personal resonance to be found.

Tip 66: Remember that the sense of nuance in the work comes down to there being everything including the kitchen sink, whether it involves multiple geographic landscapes; giving us hundreds of characters; etc. Only through the extremes will I be able to tell there is nuance.

Tip 67: Once you see a joke that has an involvement with sexual or violent content, just ignore the full picture and just reduce it to having nothing to it but “sex, violence, gimme claps.”

PKRussel has entered the chat

Tip 68: With all the SJWs messing up the art of comedy, lament the times where you could be called a comic genius, NOT a monster, for shouting out the word “STAB,” calling a gay weird, painting Middle Easterns as inherently violent, etc.

Tip 69: Guitar twang will always win out over (c)rap beats. There’s a reason your grandma is more likely to listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd than Kendrick Lamar.

Tip 70: Once the Mystic Knee notices a lack of squealing at the video game with linearity, that shows there’s more artistry in going full-blown open world.

Tip 71: Related to Tips 66 and 68, ensure your comedy gets as much information and mileage out of each individual skit as possible. EMPHASIZE if you need to. Continuously spout out your quirky phrase of “STAB” if needed.

Tip 72: Based on the onslaught of TV shows with many seasons and episodes, animated or otherwise, it shows that there’s more worth going for that than simply having a miniseries or a 26-episode anime.

Tip 73: Building off of the previous tip, you’re better off squeezing and exhausting every little detail and notable characterization rather than keeping anything simple and possibly leaving a stone unturned, especially if there’s supposed to be a story.

Tip 74: Playing through the fan translation of Mother 3 made me realize how much some newer kids’ works just try too hard to get serious. Why even make the kids potentially think about the death of a family member?

Tip 75: The fear I had over Sid’s toys from the first Toy Story and similar anecdotal emotions are the be-all indicators of what kind of show or film is fitting for the children.

Tip 76: Seeing this British rapper chick have a song titled “Point and Kill” just further exemplifies the fears I’ve had about rappers being some of the most harmful folks ever.

Tip 77: The problem with attempting to make a more “relatable” She-Ra is that kids aren’t looking for relatability. They want the escapism of buff fighters or something similar. This is why slice-of-life is so smelly.

Tip 78: Based on seeing the rating of “PG-13″ or “R,” I can tell that the dark humor is little more than “hur dur sex and guns.” Given the “TV-Y7 FV” rating of Invader Zim, the writers should’ve taken notes from that instead just so I can sense actual prestige.

Tip 79: The original He-Man has more visual intrigue in its animation than any of those smelly glorified doodles found in the “styles" of the 2010s and early 2020s.

Tip 80: It’s always the fault of the game that my first guess (that I refuse to divert from) on how I have to go through an obstacle won’t work.

Tip 81: Zootopia discussing prejudice ruins the majestic escapism I got from my precious childhood films from 1991-2004. Them kids might as well be watching the news. Now to watch some Hunchback after I finish these tips.

Tip 82: There is no such thing as an unreasonable expectation, and there’s especially no wrong way to address the lack of met expectations! For example, if you expect some early 2010s cartoon on the Disney Channel to be a Kids X-Files, yet you get moments such as some girl getting high on stick dipping candy, you got the right to paint the worst out of that show for not being “Kids’ X-Files.”

Tip 83: Related to my example for Tip 82, if you get the slightest impression of something being childish, you know you got yourself a children’s work that does little than wave keys and has basically nothing substantial for them. In this situation, those malfunctioning robots found in Wall-E are the guilty party.

Tip 84: Without the extensive dialogue that I’m used to getting, how can one say for certain there was any amount of characterization in the title character of Wall-E?

Tip 85: Ever noticed yourself gradually being less likely to expect an upcoming work or view a work you’re just consuming as “the next best thing”? That’s ALWAYS the fault of smelly “artists” (hacks really) and their refusal to give a shit.

Tip 86: It’s obligatory for your lead to be explicitly heroic just so there is this immediate re-assurance that they’re a good one.

Tip 87: Without the comforting safety net of throwbacks, one cannot be for certain that there has been an actual evolution of a series or the art of animation and video games.

Tip 88: Don’t PSA kids on stuff they give zero fucks about. That means no gender identities or pronouns, race, etc.

Tip 89: Don’t listen to Mamoru Hosoda saying that anime women tend to be “depicted through a lens” of sexual desire. He’s just distracting from the superior prestige found in anime women.

Tip 90: If you’re desperate to let others know that your talking points are reasonable, just repeat them over and over with little expansion on said talking points.

Tip 91: 7 or more seasons of art is better than 26 episodes of art. EVERY TIME!

Tip 92: Always remember to continuously talk up the innuendo and mature subject matter of the childhood work as the most prestigious, transcendent thing of all time. With that in mind, there’s a high chance that your favorite childhood work will be better known than Perfect Blue (1997), and there’s likely a reason for that.

Tip 93: An art style that gives many characters relatively more realistic arm muscle details will always shine through more than any sort of art style done for “simplicity” (laziness, really).

Tip 94: Seeing a few (like, even VERY FEW) people show more enthusiasm for Steven Universe over Invader Zim really shows the lower bar that has been expected out of the western animation scene compared to anime.

Tip 95: Electronic music makes less conventional time signatures cheap as hell. REAL music like rock makes them the exact opposite.

Tip 96: If your Mystic Knee suggests that the 90s cartoon being viewed doesn’t showcase a vague sense of refinement or artistic integrity, then every related assumption of yours is right. EVERY TIME!

Tip 97: Doing everything and the kitchen sink for one series or movie shows a better sense of refinement and prestige than any form of simplicity. THIS includes character design as well.

Tip 98: The advent of that Star Wars: Visions anime really shows just how stinky western cartoons have become.

Tip 99: For those wondering, no, Europe isn’t being counted in my definition of “western animation”. Doing so is a complete disservice to prestige.

Tip 100: If even less than half of these tips aren’t being considered, you can kiss that prestige badge goodbye. After all, I SAID SO!

8 notes · View notes

scribble-blog · 4 years

Text

Soulmate AU part 3!!

First • Previous • Here • Next

Side note, I’m a grandma in a 22 year old body who doesn’t understand technology. If somebody can teach me how to get readmores to work on tumblr mobile, and possibly how to start linking the posts together, I’d appreciate it!

Also, the taglist is now full! Though if people want, I could try doing a supplemental taglist? Either in a reblogged or in a separate post to notify you? Let me know in the replies!

Damian Wayne, as it turns out, is almost very certainly the son of Bruce Wayne, who sponsored their entire trip to Gotham. There are only two official pictures of him that are clear enough to truly check against, but Marinette sees the eyes and she nods. “That’s him.”

Trixx, Pollen, Kaalki, and Plagg are scattered about the bed, napping and lounging. Adrien also lounges, catlike and crosswise with the bed, entirely over the pillows at their back. Chloé holds the laptop that Marinette is hovering over, even from her seated position with her much smaller stature.

“It would be you,” Chloé snorts. “Oh, let’s just traipse over to America for a quick class visit! Oops, my soulmate is the incredibly handsome son of the incredibly wealthy man who invited us here!”

“Still more believable than you, Miss ‘My soulmate and I have literally been standing two feet from each other for weeks because not only do we have the exact same friends, but we’re part of the same superhero group and never realized until Ladybug allowed us to learn each other’s secret identities.’” Adrien doesn’t move as he calls her out, lazily curled into the warmth of his two friends and the pillows cocooning him.

“I don’t think any of us can speak,” Marinette groans. “I’m living a cheap rom com, Chloé’s got all the plot elements of a high budget Shakespearian drama, and Mr. ‘Didn’t know I wasn’t straight until my soulmate mark was a guys name” is straight out of a b movie comedy.”

“At least I got my act together pretty quickly once it occurred to me that I could like guys too,” Adrien points out. “And now Jon and I talk all the time, and he even comes to Paris sometimes to see me, or we’ll meet up for my occasional business trips in America. Which reminds me,” he pulled out his phone, sending off a quick text, “he wants to come meet you guys. Next week, while we’re all actually on the same continent.”

“Kudos to you for shaking off whatever Gabe tried to stuff your head full of,” Chloé says. “Took me ages to admit that I was gay, and that was even WITH my soulmark and both Marinette and Ladybug constantly in front of me.”

“Feeling pretty objectified,” Marinette protests.

“Oh shut it, I know for a fact that you’ve basically been the gay awakening crush of every not straight girl in our class. And several outside of it. And that’s not even counting all the dudes that fall in love with you.”

“I still object,” Marinette pouts at Chloé.

“Objection overruled.” Adrien sits up. “Marinette. You’re like, the perfect crush. They have a warning about you in the introductory packet for Mme. Bustier’s class.”

“They do not,” Marinette gasps, outraged. “I wrote that packet!”

“And then the class unanimously decided you were too dangerous to be walking around without a warning sign,” Chloé pinched her cheek. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s still in the packet despite Lila’s best efforts to get it thrown out.”

That does make Marinette feel better.

“Damian Wayne resurfaces after year of being believed dead,” Adrien reads from his phone. “Gotham’s Newest Wayne: The True Son! These all read like tabloids but as far as I can tell the Wayne’s don’t tolerate stuff like that. So I guess it’s true?”

“I’m tired of looking him up,” Marinette groans. “Can we just leave it be?”

“Nope,” Chloé pops the P. “Congrats, Dupain-Cheng, this is what friends are for.”

“I wish I could talk to Tikki about it,” Marinette sighs. “Especially because I have literally never heard anyone talk about that- electric feeling when we touched. Is it a Ladybug thing?”

Plagg opens one big green eye. “Cool it, Spots. It’s definitely a Ladybug thing. You’re literally the reason these marks exist.”

Marinette sticks her tongue out at the mini god. “I just miss her.”

“Join the club,” he grumbles, closing his eye and going back to napping.

“Good news,” Chloé says, bringing her attention back to the laptop. “Searching your name very easily leads to you, and our class, and the fact that we won the contest. So, unless he decides he’s not ready to meet you, you’ll have the chance to find him at the gala. Or at Wayne Enterprises. Or at any of the places the Wayne’s own, which is two-thirds of our trip destinations.”

“Oh god,” Marinette says. “What if he didn’t want to find me?”

Adrien, Chloé, and four Kwamis hit her at the same time, shoving her back into the bed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mari,” Adrien scolds her from his position atop the newly formed cuddle pile. “I saw his face too. If the boy isn’t already in love with you, he’ll be hunting you down just for the chance to fall.”

Trixx nuzzled into her side. “I may not be Tikki but all of us Kwamis know how incredible you are, Marinette.”

She sighed. “Alright guys, get off.”

———

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Tim already knew who the girl was, because he’d been curious when his favorite artist had started talking about the source of his newest looks.

But having Damian demand his help in searching for everything he could find on her, and then only asking for the bare minimum of information about her trip itinerary- Tim wasn’t an idiot.

“So. She’s your soulmate.” Tim takes a sip of the coffee he’d been working on, making a face and instantly setting it back down when he realized it had gone cold.

Damian carefully did not change his expression, but it wasn’t fooling anyone. “And so what if she is?”

Tim looked back at the monitor. “So nothing. Congrats, Demon Spawn. I’m happy for you.”

He barely caught the edge of the scowl the younger Wayne tried to hide.

“Hey, no.” Tim spun his chair to face Damian. “Look, we’ve had our differences and disagreements-“

“You had me on the superhero equivalent of a terrorism watch list,” Damian interrupted.

“And you literally tried to kill me within the first day of meeting me.”

“A byproduct of my indoctrination from birth into a murder cult,” His brother kept his face still but the tone was wry.

“You kept trying to kill me.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you!” Damian finally exclaimed, losing his collected demeanor. “Just-“

“Point being,” Tim stressed, “even if we haven’t always gotten along- haven’t ever, really- I’m still happy for you. Soulmates are a special thing. We all kind of thought you might not have one, with the way you always acted when Dick tried to ask.”

Damian forced down the immediate retort and looked at Tim. “I thought that maybe my dying would have prevented my name from showing up for them. And my teachings-“ he said the word with the inflection that meant he was discussing Assassin Upbringing rather than here- “were as such that most connections, be they familial, friendly, or romantic, were- unnecessary and even dangerous.” It felt tantamount to a betrayal of his younger self to confide anything in Drake like this, but... Damian really was, in many ways, a better and more mature person than the spoiled, aggressive, near sociopathic brat he’d arrived as seven years ago. He still kept the veneer of it up, but he was no longer the boy who needed to fight Drake to prove his worth as Bruce’s son.

Now he just waited for Drake to embarrass himself by passing out after staying up for far too long surviving on caffeine and energy drinks. Much easier.

And Drake didn’t ever seem as eager to blackmail and fight as Damian ever had, so he figured a small amount of vulnerability was a proper thank you for his discretion in finding Marinette.

Tim just took another grimacing sip of the cold coffee. “Man. In that case, even happier for you that you’re shrugging off yet another of the Child Assassin School’s upsetting and frankly terrible rules. Though as for the dying thing, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter as long as you don’t actively die now that you have the mark.”

Damian shrugged. “Irrelevant now, as I will not be dying anytime soon, and neither will she. And she clearly knows that we’re soulmates.”

“Still confused about that,” Tim frowned, looking back at him. “You said there was an electric current between you? Or it felt like that?”

Damian couldn’t stop his hand from twitching, the memory of it clear enough to feel. “Yes. I don’t understand it myself either.”

“I’ll search around. See if anything comes up.” Tim handed him a pile of papers. “Here, the info you wanted on her itinerary, plus things I thought would be pertinent without going over whatever line you seem to have drawn.”

Damian took them, and very begrudgingly said, “Thank you,” before ducking out of the room.

He waited until he was back in his own room before flicking through them, finding the trip schedule and the hotel rooms listed, the names of her class and teachers, and finally a list of her accomplishments and a copy of the paper that had won her class the trip, authored by her.

He read through it, noting the names of her classmates and their own community efforts, and the way her own section in the paper was minuscule compared to both each other persons section and the list of accomplishments Drake had drafted.

One classmate had, if no less written than than any other person, a distinctly different tone to what Marinette had written, and most of her community building and service events were merely echoes or assisting what another person had done. Damian shrugged it off, as there were sometimes people who simply tagged along, and never put their own effort out there. Followers, and not leaders.

All in all, he found himself more intrigued than ever about her.

TAGLIST:

@the-fusionist @rebecarojas07 @lowandco @kotaleartzu @resignedcatservant @alenee13 @mystery-5-5 @ladybug-182 @actual-disaster-human @loysydark @rumbelle18 @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @athena452 @mochegato @ash-amg @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @thestressmademedoit @sassakitty @doriebell @jessigurl-design @emotionalsupportginger @kceedraws @kuroko26 @moonystars14 @toodaloo-kangaroo @myazael @theatreandcomicfreak @mer-mel @dahjokester @northernbluetongue @area51qt @renscorpio @redscarlet95 @razzledazzle247 @rosep16 @tired-butterfly @catthhay @shamefullove @imanerddealwith @chaosace @captainmac6 @bigpicklebananatree @abrx2002 @cici-schnee @multplelifes @shreky-boi @purple-people-eaters-productions @crazylittlemunchkin @weird-pale-blonde-person

#maribat #daminette #daminette soulmates #soulmate au #fanfic

999 notes · View notes

ibijau · 3 years

Note

I believe you can bring this trashfire to life. 22 and 21 for Xuanwu/Jingy 😉

1. I treated this way too seriously 2. congrats on winning the ‘crackiest ship prompt I’ve received’ award 3. I picked the “Bandaging them up, scolding them for getting themselves hurt” prompt but tbh it’s barely there

There is pain, worse than anything that it has ever known, and then there is darkness and bone deep cold.

There isn’t death though.

It is too old to die so easily.

When it regains some sort of consciousness, it is weak. Weaker than it has been in many, many years. It hasn’t been so weak since it started cultivating. The energy it carefully accumulated through eating other creatures has been almost depleted to keep it alive, just as it was finally getting strong enough to consider taking a human shape. It will have to wait a little more.

That’s not a problem.

It is patient.

It is also hungry.

Its current form, massive and deadly, is a waste of energy, so one of the first things it does, upon waking up, is to make itself smaller. It can move faster like this, and prey on small creatures until it finds a good place to cultivate. Then, when it has strength again, it will devour humans once more, until it can take their shape and be one step closer to immortality and true power and then… then it will be untouchable.

Like most things, it fears death.

Having come too close to it, it fears it more than ever.

Smaller and nimbler it escapes the cave that had become its prison without issue, and sets out to feed itself. The mountains around its cave become bloodied and fearful, as they should be. And yet, there isn’t much to eat there. Mice, rabbits, a fox here and there. There are boars too, but it dares not attack them yet, not until it knows it is strong enough for it.

After some months, it feels confident enough.

It shouldn’t have.

The boars in these mountains are led by a demon, one stronger and older than him, protecting its herd from all enemies. The demon boar lunges upon it as soon as it approaches one of the sows, and thus starts a duel between them. For ten days and ten nights, it fights the demon boar, refusing to admit defeat. There can be no defeat. Not when the two humans weakened it so much in that cave, not when the demon boar has what they lacked: the power to truly kill it.

Day after day, night after night, the two bite and stomp and growl, disturbing the mountains around them, pursuing each other even into the lands that humans occupy.

This, it turns out, is what saves it.

Because they are disturbed, the humans take arms and join the fight. Figures in white that bear swords attack them. The demon board, proud and ancient, fights right back, outraged that mere mortals dare to stand against its power. While it is occupied with these new opponents, the old one flees to lick its wounds.

It cannot go very far, not in the state it is in. All it can do is make itself smaller still, to save energy, and hide under a fallen tree to bide its time. Sooner or later, the smell of its blood will attract insects, or perhaps some mice if it is lucky. A fox even, who knows. It is sure to attract something, and then it will feast, and then it will heal. This is only a minor setback. It doesn’t change its plans in the least.

All it means is that someday, when it is back to its full strength, it will challenge the demon boar again and devour it.

It will not lose again.

That plan is ruined when it is found by something rather bigger than a fox. Something more dangerous as well.

A few hours after escaping the demon boar, it is found by a human.

Small as it currently is, it can still tell that the human isn't very big for one of its kind. Its energy is wild and uncontrolled too, meaning it must still be young. If it had any strength left, it would devour that child. Even in its diminished state, it considers it. Taking on its true shape would be exhausting, but it might be worth the risk.

Before it can get started on that, the child laughs and lifts it up to look at it.

"You're a funny turtle!" it giggles. "Oh ! Your neck is so long!"

Furious at being handled like this, it tries to bite the human. To its surprise, the child has quick reflexes and grabs it by the base of its neck before its teeth can sink into flesh.

"Oh, you have big teeth. I didn't even know turtles had teeth. Maybe you're a special turtle? But you also look a bit like a snake…"

It is not a turtle, and it is not a snake. It is what it is, and does not need a name, though it knows fearful humans once gave it one.

"You really are funny," the child says. "I'm going to keep you with me until a-niang and a-die come back. They'll know what you are. A-niang knows everything."

It struggles, trying to escape, but the child holds on.

"It's okay, you don't have to be scared," the child says. "You don't have a lot of strength, but it's fine, I'll protect you and we're going to be friends. I'll take you home, and I'll find a secret place to keep you, and it'll be great."

Satisfied with that decision, the child walks away from the place where it hid, taking it with him.

As hours pass, it becomes resigned to its situation, and helplessly listen to the child's chatter.

He is called Lan Jingyi. He is learning cultivation in a great sect. His parents and him were on their way home after visiting his maternal grandparents for the new year, but they stumbled upon some problems. Jingyi's parents told him to hide while they took care of some disturbances, and will return when things are safe again. After a while Jingyi got bored, and started to walk around looking for something to do.

It has been a long, long while since it has spent so much time in the company of a creature without fighting to kill. This child talks too much, but he bears it no ill will, which is an odd feeling. In fact, Jingyi, upon noticing on its body the marks of its fight with the demon boar, takes something greasy from a pouch he carries, and applies it to the wounds.

The grease smells of grass and flowers, but the taste of it is unpleasant.

“Don’t eat that, it’s for healing!” Jingyi scolds it. “Also, you should be more careful. How did you get all hurt like that? You shouldn’t pick fights, you know. A-niang says, don’t fight others if you can’t win.”

It hisses at the child. It would have won that fight, if those humans had not weakened it.

"When we go home, I'll ask Hanguang-jun to look at you," Jingyi announces. "He knows about rabbits, and turtles can't be too different. Then we’ll heal you, and find you a nice place to stay and… and if you’re not in the house, you’re not a pet, so it’s fine. Sizhui says that’s why the rabbits are allowed.”

It tries, again, to bite the child, but is stopped. Its indignation and anger remain. It does not like being compared to rabbits, which are mere prey. It is a hunter, a dangerous killer, a king among beasts. It is a triumphant being that none can harm… or it was, once. It will be so again, once it recovers.

“It’s getting kind of dark, isn’t it?” Jingyi remarks, his voice trembling slightly. “I think… I think we should have dinner, and maybe find a place to stop and continue waiting for a-niang and a-die. I bet you’re hungry too, right?”

It is, of course, famished. It worries for a brief moment that the child will attempt to eat it. It would do that, if it only had the strength, or if this were a weaker child, but Jingyi has shown already he would be no easy prey in spite of his youth. If Jingyi attacks it and tries to eat it…

But this does not happen. Instead, from the little pouch at his side, Jingyi now produces a few round and pale balls. Their fragrant smell hits its nose with enough strength to make it dizzy. There is meat in there, among other things.

Jingyi sits on the forest ground, very mindful of his posture and his clothes, and puts the creature next to him. He takes one of the balls for himself, and puts the other on the ground.

“I hope it’s okay that it’ll get a bit dirty. A-niang says I can’t eat things that have fallen in the dirt, but since you’re a turtle I guess that’s fine.”

It does not mind the dirt. That’s a part of feeding.

It is, however, confused by the offering of food. It knows that gods are gifted sacrifices, but this seems different. Jingyi does not know it is not an ordinary beast, so he cannot be trying to appease it, or to demand favours from it. So why waste food on another being? It has never seen such a thing. Even before it began cultivating, its species was a solitary one, born from eggs that hatched alone, and then never collaborated with its own kind save for the brief necessities of reproduction. Generosity is a foreign concept for it, and so this makes it suspicious.

Compared to hunger, suspicion doesn’t hold much power.

The fight with the demon boar was a fierce one, it is now famished, and the pale ball smells delicious. Keeping an eye on Jingyi, it extends its neck and bites into the ball.

The texture of the ball is soft as snow, the taste richer than anything it has ever eaten. For a moment it stays frozen, shocked that such a sensation is even possible. This is nothing like devouring fresh flesh and bones. This is a delight so great that it wonders, for a moment, if it has ascended to immortality all of a sudden, because nothing in the mortal realm could be this pleasant.

That first bite is quickly swallowed, and it bites again, and again, until it reaches the filling inside that pale ball. Somehow, that manages to be even better. The meat there has been made tender and savoury, there are herbs and plants which compliments one another to perfection.

For the first time in its life, it is eating not merely out of hunger, but out of pleasure.

“I guess you like that,” Jingyi remarks, chewing on his own share. “I made them with a-niang, that’s why they have meat. A-die doesn’t eat meat, because of Lan rules, but a-niang says it’s stupid and meat buns bring more energy when we travel. Also, they’re tasty, right? Hm… but if you eat meat, I can’t show you to Hanguang-Jun. He wouldn’t like it if you tried to bite the rabbits. Maybe I can ask Zewu-Jun to look at you… but he follows the rules more so he’ll probably… ah! I forgot I’m not supposed to talk during meals!”

Jingyi looks down at the creature which is still devouring the bun with such pleasure it would weep, if its body were made for it.

“Hey, you won’t tell anyone that I talked during the meal, right? We’re friends, so you can’t tell anyone. Friends have to stick together.”

He sounds worried enough that the creature stops eating and looks at him. Friends, like generosity, is a foreign concept to it, though one it has witnessed a little more often. Groups of friends have attempted to defeat it in the past, and it has seen weak demons band together to better survive. It remembers, also, those two humans in the cave, working together with practiced ease, coming so close to killing it.

After some consideration, it nods at Jingyi. They can be friends, as thanks for the food.

Jingyi grins, and resumes chatting about many things and many people. Clearly, he enjoys talking, and so this rule of silence must be hard on him.

After a while, they both finish eating. The creature feels warm and content and sleepy, even more than it did so many years ago when it entered that cave, fat on the flesh of those it devoured. Since night has now fallen, Jingyi lays down on the ground, curled up on himself, the creature in his arm. He smells faintly of fear, but he is young and walked a lot, and so he still manages to fall asleep.

It starts nodding off as well, but is quickly awakened by the presence of others nearby.

This forest, at the foot of the mountain, is ancient, and has seen many tragedies. As such, of course there are many beings there that are attracted by the tasty energy of a young boy. As the night gets dark, ghosts and demons gather around Jingyi, sniffing him out, desperate to steal his energy and be fed for a little while. It is an isolated place, and they often go years without sustenance.

If not for the creature in Jingyi’s arms, the boy would be dead.

It is not, at the moment, very impressive to look at, but its aura is still that of a centuries old demon that has eaten more humans than those pitiful ghosts could ever dream of. It is powerful beyond anything they’ve ever seen, except maybe the boar demon that occasionally comes down from the mountain… and since they’ve learned to fear that boar demon, they know they probably need to fear this one as well.

Still, the sleeping boy tempts them. They beg for a taste, for a bite.

“Mine,” it hisses, snapping its weak jaws at those who dare come too close. “Mine!”

There is an alliance now between it and Jingyi. The child gave it food, and asked for friendship in return, which it agreed to. It is now bound to its word, bound to this child, and it will protect him.

“Mine.”

If even one of these ghosts and demons tried to attack, then it would probably be powerless to defend Jingyi. Even after the miracle that was eating that bun, it still hasn’t recovered its strength. The fight with the demon boar was just too much. Still it makes itself feel scary, hissing and snapping, growling threats at them all, until dawn arrives at last and they return into hiding.

It has protected Jingyi.

It has been a friend.

Jingyi wakes soon after the sun rises. He looks a little tired still, but that is no surprise with so many ghosts and demons gathered around him all night. He eats a bun, and once again gives another to the creature.

Agreeing to the friendship was a good choice. Even now that it is no longer starving, the bun still tastes as delicious. More so perhaps. It can eat more slowly this time, and fully appreciate the flavour.

It has only eaten about half of the bun, while listening to more of Jingyi’s chatter, when other voices start being heard, coming from far away. It braces itself, fearing it might be stronger demons, the sort that would dare to attack even in daylight, but next to it, Jingyi jumps to his feet and starts shouting back.

“A-niang! A-niang, I’m here! A-die, a-niang!”

The voices come closer. Jingyi gets more and more excited, jumping in place, but still careful not to trample his friend.

“They’re here, they found me!” he exclaims as he grabs his friend, and brings it toward the pouch at his side. “We’re going home! Just, be quiet, don’t make a fuss. If they see you they’ll make me leave you behind, so you have to be quiet.”

That is all the warning it gets before it is dumped into the pouch. It fears being in such a small space, but quickly realises that the inside of the pouch is bigger than the outside, and relaxes. When its half eaten bun joins it, it decides that this isn’t a bad arrangement, and simply goes back to eating. It protected Jingyi during the night, and now is being protected by him during the day. This seems like a good arrangement. Friendship is not a bad thing to have.

A long while seems to pass after that. It does not mind. Having eaten that second bun made it sleepy, and so it takes the chance to rest.

It awakes to the pouch being opened, and Jingyi’s hand seizing it with great gentleness. It is pleased to see its friend again, and shows it by not trying to bite him. Jingyi smiles at it, and a faint smell of fear disappears.

“Sorry to have left you in there so long, I just couldn’t find a moment,” Jingyi says with relief. “I’m glad you’re fine. And your wounds are better too! That’s great!”

“That’s a weird turtle,” another youthful voice says. “Maybe you really should show it to an adult.”

Next to where Jingyi is sitting in the grass, there is another boy. He is shorter, but seems older, and doesn’t appear too impressed with the creature, as if he can guess its true nature.

“They’ll tell me to put it in the wild,” Jingyi says. “And then maybe it’ll be eaten by… by… what eats turtles, anyway?”

“I think foxes,” the other boy guesses. “They eat everything, right?”

“I can’t let it be eaten by a fox!” Jingyi gasps with horror. “But here, it’ll be safe, and I can check on it, and bring it buns.”

“I don’t think turtles are supposed to eat buns.”

It is starting to dislike the second boy. Thankfully, Jingyi only laughs.

“This one does. That’s because a-niang’s buns are the best,” he explains, before turning his attention back to the creature. “Look, I found you such a nice place to live, okay? Isn’t this a nice little pond? I’m sure you’ll find stuff to eat, and anyway I’ll come visit often to give you buns. Do you like it?”

He puts down his friend near the edge of the water. This is, in fact, a very nice pond. The water is clear, showing fish inside. Nearby, mice can be heard. It will not lack for food. More importantly though, the pond has all the signs of being a good place to cultivate, better even than the one where it started its journey, centuries ago. It will be easy, here, to regain what was lost to the two humans and the demon boar. Agreeing to Jingyi’s friendship continues to be a great decision.

For the first time in its long life, it feels truly grateful. And so, to show it, it bows to Jingyi before entering the water. It hears the two boys gasp, Jingyi claiming this is proof his friend is no ordinary animal, the other boy worrying that maybe there is something wrong with the creature.

It ignores both of them, and swims around to map its new territory.

It is a very good pond, and already, it feels new energy flowing through it just from being in such an auspicious place. In a few months, it will easily be able to take again its old shape if it wishes, and then it could go on a rampage again.

It could.

It might not. If it kills humans, Jingyi might not bring it buns anymore.

Better, then, to cultivate in the slower method, to keep this smaller shape for now. With some luck and effort, in a few years, it will reach again the level it was at before those two humans harmed it, and then…

And then, it will be able to take a human shape at last.

It wonders how Jingyi will react to that.

It cannot wait to find out.

#xuanwu of slaughter #tortoise of slaughter #lan jingyi #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #it is very much pre-shipping #I don't know how old jingyi is but I'd say 8 max #ancient demonic abomination being bought of by a small act of kindness is a trope I love ok?#veraverorum #bad ship prompts #Xuanwu of friendship

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imaginesandinserts · 4 years

Text

Irreverent Pt. 22 - Julian

Title: Irreverent Pt. 22 - Julian Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: R Words: 1880

Irreverent Series Masterlist

"Garcia, can you pull up the satellite image of the meeting location?"

The team was assembled in the conference to plan out the final details of the mission. Seven months of hunting and searching for Doyle had resulted in an address to a mansion in upstate New York. Garcia pulled up the live satellite image and also managed to find some street view images of the house itself, which she had shared on the screen.

The mood in the conference room was tense. No one truly knew where they stood right now. Hotch and Emily were back, but were they back for good or just temporarily? Rossi had been playing mediator between everyone, but for the life of you, you couldn't tell what good it was doing.

Ever since Emily had revealed herself to be alive you hadn't truly spoken to her. Things had been full speed ahead, but despite that you knew she'd spent the night before at Derek's place. The two of them had a lot to talk about and you were happy that Derek was at least trying to accept her back. He'd tried to get you to come too but you you'd declined citing an upset stomach. He saw through you but had let it go. You'd reconcile when you were ready.

But things with Emily were leagues better than they were with Hotch. The day before he had gone through an initial plan with the smaller team and it had gotten…not well would be an appropriate descriptor.

"SWAT will be on hand for backup as we enter the property. Garcia, you're in charge of comms. Morgan, Prentiss, and I will each lead a team through the home while Reid, Rossi, and L/N will run point from an off-site location. "

"Like hell I will!" You couldn't believe the nerve of him. To think that after seven months you were going to sit on the sidelines and run point. Run point on what?

Hotch looked at you unsurprised that you'd objected. "You are too emotionally involved in the case. It would be a liability to have you there."

You scoffed, trying to mask the urge to throw something at him. "Emotionally involved?! Prentiss spent a whole year sleeping with Doyle!"

"L/N, Stop." Hotch's face was hard and his eyes unwavering.

You looked at both Reid and Rossi who were conveniently looking away. JJ tried to send you a sympathetic look but you weren't having it.

You looked at Emily. She knew. She knew that this was it if she wanted any hope of winning you back. "Hotch, we can't just expect her to not come," she urged.

"It's her father!" He couldn't believe Prentiss. He had told her how you had dealt with Dominic. She should know better.

"If Y/N isn't coming then we're out." You all turned, shocked, to look at Derek. "I speak for me and the rest of us here that were left in the dark. Let's not forget that we wouldn't even have this chance if it weren't for her."

Hotch looked around the room but no one contradicted Derek. He looked at you staring him down defiantly.

"Fine."

Even now though, you could tell he was trying to plan things in a way that would minimize any true exposure you'd have. The plan had changed somewhat overnight once you'd determined the geography of the surroundings.

Hotch and Rossi were planning out the best entry points. In the meantime, you found yourself looking up at screen where Garcia had pictures of the property up. One picture in particular caught your attention. It was an image of the home covered in snow that looked oddly familiar. You knew this place.

"I've been here before?" They all looked up at your voice.

"You have? When?" Emily had asked, as you walked up closer to the screen to get a better look.

"Yeah, I think so. I had to have been eleven or so. My dad took us on a family trip. He said it was a friend's house that he'd borrowed. It was winter and it was covered in snow. It looked just like that."

"Do you remember anything relevant about the floorplan or layout of the home," Hotch asked, still looking at the papers in front of him.

You paused before answering. "No, nothing special. Just a normal house."

"Alright, well here's how we're doing it now. Morgan and Prentiss, you two take the back. L/N and I will take the front."

"No."

Hotch looked at you in outright annoyance. "What now?"

"No, Hotch. You still don't want me to come, you don't trust me. You and I shouldn't go in together, that's not good for anyone right now. I'll go with Morgan."

Hotch appraised you again but didn't have it in him to fight with you on this. If it had been just the two of you he would really want to clear the air and talk it all out. Explain that of course he trusted you, but he didn't want to put you in a position where you had to make a difficult and life-altering call. He trusted you completely as Agent Y/N L/N. As a daughter who was about to go after the man who had raised her, he had his doubts and he was entitled to them. But it wasn't worth the fight and it wasn't worth everyone questioning the plan. So he let it go and agreed. You would go in with Morgan.

*------------*

Hotch watched you buckle into your vest and check on both of your firearms. He wasn't sure when you'd gotten the one strapped to your ankle but had noticed it when he first arrived back. Ever since you'd joined he'd never not paired the two of you together when entering a location. He'd gotten so used to going in with you right behind him. Knowing that you'd be going in with Morgan following you was unnerving. There had been a look on your face ever since you'd all landed in New York that filled his mind with unease. He'd thought about taking Derek aside and asking him to make sure that you were alright but knew that would raise alarms of a different sort.

Derek walked over and helped you rig your wired earpiece and secure it in place. That was another thing that had been holding him back from taking Derek aside. Whatever that was. Since when had you and Derek become so close? Since he'd left and you were forced to find someone else to help you place the wire around your back.

Prentiss caught him watching you and walked over to help him with his wire. "You can't always protect her, you know?"

Hotch looked around to make sure that no one else had heard her. There was no point in questioning what she meant. He looked at you once more as you stood waiting for the order to go in. Even now, even when he was furious with you and worried about you and scared for you, even now, he was completely and irrevocably in love with you. And he knew it showed.

He looked back at Prentiss as she finished securing the wire. "I have to try."

*------------*

It was dark and freezing as you stood at the far end of the property beside Morgan and a dozen or so SWAT guys. You had your firearm clutched in your hands awaiting the results from the thermal scan and the order to enter. You felt restless and you had to remind yourself to stay in the moment. Stay in the moment and don't think too far ahead.

You heard the chatter of SWAT and Hotch coordinating with Rossi and the thermal scan team overhead through the earpiece. You looked at Morgan and met his gaze. He offered you a tight smile which you managed to return. It was so very quiet. The knowledge that the quiet would be over in just a moment was not lost on anyone.

"There are five unidentified males located in the front room. There are an additional three showing up in the middle of the home - assuming it’s the kitchen." Rossi's voice came through loud and clear.

"Alright. Morgan, L/N, are you in position."

Morgan looked at you and you nodded.

"Affirmative."

"Alright, let's go."

The door was broken down quickly and you entered first, quickly clearing the back room. You heard gunshots coming from the front. Quickly, you walked down the hallway towards the middle of the house where the other three bodies had been detected. Every second in the dark felt like an hour. Right before you turned down another hallway you saw movement. You quickly pulled back, just barely missing being shot. Morgan peaked out first and took a shot. You heard a groan of pain. You began to move again.

You'd told Hotch you'd been to the house before. What you hadn't told him about was the small room hidden behind the bookshelf, right off of the entrance to the basement. Your father always did like the intrigue of a secret room.

As Morgan urged you onwards to open the basement door and go down, you ignored him. You instead walked to the bookshelf, knowing Morgan would cover you.

"L/N! What're you doing?" Morgan's whispered question was filled with urgency. You ignored him again.

Your fingers quickly found the third shelf and then grazed along the inner edge until you felt the latch. Morgan was beside you again. The SWAT guys were covering the basement. He'd stuck with you. You quickly looked at him, asking without voicing your question. Of course he'd have your back.

He helped you shove the bookshelf open and quickly dodged another shot coming towards the two of you. Morgan easily subdued the man as the two of you entered the room. The bookshelf swung shut behind you.

"Hello Father."

He was unarmed, standing at the back of the room. For the first time in your life you actually saw a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

Derek was still working to subdue the other man in the room, having made sure the room was otherwise clear. He looked to see how close you'd gotten to your father. Why were you standing so close?

"So, you've come to arrest your own father? Are you not ashamed?" His eyes followed you as you got closer. You saw his eyes go to the gun you still had pointed towards him. You didn't stop until you'd reached him, the tip of your gun touching his forehead.

"No Papa." Your voice didn't sound like you.

Derek had been forced to knock the other guy out and he was approaching the two of you incredibly slowly. He had his gun up as well. "Do you surrender?" His voice boomed in the small room.

Your father's eyes went from you to Derek and then back to you once more. He watched you with his dark, calculating gaze. You felt his defeat as he responded to Derek, "Yes."

You didn't move. You didn't lower your gun.

"Say your prayers Papa. Beg for Julian's forgiveness."

Your father's eyes widened.

Derek felt his stomach drop.

You pulled the trigger.

It was truly over.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotchner imagine #hotchner x you #hotchner x reader #irreverentseries

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hypmic-translation · 3 years

Text

Naniwa Paradise Sake

CHORUS Down your glass and sing along This is Osaka drunkenness Division shit One drink, two drinks; it all tastes good No, I still haven’t had enough yet Naniwa-nyway, let’s keep on singing (1) Any division compared to ours is all full of shit Merrymaking; idle gossip The sunrise brings proof of our drinking spree Dotsuitare Honpo shit

SASARA Osaka Division’s formation celebration ROSHO Naniwa’s neon lights are looming overhead (2) SASARA The truth is, it’s difficult to know where to go REI How ‘bout a night of mistakes around Chayamachi? (3) SASARA Having a lively talk about nothing important is Nurude Sasara and his merry band of friends ROSHO Passing through Ame-mura, noisily wasting time (4) REI Crossing that border brings you into a new world SASARA Okonomi! (5) ROSHO Kushikatsu! (6) REI This is the nation’s kitchen (7) SASARA Let’s have a toast! Count to ten, if ya please REI Hey, we only just got here ROSHO That was very sudden (8) SASARA Our suddenly-formed team is sure to run into trouble It’s not really worth much, but I still wanna thank you (9) Us three are the best! SASASA/REI Cheers to that! SASARA We’ll be champions! ROSHO Yeah, champions of flour-food (10) ALL Those eastern divisions aren’t such a big deal (11)

CHORUS Down your glass and sing along This is Osaka drunkenness Division shit One drink, two drinks; it all tastes good No, I still haven’t had enough yet Naniwa-nyway, let’s keep on singing Any division compared to ours is all full of shit Merrymaking; idle gossip The sunrise brings proof of our drinking spree Dotsuitare Honpo shit

REI Alcohol is the best medicine around Kill the beat, make some noise, 108 desires in all (12) Word games are just instances of luck So it’s been decided, I’m tonight’s designated driver Irregular noise, a gold driver’s license (13) In our own private world, go straight Don’t drink if you drive, don’t drive if you drink (14) You’re only allowed to ride this track tonight

ROSHO Drank so much saké that I can’t stop laughing Stuck here in the same boat as this crook (15) Authority and wolves both will be forced to bow down (16) (24) Rivalry naturally gets me fired up (hic!) REI In simpler words, chop end-roll (17) ROSHO We’re gonna climb to the very top of this thing SASARA Aren’t you raring to go, Rosho~ Hm? ROSHO Huh? SASARA Oh, it’s your eyes? They don’t seem focused?

CHORUS Down your glass and sing along This is Osaka drunkenness Division shit One drink, two drinks; it all tastes good No, I still haven’t had enough yet Naniwa-nyway, let’s keep on singing Any division compared to ours is all full of shit Merrymaking; idle gossip The sunrise brings proof of our drinking spree Dotsuitare Honpo shit

REI Without following trends we’re burning through spirits (18) Instead of chilling at home, this is the DH way SASARA Wholeheartedly playing around? Overdrinking Chamisul, the Makgeolli’s here! (19) REI Before dawn arrives we’ll keep emptying shot glasses Quietly smoking cigars with unsteady hands Celebrating life is us nightwalkers C’mon, until the morning sun rises, let’s go SASARA Drinking a lil too much turns into a touching memory ROSHO It’s always the same with you, isn’t it (20) The good and the bad, all of it bare (21) We’ll find a clear solution to that centre party for a one-shot, one-kill (22) SASARA I don’t like rock as much as hip-hop, yanno Once the beer gets here I’m gonna gulp it all down with a “bang!” and a “boom!” ROSHO Hold on! What are you talking about! SASARA This was all un-alcohoidable! (23) ROSHO The hell are you saying? Whatever, that’s enough! I’m done here!

CHORUS Down your glass and sing along This is Osaka drunkenness Division shit One drink, two drinks; it all tastes good No, I still haven’t had enough yet Naniwa-nyway, let’s keep on singing Any division compared to ours is all full of shit Merrymaking; idle gossip The sunrise brings proof of our drinking spree Dotsuitare Honpo shit

NOTES (Under the read-more because they got very long!)

I’m so sorry for this one, but it was the only way I could think to incorporate the joke here organically. The line reads “ナニワともあれ歌いましょ (naniwa tomoare utaimasho)”, Naniwa being Osaka’s original name, as well as the name of one of its wards. The pun here is that “naniwa tomoare” sounds a lot like “何はともあれ (naniha-tomoare)”, which means “at any rate/in any case”, so a more literal translation would be “regardless, Naniwa, let’s sing”.

A more literal translation of “looming all around” would be “forward-bent posture”.

Chayamachi is a popular downtown district among young people in Osaka’s Kita ward. The shops there sell various kinds of food, fashion and forms of amusement.

“Ame-mura” or “Amerikamura” (American Village) is another one of Osaka’s popular entertainment areas, this time in their Chuuo ward. Has many Western fashion retail shops, bars, and nightclubs.

“Okonomi”, short for okonomiyaki, which is Sasara’s favourite food. “Okonomi” on its own means “how/what you want” while “yaki” is “cooked”, so altogether it’s “cooked how you want”, referring to it’s versatile fillings. I think this is probably supposed to be a pun, but I wasn’t sure how to reflect that and Rosho carries on with the food naming anyway, so I went more literal here.

Kushikatsu is deep-fried meat and vegetables on skewers. Its origins can be found in Osaka, and both it and okonomiyaki are popular there.

Osaka was once called “the kitchen of the nation” during the Edo period, where many different kinds of food from all over Japan gathered due to the city being a warehouse and trading port.

This is a nice example of how these three use wordplay very effectively - Sasara says “ten-count”, written in katakana. Rei uses a word that can be read as “ten” (but isn’t, in this case) and Rosho does the same with “count”. Likewise in the line following, although Sasara doesn’t use the same word for “sudden” he does use onomatopoeia that essentially means the same thing, bringing the joke full circle.

“碌でもない” means “good for nothing/worthless”. “後光がさしてる” means “to be very thankful towards someone” (enough to make them look like an angel with a halo). I’m not sure I got the meaning of what Sasara’s saying exactly right, but this is how I’m interpreting it. I didn’t pick up on this myself, but someone pointed out to me how this section is in itself a count-down from ten - Rei and Rosho say 10 and 9 respectively, and then Sasara incorporates the rest of the numbers into his lines from 8 to 1. I have no idea how to make that look good in English though...

“Flour-food” refers to how most classic Osakan foods such as okonomiyaki and takoyaki are made with flour.

“Aren’t such a big deal” is more literally read as “how much is monjayaki worth” (なんぼのもんじゃい), the answer being “not much”.

“Kill the beat” (apparently a common phrase in breakdancing referring to being able to skillfully stay on rhythm) and “make some noise” are two different sentences in this line, but they both include a use of the word “hame” (はめ/ハメ) which, when put next to each other, is slang for “having sex”. “108 desires in all” is a reference to the Buddhist belief that humans have a total of 108 “worldly desires”, or polluted thoughts. “Worldly desires” is usually written as “煩悩”, however Rei uses “欲望” which also means desire but in a lustful sense.

A gold driver’s license is what you can get if you’re a “safe driver” in Japan with a standard license (you get points for driving violations, so only people with 0 points can get gold). Apparently these can occasionally get you discounts in hotels and shops.

This is apparently a popular slogan in Japan in order to discourage drunk driving, and according to one source I saw while investigating it’s been in use for over 30 years.

“Stuck in the same boat” is my loose interpretation of “呉越同舟”, which is the concept of working with someone you consider an enemy in order to achieve a common goal.

Rosho says “okami” twice in this line - or at least that’s how it sounds. The first is “okami (御上)” and means “authority”, so referring to the government/Chuuoku. The second is “ookami (狼)” which literally just means wolf, likely referencing Matenrou as the 1st Division Battle winners.

This gave me agony for ages, and to be entirely sure I’m still not sure if it’s right, but whatever. Tell me if you have a better alternative. I’m choosing to interpret “chop end-roll” as “cutting off before the end of a movie”, as “end-roll” in Japanese is how you refer to end credits, so I guess what Rei’s saying is basically “we’re finishing this now”. Also he uses “言の葉” for “words” which is also the name for the Party of Words - but he doesn’t actually say “party (党)” so I don’t think he was referring to them.

“Spirits” being liquors.

Chamisul and Makgeokki are both Korean alcoholic drinks. Also, I was informed that the line “Makgeokki’s here” (”Makkori ga kuru”) sounds a lot like “Maddotorigākurū”, which is “Mad Trigger Crew”.

So this gets interesting. The things Rosho says in both this and the next line are slurred, which gives them a double meaning - he’s saying one thing, but what they sound like are alcohol puns. In this case, “always/frequently (shotchū)” sounds like “shōchū”, which is a kind of Japanese liquor.

Here, “good and (iimo)” sounds like “potato (imo)”, which is something you can make alcohol out of. The same goes for “bare (mukidashi)”, the first half of which sounds like “wheat (mugi)”.

I’m a little vague on this one so take it with a pinch of salt. Rosho says “チュー輩” which is “chuu” and then “party”. “Chuu” isn’t exactly “Chuuo” and “輩” is the kanji for neither “political party” nor “ward”, but considering how drunk he is here I’m willing to believe he’s referencing Chuuoku. You’re free to correct me if I’m wrong though, I’m still very unsure.

Again, I’m really sorry for this. The joke here is that Sasara says “酒ては通れない (sakete wa tōrenai)”, which… doesn’t really mean anything sensical, but literally something like “alcohol can’t pass”. However, it sounds almost identical to “避けて通れない (sakete tōrenai)” which means “unavoidable”. So… un-alcohoidable. Haha.

Bonus fun fact; “okami” is also a reading of the obscure kanji “龗”, which (basically) means “water dragon”. However, as with most kanji, “龗” has multiple readings, one of which (kan-on) has it read as “rei”, just like “零” (Rei’s name). I don’t think it’s necessarily relevant to the song because of the obscurity, but it is an interesting tidbit.

#Hypnosis Mic #Hypmic Translations #Dotsuitare Honpo

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