#unbeta’ed

[zimtphilosoph]

Raiha Falls

-I-

-後程-

A dark timbre hailed out into the courtyard as sharp and clear as a bullet dislodging into the night.

“Tch. It seems you're fair game to me now.”

As soon as Gin's hand disappeared beneath the lapel of his overcoat, as was his usual modus operandi, Vermouth in pursuit of both, the male executive and the girl, abandoned her cover.

The disguise of Kudō Yūsaku forsaken, and the mask forgone. To drew the noose ever tighter around the Kudō family, was something she'd shun till her last.

Gin at least, would've seen through one of her games, as the man had the keen sense of a bloodhound, able to sniff her out, even when no one else seemed to glean the truth beneath.

“I beg to differ. Lay off her, Gin.”

After tailing both, the male executive and the girl to a corporate building whose premises are bordered eastwardly by the Teimuzu river, Vermouth's voice still held an ounce of breathlessness within as it carried out into the courtyard.

Intercepting his line of fire, the actress drew her Belstaff coat closer to her lithe frame, missing the trusted weight of her gun, more than she would care to admit. And yet, her steps betrayed none of it. The almost meandering yet self-assured poise clad the woman in a habitual veneer of cold composure.

-後程-

Ran stood pale and unmoving, her back flush against the rails, and a vast escarpment just beyond. Torrents of glistering black cascaded into one of Raiha-no-taki's sunken pools and further onward into the river itself and left a constant roar in her ears.

A gaze of inquisitive indigo bore into the actress only in passing, but after a merest moment of indecision, seemed to come alight with recognition.

Her ever so quietly uttered “It's you.” so genuine in its sentiment, yet so profoundly wrong to the woman who struts upon this worldly stage in the guise of her own daughter.

If this evening was to steep in a grand drape of blood, at least this abhorrent lie shall take its last bow with her.

“Our traitor coming out to play. It shall be your undoing, woman.”

A heavy-booted prowl conquered its path on the concrete pavement.

Gin licked over his canines with decadent relish, tasted out on his words like a connoisseur would savour a comet vintage. He finally had her, the grande dame of deceit, no longer untouchable to him.

“We'll see.” she crooned in a low contralto.

Vermouth tilted her head to one side with an air of coquet aloofness, a lazy cavalier smirk thin on culpable quirked lips. All but acting the Agent provocateur she was.

It reaped her nothing but a contemptuous scowl.

Calloused olive iries seethed, narrowed in utter distrust, as Gin considered the little karateka to whom Vermouth seemed so unequivocally drawn.

“Far from that sleuth, it has been the Mōri girl and the bouya, you were drawn to. Our line of work should've ridden you of such foolish sentiments. It doesn't become you, Vermouth.”

The defiant gleam in vibrant turquoise bedimmed into guardedness. “Is there something you're looking for, Gin?”

The man ground his jaw, a low baritone deepening further till it bled into a growl. “Tsk. Doesn't matter. She'll merely precede them. That brat and dilettante tantei will be disposed of soon enough.”

The silver blond executive flared his nostrils, keen to mete out the coup de grâce, now that his game was afoot.

“No, yamete.” a soft outcry, followed by a cascade of lightsome footsteps, draw the immediate focus of both syndicate members.

The muzzle trained to the high of Vermouth’s heart aligned its aim in a split second.

Her attention never to stray far from Gin, she read his intention not a moment to soon.

Acting on a desperate momentum, Vermouth lay one gloved palm to the small of Ran's waist, and spun them both around. Outmanoeuvring the muzzle until it no longer trained on the girl, but left the elder woman vulnerable in its stead. Negligent to her own, Vermouth took utmost care to coax Ran's head into a protective dip against her own sternum.

Mere seconds later, a shot rang out into the courtyard like a bell tolling.

-後程-

#dcmk #meitantei conan #conanverse #detective conan #vermouth #gin #ran mouri #canon divergence #unbeta’ed #writingproject #writing #dcmk fanfic #ensemble fanfic #fanfic #zimtescapism

[purelyfiction]

Barely Even Over. - Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x F!Reader

Word Count: I don’t know, I’ll update this when I’m off mobile

Summary: You’ve never been good with complacency. You’ve nearly broken it off four times with Bradley before, feeling trapped and needing to run. You don’t know why it happens, or why you feel so compelled to escape. This time, you can’t get past it. What had always been passing conversation has been a full production. You’re nearly to the curtain close when the entire thing is derailed by a very agitated pilot on your front porch.

Content Warning: lots of cursing, lots of angst, potential trigger for anxiety

Author’s Note: I’ve been obsessed with this song by Drake Milligan and I couldn’t get this out of my brain. Also!! Rooster content? In 2024? Wow. - unedited, unbeta’ed we die like idiots.

God, you couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here. The fact that it was almost eleven o’clock at night and someone was pounding at your door was one of the countless reasons you’d put in a transfer request.

The main reason you were leaving stood on the other side of your open door.

Bradley stands, dripping wet from the monsoon that’s raging outside (you’d heard it from the wind and the pelting rain on your window), the most vicious look on his face. You spot the equally soggy piece of paper you’d shoved in his mailbox this morning in his hand.

“You really thought you could just drop this off and bolt out of town without a word?” He shakes the wet mangled letter around, a drop of water flinging to the tip of your nose. When he starts into it, you’re pushing the door shut, regretting not checking the peephole before you tugged the door open. Rooster’s hand grabs the edge of the wood before you can get too far, pushing his body weight into it to keep it ajar.

“Or that I had to hear from Hangman of all people that he saw a moving truck taking your shit?” You turn and enter into the empty apartment, trying to avoid this conversation. That was the point of the letter, the point of no contact the last few hours. You were about five hours from departing San Jose and never coming back. Bradley slams the door shut as he follows you inside.

“Jesus, wake all the neighbors while you’re at it Bradshaw.” You groan, stepping into your bathroom to do a mindless check that everything had been packed. That you weren’t forgetting anything.

“Fuck the neighbors, Gemstone! You were going to just fucking ghost me? Ditch me without a goddamn word?” You can hear the pain singe his voice. A normally smooth and entertained gruff is resentful and burned instead when he speaks to you. He follows you as you move to the kitchen to do one last once over, averting this onslaught as much as you could. “Drop a shitty letter in my mailbox to dump my ass, ignore my texts, decline my calls - not a single word from you! What the fuck??”

“I’m being restationed, Rooster, it’s not-“

“Oh bullshit!! Mav told me the truth! You fucking requested the transfer! You thought you could sneak away without witnessing the storm you’re fucking making! Just dropping all your ties and escaping -“ he huffs and the paper in his hand is crumbled into a wet lump, then slammed at a nearby wall. So much for your security deposit. “You are always looking for an out. For a reason to leave California- the navy- me. As if the last three years were so fuckin’ miserable that you needed to just vanish. Like nothing ever happened.” Bradley is seething with each curse and vent that exists his lungs.

You’ve run out of cabinets to check. Out of options to avoid looking at him. So when you finally do, you see the mustached man shaking slightly from the temperature of the cold water clinging to him via a damp Hawaiian shirt. The way his eyes locked to you with seething hurt, a brokenness you couldn’t comprehend.

He wasn’t supposed to get home from his training in Atlanta until tomorrow. You were supposed to disappear. Jake and his big fucking mouth. Before you can say anything, Bradley turns to face you fully, brows pushing downward as if it would expel the anger out.

“Three years. Fucking three years and you think you can step out like this. Without a word, without giving a rhyme or a reason - leaving in the middle of the night - without a clue you were even considering this?? Buying fucking plane tickets behind my back?? Packing your entire god damn life up without a notion of the feelings of people around you - of your fucking boyfriend? You didn’t think to have the decency to break up with me to my face??” His hand points to the slop against the wall that had been your letter. His notice of termination so to speak. “The fact you couldn’t say it out loud- couldn’t face any of this at the face value means you don’t actually want to do it. You don’t want to do it, you’re just scared. You’re scared of the same surroundings, the same job, the same city, the same house, the same person, Gem. That’s what you are. Always leaving so you don’t get hurt when you get freaked out.” The register of his words is loud, but not nearly as loud as the next round of spitfire.

“If we’re gonna break up you’re gonna do it now! You’re gonna say what you put on that god damn piece of paper to my fucking face! That you never loved me, that you’ve been hanging on to a lie! That you can’t stand to stay in this god forsaken city a single second more! You don’t get to just leave and not see this!!” He points to his expression. “The mad! The angry, the rejection and betrayal! If you’re gonna do it you’re gonna do it to my face!” Finally, finally, Bradley takes a shaking breath, turning away to try to collect himself.

“Bradley, I didn’t want to do this like this for a reason-“ he spins. There are tears rolling down his face.

“Fuck, I love you.” The stinging sensation starts. The familiarly ominous feeling that sinks in and starts to eat at you every time you’ve had this conversation. “You loved me. I know you did. At some point you did, I know you did and you can’t lie to me and say you didn’t.” The hot tears are barely breaking surface tension along your lash line. “Don’t leave me like this, Gems. Don’t- cause I won’t-“ he hovers in his words, “I think I deserve at least a bad goodbye. Not some letter full of lies hit you don’t mean. Some pathetic attempt at closure is better than whatever the fuck this is. This, this, sorry excuse for a break up.” His feet come sinking toward you as he reaches out. You don’t back away.

His hand takes your hand, squeezing it tightly, his other hand coming to wipe your own tears in the hollow room. “I can take hellfire. I can take screaming, shouting, shit, you can hate me if you have to, honey.” It’s so fractured, his voice. Strained from shouting, tainted with emotions he clearly hasn’t come to understand yet, “just… don’t leave me like this. Still so in love with you. Still wanting to see your face when I wake up every day, to curl into you and avoid the world a little longer- still wanting to fix that damn car with you,” you stifle a laugh, despite the gravity of everything, “still completely and utterly adoring you. Don’t leave me loving you. Please, Gems, don’t.”

The two of you grow quiet, Rooster’s hand still clutching to yours, his hand cupping the back of your neck. He pulls you in, lips pressing to your forehead. He stays there as a soft cry that moves through his chest, tears dampening your hair as the two of you stand there in the cruelty of your wake.

#rooster x f!reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley x reader smut #rooster bradshaw x f!reader #rooster x reader smut #rooster x you #bradley rooster x reader #Spotify

[munsonownsmyass]

Something to fight for

Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Just when all hope seems lost, a stranger comes to your rescue. Maybe this will be the start of something new?

Author’s note: First time writing Joel, so please be gentle. This is unbeta’ed and unedited. But I wanted to share it. I have an idea for a part two if people like this one.

Warnings: Death, blood, treating wounds. A little pining. A little fluff.

Worth fighting for masterlist - Part 2

Your breathing is fast, coming out in painful short pants as you turn another corner. Against your better judgement you lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath, lungs feeling like they are burning. You’ll never get used to running.

“We need to move!”

Lucas pushes you forward, staying behind you. Always protective, always making sure he is between you and the infected. Without him, you’d never have made it this far. Between gunshots, he urges you to move faster, to keep running. The guttural voices of the dead gets closer, no matter how fast you run. Climbing the staircase fast, you manage to put some distance between yourself and the dead.

Knowing it’ll make little difference, Lucas barricades the door, before running after you. Focused on him, you barely see the edge of the building. Stopping just in time, you stare over the edge. Trapped between the dead and a 10-foot jump, you begin to wonder if this is it. Lucas unclips the mag, counting the bullets.

“8 left…” his voice trembling, eyes slowly finding yours. He gestures to your gun, already knowing the answer. You’ve spent your last bullets when the horde first found you, having nothing left but a pocketknife.

“Right. Okay. I-I’ll…” he looks towards the door, slowing being pushed open, the horrible guttural growls filling the empty building. “I’ll keep them busy while you get away. You have to jump.”

“No! Lucas, I won’t leave you.” you beg. But he doesn’t listen, too focused on the dead closing in. With the door almost open, time is running out.

“You have too. I promised mom and dad to protect you.” his voice breaks as he pulls you into a hug. “I’m so sorry…” He sobs, before pushing you away, turning towards the door. Weeping, you turn to the edge, not looking back. If you look at Lucas, you know you’ll never be able to leave him. As the first shot pierces through the air, you jump.

Crashing to the ground, pain shots through your body. Unsure if something is broken, you let out a string of curses. Those damned superhero movies make landings look so fucking easy, but you quickly call bullshit. Pushing of the ground, your whole body is hurting, but you have to get up, have to get moving.

When you try to stand, your knees give in as an unbearable pain shoot through your leg. Looking down, you see blood spilling from a gash in your thigh, slowly turning your jeans red. Shit. Shit shit shit. You’d have to look for shelter, had to find some bandages and clean water. Maybe even-

A loud thud pulls you back to the horrors of your reality. One of the infected jumped from the building, clawing at the ground to get up. Another one ready at the edge to follow in the first one’s footsteps. Injured leg or not, you have to get going. Fuck.

Your lungs are on fire, hurting. Looking down, your jeans are more red than blue. But you have to keep moving, have to stay alive. For Lucas. The pain makes you sob, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. Suppressing a cry, you push forward.

At every little noise, you turn in panic, afraid the dead is gaining in on you. You hear them, in the distance. The rapid beating of your heart almost muffles the sound of them, but you know they’re still there. Closing in. You turn around a corner, heading for the main street, when a sound makes you stop dead in your tracks.

5 dead to the side, silently coming closer. Trying to ignore the pain you push yourself to run. Run until your lungs again are aching from the lack of air, your sides stinging. Barely able to focus, you feel lightheaded. This is not good. The blood is spilling from your thigh. Shit. What if it hit an artery? Fuck. You’re running out of time.

Finally reaching the main street, you’re so close to breaking, so close to giving up. Sobbing quietly, you know you have to keep running, to find shelter. But what’s the point? You’re probably gonna die from blood loss anyway. And even if you don’t, you’re alone now. Completely alone.

You look down the street, only to see a man crossing the street quietly. You suspect your plea will fall for deaf ears, but still you try, desperately hoping for a miracle.

“Please… Please help me!”

The man turns to you and for a second, you fear he will ignore you, hide. But he takes off, running towards you. As he gets closer, he yells for you to get down, before pulling a gun from his waistband. Gunshots fill the air, silencing the growls behind you. Filled with relief, you look into the eyes of your savior.

“T-thank you” you breathe out, breathing strained from exhaustion and pain. The strangers’ eyes fall on your thigh, the grip on his gun tightening as his deep brown eyes search yours.

Holding up your hands up in a silent plea, your voice almost breaks as you speak. “Please… I’m not infected, I swear. I fell on some glass.”

“You start growling and snapping your teeth and I won’t hesitate to kill you.” he warns sternly before holding out his hand for you to take. Helping you back on your feet, his eyes never leave your wound. You groan from the pain, but suppress it, not wanting to seem too weak.

“Come on! We need to get inside. Can you run?”

Looking directly into his eyes, you do your best to seem strong. “I sure as hell can try.”

For a split second, the stranger almost looks impressed. He nods, before the sound of throaty growls gets louder. The stranger puts his arm around you, dragging you with him down the main street. Soon the two of you reach a pharmacy. Once inside, the stranger quickly let’s go of you as he searches for something to barricade the door with. You try to help, but he ends up doing most of the work, ushering you to sit down and be quiet as he pulls a fridge over to cover the door.

And not a moment too soon, cause a second later the infected reach the door, nails clawing at the glass. The stranger backs away, his eyes never leaving the door. Silence then falls between you, as you wait for the danger to pass. The minutes tick by slowly as you sit there, praying for them to move on.

After what feels like an eternity, the sounds of the dead are gone, left are only the thud of your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

“I can’t thank you enough for saving me.” You say quietly, still afraid to make too much noise. Moving slightly, your thigh hurts again. The tears in your eyes burns, a feeling of hopelessness falling over you.

“Don’t mention it.” He replies, looking towards you, gesturing to your wound. “How’s the leg?”

Wanting nothing more than to break down and cry, you hold back the tears as you look into his eyes. “It’s fine…. I’m fine…”. You try your best to shrug it off, to seem strong, but as you move to get up, the pain makes you cry out. Giving up, you sit back down. Without a working leg, you’re not gonna last long.

“Fuck.” Its barely above a whisper, but you’re sure the man heard you. Looking to the ground, you wait for him to realize you’re a lost cause. But to your surprise, he moves closer, softly inspecting your wound. Despite his rough appearance, he is surprisingly gentle. Examining the gory gash, his face says it all. Either your leg is fucked, or it’ll take a long time to heal. A death sentence either way. The dam finally breaks.

“I… I’m so sorry. I’m usually not this pathetic. It’s just…” you pause, sobbing. “My brother just died. I’m all alone and now this…” You gesture aggressively towards the injured leg, sniffling. Wiping away some of the tears, you try to compose yourself, before looking into the man’s eyes again.

“You… you should just leave me.”

“Yeah… yeah, I probably should.” He drawls as he looks around the pharmacy. Pushing himself off the floor, he searches the shelves. A small glimmer of hope runs through you when he doesn’t immediately take his bag and leaves. Shortly after, he returns with what can only be for a DIY operation.

“There’s a shard of glass in your wound. Most likely doesn’t help with the pain. Have you got an extra t-shirt you don’t mind ruining?”

Nodding softly, you reach into the bag to pull out the shirt as the man prepares the supplies. As he tears up the shirt, you softly thank him for not leaving you.

“Haven’t left you yet.” His eyes meet yours briefly, before looking down at the wound again. His words don’t surprise you. Not really. You wouldn’t put it past him to leave you once he has helped with your leg, but deep down you hope he won’t. As he inspects the damage, you can’t help but look at him. His deep chocolate brown eyes. The patchy beard with small specs of grey hair covering his cheeks and jaw. His-

“I’m not sure how well you deal with pain, but this is gonna hurt like a motherfucker and it would be best if you didn’t scream.”

You nod softly, hoping he didn’t catch you looking at him. Leaning back against the wall, you prepare for pain as the stranger picks up a pair of forceps, ready to remove the glass shard. With one last nod of confirmation, he begins.

Never in your life had anything hurt more. The prodding of the forceps, the edges of the glass cutting into your flesh. The stranger works fast, occasionally whispering apologies to you, as he does his best to help you. When the shard is finally out, you breathe a sigh of relief as more tears stream down your cheeks. He gives you a moment, before gently cleaning the wound.

“That hurt like hell, but thank you.” you sniffle, wiping your face as you try to compose yourself. The stranger wraps you up gently, his calloused hands moving softly over your bruised skin. Embarrassed, you realize you’re getting flustered over this simple touch. But then again, the world has ended, so you’ve had other things to think about. But right now as his hands touch your sensitive skin, you feel yourself missing the touch of another human. Clearing your throat, you try to pull yourself together.

“I’m y/n. What’s your name?”

“Joel.” he says softly as he sits up a little straighter and wipes his hands on his jeans, before holding it out for you to take. “Can you stand?”

“I think so… Definitely feels better.” You say with a smile before taking his hand. Taking a few steps, you test the strength of your leg. It’s not perfect but sure beats the alternative. Feeling his eyes on you, you turn to find Joel’s eyes fixed on your leg, probably assessing if you’ll be a liability or not. If you’re worth the risk.

Silence falls between you. You don’t wanna be left alone, but in a world like this trust isn’t something that comes easily. Yet, as you look into those deep chocolate eyes, you already know you’d trust this man with your life.

“So… Where to now?” you try cautiously, fidgeting with your fingers.

“Well… Have you ever been to Jackson?”

The walk through the town is done in silence. Used to talking a lot with your brother, the silence is maddening. Afraid that Joel will get annoyed by you, you keep quiet. He’s already gone out of his way to help you, put his own life in danger to save yours, so you stay behind him.

Every now and then, he looks back to make sure your still with him. He told you just to say whenever you needed a break, but you figure the more you walk before sundown, the quicker you can get to Jackson. After a while, Joel is the first to break the silence.

“So… Are you from around here?” he asks softly, slowing down so he walks beside you.

“Ehm, not really… it’s a long story.” You shrug, unsure if he want’s the whole story or he was just trying to be polite. Still, as you enter the cemetery, you decide to tell him. “I was actually here on vacation with my family when all hell broke loose.”

The memory makes you tear up. It was always overwhelming to think about your parents, so you tried not to. But now, with Lucas gone too, you realized how truly alone you were. Sure, you had Joel, but he was a stranger.

“I thought there was a bit of an accent. Where fr-” He begins, but stop when he sees tears slowly streaming down your cheeks. You don’t even try to hide it anymore, just continue walking towards the church. Trying to steer the conversation away from yourself, you ask about Joel’s home. He tells a little about Austin and what he’s done before he met you. You want to give a little back, so you finally tell about your home.

“But you probably don’t know where that is.” You say with a smile. Joel stops and for the first time since you met him, he laughs.

“Lady, just because I'm from Texas doesn't mean I was raised in a barn. We had schools... And I was actually pretty fond of geography.”

Suddenly, Joel seems much more relaxed and you can’t help but laugh with him. Ashamed, you gently touch his arm and giggle.

“Shit, I’m so sorry.”

He just smiles, clearly taking no offense. You look at him, the smile on his face making him look much younger and lighter.

“You should do that more often you know.” You say softly. When he gives you a puzzled look, you just grin and nudge his shoulder with your own. “Smiling. It suits you.”

You could swear there’s a faint blush on his cheeks as he looks away. Biting your bottom lip, you look to the ground, suddenly feeling better than you have in a long time. Okay, so he was very handsome. And he had the whole hero thing going on. Or maybe you’d just been without a man for too long, but you can’t deny that a warm, pleasant feeling is spreading through your body.

Joel stops at the church, removing a huge chain from the doors, seemingly relieved that the padlock hasn't been removed. Something is moving around in there and by instinct you grab onto Joel, hide behind his broad frame. He just chuckles lightly, looking at your hand on his arm.

“Stay behind me. He’s a bit skittish around new people.”

Cautiously, you follow him into the church, instinctly reaching for your pocketknife. But when you see the source of the noise, you instantly relax. A horse. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d seen one of those.

“He’s beautiful”

Joel walks closer, gently caressing the gelding’s cheek. The horse huffs out a breath, nudging at Joel’s chest. Apologizing for not having any treats, the gelding turns his attention to you. Joel gestures for you to come closer, slowly so you don’t scare the horse.

“I’ve always loved horses. Had one when I was younger.” you say quietly, extending your hand carefully until you caress his muzzle and cheeks. “What’s his name?”

“Old beardy.” Joel smiles softly as your eyes meet. “-or at least I think it's the horse they've been referring to.” he laughs softly as he scratches his own bearded jaw.

Joel’s words make you laugh, for the first time forgetting about everything around you. He might seem quiet, closed off, but you get a feeling that beneath the rough exterior, there’s a sweet man hidden. You know survival should be your top priority right now, but you start to look forward to a few days in Joel’s company. And maybe, hopefully, he feels the same.

He turns to you with a soft smile, patting Old Beardy on the shoulder. “Ready to head to Jackson?”

You know the journey will be long and tough, but the prospect of what lies ahead makes you smile. For the first time in a long time, you have hope.

Feedback is much appreciated. Be kind and reblog. support your local writers.

Tagging: @mindidjarin @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @e-dubbc11 @lucy-sky  

Also soft tagging a few people who might like Joel. Please just tell me if you don’t want to be tagged: @writerwoed @kirsteng42 @iamskyereads @littlemisspascal @scorpio-marionette @misspearly1 @missbeewrites @chasingdreamer

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #pedro pascal fanfiction

[tom-whore-dleston]

Alma Bella

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x f. reader

Word Count: 1.3k

This fic contains: angst, fluff, implied smut, hurt/comfort, massages, crying, reader has low self esteem, Joaquin is a loving bf, unbeta’ed writing

Summary: Joaquin helps cheer you up after getting laid off.

Notes: This piece is for @the-slumberparty's Eight Types of Love challenge. In addition, this is a late request from the Spotify Wrapped 2023 challenge.

prompt: Philautia (love of the self) - Spa Day

request: Hello ❤️ For your event, can I choose <Beautiful Soul> by Jesse McCartney and Joaquin Torres? I was thinking a hurt/comfort/fluff fic? I don’t want to add too many ideas but if I can add, Soldier Joaquin x Teacher Reader? Thank you!!! - @blackbat05

You poked at the rice on your plate, watching the way each grain smashed under your spoon. If you weren’t careful, you could have snapped at any moment, aggressively smashing the salmon you spent the last hour preparing for your partner and then throwing it on the ground. So, you settled for meticulously squishing each item on your plate, until Joaquin’s voice pulled you out of your trance.

“Amor, is everything alright?”

When you finally glanced into his loving brown eyes, you sighed loudly, fighting back the tears burning your own eyes. You had been anxious to the point of throwing up over sharing the news to Joaquin. He had been working so hard for both of you, and you didn’t want to let him down. The logical side of you knew he would never be disappointed in you, yet the fear of any conflict with the man you loved scared you to your core. Yet, you needed to tell him before you were consumed by it.

“I’m so sorry, Joaquin,” you mumbled, staring back down at your barely eaten dinner.

“What? Why?”

“I got laid off,” you finally revealed. Your heart sank to your stomach as the words left your mouth, and you already felt the bile traveling to the back of your throat. “I should have seen it coming with the way the economy is now. Plus, schools are more focused on STEM classes than fine arts. You sipped on your glass of water before continuing. “I really thought I could make a difference with art. I thought I could inspire kids to create with their hands and get messy, but…forget it. My family was right about me becoming an artist. I’d never make it so I should be an art teacher for more stability. Well, look where that got me.” 

The tears that brewed in your eyes disappeared. Your heart was breaking into atomic pieces yet you couldn’t allow yourself to cry. What was the point of crying if the only thing to grieve was your hope of making a difference?

Joaquin stood from his chair and joined you on the opposite side of the dining table. He knelt down to hug you tightly against him. The moment he started rubbing your back and kissed the crown of your head, the water works began flooding over his white shirt. Your lover hushed you, but still allowed you to sob into his shoulder. 

“I am hurting with you, amor. But everything you said about yourself is not true. You can make a difference with your art. Maybe this just wasn’t the right time or moment to do that.”

You pulled away to meet his eyes again. They were still beautiful and brown, even behind your watery gaze.

“When will be the right time?” You sniffled, wiping the tears away with the back of your hands.

Joaquin looked down at the ground solemnly. “I wish I knew the answer to that. But I promise it’ll come. You just gotta light that passion again, amor.” A strong hand grabbed yours tenderly. “I know you still have fight in you. Even if you feel discouraged.” 

You pulled Joaquin into another hug warm enough to light that fire inside you. He always knew how to comfort you. You didn’t deserve this, especially after the way you talked so poorly of yourself. But, it was what you needed to crawl out of your hopeless state.

“I think I know another way to cheer you up,” Joaquin said, sweeping the hair out of your face.

“Please tell me we are getting massages!”

Joaquin’s eyes widened, a smile painting his face. “How do you manage to guess what I’m thinking so easily?”

You bit your lip. “Because you and I are connected by the soul.”

He stared down at your lips, releasing a faint chuckle before kissing your lips.

The next day, Joaquin drove you to the massage parlor in your town, holding your hand while he sang ballads of his affection to you. At each stop light, he would lift your hand to his lips before lightly pecking them before driving away. By the time you arrived at your destination, Joaquin spoke with the receptionist, reserving your massage time and paying the service. Before you could protest, he reminded you that this day was for you and you shouldn’t have to do so much as lift a finger. Normally, you would attempt to fight him back, but for now, you agreed to let him treat you.

The next 90 minutes were the most blissful ones you have experienced in a long while. The woman massaging you may have been way past 60 years old, but her hands were strong enough to knead out the weight you carried since getting laid off. Yet, her touch was still soft and gentle, a kind reminder that even amongst the roughness, you deserve sensitivity and love.

You peered over to Joaquin, who laid with his cheek on the table, facing you. He grinned with his eyelids half open as his taut muscles turned to putty. 

“How are you, mi amor?” 

As the little old woman squeezed a pressure point on your calf, you winced in pain and pleasure. Joaquin laughed at your response, sticking his head back down the cushioned hole of the table, succumbing to the classical music and warmth of the massager’s hands.

Once your massage was over, you and Joaquin moaned in elation, but still yearned for more of the comforting yet aggressive touch of the massagers. You both laid in silence, battling the urge to fall asleep on the tables. After what felt like eternity, you finally stood from the table, moving sluggishly to dress yourself. Joaquin sensed your movement, turning to admire your naked form. 

“Hey, you,” your boyfriend murmured in a seductive tone.

“Hey, to you, too.” You snickered, rolling your eyes when Joaquin just stared at you in awe. He rolled onto his side as you slid your underwear back on.

“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” He licked his lips as you bent over to pick up your sundress. A smirk was plastered on his face, and you already predicted where this would lead you. You decided to play dumb to test your hypothesis.

“I should say the same about you, handsome.” Your eyebrows suggested towards his semi hard length pointing in your direction. Then, you met him with sincerity and affection. “Thank you for this, amor. It really means a lot that you are taking this whole day to make me feel better after yesterday.”

“Anything for the woman I love. Don’t ever forget that you deserve the best and more.” You nodded before pressing your lips to his. Then, Joaquin added, “I take it that the massage helped relieve some of your stress?” 

“Oh, you have no idea, baby.”

“I think I do have an idea actually.” You faced him, fully dressed, as he finally managed to hop off the table. Your eyes steered away from his bare figure, warmth flooding your cheeks and chest. “Your pretty moans told me all I needed to know about how good you were feeling.”

You gulped, that sly smirk never leaving his face. “I felt really good, too. The thing is, I think they missed a spot. You and I both know you’re the only one to give me a real happy ending. Ain’t that right, amor?” By then, you choked on a gasp that almost came out as a whimper. 

“Joaquin, we can’t fuck here.”

“I know, I know.” He paused while putting on his jeans. “How about this? I drive us home, we get undressed again and I help you relax a little more and you help me get a happy ending.” 

You pretended to consider his proposition with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. The day had just begun for you two and you were already looking forward to more of whatever special treatment he had in store for you.

“Well, you did want to treat me the whole day so let’s not waste anymore time.”

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#request fulfilled ╰( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )つ──☆*:・ﾟ #spotify wrapped 2023 🎵 #navy and roo's sleepover #typesoflovesleepover #joaquin torres #the falcon #danny ramirez #tfatws #falcon and the winter soldier #captain america new world order #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #the falcon x reader #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres smut #joaquin torres angst #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres fanfic #joaquin torres fic

[illneverrecover]

make it right - epilogue | kth & knj (M)

➛pairing: Kim Taehyung x reader  ft. Kim Namjoon x reader ➛summary: He had offered to be there with you when you read it, which you had considered. He has always been supportive of you and your emotions, and you knew you could rely on him to be your rock through this, too, should you need it. But there was a little piece of you that felt it was important to be willing to face this alone; willing to face the consequences and fallout of your actions without the crutch of your current love.  ➛genre: starting out musician!AU, smut, angst. SMANGST. ➛word count: 5327 ➛rating: explicit/mature ➛warnings: mentions of previous infidelity, mentions of mature situations, a lot of talk about healing and self reflection, also about self growth, cursing, previous installments contain smut.  ➛notes: Well this was a long, long time coming. If you’ve stuck around this long - I appreciate you more than you will know!  Many apologies for the wait, but damn, was life being a bitch for a hot minute. This was very cathartic for me to write for many reasons, and I hope you enjoy! Just to be clear, this series isn’t here to romanticize infidelity, or make light of it -- but instead show how things aren’t always so black and white in real life. In reality, there are numerous, messy shades of grey, and things can become complicated very easily. This is barely edited and completely unbeta’ed, as I’m trying to be more authentic and less of a perfectionist when it comes to my writing as a personal goal in 2023. It’s been holding me back for far too long, and I’ve missed being creative. Be gentle, and let me know what you think! (P.S. - if you pick up on the TS reference, pls know I’m giving you a forehead kiss)  ➛song: everythinggoes (with Nell) - RM, NELL & Girl of My Dreams (with SUGA) - Juice WRLD, SUGA, BTS  ➛tagging: @jimins-ass-eater, @thatlongspringnight​ ➛Chapter 1 ➛ Chapter 2  ➛ Chapter 3

Everything, everything, everything goes 

Time passes. Despite change, despite everything moving and falling apart and rebuilding again, time always passes. It is unavoidable, it is necessary. It is healing simply in its existence.  

Namjoon sees that now more than anything. 

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year – a year since you walked out, since everything changed. Since his actions and inactions had finally caught up to him, and so had the consequences. 

He wanted to blame you. It would be easier to do so, he thought in the beginning, considering how everything fell apart. But it wouldn’t be honest, and it wouldn’t make him feel any better. He thought himself a good man, after all, and good men accept the fallout from their misdeeds. They dig deep and do some introspection and maybe see a therapist, and they try to be better.

He wanted to be better. 

It wasn’t easy. Looking into the depths of his mind and soul and inspecting his worst flaws is a raw, painful thing at any time, but especially after what had happened. He meditated more, channeled his feelings into his writing in the studio, and continued to work on himself. His relationship with the new producer, Mina, continued to blossom, but this time without the tainting of his indiscretions, without the shame and guilt. Namjoon found what grew between them was more beautiful this way; tending to the soil and ensuring proper watering allowed him to be his sincere, natural self, giving way to a love that came easy. 

It was hard when Yoongi left the studio, though Namjoon would be lying if he said he didn’t see it coming. It was on good terms, thanks to both of them being pragmatic despite their friendship, but it still stung. Another consequence to his transgressions, another person affected by his shortcomings. Yoongi had told him he was thinking of opening his own studio for a while, but Namjoon was almost positive the incident (and the aftermath) is what accelerated his timeline and had him leaving a few months later. 

Taehyung’s resignation had been less surprising, though equally professional. He offered to finish out his contract or to leave immediately – not wanting to leave the studio hanging, but also knowing the position this was putting Namjoon in. Namjoon could appreciate the gesture, even through the betrayal, and allowed the younger man to finish up some tracks and part ways amicably. It wasn’t long before Taehyung’s name was being released as Yoongi’s first talent, and though it felt like someone had punched him in the chest, Namjoon couldn’t help but be proud. 

He would always support them, even if they didn’t know it.

He poured himself into his work,  into his music. His first passion, his first love. She always welcomed him with warm arms, always gave him confidence and solitude to work through whatever melodies and cacophonies were clouding his mind. And as he worked through self reflection and discovery, she was there to help him work through the tougher emotions, the painful feelings, until he had a full fledged album. A raw and new piece of his soul, ready to share with the world, whenever Namjoon was ready to be vulnerable. 

So much had changed in a year. He isn’t sure if this present version of himself would even recognize the Namjoon from before, the person that he was. But he knows he wants to continue to impress that version of himself, and make him proud. 

He was ready to share his music — and himself — with the world,  but before he could, he needed to do one last thing. 

Taehyung wasn’t sure why Namjoon had wanted to see him.

His mind began racing the minute he received the text, saw the name that he hadn’t had the guts to ever delete or block from his phone. It had been almost a year since he had last been in communication with the man, when he had put in his notice at the studio.

So much had changed in a year. He had signed with Yoongi, worked extremely hard in the new studio,  and was making music he was really, really proud of. And to top it all off, he was doing it with you by his side, out in the open, for the world to see. No longer having to hide his love was one of the best things to ever happen to Taehyung, and he’d never tire of basking you in it. 

But Namjoon had asked to meet for coffee, and Taehyung couldn’t think of a reason to say no. If anything, he felt like he owed his old friend - his hyung, his brother - the time and space to say whatever it was he wanted to him. It was the least he could do, considering. 

Taehyung doesn’t regret loving you, but the guilt still gnaws at him from time to time over how things went down with Namjoon. It was you who would always reassure him that if anyone was to blame, it was you, and would help him work through his feelings. 

He had thought about reaching out to Namjoon in the months following the aftermath – to apologize, to explain where he was coming from, how genuine his feelings were for you, that he never meant to hurt him – but realized that this would only be to assuage his own shame and guilt, not because it would be anything that Namjoon actually needed to hear. That didn’t seem fair to put on him, after everything else, and so he vowed to keep his apologies to his journal for the time being. Resolved that if Namjoon wanted closure, he would let him know. 

Taehyung  hopes that’s what this meeting is about, if he’s being honest with himself. He has run this scenario through his head a million times, and out of all the conclusions he could reach, it would be the ideal one. Certainly, Namjoon would have every right to ask him to meet up if only to have a chance to give him a solid sucker punch in the face, and Taehyung wouldn’t be able to fault him for that. 

But despite knowing that things will never be the same, he would at least like for there to be peace between the two of them, for your sake if nothing else.

The coffee shop is spacious, well lit by the copious windows adorning the front of the building, and fairly quiet, considering its size. Mismatched plush couches and chairs decorated the room alongside coffee tables of varying shapes and forms, surrounded by walls lined with bookshelves stuffed to the brim. It is a very Namjoon place to pick, Taehyung thinks, deciding to peruse the menu and order before searching for his friend. 

He finds Namjoon in a back corner, tucked in an alcove that is built into the bookshelves, the only booth in the entire shop. He has one hand cupped around a mug of hot liquid, the other scrolling his phone, not seeing Taehyung approach.

Taking a deep breath, Taehyung slides himself into the booth opposite him. 

“Hey,”

Namjoon’s eyes flick up, surprise on his face quickly melting into a familiar grin. “Hey, Taehyung. How are you? You look well,”

Taehyung lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulders relaxing at the elder’s tone. “Yeah, I’m good, I’m doing well. How about you? You look great,” he compliments, realizing that he means it. Namjoon has more life and color in his face than Taehyung remembered seeing in years, a new softness in his eyes that makes him seem lighter, more free. “You look happy.”

“Thank you, I’m getting there,” Namjoon chuckles, a shy smile on his face. “It’s been a lot of work, but it’s been worth it.”

For a moment, they just smile and nod at each other, a comfortable and familiar silence stretching between them. There’s  so much that Taehyung wants to ask, that he wants to say, but he follows Namjoon’s lead, instead sipping on his hot chocolate while he waits for the other man to speak.

“So, there’s some things that I need to say to you. And it might be a lot, and I’ll probably talk for a stupid amount of time, but I’m asking for you to listen ‘til the end, if you could,” Namjoon pauses then, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he winces. “If it’s too much, or if you don’t have the time for this, then I understand completely, but–”

“No, of course I have time, it’s okay. I want to hear what you have to say.” Taehyung reassures, giving him a nod. “Whatever you need.”

Namjoon smiles, taking a deep breath. 

“When I first met Y/N, she was… the brightest light,” he looks down at his drink, face softening. “So bright that she drew everyone to her like moths to flame. I was so drawn to her, so attracted to her light. That first night at the karaoke bar, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. She was shining so bright, and everyone was watching. I normally wouldn’t approach someone in a bar, but it was like I couldn’t help myself. I knew I’d kick myself if I didn’t go over, or if someone else did first, so I finally went up to her. Told her some corny joke, and she laughed hysterically.” He laughs to himself, and Taehyung smiles. That sounds like the you he knows, too. “And the moment she laughed, I was instantly hooked. I asked for her number, about floating out of that bar when she kissed me. We became inseparable. Spent all of our time together, and the rest happened quickly. I’m sure you know how she is – it’s so easy to get wrapped up in her warmth, her fire.”

Taehyung dips his chin, his lips curling  into a smirk against his volition. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” 

Namjoon’s jaw flexes at those words, otherwise he seems to have no reaction, swallowing before he continues. 

“After she moved in, things were good – comfortable, a little predictable, but good. I felt safe and confident,  knowing that she was always there, always around when I needed a bit of that light. And eventually, that comfort became complacency.” Namjoon shakes his head, drawing another breath. “I started taking advantage of the fact that she would be there when I needed. I got wrapped up in my music, and instead of trying to bring her into that with me, or share that piece of myself, I shut her out. Told myself she wouldn’t understand. Convinced myself that it would be okay once my hard work paid off and she could see the final product. But looking back, it was all excuses to be selfish and to do whatever I wanted, knowing that she loved me enough to put up with it.” 

“I’m not proud of myself for that. There’s thousands, millions of different ways that you can kill the person you love. The slowest way is not loving them enough, not giving them enough of your time – but not having the strength to let them go. She tried talking to me, telling me what she needed from me, begging me to spend time with her, and instead of being strong enough to let her go, I kept making promises I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep. It was fucked up, what I did. I just- I wasn’t ready to lose that fire,”

Taehyung didn’t trust his voice, so instead he nods, easily empathizing with the older man. He intimately knows that fire that Namjoon spoke of, understood its siren call, the unbelievable warmth it is to be loved by you. But at the same time, he realizes how much Namjoon’s admission gets under his skin – knowing that you were in that much pain, remembering seeing you suffer, watching you fall apart and try to hide it from everyone – it angers him, hearing Namjoon own to the fact that he knew he was hurting you, but didn’t walk away.

He must not be schooling  his face as well as he thinks,  because Namjoon sighs as he rubs his face with his hand. “I get it. Trust me, I know it wasn’t okay. But when you’ve been in the dark for so long, finding someone like Y/N – you want to be loved by her, want just a piece of that for yourself. I’m not justifying my actions, but hopefully explaining where my mind was at the time,” he continues, taking a sip of his drink. “I was already not being the man she needed, already not meeting her expectations. And when Mina started at the studio, and started helping me with some of the tracks… I hate to say it, but it was easy to let myself get distracted. I was so wrapped up in myself and what was going on with me, I didn’t see just how far away she had slipped - not only emotionally, but physically, intimately. It seemed like it went from incessant texts about when I was coming home, begging to spend time with me, to… nothing at all. She went radio silent, started going out of the house more, started hanging around you guys more.  I remember thinking to myself, ‘Well at least it seems like she’s found something to entertain herself, now she won’t always worry about me’. How clueless could I be? So fucking stupid, and selfish.” 

Namjoon gives the younger man a moment to process his words before he continues. “After everything went down, I… I’m not proud of this, but I got drunk one night, and I kinda begged some information off of Jimin,” Namjoon winces again, casting his eyes down. “It’s not Jimin’s fault, I think he honestly just felt bad for me, so please don’t be upset with him. He really didn’t tell me much, but he confirmed that… the two of you,” he gestures with his hands towards Taehyung, “ started… being together on her birthday.”

Taehyung feels his heart drop in his chest, his pulse racing at the admission, unsure of why the fact that Namjoon now knew this piece of information makes him feel a bit more ashamed. 

“Which means, it started way after she had ‘the talk’ with me,  way after she began to pull away and I just let her go – hell, encouraged it, even.  When she showed up at the apartment the day I found out, Y/N kept telling me it didn’t matter what happened, or who’s fault it was… that we had both done hurtful things and it was time to move on. And I think even with her saying that, even as she was breaking things off with me, she was still trying to protect me in a way. Still trying to shoulder all of the blame, especially because of the affair. But the truth is, I don’t blame her for any of it. I blame myself.”

He meets Taehyung’s gaze straight on. “I may not have physically cheated, and sure, she may have been the first to step out, but what choice did I leave her? I abandoned her long before she got together with you. I don’t know when or how it happened, but I woke up one day and I stopped choosing her, and started only choosing myself. And the worst part is, she fought to try and fix things between us, and it was like I had blinders on.  I still couldn’t stop choosing myself. I was so damn cocky, so sure of myself…” He swallows thickly. “She still fought, still chose me over and over, so it never crossed my mind that she would cheat. But honestly, I don’t blame her. She wasn’t being taken care of the way she should, the way she deserved.”

Taehyung is surprised to see tears welling in Namjoon’s eyes; the sheer amount of emotion he is willing to share in front of him shocking overall. Namjoon always keeps things so close to the chest.

“And then you swooped in and saved the day,” Namjoon continues, giving the younger man a wry grin. “Again, I get it. I can understand why you were drawn to her, why you were drawn to each other. I was mad, at first. Jealous mostly, if I was being honest with myself, but that’s because I’ve always been a bit possessive. But the more I sat with my thoughts, the more I realized that I was… relieved. Relieved to know that she had someone during that time, that she was being taken care of in all the ways that I failed to. Relieved to know that it was with someone that I know and trust to truly have her best interest at heart. That if it was anyone, it was you.”

Now it’s Taehyung’s turn to have his smile turn watery and soft. “Namjoon, I-”

“No, you promised to let me finish, remember?”

He doesn’t wait for confirmation before speaking again. “I know it sounds crazy, but that's why I asked you to come here. I wanted..” he trails away, hands fidgeting in his lap until his eyes snap to Taehyung. “I wanted to thank you, for taking care of her, for loving her. The way she should be… the way I couldn’t.” He doesn’t hide his tears this time, instead letting one trail down his cheek. “And if it’s alright with you, I have basically written down what we spoke about today, and I would like to give this letter to her - along with the offer of a meet up, if she’d like. Before the album comes out.” 

That gets Taehyung’s attention. “What do you mean? Is there something she should be worried about, or-?”

“N-No! No, not at all, nothing like that,” Namjoon waves off the concern with a hand. “But there are some emotional songs that I worked on after the break up, and it feels like the right thing to do would be to give her the chance to hear them first, before everyone else.”

There is nothing that comes  to Taehyung’s mind that would be a good argument against that - Namjoon is right, it is the courteous thing to do, to allow her the privacy of that moment before the rest of the world had a chance to dissect it into a million pieces. 

“And I didn’t want to reach out without talking to you first, out of respect for you both. It didn’t feel right approaching her directly… again, I want to give her time to process, you know?” 

Taehyung nods in agreement, appreciating the foresight. “Thank you for that, I think that will mean a lot to her.” 

“So you’ll give it to her? The letter?”

There is a part of Taehyung that didn’t want to, if he was being honest, didn’t know if it’s worth reopening the old wounds that you had worked so hard to close. That chapter of your life was something you worked hard to move past, and though you made it clear you wished Namjoon well, you hadn’t asked to meet up with him in the year since the split. There really hasn’t been a need to, once you got your things out of the apartment and moved into Taehyung’s place. 

But if he makes that choice for you, would it be any better than what Namjoon had done? Would he be any better? 

“Of course. I can’t promise she’ll want to meet, but – I’ll give it to her, I promise.” 

Relief sags Namjoon’s shoulders, and he lowers his head in gratitude. “Thank you, that’s all I ask. And thank you again, for meeting with me today. I promise my only intention here is closure, and respect.” 

“Does that mean I’m allowed to say something now?”

“Taehyung, you really don’t have to, there isn’t anything to say–”

“Just let me get this off my chest, please,” Taehyung begs, a hint of desperation in his gaze. “I know this probably doesn’t mean much, and I completely understand why… but for the record, I am so sorry that I hurt you. I wish it hadn’t come to that.” 

“Come on, Tae, like I said-”

“Let me finish.” Taehyung raises his voice slightly, just enough that Namjoon knows he’s serious. “I sincerely mean that. I don’t regret being with Y/N, and I won’t pretend to. I really do love her, and your words and… approval,” he chokes on the word, as if the marvel of it isn’t lost on him, “mean more to me than I think you can understand. But I really hate that you were hurt in the process, regardless of what was going on at the time.”

Namjoon waits, taking another sip of his drink to ensure Taehyung is finished before speaking again. 

“Apology accepted. I appreciate you saying that, really. But I mean… what would you have done differently? No matter what choices were made, the outcome was inevitable. She was never going to tolerate my shit forever, and it was the catalyst. Considering I wasn’t exactly innocent in my behaviors, either, I get it. It wasn’t okay, what any of us did, but I get it.” 

The world is never as black and white as we would like it to be, never as quickly and neatly explained as the human brain would prefer. There are many shades of the foggy grays and dark misty blacks and every level of fading ink in between, a messy cacophony of varying gradients. If anyone can understand that, it’s Taehyung. 

“That’s probably the best way to put it. It wasn’t okay, but I get it. What you did, what we all did. But I do think people are capable of change, if they truly want it. And it sounds like you’ve come a long way,” Taehyung gives a wide grin then, feeling the lightest he has in a long time. “ I wish you nothing but luck and success in your journey - both with your love life and with your music. I genuinely mean that, Joon. We’ll always be rooting for you.” 

Namjoon matches the younger man's carefree smile, any remaining tension easing away from his posture. “Thanks, bro. I’m always rooting for you guys, too. All of you - Yoongi included. If you ever need anything, even just some ears or a hype man, I’m here.”

More pleasantries and gratitudes are exchanged before Namjoon is standing, pulling Taehyung into a quick embrace before gearing up to  leave the coffee shop, holding up a buzzing phone in explanation. “Sorry, I gotta take this - thanks again!”

Everything changes, and everything stays the same.

You aren’t sure how long you stare at the letter before you decide to open it. It must be a few hours at least, because Taehyung had given it to you in the bright light of early afternoon, and now the sky was turning faded pinks and oranges, sun ready to rest for the day. 

He had offered to be there with you when you read it, which you had considered. He has always been supportive of you and your emotions, and you knew you could rely on him to be your rock through this, too, should you need it. 

But there was a little piece of you that felt it was important to be willing to face this alone; willing to face the consequences and fallout of your actions without the crutch of your current love. 

Your friends had rallied around you after the initial fallout, surprisingly, and though you weren’t sure you had deserved that, you certainly appreciated them for it. They gave you the confidence to keep moving forward, to battle with your demons, and you would always be grateful to them for showing up in your time of need. 

You are stronger now, more healed than you were when you had last seen Namjoon a year ago. Not fully healed, because healing isn’t linear, but you are working on it and yourself. An excellent therapist had been the start of the self love journey, and it was with her help that you were able to confront some difficult truths and soothe old wounds, feeling more secure in your skin than you had in years. 

You had even started working on your music again, though you could say that was Yoongi’s fault if anything, since he kept saying he was tired of you lounging around his studio for free. He had practically shoved you into the booth one day, asking for you to warm up and lay a raw track for some backing vocals to earn your keep, and you had complied easily. It wasn’t the worst thing he could have you doing there, and it soothed you to be able to work with music, even in a small capacity.

And Taehyung.

Taehyung had been amazing through it all;  your grounding peace during the storm, your home in the form of a person. His devotion and endless understanding and love was more than you could dream of, more than you ever thought you would know, and you can’t help but to feel like the luckiest person in the world to get to experience it.

Picking up the letter, you take a deep breath, centering yourself before folding it open, eyes quickly scanning the words awaiting you. 

He wasn’t mad, wasn’t angry. Instead, he was apologizing, giving explanations for his actions while telling you  not to blame yourself, offering to meet up to talk things out if you’d like. Or if you didn’t want to talk, to at least get a copy of his new album so that you could listen to it before it dropped, since there were some personal songs included that he thought you may want to hear in private.

Overall, it was a short note; but kind, considerate. A softer side of the Namjoon you used to remember, from the early days. 

You didn’t need to think about how you wanted to proceed, instead picking up your phone and sending a text to your ex-fiancé.

It had been you that insisted on meeting some place outside, wanting to keep the encounter quick and pleasant. You weren’t sure how he was going to reply to your text letting him know that you were willing to meet for the album, but not to talk, but in standard Namjoon style, he didn’t seem bothered. Taehyung told you he supported your decision no matter what, which you knew would be his response, but you truly didn’t feel the need to continue to hash this out. You had both apologized and moved on, and the past was in the past. 

You certainly appreciate his dedication to his own healing, and can empathize with the need of writing a letter for closure, but that was enough for you. You didn’t need anything else in order to forgive him. 

You had forgiven him long ago. 

You and Taehyung made plans to listen to the album together, knowing that you would want his warmth and comfort both physically and emotionally during, and you let that thought comfort you as you walk towards the meeting point, eyes scanning the park for the taller man. 

A tap on your shoulder has you turning, peering up at a dimpled grin. 

“Hey,”

You give him a shy smile. “Hi, Joon.”

He has a small manila envelope in his hands, your name scrolled in black sharpie on the front, and his fingers tap against the material a few times before he thrusts it towards you. 

“Well, here it is. It’s a USB, but it has all the songs plus the album concept art. I hope you like it, but uh, even if you don’t, I thought it was only right to let you hear it before everyone else does.”

His awkwardness makes you want to giggle, but you stifle the urge, not wanting to make him feel self conscious. Taking the parcel from his hands, you slide it in your bag before glancing back up at him. “Thank you, I really appreciate that. I’m sure I will like it. Your music has always been amazing.”

The tips of Namjoon’s ears start to redden, and he scoffs bashfully. “Ahh, you gotta warn me before you say nice things to me, I’m not prepared.”

You laugh then, his deeper chuckle joining in after a few moments, and it felt good to laugh so carefree with him again. Something you didn’t think you would ever have the chance to do. 

“Well, it was good to see you, Joon. Thanks for this,” you tap your bag twice, “I’m excited to listen.” 

“Thanks. It was good to see you as well, you look great. Really h-happy,” Namjoon stutters over his words, the sentiment rushing out, “It’s what you deserve - to be happy.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest, a piece of your soul healed by the words you didn’t know you needed to hear out loud. 

“I am really happy,” you confirm, unable to hide your smile. “Like, almost disgustingly happy, it’s pretty annoying.” 

You laugh, but this time he doesn’t join you.

“Good.”

And before you can think of how to reply, he’s gone, faded back into the bustle of the crowd like he was never there.

Taehyung already has your favorite wine opened by the time you arrive home, a glass placed in your hand once you walk through the door. He’s all easy smiles, nonchalant as he asks about the meeting, steadfast and attentive as he listens while putting the finishing touches on dinner. 

He’s made one of your comfort meals, and you spoon it into bowls before carrying them into his office-slash-studio, cozying up on his lounger before putting the thumb drive into the computer. He queues it up, sliding the mouse closer to his reach as he settles beside you, pulling a blanket to cover your laps. 

You hand him his bowl, and he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s quick, but there’s heat underneath the gentle pressure of his mouth. 

“Are you ready?”

You look into his warm gaze, the affection evident in the soft way he drinks you in. He has one hand cupped around his bowl, the other on your thigh under the blanket, giving reassuring squeezes as the silence ebbs on. 

It’s not that you were afraid of what you would hear, or that you thought Namjoon would do anything to hurt you. But you know hearing your previous relationship's downfall from his point of view could bring up some lingering pain, and you wanted to be able to process and work through it so you could continue to heal.

It’s what he deserved, what you all deserved.

The old version of you wouldn’t be able to handle this, certainly not next to someone like Taehyung. Wouldn’t be able to bear the vulnerability, or having a witness to the potential flood of emotions that could come at any moment. But over this past year, you’ve learned that you are worthy of a love that makes you feel safe enough to be your authentic self - and in turn to allow your true self to be loved. 

You knew that you were safe, here under the blanket on the loveseat in Taehyung’s cozy little studio, next to the man you love. 

“I’m ready.” 

Just like the night leaves and the morning comes The spring leaves and summer comes, but Just like the flowers and summer sunshine Everything must be hurt Breathe the world The air in my lungs is full of cold air I want to run away From long hours of pain and dullness

 Everyday I pray (everyday I pray) That I may become a slightly better adult And everyday I stay (everyday I stay) People die with their pain one day We can not be eternity in dream Words like "Cheer up" can not be real Instead of plausible words It hope it goes like a wind (Everything, everything, everything goes Everything everything else goes)

#taehyung fic #taehyung x reader #taehyung scenario #taehyung smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #namjoon x reader #namjoon fic #namjoon scenario #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #taehyung fanfic #my writing #fic: make it right #fic: mir #fic: make it right epilogue #overly affectionate demon #bamjoon

[ambidextrousarcher]

Thanks for the tag @enigma-the-mysterious !

I have a fanfiction.net account that I have long stopped using, not least because I started disliking the site, as well as the character whose name I had used as my username on that site.

I had a Wattpad phase when I was 15. I haven’t opened that in years.

Definitely have an Ao3 account! AmbidextrousAecher

I do not like either reading or writing smut, maybe it’s part of my manifestation of aroace news.

I used to roleplay with someone who had been a friend of mine, online here on Tumblr.

I have beta read fics and fic related scenes for both former and current friends.

I have definitely published an unbeta’ed fic! Most of my early works in the Mahabharata fandom were unbetaed, as well as most of my fics for all other fandoms I have written in.

I have definitely written self-indulgent fics. A King’s Fortune is one I can think of immediately, though that one is angst central right now, as well as Let Not Sleeping Skunks Lie, which is the height of self-indulgence.

I usually write grammatically correct sentences, even in comments, something I have been teased for. No keysmashes, sorry.

Yes, I have left kudos on many fics twice, at least in the form of comments. @starlightasteria and her amazing fics are the ones I can think of off the top of my head.

I do love me some good fluff sometimes!

No, I have not written for same sex ships. I don’t ship in general, with some very rare exceptions, all of which are somehow cishet ships.

Fan fiction is definitely a genre of its own!

Definitely multifandom. Mahabharata, ASOIAF, Jodhaa Akbar, Baahubali, Harry Potter, Hunger Games, have fics I have written fro them that are published, including two crossovers. I am writing a fic for the Thor (Marvel) movie, as well as have ideas for fics on the Ponniyin Selvan fandom, which I intend to execute. Oh! And I also have a fic for the TV serial Kuch Rang Pyaar Ke Aise Bhi, though most of that fandom would flame that fic, because it is very biased to the male lead, being in his PoV with a lot of canon divergences.

I enjoy research before writing! Have spent many happy hours in that.

If a mental outline counts, I keep an outline of sorts, yes.

Who doesn’t wait for feedback after publishing?

Haven’t received or commissioned art.

Have about 8-10 unpublished fics, mostly having Jaime Lannister in multiple universes.

I actually…like editing?

Oh, most of my ideas strike right before bed, in the middle of the night, or when I startle awake after a nightmare.

I don’t drink alcohol, tea or coffee, so those two are out.

Yes, I think I have a fic that deserves more attention. Darin is one of my favourite pieces that I have written, and hardly anyone reads it. (Understandable, it’s a Mahabharata crossover with the Hunger Games)

Yes, I hope to publish my novel series which is solely from Arjun’s PoV.

Sorry for not reblogging, I wasn’t able to, app glitch. Credit for the bingo to the original poster.

Tagging @harinishivaa @hum-suffer @selkiesstories @hindumyththoughts @favcolourrvibgior @chaanv

#tag games #things i was tagged in #fanficition bingo

[polite-pandemonium]

I’d marry you with paper rings - part 1

Prompt: Taichi and Mimi run a seemingly harmless con where they pretend to get engaged in restaurants so they can get free dessert, only to be caught in the act when her parents witness one of the fake proposals and 100% believe it. Pairing: Taichi/Mimi, others will show up I think Rating: T Notes: This is for @piedrpiper, who gave me this killer prompt, which I then ran away with and now who knows what I’ve gotten myself into!!! Also this is unbeta’ed and I wrote it all in the span of an hour so who even knows if it’s good!! WHO EVEN KNOWS!!!!!

Chosen Chat Thursday - 2:01pm

Daisuke:  uMMMMM ╭( ๐_๐)╮ @taichi-san, @mimi-san, do you want to explain what the hell this is?  https://www.tiktok.com/@minakolovesyou/video/87362956028361822

Yamato:  …what the hell is this?

Sora:  …I feel like we are missing A FEW chapters?

Koushiro:  Um? Did I miss a memo?  Or a several years long relationship?

Daisuke: You mean again? ( º﹃º )

Koushiro:  No one asked you, @daisuke-san.

Miyako: WHAT IS THIS? HOW DID I NOT KNOW?

Takeru: LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

Miyako: WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME? ＼(｀0´)／

Hikari: Onii-chan, what is going on?

Miyako: Seriously, WHY? Why did no one tell ME?

Takeru: LOLLLLLLLLL

Miyako: STOP LAUGHING, TAKERU-SAN. 

Yamato: Takeru, stop. 

Hikari:  Takeru-kun, this isn’t funny!

Taichi: Oh my GOD, stop blowing up my phone, seriously.  It’s just this thing Mimi-chan and I have been doing. 

Sora: I’m sorry, what??? A ‘thing’ you’ve been doing with Mimi? You call *getting engaged* a thing??

Miyako: SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE HELL?? @mimi-san WHERE ARE YOU?  HOW COULD YOU STAND FOR THIS?

Taichi: NOT FOR REAL!  I found a list on Reddit of restaurants in Tokyo that will give you free dessert if you get engaged there.  So Mimi-chan and I have been going around to them. 

Yamato: …You’re getting fake engaged? So you can get a free dessert?

Takeru: LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Hikari: Oh my god, okaa-san is going to kill you.

Taichi: Stop, it’s all in good fun.  Plus she’s never going to find out? Don’t understand why someone filmed it, though.

Miyako:  This happens all of the time! This is TikTok!!  People film beautiful, random moments and share them! They thought this was a beautiful, random moment!  BUT IT’S NOT IT’S FAKE (ノ-_-)ノ ミ ┴┴

Koushiro: This is so unnecessarily deceptive.  You guys are both doing fine financially.  You don’t need to lie to get free dessert. 

Yamato:  Seriously, what the fuck? This isn’t cool. An engagement is an important moment.

Taichi:  Oh, calm down lover boy @yamato Not all of us have been envisioning our engagement since we were fourteen.

Sora: Taichi!

Mimi: LOL I see our game has been exposed. 

Taichi: It has, unfortunately.  The jig is up.

Mimi: On TikTok, too? Ugh, I wasn’t even wearing my cutest outfit that day.

Taichi: I think you looked great. 

Mimi: Aww, shucks, thanks hubby. 

Taichi: Of course, wifey. 

Daisuke: （●≧艸≦

Hikari: 乁༼☯‿☯✿༽ㄏ

Takeru:  LOL?

Yamato: You’re both ridiculous. 

Mimi: Oh, Yamato-kun, you don’t mean that!

Yamato:  Given that you’re both running around getting fake engaged?  For dessert? I do. 

Taichi: OK, look, it isn’t just the dessert that we do it for.

Yamato: ?

Hikari: ????

Taichi: Sometimes they give us free drinks, too.

Mimi: One time, we got a whole bottle of Veuve Cliquot! 

Taichi: The big one!

Mimi: The BIG one!!!!!

Koushiro: You guys, really?

Taichi: The big one, Kou!!!

Mimi: 100,000 views, huh?

Taichi: Is that a lot?

Mimi: I mean, it’s not not a lot But it’s not viral

Daisuke:  Well, it’s only been up for a few hours And it’s popular enough that I ended up seeing it

Miyako: That’s cause you’re chronically online, Daisuke. 

Daisuke:  Takes one to know one, Miyako.

Hikari: Well, you both better hope it doesn’t accumulate any more views  I doubt you want to explain this to people who aren’t us Like your employers

Taichi: Oh, GOD, no thank you

Mimi: Um do NOT put that out there But I don’t think we have to worry about it Even if it gets more views, the chances of someone who knows us seeing it are so slim You have to be addicted to TikTok Like Daisuke-kun

Daisuke: Look, this isn’t dump on Daisuke, hour I’m not the one going out getting fake engaged for dessert I go to Lawson like any other respectable adult 

Miyako: Konbini betrayal!! (ง •̀_•́)ง

Mimi: My point is!! That we don’t have to worry about it going more viral. Viral is subjective now a-days. Everything’s viral. No one will likely see it. 

7:23pm

Ken: Ah, man I miss everything 

Friday - 1:47am

Jyou: Same But I’m glad I wasn’t here for this Seconding Yamato, you’re both ridiculous

The next morning, Mimi stood in her kitchen, eating natto over rice and running a facial roller over her cheeks. She had been out a little late last night with Sora and Miyako, drinking wine and chattering about their weeks into the wee hours, and it was showing on her face. 

Where had she put her collagen powders? She thought to herself as she surveyed the small kitchen in her Aoyama apartment. There were only so many cupboards for her to tuck them away into and yet they were no where to be found. Maybe if she was able to blend them into her coffee, they could perk her up a bit. Or better yet, a green juice - they were special ones she had brought back from her last trip to America. Surely in green juice they would make her glow. 

But she didn’t know where they were and Mimi didn’t like green juice anyway. 

Sighing to herself, she unlocked her phone. Swiping away from the notifications in the Chosen group chat (Takeru and Hikari were asking the group to settle some sort of debate they had stayed up till 4 in the morning arguing about - the old marrieds), she opened up her calendar. She scanned her meetings for the day: 8 in total, 3 on-site, 5 remote. 

Too many, she groaned, and closed the app. 

Opening up TikTok, she swiped through a few videos. A couple of reviews of local cafes, three videos about the latest season of Stranger Things, and a handful of fashion videos. She paused on one, inspecting the blouse the girl was wearing, before favouriting it as a reminder for her to pick it up later.

Then, suddenly, Mimi was met with the sight of her own face, blushing and teary eyed as Taichi knelt down in front of her in the dining room at Narisawa. 

She sat up a little straighter. 

This had been restaurant number eight on their list and overall, it had been a pleasant experience. Mimi had worn a bright pink linen dress she picked up from Reformation in Toronto on a recent buying trip with simple gold hoops. Taichi wore a well tailored black suit and white dress shirt, no tie. He rested his hand on the small of her back when they walked in. 

For over an hour, they laughed and talked together, recounting their days and weeks. The best part about this whole ruse was that they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company; it was easy to pretend you absolutely adored the person across from you romantically when you did adore them platonically. Taichi hammed it up, taking Mimi’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles in between courses, and Mimi answered in kind by reaching over mid-conversation to brush a strand of hair off his forehead. 

The food was delicious and the wine even better and near the end of dinner, Taichi had cleared his throat before getting down on one knee and launching into his (well rehearsed) speech about how much he loved her and how much he couldn’t live without her and could she do the greatest honour of his life by agreeing to marry him?

Mimi’s eyes welled up with tears (she had pinched her thigh hard under the table) before she nodded enthusiastically and said a choked-up ‘yes’. Taichi slipped the ring on her finger, they both rose, and embraced to the sound of both enthusiastic and uncomfortable applause. They kissed each other on the cheek (they were in public, after all), before sitting back down and beaming at each other.

Their server congratulated them and then offered them a bottle of one of their finest wines, on the house. They gratefully accepted. 

From her kitchen counter, Mimi chuckled to herself. The whole thing had been so fun - it had been Taichi who had sent the list to her when bored at work one afternoon and jokingly said, ‘Want to pretend to agree to marry me for free dessert?’ But it had been MImi who answered, seriously, ‘Um, heck yes.’

Together they devised a plan to work their way through the entire crowd sourced list. They would go to one restaurant a month and they would make up a new backstory for how they met, how long they had been together, and other various details for each restaurant, just in case. They took a quick trip to Liquem in Hanakawado and selected a sparkly, slightly gaudy ring for under ¥3,000. 

From there on, it was showtime. 

Looking at the view count on the video, Mimi’s eyes widened. Since Daisuke had sent it the day before, the video had now amassed over 4 million views and over 10 thousand comments. 

“Oh my god,” Mimi mumbled, opening up the comments section and scanning them. 

“Holy shit the way he looks at her, I’m —”

“Her face!! She looks so in love!!”

“If my finance doesn’t look at me like that then I don’t want it!”

“Ew, people like this? It’s so public. No thanks.”

“Her dressssss? Mommy? Sorry. Mommy?”

“Crying in single over here.”

“Who gets engaged at NARISAWA are you SERIOUS? I would be mortified.”

“He’s so hot.”

Flustered, Mimi closed the comments and focused on the video. On screen, she watched as her hands flew to her face as Taichi looked up at her, nervously, beaming, a Harry Styles song playing over them. The Mimi on screen nodded excitedly and the face of the Taichi on screen split into a grin. Mimi suddenly felt like she had to look away. 

They really did look happy. 

Before she had a moment to think about it further, her phone began to buzz in her hand. A text from her parents. 

Family Chat Friday - 8:34am

Mama: Oh, Mimi!!!! We just saw it!!! https://www.tiktok.com/@minakolovesyou/video/87362956028361822 We’re SO SO EXCITED FOR YOU ( ´•̥̥̥o•̥̥̥`)♡(˘̩̩̩̩̩̩ ⌂ ˘̩̩̩̩̩̩)

Mama: Why didn’t you tell us you and Yagami-san were dating?  We would have been so happy!!

Papa:  Mimi, darling, you have some explaining to do.  But we are VERY VERY HAPPY!!!!! ( ‘́⌣’̀)/(˘̩̩ε˘̩ƪ) CALL US!!!!!!

Mama: CALL US VERY SOON!!! AS SOON AS YOU CAN!!!! CALL US!!! ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

Papa: ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

#digimon #fanfic #taichi x mimi #michi #taichi/mimi #otp: flew to japan for a soccer game #fic: mine #fic: I'd marry you with paper rings #part two coming this week or someday idk!!!!

[bourbonboatsandbows]

Jeremy-Pile, the Victor’s Domovoi

Happy Birthday @lorata! Also to my grandmother-in-law in Lviv, may the Domovoi remain every vigilant. Unbeta’ed—I’ll absorb my blows like Creed does in nearly every universe @lorata comes up with.

Jeremy does not know what happiness is, because Jeremy is, in fact, a sentient pile of clothing. But if they were to know happiness, it would be this—slow mornings with sunlight while Creator Misha adds more bits and bobs to Jeremy; Creator Devon sitting amongst the bits and bobs and adding “friendship bracelets” (what is friendship? Jeremy does not know but Creator Devon never tries to take bits and bobs without adding more so now Creator Devon is part of the House), and Creator Emory, ever so often, adds something soft and handmade.

The Creator Lyme and the Hairless Intruder appear occasionally. Jeremy knows of the Hairless Intruder’s malevolent intent and proclivity to theft, however, and every time the Hairless Intruder attempts to get closer to Jeremy, Jeremy untangles and shakes a trouser leg threateningly in their direction. This brings great joy to Creator Lyme, which in turn brings joy to Jeremy. Jeremy has also met new Creators beyond Callista the Underclothed One who Accompanies Eustace, Bartleby, and Octavius—there is Nero Who Needs a Pile, and Ronan with the Cane. Jeremy does not know what a Cane is until Ronan appears, but Jeremy knows it is not in the Pile. Jeremy wants it in the Pile. And so, Jeremy tries to add the Cane to themselves, but Ronan is quick and clever and says, “None of that now,” as Jeremy slowly starts trying to absorb them. The next visit, Ronan brings a tin with roses on the lid, and Jeremy promptly absorbs it so that it never sees daylight again.

Jeremy is vast at this point—they contain multitudes, most of which being socks, trousers, and sweatshirts of varying stages of cleanliness. But time goes on, and sometimes Jeremy is large enough to encompass the couch and other times, there is space for another Creator to sit and be slowly entangled in shirtsleeves. There is always time and space, however, for a Creator that simply needs to sit and be still within Jeremy-Pile. It alternates between Creators Devon and Emory, and so Jeremy remembers which things they like the most, which fabrics are the softest, and which “friendship bracelet” makes Devon smile the most. 

Until one evening, when Creators Emory, Devon, and Misha all sit amongst Jeremy-Pile. They are still, until “if it’s you and Brutus, Emory, I’ll go in.”

There is silence. Jeremy does not know how to respond. There are three Creators who are silent and still, and something fetid and broken lingers in the air like when Eustace vomited in the Hairless Intruder’s shirt.

Time passes. More things get added to the pile—bits and bobs of Emory, Devon, Misha, Lyme, Claudius (who stares suspiciously and minds his hands), and even the Hairless Intruder. Jeremy unearths things as they are needed, but something is wrong. Something is missing and Jeremy-Pile does not know what it is.

Creator Devon comes back first. Devon, who was the first to see Jeremy; Devon who leaves friendship bracelets for Jeremy. Devon explains that Creators Misha and Lyme, with the Hairless Intruder, will be gone for a while. Devon, who sits amongst the bits and bobs, and stares at their hands and says, “I don’t know if Brutus will be coming back.” The Hairless Intruder has a name and it is Brutus. Where did they go? Did they try stealing from another Pile and get absorbed? If they stole from another Pile, then Jeremy-Pile could trade something for them to come back.

Creator Misha comes back eventually, but she seems different. She seems lessened like on the days that Jeremy-Pile must forego bits and bobs because Creator Lyme says they smell. She is like a Pile but without trousers, or socks, or Creator Lyme’s woodsmoke smelling sweatshirt. Jeremy-Pile has kept the house much cleaner for Creator Misha, and there is a divot amongst the softer things—the things that Creator Misha likes best.

She sits in the divot, with her hands in her hair, and says, “She knew. She fucking knew and she left me.” Jeremy-Pile does not know who “she” is, but Jeremy-Pile will never leave. They are part of the House now.

Time passes and Creator Misha sleeps mostly in the Pile now. Callista the Unclothed One brings The Cats Named Octavius, Bartleby, and Eustace, and they tell Jeremy-Pile more—that the other Creators went to a place called “The Capital” and that the Hairless Intruder is gone forever (not absorbed by another Pile) and that Creator Lyme is gone too. Until one day, Creator Devon comes running in and speaks directly to Jeremy-Pile.

“We have to leave for a while, we don’t know how long we’ll be gone. I need to pack a bag for Misha but I don’t know what she likes and I don’t know what she needs and I don’t want to be strangled by a t-shirt. Can you help?”

Jeremy-Pile knows how to help. Jeremy-Pile brings together socks, t-shirts, and trousers—all of the necessities that Creator Misha needs. Even the blue woodsmoke sweatshirt. Jeremy-Pile also brings soft things from the Hairless Intruder that Creator Devon likes, friendship bracelets, and a blanket for Creator Emory. There’s even a vomit-less sweater that Creator Misha embroidered for Eustace.

Devon leaves. The House is silent and still.

Until one day, when the door to the house is kicked open. There is noise outside and people shouting, but it had been too muffled for Jeremy-Pile to understand. The door being kicked open—this, Jeremy-Pile understands. They are real invaders. They are not guests.

“There’s not as much here,” a person says moving around. “Lyme’s place had the good booze, and Claudius had those instruments, but what the fuck does Artemisia have? Sex tapes?”

The crowd laughs at that, mean and low. Jeremy-Pile does not like these people. They are thieves and invaders, and they smell like day-old vomit and sweat.

Someone reaches towards Jeremy-Pile— “Maybe we can go through this pile of shit and find something good in it? Look at this-- it’s covered in roses so that must mean it’s from the President. You know that’s good shit.”

Jeremy-Pile lets them take that. They cannot sense the wrongness of the tin, and Jeremy-Pile has been holding onto it for a very long time at Creator Ronan’s behest.

The Crowd presses closer to Jeremy-Pile, and like any House Guardian knows, timing and space are important to making a guest feel welcome. Or unwelcome, as it were.

As they dig into the Pile, Jeremy starts unleashing all of their trouser legs, t-shirts, and sweatshirts. They are a mass of targeted appendages, each one intent on strangling or snapping the neck of the intruder. It is not long before someone falls into Jeremy-Pile and is suffocated by Bartleby’s old sweater. There is something ignominious about being strangled to death by a cat sweater, but they are the ones without any honor or courtesy and this is Jeremy-Pile’s Home.

The Crowd, by this point, has started screaming as they watch a scarf, beautifully embroidered with “Leave Me the Fuck Alone,” strangle someone else. They fall over themselves, running away, and the slow ones are trapped by scarves, trouser legs, and t-shirts. There are three bodies on the floor by the time the crowd is gone, not counting the two absorbed into the Pile, and the floor is quite dirty. But Jeremy-Pile has time before Creator Misha comes back, and cleaning the House is their job.

By the time Jeremy-Pile has finished cleaning, there are only four new trousers, three shirts, and eight pairs of socks. Some of the new trousers had been soiled by the invaders’ fear and some of the shirts smelled of sweat and vomit—Jeremy-Pile only tolerates Eustace’s vomit on sweaters, because the sweaters are small. The tin is gone, but the person who took it died outside* and has been taken away by others.

Creator Misha and Devon come back. Creator Devon is much smaller now, but Creator Misha says he can share more of his clothing now that he doesn’t need full-length trousers. In fact, Creator Misha tosses embroidered half trouser legs onto Jeremy-Pile— “I made these for you, because Devon doesn’t need the bottom half of his pants anymore.”

Creator Devon simply stares at Jeremy-Pile, who is very pleased to see them. There are new bits and bobs inside of the pile, courtesy of the invaders, and so Jeremy-Pile brings them to the forefront. The new trousers and shirts are there, for example, and a t-shirt that is red like blood but does not actually have blood.

“Missha, you’ve never had District 13 issued pants. No one in the Village had a blood red t-shirt or gray District 13-issued shirts. Where did these come from? Where are the bodies?”

But Jeremy-Pile is a good House Guardian, and does not divulge their secrets. *Mithraditism is definitely a thing, and Ronan has it. No one else could eat the poison biscuits without keeling over given how long Ronan’s been eating it.

[thissugarcane]

accidental marriage never stops being funny

this started as a post to another prompt, but honestly has nothing to do with it, so I’ll just post and move on. more of the “justin and brian accidentally got married in the pilot lololol how would that change everything”.

daphne hears all about it. un-proofread / unbeta’ed / literally just me writing in the box. cross-posted to dreamwidth as-is.

Justin sits at lunchtime, alternating between picking at his food with a lovestruck, soppy expression on his face, and earnestly explaining (for the sixth! time!) to Daphne how it was so amazing to feel Brian inside him, how-- "Okay!" she interrupts. She has to laugh; this is her best friend, and he's so happy. Even if it hurts a little bit that he likes someone more than her, he's so damned happy. Except. "I don't need all the details of your butt sex, Justin." He makes a face. "Does it weird you out? Me being. uh." As Justin trails off, Daphne realizes she's made a tactical error. Honestly, the thought of anal sex sort of does weird her out -- not that it's bad or gross or, whatever, just. It sounds like it would hurt and every time Justin gives her more and more explicit details, she can't help but imagine it (way too easily), and then has to cringe about it hurting. She shoves him a little. "No!" she says. Then, quieter, "You just keep explaining way too much, then I like. Picture it? And it sounds like it hurts, so I get stuck on that. It's not you, doofus." Out of the corner of her eye she sees Justin look relieved. "No more details," he promises. Daphne gives him about ten minutes before that resolution flies right out the window and down the football field, but she appreciates the effort. "Anyway," Justin says, staring dreamily off into space. "The sex was only the second best part of it. The best part..." Justin trails off, staring out at the footballers; carefully, Daphne nudges him so it doesn't look like he's looking at them with a starstruck expression (that won't go over well). She sort of dreads and sort of can't wait to hear what was even better than the sex, if losing his virginity was so good he's been talking about it like a religious experience since before first period. "The best part," Justin says again, coming back to himself and giving her a little quirky smirk. "Was the look on his face when he said 'I do'. The minister was so... Daph, you should have seen it. I was so scared -- what are we doing, we've only known each other two days, is that enough to get married? But he looked at me, and I looked at him, and he said 'I do', and I just knew, Daph." He turns away. "I just knew. It was the best moment of my life." Daphne blinks. Hard. She consciously rewinds the last couple of moments, trying to think of any other way she could take what Justin just said; maybe... But no. There's really no other way she could take him saying 'married' or 'I do'. Daphne blinks again. She'd be worried about Justin's reaction to her utter confusion, her bafflement, her... maybe a little bit of fear and concern, maybe some upset (she wasn't there to see it? he didn't invite her? she... no, she knew it'd never be them but still)-- Good thing he's staring off into space again and eating her pilfered veggie wrap, looking for all the world as if he's gone back to contemplating the butt sex. Guess there's something worse than hearing about every single moment of Justin losing his virginity. Time to start watching some gay porn to desensitize yourself, Chanders. Get with the program. Daphne rallies, and tells herself she needs to be the best best friend she can. So casual when she hears about hot guys having sex that it doesn't mean anything, that the thought of... Okay wait. It doesn't mean anything other than it's hot. Justin glances at her. "Are you okay?" "Justin," Daphne asks, with what she thinks is quite a good deal of patience, "is there something else you forgot to tell me about your weekend of sin? Something that involved a minister?" As his face clears, Justin starts to look guilty, eyes wide and sad; mouth pressed together. Daphne refuses to feel bad about it; this is what he gets for losing his virginity to a sex god, spending a weekend fucking that'll ruin him for all other guys, and then accidentally getting married over it, all while she has to hear about it second-hand. "Uh," Justin says. 

#queer as folk #qaf #britin #queer as folk us #my fanfic #random scene

[cabezadeperro]

codywan kiss bingo #8-10: bad kiss, kiss on the neck, kiss on the nose

another @codywankissbingo​ fic!!!! sorry for the spam, ig; i just find these prompts very Fun and very low pressure to write lmao. established codywan on tatooine, (very) vaguely inspired by the kenobi show and one of my own fics (this one). rated E, 1k words, very much unbeta’ed, and you can read it on ao3, too.

fic and bingo under the cut :)

---

Cody’s hand is tangled in the hair in the back of Obi-Wan’s head, sweaty fingers tugging at the too-long strands and making shivery, sharp pangs of pleasure-pain slide down his spine and join the heat in Obi-Wan’s belly. Obi-Wan presses his lips to his neck, to his shoulder, to his arm, tasting salty-slick skin and the chemical tang of sonic cleanser.

The cot in his hut is narrow and hard, the mattress lumpy. Cody’s knees keep slipping off the edge, and he grabs onto the frame with one brown hand, the duraplast creaking in his grip, knuckles white. Obi-Wan noses his curls, wild and damp with sweat, and rolls his hips harder, thrusting between his slick thighs, his cock bumping Cody’s balls. 

Obi-Wan can feel his heartbeat through his back, through his bowed spine, skin slipping and his hips slapping against Cody’s backside with loud, obscene noises. Cody’s dick is hot and hard and damp in his hand, and when Obi-Wan rubs with his thumb under the head Cody groans, sudden in the quiet of the Tatooine night.

Everything smells like them—sweat and sex and the fancy lube Cody brought with him this time, floral and subtle and the most expensive thing Obi-Wan has touched in a kriffing decade.

“Come on, Kenobi, put your back into it,” Cody grunts, fond, and Obi-Wan nips at his shoulders sharply before complying anyway. He’s getting close, but Cody’s closer, he can feel it in his body and in the way white-hot pleasure is doing its very best to blot Cody’s cunning, methodical mind. 

It’s Obi-Wan's favourite part. Cody’s so—contained, controlled, a system unto himself. Sometimes it feels like Obi-Wan can do nothing but orbit his star system of a soul, like some kind of forgettable heavenly body caught in Cody’s gravity.

Even if he’s getting way too old for this.

Obi-Wan slips his free hand under Cody’s body, plays with his nipples until he shivers and moans shamelessly, head thrown back against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and then Cody’s hand his around Obi-Wan’s wrist and he’s putting his fingers in Cody’s mouth, sharp teeth and hot tongue around the digits, and Obi-Wan gasps into Cody’s back, cursing under his breath. 

He can feel him laughing, still somehow young and joyful, and Obi-Wan tugs his fingers out, cradles his jaw, because he needs to kiss him harder than he needs air or the Force, still rolling his hips despite the burn in his core and the crick in his neck and the fact that he will have to strip the sheets off the bed and doing laundry in Tatooine is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him and—

Their teeth clack. Cody yelps when his lips get caught between Obi-Wan’s teeth and his own, and then the taste of blood floods Obi-Wan’s tongue, and Cody’s kriffing snickering, still grabbing onto Obi-Wan’s ass with one hand.

Obi-Wan curses. He sits up, and watches Cody shift on the bed to rest on his back, still laughing, his chin bloody and his eyes bright, half-off the cot, his left leg bent and his foot resting on the rug, his cock still half-hard and slick with his stupid fancy lube.

Obi-Wan feels his own mouth twitch. He licks his lips—they smart as well; at least he’s not bleeding—and looks around his tiny sleeping nook for the wipes he knows they left close by. 

The light of Tatooine’s three moons floods the hut through its tiny, round windows, with its alabaster covers and the hard-to-reach locks. It’s dusty and it still looks—well. It’s half empty and every single piece of furniture Obi-Wan owns—the low table, the single pillow, his kettle and his three chipped mugs—looks like Obi-Wan picked it off the street, mostly because that’s what he did. 

Cody’s leaving the next morning. He may come back; he may not. He has a life out there in the galaxy, a life Obi-Wan’s not really a part of, a life he doesn’t actually want to be a part of, and Obi-Wan knows it’s not an easy life. He’s seen the scars, newer and uglier, and he’s seen Cody’s guns, and Cody’s body armour. His sleek, black helmet and the beast of a vibroblade he straps to his back. 

But he’s there, and he’s—he’s still angry, and he deals the best he can with bouts of grief and unhappiness and dead-eyed depression that scare the shit out of Obi-Wan, but he’s alive and sometimes he drives to Obi-Wan’s hut with ridiculously expensive lube and chocolates and other things Obi-Wan doesn’t necessarily need or want but sometimes misses, and in his old, old age Obi-Wan’s found that’s mostly alright.

He finds the wipes on the floor. He sighs, switches on the luma on the bedside table with a thought and then calls them to his hand. Cody snorts. He seems perfectly unbothered by the fact that he’s still bleeding, grinning like his lip isn’t already swollen and getting worse.

He places his hand on the small of Obi-Wan’s back, clever fingers fingering at the old scar there, and when Obi-Wan starts cleaning the blood he allows it, easy and still sweat-slick and warm. 

“Must admit I’ve had better kisses,” he says after a beat, voice a low rumble. Obi-Wan drops the wipe on the bed’s single pillow and tugs at his lip with one thumb; Cody shivers, pain and pleasure going off like a tibanna explosion in his mind, and Obi-Wan huffs. He lies back down on the bed and ducks his head, brushes his lips down Cody’s nose. Cody wraps his hand on the back of his neck, strong fingers careful and rough on the knob of his spine, and when Obi-Wan places his mouth on his neck he sighs, going boneless. Obi-Wan sucks a kiss there, right under his jaw; Cody starts laughing again, easy and incredulous.

“How’s that then?” Obi-Wan says against his skin, trying and failing not to smile. He looks at him again. “Oh, you got blood on the bed.”

Cody snorts and rolls his eyes. Blood wells again on the cut, and this time he winces, but he’s already reaching for Obi-Wan, hands warm and sure on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and falling into him is easy, so easy. He places his head on Cody’s shoulder and closes his eyes, his feet hanging off the edge of the bed and Cody’s hand playing with his hair.

Later, Obi-Wan will finish what they started and suck him off until he sobs, Cody’s hands still in his hair, but for now he just rests, and decides he needs to find a better bed.

#codywan #codywan kiss bingo 2022 #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #not safe for whiles #maría writes #ngl this is kind of to celebrate that apparently i'm no longer #exiled from the codywan tag lmao #(emailed tumblr support; i think they fixed the issue)

[prue84]

Canon-fix: Morgana’s S3 change

An attempt to explain the sudden change that occurred to Morgana after the year spent with Morgause and how Morgana completely switched sides and turned against both Arthur and Gwen. Something between an headcanon draft and a ficlet, about Morgana’s growing hatred towards Arthur and Morgause’s plans for her, set from the timeskip between the Season 2 and Season 3 and then during Morgana’s arch of Season 3. Canon-compliant. Unbeta’ed. (Posted also on AO3 and SquidgeWorld if you prefer that format - links under the read more)

———————————————————————————————

About Morgana’s descent to darkness and betrayals

During the year spent learning the magic arts under the tutelage of her sister Morgause, the disillusion and sense of betrayal Morgana feels towards Merlin grows day by day. First is shock, then confusion, but it soon turns into anger, that festers and leads to darker thoughts. Morgause watches, as the force of Morgana’s once positive feelings for Merlin turn negative, hatred replacing love; Morgause wants Morgana focused on revenge, her heart hardened, so she fuels those powerful emotions. If left alone, without the meddling of a source of manipulation such as Morgause... with the proper time and peace of mind, Morgana could’ve tried to understand what happened, to consider that there must’ve been an urgency behind Merlin’s heinous betrayal, that perhaps Merlin had been forced in what he did and deserved a chance to defend himself. A glimmer that, if properly nurtured, would’ve led to a need for confrontation, honest as much as brutal, to face Merlin and ask him why. (and perhaps be forced to face the hard truth: that she had been the cause of her own pain, that she was the first to betray, when she accepted to ally herself with Morgause’s plans, that Morgause had used her as the source of an enchantment - that Merlin had to resort to poison her in order to stop Morgause). But Morgause is always at her side, whispering in her ears words that appease her need for revenge, her need to hurt to heal her hurting heart, drumming into her head that the boy is an enemy. Until Morgana feels nothing but hatred for Merlin.

Morgana feels fine there, on the Island of the Blessed with the only company of her sister. Return to Camelot is the last thing in her mind. She left behind people she loves - Gwen’s and Arthur’s faces come to her eye whenever she let herself think of the place she learned to call home. But she doesn’t want to get back to a place that is hostile to her and everyone like her. Why should she return where people like her are oppressed and forced to hide, when she can instead stay where she is and grow into the witch she’s born to be? Camelot would welcome the ward of the king, but would hunt like an animal the witch she is. She could never get back to the life she was leading before, to hide who she is under the silks and velvet of the Lady of Camelot.

In Camelot there’s Arthur. Arthur has been a friend, and an ally at times. But Morgana doesn’t have much faith in Arthur and his openness - his mind has been corrupted by Uther, after all, and he wouldn’t reject a life spent hunting down magic users just because of her. If asked, forced, to choose between the easiness of adhering to Uther’s indoctrination and the hurdle of questioning everything he’d been always taught, he would pick the indoctrination - he would pick his father. Morgana could never find support in him.

At times her mind is set - Arthur would walk in the footsteps of his father, his reign forever shaped by Uther’s doings.

Other times she's hesitant and hopeful, her mind recalling when, although clumsily, he made an attempt to go against Uther’s teachings and challenge his own beliefs, when he took a stand or spurred into action to protect both her or other innocents unjustly accused and persecuted by Uther. She can’t forget that Arthur saved little Mordred, helped the boy escape Camelot and reunite with the druids. It’s in these times that she remembers herself that she could find an ally in Arthur. She knows that, with time, Arthur could become the change Camelot needs, that he could distance himself from his tyrannical father, if only gently and steadily pointed in the right direction. Arthur alone, freed from his father’s strangling embrace. Only with Uther removed from his life, Arthur could finally see the atrocities, the tyrannies, Uther inflicted, and establish himself as the king that cast the looming and oppressive shadow away.

Uther’s hatred for magic infects Camelot and its people like a poison, like ivy that drains the tree around which it grows. Morgause, always the pragmatist, suggests that, to save the infested tree one must kill, tear away, rip the ivy that’s strangling it.

*

Morgause doesn’t need to use magic. Her persuasiveness is a refined art that works excellently even on a woman as sharp as Morgana. For as much as she’s intelligent and clever, Morgana isn’t immune to subtle manipulation - and Morgause is a master in such a skill. Morgana is a goddess between mortals, superior to most of women of her status and education, but she’s flawed as much as the next girl of her age. Grown up in the protected environment of a court as the ward of the king, she has never been forced to watch her own back, and now such a luxury has become a weakness to exploit. Morgana is trustful - too much trustful. And she completely relies on a woman like her, born with magic, strong and independent that isn’t scared of challenging men in position of absolute power. Morgana has granted her complete trust to a woman she believes understands her own agony. A woman who supports her in her own growth. A woman who encourages her. A woman who has become her mentor. A woman who also happens to be a sister Morgana never knew she had, and with whom she was deprived of the chance to grow. Morgause feels affection for this woman who is her sister in blood and magic, the one who will become the next High Priestess of the Old Religion. But her mission comes first, even before the well-being and happiness of her sister. Her heart has been hardened since a young age. She’s been taught everything about magic so to have the power to revert back Britain to the old order, to bring back the supremacy of the Old Religion, to return the High Priestess to their rightful place. Morgana is a tool in the war against those that want to erase the Old Religion from the lands, and Morgause will do everything to make sure Morgana fulfills her great destiny.

Morgause has ambitious plans for her sister. She wants for Morgana to get to the top, even if Morgana herself isn’t interested, even if Morgana wouldn’t dream of thinking about it. At the beginning the plan is simple: Morgana’s ascension to the throne as Arthur’s wife. Arthur will eventually have to disappear, to leave full powers in the capable hands of Morgana Pendragon the Queen of Camelot, but this is a detail that must never be shared with Morgana - the sentimental fool. But Morgana is uninterested in Arthur, and refuses to even listen whenever Morgause makes an attempt to breach the subject; she cannot be talked into marrying the prince, she rebuffs the idea to seduce him, she rejects any prospect of making him fall in love with her.

Morgause doesn’t know how this is possible. She can’t find any reason to explain this lack of ambition from her own sister. Morgana is beautiful and charming, attractive, enticing, sharp and skilled: she should crave for the throne, she should believe it to be her birthright, and it would be a cakewalk for her to get it, if she only wanted the crown placed on her head.

Morgause tries to talk her into it by using the “magic” argument, explaining the need to ascend to the throne as the only way to bring magic back in Camelot - but every time Morgana just shakes her head and disagrees. Morgana knows that, if there’s a chance for magic in Camelot, that one lies in Arthur’s hands, but Morgana also insists that she can be at his side and guide him without the need to become her wife - a prospect that ergh. To her, Arthur is akin to a younger brother, she can’t think of him as a husband. And it’s not like she’s that much eager to get a husband to start with.

Forced to discard the original plan, Morgause doesn’t let Morgana’s refusal to abide by her schemes to discourage her. For a plan that must be permanently scrapped, there another coming. And Morgause is nothing but a good planner. If Morgana doesn’t want to ascend to the throne of Camelot, then Morgause can find her another throne. One currently not taken, a reign held by a wife-less king, possibly young and easy to be lured into a marriage with a beautiful and cunning woman. A man who isn’t hideous to look at, equally cunning, and able to appease Morgana’s ambitions. There isn’t a selection of kings to pick from, but Cenred might be just what they need. No one would cry over the death of someone like Cenred - too ruthless and fickle to elicit love and loyalty. There’s much to do, to lay the ground for Morgana’s ascension, to make her the legitimate queen of Essetir. Unfortunately, the first step is introduce Morgana to Cenred and convince him to make Morgana his queen. Sacrifices will be necessary, Morgana shall be asked to do things that she will abhor, but what is a sacrifice in the face of the takeover of a kingdom?

Morgause puts the plan against Cenred into motion. She expects everything to run smooth. She doesn’t foresee that Cenred would have a crush (or at least feel sexual attraction) for her instead - an unexpected development that complicates everything and that forces her to change her plans on the fly. Instead of introducing Morgana to Cenred and sneak her sister in Cenred’s bed, she offers Cenred a victory over Camelot instead. If she succeeded, then she’ll ensure that Cenred repays her by offering Morgana the newly vacated throne as regent. If instead Arthur managed to save Camelot against all odds... well, as first act of his reign (Arthur will become king, for Uther will die, no matter what), he certainly won’t leave Cenred’s aggression unpunished and will descend on Essetir to claim Cendred’s life in exchange of Uther’s. Either way, there’ll be a free throne for Morgana to sit on.

Morgana will not be briefed on the wholeness of the scheme, she doesn’t need to know the smallest detail. Morgana is informed only of the plan that pertains to her role. She knows that an invasion will occur, that magic will aid Cenred’s army to lay siege to Camelot forces and take the impregnable city. To strike down Uther Pendragon. That’s all. Morgause doesn’t trust her sister’s resolution and devotion to the cause to disclose the whole plan to her: in a sudden change of hearth, Morgana could back down at the very last minute and foil everything.

*

Morgana’s return to Camelot happens only when she’s ready enough to leave her forced seclusion and the protective closeness of her sister. With her magic under control and her spirit tempered. Once in the city she’ll have to face both Uther and Merlin and complete control over her own emotions is necessary, in order to not jeopardize everything before the time it’s right for Morgause and Cenred to act. In no way, she can allow the hatred burning inside of her to find an outlet, to mark a gesture, a look, a word. But it’s not just dealing with Merlin and Uther that requires Morgana to be prepared. Morgana returns to Camelot with a role to play, part of a bigger, dark plan that will be bathed in the blood of hundreds of people - oppressors as much as victims.

Morgana is ready. Her return goes as planned. She effortlessly establishes herself back in Camelot and in the court. But Morgana hasn’t foreseen the corruption that following such a plan would do to her soul, hadn’t predicted the constant erosion of the compassion that always distinguished her. She doesn’t feel sorrow for the people who’ll loose their lives because of the plan, she doesn’t weep for the tragedies and destruction the plan will bring on the lives of people whose only fault is to live in the citadel. Collateral damage, they are called. Necessary sacrifices for a greater cause. For what is the life of a peasant or hundreds, compared to the overthrown of the tyrant and the freedom for Camelot?

The plan is get rid of Uther in a way that won’t be ascribed to magic. First sudden madness, an affliction that is recorded to run in the blood of the Pendragons - the king will fall into a madness that will ruin him in the eyes of his people, loyalties will be tested. And when Uther is weaker the most, the aggression lead by Cenred and his army. Camelot under siege, an unstoppable force attacking from within - the tyrant will be broken, the tyrant will be struck down, in one way or another. Morgana will then cling to Arthur, placing herself as his trusty counselor, the one he can lean into. And, under her guidance, Arthur will change his mind about magic. Morgana knows Arthur, she’s sure that Arthur, once crowned and with the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, will search for a figure to support him - and who’s better than the woman who has grown up at his side like a sibling, the woman who knows his flaws and weaknesses, the only woman he ever opened up with? Morgana will be more than eager to offer herself as that shoulder he’ll look for, and she’ll steer him toward the right direction.

Regrettably Merlin, that snooping traitor, discovers of the plan before the time, before things are set into motion - they’re just lucky that, instead of revealing everything to Arthur, he investigates on his own. He is just a nuisance, a nobody compared to an High Priestess. Yet he miraculously survives the death schemed for him by Morgause and, when he shows up in the castle, ready to stop her, Morgana is forced to chance her strategy. Morgana’s corruption has turned her deaf. Merlin’s pleas crash against her hardened will. But Merlin’s meddling blows the plan. Initially set to stop the invasion at the right moment, not a minute before Uther’s death, so to get in good with Arthur not as The Lady of Camelot but as The Witch, Morgana find herself forced in a role she didn’t want: Uther, against all predictions, survives, and she can’t do anything but play the hero who saved Camelot in front of Uther. Which isn’t the same thing. She might’ve wormed her way in at Uther’s side, his most trusted champion, she might now have Uther’s ear, but she cannot hold sway over his mind when magic is concerned - Uther cannot be influenced (or manipulated) into opening up to magic like she and Morgause planned with Arthur.

The plan has failed. Uther’s hold on Camelot is still strong and freedom is farther than before. Morgana can just resume her old position in the court and await for better times, and for the right opportunity to strike down Uther.

*

Morgause carries on her own manipulation on Morgana. Now Morgana is changed, once she’s tasted ambition she craves for more. Now Morgana wants that power for herself. Now Morgana listens, when Morgause hints at a reign of Queen Morgana. Sleeping agent isn’t a role fitting for Morgana: there isn’t much to do in Camelot, she can divert her attentions elsewhere.

Morgana is now persuaded on that story of taking Cenred’s throne. In Essetir magic isn’t outlawed, so it could be a good start for Morgana to bring back the rule of the High Priestesses on Britain. Morgana will start from Essetir, to bring the fight against those who hate and persecute magic.

Morgause guarantees her sister that she’ll work on that: when she’ll be finished, Cenred will eat from her hand, and soon Essetir will see a queen ascend to its throne, and Morgana the First its sole ruler.

But once again something unexpected changes everything. And Morgause well-planned schemes are overthrown. Uther has a troubled confession at Morgana’s bedside and Morgana suddenly finds herself thrown into the Pendragon bloodline as eldest child and she doesn’t know what to make of that, how to react, what to think. Her world turned upside down, she turns to Morgause for support. And Morgause is more than ready to exploit this new revelation for her own purposes. Forget Cenred and Essetir’s throne, now Morgana has a claim to the throne of Camelot as firstborn of the king - Uther’s biggest secret will be Uther’s utter doom.

But Morgause stupid is not. Nobody will ever accept Morgana as new queen as long as Arthur is alive. Morgana might be Uther’s eldest child, but she was conceived during an affair, born from the womb of a woman that wasn’t the queen. Arthur is everything that Morgana isn’t: legitimate, delivered by the royal womb and, most of all, male. Even if they brought a civil war within the court by officially challenging Arthur’s right as heir apparent, few if not none of the families would take their sides. Not that Morgause cares for the loyalties of the spineless nobles that make Camelot’s court, but a reign doesn’t last longer without its nobility swearing loyalty to a king - or a queen. Magic and brute force can buy a throne, but not keep it.

Morgause never held Arthur in high esteem. Whenever he thinks of him, she feels nothing but a patronizing attitude. He might be a good warrior, skilled with the sword - still, she considers him inferior to Morgana and therefore unworthy to ascend to the throne in her place. Never, she will allow Arthur Pendragon to ascend and rob Morgana of her rightful place on the throne - not as the wife of a king, but as the true heir to the previous king. Arthur must go, in order to free the path to the throne for Morgana.

But to get what she wants, Morgause has to convince Morgana first - and Morgana turns out to be as stubborn and deaf as her father. Morgana craves for the crown, but her affection for Arthur is stronger than her ambition and lust for power. Blinded by her feelings, she doesn’t see Arthur as Morgause sees him - she doesn’t see the unworthy, expendable man. So Morgause starts her insistent operation of persuasion, a brutal attack toward Arthur and all he is, so to incite Morgana to betray the prince. Morgause is nothing but efficient and ruthless, especially when it’s time to manipulate someone into thinking what she wants. So she hammers away at Morgana, she insists on how Arthur is like Uther, how a son who has been raised to be his father’s heir will never be is own person, how it won’t be persuaded into open up to magic, how much a waste of time it would be to hold out any hope that he could ever deviate from the path traced by his father before him. And that, to finally bring magic back to its ancient glory and power, to restore it in the heart of Camelot, discontinuity is necessary. Arthur Pendragon is nothing but Uther’s Pendragon spawn - with him on the throne, Uther’s tyranny will never cease, oppression will continue. Discontinuity is mandatory - and whom better than Morgana, the illegitimate daughter born with magic and destined to greatness, to bring such discontinuity? Whom better than a witch queen, to restore magic within a court? She has the right by blood to sit on that throne, the right by blood to do with Camelot what it pleases her. But, to do that, Arthur Pendragon must be disposed of. Morgana understands, but the noblest part of her soul still pushes back. For some unfathomable reason, Morgause’s rational argument doesn’t fully persuade Morgana and her soft heart. So to win her over, Morgause tells her sister about Ygraine, about that time when she gave Arthur Pendragon a chance to reveal his true heart. She tells about the meeting, of what Ygraine had revealed, of the atrocities and accusations Arthur heard. Did Arthur do something in the wake of those revelations? Did he act toward Uther his father after his mother told him the truth about his birth? No. And that’s evidence, proof that Arthur is past redemption. If not even such a terrible truth changed his mind on magic, what else could? How can Morgana hope to have him reevaluate what he’s been taught all his life about magic, if even that didn’t spur him into action? No, there’s no reason to hope and pointless is to wait.

Morgana is horrified by what Morgause claims to be the truth behind the Great Purge, the hatred that drove Uther’s campaign, the reason why Uther swore to eradicate magic from his kingdom and the other lands. And is even more horrified by Arthur’s choice to keep the secret, his choice to not face Uther and have him pay for his crimes. This revelation is such a shock, acts like a earthquake that rocks Morgana’s very foundations. If there was something she still held to was her belief that Arthur should be given a chance, that he deserved to show what laid in his heart. Morgause proved that Arthur was as much as Uther inside as outside. Morgause tested Arthur, and Arthur failed.

And so Morgana the fair, the compassionate ward of the king, ceases to exist, and Morgause celebrates her victory. The slow descent toward darkness, started when Morgana accepted to be part of a plan that would cause the ruthless death of people whose fault was to either follow their king’s orders or not rebel against a tyrant, and hastened by the decision to stab in cold blood a sleeping man whose fault had been to sire her and keep the secret to protect his legitimate heir, is complete. Loves vanishes from Morgana’s heart, only Morgause in her thoughts, only her sister worthy of her loyalty and affections, only their goal to drive her. No one will be spared, no mercy for her enemies, no hesitation for the others. Morgana has a target, and those on her path will be destroyed. Arthur is the main obstacle on her path to the throne. Arthur is her enemy. Arthur will be wiped out.

And Gwen... she’s Arthur biggest weakness. And any weakness exists to be exploited. Poor kind, fool Gwen, she’s but a pawn. She doomed herself when she decided to fall in love with Arthur. Morgana doesn’t hate her, but her goal comes first and even Gwen isn’t spared. If Gwen stands by Arthur, then Gwen will fall with him.

No one will survive Morgana’s rage. She will ascend to the throne. Even if, to do so, she’ll have to burn down Camelot and walk on its ashes.

———————————————————————————————

I had this headcanon/canon-fix written (in Italian) in my own drafts/collection doc since ages. I did plan to eventually translate and publish my canon-fixes but never went and done it. @katherynefromphilly’s recent post about this very topic prompted me to do it.

While I call these kind of things “drafts”, perhaps they could be called a first-version of a fic? I don’t know, I have many of these things - not a complete fanfiction but not a draft either.

Notes Canon doesn’t explain the reason why Morgana suddenly wants Arthur’s death, something that can partially be explained only after the revelation of The Crystal Cave with Morgana’s (misplaced) claim to the throne and her need to remove the heir apparent so to become the next in line. It’s also never revealed how Morgana returned so much changed from the year spent with Morgause: someone (the last one to raise the topic is @katherynefromphilly but others did at least in the years since I’m in the fandom and who knows how many before) speculated some kind of brain-washing by Morgause - perhaps with the same method later used by Morgana on Gwen in Season 5 episode The Dark Tower. While I agree that such a magical tampering would be the easier, and most believable, way to explain Morgana’s 180° turn (and don’t dislike it as headcanon/canon-fix), my personal headcanon, written down as a draft some years ago, it’s the one you have just read.

There’s evidence that, for as much as she (should be) the sharpest and cleverest of the lot, Morgana can be easily manipulated by people clever enough to latch on her fears and wishes - as shown by Alvarr, who definitely isn’t as skilled as Morgause. So it would be child’s play for Morgause to gaslight Morgana and get her as brainwashed as to become her own pawn against her enemies.

I never bought the legitimacy of Morgana’s claim to the throne. While, as firstborn, she might have a right, she’s still an illegitimate daughter born from Uther’s affair with a woman that never became his wife and queen (or official concubine, if that’s the medievalism hill you decided to die on). I can understand Morgause’s reasoning (“if we get rid of Arthur, Uther will be left wit no heir so he will be forced to officially acknowledge you as his new heir”), but not Morgana’s obsession that spurred out of a claim that she shouldn’t have (“I’m Uther’s daughter, I have the right to the throne and Arthur is usurping my throne”) about which she cries about later and until her death. (Not to consider that, while non-canon, one of the authors in a recent interview/podcast revealed that - to them - Morgana was younger than Arthur. Thus making her claim to be the rightful heir to the throne even more baseless).

———————————————————————————————

Crossposted Livejournal: prue84.livejournal.com/93477.html Dreamwidth: prue84.dreamwidth.org/85035.html AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/43755208 SquidgeWorld: squidgeworld.org/works/46661

#Merlin BBC #Morgana #Morgause #Canon-fix #Headcanons #|| #gwen #guinevere pendragon #arthur pendragon #merlin #morgana pendragon

[fromthedeskoftheminister]

Its past midnight, beta reader’s asleep, quick post unedited fic cause im proud of the last bit of writing and how i ended it, and @theminecraftbee has got Moon’s big stuff all over my dash (which great choice tbh moons big was amazing) and my brain has decided that now is in fact the time to share the.... uh.... 3rd? no wait its only the 2nd Moons Big plot bunny I had, 3rd minecraft bunny 2nd moons big bunny

So without further ado Simulated Doesn’t Mean Without Consequence - A Hermatrix/Moons Big/Season 8 Finale Fic, Unbeta’ed, Part 1 of ???? Part 2 - Coming Soon to an AO3 Series Near YOU Tango spread his fingers against the glass, his hand flexing absently as he greedily drank in the sights of his friends and family.  He couldn’t tell if the relief that he was feeling was from the simple joy that his family were all in fact alive and in, uh, various states of wellness or from the more selfish realization that he hadn’t failed in his quest to blow up the moon.  The simulation had ended quite abruptly, moments before moonfall if Tango had to guess, catapulting them back into their bodies and awareness without so much as a by your leave and it was very obvious that some of them had not handled the transition very well at all.

His eyes drifted down the line of Hermits as they all waited with varying levels of patience for the Pods to finish draining and equalize to the internal atmosphere of the Hermitheius. Bdubs was pressed up against the glass, as close as he could get to the center of the room and by default the rest of the hermits, eyes wider than normal. Their eyes met, and Bdubs’ grin nearly split his face in two even as his eyes started watering. Tango flashed him a quick smirk and a thumbs up, as his attention wandered again this time seeking out the third member of their trio. Keralis was sitting peacefully on the floor of his own pod making faces at Xb, but he offered Tango a wave of his own when he managed to catch his eye. Basemates accounted for, Tango turned his attention to the rest of his friends. From where he was already looking, it was easiest to find Zedaph, skipping over and noting a few empty pods in the process. He’d been a bit concerned for Zed, isolated as he had been for the entirety of the simulation but there was no way to tell what was going through his buddies head normally let alone know. In fact, Zed was just as he had been since Tango had woken up, back to the room and staring out the window closest to his pod into the void of space.

A soft hiss and release of pressurized air echoed through the room followed by a joyous cacophony of noise and Tango grinned to see that Bdubs’ pod had finished and had released him into the arms of a very surprised Etho, who had been hovering nearby despite having already been out of the simulation for a few weeks already. Iskall, Stress, Wels and TFC had also left the simulation early and Tango had seen all of them at one point or another when they wandered through, checking in on everyone before wandering off again. Wels had even stopped to chat when Tango had waved him down while his own pod was draining. It was hard to communicate through glass without communicators but luckily his pantomimes had been fairly easy to understand. Or at least Wels had gotten the gist of what Tango wanted to know, and had been fairly obliging in his explanation that the five of them had ended up being removed from the simulation early, for a variety of reasons and had simply opted to remain out of the simulation rather than constantly hopping back in and out again during the long trip to Season 8. He’d also had some fairly interesting stories about another projects of Iskalls that he and Stress had gotten involved during the trip. It was when Renbob had wandered through that Wels had left, to chase the hippie back to his bed because both Renbob and the Goatfather had worked themselves to exhaustion trying to make sure that Boatem had made it out, as the last group to get booted. Something about resetting respawns, sleep deprivation and the void that Tango didn’t really get a chance to question Wels on before he went of to play nurse in shining armor.

Even with the heads up, Tango would have probably been the most concerned about the members of Boatem. Pearl had swum to the top of her half-drained pod and was floating on her back, legs pressed up against the glass and watching the room upside down while giggling at random. Scar seemed entirely unperturbed and unphased as he waited for his turn, not that he was paying any attention to the rest of the group. Instead he was sitting cattywampus on the floor of his pod, legs stretched out in front of him, cooing at Jelly who was batting ineffucally at his fingers through the glass. Mumbo on the other hand was standing straight up in the dead center of his pod, nervously running his hands through his hair and avoiding all eye contact despite the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop glancing around at all the people in the room. Grian was also standing in the center of his pod, blank and expressionless, seemingly staring through everything but somehow still watching it all. It was rather eerie and reminded Tango uncomfortably of how Grian had been when he had first joined their merry band of misfits. Still! That was a problem for another time, and quite possibly another pair of hermits. Tango was going to have his hands full as it was trying to help Zed, which a quick glance showed no change over there, and Impulse.

 Out of everyone, it was Impulse who was concerning Tango the most not that he could put his finger on what exactly was sending up the alarm bells. He didn’t look worse off than anyone else in Boatem sitting as he was on the far side of his pod. His buddy was slouched slightly with his back against the glass and one arm loosely resting on a bent knee. From where he was across the room, it was impossible to make out any sort of expression on Impulse’s face but from how it rested against the glass, turned upwards and eyes closed it was probably safe to assume that there wasn’t one.

Tango frowned slightly, as he made eye contact with Jevin and gestured over at Impulse. Jevin thankfully, got the picture and after a moment put his hands together on one side of his tilted head in a pantomime of sleep. Tango let out a sigh of relief but his worry did not abate and he continued to stare. While he wanted his buddy to get some much needed rest, really Mumbo how was sleep deprivation supposed to help prevent Moon Big at all, Devs sometimes Boatem made him despair, something was still wrong. Something just… felt off. He could feel it in his bones, as Impulse would say. Still, he couldn’t put his finger on what.

Another fwissshhh of pressurized air sounded through the room. Another Hermit’s pod had finished equalizing. Probably Cub? Tango glanced over, and yep, that was definitely Cub, sharp teeth, tattered wings and overly blue eyes and all, moving as if he was expecting there to be simultaneously more and less gravity than there actually was. That was certainly interesting. Hadn’t Cub also attempted to escape Moonfall by going to space? Thoughts wandering, Tango jumped when his gaze returned to Impulse only to find one cracked eye blearily peering at him. Tango couldn’t help himself as he threw his arms up and cheered. “IMPULSE! Hey! There you are!”

There was no response, not that Tango had expected one. He knew Impulse wouldn’t be able to hear him but still a wave or something would have been nice. His arms fell as Impulse continued to stare, not at him, but through him before the heavily lidded eyelid slid shut. “Impy?” Tango said aloud, and both eyes opened this time. Had he not been so worried, Tango would have lost it laughing. Trust Impulse’s hatred of that nickname to cause a reaction even when the other couldn’t hear it. Tango didn’t relish the hilarity of that for very long however, as Impulse’s head dropped ever so slightly, the lights of the room hitting at exactly the right angle for him to catch an unobstructed view of eyeshine from not normally yellow glassy eyes.

Oh.

That. That was bad.

That was so very very bad. “Impy?” he tried again. One eye closed, followed by the other before opening again, one after the other in a strange facsimile of a blink. That was weird, even by his standards and the feeling that something was wrong only grew. But Hey! He definitely, somehow, had Impulse’s attention. Because that? That was a response. It had to be. Tango watched as Impulse blinked, once more, this time a lot closer together and looking a lot more like normal. Progress! “C’mon Impy!” Tango crooned. He’d take Impulse being annoyed with him if he could actually get a coherent response. “Up an attem buddy! You can do it!”

Impulse could not in fact do it, and Tango watched in horror as Impulse’s eyes closed and he listed sideways, sliding down the glass and smashing his face on the floor of his pod. 

And       Tango’s                    vision                              goes                                       WHITE

#hermitcraft #moon's big #hermatrix #end of season 8 #tango of the tek variety #impulseSV #hermitcraft ensamble #BTM | Boatem #Big Eyes Crew #Zedaph #non human hermits #what are they? ehhhhhhhhhhhhh #¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #oh right uh disclaimers and content warnings #i should put those on there #unreality #ala matrix style shenanigans #space horror #theyre in space and moon was big and theyre dealing with it #(poorly - theyre dealing with it poorly) #medical horror #i think? #i mean impulse deffo isnt doing well thats for sure and hes not gonna get better #at least not in the next bit #hm yeah thats all the content warnings i think #disclaimer time #the characters you see before you are intended to be the block people personas/characters and not the creators themselves #cross posted to AO3 #or well it will be #when its edited

[kryptodrakonprogenitor]

Spent the day re-organizing all our totes full of crap, and my elbows are now SCREAMING AT ME in their tiny arthritic voices of agony. 

But I’m determined to finish this chapter of this fic tonight so I can post it all raw and unbeta’ed at 3am as is my habit. 

[mmangaboi]

Maybe! I usually post up unbeta’ed but i wouldnt mind

Even tho No beta we die like men is usually my motto xD

bro its totally fine if u dont want me to beta, i was just askin in case u were lookin for someone to do it :3

#mango speaks #ask a fruit

[rawritsamehh]

kindred spirits

G | 929

Dan watches a familiar scene unfold.

[ao3]

#i did a thing yall #i wrote again lol #it was quick and unbeta’ed so dont set your expectations too high l #its a short little thing i couldnt get out of my head so here enjoy #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp #feeeeelings #i miss bakeries and would love to go to one rn okay #my fic #writing with amy

[ghostzzy]

strep throat! 😷

#but tmrw yall can read a short story i wrote at a magazine my bff started!! #i will spam the shit out of it! #due to Business and Disorganization it is being posted entirely unbeta’ed! but!! oh well!!!! #izzy.txt 2019