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loaksky · 1 year

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— 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 [𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦] | ii

the lowdown — the one where neteyam is dangerously close to losing; but maybe you two are meant to be.

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader, brief reader x oc (for plot purposes heh)

the word count — 4.4k

the tags & warnings — language, even more emotional constipation, mentions of blood & injury, childhood friends(?)2l, unrequited love, arguably too much back n forth.

the notes — after forever & a day, here is the second installment to btg! thank you everyone for your patience, & i hope you enjoy! (proofread, but not well oops).

part one | masterlist

It becomes apparent to Neteyam that you’re not going to make this easy for him.

Regardless of the soundness of his declaration that afternoon in the forest, despite poking and prodding at the fissure in the facade you wore like an armor, you weren’t budging and Neteyam was growing far too restless and too impatient with the state of things.

It comes as a surprise to nearly all of the clan. The leader’s son was usually always so composed, always stiff-spined and unblinking when it came to the matters of his heart and matters pertaining to you. Now he’s like a pup constantly nosing at your leg, like a baby loud and unapologetic in their cries for attention.

He can’t help it. Not when the tether you have on him has no slack.

And, Ewya, these past few weeks shaded by your shadow have given him ample opportunity to see you in your entirety. To admire how beautiful you’ve grown since you were kids, painfully so. Because you’re not only beautiful outwardly, a mix of soft planes and sharp angles, but your mind and soul are so radiant, Neteyam doesn’t know what to make of himself.

“Maitan,” Neytiri’s voice is firm, but gentle, as Neteyam makes his first move of the morning for the flap of the tent’s exit.

He pauses, throws a look over his shoulder, then comes full stop when he sees the purse of his mother’s lips, the furrow between her brows. It’s like looking in a mirror and his shoulders fall slack.

“Yes?” He clears his throat, then straightens.

“Maybe…” She seems to choose her words carefully. “Maybe you should give it time to breathe.”

Neteyam doesn’t answer, wants to play dumb, because if he gives his full acknowledgement, he’ll have to admit that things aren’t getting any better between the two of you despite his valiant efforts.

He manages a hum before Neytiri continues.

“The last time we spoke about this situation, I know we made it seem like you didn’t have much of a choice in your selection feast,” Neytiri says. “But perhaps things change, and maybe you and ________ are no longer Eywa’s will.”

The thought makes Neteyam physically recoil. Makes the bile rise in his throat.

He’d been so against the two of you at first, didn’t even want to think of the idea of a future with you, but now his heart’s molding to form around the shape of you and he doesn’t think he’d have it any other way.

Especially not now that he’s forced himself in your proximity, has watched you function in your element, seen that you’re far from the peculiar girl he’d spent so much of his childhood running away from.

You’re everything but. You’re almost detrimentally kind, so soft and gentle to the moon and its creatures. And you work hard, dedicate every waking moment to serving your people despite no longer claiming any commitments to marrying into the tsahik’s position. You heal, and you mend, and you fix everything that’s broken, and Neteyam’s forced to watch on the sidelines as you stonewall him.

“Eywa’s will or not, I…” The words are nearly as weighty as his mother’s gaze. “I choose her.”

Neytiri blinks, then blows out a long breath.

“Neteyam, it’s important to realize that a selection feast is not one-sided,” she says. “She must choose you just as much as you do her.”

It’s something he’s been having to grapple with the past few weeks, the uncertainty of things. Your love for him had been a sure thing at the beginning, but now Neteyam’s not so reassured.

“She does, she will.”

He realizes he sounds like he’s convincing himself.

“Her parents have expressed their desire to withdraw from the preparations of your union,” Neytiri says.

The news is rather stale, but still leaves an awful taste in Neteyam’s mouth.

“They want to arrange for a new suitor.”

But that, that’s news to him.

You’re right where he expects you to be, in his grandmother’s tent with Mo’at herself and Kiri, testing a few trials of salve for the new round of candidates trying for their iknimaya.

You’re no longer bandaged up, just sporting a raised scar. The navy blue skin is tough, fused and blends with a few of your stripes, but Neteyam knows it’s there. Has felt and rewrapped the wound so many times that brushing over it with his fingertips is like muscle memory.

But now that you’re healed, practically as good as new, you don’t let him close. He doesn’t know what you feel like, has nearly forgotten the sensation of your hands on his skin.

“Teyam,” Kiri greets happily when she clocks her older brother.

He sees your eyes close in defeat, shoulders deflating because you just want one day of peace.

“Can I borrow ________?” he asks.

You answer before Mo’at does.

“We are very busy,” is all you say, but Neteyam won’t take no for an answer.

Your name leaves his lips firmly, like there’s no room for argument and you finally look up from your task to meet his stony gaze.

For a moment, his expression is familiar, makes you wonder what you’d done to piss him off this time around. But as you stand to your feet to shuffle out of the tent for some privacy, his hand ghosts the small of your back.

“What?” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

Neteyam doesn’t beat around the bush.

“Your parents are trying to marry you off,” he breathes.

You blink.

“I sought this out on my own accord,” you reveal, gaze bored as you watch his face morph into horror.

“You what?” he splutters.

“Just because we are no longer promised to each other doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to companionship,” you say harshly. “I have a duty to my parents to start a new generation.”

The thought of you with someone else makes him sick. Doesn’t even know who’ll claim you as his, but thinks the most violent and ill thoughts of whoever will put their hands on you.

“So you’ll just spend forever with some asshole you barely know?”

Neteyam’s being crass, but he can’t help it. Not when this is the closest he’s felt to losing.

You shift uncomfortably, anger shuttering over your features as your arms tighten over your chest.

“You’re awful, you know that?” you whisper. “You spent so much of our adolescence and young adulthood pushing me away and treating me so horribly.”

Neteyam sighs shakily.

“I know, I know,” he swallows. “And I’m sorry, you have to know that. I just—”

“You what, Neteyam?” you bite. “You’re so used to getting what you want, to everyone fawning over you and doting on you because you’re the olo’eyktan’s son that it feels like shit now that someone doesn’t?”

That one stings.

“Don’t you think you’re being unfair?” you ask, voice watery. “You said that you’d forfeit your responsibilities as the future leader of our people if it meant not having to be with me. Do you remember that?”

He does, all too well. Recalls the shattered look on your face when the words left his lips.

“You were so disgusted by the idea of having to spend forever with me that you were willing to give up everything you worked for in life to avoid that chance,” you spit. “That’s all I think of when I see you, you know. That I’d been so in love with you and the idea of loving you, but you’d rather be nothing than have to accept that.”

Neteyam shakes his head vehemently.

“Don’t.”

“Leave it alone,” you nearly beg. “Leave me alone.”

Neteyam decides to abide, but a greater force must have the cruelest sense of humor. Or perhaps the elders scheme. Because Neteyam is being hurtled into your proximity despite his best efforts to give you space.

Be it opposing teams in the training circle, adjoined scavenger groups in the forest, you’re so close yet so far. The berth between you and Neteyam grows until he can no longer close the distance.

From afar, he’s forced to notice things he’d been too stubborn to realize. Forced to realize that his grandmother wasn’t exaggerating when she’d warned him that there were many young warriors vying for your attention.

At first it’d been comical, watching the way they tripped over themselves to try to catch your attention. The way they’d linger, empty conversations and little trinkets. Neteyam found it laughable until you started accepting the advances. He’d been so absorbed in his duties, in turning a blind eye to you, that he hadn’t realized just how many people were waiting for a shot.

It makes the bitterness brew, knowing that if something doesn’t give, the possibilities of you spending forever with someone who isn’t him increases with every passing moment.

But the look on your face outside of Mo’at’s quarters is burned in his brain, tears that brimmed your sunny eyes lodging a lump in his throat.

A storm roils inside of him that can be felt by everyone near and far, casts such a heavy weight with every space he enters.

You have to feel it too, the yearn. There isn’t a way you’ve been able to cast years worth of pining and wanting to the side so easily. God, is this how you’d felt this entire time? Had it always—

“Alright, you’re done,” Jake grunts.

Neteyam’s drawn from his thoughts, glances down at the spearhead that’s been whittled down to practically nothing. It’s the fifth in his pile and his father looks cross.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, fingers loosening.

Jake sucks in a deep breath before prying the tools from his eldest’s hands.

“Just take a breather,” he says. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

Neteyam nods once, hesitantly, then concedes, withdrawing from his task to make for anything else that will get his mind off of you.

He’s about halfway to the stream when an elder stops him in his tracks.

“Where are you headed?”

He hangs his head in defeat.

“Off to clear my head,” is all he says in return.

“Care to help with preparations for this evening’s meal?” the elder asks.

He wants to say no, hasn’t helped with dinner preparations in who knows how long. He’d always been too busy with other duties, with learning about the ins and outs of tending to the clan, but the elder is smiling hopefully and Neteyam’s always had a hard time saying no.

“Sure,” he replies. “What do you need help with?”

“The fish,” she says. “Need to filet them.”

He hums in response, thinks it’ll just be him and the elder descaling the village’s catch and fileting them for roasting, but he stalls when he enters the clearing and finds you with your back to him, hunched over a basket.

It’s the closest he’s gotten in days, an aching mix of him keeping his distance and you avoiding him leaving him relying on personal recollections to map your features in his head. He feels like he’s intruding, like maybe he should make an excuse to break away, but you’re peering over your shoulder at the rustling of the leaves and he’s frozen in his spot.

Your shoulders tense, turning your attention back to your task at hand as the elder nudges Neteyam forward and he skids to a seat a few feet away from you.

“I have to retrieve another basket,” she announces, and you both miss the knowing look on her face.

You hum and Neteyam’s looking over his shoulder wide-eyed as the older woman retreats to leave the two of you with many baskets of fish.

He can’t help but sneak glances at you as he begins his work, fingers working over the slender catch like muscle memory.

The silence is tangible, thick like a woolen blanket and pierceable.

He’s flying through his basket, already on his fourth while you still fiddle with the same one you’d been working on since he sat down.

“You’ve always been good at this,” you say quietly, and Neteyam blinks hard at the sound.

He hadn’t expected you to break the silence.

“Maybe you’ve always been bad,” he says, huffing a little laugh as he glances at you again.

“Yeah, maybe,” you whisper.

The memory seems like it was yesterday, when the two of you were nine and you’d revealed your intentions to spend forever with him.

Another uncomfortably long stretch of silence passes with nothing but your nervous breathing and the rush of the river when he finally bites the bullet and turns towards you.

He shifts closer, hands closing over yours. You’re trembling, he realizes, and he squeezes.

“Why are we doing this?” he asks gently.

The implication of his words are weighty.

Your throat bobs.

“You know why,” you say softly.

“I don’t,” he tells you. “I really messed up, I know that, but you can’t convince me that there’s nothing here anymore.”

His fingertips ghost underneath your collarbone, right over your heart.

The look on your face is anguished.

“I know you’ve been patient with me,” he sighs shakily. “It took me way too long to realize that you’re it for me and I’m sorry.”

You’re taking in a shuddering breath and something tells Neteyam to hold on extra tight this time around.

“I’ve given you every part of me,” you say resolutely. “And you..you—”

You don’t even finish your statement, just look up at him with your round eyes and the reality of it all seems to settle like a disgusting feeling he can’t shake.

He’s willing to wait for you twice, thrice as long as you’ve waited for him, but he sees the exhaustion written on your face. Sees what a toll loving him has taken on you regardless of any healing you’ve endured physically and emotionally.

“This is my last time asking,” he whispers. “Promise. Just—think about it. Regardless of your decision, I’ll…I’ll understand.”

True to his word, Neteyam stays away. Gives you all the space you need by throwing himself headfirst into spearheading the next round of warriors’ iknimaya training. And you take advantage of it; think to yourself that the longer you take to put a final end to this all, the longer you can cling to the remnants of your first love.

It agonizes you, thinking of diverging paths with Neteyam, of being with someone else when you know fully well that the hold that Neteyam has on your heart is ironclad.

No matter how much you try to convince yourself, no matter what solace you search for in another, it will always be him.

But there are people counting on you, counting on him, and with each passing eclipse, your duties to the clan grow far heavier. Dancing around this is becoming tedious, so you take the plunge.

It’s why you finally give into Raime, a quiet boy in the village. He’s two years your senior, the most accomplished hunter in his lot, and he’d been the first to express his interest in you when you’d told your parents you wanted to search for new suitors.

It’d been rocky, tumultuous, at first, but he’d been understanding. He’d known about you and Neteyam, had admitted that he knew the feeling of wanting all too well.

“...and Mo’at was so angry that—”

You stop because Raime hasn’t stopped smiling at you since you started speaking and your cheeks are warm.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he assures quietly, eyes glancing back down at his task at hand.

Ironically, the two of you are huddled in the clearing near the river, skinning the village’s catch and preparing for the evening’s meal. Like always, your fingers are fumbling and Eywa must have a funny sense of humor because Raime skins, guts, and cleans like he does it in his sleep.

He notices the silent struggle, corner of his lips quirking up higher as you fruitlessly move a stray hair away from your face with the back of your wrist.

He rinses his hands in the river, dries them on his loincloth. You notice his fingers in your periphery, but he’s stopping himself.

You look up, see his hands near your face, and your throat bobs.

“Can I?” he asks gently.

You don’t know what he’s asking permission for, but you nod nonetheless, heart going soft and stomach frenzied because you’d never known such a tender kindness from a man in all your pining.

Raime’s fingertips are gentle against your temple, threading his fingers through your hair softly to tuck the stubborn strands out of your face.

“Thanks,” you hiccup, searching his chiseled features.

He hums and you tuck your chin, trying to hide the blooms of purple over the apples of your cheeks.

His weight shifts closer, fingers ghosting over yours as he settles like a guide.

“Head to tail,” he says softly. “Knife over the rib cage, not through it.”

The bones easily lift and you let out a triumphant breath, smile growing as he pulls the next fish and walks you through it hand-over-hand.

You’re too engrossed with the foreign feeling of affection, with allowing yourself to melt into a new beginning, that you don’t even realize the eyes that have spotted you.

Neteyam had been waiting patiently for your decision, but nestled among the foliage, he sees the soft grin on your lips, the dent of your dimpled cheeks, and he gets his answer.

Raime is a man of few words, Neteyam comes to find out. He’s got him cornered, right before eclipse a few evenings later, and the look in his eye is a warning.

“Be good to her,” Neteyam says, voice calm like the eye of a storm. “You’ll pay if you’re anything but.”

Raime doesn’t protest, doesn’t argue, because he knows with far too much familiarity what the nuances are between the two of you. Knows that your hearts are still bound by the most stubborn of threads whether he likes it or not.

So all he does is nod, throat visibly bobbing.

And for Neteyam, well, it would do.

You decide against a selection feast. Because Raime holds little status in the clan and you no longer train to lead, you both agree that you’ll come together as one on your own terms.

Toeing a relationship with Raime is simple, easy. But things seem a little too quiet, too good to be true. You’re used to the chaos, the storm that thunders when loving someone, and while you don’t think you love him quite yet, you think that like all things, you could learn to.

The two of you idle near the hometree, picking herbs, laughing about younger villagers’ antics, the hunts he participates in, among other things when you catch the whispers.

Did you hear about olo’eyktan’s son?

Your ears twitch.

How unfortunate.

Self-consciousness pricks the back of your brain momentarily as you strain to hear what the gossip’s all about. Raime doesn’t seem to notice that your attention is divided, still laughing quietly about a particular villager’s plight with training.

Think he’ll be okay?

Who knows, heard the fall was pretty bad.

Your brows furrow, brain shifting gears to the younger son. Neteyam was too careful, too cautious. But Lo’ak, on the other hand, was careless, daring.

You want to settle on the idea that Lo’ak’s gone off and hurt himself, but then you see Kiri off in the distance, eyes wild and searching.

When you two lock eyes, she’s crossing the trodden path hurriedly.

“Kiri–”

“Please,” she breathes desperately. “It’s Neteyam.”

Neteyam’s injuries make your heart squeeze. He’s bruised, blood mottled under the surface of his wounded skin, and he’s broken his arm.

You’d heard the conversation before you entered the tent. Despite being hurt, Jake was laying it on thick.

“What the hell were you thinking!” Jake’s voice echos.

“Just needed to clear my head.” Neteyam’s voice was scratchy, weak.

“After what happened to ________, you know there’s absolutely no flying or traveling alone! Especially not as far out as you did!” his father chides. “You could have died, Neteyam!”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“This really impedes on your duties, you know that?” Jake bites. “You–”

“I’m sorry,” Neteyam repeats again, voice a hoarse whisper.

He sleeps now, the smallest of furrows between his brow bones. His broken arm is wrapped tightly, resting over his stomach as his chest rises and falls with every breath.

His parents had left you with him after your quiet request for a moment, but you don’t wake him.

Instead, you’re digging through your satchel, finding the solidified salve wrapped in the center of a balmy leaf. You wedge off a piece, warming it between your palms as you work over shallow wounds and purpling contusions.

Your heart had pounded so hard in your chest hours prior when Kiri had told you that Neteyam was hurt. It made you absolutely sick to your stomach, body wracked with nerves as you followed her frantic strides.

As you kneel before him now, working softly over his skin, you realize that letting this go isn’t as easy as you thought it was going to be. It’s further solidified when your eyes burn and you’re surprised to blink back tears.

“Wow,” you whisper shakily to yourself, knuckling away the tears in annoyance as your chin tilts towards the apex of the tent to stop them from falling.

The salve is still warm in your hands when you feel a set of fingers ghost over yours.

Your gaze snaps to Neteyam who watches you with sleepy eyes, hooded and struggling to stay awake.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you swallow. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” he says softly. “A lot better.”

You nod simply, hope he doesn’t notice that you’re trying not to cry, but Neteyam’s learned to read you so well over the last few months. Comes with the territory when you’ve been orbiting the same person for years.

“You’re crying,” he observes hoarsely. “Why?”

The corners of your lips twitch downwards, the familiar burn behind the bridge of your nose forcing more tears.

“I’m not,” you argue weakly.

Neteyam looks shocked, making a move to sit up.

Your hands are on his shoulders, gently restraining him as you shake your head quickly.

“You need to rest,” you warble.

“Why are you…are you…”

“You scared me,” you say weakly. “I thought–”

You hiccup and his face softens.

“Hey, I’m fine,” he assures you. “I’m good.”

You bite the inside of your lip, smooth the rest of the salve over his uninjured arm, and his nose twitches at the scent. It’d been the same one his grandmother had slathered over his cuts and bruises; the one you’d made especially for him.

Despite knowing you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Raime, it makes something triumphant settle in the pit of his stomach knowing you still carry around something you’d made thinking of him.

But he doesn’t say a word, keeps the comment to himself. Instead he watches you with bated breath.

Then you surprise him, forehead meeting the firm planes of his stomach. His expression twists, uninjured hand ghosting over the back of your head momentarily before resting the full weight over your loosened braids.

“Wha–”

“I can’t do it,” you whisper, voice muffled against his skin.

“Do what?” he croaks.

“Be with him.”

He stills.

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows, waiting for your next words with anticipation.

“I can’t help it, Neteyam,” you sigh shakily. “Not when it comes to you.”

He knows what you’re trying to say, but he can’t bring himself to act on it without hearing the words with the utmost clarity. Needs the confirmation that you’re done fighting it.

When he doesn’t say anything, only presses his fingertips through the roots of your hair, you crack.

“It will always be like this,” you whisper. “No matter how much distance there is, it’ll...”

You push away gently to glance at his face.

“It’ll always be you.”

Neteyam can’t help the smile that grows.

“If I…” you swallow. “If I give in, you have all of me.”

“Only way I’d ever want it,” Neteyam says, trying to tamp down the hope ebbing into his voice.

“But would you be able to say the same?” you challenge quietly. “It only takes once.”

He sits up despite the sharp look you give him, traps your fingers in his uninjured hand and presses your palm to his chest. You feel it, his heart, fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird under the skin.

“Promise,” he murmurs, wincing when the skin over a particularly imposing wound stretches too taut. “I’m all yours, ________. I meant what I said. Union or no union, it’s you and me.”

A shiver rips down your spine as you nod, teary-eyed. You move to press your face to his chest, but his fingers skim your jaw, cupping the back of your neck as he brings your lips to his.

You’d imagined this moment a million and one times and even if the moment is fleeting, you feel the weight of things solidify around you.

Neteyam’s kiss is bruising, like parting means letting you go for the final time.

You only do when you feel something wet brush your jaw, breaking away momentarily to ghost the fingers not trapped against his chest over your cheek.

The most minute of furrows twitch across your features before you realize that Neteyam is crying, yellow eyes rimmed red and watery.

“Sorry,” he whispers, swiping the back of his wrist over his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart softens, melting, as your thumb brushes over the carve of his cheekbones.

“It’s okay,” you assure him quietly, and the expression on your face is devastating. It’s like you’ve morphed back into the girl who pined and yearned. It makes his gut twist with guilt. “We’ll be okay.”

He nods hesitantly, hand coming around your wrist as he presses his cheek further into the cradle of your palm.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, such silly human words he’d heard his father mutter to his mother time and time again. But in the moment it feels right.

“I love you,” he says gently.

You blink hard, spine rigid. Can’t help the smile that threatens to crack your full lips.

“I love you,” you assure him.

And from the other side of the tent’s flap, both Neteyam’s parents and yours catch whispers of the rekindling of a dying flame. Your mother, always in your corner, murmurs soundly with a relieved grin.

“Eywa makes no mistakes.”

an — do i lowkey hate this, yes lmao, but i will go absolutely nuts if i don’t get this out sdfjksdfaj, love you all <3

taglist; @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @junieswrlds , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @neteyamo , @fanboyluvr , @mazemymirror , @theycallmesia , @girlpostingsposts, @athenachu , @hiya-itsamber , @morks-watermelon , @sanfransolomitatm , @lovedbychoi

#neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #neteyam fic #neteyam angst #neteyam fluff #neteyam #atwow #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #avatar the movie #avatar

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juyeonszn · 8 months

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I LOOK BETTER UNDER YOU

PAIRING choi chanhee x f!reader

WORD COUNT 2.62k

GENRES smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, TW: LEWIS STRUCTURES/CHEMISTRY TERMS 🤢🤢🤢, academic rivals to something idk, kev and jichang appearances, chanhee is a cocky little shit, vaginal fingering, edging, exhibitionism lowkey, there’s not p in v action but they are in a public space so…. take with that what u will

SUMMARY aside from excelling at literally everything else, choi chanhee was also really fucking good at getting on your last nerve.

MORE my brain hurts LOL anyway fawntober day???? 7 holy fuck that is actually insane… ANYWAY shout out reese for being my beta as always <3 and also shout out @sungbeam for the idea <3 laurv u bestie!!! pls reblog if u enjoyed :)

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

You felt stupid. Never in your life had you ever struggled to learn a concept, usually understanding on the first go around. This was the case for a majority of your courses. However, for some reason you just couldn’t quite grasp Lewis Structures in your Chemistry class.

Everything else seemed simple enough, your professor explaining them in a way that made them sound easy. They were anything but. You found yourself stressing over whether or not you could fully comprehend the bonds between atoms in time for your midterm. With the way it was going for you, that hope appeared to get less and less realistic.

“Have you thought about going to tutoring?” Your friend, Kevin, asks as you sit across from each other in one of the library’s study rooms, your chemistry textbook opened up to the section on Lewis Structures.

“I mean, no, I haven’t. I just think they’d judge me, considering I have the second highest GPA in our department.” You huff, scribbling down even more notes on the concept, as if you didn’t already have everything you needed to know. God, being a woman in STEM was so hard.

“That’s your problem,” Kevin rolls his eyes, working on his communications homework simultaneously. “Your ego is too damn big. Maybe if you toned it down a notch and set aside your pride, you’d be able to grow the balls to actually ask for help.”

You’re offended, honestly. Because as much as he was right, he was simultaneously very wrong. It wasn’t that you didn’t have the courage to ask for assistance. It was the fact that your biggest rival was the person in charge of the science department’s tutoring lab. He had the highest GPA in your year and you couldn’t stand the thought of losing to him. Let alone showing your weak side.

Aside from excelling at literally everything else, Choi Chanhee was also really fucking good at getting on your last nerve. You were thankful that he wasn’t in your Chemistry lecture, lest he made fun of you for all the questions you asked pertaining to your struggles. He had a knack for crawling under your skin like a goddamn parasite, doing everything in his power to make sure you never felt a moment of peace as long as he was around.

You hated him. You hated him so much for all of the unnecessary competition and constant need to one-up you in every mutual category possible. You hated his overall overachievement to be better than you, to be above you at all costs. You hated his dumb pretty face.

So how could you turn to tutoring after all of that? It just wasn’t feasible. Kevin wouldn’t get it. He didn’t have an arch nemesis holding him back from success.

“That’s not it at all, Kev. But it’s whatever, I’ll figure this shit out myself.”

You could not figure that shit out by yourself. Midterms were a week and a half away, and you were still ripping your hair out over which structures were more dominant and other things of that nature. This was absolutely humiliating. Perhaps growing up as a gifted kid was the worst thing that could’ve happened to you.

With a frown permanently etched on your face, you glance over at your tablemate’s notes. He had messily scrawled examples of those damn Lewis Structures covering the sheet, eyes flickering back and forth between his notebook and the projector at the front of the lecture hall. Oh how badly you wished to be in his shoes, to decipher everything and anything to do with the dot structures presented to you.

Ji Changmin was by no means a genius. His intelligence levels were above average, but that was still below you. How could he understand this better than you? It made no sense. Then again, he was close friends with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. That had to be the reason why. His friend was practically the Einstein reincarnate.

This meant that you couldn’t even express your difficulties with him either. Chanhee no doubtedly knew that you sat beside his friend. If you asked for his help, it would obviously circle back to him and you’d never hear the end of it. You’d never unhear the taunting voice of Choi Chanhee teasing you for asking Ji Changmin for assistance with fucking Lewis Structures. There really was no winning here.

As the lecture draws to a close and your professor reminds you to study for the fast approaching midterm, Changmin clears his throat beside you with a raised eyebrow. You look at him with thinly concealed surprise. So much for being subtle.

“I saw you looking at my notes,” he snorts. “You know, if you’re having a hard time with this chapter, you should just go to the tutoring lab. I’m assuming you haven’t because Chanhee hasn’t gloated about it yet. But if you were curious, he won’t be there today. He has to go to some meeting for the newspaper. You know that guy’s got like ten different clubs he’s a part of.”

You’re not sure why Ji Changmin would be on your side with this. In fact, it kind of makes you skeptical. You didn’t know how credible he was, so why would you trust this information? For all you knew, he could’ve been attempting to lure you right into a trap. However, despite the bit of laughter he exhibited, he didn’t appear to be lying. You were usually a pretty good judge of character.

That’s how you found yourself showing up to the tutoring lab later that evening.

It was located inside of the STEM building on the fourth floor, along with some of the offices belonging to several professors. You chose to go later at night with the knowledge that most students would be gone by that time. The lab was available for use until 9 PM on weekdays, and it was currently 8 PM.

Your grip on the strap of your bag tightens as you push open the see-through glass door of the lab, grateful for the evident emptiness. Though it also worries you, because there were no tutors around either. Maybe the slowness of a Thursday evening encouraged them to head home early. You decide to wait a few minutes anyway, just in case someone shows up.

That was, unfortunately, a very big mistake. As you’re pulling out your notes and textbook, you hear the low creak of the door opening. You think you might keel over and die when you’re suddenly face to face with The Choi Chanhee.

His lips curl up almost menacingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well well well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Shut the fuck up,” your teeth grit together. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting or something? Why are you here?”

“Ended early,” he shrugs. “The tutors have a habit of leaving prematurely when I’m not around, so I wanted to see if there was anyone here. Guess it’s my lucky day, huh?”

This dude was a walking headache for real. You were seriously going to walk out of the lab with a migraine if he kept talking like he was so fucking smart. He was, but he didn’t need to know that you thought that. His own ego was large enough without you inflating it even more.

“I’m going home.” You state simply, mouth drawn in a straight line. You didn’t have the patience for his aggravating ass tonight.

“Am I really that horrible that you won’t accept my aid? I heard that you’ve been having problems with Lewis Structures. I may like to joke around, but I’m not really a masochist who likes to watch people suffer,” Chanhee chuckles with a shake of his head. “You’re just so easy to rile up.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, avoiding his piercing gaze. “But fine. If you’re actually gonna help me, I’ll let you just this once. I can’t afford to have this cost me a perfect midterm grade.”

He grins, something that looks conniving. You hate how much more attractive it makes him. You were thankful again for the fact that there were no other students present. It was embarrassing enough to be seen being civil with the worst person in the world.

Chanhee takes the seat beside you, turning it so he’s facing you. You keep your body squared to the table, flipping your textbook to the page on Lewis Structures and preparing a fresh sheet in your notebook. You feel your cheeks warm up with the attention on you, his arms still folded in front of him.

“S-So I don’t get the— um— I don’t— uh— I don’t understand the dominant— the dominant bonds,” your eyes squeeze shut, mortified by the amount of stuttering and fumbling over your words. “How do you— um— how do you determine them?”

He smiles at how cute you are, a shy side of you he’s never seen before. He was so used to you constantly arguing with him, used to you standing your ground and competing with him even when you knew he’d come out on top. He places an arm on the back of your chair, leaning in to read what was in your textbook although he didn’t need to. He just wanted an excuse to get closer to you.

“So you’re gonna want your formal charge to be as close to zero as possible. In order to calculate that, you’ll have to subtract the number of bonds divided by two and the number of electron pairs from the total number of valence electrons per individual atom,” Chanhee explains, pointing at the formula on the page. “How about I give you a couple examples to work on?”

You nod slowly, afraid your voice might betray you again. He jots down a few molecular examples on your notebook, pausing for a moment to nip at his lip and examine you. You blink, a little confused by the action.

“What are you doing?” There’s a slight crack in your tone.

“I have an idea,” he licks his lips. “To make this more rewarding for us both.”

Your brows furrow, his response further perplexing you. One of his hands situates itself on your thigh, your eyes widening. Of all days to wear a skirt, why did you have to choose today? You glance between his face and his hand, lips parted.

“Ch-Chanhee?”

“Yes, pretty?”

You don’t know why the nickname has your upper and lower heartbeats skipping, sweat forming on your palms. You’d always been too preoccupied despising him for being so much better at everything than you were. But right now, his fingers creeping beneath the denim of your skirt, all of that seemed to fly out of the window. You gasp as his fingertips reach the lace of your panties.

“I can make you feel good,” he says into your ear, thumb massaging your thigh. “I can make this worth your while if you do well for me.”

He was giving you fucking whiplash. One second he was teasing you for coming to the tutoring lab, and the next he was trying to coax you into coming quite literally. You think you’re the insane one, however, because you can’t conjure a logical reason to say no.

“Okay,” you breathe, shakily picking up your mechanical pencil. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

You begin to work on the first molecule he wrote out, trying to ignore his slender fingers pushing aside your underwear and rubbing your clit gently. Your bottom lip quivers when his lips make contact with your neck, kissing up and down softly with each circle of his phalanges on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Chanhee presses two fingers inside of your cunt, smiling against your skin when you whimper, nearly dropping your pencil. You fight back tears threatening to spill from your eyes due to lack of reaction, his digits so skilled at working your pussy and looping that knot in your abdomen. Your legs spread wider as you attempt to finish the first example as quickly as possible, so he can knock you over that edge that seems so close now.

“D-Done,” you shiver, lids almost fluttering shut from pure bliss.

Chanhee judges your answer, fingers halting their movements when he recognizes an error. You whine, that taste of sweet release pulled right from under you like a rug. He tsks, kissing your temple as if he hadn’t just denied you an orgasm.

“That’s not the dominant structure. Try again.” He instructs, not continuing until you’ve picked up the pencil and rewrote the Lewis Structure.

You ignore his palm applying pressure to your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of your drooling cunt, lips sucking at the exposed base of your neck, where it meets your shoulder. Your focus zeroes in on completing this structure correctly, rearranging the electron bonds until they’re right. You feel your climax returning when he praises you for getting it this time.

“Such a smart girl,” he murmurs into your collarbone. “Now do the other one.”

He doesn’t stop his assault, increasing the pace of his fingers while you scribble out numbers and draw electron pairs. Your orgasm inches towards you, like a freight train going at full speed. Chanhee curls his middle finger, tripping you up and causing you to write down a wrong number on accident. Ever the perceptive, he relaxes his wrist and retracts his hand, the band in your stomach loosening along with it.

“Please, Chanhee,” you cry, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. “Need to cum so bad.”

“Mm-mm,” he scolds. “Not until you finish the structure properly. C’mon, I know you can be a good girl for me.”

You force yourself to persevere, bottom lip between your teeth when he slips his fingers back into your pussy. Pretending like you weren’t on the cusp of euphoria was making you dizzy, but it was necessary if you wanted to reach it completely. You couldn’t handle a third denial.

Chanhee speeds up his fingers, adding his thumb on your clit for extra stimulation. It was like he did enjoy watching you suffer. Perhaps he really was a masochist. You scrawl the last electron bond of the structure, releasing the pencil from your grasp and throwing your head back with a low whine. He hums in appreciation at a job well done.

“Oh my god,” you moan softly, looking down at where his hand disappears in your skirt. “Feels s-so good.”

“Yeah?” Chanhee goads, peppering kisses on your jaw and nibbling at your pulse point. “Ready to cum for me, pretty? Gonna cum all over my fingers?”

You can’t even reply, his cocky voice filling your head as he finally permits your orgasm, walls convulsing and clenching around his digits with a wail. It hasn’t even occurred to you that you’re in a very public, very open space, where anyone could walk in at any given moment. Your brain is too foggy from your overstimulated cunt and the comprehension that Choi Chanhee just fucking fingered you to even consider the consequences of the location.

It only takes a few seconds for you to come to, your body catching up with your head. You look at Chanhee with eyes resembling those of a prey cornered by its predator.

“Why is your hand still inside my skirt?”

“‘S warm down there,” he shrugs with a sly smile. “Besides, I’m not really done with you yet.”

“What are you talking about…?” You trail off, throat dry from how winded this guy was making you.

“You still need some practice before your midterm, no? And I kinda wanna see how pretty you look under me.”

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz chanhee #the boyz new #tbz chanhee #tbz new #choi chanhee x reader #choi chanhee smut #chanhee x reader #chanhee smut #juyeonszn #fawntober.2023🎃

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cruciomione · 7 months

Text

"fixing" the panic attack scene to be more platonic ™

im extremely active on twt and have been noticing a sydcarmy tweet go viral multiple times a week (like w thousands of interactions its crazy), and its really great to see how much people love and see it for this ship. recently carmys panic attack scene went viral again, and naturally, some ppl gave their piece about how we are all dumb for interpreting it as romantic. that sydney represents his love for his job or his duty to the restaurant (*sigh*).

this scene imo, is the most concrete proof of this ship. i can excuse (not really) interpreting every interaction between them thus far as platonic but this scene....i just refuse. this is gonna be a long post, not analyzing the scene per se because i can't possibly say anything that hasn't already been said but more "fixing" the scene to fit the narrative of antis, and i hope in doing so really shows there's no other way to interpret this scene as other than romantic. again its gonna be a long post bc im just ranting and i think i will lose my mind if i dont type this out.

lets go.

so first off i like to think of this scene as an equation/experiment. simply a problem that needs to be solved.

problem/reason of panic = ...we will discuss this...

solution # 1 = claire -> failed

solution # 2 = sydney -> worked.

Problem/Reason

s02e09 opens up with carmy and claire finally consummating their relationship, with an interesting song choice might i add and carmy dissociating, looking sad, or broken (???) after. because many have said carmy pulling memories of sydney from his psyche to calm down have to do with work i always remember that, it really doesnt make any sense?

carmy is clearly having a panic attack due to him not being "fixed" as soon as he made it official with claire. he felt pressure from his family both currently and in the past to date claire because she is amazing and perfect. add mikey also being a part of that crowd, and carmy so desperately trying to connect with him when he cannot, is why i think he looks so despondent after that scene. i truly think he thought he would be a changed person after everything with claire and when that didn't happen he flipped...

we know this is the reason bc his panic attack starts with their sex scene and the lyric "I dont know" from strange currencies by REM.

this isn't to say that he isn't nervous or stressed about the soft open but its clear that he's not having a panic attack about work nor have we ever seen him have a work-related panic attack (correct me if I'm wrong). in s1 he has one or two due to him greiving his brother.

platonic fix: To make it about work I would have added scenes like when Carmy started that stove fire in braciole, his meltdown in review, some scenes of his horrible time at EMP, and him grieving his brother. i think these would represent his fear of failure, falling back into old toxic habits pertaining his career, the fear of fostering a toxic work environment like the ny chef and also the idea of "failing" mikey

but theres a reason why none of this occurs bc its not about his job or the opening of the bear. this is explicitly about his personal and romantic love life.

Solution # 1 : Claire

carmy proceeds to try and calm down by thinking of claire through literal rose-coloured glasses...

the music is distorted, he's thinking of his abusive family, he remembers every one pushing him to date claire bc shes a #goodthing.

again...this is not about his job and wouldnt make sense to think of sydneys place in his work life as a soultion to his clear personal problem....

platonic fix: in the story of carmys love life claire and sydney act as narrative foils. they have been compared and contrasted for all of s2. my platonic fix for this would be making the NY chef this first "solution" of a work-related panic attack. he represents a horrible time in his life but also represents a time when carmy was at the height of his career. when carmy gets locked in the walk in and has his monologue, its alluded to that he will revert back to that mind set in order to not let everyone down.

NY chef abused him for so long, it makes sense that carmys psyche would readily go back to his insults and the time he himself was an isolated 'psycho' bc it yielded results.

nothing is black and white and i DO think sydney represents a healthier approach to the toxic mess that is the culinary world and does represent that for carmy. if the show was invested in that, sydney and the NY chef could be overtly contrasted like sydney and claire have been.

BUT again this isnt about his job and dedication as a chef...thus why he tries to think of claire to solve his personal problem, and it fails.

Solution # 2: Sydney

LMFAOOO.

carmy then in a crazy plot twist starts thinking of his platonic work bestie sydney adamu....the love song dedicated by the show to his relationship with his girlfriend is then made clear highlighting some pretty damning lyrics about desire and love.....all platonic btw. yes you are dumb if you think otherwise (*wink*)

I actually have two platonic fixes for this...

platonic fix # 1: if we only wanted to focus on sydney as a person who calms carmy down because shes his work bestie who represents his responsibilty to the bear and the postive change they are trying effect in the culinary world, i would add scenes where they are...you know actually cooking???

i think its pretty crazy how the memories carmys immediately jump to are ones that have little to do with their jobs. when they first meet (would also like to note that when carmy first laid eyes on Sydney, he forgot she was there for a job, so this is his raw reaction to seeing a pretty girl lol) and when she comes back after she quit and their break up fight.

i would add their scenes in carmys kitchen (even tho this is extremely damning bc they were flirting DOWN - they don't make this easy at all). this represents their collaboration skills and the way they WORK and bounce ideas off of each other seamlessly. specifically the scene about him wanting to give her a star, representing his duty to her and the restaurant.

*and no shade to carmy but if his responsibility to the bear/syd as a co-worker was bothering him this much and calmed him down wouldn't he have just immediately called the fridge guy.....anyways*

platonic fix # 2 (the best one): if i was chris storer and joanna calo and i REALLY wanted to sell it that carmy isnt in love with sydney then i would put every single member of the OG beef crew + Nat to calm him down not just Sydney.

im talking to them laughing at family, carmy giving tina his chefs knife, richie in his new suit, carmys one on one w Marcus/trying his donut, nat telling carmy shes pregnant (signifing rebirth/wanting to rid all the toxic abuse from his family), carmy trying sydney risotto, and her face when he said it was tremendous etc etc...you get the gist

and honestly?

even as i type this out im tearing up a little bit bc that would have been really beautiful. carmy is changing. he can and is getting rid of old toxic habits from his family and the mess that is the culinary industry. things are changing for the better....that would be beautiful....IF his panic attack was about any of these things lol.

and to even look at this scene without this need for symmetry and we entertain the idea of carmy thinking about his job as a solution for his personal problem...carmy has said himself (s02e01) that this isnt fun for him. i dont think that means he hates cooking i kinda disagree with the ppl who think he isnt passionate about it. i just think currently its something that doesnt bring him joy but i do think its something hes starting to or at least could have started to enjoy if he just committed to working with syd...

conclusion

theres a lot of....delusion? denial? straight up bias? yes all of that, going on.

idk what is happening bc this show is really great at being subtle. but i dont know whats more in your face, dumbed down, even a toddler could understand, than this scene. if you dont come out of this understanding that carmy is falling in love/currently in love with Sydney...and i hate using this term..but you just arent media literate.

bonus: bc it makes me laugh and connects the purpose and solutions.

i think we need a Snyder Sydcarmy Cut™ of bolognese and omelette.

the start of the episode is when sydney and carmy fight over claires inclusion in the menu, and also when sydney randomly asks him to define his relationship with Claire. the episode would continue until we get to the table scene.

i think its WILD how as soon as Sydney asks him to define their relationship, carmy starts calling claire his girlfriend. then the show proceeds to insert sydney in their romantic montage, shows her tattoo about heartbreak and someone getting in the way of your relationship...THEN proceeds to have carmy compare these two women in his mind and only calms down after seeing Sydney.

i could talk about this scene for AGES. wheres the straitjacket....

#the bear #sydcarmy #carmen x sydney #sydney x carmy #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #idk why i typed this out #its not even really meta im just crazy about them and even more crazier about defending them #also tired of seeing braindead takes #yea...#hope you enjoyed my rant #time to go study for this bio midterm #my rants #sydcarmy meta

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zazima · 5 months

Text

im rusty. so rusty. and also extremely late for christmas. i may as well have waited 350 days until the holidays came around again, but im trying to write more this year, so hear you go? eek im nervous. please pardon any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes. enjoy! also tumblr doesn't seem to have line breaks so sorry if any time jumps are confusing.

also a warning for language and mentions of wanting to step in front of a bus as an extreme response to being embarrassed. i swear this is all fluff otherwise.

Harry doesn't know what to get Sirius for Christmas.

Well, to clarify, Harry doesn't know if he can get Sirius anything adequately worth a damn. Because how can a game (magical or not) or piece of art or trinket or any sort of anything say hey Merry Christmas and by the way, thanks for saving me from my horrible abusive household where I lived in a cupboard and for wrangling a fucked up wizarding judicial system so that it both exonerates you from a murder you didn't commit and lets you adopt a kid you only properly met six months ago.

Harry would also like the gift (if he ever manages to find something) to say also thank you for giving me my own bedroom and for making pancakes every Saturday morning and for letting me visit my friends and for playing two-man Quidditch with me and for ruffling my hair and for always letting me pick the film that we watch and for telling me stories about my parents and for always being just enough and for not pushing me when I have nothing to say and for calling me by my name instead of shouting boy angrily-

Harry figures that he should cut himself off there. Any more gratitudes and the gift will literally be impossible to find, lest it be the size of Hogwarts in an effort to cram any and all unspoken messages Harry doesn't have the courage to voice out loud.

So Harry does what he usually does in a sticky situation. He turns to his friends.

No clue mate, Ron writes. I normally get Mum perfume and Dad whatever Muggle trinket he's been obsessing over. So unless Sirius wants a rubber duck, I probably won't be much help. But you could probably give him one and he'd be ecstatic. You're pretty much his favorite person right now.

Ah bloody hell. Do you think I should get Sirius something as a thanks for Pig?

Even though he's sure Ron's right (although Padfoot might enjoy a rubber duck more than Sirius), Harry doesn't have time to add Ron's own gift conundrum to his list of problems, so he turns to Hermione, who ends up being a bit more helpful.

I know you said that Sirius was interested in curse-breaking and how it can be used to help with cleaning up Grimmauld Place, so maybe something pertaining to that? A book or starter kit? Or perhaps something a bit more personal, something he couldn't just buy in a shop. Don't worry too much, Harry. He'll love whatever it is you give him because it's you.

Harry disregards the book suggestion immediately. Sirius does read; over the holiday break the two of them have taken to sitting quietly on opposite sides of the couch in the sitting room, reading books from the Black family library and munching on the latest treat Mrs. Weasley has sent them while flames blaze in the fireplace, only breaking the peaceful quiet occasionally to share whatever interesting passage has just been read. But Harry doesn't want to give a present that reminds Sirius of the exhausting work they do every day trying to make Grimmauld Place a habitable home.

Hermione's other suggestion, however, gets Harry thinking. Something he couldn't just buy in a shop. That obviously eliminates all of the last-resort items Harry had on his mental list, as they were dumb things he had planned to frantically order by mail once he gave up on the idea of finding something good enough for Sirius. But it also opens up a new idea, something that Harry himself had appreciated when he had received it a few years ago.

He begins firing off letters and mail-in order forms with an efficiency Hermione would admire. The owls return in quick fashion, up to three or four a day. Sirius doesn't notice anything at first, but when Hedwig taps on the kitchen window for the second time that day during breakfast, he gets up and lets her in with a raised eyebrow at Harry.

"Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment?" he asks, somewhat incredulously, peering at the label on the package. "Harry, love, you know we can just go to Diagon Alley whenever you'd like. No need to rely on owl post if you're running low on supplies."

Harry flushes and snatches the small, soft package from Hedwig, stuffing it under his armpit and looking determinedly at his porridge. He hopes he doesn't have ACTUALLY IT'S PART OF YOUR CHRISTMAS PRESENT written all over his face.

"It's fine," he shrugs, aiming for casual nonchalance with his tone. "It's just a small thing. No point in going all the way down to Diagon Alley. Besides, the crowds would drive you crazy. They'd probably give you a concussion trying to get a picture."

Sirius grimaces, probably thinking of their last attempt to go for an ice cream at Fortescue's shortly before Harry had left for the fall term. They'd returned to Grimmauld Place ice cream-less and with a giant tear down the front of Harry's robes.

"Nothing a Glamour Charm wouldn't fix," he responds, grabbing his own empty bowl and bringing it to the sink. "Anyway, it's not fair for us to be shut up in this damned house because some people can't behave themselves in public. You just let me know whenever you want to go out, alright? I promise I won't breathe down your neck while you look at potions ingredients and whatnot. Even if they all suspiciously happen to be ingredients for an Enlarging Potion."

He manages to ruffle Harry's hair before the boy squawks out a "Sirius!" and darts out the kitchen, cackling in response to Harry's sputtered "I'm not... I wouldn't... SIRIUS!"

As Christmas approaches, Harry begins to stay up later and later into the night, working frantically to finish Sirius' present. One late night (or early morning, really), he hears a gentle knock on his door. He jumps and shoves the half completed project under his comforter.

"Come in!"

Sirius peeks his head through the cracked open door. "Are you alright? I was getting a glass of water and noticed your light was still on."

Harry nods, trying to convey a casualness he doesn't feel beneath the stress of wanting to have the present ready by Christmas morning. "Yes. Fine. I was just... reading." He reaches for his nightstand and holds up the latest book he's knicked from the Black family library for this exact purpose.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "You sure? I've read that one before. Couldn't last more than thirty seconds at a time without falling asleep."

Harry glances at the cover. He hasn't even cracked it open yet. "It's actually quite interesting. I've always been fascinated by... the evolution of wizarding legalese from 1500 to 1800." He internally winces as the subject matter is finally made apparent to his sleep-deprived brain.

Sirius pauses, clearly sensing that something's up. He must decide that now's not the time to probe further because he says, "Alright. You're stronger than me, then. Let me know if you need anything though." He begins to retreat and close the bedroom door but stops right before he actually does. "I forgot, " he murmurs, opening the door wide and stepping fully into Harry's bedroom. He approaches Harry where he's sitting on his bed. Harry tries to discretely shove the half-finished present further under the covers. "You had a letter downstairs. We must have missed it earlier. I only saw it when I was getting water." He hands over a rather thick envelope to Harry, who flips it over, notes the name of the sender, and smiles, relieved.

Sirius lets out a small puff of air, and Harry looks up at the sound. Sirius pastes on a rather strained smile. "Do you often write to Mrs. Weasley?"

Harry's brain scrambles for a response. "Erm. Not really."

He doesn't say anything else, unsure how to explain away the situation convincingly. A rather awkward silence settles between them. Sirius looks as if he's summoning the courage to say something.

Sirius takes a deep breath. "I'm here if you ever want to talk, Harry. I know the Weasley's have always been great to you, and I never want to feel like you're getting that taken away. But, I just want you to know that I'm also here, in addition to them. For anything. No questions asked or judgement cast. Alright?"

The letter slips out of Harry's grip, as he frantically waves his hands in front of him, desperate to correct Sirius' perception of the situation. "Oh, no, Sirius, I know! I swear it. We were just... planning Ron's birthday present this year. They wanted to throw him a party." The fib comes easily.

Sirius visibly relaxes. "Oh. Ron's birthday's not until April though."

"Yes," Harry's brain scrambles for an explanation. "But you know how Mrs. Weasley is. Always trying to stay ahead. She's already starting to plan the menu. Fretting between bacon sandwiches or chicken legs for the main course."

Sirius shakes his head, a genuine smile starting to form on his face. "Well you know my vote is always for chicken legs. Assuming I'm invited of course."

"You know you're always invited. Mrs. Weasley always wants an opportunity to make sure you're feeding me properly," Harry rolls his eyes. "And Ron thinks you're pretty cool too. Even though you broke his leg."

Sirius gives him a mock scowl. "Hey now! I wasn't in my right mind that night. And I gave him an owl to make up for it! Even though I was probably doing myself more of a favor than him. That damned owl was driving me mad."

Harry giggles, and Sirius' smile grows wider at the sound. He lets out a dramatic sigh and leans over to ruffle Harry's hair, ignoring the sounds of protest that come in response to the action.

"Alright then, love. I'm off to bed. Shout if you need anything, and I'll be here in faster than you can say chicken legs. You hear me?"

Harry nods. "Yes sir."

Sirius scowls for real this time. "None of that now, remember?"

Harry nods again, this time rather sheepishly. Sirius bends over to kiss his forehead before heading out of the bedroom, shouting a "Good night!" over his shoulder before he closes the door behind him.

Harry sighs in relief, pulls the present out from underneath the comforter, tears open Mrs. Weasley's letter, and gets back to work.

The morning of the 25th is bright and cold.

Harry is a ball of nerves as the breakfast plates get cleared away and the two of them prepare to go to the sitting room to open presents. Padfoot had barged into Harry's room at half past seven, barking loudly and leaping onto the bed, nearly giving Harry a heart attack in the process. He'd only finished Sirius' present in the wee hours of the morning and had barely managed to shove it into his desk drawer before he'd fallen asleep.

Sirius had dragged Harry into the kitchen for special Christmas chocolate chip pancakes and hot chocolate but had only allowed Harry to start eating once he agreed to don a ridiculously oversized Santa hat that matched the one Sirius had on his own head.

"If I'd known you liked Christmas so much, I'd have taken you to the Muggle mall to get a picture with Santa," Harry grumbles only half-heartedly as he watches the milk heat up on the hob. Sirius was adamant about making hot chocolate the old-fashioned way.

Sirius laughs loudly and hooks his arm around Harry's neck, pulling him close and planting a kiss on his forehead with a loud smack. "It's our first Christmas together, kiddo! First of many. You can get past your anti-morning attitude for that, can't you?"

"I gueeeeeeees," Harry mock-whines, drawing out the word as he adds the chopped chocolate to the steaming milk. He's secretly pleased that Sirius seems to somewhat enjoy his company. It shows he's not such a terrible charge.

"Thank you for your sacrifice," Sirius states dramatically. He gives Harry one last squeeze before releasing him. "Now come on, let's get to presents. I call going first!" He darts off to the sitting room where, overnight, a large pile of presents has piled in front of the eight-foot tall tree Sirius had dragged home one afternoon (with lots of swearing).

Harry gulps nervously as he pours hot chocolate into two mugs and tops them both with a handful of marshmallows. His hands are slightly shaking as he brings them both to the sitting room. Sirius is poking around the heap of gifts as he enters the room, and Harry spots the hastily wrapped, lumpy package he completed only a few hours ago.

Please like it, please like it, please like it, he silently begs as he sets the mugs on the coffee table. The sight of the gift is almost nauseating, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the hot chocolate.

Sirius turns at the sound to spot Harry and grins. "Alrighty, kiddo, what do you want to unwrap first? I did go a bit overboard this year, you'll have to forgive me. But there's plenty here from your friends!" He's practically vibrating with excitement.

Harry straightens his back and clears his throat. "Actually, do you mind if you do the opening first?"

Sirius pauses. "Are you sure? I swear mine are quite good."

Harry nods vigorously. "Yes. You can start with mine. It's right on top. The green wrapping." Let's just get this over with, he thinks.

Sirius picks up the package and shakes it gently. It makes no noise, and Harry can't help but let out a chuckle despite the knots in his stomach. Sirius grins at him and begins to carefully unwrap the gift.

Harry's legs suddenly feel like treacle tart filling. He lowers himself onto the couch so he doesn't pass out.

The wrapper paper gently falls to the ground, revealing a mound of knit material. Sirius unravels the pile to reveal a rather lumpy, oversized navy blue sweater with a slightly misshapen black dog woven onto the front.

Sirius doesn't say anything.

Harry's heart drops to his stomach. He opens his mouth, desperate to explain away the situation. "It's uh... it's... erm... it's a sweater? I made it?" As if that wasn't fucking obvious, he internally snarls at himself. He shakes his head, trying to organize his thoughts. "Yes, I, um, I made it. That's uh... that's Padfoot. On the front of it. I knitted it."

Sirius doesn't say anything.

Harry's words start coming out faster and faster, hoping something comes out that remedies this clusterfuck of an event. "Mrs. Weasley helped me. She sent me instructions. And the patterns? That 's why she was sending me so many letters. I didn't know how to do it. They aren't throwing a party for Ron."

Sirius still doesn't say anything.

Oh fuck! Harry thinks wildly. He's probably livid I lied. Oh fuck fuck fuck. "I'm sorry I lied to you! I just wanted it to be a surprise," he manages to get out. "That's why I was ordering so much through owl post. I had to get the yarn and the needles. And I kept having to order more yarn because I kept getting frustrated and messing up a lot. I didn't want you to know. Until now, that is. Obviously."

Sirius. Still. Doesn't. Say. Anything.

Harry wants to crawl into a hole and die. But for some stupid, idiotic reason, he keeps speaking. "I wasn't sure if you'd like the color? I actually realized that I don't know what your favorite color is. But whenever Mrs. Weasley makes one for me or for the Weasley kids, she usually does our favorite color. Or house colors. But I figured you have lots of things in Gryffindor colors? Like your wand holster. And then I noticed that you wear a lot of navy. So I thought that might be nice."

If Sirius doesn't say anything, Harry just might call the Knight Bus so he can step in front of it. He decides to get everything off of his chest before he has to do so.

"Mrs... uh... Mrs. Weasley made me one," he explains softly. "My first year. And every year after that. It means a lot to me. I think it was probably the first gift I ever got. And it kind of made me feel like part of their family? A little bit at least. So... so I wanted to give you one. Not from her, of course. But from me. So you could feel like a part of... our family?" His sentence embarrassingly ends like a question, so he hastily tacks on, "If you want to, of course."

Sirius finally moves, and Harry shuts his mouth. He gently sets the sweater down on the armchair next to him, walks over to where Harry is sitting, and pulls him up into the tightest, fiercest hug Harry has ever experienced.

Neither say anything for a few moments. Until Harry can't deal with not being able to breathe and squeaks out, "Uh? Sirius? I can't really inhale."

Sirius releases him quickly and takes a step back. "Sorry."

Harry feels awkward again. He clears his throat, hoping to fill the silence with something. "I hope you like it. But I know it's not done very well. So I can take it apart if you'd rather that. The shop said they'd take the yarn back as long as it wasn't too worn."

Sirius' head snaps up. "What? Harry, my love, I don't not like it. I love it."

Harry's mouth goes dry. "What?"

Sirius gives him a small smile. His eyes look suspiciously glassy. "Harry. You made this for me. You made this for me! It's my favorite color, and it's got me on it! Of course I love it. Not just because you took the time and the effort to make something for me. Because, my goodness, how do you even start with something like this? It must have taken you ages. But also because, well, you said it yourself. I mean, I already felt like part of the same family with the whole adoption bit and knowing you since you were a baby and whatnot, but it's always nice to know you feel the same. And I'm so honored to be a part of your family. Always will be. You have to know that, alright?" Sirius presses their foreheads together. "Alright?"

Harry nods, feeling a little something catch in his throat. He nods.

"Thank you for my gift," Sirius says softly. "I love it. No talk about talking it apart. I'll be proper mad if you do, you hear me?"

Harry nods again. Sirius releases him. He grabs the sweater from the armchair and pulls it over his head. The hem is uneven and the dog looks more like a cat once the sweater settles on his body, but Sirius only looks down at it and grins.

"Now come on, it's your turn to open presents. I don't think any of mine are as good as a handmade sweater, but I hope you like them anyway. And that's got me thinking, we ought to do a Christmas card no? Especially now that I've got a nice sweater on. Mrs. Weasley might tear up at the sight of a photo of the two us. Come on, come on, pick a present."

Harry rolls his eyes without any real heat behind the action. And he doesn't say anything later when he feels a burst of pride when he sees the photo they take in front of the Christmas tree that afternoon, Sirius wearing the sweater with the biggest, proudest smile Harry has ever seen.

He just bottles the feeling and hopes to remember it forever.

#hi i write sometimes #sirius and harry #sirius black #harry potter #good godfather sirius black #dadfoot #sirius raising harry #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter oneshot

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pianocat939 · 1 year

Note

Maybe it’s me shipping Donnie and Mona (wheres my IDW fans at !) would it be ok to request Yandere 12 Donnie and rise Donnie falling for mutant lizard reader ? (You can chose what type of lizard she can be ~) love to see what u come up with !

I chose Argentine Black and White Tegu bcs I love Tegus so much-

Tw: 2012 Donnie was being dumb about food and spits it out cuz he hates it-, mention of kidnapping, 2012 Donnie becomes delusional at some point-, Rise Donnie tries to control diet (not like proportions but food groups)

2012 Donald

Honestly, the initial development of obsession isn't much different, other than that he'll try to learn everything about your species' biology and behaviours. (DO NOT SEARCH UP B+W TEGU COURTSHIP HABITS)

From there he'll try to woo you using said courtship habits- except the one thing that's cursed.

He doesn't notice this, but he starts decorating things in a black and white pattern- hell- bro might make his newest inventions tegu-themed rather than turtle-themed.

Fun fact: Tegus are one of the more affectionate reptiles. And he will use it to his advantage. If you show him too much friendliness he'll become delusional and think you like him back a bit.

Since Tegus loves meat and fruits, he'll try to eat more meat/fruits to seem like "a worthy dude to date" type shit. Istg you could literally see him eating those foods way more than he usually does all of the sudden.

The biggest thing is he'll try to use your biology to get you to like him while doing his other yan behaviours ofc.

"Hey, Y/n!" Donnie greets, eating a bowl of some food.

"Hey. What are you eating?" They mutter as they lean over a bit to peer down into the bowl. Their tongue flicks in-and-out a bit, expressing that they're comfortable in their current environment.

"Oh haha-" He chuckles confidently, perhaps even cockily, "Just some chicken and mango." He eats another spoonful of the food, trying his absolute best to look cool in front of his crush.

The lizard mutant raises an eyebrow muscle in confusion, "Isn't that...An odd food combination for you?" They notice he grimaces just the slightest bit when the food touches his mouth.

"Nah~ I'm enjoying this a lot! It's the perfect sweet and salty~" Internally he was gagging, he did not like this combination. But he lived with it, all in hopes the Tegu in front of him would seem him as a more appealing guy.

"Ok, whatever you say, dude." They walk off, heading to where Mikey was to see what crazy ideas he was up to.

As soon as they were out of eyesight, Donnie opened his mouth to let the food that was sitting in his mouth be spat out again. "Ugh...I should have picked a better combination..."

——————————————————

Rise Diana

Again not super different in terms of the initial yan development. But, there are a few differences.

I think the biggest thing is when you're shedding. He is more protective and is careful no one disturbs the process (unless if you actually request help). If he's kidnapped you, then he'll force you to soak in a tub that he's made- (nothing weird ofc).

He's also very strict about you eating foods that are strictly similar to your Tegu diet. Sure he makes a few exceptions, but he's pretty pushy about having you eat food groups pertained to your animal part's biology. (Ex. no dairy)

Similar to 2012 Donnie he'll try to do SOME of the courtship things, but only if he's comfortable with them. Because he is not as desperate as 2012 Donnie is. (Sorry I had to say it) But- he will try his own methods more to get you to like him.

His favourite thing to do is give you small little metalwork gifts with a Tegu theme. And perhaps a turtle and Tegu with hearts around them.

Overall, much tamer in terms of differences compared to 2012 Donnie. He's just strict about following your biology make-up (without it being too weird to the human world ofc. You're not completely feral lmao)

Donnie was in his lab, creating a gift for his beloved with his metalwork skills. He was currently creating a small key chain, with a tegu and turtle sitting by side with a big heart above them as a charm for the key chain. He did the metalwork, and he could probably paint it himself, but he wanted it to be perfect, so he'll ask his brother, Mikey to do it for him.

"Hm...The shape is still not satisfactory." He mumbles to himself as he tweaks the shape of the turtle's head. This was a gift for his dear, and he ensured himself he needed it to be perfect, and that's what he'll serve.

He could already imagine their little tongue flicking in joy when he presents it to them. As his work was nothing short but absolute perfection. He always found their tongue-flicking adorable, not that he would outwardly admit it though.

"Dearest love of mine, I hope you love my admiration for you." He whispers to himself, trying to hype himself up for the time he would gift them the key chain.

And what more couldn't be cuter than a reptile couple?

——————————————————

Yay- I got this done under an hour-

I heart B+W Tegus so much.

- Celina

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere rottmnt #yandere tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt #rottmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2018 #tmnt 2012 #yandere tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2012 x reader #2k12 Donnie #rise donnie #donnie x reader

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bunglegaydogs · 9 months

Text

skk dynamics!

I just want to talk about Soukoku so that is precisely what I'm going to do ^^

As per, this post has no specific or planned direction, I'm just gonna see where it takes me lol.

It genuinely irks me to see the rampant mischaracterisation within the fandom pertaining to not only just Soukoku, but several other characters as well. Ranpo, Akutagawa, Kunikida, etc. It might just be my dumb little screaming brain being scared of something that's not supposed to be in my head, or hell, something that's in the BACK of my mind, and I know that makes no sense but it does to me xoxo

I just really treasure the dynamic between Dazai and Chuuya and I get frightened that when I think somebody is mischaracterising them, I'm the only one that thinks that and that I'm just perceiving them wrong. Which genuinely is the one thing I never wish to do; when I write fics, my number one goal is to make the characters as true to life as possible. I try my damndest to do justice to their characters, and based off of the lovely people that read it and comment, I'm doing something right, surprisingly.

The characterisation of Dazai and Chuuya specifically is something so important to me because I relate to the both of them the most out of any of my interests. And I have a LOT of interests.

I don't know why or how, but they came to be my absolute favourite characters over all other fandoms and shows and games and films I enjoyed. (I'm excluding the Marauders fandom here, because I also love Remus and Sirius exactly like this). I piss myself off with it sometimes, because I accidentally base all of my creative outlets off of Soukoku, and lo and behold, I have about 30 unfinished ideas/fics after one night of ruminating over these motherfuckers.

Anyways. Like I said, this post has no point, it's just my incoherent, incessant rambling that if I don't write down, will slowly eat away at me until I die ^^

So, I guess, without further ado, I'm just gonna get going?

LMAO

Anyways,

Soukoku's dynamic has always been interesting. We were introduced to them first (as a pair) as enemies; ex-partners, rivals, loathing each other. But, when we slowly got to see more of their relationship, more of their past, more of their dynamic, quite a lot of us slowly came to realise; oh shit. There's more to them here.

The two of these together aren't just black-and-white characters. Dazai is not inherently good just because he works for the ADA. Chuuya is not inherently bad just because he works for the PM. They are morally grey characters. They've killed people, tortured people, stolen, beaten, attacked, hurt, all that good stuff that comes with being in the Mafia (nevermind fucking Mafia executives). Something that a lot of people seem to forget is where to draw the line between these two organisations; if the ADA is harbouring two fugitives that are ex-mafia, one of them being an executive, another fugitive that terrorised the streets of Japan as a man-eating tiger, and is run by an ex-assassin who was close with the current leader of the Port Mafia, who's to say that they're the good guys? Who is the one to define the evil and the light?

Nobody.

There are no sides.

The Port Mafia aren't the bad guys, and the Agency aren't the good guys. They're both doing their morally grey jobs with their morally grey cast of characters.

Yes, on a base level, the ADA are supposed to be the good guys, whereas the Mafia are the bad. It's a narrow-minded way of thinking and looking at the series, but on a surface level, yes, that seems to be the case.

However, we have layers to this. We know how morally grey these characters are, good or bad. Take Tanizaki, for example, and his way of going about it when Naomi is threatened. He knows he's morally grey. He knows he's not one of the good guys. None of them are! They save people, and that makes them good. But it doesn't make them the good guys. I'm not calling them bad people, of course not. I'm just saying, in the wise words of a post I once read months back, 'Maturing is realising that neither the Port Mafia or the ADA are the good or bad guys'. Something along those lines.

ANYWAYS, I've written this much already and still haven't spoken about SKK.

My point here was their good apple/bad apple dynamic. Dazai is from the same place Chuuya is at, the Mafia. So, by calling Dazai a 'bad guy' you're indirectly also calling Chuuya a bad guy. You're calling Hirotsu a bad guy. You're calling Akutagawa a bad guy. You're calling Higuchi a bad guy. You're calling all of these Mafia members the bad guys; when that's not strictly true. Morally grey characters, yet not monsters. Not bloodthirsty, demonic, evil motherfuckers. They're in the Mafia; not a good start, of course. But again, this does not make them bad people. Actions don't define the person you make yourself out to be, if that makes any sense. Just because a bad person did one good thing one time does not necessarily make them a good person. But if they strive to become a better one by constantly doing good and making active efforts to change their ways, then they're well on their way to earning that title, or coming close to it. Just because someone good did a bad thing one time does not automatically make them a bad person. They're not awful for making one bad choice, depending on the severity and their actions after the choice. Because it can go both ways; strive to be a better person, or fall to be a bad one.

ANYWAYS.

SOUKOKU.

I LOVE SOUKOKU.

So, I'm actually going to talk about them instead of fucking RABITTING ON FOR HOWEVER LONG.

Anyways.

Soukoku is special to me. I relate to the both of them the most. I recognise the flaws in each of them, and I recognise the good. I recognise the changes they're willing to put themselves through for the sake of the greater good, and I recognise the struggles they've been through to get there. I see myself in them, and so I can't help but latch onto them and want to keep them for myself. My subconscious wants to protect them and make them happy and becomes unhealthily attached to these fictional characters.

Anyways.

Soukoku dynamics. Right.

One of my favourite dynamics about Soukoku is the childlike behaviour they exhibit with one another. Even after seven years and they still bicker like they did at 15. I've said it a thousand times before and I'll fucking say it again; they let each other be the children that they never got to be. They let loose with one another. They unwind. They relax. They recognise their similarities (much to Chuuya's chagrin and unwavering denial) and each other's differences. Where there is hate, there is love and trust. It's buried deep. But it's there. The two of them have their walls put high up. They guard themselves well. They keep their shit inside. They let not another soul see what goes on in their hearts. So, with their crying children stuck inside of them and locked down, they let them out around each other. By simply being with each other at any given moment, they're healing their inner children, and allowing them to breathe.

Each moment with Soukoku is so delicate. It feels intrusive to watch their intimate scenes. It feels like such a beautiful moment, so precious to watch and so delicate to touch. The intimate scenes with the two of these are either emotionally charged, blazing, action-packed and full of chaos, or quiet and serene. Tranquil. It's never really neutral ground for them. It's either chaos or serenity, just a calm moment between the two of them, away from the rest of the world and taking (unknowing) comfort in each other's presence.

It's the small smiles from Dazai when Chuuya isn't looking. It's the words and actions with hidden meanings exchanged between them. It's the concern when one of them gets hurt, or is stuck in an unprecedented situation. It's the unfaltering trust and loyalty between each other that pushes them forward, even if it kills them, or seems fruitless. It's the determination that sits in the both of them to protect those that they care about, and put the world above all else for just a moment.

Small, knowing glances. Inside jokes. Petulant, playful bickering. Concerned thoughts. Constant thoughts.

I find it hard to believe that nobody else finds Dazai and Chuuya suspicious; they're hardly discreet about how much they think about each other. Example number one:

Chuuya is drunk with Hirotsu and Kajii. On a whim, he decides to go on a rant about Dazai. Hirotsu and Kajii are apparently sick of it; he does this a lot. He decides, impulsively, to ring Dazai's phone. Dazai picks up the fucking phone. Hirotsu answers, Dazai's like 'Oh, hey, yeah this is my old phone.' Blatantly lies to the motherfucker, because Dazai, honey, you're at home reading; what have you got your old phone from seven years ago next to you, working, and on for? Chuuya wants to speak with him. Gets angry when he can't talk to him to shout at him and complain. Keeps trying to call him back in anger.

Now, if I do say so myself, that's pretty suspicious of them.

Example two:

Dazai in fucking general. He does not shut the fuck up about Chuuya. He tells everyone he meets about how much he spends thinking about Chuuya (everyone except the Agency ahem). He's fucking gay.

That also brings me on to another point. Dazai rarely speaks about Chuuya with the ADA; I'm not too sure I've ever seen him say anything about him to them, except in Wan and the like. (I'm dumb tho tbf). However, upon Yosano figuring out Chuuya's identity, his first reaction is "Goddamn it, Dazai told them". Not that he's a widely known gravity manipulator and its not fucking hard to figure it out, plus the fact that he's a Mafia executive, PLUS the fact that they're a detective Agency? His first impulse is to blame Dazai lmao. Anyways.

You can ignore the first half of that paragraph I was just chatting mad wham.

Anyways.

I just enjoy how peaceful and serene the intimate moments between Soukoku can be. Even the world around them is falling apart, it still somehow feels so beautiful, real, raw, and personal. When Dazai is watching Chuuya fight in storm bringer, it feels so quiet. All hell is breaking loose, yet Dazai is so breathtaken by Chuuya that we feel as if we're interrupting. I don't know why but all I picture upon imagining that scene is a very quiet scene, just for a few seconds, of no music or anything, and white. Just the colour white in as many places as possible. A softness to the screen. I don't know. It just feels like that to me and I can't explain it.

Soukoku's dynamics are so important, because when people mischaracterise both Dazai and Chuuya and then smush that together it creates an abomination of what was supposed to be beautiful and ruins the relationship they really have, muddying their name. Their relationship is special. It's so much more than hate.

Hate is also a crucial part of their relationship, however. And a lot of us Soukoku shippers tend to forget that. We're so blinded by how much we want them to admire and adore each other that we forget how much they do despise one another. And I've mentioned this before in another post.

Their hate is real. It's not a ruse, it's the real deal. They genuinely do hate one another; but that hate is filled with so much more than downright disgust. That hate is filled with the trust of their bond, seven years of partnership, love, and so many unspoken things between the two of them.

Chuuya hates Dazai because he hates himself. He refuses to let himself see the similarities between him and Dazai, because he could never be like him. Chuuya often struggles with his identity and who he is and just how human he is. He didn't know until he was 16 whether he was a real human or not. And so, upon meeting this other human at 15 who craves death and wants to just throw away this human life that he's been given? That's a hard no for Chuuya. He resents Dazai for being so willing to give up his life so carelessly, so easily. He'd do anything at that point to realise just how human he was, to prove his humanity to others and to show his compassion and human qualities. And he stumbles across this stone-cold, suicidal kid who wants to let go of all of that, sees no point in trying to even be human, and who is lacking empathy for other human lives. Chuuya disgusts and loathes that. So, he wants nothing to do with him. Does not want to be attached to him in any way shape or form. Refuses to acknowledge their similarities. So, when he's being tortured, and the first thing he hallucinates is Dazai? It preys on his insecurities and deepest fears. He fears that he's not at all a human, and he fears that he is like Dazai, an unfeeling, indifferent, seemingly heartless boy who wishes to give up on the world, who wishes he was never born, who wishes nothing more than to be granted that sweet release of death.

I can't articulate very well, so for that I do apologise! But yeah, this has always been an important scene for me. In his moment of weakness, Chuuya hallucinated the person that he wanted to see the least, first. He hallucinated Dazai before his freshly dead friends, etc. And claims that, whilst he's being tortured, after Verlaine has killed the people closest to him, that he hates him the most out of anyone in the world. A lot of people said that this was an overreaction; respectfully, shut the fuck up ^^ My boy was being tortured, give him some leeway, yeah?

Anyway.

It just goes to show how deep those roots of self-hatred go within Chuuya; it seems him and Dazai have something more in common than originally thought.

Now, I don't actually have a complete grasp on the reason why Dazai hates Chuuya so much. Because, he doesn't hate him as much as Chuuya hates him, or as much as he makes it out to be. Dazai is an eccentric bastard, dramatising things for the sake of stirring up trouble. He overexaggerates for a variety of reasons, one of those being to conceal any emotion he IS feeling. He makes a big song and dance out of the little things to try and forget about the big things. To not think. Dazai is not numb by nature. He's numb by conditioning. He has conditioned himself to feel nothing, to be cold and logical and rational. Mori, of course, only exemplified these traits, making him colder and more calculated than ever/before. So, my blind guess is that he holds a sort of resentment to Chuuya for being able to be more normal than he is, for wanting to live and not seeing the world as a boring, pointless place. But, he also wants Chuuya to thrive as a human, to be able to live his life knowing and being sure of his humanity. And, when it's only him and Verlaine, he grows quite... emotional (trust me, it's not a lot but that's the only word I can think of) when talking about his humanity. That, Chuuya has to be a human. Because how could he hate someone so much? He has to be a human, because if he wasn't he would like Dazai more.

I think Dazais "issue" (I CAN'T THINK OF WORDS RIGHT NOW LMAO) is that he just wants Chuuya to like him. Maybe he wants a friend. Maybe there's something else to it. But, Dazai has always had strong... feelings, towards Chuuya. "Jokingly" telling him he loves him. Getting awfully close when he doesn't need to, and never does with anyone else. Yeah, you're not fooling anybody hun. Makes many romantic comments that could be passed off as something else entirely about him. Showing active concern for him. Caring for him. Thinking about him. He shows a lot more attention to Chuuya than he gets in return; by that I mean speaks about it more. Is a lot more verbal than Chuuya is.

GAHHHH sorry sorry I just have too much to say and don't know when to SHUT THE FUCK UP but I have SO MUCH more to say, but I'm going to be going off and writing my shitty little fics that should've been written yonks ago <3

have a lovely day/night! ^^

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd analysis #kind of #skk #soukoku #double black #dazai #chuuya #osamu dazai #nakahara chuuya #anime #manga #novel #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #fifteen #stormbringer #bro im sorry

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fandomsnstuff · 7 months

Text

This is based off a post i saw truly forever ago about a concept pertaining to magic and spell slots.

@taznovembercelebration

Day 5: ow!/meow

Lup and Magnus are in a bind. He's hurt, she's out of spell slots, it's time for something drastic.

Read it on AO3

In hindsight, they probably should've left the cave as soon as they heard the heavy breathing. Then they should've left when they saw the massive sleeping creature. But if there's one thing Lup and Magnus are going to be, it's dumb and brave. Now, they're getting chased deeper into the cave by a goddamn building-sized tiger.

They tried to stand their ground and fight it, but it got some really good hits on Magnus, and Lup's only got so many hit points. So they ran. They're hoping for a way out, or a wide spot where they can loop around back to the entrance, but the cave only seems to get deeper and darker.

She's used all her slots shooting spells behind her as she ran, and the creature's definitely slowed down, but not enough. She can hear Magnus's laboured breathing beside her, and she knows he's slowing down too. The beast swiped him right in the chest earlier, knocking the wind out of him and at least bruising a few ribs. This needs to end, ideally without them dying.

She has an idea. A really stupid idea that she's not even sure will work and for sure guarantee her immediate capture and death if it doesn't work, thereby guaranteeing Magnus's death because he'd never leave a friend behind. But she's read the books, heard the testimonies, it is possible.

She tries to level her breathing as best she can, and wills forward as much magic as possible. It makes her skin tingle and her vision swim. She can feel it collecting at her fingertips, but she doesn't let it go yet. This needs to be big. She takes another deep breath and ignores the heat she can feel radiating off of her. Her hands feel like there's countless needles pricking her palms. The heat grows, and she knows it's now or never. She plants her feet and whirls around to face the beast, her hands outstretched. A column of white hot flame bursts from her palms and engulfs it. Lup screams with the roar of the flames, and the beast yowls as it's reduced to ash.

When the flames die down, Lup collapses to her hands and knees. She feels like there's live wires running through her blood vessels. She's trembling, she feels sick, and black spots float through her vision. She squeezes her eyes shut to try and counteract the pounding in her head.

"-ly shit, Lup!" Magnus's voice comes into focus. "I thought you were out of slots."

"I was," she chokes out.

"Then how-"

"Magnus," she pleads.

"Right, let's get you out of here. Can you walk?"

She reaches an arm out for him to help her up, and she struggles slowly to her feet. She leans heavily against him and begins her stumble back towards the cave entrance, but her head is spinning in fifteen different directions, and her skin is tingling all over. It feels like it's been an eternity when Magnus says, "um, maybe it'd be better if I carried you back to the ship. We'll get there faster."

"You're injured."

"Not as badly as you are. I'll be fine."

She lets him scoop her up into his arms, and he takes off in a jog through the cave. When they emerge back in the wilderness, the sun is blinding. It turns the dull pounding behind her eyes into a searing headache. She groans and buries her face in Magnus's neck to try and block it out.

Her ears are ringing by the time they make it back to the ship. Magnus explains what happened, and after some incredulity from Taako, they get her set up in bed with all the lights off and a cool cloth over her eyes. "You're stupid," Taako says as he tucks her in, "you could've died."

"But I didn't."

"But you could have."

"Um," Magnus says from somewhere farther back, "I'm still confused about what even happened."

Taako tuts. "You channel magic through yourself. The whole point of levels and spell slots is to make sure you don't burn yourself up. A higher level spell takes more magic to cast, so a brand new wizard would probably destroy themselves trying to cast it, and a more experienced one can do it once or twice and be fine. You can still cast a leveled spell when you're out of slots, but you're going to fucking pay for it because you're channeling more magic than your body can handle. Isn't that right, Lup?"

"I love you too, Taako," she deadpans.

#taz fic #taz #lup #magnus burnsides #taako #it feels silly putting 700 words on ao3 in its own fic but ive comitted to this format this year so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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corvidcrybaby · 1 month

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A bit random but Alucard strikes me as the type to be like, “if I cannot have your love, I will settle for you hate” as long as his ‘person’ feels something towards him, he is satisfied. I think being and showing indifference towards him will make him either amused or pissed off. And yes this mostly stems from my belief that Alucard could be technically canonized as a Yandere.

Hmmmmm. I think I'm of two minds about this one, personally. On the one hand, I do agree with the statement given in quotes here as being representative of a sentiment Alucard might carry. Alucard likes to see people at their most intense and unfiltered, and as such I think he'd just get a real kick out of someone's visceral hatred for him simply because he'd respect the willingness to own up to how strong one's feelings are towards him.

This supports some of the ideas, in truth - I think he definitely would prefer to know what someone's true colors are, and subsequently, would not be fond of indifference. It's actually something that I play around with in my OC, Zemira's fics with him. Much of the groundwork for their initial acquaintanceship was Zemira confidently snarking at him in language just abrasive enough to be identifiable as "giving him shit," but just cagey enough to seem chummy, affable and unphased. Beneath this were very legitimate, complicated feelings that the trooper was grappling with, and it was her attempt to project an image of being untouchable and unshaken by the Count; someone who most sensible people quaked in their boots at and didn't hide for a second. But Zemira tried to act relaxed and tough at the same time, in her own way.

And ohoho, Alucard zeroed in on that like a heat-seeking missile. IMO it's actually the worst possible thing you can do around him if your objective is avoiding him. It's like a knee-jerk reaction. You put a puzzle in front of him, he compulsively has to solve it.

Having said this, I think it segues into why I think that if he is a yandere, he's a very esoteric and passive sort of yandere. I think if you show him indifference, he's most likely to simply think of you as another stupid or oblivious human. You're not reacting strongly to him? You're either dumb, or hiding the fact that you're dumb. All he has to do is spook you a little bit, and get you to scramble off in fear. Then he'd have a chuckle, and move on, washing his hands of you.

While I think Alucard is definitely fascinated by human emotions and does place great value on them as pertains to one's willpower and strength of character, I don't think he'd take other peoples' feelings so personally. That strikes me as a little too sensitive for him. Alucard sometimes has a hair-trigger temper, yes - such as when he blows up at Seras - but it is almost in relation to something that is directly associated with a primary objective of his. I've always felt that him yelling at Seras was not him being personally insulted that Seras objected to killing humans, and moreso that he was deeply alarmed by the idea of his Fledgling - his responsibility, as ordained by Integra - not taking a life-or-death situation seriously enough, and potentially endangering herself by being squeamish about who she turned her guns on.

And when he figured out that she was just confused and frightened and looking to him for comfort and guidance, he immediately pivoted. The emotionally unkind thing here is that he doesn't apologize or try to acknowledge his own failure to communicate the situation to Seras clearly. He just switches gears on a dime, and opts to showcase understanding by dropping the subject and changing up his attitude rather than explaining where Seras is misunderstanding.

TL;DR - while I think some of his thought patterns are very yandere-esque, I think Alucard is only going to get to that obsessive, reactive state if he is already in a high-stress, high-stakes situation where his emotions are running very, very hot. Beyond that, I think he's a bit too absent and a bit too unbothered by and uninterested in most people in the long run.

#hellsing #hellsing fandom #hellsing fanfiction #hellsing ultimate #alucard #ask box #thank you for the ask!!!! i love answering these lol #they get my writing skills back in order

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queermania · 9 months

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by and large i think it's dumb to say you can't talk/write about something you have no experience with but i think the exception is addiction (including alcoholism) as it pertains to the characters of supernatural. so many of you are so gross about it and also seem to be getting your ideas from either an after school psa or the church and you should stop saying things altogether for everyone's benefit.

#wank for ts #mp

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fukae-flwr · 4 months

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They weren't Friends

*Reminder! This scene came before the fic was written, and I dont wanna change it, so keep that in mind.*

“And finally, this is the study. Everything pertaining to Anne is here.” Edith led the two men into the small room filled with books and loose pieces of paper. It was spacious for how occupied it was. She had clippings from the daily prophet that made mention of dark wizard activities, letters received by Anne, and some from those claiming to be allies to the Masked Wizard. Anything that could give her any idea who took Anne and where.

She made sure anything to do with her side "projects” were relocated to her private quarters. She was still unsure if getting them involved was wise and much less trusting that they wouldn't just turn her in once she let her guard down. The days of being inseparable were long since past. Now they were just reunited strangers.

“And you thought I was messy, Ominis.” Sebastian knelt to pick up a few letters closest to him. She watched him study it intently. One was an old letter from Anne, simply talking about how she was faring at the time along with mentioning the boys being accepted as auroras. The other was a response to a letter from an overly familiar dark wizard known for dealing in information. One of the few who was aware of the Masked Wizard’s identity.

“I stand by that sentiment. Edith must've picked up your nasty habits from years back,” Ominis carefully avoided stepping on any letters. He was more focused on paper clippings on the desk—those focused on Sebastian and Ominis, the infamous Aurora Duo.

“I like to think..”

“I seriously doubt that.” Ominis quipped

“...of it as chaotically organized.” Sebastian finished shooting Ominis a pointed glance.

“Call it whatever you'd like, it's still a mess.”

Edith had to turn to an old letter from Anne as a distraction. Never had Edith fought so hard to prevent herself from laughing. Unfortunately, she was failing that battle pitifully, as a soft breathy chuckle slipped out from her. Unknowingly, her quiet laughter did not fall on deaf ears.

“You two haven't changed,” Edith mumbled once she felt confident enough to talk without laughing. Though she couldn't help the grin from forming.

“Still fighting like an old married couple per usual.”

“I’m beginning to see a pattern with these over here. A fan?” Ominis grinned in her direction. Edith just crossed her arms as she returned his smug smirk with one of her own.

“Hilarious. Just keeping tabs on the fools dumb enough to think they can catch the Masked Wizard.” Edith stated as she crossed the threshold to pick up the latest Daily Prophet paper on the desk. Leaning on the desk next to Ominis, she turned the folded paper toward them to emphasize her point.

“The papers just can’t seem to get enough of you two. Makes staying two steps ahead quite easy.” Her wicked smile plastered proudly on her face, as she noticed Sebastian glancing at the bolded headline reading “Ministry’s Deadly Duo”. They had made quite the name for themselves recently, and the papers ate it up. Clearly not much was happening in Wizarding World if they were so focused on the two of them. She even found the Masked Wizard making an appearance in the papers, much to her dislike.

“And yet we still managed to catch you, didn’t we?” Sebastian rose from the ground and moved towards Edith confidently. Before he could get too close, she jabbed him in the chest with the paper, keeping him away.

“Please. If my attention hadn’t been so divided due to Anne’s disappearance, you would’ve never caught me off guard. Even back then, you couldn’t beat me in a duel in Defence Against the Dark Arts class.” Edith reminded him.

“Sebastian, perhaps, but I recall you having quite a difficult time against me, Edith,” Ominis recalled as he towered over her. Both of them exceeded her height dramatically. They were close enough for her senses to be filled with just them. It was so familiar and yet so much different than before. It tightened her chest as it reminded her how they were no longer boys, and very much fully grown men now. They could so easily physically overpower her and it terrified her how much that appealed to her. Suddenly feeling trapped with a pounding heart and heated in the face, she pushed through the both of them to escape.

“Right… well I’ve improved my skills since Hogwarts,” Now a safe distance away, she felt her composure return to her, though the heat in her face lingered. Taking the exact spot she once stood in, Sebastian turned towards her arms crossed and leaning on the desk as well, mimicking the pose she once had.

“As have I,” He challenged.

“We shall see.” She glanced at the brunette. She couldn’t deny how much she missed their banter. It was much more tense now, for obvious reasons, but it was nice to have them back, even if it was only temporary. Once Anne was secured, things would have to go back to the way they were right? She still had unfinished business and they would have to return to hunting her for their precious Ministry. This peace wasn’t going to last, but she could enjoy it at least.

“So for sleeping arrangements, there’s only one extra spare guestroom for now. But I can conjure up a second…” Edith started but was quickly interrupted by Sebastian.

“No need. Ominis and I share a room anyway. The one room will be fine.” He said so casually as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Of course, they’d share a room; she doubted they’d risk being separated in an alleged criminal’s house, no matter who she was.

“...I guess I can conjure another bed then?” Edith raised a brow in Ominis’s direction confused by his sudden modest demeanor. Was..he embarrassed? What for?

“By all means but chances are I’ll just end up in bed with Ominis.”

“Sebastian! For Merlin’s sake do you have no decency?!” Ominis sighed, dropping the papers he had to cover his burning face. She could see the tips of his ears were bright red.

Oh.

“You two are…courting?” Edith questioned. Part of her wasn’t surprised. Not with the way they used to treat each other. When Edith went to Hogwarts, before everything, she saw how inseparable they were. Wherever Ominis was, there was Sebastian, and vice versa. But the key word there is “before everything”. After their fifth year, Ominis refused to talk to Sebastian for almost their whole 6th year. When their 7th year came about, Ominis finally began to forgive Sebastian and started talking to him once more, after much convincing on Edith’s part.

“Yea. Problem?” Sebastian eyed her, studying her a little too cautiously for comfort. She wasn’t a bigot. Love was love. She had seen it time before. That wasn’t it.

“No. Just surprised is all.” Edith stated. There was another part of her that tightened with hearing it. A disgusting part of her that reared its ugly head inside. She was jealous and she hated it. She should’ve just been happy for him. Sebastian finally found something good, and Ominis hadn’t lost the one he feared he would. She did what she did to protect them and the price was she wasn’t there, so there was no point in her feeling jealous.

“I’m glad to see you two worked out your issues in my absence. I feared you’d stopped talking to each other just like 6th year all over again,” Edith sighed, looking at the letters Anne had sent about them. She never mentioned this, then again Edith feared to ask.

“Well, he stayed around so we could work through it. Didn’t take off and disappear out of nowhere.” Sebastian commented pointedly. Edith froze, feeling the sharpness of his words stabbing her. The fact it hurt so much alerted her how relaxed she had unintentionally gotten with them. As if cold water had just been splashed on her, she felt awake. Taking in a quiet yet deep breath, she straightened her posture to meet Sebastian's dark glare with her own practiced blank stare.

They weren’t friends. They were just temporary allies. Nothing more.

“Sebastian..” Ominis warned darkly, but Edith cut him off. Her tone must’ve caught his attention because now he was focused on her, those beautiful blue eyes staring in her direction but she refused to back down from Sebatian’s stare.

“It’s alright, Ominis. He’s not wrong.” Edith smirked at him, despite baring no merit to it. It seemed to tick him off even more, as his eyes narrowed at her.

“Choose whoever you’d like to seek companionship in, the only thing that matters is finding Anne.” Edith didn’t mean for her words to come out with so much venom, but what did it matter anyway? There was no point in attempting to be anything more.

Edith quickly turned on her heels and marched to the door. As she reached for the door she heard Ominis beginning to call to her name but she once again cut him off. Too afraid to stay any longer, not when Sebatian’s eyes held so much anger and hatred towards her. She couldn’t bear to see or hear it from Ominis too. Not at this moment.

“If you need anything else, Penny will assist you. Goodnight.” And with that she exited the room, making sure to close the door behind her.

HEHEHEHEEHEEHEHE Originally I was just making a sketch to show off Edith's new look cus i absolutely love that hair style for her but then I got some angsty short fic and well, here you go! I already have a really nice steamy art piece drawn for you guys Im just writing the fic to go with it now sooo keep a look out. Im very proud of both pieces so I hope you like it!! Try not to hate Edith too much. I promise Im working hard to not make her unbearable but she did make some choices that upset the boys like disappearing

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arrozaurus · 2 years

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Hello, hope you're somewhat well. I was wondering if you could possibly explain what the whole deal with bismuth and rose was. To explain, I am confused on why exactly bismuth was wrong with her idea about killing the the diamonds and rose's later response. I remember reading somewhere that the reason that bismuth was wrong with her plans was because a) the diamonds are just too powerful and b) it wouldn't really fix/help anything because the system would still be in place (you'd just have dead dictators). Is that correct? And so why did rose later on do somewhat of what bismuth wanted if she (assuming here) knew it wouldn't work? Pink would be dead, but the system not at all dismantled. Please explain as if you were speaking to a really dumb person (me)

Thanks for this question. I know it's been sitting for a while in the inbox but I didn't forget, I just think that I should leave this macerate... because? that's a complicated question??? you're not dumb at all.

I think that you're conflating perspectives here: what the story is trying to tell, morally, with how the characters feel and do and where they morally position themselves regardless of the story. The first corresponds with your first question: why Bismuth's plan was wrong (in the sense that it was flawed, not necessarily inmoral--though it is). And the second question corresponds with what pertains the characters inside the narrative.

Objectively, Bismuth's plan was not going to be succesful, and it would've been a mistake in the future. We know this because... Rose went in with the idea, she carried it out. She killed Pink Diamond and it changed nothing about the situation. Homeworld's status quo, its hierarchy and its system, remained unchanged, but moreso it created an earthquake, a trauma, on the landscape that reverberated back on the crystal gems.

I want to say that this is normal. It's a plan that is blotchy, messy and runs on a very emotionally charged motivation. Bismuth was right on feeling this way, these emotions are admirable and also very valid. But having the right feelings does not mean that things are going to go the way you expect and the way you want to.

Let's look at what the story says about this: Steven Universe is a medium that sits on the belief that justice must be restorative in order to be justice. Punishment, vengeance, other contemptious actions are always unwarranted under this principle, because they're not considered useful to actually amend the hurtful situation and are in fact almost always counter productive to mitigating the injustice. Hurts keeps going because we keep hurting each other back.

There are several examples were this statement particularly stands out in the show, most notably Steven in Homeworld Bound when he shows resentment towards the Diamonds, perceiving injustice for the trauma they directly caused on him and feeling vengeful at this injustice. This is portrayed as wrong. It's okay to have feelings on the matter but if you want to kill someone that is actually already trying to fix their wrongdoings, the story says, you're the one that is going too far and the one that needs help.

Bismuth is another example because she also has resentment towards the Diamonds (for a completely good reason!) and wants to revenge her friends and free everyone by getting rid of the only thing that seems to be perpetuating that. While the way Rose acted is unfair and kind of cruel? , Bismuth's plan is never warranted by the story because it collides with this principle of restorative justice.

Parenthesis, part of the reason Bismuth hates the Diamonds so much is that she's been swallowing everything Rose had been saying about them. Rose comes from a place of self hate and she's particularly harsh on Pink Diamond when she talks about them with the CGs. We could talk about how she uses this to cope with her own inner critic and to find what feels to her like an honest response to her inexcusable behavior, but maybe not here.

Moving on to why Rose follows through despite disagreeing with that plan... I think she doesn't, necessarily, disagree on the plan of Killing Pink Diamond. I think that's a possibility although we cannot know for sure. What she's definitely against is the weapon. She doesn't think it's right. And I think it makes perfect sense when you think about her background and her feelings on the matter of destruction: she has the core belief that her nature is inherently destructive and she's deeply ashamed of it, she wishes to make it disappear, to not reproduce that destructive nature ever again.

There is some complex trauma around it that gets triggered when Bismuth shows her the breaking point. She had swore to never hurt anyone ever again but here it is the most Crystal Gem of all telling her that she created a weapon of (at the time) irreversible destruction... As irreversible as Volley's scar. How is she not going to feel responsible for this, after all she created the Crystal Gems, and how is she not going to feel contempt at someone who wants and seeks to do something like this to someone else?

Who says they wouldn't use this weapon against any other gems too? I don't know, I think Rose simply didn't want to get more gems hurt so horribly. Which is not incompatible with killing "herself".

One thing is that Rose is not aware of the impact this action will have when she decides to go through with it. She's under the impression that she's utterly irrelevant and that no one on Homeworld will miss her if she were to be gone (and I don't think she can truly believe it even after that, since she does it a second time).

I think that the major catalyst to this decision for sure was what Blue told her in Can't Go Back. Immediately, she believes the words, fixates on them. Earth will be a colony for as long as she's there to rule. And materializes the idea in her mind. For as long as she's there. If she's not Pink Diamond anymore, if she gives up her status and kills this part of herself, Earth will be free and the war will end. And everyone will be free. She will be free.

With this comes the second and last realization, Rose’s goals killing Pink Diamond were never about dismantling the system. Not because she's conservative, that'd be absurd, it's just that she simply does not believe that she's capable of that at all (out of feelings of powerlessness). She thinks reedeeming the system is impossible, and therefore the only solution is to escape the system and create a new solar punk anarchist utopia outside of it.

#i hope this makes sense im throwing some new ideas with this ask #i have already talked about it and everytime its a different perspective or interpretation nsjcjfjkfkf #its really cool how much you can discuss this it has really interesting ramifications #pink diamond #rose quartz

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