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lottiecrabie · 14 days

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you know how lorde brought jack out at one of her shows and he played the guitar while she sang and they were very touchy feely and just gazing at each other the entire time? imagine a blurb like that on gto readers tour when her and matty are just friends now but there is still definitely underlying tension the entire time

i Know where this blurb idea came from I see you🫵

the screams rain over you, a torrential wave of love that you can’t help grinning at. you sit there, legs hanging off the stage, gripping your mic in silent awe. the world ripples in front of you, bodies of people — real, tangible, knowledgeable of your lyrics better than you sometimes — face you. the room seems larger, like entire cities could fit between these walls, like everyone you’ve ever known could be smiling back at you.

you use the energy like fuel. pretend your heart isn’t racing up your throat as you tilt up the mic. ‘i have a surprise for you guys,’ you say, teasing, confessional. another wave of screams, delighted in just being special. you laugh. ‘there’s a really special person here tonight. the producer of this album, my dear friend—‘ you barely need to let the name out, high-pitched cries already drowning it out, but still; ‘matty healy!’

he comes from backstage and he cracks the world open. stagelight transforms in soft sun rays, shining over your head until sweat pearls your forehead. strawberry ice cream lingers on your tongue. the faint smell of cigarette comes through, burning in the heat. he’s summer, even in the thick of this december month. you have to blink away, blind.

there’s a part of you way that will always be in august, and it throbs when he’s around you.

matty sits down beside you, offered a guitar by some worker. he waves to the crowd, working his charm easily. you have no sun to blame this flush on. you hope the stage makeup hides it, stop yourself from pressing the cold microphone to your cheeks and draw attention to it.

‘hello,’ you say. ‘not too tired?’

‘never,’ he answers, though it’s lost to the ears of the crowd, micless that he is.

‘i warmed the crowd up for you.’

‘you’re—‘ you aim the mic his way, graciously allowing the public into this moment, ‘—too sweet.’ you want to laugh. your chest tightens, in the habitual ways it still hasn’t learned not to.

something in you is angry that he’d dare say it here, in front of anyone, in front of everyone. not because he’s sharing anything personal, anything momental; because he’s not. to him, too sweet is any other phrase, and you’re left reeling from the slap he doesn’t know he gave.

‘we made pygmalion two summers ago, in this very city,’ you say conversationally, addressing the crowd. ‘i lived here for four months and so, forever, london will be the intrinsic pygmalion city. i don’t think i can walk any street without being washed with it.’

‘i live here and there’s still places i can’t visit without being reminded of pygmalion,’ matty says in the cadence of a joke. you chuckle for him, ever gracious.

‘there’s still wines i can’t drink,’ you attempt to volley back, but it starts feeling a little too raw, a little too real. you get the uncomfortable impression of being under a microscope, and you clutch the microphone with the need to swallow it all back.

matty steals the mic from your hands, eyes wrinkling with mirth. ‘this one used to say she didn’t like red wine.’

you roll your eyes, taking it back. ‘yes, well, i just—‘

again, matty’s fingers brush yours, angling the mic back to him. ‘—never drank the correct sort, yes, i told you so.’

‘stop taking my mic!’ you laugh, giving a look to the public as you gesture to him. ‘it’s a wonder we finished any song with all of this.’ you sit up straighter, attempting to put the show back on track. ‘and yet we did. you might know this one, it’s called galatea.’

again, a new wave of excited screams wash you. galatea is always a highlight of the night. the broken lyrics that come back to you, sung and cried, tears filling the eyes of the first row until you have to look away. this time, you don’t even attempt to watch them, instead turning to face matty, crossed-legged.

his fingers strum the chords familiarly; you croon the first words. you get projected on a sofa, red lights drenching the two of you, the stars shining just for you. he’s so known you might choke up. you have moved on, you promise yourself you have, but what can you do with all the knowledge you gain of someone? where do the memories go when you’ve stopped needing to play them back every night just to fall asleep. they can’t cease to exist, yet they can’t fit in the palms of your hands either.

his eyebrows tilt as he concentrates, bobbing his head. a curl strikes his forehead and you stop yourself from reaching up and brushing it away. parts of you wake up, called to attention. the need to wish and hope and yearn; to exist in the possible, nearly-not but just enough that it’s exquisitely painful. you think of new lyrics, you hate yourself for it.

the chorus cries out of you. you scoot closer, sing it to him. you’re back in a booth, angry eyes pinning him down vengefully. matty glances up and there must be something in you that has quietened, that has folded over and surrendered. he doesn’t look away from your stare. he doesn’t get overwhelmed with the weight of it.

your hand flies to his knee, as if to make sure he’s real. he is; flesh and muscle and that stubborn heart of his, beating somewhere far away from you.

for all the sun he represents, he doesn’t burn anymore. it’s a soft sting, like another memory buzzing in you. your fingers retreat. mournfully, you sing the next lyric.

you whisper the last words out, smiling faintly. his fingers halt. he stops suddenly; he’s there and then he’s not, per usual. the cries roar back to you. for all the worlds that exist in this very room, they always seem to cease when he’s beside you. a summery cocoon you craft out of nothings, one that’s off somewhere in a london apartment.

you turn back to the crowd, remind yourself of everything that is real too. ‘thank you,’ you whisper to them, a hand to your chest, vaguely bowing. thank you for being there when the ground doesn’t seem to hold you up anymore. you look at him. and then, a grin, waving an arm to him. ‘matty healy, everyone!’

#this is Barely flirty and mostly just rly angsty Sorry😭#angst #blurb #galatea take one #ask #matty healy x reader

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essektheylyss · 1 year

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To preface, I think that Beau and Caleb are fine, and somewhere in Exandria they're being super effective using their respective 10 strength scores to try to smash their restraints into a rock before giving up and trudging off to find a smith shop or an arcane store. HOWEVER.

I am thinking about what a HORRIFIC few moments they just had. Of course they're here chasing Ludinus to this end, because that's what they set out to do, but I don't think there was any imagining in their epilogues to what extent this would go. They signed up for riskier-than-average private investigation work and found a plot to unleash a second Calamity.

And then, when it came down to it, they failed.

They were about as trapped and restrained as they could be, fully at Ludinus's mercy. Behind the charm, did Beau think about how much Yasha was forced to do when her will wasn't her own? Silenced and without magic, did Caleb remember being at the complete mercy of another Cerberus Assembly archmage?

And amidst it all, when was the last time Beau saw Yasha and their kids, whom she's had for no more than five years? When did Caleb last visit Veth or speak to Essek? Does he even know where Essek is right now? Do any of the Nein know specifically where Beau and Caleb are?

They've failed, they're trapped, and they're restrained in ways that explicitly cut off any possible way they might tell their loved ones goodbye, let alone warn them about what they are near certain is about to happen.

And the nature of what looks inevitable in that moment means that even that warning would mean nothing in the end, because while Beau and Caleb are already trapped, there is no escape for anyone in Exandria if Ludinus gets his way.

#anyway I'm not actually angsty about this (see the first paragraph) but I am :3 about the angst of it so I'm inflicting it on all of you #yanno! just for lulz! just for kicks!#empire kids trauma world tour 843 PD #cr spoilers #cr meta #critical role #caleb widogast #beauregard lionett #like man imagine being like 'am I gonna be buried in an unmarked grave'#and then promptly realizing the answer is def yes but mostly cuz no one's going to be alive anymore to find your bodies

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cyxnidx · 3 months

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SCARE !

req.:

a/n: omg hihihi😭apologies if this took a while, i haven't been checking my inbox at all. but i adore this idea!! tysm ♡. original post here.

character pairing: pantalone x gn!reader

genre: kinda angsty fluff hehe.

two weeks.

thats how long you've been gone for a commission. longer than usual, but pantalone has known you for long enough to know you're fine.

however, your little girl hasn't quite yet gained that pleasure of conscious.

"daddy.." the small girl whines, curling up in a ball against her fathers chest again.

she's been crying and whining about you all evening.

and while it wasn't out of the ordinary for the little girl to know that yes, you'd leave for "work" occasionally, she always got to have contact with you.

whether you end up sending a letter, calling, or sending some sort of souvenir, she always got something to remind her of her other support system.

but the extended time you've been gone paired with no gifts or contact whatsoever is overwhelming for the poor thing.

"i know, dear." pantalone says solemnly. it's the only thing he can tell her, other than the constant affirmation that you're fine.

but, of course she wants proof. its a warrant she's worthy of. but he just can't provide that for her.

its breaking him, from the inside out.

the small girl gets out from her fathers hold, eyes watering as she stomps over to her play shoes at the door. "daddy.. daddy, let's.. go!" she whines, wiping her own tears as she slips them on, and pantalone feels the last bit of his heart rip.

"where are we going, dear?" he asks, humoring the little girl.

"to go.. to go find.." she gets choked up on her own words, struggling to finish her sentence.

and back to her roots, she's a sobbing mess once again. mumbling your name like it's the only word she knows, pantalone can only kiss her forehead and tell her it's alright.

and even now, he's wondering if it's alright.

he takes the girl back to the couch, rocking her until she eventually quiets down from the constant crying she's been doing.

for once, pantalone feels useful in a situation like this. he's a smart man - he can do a lot, he knows a lot. but calming his little one while you're gone with no contact is something that nothing could've prepared him for. no book, no lesson, no prophecy, nothing.

just as he's beginning to relax on the couch, he hears the door knob twist and push open, revealing the same figure he and his little girl has missed for so long.

by the tensing of his body, your girl wakes up, looking around, still upset. until she meets your eyes.

and there she goes. crying, sobbing, a mess as she runs toward you, scolding you while also telling you she's missed you for what seems like a decade.

you kiss her forehead. "i know, i know, i'm sorry." you apologize, walking her over to pantalone.

he wraps his arms around you, his hedonistic smile crossing his face, though how he feels at the moment is anything but. his eyes say it all:

he's hurt. hurt, worried, upset, scared, and confused.

he pulls your figure in tight, as if he's afraid that if he lets go, you'll trickle into dust. nothingness. his head rests on your shoulder, his breathing choppy. "please don't worry me like that again." he mumbles.

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pup-pee · 1 month

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jokes @ night r not funny in the morning,,,

originally the blue was green but then i decided 2 b pan

#dont even ask me what i was trying 2 accomplish #CAUSE IDKKK #sighs @ least they look cute igg #bart is still hard 4 ne 2 draw idk sobbs #also i seem 2 draw him in a lot of tanktops while i draw kon in a lot of crop tops #i just ?????????#anyways i literally have no idea wtf this means #it was supposed 2 b silly & funny but if ur evil u could make it angsty #not me thoo…..i would neever #cause what kind of sick freak does that #((its me im the sick freak))#no but this is supposed 2 b silly ITS JUST RLLY NOT FUNNY IDK #konbart #kart #still 2 scared 2 but it in their main tags or whateverrrr #NO BC LIKE I DONT WANNA GET RIPPED APART #omggg the reason y it looks more angst is bc i put the ‘dw’ isnt itttt #ughhhhhhh #ok sure whatever GRRR AAAAAA #i have a better kart drawing idea but this 1 was easier 2 draw #brrrr #i feel like im just mostly going 2 b drawing kart 2day oh man #((i say this like i dont draw them everyday))#puppee art #holy u can rlly tell i h8 stabalizers batman #i say ‘line arts my fav part’ but i dont actually do nice line art idfkkk yyyy but mayb its bc u dont need clean lineart 2 render stuff???#@ least i dont #man i should render smth its been so long since ive like ‘completed’ a full drawingg #HELP IM STILL UPSET HOW I DREW BART I LIKE I JUST DONT WANT 2 DRAW HIM LOOKING LIKE A KID BUT LIKE OTS KINDA HARD WHEN HES NEXT 2 KON THIS I

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sugar-omi · 15 days

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im reading an article about masahisa fukase, who took pictures of his wife every day she left the house. (the book is called "from window"), because i saw *this tweet and started reading replies which led to me reading the article where it explains she divorced him and how he went into a coma for 20 years, where she visited him twice every month.

and let me quote this part to you

He died in 2012, having been in a coma for 20 years following a near-fatal fall down the stairs of his favorite bar in 1992.

Yoko visited him twice a month throughout his long limbo - though, heartbreaking, he would have been unaware of her presence. "He remains part of my identity," she said, adding: "With a camera in front of his eye, he could see; not without."

it also says that he wished to control yoko, and also the world, by taking pictures. hoping to freeze time. and.. imagine this, specifically this quote and fukase's wish, with baxter.

baxter who is so helplessly in love with you. he loves you so much, that he takes every chance to capture your beauty.

he loves every picture of you.

but he's so obsessed with time. with mortality. with you.

he's missed out on so much during his younger years. pulling away from everyone who did love him, pulling away from those who reached out their hand to him.

mostly kept away from genuine, friendly people. they always knew how to pull him in, he was a sucker for kindness and genuineness. like you and your friends, or like qiu, tama, and ren.

tried to please his parents at times, mostly tried to rebel and irritate them. and succeeded, even when he wasn't trying.

so many years wasted.. hiding and running from life's simple pleasures. from friendship and companionship

that's why he keeps taking pictures of you, keeps trying to capture the world in a still state. because maybe. if it freezes for long enough. he can catch up...

but also, if you're always willing to be his muse. always a subject of his work.. then he still has control of himself. his life.

you're a constant. something that always happens without fail.

without fail, before you go to your destination, you're at the bottom of your window, posing for him. making a face. shouting at him.

even if you're upset at him.. you wait under the window while he takes that picture, a frown deep on your lips.

it's not much, but he still has something always in the palm of his hand. and that's you waiting at the bottom of the window.

but he loves you. God he loves you so much. some days you don't take pictures from through the window, he's too sick to get out of bed or he's gone ahead of you.

some days you're upset with him, or running late, and the only picture he takes is your frame running for the bus, the edges of your silhouette fuzzy and blurred.

but he still has pictures of you on your date the next night, and he has pictures of your bare form the night before yesterday.

but he's so busy looking through the camera... changing the setting, wiping his lense, and sorting his photos. that he doesn't notice when summer turns to winter. or winter into next spring. doesn't notice the new lines on your forehead or how your fingers sometimes shake when trying to open a jar

doesn't notice the gray in his hair. not the.. deep gray of his natural hair. but the light gray strikes that turn to ribbons of gray and white.

doesn't notice how dull his wedding ring is from years of wear and lack of polishing. doesn't notice how his favorite dress shoes have scratches and scuffs along the side and tip of the shoe

doesn't notice that his dinner is cold. doesn't notice that you don't hug him back when you go to sleep. doesn't notice your lipstick doesn't stain his cheek when he sleeps, or that your hoodie is too heavy and big on his shoulders.

only notices when the sunlight from the window hits your face perfectly, and he sees the age.

only when you don't smile or tease or shout at him from below the window like before.

only when you ate before him, telling him you couldn't wait for him to take pictures. when you stop talking to him so cheerily. when you stop looking at him with admiration and love, with awe whenever he holds the camera so expertly and insists on having you as his muse

he compares the photos from your youth and he sees happiness, he sees love, and life and he sees his whole world.

now, in some photos, he sees tiredness and aching, defiance. irritation. boredom, even...

your back is to the camera more than before. when you are facing it, your chin is tilted towars your book, or your eyes are closed, sleeping in your fluffy king bed. the light doesn't bounce off your ring like it used to.

the ones of you smiling, laughing at him from the other side, makes his heart thump and clench. he's racing.

but in others you look tired of the camera. your lips aren't frowned, but they aren't smiling either. and your eyes are heavy, not with lust or mischief or drowsiness. it's exhaustion, but it's the mental kind. it's the kind where you're at the end of your rope with this camera forever at the other end of your table

you don't see your husband

you see a camera. the damn camera that haunts you nightly and daily.

of course, there are ones where you smile. you're not entirely miserable.

but instead of seeing his beloved muse, his darling spouse. his hearts treasure.

he sees his treasure on display. in their pretty glass case in the middle of the showroom. he sees a ballerina trapped in her music box, forever spinning to the same tune.

he sees Mona Lisa looking at him through her frame, smiling and revered.

he tries to pull you from that painting. putting on his scuffed dress shoes and that same brown suit from your first date, he sets himself on the other end of you. not the camera.

he can't help but think of how the low lighting of the restaurant would suck to take pictures in right now. that he needs his setup, and he wonders if they'd be willing to let him bring all that to capture the moment here...

but you're twinkling. like you're afraid to sparkle but too enthused not to.

he swallows around the urge to capture time claws at his throat. it's beating down the door to his chest and he's trying to keep it from his aching heart.

he does try.

but when you run ahead to see the ducks on the lake, floating on top of the pearly lake, he can't help that his phone camera finds your form

it's not nearly as good as a real camera. it's pixelated and fuzzy. he has to step closer to get more details

but it's worth it, the way your face is bright and the way the wind blows is unusually perfect, shards of light slip through the cracks of thick leaves overhead

and when you turn your head, wanting him to see the family of ducks on the water, you don't mind the phone in his hand.

if you step into the frame for a moment, return to the stage of your music box, it's okay. because today was beautiful. it was so beautiful.

you sat in bed with him, the only thing between you two, the thin bedsheets and the breakfast tray. and the sand is still between your toes, and your feet are terribly dry from dipping into the sea.

baxter retracing the steps of your second meeting, plus a few extra stops to new establishments youve been waiting to enter, new mueseums and front row to your favorite theater show.

and his hand solid in yours, his eyes stuck on you like glue... so it's okay to let him pet your cheek and kiss you in the middle of this park.

because your heart is beating again with excitement, and you're thrilled with how much you had fun today.

and the next time, when he plans a sudden getaway trip for you two.

it's okay if he points the camera at you. because when you're bored, or teasing, or angry at him. you snatch it from his hands and now you're staring back at pictures of his porcelain face. with the filter on, you notice a new beauty mark under his eye easily, but you never needed it to know. but he did.

and you tuck the only picture he let you keep of his irritated face into your nightstand once you're home, you stick it under the one of him shielding his eyes from the sun and when you open thay drawer, the only thing you see is the top of his head and the birds in the sky.

there's thrills. there's always been moments of thrills. that's why youre in the frame, that's why you're his muse.

but when the day is dull. and most days are dull. some days, a couple more than you'll admit, you are tired of the camera.

some days, you want to smash that camera. smash the camera and bang your fists against his chest, slap his cheeks until he sees without the lenses.

but then he grabs the camera, and he parts your knee for you. tucks that hair behind your ear. folds the cuff of your jeans the way he wants. clasps his jewelry on your neck or wrist

and then you pick up the frame, and immortalize the moment, because even though your heart aches. and aches greatly. you love how he looks at you. how he captures your every move as if you haven't done it a hundred times before...

#this is a very messy ramble #i am sleepy but im mostly HEARTBROKEN BY THE DAMN ARTICLE #anyway...#imma pretend that this long angsty ramble made sense n imma try to sleep and forget abt the damn article 💔💔💔#olba #baxter ward #angst #ramble #baxter ward x reader

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daniwib · 1 month

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Oops

That moment when you forget to put the roast in the oven because you're doing the final edit on the chapter you're about to post... looks like dinner's gonna be late tonight fam.

Buck whump bridge fic chapter 3 incoming - AND an entirely new fic that's gonna make you all cry cos I've had a very sad week and I need to inflict share that with ya'll. This is Teddy.

#buck whump #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #New fic is very angsty #for Eddie mostly #9-1-1 #angst #911 fox #911 #9-1-1 fanfiction #911 on abc #911 on ao3

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giggly-squiggily · 8 months

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Hey 👋! Can i request lee inumaki and lers yuta, maki and panda?

Heyo! :D Admittedly, I got a little sappy at the end there lols. I've gotcha covered, anon!

CW: Swearing, mild angst

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13

“Hey, Inumaki…is something wrong?” Yuta asked one day, gaining the attention of Maki and Panda. Lately, the curse speaker had seemed…distant. He came to practice as required and worked with everyone when asked, but during free time he’d been especially quiet, keeping a healthy distance between himself and the group. Originally, Maki and Panda told him not to worry about it- “Inumaki has his rainy days. When he’s ready, he’ll come around.”

That was almost a full week ago. Yuta couldn’t hold back the questions any longer.

“.....Bonito flakes.” He offered quietly after a long pause, eyes scrunching some in a hidden smile. The lie was so obvious. Yuta hesitated before going on.

“Inumaki…you’ve been acting off since Monday. I’m worried.” Yuta offered a shaky smile, hoping he came off comforting. “If you ever need someone to talk to..”

Something darkened in Inumaki’s eyes, brief and heavy. Then he was faking a smile again, reaching out and patting Yuta’s head. “Bonito flakes.”

A clear cut but firm denial. Yuta felt himself blink back tears.

“Hey, Inumaki. Yuta’s got a point.” Maki climbed up the steps one after another, tossing her staff aside once she got to his spot. “This strange silence of yours isn’t normal. Talk.”

“Gentle, Maki.” Panda reminded as he came around, squishing his furry butt between Yuta and Inumaki. “But really- you had that mission Monday, did something go wrong?”

“....Bonito flakes.” Inumaki looked away.

“Lying isn’t a good look for you, recipe boy.” Maki elbowed him gently, sitting down. “Panda and I’ve known you forever. Even Yuta knows when you lie- isn’t that right?”

“Oh? Oh, um…yes.” Yuta yelped, shrinking some at the dirty look Inumaki gave him. “Sorry, Toge…”

“Don’t apologize, Yuta. He’s all hiss and no claws.” Panda teased, winking as his large paw stretched. “In fact- check this out.”

“Salmon roe…” Inumaki began, leaning away from the paw stretching towards his belly. He leaned so far back he completely forgot about Maki. “Sal-HEEEEEH!” He arched with a squeal as ten fingers suddenly pressed into his sides. “Ikuruhuhuhuahhaahhhaa!”

“Language, shithead.” Maki chuckled, her voice warm as she carried on prodding and poking at his torso, skittering her fingers along his ribcage. “Talk and we’ll stop, right Panda?”

“Hell yeah!” The animal cried, laughing just as much as his paws attacked Inumaki’s belly, tapping and dragging against the thin fabric of his uniform. “Yuta, get in on this!”

“H-Huh?” He blinked, not expecting the invite. He was more than content just sitting by watching the fiasco go down, figuring he wasn’t quite in the group just yet.

Still…

“Erm, where do I..” He began, hands fluttering as he tried to decide where to tickle. Inumaki was a mess of laughter already, cheeks pink and eyes squeezed shut as he cackled out “Flakes! Flahahahahkes!” His feet kicked against Panda’s belly, bouncing off harmlessly. Any attempts to push away Maki proved useless as she adjusted her grip, pulling some insane move where her legs pinned his arms back, giving her free range to tickle his torso. Despite the cries and fluster, Inumaki looked surprisingly happy.

Maybe he was enjoying himself? It did look kinda fun…

“Go for his pits, he’ll cry.” Maki ordered, pulling her leg back so there was more room to reach. Inumaki made a squeak sound, shaking his head rapidly as Yuta slowly approached, whimpering pleas of “Salmon roe”.

“Are you ready to talk?” Yuta asked. Maki and Panda paused briefly, giving him a moment to decide. After a few gasps of air, Inumaki considered. Then, with a shaky breath, he breathed out a firm “Bohohnito flahakes.”

“Stubborn ass.” Maki shook her head in mock disappointment. Panda wiped away a fake tear. “Alright- Yuta, it’s all you. Straight for the pits.”

“Right! Sorry, Inumaki.” He gave a quick smile before digging his hands into the spot. Inumaki arched with a squeal, practically flying off the ground as loud wheezy laughter boomed from his lips. Maki and Panda were quick to join in, returning to their original spots as the rice ball speaker giggled and flailed beneath him.

It took another minute of flailing, squealing, and the threat of being voice cursed, but finally, Inumaki gave in. Flapping his hands wildly, he managed to tap Yuta’s arm, signaling he was done.

“Ready to give in?” Maki asked as they came to an end, watching the pale boy curl into himself with huffs of laughter. He looked so…exhausted. Yuta felt his heart pinch in guilt- maybe they went too far?

But then Inumaki was pulling himself up and taking a deep breath. He looked at each of them carefully before pulling out his phone.

Soft typing noises could be heard, and within minutes, the group chat notification went off. When Yuta looked, the following message said:

Monday, when we were doing our mission together- I scared you. I used my curse technique on you to prevent you from walking into an enemies trap. The look on your face when you suddenly couldn’t move…I hadn’t been able to get it out of my head since.

“Inumaki…” Yuta breathed, heart sinking in his chest. Another text popped up before he could speak:

Please don’t feel bad, Yuta. I’m not upset by how you reacted. I feel guilty for freaking you out like that. It’s not a fun feeling to suddenly lose control of your own body like that, and usually I can give the other’s a warning that I may have to use my technique on them. I didn't do it for you, and I’m sorry.

“You had to do it though. Like you said- if you didn’t freeze me where I stood, I’d be dead.” Yuta reached out, squeezing Inumaki’s hand within his own. “Sure, I was scared, but not of you. I was scared that I almost threw my life away. If anything- I should be apologizing for forcing your hand like that. So- I’m sorry. I really appreciate what you did for me.”

“Mustard leaf…” Inumaki’s eyes glistened some, and Yuta smiled as he squeezed his hand reassuringly. Maki and Panda nodded to one another, satisfied.

“Aww- isn’t that sweet.” Gojo’s voice shook them from their moment, drawing their attention to him and the bag of treats over his arm. “I’m back! And I got you all souvenirs! Come get them before I change my mind.”

“Is my souvenir the cursed blade I gave you? Cause you still haven’t given it back.” Maki stood, Panda already bouncing to his feet at the various candies in the bag. Inumaki and Yuta shared a warm look before they stood, joining the others for treats. As they went, Inumaki squeezed Yuta’s shoulder, the gesture loud without words.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading!

#jjk #inumaki toge #maki zenin #panda #yuta okkotsu #gojo satoru #tickle #tickle fic #He deserves it #reworked this alittle #the original was too angsty #now it's mildly angst but mostly fluff #tw: swearing

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jfpstarchaser · 1 year

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"Regulus," James calls him, he sounds so sweet. Regulus can feel a shiver go down his spine at his tone, so adoring. The hairs on the back of his neck standing up, he looks at James, then. And he's so pretty.

James looks so pretty like that, sprawled on Regulus' silk sheets, looking up to him with those doe hazel eyes, his shirtless torso showing Regulus every bit of that beautiful brown skin that there is to see, his muscles flexing when he supports himself on his elbows to come up again, trying to get closer.

Regulus cannot control himself around him.

He wants to devour James, strip him of his desires to satisfy his own needs, put his hand through his solar plexus and look for his heart to tear it away from his chest, to hold it close to himself, never to return it. Perhaps, then, James will realise Regulus is just no good for him. Perhaps, James will realise how much of a mistake he is making in choosing Regulus, then. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Those are hypotheticals, though. So here is a matter-of-fact statement: Regulus will never let him go.

James can walk through those doors anytime, he truly can, but he will never leave whole, because Regulus will hold a part of him for himself, forever. It's his. And for as long as James doesn't walk away through that door, James, too, is Regulus'.

James belongs to him, just like Regulus has given himself to him.

"You forget yourself," Regulus says, still standing at the foot of the bed. James really is a sight to behold. His messy coffee-coloured hair falling just above his bright, bright eyes, his lips red from kissing, his golden glasses sliding down his freckled nose, his cheeks rosy with excitement, his chest heaving, taking in quick breaths every time Regulus gets closer to him.

Regulus cannot wait to have his body pressed against his; to feel his strong and gentle hands, his warm, warm skin, his plump lips against his, to put their foreheads together, to circle his waist with his thighs, then to caress his mess of curly hair, to breathe together with him, to lay his head on his chest, their joint legs a mess on its own. To wake up with him, after.

Regulus loves him so much.

Regulus loves him so much, he's risking it all for him. Ready to give everything he owns away, to never leave the safe space James made out of this damned room, he's ready to do it all for him. For those hazel eyes, for that bright smile with dimples, for those loving hands, for that contagious laugh, everything. Everything, James.

"Your Highness," James sighs, tilting his head left, just a little. His eyebrows drawing together slightly, correcting himself, he bites his lip and looks up to Regulus' eyes again, his words a bitter reminder of who they are. "Come back to me, please," He pleads, looking expectantly at Regulus.

Regulus does.

He is all too eager to return to him, so he does. Regulus breathes in because just like James, every movement from the other has him drawing quick breaths, excitement pouring out of him in waves, then joins him on the bed, a mess of silk sheets.

He doesn't care for his title any more than he does for his council, he hears it daily, everywhere, all the time. Hates it, sometimes. But James, even if bitter on occasion, makes it sound so much better than it really is, this title.

Your Highness, James says, and Regulus wants to kiss it off his mouth. He wants to swallow that sweet and adoring tone down his own throat. Maybe then, the stolen title won't taste like chalk.

Your majesty, James jokes sometimes, and Regulus wants to lick it true out of his mouth. He wants to make an Emperor out of himself, so James will call him that again. Your majesty, Regulus wants him to whisper in his ear, then kiss the rest of his words down his skin.

Regulus, James calls him, and Regulus hears it, the gold liquid worship dripping from his tone, the way his mouth breathes out Regulus' name, and it makes Regulus want to steal his breath away to his own selfish lungs.

My love, James murmurs sometimes, when he thinks Regulus isn't paying attention, he kisses it on his pale skin, love pouring out of his mouth, indeed. Regulus has the impertinence to desire to make himself pliant beneath him, so maybe then, James won't murmur, but call him my love to his mouth, not his hip, eyes on him while Regulus overwhelms himself swallowing that down, too.

Regulus wants to consume him whole, truly. Bones and all. But since he cannot, he does the next best thing and tentatively sits in James' lap, his eyes glued to James', aware of every part of him, then he brings his hands up to his face, the cold silver of his rings against James' warm cheek.

Regulus watches it in delight, the breath James sharply takes in, exhaling through his open lips, then.

He can feel his own breath stutter, his heart picking up, the warmth that covers James' face coming to Regulus', too. Regulus loves it, this with James. Whatever, with James. Oh, as long as it's James, he loves it.

Then, Regulus can see James' smile and barely has time to breathe himself to properness again when James' hand touches his waist beneath his shirt, he holds it for a second, a mischievous little twinkle in his mahogany eyes, then slides it all the all up to his spine, feeling against his palm Regulus' shiver. Regulus has his breath stuttering again, then.

James' hands are surely one of Regulus' weaknesses, coming behind James himself, no doubt. Regulus cannot figure out how he does it, but James' hands are something else entirely; they touch so softly, love marking the way they passed, but they can also touch roughly, strength bruising the way, then. And he can touch roughly with worship in his hands, still. Every bit James has touched feels marked by him.

Regulus has James' concealed handprints all over his body, marked by him everywhere, touched by him down to his bones, Regulus is convinced James has his initials branded by his suave fingertips into Regulus' soul.

Exactly when it happened, Regulus cannot tell, but it's been quite some time. There was a Regulus before James and there's him now, James'.

Regulus won't ever forget it, this man. This man and his love-worshipping hands, his hazel gaze that feels like a warm lighthouse countering Regulus' storming grey-blue waves, his low laughter that feels like a breath of fresh air caressing Regulus' cheeks.

Regulus adores him.

Regulus couldn't care less about his infamous name, James Potter is nothing if someone worthy of everything. Regulus wants to give him everything, shower him with the best he can buy with all that useless gold he has because James has given him everything already, and has already showered him with the best gold cannot buy: his love.

Regulus sighs, then, dipping down to close the distance between them and kissing James' grin out of his mouth, biting his low laughter away with his teeth on his bottom lip.

Regulus loves this, too.

He loves the way James kisses the pleased sounds of his own throat into Regulus' tongue, the way his hands give away trying to support himself to just— hold Regulus instead.

James falls on his back on the bed and Regulus follows him, unwilling to part with him now that he has tasted it again, tasted him. James' hands hold him again, softly, the one on his back coming back down his waist, while his other holds his jaw, his thumb caressing Regulus' skin. James brings them closer, their bodies flushed together and Regulus' the one kissing a groan into James' tongue, then.

Regulus knows, logically, that this is fated to fall apart eventually. He knows. They are fated to fall apart, and yet to know this doesn't matter, all it does is make Regulus more and more hungry for him.

Regulus is a starving man, ready to devour every moment they get before their inevitable fall.

Every second he gets with James is a second closer to the day they will fall apart, and he doesn't care. He will take everything in the meantime. Regulus will take, take, take and then drown himself in everything that James has to give. And he will do it happily.

He will do it happily, so when the day for James to leave him comes, he will let him go, holding onto nothing but everything he already took. Regulus will satisfy himself with the pieces and not the whole man because he knows James deserves better than him.

However, until then, he's more than willing to just let the thought sit in the back of his mind like it doesn't matter, as if it won't hurt.

(It will. Regulus knows letting go of James, losing him to someone else, will tear his insides apart. Or worse, losing him to a world so much more fulfilling than this unnamed relationship of theirs, to an adventure Regulus can only dream of following him into, to a place where he wouldn't have to sneak around, where he doesn't have to hold himself back, where he can be as free as he should be.

Regulus begrudgingly admits that the Sea has so much more to offer James than him and he cannot, even with every selfish cell in his body screaming against it, deny James of it.

He would never deny James of anything if he could.

He can already feel the taste of the salty tears he will shed, fitting for they will remind him even more of who James left him for, the Sea. He can feel the frustrated scratches his nails will leave on the skin of his arms, feel the ever-there throbbing behind his eyeballs, the rough pain in his throat.

And knows, he won't regret it. As long as it makes James happy. Free, as he deserves to be. Free, as Regulus cannot make him, cannot be with him.

The Sea will care more for him than Regulus ever could, and the Sea will have James, but for now, he is Regulus' and Regulus will take everything that James offers to him.)

Regulus lets go of it and puts himself in the present again. He buries his fingers in James' curls, scratching slowly along his scalp, pressing back to the hungry mouth kissing his own.

James laughs against his mouth, then kisses his face. His lips pass everywhere, leaving invisible marks behind, he kisses his way through Regulus' eyelids, his cheeks, his forehead, his jaw, his neck, his chest.

He feels him everywhere.

Regulus thinks there isn't a better way to self-destruct than this. He would do it again, a million times, just to feel the touch of this sun-kissed man, to feel his warm, warm love.

#they love each other but regulus is a crown prince and james is a man #so yeah a bit angsty? idk is that angst?#james is/will be a pirate in this universe #that's why regulus mentions the sea bc that's the only thing james would leave regulus for #james plans to ask reggie to come with him but reg doesn't know and hasn't even considered the possibility so yeah angst for him #heheh i love prince/pirate aus there's more to this #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #marauders #marauders era #jegulus au #prince regulus with pirate james #but dont look too close into it hes not really pirate-y hes just being very gay while regulus' royal ass is very much being gay emo #regulus arcturus black #james fleamont potter #harry potter marauders #also can this be considered spicy? theyre mostly making out with intentions of having sex #but again there's only kisses

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callico-awts · 10 months

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The feeling of hopelessness au (kny au)

beware of my grammar incorrections and spellings.. enjoy some angsty stuff and bits of badass zen shhdhd

•This au doesn't follow the og canon story, some have major story changes and some arcs are just kept there untouched.

•Zenitsu is suffering an unknown illness like a terminal illness and he kept it a secret from everyone, that includes the kamaboko gang and anyone else but ofc some knew it (that's shinobu and maybe inosuke and nezuko)

•Idk like how he got the illness from either a powerful demon art or he was born with it or when he got struck by lightning (which totally don't make any sense hshshs)

•yes, this au has TanZen and with lots angst but tan and zen aren't together yet and also never will be cuz y'know */coughs

major character death-

•Tanjiro is oblivious of his feelings for Zenitsu but he slowly realizes them and he keeps questioning what is this feeling.. As for zen, though he is more oblivious, he thinks tanjiro likes kanao (but nah a only as a friend lmao) and he just kept his feelings to himself..

•The timeline is very messy asf but it goes like this, nothing changes with s1 and Mugen train arc. All i can say is that zens illness gets worse throughout the arcs till the fight with muzan also like to add that he fought Kaigaku earlier in this au and his gramps is uhh ye not very alive…

•But zen died cause of his illness and his injuries from the demon and ofc he killed the demon (we stan badass zen)

I'll probably make more stuff for this au cuz yes-

Feel free to ask stuff but beware that sometimes I will not respond cuz idk what to say hshshsh

Anyways, adios-

#kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu anime #demon slayer anime #demon slayer #a bit of manga spoilers #demon slayer au #kny au #tanjiro kamado #zenitsu agatsuma #tanzen angst #tanzen #tanjiro x zenitsu #kny zenitsu #kny tanjirou #kny kaigaku #yes this au is very angsty #mostly zens pov ig

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crazy-fangirl2524 · 8 months

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there’s something so inherently wrong with me when i tick to include major character death in the warning for ao3

#my coping mechanism is literally reading the angsty fics #but I still could never ever actively look for fics where Neil dies first because I can’t bear to read andrew suffering so I just read fics #where andrew dies first LMAO #I know people mostly prefer to read fluff to make themselves feel better and that has never been me LMAO #maybe my life is too good yk that’s why I need some angst #or maybe my life is so boring I need angst #or it’s a secret third thing #where my life is so bad nothing can be worse than major character death :)#just kidding I’m just bored and I need angst in my life because that’s what I’m used to and I don’t have it irl so I search for it in fics #just kidding my life is just boring and I’m a masochist #ao3 #archive of our own #ao3 stuff #fanfiction #fanfic #fics

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atomsminecraft · 9 months

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Ya'll get a week go share this around and lets see what I'll get

It's all court of darkness

#Plot twist it's all angst #it's not a promise #well...#nah I'm joking it's not all angst #It's mostly fluff #If ya'll got angst ideas though go and drop it in my asks and I might write it #I don't think I have any angst yet on the google document with things for me to write about #I need more angst in here it's too fluffy in there and I don't approve of it #If one of you write a court of darkness fic that's angsty you should @ me in it #court of darkness #court of darkness voltage #It would be funny if I lied and they're all angst #I would do that #but I'm being nice today #Ya'll got spared from me choosing violence in my writing today #Gonna go think of angst now to write later brb

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bawnjorno · 3 months

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i didn't write for four years, got the bug tonight and wrote another chapter for a thing that lived in my head

That morning - Chapter 2 - napuleh - Hetalia: Axis Powers [Archive of Our Own]

#this falls into...#spamano fic #like...very vaguely #in that the first chapter is angsty man talking #and the second chapter is them interacting and trying to deal with the angst while also not dealing with it #it's mostly #hetalia spain #like... thoughts LOL

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resident-gay-bitch · 1 year

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It all came to head very quickly. It was never meant to come out, not like this at least. It just so happened to end this way and Remus wasn’t sure whether to cry from fear or relief.

Let me give you some context.

See, Remus had been sporting some pretty interesting feelings from the first moment he laid eyes on Sirius Black. The boy with the long dark hair, pale skin, deep eyes, and high cheekbones. He was beautiful, Remus couldn’t deny that, right from the start.

He didn’t understand his feelings at first. All he knew was that he thought this boy, the one rolling his eyes at one that Remus could only assume was his mother, was the prettiest boy he had ever seen, and that Remus wanted to know him. When they were sorted into the same house, and directed to their shared dorm, Remus felt an abundance of excitement.

Remus liked to be around Sirius all of the time. He was confident, brave, strong, brash (to others, never to Remus), loud, undeniably himself, and oh so beautiful. These were all things Remus admired and told himself he wanted to be. Not to say that was untrue, Remus did wish to be more like his friend, but there also lay something deeper. Something that shook him deep in his soul that he couldn’t quite figure out.

Remus found himself jealous of James and Sirius' friendship more than he’d like to admit. The two boys shared a bond like no other that Remus had seen before. He tried to find a similar bond with Peter, but the boy was too closed off, timid, unsure. It just didn’t feel the same. Peter wasn’t Sirius. Remus wished nothing more than to be James.

He wanted James’ smile, his charm, his suave and his swagger. He wanted his smarts and his heart and his kindness and love. He wanted to be the one Sirius came to when he was sad, he wanted to own the bed that Sirius crept to for late night conversations, he wanted to be the one to help brush Sirius’ hair because he hated doing it himself but no one except James could touch it.

He always craved Sirius, but he didn’t know why.

:) if you'd like to keep reading this fic (8.5 k words) you can find it now on ao3 (link below) :)))))

happy reading! <3

don't forget to reblog and comment!!

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