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the-dixon-effect · 11 months

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Lover, you should've come over

A/N: i had this idea a while ago just never got around to writing it. it's v fluffy, a little angsty and just the right amount of trauma, and the title from jeff buckley ofc. hope you enjoy lovelies :')

era: season 6, pre-Negan Alexandria

prompt: "Ya don't ever have to say sorry. Not to me."

summary: Y/N is feeling particularly affected by her past trauma sometime during the group's transition to the suburban atmosphere of Alexandria.

words: 1.5k

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

warnings: self-harm, anxiety, suggestive

9pm The garage; dark, gloomy, the perfect hiding spot.

The rest of the group was having dinner, courteously cooked by Carol, in the dining area of your shared house. Rick was right, it was going to take some considerable time before everyone properly adjusted to the strange atmosphere of the unaffected suburban paradise that was Alexandria. It seemed, however, that despite the incredible amount of time your people, your family, had spent surviving outside these walls, everybody was fitting in just fine.

The houses were strange, untouched, and the people even stranger. It was like this tiny pocket of the new world was a time capsule, a preserved artefact of an ancient time, all but forgotten to most. It felt like if you were to get too close, immerse yourself too much, the time would come when this place would come crashing down, and bring you down with it. Not only did this place feel like a fever dream about the old world, it also brought back certain memories from the past that you'd tried so desperately to leave behind.

So here you were, an empty seat at the dining room table. You pressed your back against the wall and hugged your legs to your chest. You wondered if they would even notice you weren't there.

Almost-silent sniffles were the only sounds that filled the dim room. The last of the daylight filtered through the tiny gap between the garage door and the ground. You rolled up the sleeves of your flannel shirt to reveal a checkerboard of familiar scratches and cuts, only half visible due to the distinct lack of light in the room. Your head rolled backwards, almost on its own, and hit the wall with a thud. Your eyes swelled with tears just as quick as the memories had come flooding back.

Maybe it wasn't this place. Or the people. Maybe it was just you. No point running now, you thought. You can escape from everything and everyone you love, but you'll never escape yourself, a part of you tried to tell yourself. No matter how far you run, your past, your scars, they will always remain.

9:30pm Despite Y/N's assumption that her absence at dinner would go unnoticed, she was wrong. A certain archer's eyes searched for yours but failed to meet them across the table. "Where's Y/N?" he asked, filling the silence. When all he received was a fleeting glance around the room from members of the group, he swiftly returned to his former position of silence.

"She's probably over at Aaron and Eric's. I heard they were having a couple people over for dinner tonight," said Michonne, a little dismissively.

Daryl shared your feelings about this strange community, and he too understood your lack of trust. Even before adjusting to the end of the world, he certainly would have felt uneasy in a place like this. People like him, like you, they're not supposed to be living in a place like this, pretending to forget about the world outside the walls. Paradise is no place for us, he thought.

Once dinner was finished and the chatter had died down, Daryl slipped off in an effort to find you, and he couldn't help but worry.

9:45pm After searching the whole damn neighbourhood and finding no one who knew where you were, he started to assume the worst. What if she left, ran away somehow? What if she went on a run and got hurt? No, no, he couldn't lose you, not when the both of you had just got here.

Suddenly he remembered the conversation he had with you last night, out on the porch. The stars were out, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, you could look up and admire them in somewhat safety. And they were beautiful. And the two of you sat and talked and talked and just watched those stars. He loved to just listen to you, in truth, he wanted to hear all your stories. Even the bad ones, the regretful ones, perhaps he just needed to hear your voice. He thought back to something you'd said, and his mind suddenly went overdrive with worry. A particular memory you'd recalled, and said that you'd never told anybody this before, alluding to an especially bad habit you'd broken. Could that be... self-harm? He was pretty sure he'd seen those marks on your arm, or he saw something, at least, that wasn't caused by walkers.

He started to go over every single place in his mind where you might be hiding, doing more harm to yourself than good by not speaking up. Your bedroom, the attic, the basement, the yard, the garage. The one place the rest of the group wouldn't think to look for you, if they even came looking at all, you thought. Except for Daryl, who had been working in there on his bike all day.

You could even sense it now, the oil, the tools, and the summer heat, even in the nighttime. As you thought of him, the whole place started to feel like him. You weren't even sure if you liked it or not, the familiar fondness you'd developed for him, but despite your loveable manner, you were so determined to be alone. To not appear as some anxious little presence going about the place.

The door swung open and the first thing you noticed was the light that streamed in, illuminating your tear-stained face.

"Y/N! Y/N, are ya' in here?" You buried your face in your hands as you approached the archer, weakly.

"Hey, hey, what's goin' on?" he drawled. Daryl placed his torch down and stepped a little closer to you, not in a threatening, fearsome way, but in an intimate way, a way that felt like you could be safe with him.

"Can- Do you think you could shut the door?" you said, sniffling a little as you spoke. He followed your request and returned to where he stood before, deep blue eyes locked on your pitiful face.

10pm It felt like there was nothing to be said, no way to express your feelings in a way that somebody could understand. It would be just perfect if, in this moment, he was able to read your mind somehow. Hesitantly, you rolled up your sleeves as you had done before and looked straight up at him with those wide eyes. It was a sight to behold, that was for sure, and if he could put aside every ounce of sorrow he felt just looking at the scars, he was grateful to be the one who you came to.

"This place, it's like- it's like a well," you were struggling to speak. The tears were flowing now, and you felt embarrassed to have this much emotion on display. "Couple days after we got here, I just started to remember, you know. The stuff you don't wanna remember. Just feel trapped, you know," your voice seemed to trail away as your closed your eyes. Nothing to be done now, you supposed.

When you looked up at Daryl again, you were suddenly overcome by a rush of guilt. "Oh no, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Daryl..."

He pulled you into a tight hug at once and whispered into your soft hair that he held so gently. "No, no darlin'..." he spoke. "Ya' don't ever have to say sorry. Not to me." Perhaps if you were thinking straight you would've tried a little harder to appreciate the moment. His distinct scent, the notes of sweet cigarettes, pinewood and thunderstorms. Instead, you cried into his shoulder as his other hand rubbed gentle lines up and down your back.

You pulled away from the embrace, keeping your arms draped around his neck. He was captured by those pretty eyes of yours, though glassed over completely, and held the silent eye contact. He lifted his right hand and softly held your arm, tracing your goosebumps with his calloused fingertips. And you just stared up at him, looking for the reassurance in his eyes that you knew you would always find.

Sensing your pain, Daryl brought your forearm to his lips and pressed sweet kisses on those same self-inflicted scars. You gazed up at him and mustered the best smile you could, as a sign to continue. You slipped off your flannel shirt revealing the little white t-shirt that you wore underneath. Moving further up the length of your arm, he planted soft kisses on your shoulder, and then your neck. The intimacy brought more overstimulated tears to your straining eyes. The only thing you knew how to do in this moment was simply grip him tighter. "Never let me go," you whispered.

Perhaps you didn't need to be alone after all.

#brandy writes #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon fluff #twd angst #the walking dead #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x you #daryl twd #daryl dixon smut #daryl x reader

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 5 months

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𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 2,438

Warnings | +18, kiss and touches noncon, Jungkook is always obsessed and gets a bit angry

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Ready for you the fourth chapter of Happy Ending! ❤

If you have any questions, please write to me! 🥰

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @douknowbts

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

When Y/N opened her eyes that day, she felt strangely physically satisfied, stretched her arms with a smile on her face, thinking that she must have finally had a good night's sleep.

Too bad the environment around her was quite different from what she had become accustomed to for two and a half years now.

The sunlit walls that gently filtered through the window were cream-colored, not gray and gloomy like those in her apartment, plus the mattress she was lying on was too soft to be the uncomfortable second-hand one she had bought to fit in her monthly expenses.

Even the blankets were different, and soon an alarm bell went off in her head.

She stood up abruptly, seized with terror.

"Where the fuck am I?" she muttered to herself, cradling her head in her hands in a vain attempt to think clearly.

Could it be that they had kidnapped her? But who, then-and for what purpose?

Her parents were not rich and wealthy people, she was a normal, average girl, she knew her neighborhood was dangerous, but to go this far?

Maybe... maybe they wanted to sell her.

She had heard of girls disappearing in the middle of the night and never to be found again.

She blanched, seized by a sick feeling, and although she wanted to refuse to believe her own consideration, the well-appointed and elegant room suggested only that one option-why else kidnap her if not to make her work in some illegal brothel frequented by bigwigs?

She shrugged those soft and foreign blankets away from herself and stood up with trembling legs, noticing that she no longer had only her camisole and panties on, a long nightgown that reached her calf covered her body, but she still felt naked given the absence of panties concealing her intimacy. In a flurry of shame she realized that whoever had been abducting her had also seen a lot of her as she blissfully slept.

The girl took a deep breath, walking to the door, which, to her surprise, she found open.

Had they forgotten to lock it? ... Or, was it a trap to test her?

She opened it wide slowly, her heart caged in a powerful grip of anxiety, the first thing she saw was a long dark hallway with artistic paintings hanging on the walls, to Y/N that style seemed similar to something she had seen before, but she could not give herself an answer.

She went into the corridor hugging herself with her own body, she did not know what she would find during her exploration, perhaps a group of kidnappers with sullen faces and brutal manners?

She noticed a bright glimmer at the end of the corridor and reached it at a slow pace, her bare feet stepped on soft carpeting that kept her from feeling cold, and even that made her say that the house must belong to someone wealthy. She could only dream of such an abode, so the idea that she had been abducted for her body grew stronger as the seconds ticked by in her mind.

When she opened the door from which the light reflected in the hallway came, a choked breath caught in her throat at the sight.

The boy with his back turned, busy among the stove, seemed all too familiar, she prayed it was not him, her beloved professor, but the sight of the tattoos on his arm, visible thanks to the short sleeves of his dark shirt, spoke volumes.

It was him, her captor was Jeon Jungkook, the same boy who had promised to protect her only the day before.

"Professor?" she asked anxiously, the young man at the stove froze.

There were a few seconds of stalemate that weighed in the air like boulders, then the boy turned around, revealing the handsome, jovial face of her teacher.

It was really him.

The bewildered girl took a step back, a gesture that did not escape Jungkook's notice.

The latter narrowed his gaze, "Y/N, you've woken up!" he exclaimed coming toward her.

Y/N shook her head, made to put further distance between them, but Jungkook grabbed her by the arm and this reminded the girl of Yoozu's attack the previous day, she found herself shaking and this alerted Jungkook.

"Sweetheart, are you sick?" he gently placed a palm on the girl's forehead, fortunately she was not burning hot, but something in her pallidness told him that something was wrong, "No...you're not hot, maybe.... It's because you're here, isn't it?" he smiled gently in her direction, Y/N would have liked to answer, but her voice wouldn't come out of her throat.

"I know it might feel strange at first, but I'm sure you'll soon get used to it, after all, I did it for your sake, baby."

Baby.

Trying to ignore the all too affectionate nickname, Y/N opened her mouth, forcing herself to answer, "You said you would protect me, that I just had to trust you," she croaked, shocked.

Jungkook frowned, "That's right, here I will protect you from all those people who have always treated you badly or never believed in you! I believe in you, and I love you, honey!" he brought his perfect face closer to the girl's, trying to steal a kiss from her, but Y/N managed to break free from his grip, not that it had been a feat, Jungkook had softened his grip for fear of hurting her, he had already seen the bruises Yoozu had given her without regard, to say Jungkook was pissed off was little, at the next opportunity he would eviscerate that useless blowhard.

Y/N, for her part, recorded his words confusedly, had he really said "I love you" to her?

She denied with her head, it couldn't be true, the professor she had so admired and had a crush on...was a psychopath.

"You can't be serious, tell me this is just a joke," begged the boy, who frowned.

"I'm not joking, Y/N, I'm sure that past this moment of confusion you'll realize that you love me too, and you'll accept me," he concluded confidently, "Now, which breakfast do you prefer? Sweet or savory?" he continued cheerfully, approaching the stove, Y/N saw toast already crispy and ready to be topped with chocolate or scrambled eggs, she took the opportunity to run out of the kitchen.

Jungkook sprinted toward her, missing her by a whisker, "Y/N!" he exclaimed shocked, not understanding the young woman's hostile attitude. He only wanted to protect her, give her the gift of a fairy tale happy ending, why didn't she understand?

Y/N returned to the previous hallway, ignoring the bedroom she had come out of, and spotting that and the kitchen, the front door must have been further down on the opposite side.

Too bad that was not a normal house, it was in fact structured differently and what she found as she pushed open yet another door was just a storage room.

She imprecated mentally, trying to turn back, but her race to safety ended with Jungkook managing to tackle her from a corner.

Y/N shrieked, terrified.

"Let go of me! Let go of me! I don't know what you want from me!" she burst into tears, she wanted to go home, her parents had done so much for her, she could not waste the opportunity they had given her to study and make a name for herself in this way, especially after they had shown themselves to be so displeased. She just wanted to make them proud.

How mocking the world was, just yesterday she had shouted those exact words, and had been saved by the very person who was now showing herself as the real danger.

Jungkook clutched her to his body, causing her to turn abruptly as the back of the small figure in his arms went crashing against the wall.

The boy inhaled in irritation and to shut her up he attached his lips to those of the woman, who widened her eyes trying to push him away.

The boy pressed even more against her, biting angrily on her lower lip, Y/N had to open her mouth wide because of the tremendous twinge she received and the man's tongue invaded her completely, demanding absolute dominance.

Y/N felt violated as the boy expertly entwined their tongues, unaware that the night before Jungkook had dared to do much more with that same tongue.

Jungkook moaned in that violent kiss, enjoying in the taste in which he was willingly drowning himself.

He reached down with one hand between their bodies, lifting one of the young woman's legs and bringing it around his hips, pushing his already hard cock against her pussy covered only by her nightgown, Jungkook could only feel the softness of that area so delicate and delicious, Y/N's eyes widened, between the lack of air and that vulgar gesture that shocked her, she began to moan shakily without any more resistance, in a pitiful surrender that made Jungkook pull away from her lips with a loud pop.

The breathing of both of them was labored and Jungkook's wild eyes met Y/N's tear-filled ones and begged him to stop.

Jungkook did not want to get that far so quickly, but the girl's actions had not pleased him, not at all.

"If you'll be good, I promise I'll stop," he hissed, "We'll go to the kitchen, where you'll eat your breakfast and we'll talk about how it's going to be between us from now on, understand?"

The girl nodded, obediently, and followed him into the kitchen, and when Jungkook let go of her wrist she sat clutching her legs, unable to banish the heavy sensation of a cock against her folds.

She had never had a boyfriend, consequently had never received such attention; it had been shocking and strange.

Why did someone like him want to be with someone like her?

Jungkook put some toast in front of her with a variety of toppings next to it, there was jam and butter, chocolate and even eggs with bacon and cheese, he filled a glass with juice for her.

The boy wanted her to eat and feel good, he really wanted the best for Y/N and was very sorry to see her so uncooperative.

He took a seat in front of her and began to eat, giving her a look that intimated her to do the same, the girl tremblingly took the butter, beginning to spread it on her toast, she did not want to anger him again, she had yet to find the entrance and realized that in order to get the go-ahead, she had to first keep the landlord happy.

"Y/N" she lifted her eyes to his, a twinge of guilt hit the boy in the stomach in front of those red, shiny eyes, "I only wish you to be happy" he began, but Y/N interrupted him.

"But you kidnapped me" she said in a huff, Jungkook for a moment did not know what to say.

"No, I didn't kidnap you, we belong together since we first met," he said confidently, "Do you remember that? You were completely wet with rain, I saw you and you bound me to you with one look, my job is to protect you and make you feel loved."

Y/N remembered that day, which took place seven months earlier, but she did not think she had left such an indelible mark on her teacher, in short, he had never shown any interest and she had never given herself false hope.

"Why didn't you say anything before, because-"

"Jungkook." the boy blocked her, "Call me Jungkook, I'm not your professor outside of school," he pointed out, disturbed by the continuous distance Y/N seemed to want to put in the dialogue.

The girl sucked it up and agreed with him.

"Why didn't you ever come forward, Jungkook?"

In a normal way, she would have liked to add, but did not want to dare too much.

The young man took a moment to absorb as best he could the girl's voice as she spoke his name with what seemed to him to be familiarity; he found the sound of those syllables coming from his woman's lips enchanting.

Y/N did not understand, why had he suddenly approached her and in such a crazy way then?

"Because I'm your professor and it wasn't ethically correct, plus you had never given me a reason to step forward...until yesterday, I couldn't allow them to go on with their torture," he said harshly, "You'll be safe with me forever."

The girl took a deep breath before she began to speak.

"You can't keep me here forever, I have a family and studies to complete, take me back to my home, Jungkook," she begged him again, the boy shook his head.

"You are home, and don't worry about your studies, I will help you and you will get your degree one hundred percent, the principal is a good friend of mine...as for your family, they were the first to hurt you."

The girl's blood drained from her face, she began to finally understand where Jungkook was going with this. He wanted to isolate her from the world, because the world had been evil to her.

Jungkook in those months had been researching the young girl's parents, neighbors told him about how they were always rude and irritated with Y/N, went around saying that the girl was squandering all their savings on that absurd belief that she wanted to continue her studies, not understanding the sacrifices they had made to raise her.

Those statements were enough for the boy to realize that they did not deserve a daughter like her, too good and sweet for such people.

"It's not the same thing!" blurted out Y/N then, ready for another fit of hysterical crying, "I want my freedom!"

"Freedom? For you to live like that is to be free? Living with the constant fear of being attacked at school or in that neighborhood you call home, without a shred of a friend?" he asked, strangled.

Those words struck Y/N, because they were so fucking true they hurt.

But still, those were not good reasons to kidnap a person, and he had done exactly that.

She shut up for a few moments not knowing how to retort, Jungkook looked at her with disappointment.

Y/N felt a pang in her heart, because in spite of everything, that was still the guy who until the night before had given her butterflies in her stomach, seeing such a look in him too made her want to vomit.

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #bts yandere smut #yandere bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere #yandere jeongguk #jeongguk x reader

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imightgetbetter · 8 months

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One More Story

wow, guess who's made a return after all! hi guys. long time no see. i have missed you all, and i have missed matty and the missus more. i'm trying to get back into the swing of writing for some self care and i hope to be more active at night after work to do that. please be gentle with this quick little piece about how matty and the missus met, i just wanted something short and sweet. i'm going to try and do the challenge @abiiors is doing, so you should see some more writing from me in the coming weeks. as always, reblog and share and send me your thoughts. i love you all. <;33

“Daddy?”

Matty turns around to see Attie perched up against her pillows, her blanket falling heavily around her waist and her tiny arms clutching the teddy bear she can’t quite sleep without just yet. He just tucked her in, gave her exactly seven kisses (all around the perimeter of her face, as he’s been doing since she was a baby), and told her he loved her and that he would be in bright and early to get her ready for school. He’s been with Attie mainly while Lennon is struggling with the Trying Twos, a time that has been marked in the Healy household as Hell On Earth, with Lennon strictly wanting her mother and screaming bloody murder if Matty tries to take her away for even a second. Matty is taking advantage of the one-on-one time, though. He knows his little girl will not be little forever, and the thought alone is enough to kill him, or make him down an entire bottle of wine in one sitting. “Yeah, baby?”

“Can you tell me one more story? I promise I’ll go to bed right after.”

Matty tilts his head, looking at his daughter with hooded eyes, a smirk playing on his lips as she mimics his facial expression. “You can’t give me that face, Attie James. It’s time for bed. You have school tomorrow.”

“Just one story, Daddy! I’ll even close my eyes while you tell it. Promise.”

Matty can feel himself giving in, and by the quietness echoing through the halls, he can tell that you’ve gotten Lennon down for bed. A win for the both of you, this evening. Matty hums to himself in consideration, and when he hears your shower sputter on, and no instant baby screams, he concedes. “Okay. What story do you want to read? If You Give A Mouse A Cookie, again?”

“I want you to tell me how you and Mummy met.”

“Why do you want to hear that story?”

“Well,” Attie begins, moving her teddy bear to between her crossed legs, the dramatization already beginning. It’s something she’s inherited from you, Matty supposes. “Mummy and Uncle Adam were telling me about how when you were little you used to tease Mummy all the time and that meant you liked her and there’s this boy at school that teases me and I just want to know if it’s the same thing.”

Matty feels a surge of emotions filter through him for his little girl, and he smiles. He pokes his head into the hall to ensure that Lennon isn’t awake and you aren’t looking for him, and when he’s made sure the coast is clear, he nods his head and turns the light back on, walking towards her bed that is much too big for her, right now, and taking a seat beside her. “What’s this boy’s name? Do I need to come have a chat with him?”

“No, Daddy. I think he’s just being silly. But I want to make sure he doesn’t like me, ‘cause if he does,” she pauses, “yuck.”

Matty smirks, “That’s right, yuck. Boys are yucky.”

“You’re a boy, Daddy! And so are Uncle Adam, and Uncle George, and Uncle Ross. And Uncle Louis! And Grandpa!”

“That’s exactly how I know we’re yucky.”

Attie rolls her eyes and shakes her head, pulling her teddy bear into her arms and cuddling into Matty’s open side, tilting her head ever so slightly to have her honey eyes meet his. “Tell me the story, pretty please?”

“Okay, okay,” he smiles, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her hair, his fingertips brushing through the wet curls, her tiny little breaths hitting his arm. “It all started the day Mummy moved in across the street…”

///

It started off like any other day.

Ross, George, and Adam were all sat around Matty’s room, fumbling around with a baby joint and a lighter. George and Ross were talking about girl they both thought was hot in their year, Adam preoccupied with his “girlfriend” – what could a girlfriend really be at fourteen – and Matty had one thing on his mind, besides the joint in between his fingers. He had seen this girl a few times around school, but never caught her name. She was in their year, in a few of George’s classes. Matty passed her in the corridor and saw her at lunch. She kept to herself, usually opting for a book and a highlighter rather than a group of uniformed friends.

Matty hadn’t said anything to the guys just yet, but they could tell something, or someone was on his mind. They were his best friends, after all. They could tell. Especially when he stopped ogling the English teacher and started actually doing the readings for the one class that they all shared together.

“Boys! You need to come downstairs! We’re going to say hi to the new neighbors!” Denise called from the bottom of the steps, her footsteps growing closer and the boys scrambling to hide the weed and look semi-presentable. “Really boys?”

Matty looks at her wide-eyed and shrugs, standing to his feet and shaking his mop of curls out in the mirror. “I’m good to go.”

“Oh dear,” his mother hums, shaking her head and clicking her tongue as she turns on her heel and begins descending down the stairs, tallying the boys one by one as they exit the front door and make their way across the street.

Matty nearly stops in his tracks when he sees you standing in the doorway with a stack of books in your arms. George bumps into him, “Move, Matty. You’re in the middle of the street.” George’s eyes follow the trail of what Matty is staring at and it all clicks. “She’s the girl you have a thing for? YN?” George nudges Adam, Adam nods at Ross. “That makes so much sense, now.”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, boys. I’ll introduce you. Their daughter goes to your school.”

“YN is in our English class, Denise,” Ross says with a smile, walking ahead of Matty and chatting nonsense to his mother, always the courteous one.

“She’s way out of your league, Matty,” George says with a laugh. “You do realize she’s not a delinquent, right?”

“I’m aware. Thank you. But I can make a good impression. I can do that.” Matty shakes his head and picks up his pace, walking alongside his mother and plastering smile on his face to introduce himself to your parents and you, formally at least.

Denise introduces herself and Matty, shaking their hands and begin to chat small talk about the neighborhood, the area, and the school, and as Matty pretends to listen, his eyes are scanning around for you somewhere around the house.

And then it happens.

Matty sees you.

And when he sees you, it feels like a moment in a cliché movie, where time has stopped, and he knew that something was different about you. You were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen up close, in person, in the flesh. He felt his mouth go dry and his heart beat faster. He was sure he was sweating and maybe even looked a bit flustered, which is why George nudges him to walk over and formally introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m YN,” you said with a smile, waving quietly and setting down another box of books. Matty was sure you probably had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with how many books you were bringing inside. “I think we have English together.”

“Yeah, I think we do,” Matty smiles, stepping forward and lending out his hand. “I’m Matty. Nice to actually meet you.” You smile back at him, and Matty felt his heart flutter. Feeling this at only fourteen felt ridiculous, but he couldn’t even help it. It was happening to him. Without any warning. “This is George, Adam, and Ross.”

“I see you guys around school all the time. Aren’t you in a band or something?”

“Yeah,” George smiles, budging Matty’s shoulder with a laugh. “You should come see us play.”

“Yeah! I’d like that. I need to make some new friends.” You paused for a minute, and Matty found himself upset that he wasn’t hearing your voice anymore. It was too early to be feeling this way. He didn’t even know you. “I actually saw you guys staring at the tree in my backyard earlier,” you giggled, kicking your foot forward and swaying back and forth. “I was going to, um,” you looked around for your mother, bringing your fingers to your lips and pretending to smoke, “back there. Do you guys want to come?”

George, Ross, Adam and Matty quickly nod their heads, an excited smile filling their faces as they wave goodbye to Denise and your mother, Matty following closely on your heels as you make your way through your garden.

///

“That’s how you met? Mummy was your neighbor? And Nana introduced you?”

“Mhm,” you hum from the doorway, stepping inside and taking a seat the end of the bed, smiling brightly at two of your favorite people. “Daddy and your uncles came to hang out with me, and it’s been all of us together ever since.”

“Well, Daddy, you didn’t tease Mummy like the boy at school teases me. Maybe he doesn’t like me.”

“Daddy teased me. But Daddy was my friend, so it was different. If you don’t like this boy at school teasing you, then you should tell him to stop.”

“Yeah, I think I’m going to tell him what Uncle George told me.”

You and Matty share a look. “What did Uncle George tell you, baby?”

“Uncle George told me to tell him to eat rocks.”

Matty laughs and nods his head, kissing Attie’s head and laying her down to fall asleep. “I think that’s a perfectly acceptable response, actually. Tell him that tomorrow.”

“Matty!”

#love it if we made it series #matty healy #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic #promptober #matty fics

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zivazivc · 3 months

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Ziva, would you mind providing a quick rundown of Les' band's personalities? I'm thinking of drawing how they'd look in my take on troll design, and knowing at least the gist of their personalities may help me figure out what tails to give them that may fit their personalities or contrast with them.

Oooooo 🥺 fanart of my ocs??

Uhm, so Les is very menacing on first glance, especially because of his size and resting bitch face (or resting moody vibe face as the films would call it lol) and he kind of likes it that way because it immediately warns ill-intentioned trolls to stay away from his friend group. But otherwise he's very laid back, kind of like a large dog. He gives off "don't mess with me and I won't mess with you" vibes. His true personality however is quite gentle and considerate, but that's supposed to contrast his physical appearance, and it's something he shows only around people he really trusts. - He also has a very goofy side that usually comes out when he's drunk (I don't know if that's important).

Hed is kinda his opposite. He wears his heart on his sleeve and is very expressive and extroverted. He grew up in Vibe City so he's very loud and tends to exaggerate body gestures because he just needed to do a little more to get attention from trolls two to three times taller than him. His outward personality is pretty fun and he's always the one with the party plan and craziest ideas/pranks etc. He's a bit less self-aware than the average Joe, and he has no filter on his mouth, so he can come across as rude or mean, especially because he likes poking fun and making jokes. He can also act a bit full of himself sometimes.

Also, I imagine this might be important if you're thinking of drawing them with tails, Hed wasn't born with dreads. His natural hair is straight and shaggy (think Barb's pet bat), so if he had a tail, I imagine it having his natural hair at the tip.

Flea is the most phlegmatic of all of them. He doesn't really talk much and tends to mind his own business most of the time. He's not shy or anything, it's just the way he is. Think "lazy surfer dude" or something (He would fit right in on Vacay Island.) But he radiates this chill guy energy that attracts other trolls and he has a large amount of acquaintances because of it; almost every place the band stops at there's someone who knows him and if not he makes a new group of friends there (reference: the rock trolls that lent him the psychedelic rock records).

Liv joined the band because she and Hed started dating, and then Hed roped her into playing the drums because he prefers playing the frontman if he can. In my head she gives this stereotypical goth chick energy; she's very cool and composed all the time, and can seem kinda cold and unapproachable. But she's actually nice, and pretty smart. She's also pretty organized and studies for school in between their gigs and parties, because she's the only one with any real foresight.

...

Man, this was hard to write. I usually think about characters' personalities in a very abstract way and with a collage of "moments" and quirks that define them, and if I do put words to them, I more or less describe them in my mind in Slovenian, so it was hard to translate all of it in a way that makes sense.

Also, btw, the very first time I drew Les, I actually drew him with a tail. Because I really like the idea of rock trolls having tails to distinguish them better from pop. But then I realized a tail is just another limb I have to think about when drawing and kinda dropped it lmao

#answered #trolls #ex bandmates

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weemsgay · 1 year

Text

Love Notes (Ch. 3)

Another playlist included for these lovestruck dummies. Also, @coffeemelko had a great idea to have Larissa know the hospital staff had been calling Reader her partner, hehe. Thank you for letting me write that in! :)

Larissa Weems x musicteacher!Reader

AO3 link

Spotify link

Getting Larissa inside and settled proved a harder task than it would seem. She kept demanding to stop and confirm everything was in order after being away from the academy to recover. She tried to inspect the grounds and interrupt the groundskeeper. She was stopped by several students who she confirmed were okay and didn’t need anything. Larissa even attempted to gather faculty for a meeting.

Oh, you felt like a tired mom who's toddler kept grabbing at all manner of items in the store only for you to sit it back down and try again. Once in her office, she continued the behavior, striving to call the mayor. Finally, having enough of this, you say agitatedly, “Shhh, Larissa. Enough. Just let me take care of you.”

Larissa seems to take the hint and quiets down considerably.

“How about I start to get you settled in the bedroom while you peruse your email. Only peruse, okay? And just until I’m finished.”

Walking into Larissa’s bedroom to turn down her sheets and prepare the space, your thoughts wander to the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. With the abundance of time spent with Larissa over the weeks, you began to pick up on the various genres that she likes—from 80’s power ballads to modern classical arrangements of pop songs to elegant classical music.

What started out as an effort to fill Larissa’s day with music while she recovered turned into a desperate attempt to disclose your feelings for the woman. The next mix CD you already started to create began to expose how much you cherished the principal-turned-friend. Though…the idea of only friendship was the furthest thing from your mind. You considered the assortment of music you had planned for Larissa’s next surprise. Desire. Affection. Appreciation. Yearning. These emotions undoubtedly flickered throughout the collection, tying each song together. If only you could pick up the courage to sign your name to these love notes.

Is it too late? you ponder warily.

Stepping back into the office, you hear Larissa typing frantically. With a sigh, you march over to where you left her at her desk. You reach out to slowly close her laptop until both of your eyes lock. “Hello,” You utter softly. “Ready?”

Larissa couldn’t help but feel secure and thankful for someone to be taking care of her for a change. Normally, she would resent the charity or pity, but from you, it didn’t read as those things. She can’t even be frustrated to be pulled away from her laptop. Instead, she replied definitively, “Ready.”

—

You and Larissa gather on the bed with wine after you tuck her in (quite literally). You can’t remember the last time you slipped blankets around someone’s feet and sides to make them feel snug. She just seemed so carefree for a moment at the action, wiggling her feet back and forth once she was bundled. You couldn’t help but feel a wave of adoration for the woman, as well as gratitude to be one of the select few who has seen her guard down.

“Oh gods, how I have missed red wine,” moaned the silver-haired blonde, downing a glass before you were even able to get one yourself and accompany her in the bed. “Excuse you,” you gasped. “Save some for the rest of us!”

“You didn’t have to give up wine,” she emphasized, teasing you. Regardless, you refill her glass and decide to bring the bottle bedside instead.

“And you are lucky that I’m letting you drink at all your first night out of the hospital.”

Larissa feigned astonishment with wide eyes. Revealing some of her typical poise and filter weakening, she returns, “You’re not in charge of me, you know.” With a gentle roll of your eyes, you mutter a bit under your breath, “Tell that to the staff.”

Perplexed, as if she is trying to catch up, Larissa questions, “What was that?” She turns her body to face you—to try to focus her eyes on your expression.

You giggle and steady her hand that almost spills some of her wine on the pristine duvet below.

“Oh, nothing.” Larissa feels a bubbling desire to press you for more information. However, she is suddenly struck by how heavy her arms and body are. How comfy the sheets feel. How warm her cheeks are. How can someone’s tolerance plummet this quickly after not drinking? she wonders as her head spins.

When Larissa lays flat on her back to still her spinning head, you roll onto your side towards her and tenderly stroke her forehead and hairline to provide her some comfort. The soothing motion feels right…feels natural. Her shoulders relax a bit and her breathing begins to even out. You wonder if she has already fallen asleep.

A few minutes pass. Eventually, you hear a soft proclamation, “I didn’t correct them.” The sleepy voice continues, “It felt nice, and I thought it was you.”

Your mind races. Does she mean she didn’t correct the staff? Does this mean she knew the doctors and nurses thought you were her partner? That the idea of you being her partner felt nice? Or just having someone there for her at all felt nice? What does she mean that she thought it was me? The mix CD? It had to be that… After another moment, with a nervous and fluttering heart, you question, “How would you feel if it was me?”

To that, you receive silence. No response, only steady breathing. Asleep, it seems.

You continue petting Larissa’s head, not wanting to rescind your touch. Her skin was warm from the wine and soft under your caress. You two didn’t discuss sleeping over, and you’re nervous to overstep or make her feel uncomfortable. Maybe you could get away with a few hours of blissful sleep next to the other woman?

You wake slightly at Larissa’s shifting body flinging an arm over your waist and pulling you close. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if you can get back to sleep. You lie in Larissa’s bed syncing your breaths to hers and trying to commit the feeling of her body next to you to memory.

Once the morning light started to trickle in through a crack in Larissa’s green velvet curtains, you decided it was time to untangle yourself from her and take your leave. You quietly grabbed a few of your things and exited the principal’s living quarters and office, heading toward the faculty showers. Hot water against your skin might ease the ache you felt from Larissa’s absence.

—

You attempt to sleep but can’t, so you make some buttered toast to munch on while you work in the orchestra room, knowing no students will be up to bother you. Last night strengthened so many of the feelings you knew you had for Larissa. What if that’s the first and last time I share her bed? The intrusive thoughts threaten your sanity, and you attempt to replace them with selecting songs for her next mix CD.

After an hour of immersing yourself in how to convey your emotions perfectly, you feel sleepiness begin to take you. Satisfied, you drag your feet to your own bed and plop down to rest.

Many hours later, you are jolted awake by an excited knock at your door. You glance at your clock to see that it’s noon. Confused, you stand up and put your father’s old robe on. It’s always been a comfort item for you—the way it was slightly oversized and could be wrapped around you tightly. You make your way to the door.

“Enid? What’s wrong?” You implore with concern as you swing open the door and are met with eager eyes and a slight bouncing up and down. You glimpse behind her to see Wednesday standing idly by, exuding mostly nonchalance but with an edge of analysis.

“Nothing is wrong. Sorry. It’s just that Principal Weems wants to see you in her office. Isn’t it great she’s back? I can’t believe Ms. Thornhill turned out to not be Ms. Thornhill and that she poison-“ you begin to interrupt the sweet, rambling young werewolf. “Thank you, sweetie, for letting me know. If you don’t mind, I need to get dressed.” Understanding, even though she wants nothing more than to keep talking and ask about the time you and Principal Weems have been spending together, Enid steps back. “Okay, see ya!” Enid assures, turning around to slip her arm around Wednesday’s to attempt to skip off. You stare after the unlikely couple for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and closing the door.

You drag your feet getting ready; you’re not sure why you are so nervous to see Larissa. Okay, yes, you do. You can’t help but think, What if she is upset with me?

You push the thoughts from your head and travel downstairs. Standing outside her office, you take a breath to prepare and knock.

“Come in!”

You receive a rather large smile from Larissa as you enter her office. To your dismay, she is in her work chair behind the desk. Are you seriously trying to do work right now? You mull over voicing your thoughts. She interrupts, “Where did you go?” Almost all anxiety around overstepping last night had left your body as you saw Larissa choosing to not rest.

“I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing up at your desk?”

“As usual Wednesday’s assimilation is once again rocky. I just got off the phone with the temporary replacement therapist in Jericho. I need to repost the job advertisement…” Guilt overwhelms you. Rather than trying to scold her, you should be understanding. You move to stand by her and rest a comforting hand on her shoulder.

You hear her out and strategize a plan forward. After posting on a few education and counseling job boards, you stand and stretch—letting out a bigger yawn than anticipated. “Is that all?” you ask sympathetically.

“Oh, I didn’t want to see you for this. I wanted to apologize for falling asleep on you.” You blush a bit, disclosing, “No, no, not a problem. A cuddle was nice.”

It was the blonde’s turn to react puzzled. “Cuddle? I rather meant falling asleep early. Did we cuddle?” Larissa seemed to tease and had a lilt to her voice.

Mortified, you backtrack and stutter, “I-I’m not sure. Y-your comforter was heavenly, though. You’re lucky I don’t steal it as compensation for taking care of you.” A deep, throaty laugh sounds from Larissa. You two banter a bit before you retreat to her restroom attached to her living quarters.

Okay, so using the restroom was a ruse for slipping out and delivering her new mix and letter. This time you included a poem special to your heart.

You quickly lock the door and phase into the adjoining classroom on the other side of the wall. Making sure no one is watching, you slip out of the room towards the principal’s office door. Your knuckles rapt against the door three times before you slid the gift underneath and to the other side. You begin to hear heels coming closer in determination.

The door opens quickly, Larissa’s torso peering out, inspecting the hallways to find no one. You had immediately disappeared into the wall to return to the bathroom before Larissa could suspect you were missing. Her mind reviewed the many possibilities, It’s almost impossible to vanish that quickly with no trace. Vampires could not transfigure into bat form that abruptly. No ghosts were enrolled or employed. Powers of invisibility were rare and difficult to control… She turns, closes the door, and heads into the bedroom.

Coming out of the bathroom, you hear Larissa, “Look what I found.” “Oh, shit. Another mix CD? Who is it?”

The taller woman sits on the bed, perplexed. “I confess I don’t know.” Larissa’s disappointment shines through, only you don’t notice that it is due to your alibi and not the impending mystery.

—

After you make Larissa promise to stop working on emails and paperwork for the rest of the day, you depart for your own room.

As soon as you are out the door, Larissa is rummaging through files on everyone associated with Nevermore. All faculty, staff, and students self-disclosed their outcast status and abilities annually. Things are bound to develop and change as powers evolve, but there is no mention of any power that could reasonably explain the mix CD’s presence in the absence of its creator or deliverer.

Her hands wander over your file. You were an obvious choice for the open music position when Mr. Altone, your predecessor, retired. Your ability to manipulate sound and generate music was unparalleled, and you could even compose according to specific emotions or mental states. Before you applied to Nevermore, you were a successful composer and closeted outcast, somewhat of a musical theater sensation. Nothing listed here that would explain the delivery of the CD, but plenty to incriminate you in its very creation.

Resigned for the night after another hour of scouring the internet and her book collection for an explanation, Larissa decided to put on the new playlist. She had almost melted the first one from playing it on repeat until her CD player was hot to the touch.

Larissa pulled a chair towards her magnificent fireplace and waited for the music to envelope her. A sweet melody begins to play, and she is transported into a warm, dream-like state. Behind her eyelids, swirls of purples, blues, pinks, and reds dance and convey the emotions behind the carefully curated songs. Her heart swells. Larissa still has doubts about who is behind the mix CDs, but when the music fills her up, she imagines you. She hopes for you.

@lilsmeaux, @suckerforcate, @rickistheman, @tundra1029, @asterlovesgwen. Let me know if any of you don't want tagged anymore! :)

#love notes....get it??#chapter 3 #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #principal weems #larissa x reader #principal larissa weems #wednesday #ao3 #fanfiction #gwendoline christie #music teacher #nevermore academy #boss/employee relationship #principal/teacher #Spotify playlist #mix cd #slow burn #mutual pining

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wraenata · 10 months

Note

You seem to put a lot of energy into being considerate of others. I'm thankful for it but like, how? I hope you're taking care of yourself.

Hi anon! Thank you very much, I really appreciate this.

I really like being considerate of others, in fact it makes me happy. When I see someone having a down day, I just want them to know that someone saw, and wants things to get better for them. Because that's how I really feel. I love all of you in my phone and I want you to be ok. And I like leaving nice tags for people on their art, because I know how much joy that can bring.

But, ugh, yeah. I'm not going to lie, it takes a lot of energy.

I think I'll put the rest under the cut...

Ever since the months started getting warmer this year I've been having more trouble keeping up with my dash (I'm someone who needs to scroll through the whole thing). Before the wedding I was in and covid about a month ago, I was able to just barely keep up with my dash and also scrolling the rise tag. Because I didn't want to miss anything! I also was able to scroll through ao3 to see what new fics were posted and bookmark ones I wanted to read! I...haven't been able to do that anymore...and I hate it.

I'm so far behind on reading fanfics that I absolutely enjoy because I just don't have the energy for reading anything longer than 1k at a time right now. And I can't start any new ones until I catch up on the old ones. There are so many writing posts I came across on my dash that are stuck in draft jail until I have time and energy to read them. And quite a few art posts that I came across when I just didn't have time.

I try hard to keep up with my dash at work but I only have so much (extremely generous) time to do that. I'm often speed running tags when I don't have a lot of time or energy. And sometimes I can't express just how much I love your art because of that low time or energy. And I hate putting posts in drafts cause it piles up and gives me anxiety. And when I come home its just, dash, all night.

I am eternally grateful for @/teainthesnow, she keeps all the tmnt tagged posts coming onto my dash so I can still see them (if you see this tea I am so appreciative of all the work you do for the fandom, you are an amazing person and I love you/platonic).

I've already unfollowed a few blogs, and I agonized over it, for like weeks, before doing it. But it hasn't been enough. If you noticed I unfollowed you in the past 2 months, please know that it was nothing personal and I hated that I had to do it. I miss seeing your posts and how your day is going. We are mutuals in my heart forever.

In fact I wish I could follow so many more blogs but I have had to stop myself for a while now. And it really fucking sucks. I've tried filtering a bunch of tags to make it easier too but it's not enough.

The fact of the matter is, I need to unfollow more blogs. And I hate to do it. I know I need to do it. I've known for a while now. I don't have the energy to keep up with it anymore, not after getting covid. I'm just so tired. All the time.

If you see that I unfollow you at some point, again, I love you and we are mutuals in my heart forever. All of my followers are my mutuals. My askbox and messages are always open. You can always tag me in posts (and oh my I'm just remembering all the of tag games I haven't had time to do) I just can't keep up with this anymore. I want to get back to reading fanfic and making the mountains of fanart I want to do for people.

I just, I love you all. But I'm so so tired. I really hope if anything comes out of this long ramble, its that I love you all. The rise fandom has given me so much and I want to return that love.

I'm sorry for the late response anon, and I'm sorry for turning your lovely ask into a bit of a vent. I've tried to put this off for as long as I could, but I just can't do it anymore.

I love you all though <3

#wren askbox #wren screams at 4 am #vent post #sorta #thank you anon for your care I really appreciated it <3

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sashi-ya · 1 year

Text

𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝕳𝖎𝖒. 𝕭𝖊𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖎𝖒. +18. dark! dom!reader x sub!Eustass Kid

✦ I wanted to write a yandere reader, with low morals and willing to torture the boy she/they obsessively simp over. You voted for Kidd. I didn't want to contribute to his actual suffering but here we are 😂 ✦ tw: dark! content. reader guiltrips Kidd and makes use of his weakness for her AND Killer. Kid x Killer implied. Takes place while he is in Udon, so, he is in jail. He is wearing shakles and tied to the wall. Facesitting. Slapping. Spitting. Overstimulation. Anal fingering. Degrading language. Violence. Though initially thought to be a female reader, there isn't really much indicators about reader being specifically a woman. Maybe the part where they squeeze their breasts but there are men with tits so. ✦ wc: 2.1k

“Eustass Captain Kidd…” you purr from the darkness.

His wet red locks fall over his face. Arm up, wrist tied to the wall of a cold cell. A subtle blueish light filters like a ray of light through the bars of Udon’s cells.

He huffs. He’s been brought here; he knows nothing about what happened to his crew and most importantly to Killer. He only knows he has been betrayed by the ones that said to be his allies.

“Who- are you? I’m gonna kill you!” he hisses, like a chained beast so ready to tear the flesh of anyone once he is freed.

You laugh. Hysterically. Finally able to see him back fills you with excitement and need.

“You don’t recognise my voice no more? What happened to you?” you ask, emerging from the dark. Your sexy body, the one that Kid knows very well, flashes on his red eyes.

He gasps. But, there is too much hatred inside of him.

Wearing the beast pirates attire, showing more skin than clothes, a long cape on your shoulders, you crouch at a considerable distance. You don’t want his heavy boots to stamp their soles in your face.

“What are you- what are you doing here, you treacherous bitch!” he spits one of the many insults that will follow. The chain and shackle of kairoseki clank with the violent motions, and you are sure he is about to rip a whole piece of wall just to be freed from there.

But you aren’t scared. you are, at best, a little bit crazy for him.

“Don’t blame me for staying by Kaido’s side. You chose to defy him because you think you are enough… but, I was clever, Kidd…” you whisper, coming by to his right side. “Come on, don’t treat me badly… remember our nights”

Kid turns to look at you, his eyes pierce your soul with pure hatred. The sweat drops falling right through his temple make you tremble.

“Remember the times when I use your holes for my pleasure? Yes. That’s the only usage I could give you” he hurts you. Or he thinks he does. You don’t mind, after all it has always been a matter of pure lust… but he was so yours when coming, when searching for your body in the middle of the night before Kaido fell from the skies like an unholy blessing.

You can’t stop laughing. And it’s scary, even for Kidd. “Stop laughing, if you want me to fuck you again then, free me up” he demands, thinking that you could be beaten in your own game.

“Ah so… we are playing that game aren’t we? But, Kidd… I’m a Tobbi Roppo now! I serve Kaido-sama… however, I very much like your offer. And I would like to trade with you… You want to be freed? You want to know where Killer is?” you chime, looking at him with your head tilted to the side and your thumb playing with your lip.

The red-haired beast grunts. You name Killer and he transforms. “What do you- what do you want?! Tell me where he is!” he shouts.

You giggle, covering your mouth with your hand… “Mmmh… let me touch you and I’ll tell you~ ” you playfully tell him, coming closer to his ear. Whispering soft, inaudible words you realize his skin becomes bumpy and his wet pants so tight on his crotch.

Weakness cannot describe what he feels for you. He craves your body, in a torturing dichotomy… is this because of Killer, or, because he really wants it even though he knows you won’t free him?

Slowly, like approaching a rabid animal, the tip of your nose buries on his neck. You inhale the scent of masculine rage coming from his pores. “Delicious. As scary and violent as always ~” you purr.

Kid watches you with a raving side look. “Be thankful I’m handcuffed…” he growls, ripping a smirk and a dark aura to come from you.

Immediately after his void threat, your hand gets to his half-burnt neck. Your nails carve on his skin, and you press so hard that you can feel his trachea almost cracking.

Kid gags, widening his eyes. You have become strong, and the woman he used to subdue under his imponent frame to fuck her senseless, has shown her true power.

“What? What would you do to me if you were uncuffed? Hm? You don’t want to save your sweet friend?” you murmur, biting his earlobe after.

Kidd grimaces; for the very first time he is scared of you. And fright feeds you.

You keep laughing as you finally straddle into his lap. He can’t speak, he has gone wordless. Smiling, so terrifically, you get to his lips to lick them. Red lipstick already smeared mixes with the blood traces of the thrashing he had to endure before being thrown to this jail.

“Did the cat got your tongue?… ah, what a shame… you used to use it so well on me. Are you sure is not there? Let me see” you tell him before pressing his cheeks to open his mouth.

He seethes, but you don’t care as his hips keep searching for more pressure and they make his crotch stick to yours.

A string of saliva drips from the tip of his tongue, the roughness of his breathing makes you so aroused. To have such a strong man under you, it’s your time now. From the times he left you unable to stand up, from the times he didn’t ask to fill you up, from the times he slapped you hard while he buried mercilessly into you…

“It’s my turn now, Kidd…”

You give him a little slap, that ends up with him spitting on you. Which is, absolutely not a problem for you. “Good boy! Stick your tongue out for me, ok?”

Standing up, you grab a fistful of his red locks and stretch his head back. Hips are now over his face; the thighs he used to bite and bruise, surround his facade.

Kidd bites his lower lip, your almost drippy core feels like he is being served his last meal. And perhaps it is, as you let your body fall over his face, muzzling, suffocating him.

You move your head back and forth, giving him a taste of your lustful elixir. His tongue buries inside the very first part of your entrance and then to your clit. His grunts are, by far, the perfect companion to your whimpers.

“See, you had a tongue after all!” you giggle while aggressively press your sex against his face. You fantasise with his lips becoming blue from the lack of air. You want him to feel lightheaded, about to pass out.

And just, when you had enough, but he hasn’t, you stand up. You let go of his hair, pushing his head back. Hitting his nape against the wall he mourns, but he is more interested in what comes next that any pain his body could feel.

You take the time to smear even more the rests of lipstick and blood with your own juices all over his face. It excites you to no extent to see his stare become weaker, subdued to your acts, pleading for more.

It’s a matter of seconds before you can rip his pants off. His belly, who was already exposed, tenses. He can’t take this no more, but you can make him even more needy.

“Ah… how much I have missed your dick...” you moan, taking a closer look to the red, drippier, throbbing member that lays erect in the middle of his crotch. “Would you like me to touch it? Or maybe lick it for you?” you playfully tease him, watching the way his sex twitches at your indecent proposal.

“If you missed it, why don’t you suck it already? Huh?” he urges you to use your mouth, but that’s the beauty of the torture…

You giggle, hysterically, sadistically. You ain’t using your mouth, oh no. It’s better if you use the tip of your high heel boot. It softly hits his hardness, making him bend forward. The sound of chains resonating all around a silent night at Udon, and the subtle tears flooding Kidd’s sharp eyes fills you with joy.

“I’m so, so, so happy right now, Kidd!” you moan, taking your hands to your breasts, squeezing them. You are out of your mind, but that never bothered Kidd, why would it bother him now?

He doesn’t protest. He knows he’s earned it. Kidd suffers in silence, his cheeks become red. His dick sprouts large amounts of precum, making a puddle all around him. He is, right now, in a state of pain and pleasure. He wants it over, but he wants it to last forever… and, you haven’t even touched him yet.

But, that won’t last much longer. You want to edge him, to the point of making him dumber. The tip of your boot lubricates with Kidd’s own arousal honeys, and it begins to go up and down all throughout his shaft.

You can see how his hips buckle up just to get more and more; you enjoy his suffering expression, so much it makes you almost come from such lewd imagery.

“You are like a puppy, Kidd. You wanna hump my leg? Cutie pie!” you purr, lifting your leg just a little so the sharp heel of your boot dangerously lingers on top of his balls.

“I- I can’t- give me more” he pleads, stupidly reduced to a mere slave of sex.

“Sh sh, stay still… or do you want me to step on you? Oh no, we wouldn’t want that… right?” you pout, acting all innocent with clear darkness intentions that both scare and excite the captive captain.

Kidd swallows. He is unable to stay still, he wants relief no matter what. Even if it hurts him.

“Stand still!” you scream, after stepping a few millimetres from his flesh, right into the stone ground. The sound of your heel carving into the precum stained floor makes his breathing to stop for at least a couple of minutes. “Haven’t I told you yet, that it is me who decides what’s next? We don’t want you to get hurt, right?”

When Kidd finally starts breathing again, you kneel right next to his miserable self. “Suck my fingers, come on” you order him, pushing your index first in his mouth. As he deliciously wets your fingers, you graze his prominent cheekbone so softly and caring. A total contradiction since you are almost making him gag by how violently you bury your hand into his mouth.

Wet fingers finally reach his shaft. Kidd thinks he is getting a final dose of relief… but there is much more you wanna do…

While you pump his dick up and down, so slowly. Painfully slowly, you begin to slide your index into his rear entrance. You don’t find a lot of resistance, and you smile even wider. Boy has experience, no doubt about it.

“Aahhh ~ I see you aren’t new to this, who was it? Killer?” you laugh deadly sexily, watching him look to the side with cheeks on fire. “Now I know the real reason behind your worry… is not just your bro…” you tell him, while finally being able to fully enter his rear entrance.

Kidd grunts; a loud “Fuck!” escapes his overly bitten lips. And you can’t allow such strong word coming from him right now, so, a soft slap will do to tame him. The red-haired man can only emit intelligible sounds and moans, don’t ask for him to think straight. You are hitting his G-point. You are pumping his dick. He is lost into the last few moments to reach heaven…

But, heaven… Wano isn’t heaven. You stop, right before he could cum. Ruining his orgasm, keeping him in the precipice of lust or loss.

“WHY---?” “Because you have been a bad boy. You left me, Kidd! But… don’t panic. You wanna come, right? Then why don’t I make you cum harder than ever?” you whisper, fixing your yandere eyes into his scared and needy ones.

You unexpectedly slide a second finger inside him, hitting right the prostate. Your palm rests open wide over his gland, tracing circle motions that make his whole body to contort and his teeth to chatter.

“N- NO- I- I-“ he whines, its too much pleasure even for him to process. But you keep going, he can’t stop you. Keep crying, Kidd.

You trap his lower lip with your teeth, softly pulling, enjoying his incontrollable moans. He drools, he pants, he cums and you keep touching him. You keep stimulating him.

Kidd is going senseless. He can’t understand yet, how, his body is able to still feel pleasure. But he can’t stop you. He won’t.

Squirting. Squirming. Closing his eyes, falling asleep soon after with the sound of your soft giggle does nothing but to sooth his stressed-out body.

“Sleep well, Kidd… I’ll be back tomorrow… freeing Killer will be more expensive than just a session”.

#eustass kid x reader #sashi-ya #eustasscaptainkid #hentober #one piece #kinktober #law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #sashi ya #eustass kidd #eustass kid imagine #eustass kid x you #eustass kid #one piece fanfiction #one piece kid #kid one piece

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yr-obedt-cicero · 1 year

Text

“I must not publish the whole of this.”

At some points in this letter1 H’s words have been crossed out so that it is impossible to decipher them; and at the top of the first page, a penciled note, which was presumably written by J. C. Hamilton, reads: “I must not publish the whole of this.”

Hamilton's correspondence has been altered and butchered by several hands a number of times. We know after Hamilton's death all of his letters were put through the filters of his friends and family. Gouverneur Morris was requested by Eliza and son James to go through Hamilton's correspondence to; “examine and select such as ought not to fall into the hands of those who might publish them.” [x], and not to mention Eliza herself or the many biographers she hired (Also like JCH and Allan McLane), Hamilton's will executors, etc. A few letters are noted by LOC to have been accidentally damaged by Henry Cabot Lodge when he made copies in the 20th century. Additionally, then there is the matter of the letters Hamilton sent to others that were then placed in other's hands - vulnerable for alterations - and were then subsequently returned to the Hamiltons', or could have found their way into other collections. Which has evidently affected the surviving correspondence we have from Hamilton, as there have been added dates, numbers, cuts, censors, and notes, that others have added onto the letters repeatedly.

With this being said, Hamilton's surviving correspondence has been butchered by the hands of other's alteration multiple times. One of Hamilton's most explicit and homoerotic letters was also censored considerably, and while there have been several posts trying to uncover the original print—I was more curious to see if John C. Hamilton was the actual culprit of censorship. Throughout the April 1779 letter, there are plenty of sentences that are blotted out. And in pencil, there is a faded message at the top that supposedly reads; “I must not publish the whole of this.” As I mentioned, several people have gone through Hamilton's correspondence so we - for the most part - cannot be solidly certain who it was. After receiving an ask of someone wondering if it could have been Eliza, or the other Hamilton children, maybe even Gouverneur Morris like all the other possible candidates previously mentioned. It made me realize we aren't actually sure who was the one to stumble upon the April 1779 letter and censor through it. Some have even claimed it wasn't JCH, due to the ink blotting in the 6th of September, 1780, letter from Hamilton to Eliza - that Harold C. Syrett said was JCH's - not resembling the same pencil marks made in the April 1779 letter.

In fact, when John C. published the April 1779 letter in Volume 1 of Life of Alexander Hamilton, he included everything from “Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships...” to “There is a total stagnation of news here...” but swiftly cuts out all the other paragraphs until “Fleury shall be taken care of. All the family send their love.”, but publishes the postscript. And does the same in The Works of Alexander Hamilton. So, this has made many believe he was guilty of censoring the April 1779 letter, but again, he was just the one to publish it. How do we know Eliza didn't make the notes or censors? Or Morris? Or any of the other Hamilton kids? (Since whoever used the pencil is different from who used the ink in Hamilton's and Eliza's letter)

So, I thought to try and compare the pencil handwriting to that of John Church's to try and decipher if it was actually his or not. The pencil message is faded, and the other half is relatively inconsprehensible beyond “publish the”;

Using John's correspondence with Martin Van Buren for examples—John Church writes his I's pretty similarly to the note on the letter, even having a bit of a twirl at the end which is slightly apparent on the message.

Although the T at the end of ‘Must’ is a bit odd. It's separated from the rest of the word which I've never seen JCH do before, but it also is noticably missing the intertwining line, yet still has the curl at the end that he does.

The ‘Not’ almost completely matches his own, even with the omitted line through the T often missing when he wrote ‘Not’.

Although the ‘The’ is less tightly knit as John usually wrote his, and it doesn't appear to have the small downward line his always began with.

Overall thoughts; it definitely isn't Eliza's or Gouverneur Morris's. Way too loose and less formal to be Morris's, and Eliza's penmanship has a lot more twirls and small details, even in older age her writing doesn't resemble this one. But I'll also try comparing it to James's (Also using his correspondence to MVB) since he also seems to have had a role in altering Hamilton's letters if he was part of the request that Gouverneur Morris do it. And his writing is a bit similar to John's.

His I's are taller and slimmer than the one of the note, making it more similar to John's.

John's ‘Not’s are of closer resemblance, James's are usually smaller in comparison to the rest of his words.

James's Th's are sharper in his ‘The’s, but they are closer to the ‘The’ in the letter compared to John's that usually turn down in the beginning.

TL;DR, it's either James's or John's, most likely John's. And if it is John's, he wasn't the only one censoring Hamilton's letters since there are several different censoring techniques that were used when filtering through Hamilton's correspondence (I.e. ink blotting, pencil marking, cutting out pieces, etc).

#Happy capitalist love day. watch as I examine a gay letter in celebration #amrev #american history #american revolution #alexander hamilton #historical alexander hamilton #historical john laurens #john laurens #john church hamilton #governor morris #elizabeth hamilton #elizabeth schuyler #james alexander hamilton #lams #historical lams #history #letters #cicero's history lessons

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clementine-kesh · 8 months

Note

It's such a struggle to be a Phlox fucker, I'm not even kidding. It's not the lack of hot Phlox appreciation or the other people thinking it's a bit or even the hypocrisy of Quark and Garak being treated as sex symbols (I mean yes they're hot too but you know what I mean) while Phlox is just treated as some funny guy. All of that sucks but it's not what's hardest for me. No, it's the shipping.

I have been trying really hard to find someone to consistently pair him up with in my mind - I have already given up on finding a ship there's actually considerable content for, if you go to Phlox' ao3 tag and go to filter by relationship literally none of the options even involve him which is fucked up if you ask me - but there's always some kind of snag.

(Note from future me when I was finishing writing the rest of this message: I don't touch on every possibility, only ones I think could evolve into any kind of relationship rather than a quick one off shag (thinking of Trip here) so there's not even that many but I wrote way too much, especially on candidate #3)

The first I saw suggested was Archer which, fair enough I guess, but at that point I had not yet met Shran or knew about Shrancher and now that I do it's not like I stopped with the Phlox x Archer but it's just no longer a priority. And yes, you can totally make Archer having two alien boyfriends work, especially since both Denobulans and Andorians are poly by default, but while I haven't seen Shran and Phlox interact yet (and thus could be totally off) I just don't feel like they'd vibe enough to even hang out casually tbh. Again, I do still ship this but pretty low key.

The next option I wanna talk about is T'Pol and I think that at least initially, she's the most "realistic" option and if the show had been twice as long they probably would've been at least teased at some point (in part ofc since it was the 00s and so heterosexuality was the only option but y'know) and the whole "only two non-human crew members" thing adds something that vibes with me, too, but there's just no way you could ever make them work in the long run because Vulcans are just PAINFULLY monogamous and I simply don't think she's willing to break with that. Phlox would off-handedly mention one of his wives and T'Pol would be absolutely seething. This is not a long term ship.

Then possibly my favourite so far is Tobin Dax. Technically it's only beta canon that Tobin was around during Ent (in the alpha timeline Lela died in 2226 (thus presumably when Tobin was joined) which is over 60 years after the end of Ent and there's no alpha info on what he was doing before but in the beta timeline Tobin was definitely already joined by the 2160s and probably quite a bit before) so unless you wanna go with unjoined Tobin (whom we have zero alpha info and as far as I can tell little to no beta info on) you gotta go beta timeline which I know so little about that it's hard for me to daydream about. But at least Phlox and Tobin are said to have met in beta canon tho I don't know if there's scenes of their interactions. I can probably forget about any non me made content too since beta Tobin is already "commonly" (considering it's all beta) shipped with Iloja of Prim who, fun fact, is actually given as Jadzia's favourite Cardassian writer in alpha canon. Anyway, point is I just don't know enough about (beta) Tobin or beta canon in general to generate anything here.

(And I would consider other Dax hosts as well but unless you count the (alpha timeline) three years between Lela's joining and Ent ending there's not much opportunity for this without time travel. I should mention two things here, one: I don't think Lela is one of the Daxes that I'd ship with Phlox and two: I am not strictly opposed to time travel for the sole purpose of PhloxDax and I can defo imagine him with Jadzia, Curzon, maybe Torias and possibly Emony, but it's an extra level of complication that I frankly can't be bothered with if I'm the only one doing it.)

(Also, just for completeness' sake: in the beta timeline we know Phlox was alive at least until the 2260s which would put him parallel with Dax until at least Audrid tho it's very feasible he made it until after her death in 2284, the two subsequent hosts (who as you know didn't make it long) and Curzon's 2285 (again, beta timeline, it's '86 in alpha) joining. There's different lifespans given for Denobulans (about 300y in beta tho, according to memory beta) but even by the shortest I found (which said 170 to 280) it's very much possible since Phlox was born in the 2080s (beta)/generally sometime late 21st century (alpha). But that's just additional info.)

In summary, I may have to read Uncertain Logic (last Rise of the Federation novel to feature Tobin and the one that, based on my research, is most likely to show him interact with Phlox) but it would be difficult as I can no longer read long texts after getting off my ADD meds (which mess with my antidepressants) and thus literally haven't finished even half of a book in about a decade. As I said, the struggle is real. I swear to you I don't set out with the intention of writing a dissertation in your askbox each time, it just happens. I'm sorry.

Oh, also, if you have more suggestions (or better yet: content) for Phlox ships I'd be very eager to listen! Thank you so much for your time!

-Levi

i respect the grindset so much more people should be phloxfuckers tbh. he’s got that jovial mad scientist vibe and is in an open marriage with his three wives like?? the best phlox ship i have for you is ages ago i made a post that included a joke about neelix using a temporal anomaly to moonlight as the chef on the nx-01 and beginning a torrid love affair with phlox which i still stand by. it happened to me. also i know next to nothing about beta canon but conceptually the idea of pairing phlox with one of the dax hosts is very fun

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tiressian · 6 months

Note

Debate? Heated argument?

What about a quarrel because someone is... jealous. 😌🤭

But honestly, I've been waiting for you to write a jealous fic/sex trope. 🥺👉👈

You're in luck 😂 I have a scrapped jealousy scene from Hello Nurse that has kissing, on the house:

content warning for Naoya lmao, rated high T, sensuality, cussing

I’m getting laid, Shoko decides.

Ideally, she’d prefer a targeted lobotomy: erase everything about Satoru that makes her stomach tie up in knots, but anyone who’s manifested such a Cursed Technique has yet to step foot through the school gates. The thing about Satoru is he’s insufferable but also oddly considerate in unexpected ways, and these two facets of him are in constant harmony, which is frustrating, because he also has the nerve to be consistent about it.

Satoru’s stopped munching on her party-sized bag of potato chips and is staring at her.

“Oh,” Shoko says, realising after a pause. “Said that out loud, didn’t I?” Satoru nods slowly. Sorry. What were you talking about?”

“My annual ‘End of Summer; Zero Deaths!’ party,” he says. He goes back to munching. Shoko got the salt and vinegar flavour out of spite, but that doesn’t stop him from stuffing it down by the handful. “Ish gonna be ‘allow-een-feem.”

“Halloween-themed?”

Satoru nods, swallowing. “Yeah, costumes. You’re coming right? Who knows; you might even get lucky.”

“Who are you going as?”

“The Dread Pirate Roberts,” Satoru says, puffing out his chest briefly. Probably another character from all those movies he watches, Shoko assumes. “Wanna go matchy matchy? I think red suits ya.”

“Ha-ha.” Stupid Morgue joke, she thinks. Stupid Satoru, making the same one every year, as if it’ll magically land if he does it enough times.

“Worth a shot.” Satoru shrugs. He tips his head back to empty the rest of the potato chips down the hatch.

“Satoru,” Shoko says, suddenly remembering.

“Yo!”

“What kind of woman do you like?”

Satoru is briefly serious, thinking about it. The moment he smiles, Shoko knows she’s in for mischief. “Hmm, well. I really like women who like me.”

Shoko groans.

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Such a copout.”

“How’s it a copout?” Satoru scoffs, and as convincing as it sounds, Shoko’s ears are highly attuned to filtering out the bullshit.

“Plenty of women like you.”

“Still doesn’t mean my answer’s a copout.”

“Yes it is.” Satoru gives her a blank look. “You’ve noticed all those women liking you; you’ve at least figured out your preference if you haven’t acted on the fact by now.”

Satoru smiles coyly at her. “What an intriguing diagnosis. What makes you so sure I haven’t?”

There’s a fine line between teasing and flirting. Satoru is a deft hand at blurring that line no matter who he talks to. Five years ago, it made her heart race—until she realised he did that with everyone. Now it just triggers an involuntary eye roll.

“I’m not,” she says while Satoru chuckles. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“It’s Six Eyes, not Six Hundred Eyes. Shoko, come on; I look like the kinda guy with that kind of time on my hands? You know my schedule.”

Another cop out. “I do know your schedule. I also know you have a knack for making space when it’s convenient.”

“Heaven forbid a guy practices time management!” Satoru throws his hands in the air.

“Favourite body part then,” Shoko says. Satoru tilts his head. “Are you a tits man or are you an ass man?”

Satoru snorts, then busts out laughing. He catches the marker pen Shoko flings at his head and sets it down calmly on her desk.

“I’m definitely an uncomfortable man,” he says.

“You’re lying.”

“Am not Shoko, I really am uncomfy.”

“Look, I’ll get the ball rolling: I like guys with nice bodies. That’s why I asked Suguru out,” she says. “See? Nothing you need to think too hard about.”

“Clearly.” Satoru says, catching her in a stare down. Eventually Shoko relents, unnerved. She looks away, digging into her labcoat pocket for the comfort of a cigarette. Stupid man, stupid consistency. “That strung out, huh…”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Shoko sighs. She balances her cigarette between her lips while she feels around her pant pockets for the lighter. It takes a couple of flicks before she finally gets a flame going. Satoru is quiet as he watches.

“Come to my party,” he says eventually, all teasing gone. “You never come.”

“I don’t like the noise.”

“Plenty of quiet corners. And beer.”

“What if I don’t want to wear a costume?”

“Then you’re drinking water.”

“Alright, compromise: I’ll come and I’ll wear a costume if you answer the stupid—”

“Hands,” Satoru says, heading off her rant at the pass with a smile.

Shoko closes her eyes and takes a drag. There’s never any comfortable middle ground when it comes to attention from Satoru. Always the extremes of barely enough, to have her noticing the days between his last visits and his current one, and too much all at once, filling her space with his presence until she feels suffocated by it.

“It’s stupid though,” he says.

“Liking hands isn’t stupid,” she says on an exhale.

“I mean liking only one part of a person. People aren’t made to be experienced in parts. You take them whole: good, bad…kinky.”

Shoko opens her eyes and finds him grinning at her, clearly having added that last part just to get a reaction out of her.

Shoko gives him nothing. She’s had enough years training herself out of knee-jerk reactions. She closes her eyes again and brushes the delusion aside.

“You’re weird,” she declares.

“I’m marking you down as Attending,” Satoru says. “Wear a costume—an actual costume—or you get no beer.”

He goes, leaving her office door open behind him so it can ventilate. “Smoking kills,” he says over his shoulder.

…

The party is in full swing when Shoko finally steps out of the elevator onto the penthouse floor. Sanji (Nanami) is there to let her in before he excuses himself to the bathroom. He doesn’t bat an eyelash at Shoko’s outfit, but then Nanami tends not to bat his eyelashes at most things.

“Utahime’s already drunk,” he explains. “I have to go hold her hair. There’s a walk-in closet where you can leave your coat.”

Satoru, or ‘The Dread Pirate Roberts’ is in the kitchen, finding entertainment in watching a zombie (Itadori) and a witch (Kugisaki) race to see who can shotgun their cokes the fastest while a mummy (Maki) boredly stands off to the side, eating from a skewer.

There’s a large icebox filled with beers set up by the couches. Shoko passes the kitchen as she weaves her way through the throng toward it, pretending as if she isn’t unnerved by the stares following her until she hears glass shattering. When she turns her head to the commotion, she finds Satoru standing there, staring at her like a deer in headlights, with the same blush she’d seen weeks earlier creeping across his face.

Yuki’s about to have a field day.

She gives the downright flabbergasted pirate a polite wave in greeting, careful to hide her glee. Then she continues on, retrieving a beer from the ice box and making herself at home on the empty space of couch that Two-Face (Naoya Zen’in) of all people has just cleared out for her. As she crosses one leg over the other, he leers without an ounce of shame, which seems to be a common denominator for these clan types. Then he shifts closer, draping an arm casually behind her head on the couch’s backrest, bringing her into his domain. He smells nice, Shoko will give him that much.

“Well hello nurse,” he greets, in the pompous tone of a man very used to getting his way. “You’re a long way from the Infirmary.”

The current leader of the Hei is a walking red flag, a veritable patron saint of Rotten to the Core. The name Zen’in is a warning label all its own already, but by god does this man work to make sure it stays that way. Shoko knows this, every woman in the jujutsu world knows this.

But Naoya is also hot and she came here to get laid. She’s already accomplished her primary goal of wiping Satoru’s perennial smirk off his face, and that’s worth celebrating. Shoko considers both truths as she pops open her beer. She decides just for tonight she doesn’t care if Naoya doesn’t respect her. He’s never needed her like everyone else in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s needed her, come crying when there’s something to be fixed.

Feeling wanted, even if it’s by Naoya Zen’in of all people, is way too nice of a thing to not smile about.

“Yes, I walked all this way just to sit here with you,” Shoko tells Naoya.

...

Naoya gets a phone call from the clan head and excuses himself to the balcony to answer, which is good timing for her, because she needs another beer. Most of the drinks have sunk lower in the icebox on account of the ice melting, so she has to bend a bit to reach. She feels a few of the eyes in her immediate vicinity fixate on her ass as she does, but it can’t be helped. She’s just straightening up, two cans in hand when her back brushes up against a wall that wasn’t there before and smirks as she turns. She didn’t expect Naoya to be done with his clan business so quickly, but she’s far from bothered; it just means she can get to her business too.

“Aww did you miss m—oh,” Shoko realises, chuckling. Satoru has taped fake anime girl eyes into his blindfolds which are a hilarious contrast to the tension radiating off of him. He crosses his arms any tighter his head’s going to pop off like a cork, she thinks. “The Dread Pirate Roberts. What an honour.”

“Nice costume,” Satoru says. His smile is so fake, Barbie’s probably ringing him off the hook to sue about it.

“Thank you. I think I might actually be getting lucky tonight, so I appreciate the suggestion.”

The fake smile on Satoru’s face splinters. “Naoya? Really? You couldn’t find anyone else to talk to?”

“It’s so fascinating Satoru; I don’t think he recognises me. Do you think he remembers what you and Geto did to him during Goodwill?”

“What you and me and Geto did to him, you mean.”

“Bygones. We’re adults now, Satoru.”

“He isn’t.”

Shoko smiles, poking him in the chest. “Oh? I don’t think you have any authority to say how an adult’s supposed to act.”

Satoru bats her hand away and holds up a gloved finger, which he probably assumes is supposed to lend him some kind of gravitas but in Shoko’s eyes he just comes across as petulant. “I got enough authority in this finger, nay, my pinky—” he says, wagging it in her face, “to say that that guy’s a hundred percent garbage dressed up in a fancy suit.”

“Well, no one else is interested in talking to me, garbage or no garbage.”

Satoru gestures between them. “I’m talking to ya aren’t I?”

“Doesn’t count; you’re the host. My point stands. No one’s rushing to talk to me.”

“Because they saw Naoya talking to you.”

“Why’d you invite him then?”

“Because he did me a solid.”

“Ahh so he’s only ninety-nine percent garbage then,” Shoko says, and Satoru twitches, one corner of his mouth fighting a smile.

“You’re smarter than this Shoko.”

“It’s sex, Gojo. Nothing to be smart about.”

“Well the sex you’re after is political.”

As if she needed the reminder. Satoru looks at her expectantly. Shoko purses her lips, considering.

“What if I asked him really nicely to let you off the hook?”

“Snowball’s chance in hell that’s happening. Look at him, Shoko: throwing his weight around, already enacting his terrorism over there.”

Proclaiming Naoya as a terrorist is a step dramatic even for Satoru, Shoko thinks, as she follows where he’s pointing. “What, like he’s marked his territory? That is so ridic—” she cuts off with a snort at the scene on the balcony.

Naoya is still on his phone, leaning on the railing, his back to the entire world while he nurses a beer. The other party guests who were on the balcony before him have all instinctively crowded to one side to give him a wide berth.

Yes. Marking his territory does sound like something in the realm of what a man who only viewed women as playthings would do.

“It’s fine,” Shoko decides, turning back to Satoru. He’s staring at the ceiling for no discernible reason, a blush high on his cheeks. “What’s with you?”

Satoru mumbles something.

“Pardon?”

“I said Naoya sucks.”

“That’s what I thought you said. Now quit being a bad host and go save those poor balcony guests if you care so much. I’ll tell you about the sex tomorrow if I’m still alive.”

She squeezes his arm and leaves him staring at her back, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out.

...

On the spectrum of funny, Naoya is decidedly a lot less funnier than Satoru, which Shoko didn’t think possible until tonight. If there’s anything ‘funny’ about Naoya, it’s the way his gaze occasionally drifts to Maki from time to time. But Shoko also wants to get laid, and clan dynamics incestuous or otherwise are far down her list of things to be judgemental about, so.

It’s an excruciating twenty minute conversation, to say the least.

Shoko can only imagine what she looks like, smiling politely, and occasionally giggling, initiating contact by slapping Naoya lightly on the arm as though scandalised. She’s fervently relieved Utahime’s too drunk to see her subject herself to this, but Naoya’s staked his claim and it’s not as if anyone else is stepping up to the plate. That said, by virtue of his family name, rancid as his personality is, Naoya has to have no shortage of people lining up to throw themselves at his feet for the favours or protection being a Zen’in guarantees. He should be adept at seeing through bullshit pandering, especially since it’s not as if she’s going for the Oscar here. There’s a moment during their conversation where she thinks she sees intuition flash across Naoya’s face, but it seems to be unfounded when he inevitably cracks another unfunny joke and finally rests a hand on her knee. Shoko smiles as she takes a drink of her beer, dimly aware of the sound of glass shattering, amused by a different punchline:

Naoya is just like every other man.

...

And so is Satoru, apparently.

Naoya gets another phone call and Shoko won’t lie: it’s amusing to watch the people on the balcony part like the Red Sea the moment he steps out. She makes her way to the kitchen while Satoru herds everyone into the living room for some party games and starts assigning them up into teams.

The first game is charades. Shoko clears an entire tray of beef skewers while she watches, perched on one of the stools behind the kitchen counter. The only thing more entertaining than watching charades is watching drunk people argue technicalities for points.

The stool beside Shoko scrapes against the floor. Satoru steals the last beef skewer before she can get to it and cleans it off in one bite, chewing with more gusto than seems necessary since every piece has been cooked until tender.

“You n’ Naoya gettin’ real cozy,” he remarks.

“As cozy as one can get, sidling up to a viper’s nest?” Shoko guesses, smiling.

“Well at least you don’t need me to tell ya.”

Shoko watches him pull a tray of dumplings over and steals the one he was about to pick up as revenge, popping it into her mouth and smiling innocently back at him afterwards. Satoru mutters something under his breath and picks up a different dumpling.

“You know, Gojo,” Shoko says while they eat. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wanted Zen’in-kun for yourself.”

Satoru chokes mid-chew, beating a fist against his chest. Shoko claps him behind the back a few times to help dislodge it, admittedly with more force than required. This sudden burst of protectiveness is appreciated but unnecessary. Naoya and his ilk could stand to attend a gender studies class, but it’s not like she’s setting out to screw a scumbag curse user.

Satoru summons an unopened can of soda, and—after an expectant look from Shoko—a beer from the icebox with Blue. It’s as he’s sliding the beer over that Shoko notices the red smears on his wrists.

She jerks his hands towards her before he can drink so she can examine them closer. No wounds, just remnants of his reversed cursed energy kicking in, and fairly recently, too, judging by the strength of his residuals.

“What happened here? Fistfight with a knife?”

“Tch, no. Pyrex dish exploded.”

“What? How? Why? Those are supposed to be oven safe.”

“Dunno,” Satoru says. He clears his throat unnecessarily and tugs his hands back. Shoko sits back and watches him eat, a hundred percent certain he’s being evasive and trying to figure the angle.

“Never pictured you with a guy like Naoya,” he mutters, before he freezes, eyes wide, like he didn’t mean to say it aloud.

Too late for him, Shoko pounces. She leans against him, smirking. Shoko doesn’t know what possesses her to do it, maybe it’s the costume giving her a boost of confidence, but she curls her fingers over his forearm, idly scraping her nails against the muscle she feels through the black silk of his shirt. Satoru stiffens at the contact, face pink, but he doesn’t move away.

“Oh? You were picturing me with guys? I didn’t know your schedule had space for ‘that kind of thing.’”

“Oh like you don’t have time picturing me with women. Miss ‘what’s your type?’”

Shoko drums her nails against Satoru’s forearm and sighs. “For your information, I only asked because Yuki wanted to know.”

“Yuki?” Satoru repeats, frowning at her. If Shoko didn’t know any better, she’d be tempted to say he looked disappointed. She presses on, tracing an ’S’ in his arm with a nail, amused at how every line in Satoru’s body seems to draw tighter the longer she does it. He’s never been the ticklish sort, so it’s fascinating.

“What kind of guys, Gojo? Go on, tell me. You’ve been so vocal tonight, don’t stop now.”

“Good guys.” Satoru’s tone is clipped.

“Look at Mr. Eloquent over here. What’s a ‘good guy’? Define it for me.”

“Ha, easy: anyone at this party who isn’t Naoya.”

“Anyone, huh…” Shoko lets go of his arm and glances to where the rest of the party guests have gathered, engaged in the most intense game of Pictionary she’s seen, gaze sweeping over the faces she knows.

Kiyotaka’s kind but too awkward. Mei Mei could be fun, but would probably lord it over me if she doesn’t try to swindle me first. Utahime’s already asleep. She tilts her head at Nanami whose lap Utahime has claimed dominion over for the foreseeable future.

“I guess that’s true,” Shoko admits. Satoru nods in that self-satisfied way of his that she’s used to and pops open his soda. “Do you know if Nanami’s seeing anyone?” Shoko asks and Satoru spits out his drink.

“Nanami?” He manages, recovering. Sheesh, from the look on his face you’d think she’d just declared that Suguru was right this whole time and that she’s going to buy a ticket on the genocide train.

“Why not? Isn’t he a good guy? Or would Haibara be a safer bet. He’s nice and I like his face.”

“Well, yeah, but.”

“But what? Is he taken?”

“No, he’s just.” Satoru glances to Nanami and then back to her, managing to look even more put out, which is dumbfounding, considering Naoya as her only other alternative. “Nanami? Seriously!”

The last part comes out so sharply that Shoko startles, and she sees from the way Satoru registers her reaction that the outburst is instantly regretted. She’s used to seeing him emotional, but always as a third party watching him rant at Ijichi. Being subject to that ire is as sobering as a shock of ice water to the face.

Shoko pops open her beer and skulls it, feeling her hands shake. She can’t deal with being sober right now, because then she’d have to contend with the knowledge of the ‘good guy’ sitting right in next to her never, ever, slowing down enough for her to reach him.

“Sorry,” Satoru mutters, massaging his temples. “Didn’t mean to snap. Hosting’s been a real pain. Think I’ll should just… I dunno, hire out an izakaya next time.”

“That’s the smartest, most adult thing you’ve said all day.”

“Tch. I should confiscate your beer.” Satoru continues to press his fingers to his temples, brows knitted together, eyes closed.

“Another migraine?”

“Yeah. From watching you slobber all over roadkill,” Satoru grumbles.

Shoko rolls her eyes and swivels his chair to face hers. Satoru cracks an eye open, looking at her quizzically.

“Here.” She pulls his hands down, replacing them with hers along the sides of his face. Satoru closes his eyes.

She’s done it so many times it’s muscle memory at this point. Locking in on the pressure built up behind his eyes takes her no time at all, and even less time to remove it completely. All in all the process takes no longer than five seconds, but Satoru’s expression remains pinched, so she lingers. She waits for him to move away, because he’s always the first to do so, always laughing awkwardly when he does. It’s a rejection she’s built an immunity to from sustained exposure.

Satoru finally moves, but not in the way she expects. Both his hands come up to cover hers while he turns his head in towards one of her palms. When she feels him press a kiss into her skin, slowly opening his eyes to meet hers to gauge her reaction, she feels her entire body still as the realisation sinks in.

Hands.

Satoru smiles as he tugs her in, his eyes flickering to her mouth. Shoko goes without any resistance, feeling heady from the rush of emotions flowing through her.

Maybe it’s the universe’s way of evening the playing field, that for all of Satoru’s ethereal beauty, the allure of it is always instantly dispelled by the first thing that comes out of his mouth. For years she’s considered herself immune—and to a greater extent, special—because it’s never happened to her. She’s heard every conceivable off colour thing this man’s said, always felt an innate certainty that with all the years she’s spent supporting him, there’s nothing he could ever say to make her want to turn and run.

Until tonight.

The validation of every thought, every feeling, the alleviation of every doubt she’s ever had about the possibility of him returning her feelings; uplifted to heaven in a single gesture only to be dragged straight back to hell in the next. Ruined by the first thing out of his mouth, just as their lips are about to touch:

“Don’t go with him.”

Shoko pulls her hands back, too shocked to even derive some satisfaction from the way Satoru’s face falls. Her body moves automatically, muscle memory kicking in as it registers the grief, discerning no difference to her losing someone on her operating table, or completing an autopsy on a former colleague. She hops out of her stool, calmly goes over to the sink and washes her hands, dries them methodically like she always does, pausing to take in a pile of cracked glass and ceramic swept haphazardly into a corner, red streaks lining some of the larger pieces. Shoko decides she doesn’t care. She strides out of the kitchen and continues to the balcony towards Naoya, past everyone having a blast at karaoke, too drunk to pay them any mind. Satoru follows, ashen faced and stricken.

“Shoko? What’s the matter? Why are you—”

Shoko reaches Naoya and snatches the phone out of his hand, ending the call. Naoya raises an eyebrow at her afterwards, a cruel smirk promising retribution on his face even after she hands back his phone. The few other people on the balcony scatter, heading for the safety of Satoru’s living room.

“The last woman who gave me attitude,” Naoya says, advancing, “I had her—”

“Don’t care,” Shoko says briskly. “You’re hot, I like your face and I want to sit on it. You can fuck me however way you want after. We doing this or not?”

Naoya’s smirk widens, gaze raking greedily over her. He takes another step forward. “Alright, feisty. Your place or mine?”

“Neither,” Satoru cuts coldly in before Shoko can answer, looming over Shoko’s frame like an overgrown shadow. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“That’s my decision,” Shoko snaps, but Satoru’s attention remains fully focused on Naoya. She turns and prods him in the chest, which is the same thing as trying to poke steel. “Oi. Don’t talk like I’m not here.”

“Naoya-kun.” Satoru says, as politely as he can manage through clenched teeth. He tries to put a placating hand on Shoko’s shoulder but she immediately shrugs him off. “I think you should go. She’s only going to use you.”

“I don’t mind,” Naoya says, really more to Shoko’s cleavage than her face. Satoru’s eye twitches. Shoko inwardly rolls her eyes.

Men.

“Well if he’s leaving then I’m leaving too,” Shoko declares.

Satoru frowns at her, confused for all of two seconds before he clicks.

“Wait…what the hell, you’re mad at me? The hell did I do?”

Shoko pointedly ignores him, looking at Naoya. “Well?”

Naoya’s gaze shifts back and forth between her and Satoru, briefly perplexed before his smirk returns. “No idea what the hell’s going on here, but I’ve seen you—” he nods at Satoru— “watching me like a hawk, and you—” he nods at Shoko— “chatting me up all night. You both want a piece? Fine by me, but I get to top.”

Satoru doubles over laughing. Shoko pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a migraine coming on. Naoya crosses his arms, watching the two of them, waiting for an answer.

Satoru finally recovers, dropping a hand on Naoya’s shoulder. He shakes his head. “Not even in your wettest, wildest dreams, Nao-chan.”

Shoko is already halfway to the hallway while Naoya shakes him off, digging into her pocket for her phone to call a cab. Satoru swears under his breath as he pursues, only a few steps behind her.

“Shoko! What did I do?”

“Ieiri?” Naoya spits out, aghast. “Fuck! I knew she looked familiar!”

...

Satoru’s hallway feels twenty times longer than it initially felt when she arrived, which is doubly annoying because he remembers he can teleport, and does so, cutting her off at the halfway point. Shoko barely manages to stop herself from walking into him. She tries to shoulder past but he catches her wrist.

“Why are you mad at me? What did I do? Back in the kitchen—look if you don’t want me that’s fine, but—”

“Don’t go with him,” Shoko deadpans. “Seriously.”

“Because he sucks! Why are you being so—”

“The second I start paying attention to someone else then suddenly I’m worth—”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Satoru says, looking hurt. “I didn’t even know you liked me like that until five seconds ago. Give a guy a chance to catch up will ya? I didn’t even know I had a cha—”

“What? Of course I like you like that, stupid dumb idiot! I’m still here, aren’t I? After everything, Satoru!” Shoko hisses, just in case karaoke isn’t loud enough to drown out their argument.

Satoru recoils from the outburst, startled.

I’ve fucked it up. I’ve fucked it. Whatever, I’ll live.

Shoko exhales and soldiers forward. Given time, none of this will matter in the grand scheme of things.

“I’m sorry. Look, it’s just. I put you first, I put everyone else first. I always have. I’m not complaining, I know my role in all of this. I just thought for once it was the other way round. And it felt nice…until you opened your big fat mouth.”

Satoru just stares, saying nothing.

She takes that as her cue to leave, brushing past him. She makes it about two steps before he catches her wrist.

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything,” she says quietly, feeling too petty and small to look him in the eye even as he tugs her back, that same hand moving to cup her cheek. “I just need—”

She breaks off as Satoru kisses her.

...

Shoko will give Satoru this much, the man knows how to kiss. It’s just as well that he does, because it’s good enough to stop her from wondering about all the other people he’s kissed before he finally got to her. His free hand weaves around, supporting her back so he can tilt her, smiling against her mouth briefly before he pulls away and straightens, taking her weight as she sags against him, her hands resting on his chest.

It takes Shoko a few seconds to bring her brain back online, which would be mortifying, if Satoru didn’t also look like he was having just as hard a time catching his breath.

“Uh,” he says intelligently, possessing only enough braincells to grin goofily at her from ear to ear.

“Y-yeah,” Shoko says, just as intelligently, feeling a sudden hunger thrum throughout her body, sharp and hot until it’s all she can focus on. The equation’s simple enough: she wants him, he clearly wants her; the answer to said equation is even simpler: what the hell are they doing just standing around for?

Satoru clears his throat. “Sooo,” he starts, conversationally.

Shoko curls her fingers into his collar and drags him back to her mouth, a hand sliding up the nape of his neck to card through his hair.Satoru makes a noise as his back hits the wall, hands flailing uselessly in the air as he kisses her back. While he’s so distracted, Shoko goes for his belt, unfurling his shirt from the waistband of his pants. Satoru makes another noise and catches her wrists, holding them up and out towards her sides. Shoko adapts, slipping her tongue into his mouth, pressing the length of her body up against his and rubbing against him. It works like a dream: Satoru’s grip on her wrists starts to slacken, moaning into her mouth—

“Yo! Gojo-sensei!” Yuji calls from the living room, the equivalent of cold water dousing the fire between them. “Your turn on the mic! Anyone seen Gojo-sensei?”

Satoru breaks away from Shoko’s mouth immediately, panting hard as he puts distance between them. He straightens, hands shaking as he tucks his shirt back into his pants, attempting to work his hair into some semblance of the ‘stylishly’ dishevelled look it was before Shoko got her fingers in it. Irritating as it is, Shoko will concede this about the interruption: it’s a nice ego boost on top of the catharsis of having her feelings returned, being able to admire her handiwork and let her imagination run wild on what else she can inflict upon this man.

“Probably sucking face with Ieiri,” Naoya says drily, in a rare display of leaving his self-centred bubble long enough to concern himself with other people. Shoko always assumed that was only something he did in battle.

Satoru just shoots a dirty glare towards the living room, blushing profusely.

Haibara busts out laughing. There's a loud thud and Naoya coughs. “Hahaha! Good one Zen’in-kun!”

Shoko tries to approach Satoru again, but finds she can’t get within two steps of him, thanks to his Infinity. Satoru’s clearly realised that any attempt at restraining her requires their bodies to be touching, thereby opening himself up to further exploitation on her part. He’s probably also considered sitting on her or tying her up, but has wisely refrained because he doesn’t want her more annoyed than she currently is. Shoko huffs and plants her hands on her hips, pursing her lips.

Stupid idiot, Shoko thinks, peeved, moving to lean against the wall opposite Satoru as a peace offering. Always smart only in the nick of time.

“Don’t be crass,” Maki says, murmurs of agreement following. “Everyone knows Ieiri’s too good for that idiot.”

Shoko nods in agreement. Satoru looks as if he’s just taken enough mental damage for his own soul to vacate his body.

“And how much are you willing to bet on that?” Mei Mei chimes in, scenting blood like the dirty capitalist she is. Someone groans. “What? You think this manicure grows on trees? A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Thought you wanted me,” Shoko says quietly.

“You fucking kidding me?” To his credit, he does look both apologetic and similarly frustrated about the situation, raking a hand through his hair, gaze sweeping longingly, hungrily over her, triggering an almost automatic lust low in her belly. He gestures wildly at all of her. “You’re wearing a nurse costume and stockings, for fuck’s sake! I got half a mind to barrel you over my couch.”

“So why don’t you?”

Satoru chuckles. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, dunno if ya noticed, but half the jujutsu community are on that couch right now.”

Shoko fights a smile. Stupid man and his capacity to only be funny in the worst of times.

“I hate you,” she says, managing to keep an even tone about it.

Satoru still smiles, eyes twinkling. “Aww, don’t be like that.”

“No. I hate you.” Shoko enunciates crossly, turning her head away before he realises that charm can be weaponised against her. “I’ve liked you all this time and this is the thanks I get. I don’t even want to think about all the credibility I’ve lost wearing this stupid costume. I got half a mind to go running back to Naoya.”

Silence.

“I mean,” Satoru mumbles to his feet, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought you’d come as Buttercup not… I mean I’m totally not complaining but I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“What was that?” Shoko snaps, an eye twitching.

“Nothing!” Satoru says quickly. He must have lowered his Infinity, because in the next instant he’s in front of her, taking one of her hands into both of his and squeezing. Shoko scowls up at him, feeling her resolve falter at the utter earnestness in his eyes. Damn him. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Good things come to those who wait, right?”

Shoko finds herself smirking. “If you say so,” she says.

She snatches back her hand and turns on her heel, striding confidently back to the living room. If there’s anything she knows about Satoru, it’s that Paragon of Patience he is not.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” Satoru mutters, trailing a few steps behind. “Shoko?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Shoko lies.

...

If it’s a battle of wills Satoru wants, Shoko’s happy to accommodate. Thirteen years of observing the man, be it fighting or teaching or goofing around has taught Shoko that he does not possess a single reserved bone in his body—ironic, considering the one she’d felt growing against her stomach five minutes earlier. He’s been spoiled by having Ijichi as a pressure valve to let off the steam before too much of it can accumulate, but Ijichi or no Ijichi, it’s not as if he’s ever had any trouble articulating his grievances.

Armed with tonight’s realisations, Shoko’s determined to become the most difficult grievance for Satoru to ever have the displeasure of trying to ignore, let alone protest about. She may have agreed to wait, but that doesn’t mean she’s rolling over and letting the time pass uneventfully for him. She’s spent enough of her twenties doing that, thank you very much, and fuck him for making her wait. Dark corners her foot.

At the very least, it will be an interesting stress test to see how many contrived, misinterpreted scenarios it’s going to take to crack him. Her money’s on Nanami as a heavy hitter, but Haibara could be a wild card, which is why he’s up first. It’s free amusement for her either way.

Haibara is cheerfully munching his way through a tray of pull-apart cheeseburger sliders and occasionally singing along with whoever’s got the microphone at karaoke. Shoko reclaims her seat at the kitchen island beside him while Satoru passes, taking the microphone from Yuji at the front of the living room by the TV. Satoru clearly isn’t concerned because Haibara’s the guy who takes everyone at face value, and wouldn’t know a flirtatious line if she sat beside him and had a name tag that read ‘Hi! I’m Flirting With You’ sticky-taped to her bosom.

“Ayy, park it there, Shoko-san!” Haibara greets, grinning at her through a mouthful of beef and cheese. He doesn’t even get distracted by her boobs which gives Shoko a newfound appreciation and respect for the guy. Haibara may not be special grade, but he is an anomaly amongst his peers, with that endless optimism.

“Hey Yu,” Shoko says, smiling and actually meaning it for once, “how’s life treating ya?”

“Better now that you’re here. So good to see ya out and about!” Sauce dribbles down the corners of Haibara’s mouth.

Shoko realises her cheeks hurt because her smile has turned into a full blown grin. In another life, she’d let that unpretentious charm of Haibara’s sweep her off her feet. Just her luck, falling for a serial schemer instead of someone so wholesome and uncomplicated.

“What?” Haibara says.

“You got a little…” Shoko can’t help but laugh when Haibara uses his tongue to try to mop up the sauce, only succeeding in spreading more of it around his mouth.

“How’s that?”

“Better.”

“Awesome!”

“No, you idiot, you got it everywhere,” Shoko laughs.

Haibara just shrugs like this is his life now, nothing to do except roll with it, which is just the most Haibara thing ever.

And seeing a mess and feeling a responsibility to clean it is unfortunately just the most her thing ever. Shoko grabs a napkin and leans forward, beckoning for Haibara to follow suit. “Come here then.”

“Okay!”

Shoko wets the napkin with water from an opened bottle and wipes away the sauce as best she can from Haibara’s face while he giggles.

“That tickles Shoko-san,” Haibara says, when she pokes his cheek.

A few more daubs here and there and, “Perfect,” Shoko declares at last, leaning back.

“Thanks!” Haibara says. He grabs another two sliders and stuffs them into his mouth and there’s more sauce dribbling out than before.

Shoko tosses the used napkin to an empty part of the table with a sigh. As Haibara goes back to eating, she tunes back into karaoke just in time to see Satoru’s head whip back to the lyrics rolling across the LED, his jaw slightly set.

#answered asks #and scene! lmao

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whumpsday · 2 years

Text

Kane & Jim #25: Happy Birthday

Masterlist

content: vampire whumper, defiant whumpee, captivity

so understanding part 2 will be coming next, i realized this needed to be first bc the events will be referenced in the next part, lol. this is a bit of a short one, my shortest chapter yet i think. next one will be far longer.

takes place about half a year into jim’s captivity, a couple months after his first escape attempt.

Jim hated it here.

Kane had gotten much more violent since his doomed escape attempt. It seemed like the vampire was getting more and more frustrated with him, that every other word out of his mouth was wrong. Jim had always been told he had no brain-to-mouth filter, and now it was biting him in the ass.

He hadn’t so much as seen another person besides Kane in months, and it was starting to drive him mad. He just wanted someone to talk to, someone who didn’t hurt him, who he didn’t have to be afraid of. But here he was, all alone. He might be all alone for the rest of his life.

And his birthday was tomorrow.

Jim hadn’t really done much for his birthday in a good few years, to be honest. Ever since his parents died, money had been tight, and he’d rather spend anything extra on Liz than on a party for himself. She was just a kid, after all. But he’d usually go to the arcade with some friends and then have dinner with Liz, and it was nice. Just being with people he loved. Liz would make a terrible cake that he’d pretend to enjoy, and even though the cake was bad, his smile was genuine.

But not this year. This year he was going to have his neck bitten, his blood drained, and then spend the entire night with the vampire holding him captive, without so much as a “happy birthday”. No seeing his friends or family. Maybe he’d even get roughed up if he was unlucky enough.

Yeah, not worth a “happy birthday” anyway. He wasn’t happy very often these days.

“Stop fucking glaring at me, human. Know your place.” Kane snapped, looking up from his book with a scowl.

“Huh?” Jim had ostensibly been re-watching one of Kane’s VHS tapes, but had zoned out to wallow in his own misery. He’d been glaring at Kane from the other end of the couch without even realizing it.

“What’s your problem? You’ve been acting strange all day.” Kane continued.

Jim was lucky. Kane wasn’t in a bad mood today. Another day, he’d have been hit for sure. Jim had been in fights before, but vampires hit hard.

“If you’ve gotta know, it’s my birthday tomorrow.” Jim answered.

“Oh. March third.” Kane didn’t sound angry or condescending, for once. He sounded... sad. After a pause, he added, “How old are you turning?”

“Twenty.” He’d been looking forward to it, before. Finally out of his teens. Nothing much to celebrate now.

“What do humans do for birthdays?” Kane asked.

Jim shrugged. “Cake. Presents. Spend time with loved ones. You know, all the things I can’t do trapped in here.”

Ah. Spoke without thinking again. Here it comes. Jim tensed up in anticipation.

But Kane didn’t approach. “I get you presents all the time.” he argued. “All your things are from me.”

“That’s not presents.” Jim was feeling bold. Kane had been chill so far today. “That’s just, like, what I need to survive.”

Like taking care of a pet.

Jim quickly discarded the thought. No, he wasn’t going there. “And some other stuff I ask for. It’s not a present if I write it on a shopping list.”

“Most humans don’t get to make any requests, you know.” Kane retorted. “Not that they have the state of mind to do it in the first place.”

Jim rolled his eyes. Kane loved to bring up the fact that Jim was unhypnotized. The worst part was that most of the time, it didn’t even seem like Kane was doing it as a things-could-be-worse argument like he was now. Most of the time, Kane seemed to be talking to himself about it, like Jim wasn’t worth the consideration, jealousy seeping through his words. As if it wasn’t enough to take Jim’s entire life away, Kane wished to take his very mind from him.

“I get it. Forget I fucking said anything.” Jim grumbled, seething.

Kane stood up, lightning fast, hand clenched into a fist. Jim flinched.

“Go to your room. Now.” Kane commanded.

He obeyed, slinking off to relative safety.

Jim woke up depressed.

Happy birthday to me, he thought, laying in his bed.

Usually, he’d get up and make breakfast for himself. He always felt extra dizzy if Kane fed from him before he’d had a chance to eat and drink. But he just didn’t feel like it. He wished he could just have a lazy day in without worrying about the consequences of blood loss, especially on his birthday.

Kane unlocked the door after what Jim would estimate as a good half-hour. He pulled the covers over his head and groaned.

“Come on. Up.” Kane ordered.

Jim was thankful that he didn’t sound angry about it. That was two nights in a row, now. But he wished Kane didn’t say it like he was talking to a fucking dog.

“Fine.” He threw his blanket off and knelt, tilting his head just like he knew he was supposed to. At least Kane had finally been getting the hang of feeding. It still hurt terribly having the same wound re-opened night after night, the flesh around the area always angry and red and purple, but it was a lot better than how it’d been when Kane was still learning.

First neck bite of my twenties, Jim thought bitterly as Kane fed. He sucked in a sharp gasp as Kane pulled his fangs out. It was still hard to get used to the feeling of it, even after months here.

“I’m just gonna stay in here today.” Jim said after Kane licked the wound closed.

“Oh. Okay. Just come out for a minute, I have something for you.” Kane said, motioning for him to follow.

Jim followed, swaying a little on his feet, only to be stunned when he was greeted by an entire chocolate cake waiting on the table in the living room. It looked fancy, like the kind you would buy from a really nice bakery.

“That’s for me?” he asked.

Kane raised an eyebrow. “I’m certainly not going to eat any of it.” Duh. “I got some new movies for you as well. They’re in the cabinet with the other VHS tapes.”

“HOLY SHIT, SERIOUSLY?” Jim exclaimed, forgetting entirely about the cake and rushing over to check out the new material. It was all stuff he’d never heard of. More vampire movies. He’d been re-watching the same few tapes Kane owned for months, and was ecstatic to get something new.

He grabbed one immediately. “Can we watch it now?”

“Sure.” Kane sat in his usual spot on the left end of the couch.

Jim quickly ran back to the human quarters to grab a plate, knife, and fork, his woes momentarily forgotten. After cutting himself a slice of cake, he popped the tape in and sat on the opposite end of the couch to munch away. His hands were shaking from the low blood sugar, so it was good that he was eating cake for breakfast, he figured.

“Happy birthday.” Kane said.

“...Thanks.” Jim didn’t want to thank him. He wouldn’t have been grateful for new VHS tapes at all if he wasn’t held captive in this stupid fancy house. But he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “When’s your birthday?” he asked, mildly curious.

Kane’s mood change was instant, his vaguely amicable demeanor turning icy. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t talk about my fucking birthday.” He had that sharp warning tone he always used before he’d get violent.

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Jim conceded, tensing up. He didn’t even know what he’d said wrong.

“Whatever.” Kane mumbled.

Jim slowly relaxed as it became apparent Kane was over it. He wished he was home, spending his birthday with his friends and Liz.

But for the first time since Jim had been brought here, things were a little bit okay.

canon drabbles posted between #24 and #25:

Dog

Light & Laughter

Midday Snack

Greatest Wish (cw: death wish)

Five Minutes (cw: gore)

taglist:

@badluck990

@ceph-the-writing-spook

@cicatrix-energy

@crying-wings

@crystalquartzwhump

@cupcakes-and-pain

@cyberneticfire

@darlingwhump

@deluxewhump

@down-in-the-whumps

@elrysdoesstuff

@extemporary-whump

@extrabitterbrain

@harri-00

@inpainandsuffering

@interdimensional-chaos

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@lactose-intolerant-egg

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@littlespacecastle

@little-whumpee

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@myhusbandsasemni

@mylifeisonthebookshelf

@neverthelass

@nicolepascaline

@nine-tailed-whump

@no-terms-and-conditions-apply

@octopus-reactivated

@oddsconvert

@onlybadendings

@pumpkin-spice-whump

@quietly-by-myself

@quirkykayleetam

@ramadiiiisme

@redwhump

@scp-1296

@secretwhumplair

@thecyrulik

@thegreatwhodini

@themarlo

@whump-cravings

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whump-me-all-night-long

@whumpthisway

@whumpilicious

@whumpshaped

@whumpwillow

@whumpworld

@whumpy-writings

@whumpyzombie

@wits-and-wrongs

@wolfeyedwitch

#kane and jim #whump #my writing #vampire whumper #captivity #defiant whumpee #whump writing

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spider-xan · 2 years

Text

Honestly, I feel like there would be a lot less frustration with the Coppola film if it was completely irredeemable trash with zero good things going for it bc then we could just write it off as an awful film and laugh at it for what it is - but the fact that there are SO MANY great things about it that are worthy of praise, and we know Coppola generally isn't a bad filmmaker, is what makes it so frustrating, precisely it could have been an amazing high-budget film adaptation that was accurate to the novel and the indisputable definitive version, and then it swerved and made the framing and other choices that it did, with its specific vision superseding the actual text; and ofc there's the title issue of including Bram Stoker's name and implying a faithful adaptation, though I think Coppola tends to do that with straight book adaptations to credit the author, like how The Godfather's full title is actually Mario Puzo's The Godfather.

Like, the casting is amazing! Winona Ryder is perfect as Mina! Anthony Hopkins is inspired casting for Van Helsing! Even Keanu Reeves, with his questionable acting and accent, is at least cute as Jonathan, and his star power at the time makes sense for why he played the role. The costumes designed by Eiko Ishioka are honestly among the greatest film costumes ever, and she rightfully won the Best Costume Design Oscar that year! Love the liminal creepiness of Dracula's castle and how his shadow has a life of its own! Everything about the way the scene of Lucy entering her tomb as a vampire is filmed is sublime - the lighting, the cinematography, the camera angles, the eerily chilling on a visceral level music and sound design, the make up and costume, the way the candles supernaturally light themselves, etc. Quincey is actually included for once! Even some of the epistolary format is retained, with things like the log of the Demeter narrated over scenes on the ship, Mina typing on her typewriter, Jack recording on a phonograph, etc. There are honestly a lot of positive things that can be said about the film, and Coppola does know what he's doing on a technical level, along with the talented cast and crew.

And obviously, no adaptation is going to just copy the text exactly for various reasons, like film being an audio-visual medium with a shorter length than a novel, adaptations being filtered through the lens of their creators and reflective of the social milieu they are being created in, commercial box office considerations bc capitalism, etc., and I think being faithful to the spirit of the source material is more important than textual purity, and a lot of this is going to be subjective on the part of viewers as well. But yeah, it's like, personal preferences aside, the Coppola film just came SO CLOSE to being a film adaptation that's both accurate to the novel and incredible cinema at the same time, but then it made directing and screenwriting choices like Mina just being Dracula's love interest and having none of her heroic moments (all removed or given to the men), everyone being a total asshole, Dracula going back and forth in characterization bc the film can't decide if he's a sympathetic romantic hero who just wants true love or a scary monster villain who wants to take over England and eat people, and you kind of need the latter to drive the plot outside of the romance, etc.

We could have had it all, and that's what is so frustrating to me, along with how the film is so definitive that it gets projected back onto the original novel and just about anything Dracula.

#dracula #dracula daily #also the terrible way winona was treated by men who were not keanu and anthony

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realcatalina · 7 months

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opinions on this portrait of mary rose tudor? it just popped up on my pinterest feed and i'm intrigued about its validity.

link: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/878272364816871434/

It's actually drawing by Holbein of Mary I. The other Mary Tudor.

It's in Royal Collection Trust(and on their webpage it looks trooly peach...idk why) and it is very real.

Question is, are any of Holbein's sketches correctly identified? ...Well, the big labels come from centuries later. However they are based upon 16th century labels.

During 16th century a courtier who met these people personally...(I believe it was somebody of name Cheyne...but i am not certain. Don't quote me on this.) had labelled some of Holbein's sketches in his own hand. He didn't have access to all of them.

But he marked them in pencil and thus unfortunately most of them rubbed off over the centuries, though in few it is still visible!

For example Lady Rich(in that part of background I didn't colour):

(Holbein also left some some writings within his sketches on occasion, and marks to know what colours to use later...)

Hence we consider these labels to be truthful...Of course we cannot rule out that somebody played with them...but we hope it is not the case.

However, Mary's sketch...is recognizably her.

It matches other portraits...it's just that part of her nose and one of her brows has rubbed off-why you can't tell immediately...and even the highlighted parts(possibly done in ink) are now quite hard to spot properly.

This is engraving(that's why it's flipped) by Wenceslaus Hollar, probably based upon finished painting:

(By the way he totally downplayed size of pearls on her necklace).

But gives us a clue as to the possible shape of pendant...I think it is this one:

Or very similiar one. By the way at some point it seems somebody labelled it as Catherine Howard:

But the fabric of gable hood twists almost exactly as in the sketch...and rest is good match to either Holbein's drawing or Hollar's engraving.

This is same drawing after I highlighted the more visible lines:

However, I am not 100% certain i got the tip of upper veil(at top of head) correct, I am having trouble determining exact shape of pearls on left of the neck(upper strand).

And mainly the shape of the golden pendant in middle. Either Holbein moved it and it partially shows...or it had some edge and lines are now blurred.

...But despite all this. It's still so good, a skilled artist could recreate the portrait. You'd just need to use those engraving to look at the pattern of frontlets...and look at other portraits of Mary to look at shape of her nose and other brow...

You could do it. ...If you chose to do it without hands.

Entire lower part of drawing is very rubbed off...But I have spend considerable amount of time trying to figure out what was there...looking at it under different filters and such...

But it never ended up looking good.

My digital attempt after I gave up on hands:

(back when I didn't yet realise I should highlight the lines first.)

By the way...neither Hollar nor that other engraving overexagerate the breasts...in the drawing you can definitely recognize the shape if you focus on it in closeup. But back then it wasn't considered provocative or indecent.

Royal Collection Trust thinks the drawing was done after Mary returned to her father's favour in 1537.

Well, Holbein was in England firstly in 1526/27(Mary would be 10-11 years old, hence way too young for this). And then from 1532 onward to his death in 1543. It's unlikely that Mary would be painted during Anne Boleyn's reign in 1533-1536.

However I heard recently Catherine of Aragon had some jewelry designed by Holbein in 1532. If she had authority over such things at that time...Mary could equally be painted at the time. And she'd be 16.

Hence Mary's drawing should be either from 1532 or 1537-1543.

In theory you should be able to tell from these parts of gable hood, if it is closer to 1533 or closer to 1537:

(Smaller in 1537, bigger and sticking to side more in 1533). Here, i am not confident enough to say either way.Coudl be that part rubbed off...but idk.

Enough information?

#tudor history #mary i of england #hans holbein

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brandnewhuman · 2 years

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Ayo, I heard you want to write more angst. (forgive me if this sounds loopy, I just got off a 14 hour shift)

I saw a clip from Invincible of Omniman saying "I love your mother but she's really more like a pet." and I thought that's probably how Michael Myers would feel about an s/o and then I reMEMBERED HOW RZ!MIKE TREATS HIS PETS. So how about a drabble of reader realizing they’re one mistake away from being just another rat flushed down the toilet? Or all the little details that add up to reader realizing they’re being kept?

Not meant to matter

☆STARRING☆

☆rz michael myers☆

CONTENT:

Tw: canon violence, mature language, mentions of murder, blood, toxic relationship, Stockholm syndrome mention

Summary: where you figure out you're place in Michael's life and how easy is to replace it

A/n: AHAHAHAHHA YES. GIVE ME THE JUICY ANGST. THIS IS WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT. I love this shit so much it can't be healthy. You all spoil me so much with this requests. Im sorry if its shitty and it took so long ç-ç

Love is blind. The everlasting cliché you've heard countless times and the one you always used to swear to never fall for is true as every cliché in this world. The painful and tragic thing about it it's that nothing that has to do with cliché is as happy, silly and romantic as they made it seem. Love is blind doesn't help you overcome little annoying habits the person you love has, it doesn't make them look more pretty or their stupidity more bearable. It makes you justify them being awful, it puts a rose coloured filter over every important red flag and if something it's a shade too dark it just comes through as an aesthetically pleasing quirk because of trauma.

Because of this you never realise how close you're standing to the fire until you're already catching on fire.

That's what happened to you more or less, the line between being nice to survive and being nice because you love him started to blur. You couldn't really say when but one day you started to have more consideration for him than for his victims.

Maybe it was that weird sense of feeling special to someone so hard to please, maybe it was your tendency to always justify the villain and condemn the hero but in the end what matters is that even with a more logical and healthy choice you would still always choose Michael. You drank up every drop of affection he gave to you as if it was the only thing that makes you go on in life and he knew this.

What you didn't know is that your new found love filled with a dangerous cliché was misleading you more than what you thought. You always kind of knew you loved Michael more than he loves you but the explanation was never a clear one, it was a sort of "he has only trouble expressing love" excuse.

It wasn't only that. Your kind of love was a completely different one from what Michael's "love" for you was. Your clouded mind ignored the signs for so long that when you did realise it was like hitting the ground really hard and face first.

You were just a..Well a pet. As dehumanising as it sounds that's what Michael sees you as and you couldn't be more upset. The worst part was that you still had that consideration and understanding. How can you be mad at him for loving you only as a sort of cute animal you take sympathy for? He has never been exposed to a more deep love, it's really much more than what you would've expected from him.

You tried to be mad but you couldn't cause everytime you looked at him with an accusing question about your relationship you only seemed to see a shell of a human that was trying to slowly get filled with things it was supposed to get long ago.

You had your epiphany one day you causally forgot who you were dealing with, where you thought it was a good idea to get all bold and loud with the shape of haddonfield. Michael was quick to remind you or better, to enlighten your place.

"Michael! For christ sake!! You're hurt, you need to take the fuckin mask off" you were shaking and your throat was getting tighter tighter from the worry clawing at your heart.

It wasn't the first time Michael came back this hurt and bleeding out like hell but normally he didn't show it much. This time he got inside your house stumbling and holding one side of his head while red strikes slipped through his fingers. The loud noises and clashes of things falling down woke you up almost instantly.

You just assumed it was him coming back and making a mess as always so you took your time reaching him which you regretted as soon as you saw his tall form slouching and his free hand gripping to one of the kitchen chairs to find some sort of balance.

He kept pushing you away, ignoring more than usual any attempt of you questioning what has happened to him and overall being really difficult and impossible to help.

You were growing more and more impatient as tears teased the corners of your eyes. You knew it was something bad if he was showing he was in so much pain and the fact that he was keeping you at arm length like always was eating you alive from the inside, making every rational thought vanish. You just wanted him to be okay, you didn't want him to leave you behind and he just wanted his funny and silly pet to leave him lick his wounds alone and stop testing his patience.

"God dammit Michael this is not the fucking time to do your tough guy bullshit!! Let me s-"

You could say it was both parties' fault, or at least that's how your brain was deciding to rule it. You should've thought better than insinuating your hands to the back of his head to remove his mask and he well…he really just took the situation several levels above bad.

It was so fast that it didn't even hurt at first, only when your fingertips met with the gash in your cheeks you felt a small jolt of pain running down from your face to your whole body. The cut wasn't really that big but it was quite deep since the swing from Michael's knife made his sharp tip slice briefly but deeply into your soft flesh.

As you stood there wide eyed by fear and shock he just turned his back heading towards the door to probably go lay on the couch. He didn't even gave you as much as a reaction to gift you with the thought of him feeling bad for hurting you like that, he didn't even cared or noticed the colours drain from your skin as you trembled slightly thinking about what a few inches closer to him would have meant for your face and most importantly he didn't even stopped to think about it before using the knife against you making you get back to your old point of view as a victim.

That's when it hit you, that's when you realised and the rose colored filter glitches showing you all the true and disgusting colours.

Your brain was fuming as you tried to give a reason to all of this and the only place every thought went was to the same conclusion; you simply didn't matter as much as you thought.

Every little upsetting thing started to fall into place precisely in a terrifying way. He has been humouring you enough to keep the advantages of allowing you to live and be around him, every little thing he did was never done because he cared or loved you.

And you had to admit it made sense, it was easier to just let you live your little fantasy of being the special one the beast falls in love for just enough for him to get what he needs. It really was like keeping a pet but with more benefits. You cooked for him, you let him sleep under soft and warm blankets, you provided him a hiding spot from the world with all the comforts he has dreamed of. He could trust you would never call the police because of that little amount of attention he decided to give you from time to time and he knew it worked cause every day you did more for the sake of making him happy rather than keeping him calm.

What he has done now was his way of "scolding". The only thing that moved the trajectory of the knife from your throat to your cheek was the thought of having to do all this work with someone else once you were dead. He couldn't say you didn't tickle a single ounce of weird softness in him but it wasn't the deep and genuine uninterested love you had for him. It was like watching a puppy doing funny things in front of you, while entertaining it's kind of pointless and gets boring really fast as soon as the puppy starts doing annoying things.

You were just that, a puppy who was a mistake away from being removed from his life and you were perfect for the role since much like a puppy, you too were too naive and stupid for your own good.

That much stupid that even now, sitting on your knees and holding your cheeks while hot tears mixed with the blood of the cut, you still had some pink shades in your eyes making you think that this was just because he has never been shown how to love something.

He, on the other hand, was having the half thought of checking on you just to make sure he didn't break the love spell he casted on you entirely with that risky move.

You had to kick yourself mentally into remembering what has just happened to not let your brain just sink deeper into the possible Stockholm syndrome you were just starting to shake off.

You covered your mouth with your hands trying to muffle the ugly sobs that were shaking your already trembling form. You didn't want to be quiet, you wanted to scream and hit him, you wanted to insult him with the worst and meanest things you could think of. You just wanted to explode and then you wanted him to hug you instead of hugging yourself, you wanted him to clean up your wound as carefully as possible with all the softness he's capable of as you have done so many times for him. You wanted him to tell you it was a mistake and that your mind was just trying to scare you off, you ultimately just wanted him to prove you wrong.

What did you get? You got your shaking body laying on the kitchen floor, curled up on yourself as you hugged your knees to your chest and bit your lips while crying a whole ocean of sorrows and regrets. The cut had stopped bleeding moments ago and now it was starting to form what would be a reminder of your own stupidity for life. What you got was fulfilling your place as the boogeyman's pet while drowning in your own tears.

The oppriment feeling of not being able to do anything about all of this was crushing your lungs and churning your guts painfully hard. You certainly couldn't act upon your desires of rage and request of love since you had already been shown what Michael does about his pet misbehaving and overstepping boundaries. You certainly couldn't keep on going like nothing has happened or nothing has changed cause everything now was too messed up for that, even if part of you wanted to just to fool you into thinking there's still hope you mean something for the man that was sitting on your couch in the other room.

You didn't want to call the police either because the part of you that still loved him and needed him to love you back was bigger than the one that was hurting and angry because of all this bullshit. You couldn't simply do that to him, you didn't have that type of coldness to just mercilessly hurt him like that even if he deserved it. Besides, you knew perfectly well that the minute he was out calling the police was going to bite right back at you.

You found yourself being considerate and understanding with his victims after a long time of ignoring and excusing their deaths. It was truly tiring and just…draining to know that whatever you do he's always going to get back at you 10 times worse. You didn't feel trapped, it was worse than that. It was him taking pieces of your life and of your heart one by one without making too much noise to not make you notice, just to leave you lifeless and ghost-like. existing without really being alive just for the sake of surviving.

And then it came to you as if God itself has got down just to grace you with an answer to your problems. The painless end to all of this was just to leave and never come back, not even loon behind or otherwise he might learn how to find you and your beating and offensive heart everywhere.

You got up from the floor slowly with a newfound resolution. It was very clear to you that this was never going to hurt or change Michael's life in any way so you kind of had to give up on your thoughts of revenge. Him realising, as if you were in a romantic movie, that he made a mistake and he needed you just to chase after you was never going to happen. It was more possible for him to chase you after realising that may be killing you was just as fun as keeping you. And maybe it was okay, you didn't need to hurt him you just wanted to live as alive as you could and not just as a shell without any other reason of living besides the hope of one day being loved by someone who didn't fucking care to begin with.

By the time you reached your bedroom the whole situation and all those strong and intense emotions casted a wave of weariness all over you, weighing you down and just making everything so difficult. Now that all the most negative and heavy feelings had rolled off, you just felt like not a single one of the reasons for you to leave was really good.

You never left in fact. You even felt bad for thinking it but you kept daydreaming about it once in a while and in your head everything was…better. In your mind he does care and he stops you from leaving every time, in your mind you do win his love and you have your big romantic movie main character moment where the bad guy keeps a soft spot for you in his heart.

You couldn't really know it but he would've missed you a little bit if you really ended up leaving. You were right about everything and even about him not really knowing any better.

Wearing rose coloured glasses around Michael ended up taking away from you more than what you could give and now it was truly too late to do anything about it. The addicting feeling of having maybe one day in your mind when asking yourself if he loves you was comparable to spending all your money in a slot machine, waiting with hope that if you give it more tries and more of you the result might change.

You waited around for him to either love you or just kill you, giving you a way out you could take without feeling guilty about it.

#slasher fandom #slashers #slasher community #slasher fanfiction #horror movies #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #michael myers #rz michael myers x reader #rz halloween #rz michael myers #michael myers x reader #slasher

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lavender-long-stories · 9 months

Text

Spoilers for Lavender Letters | Chapter 1 | Rated M

Hinata thumbed through the mail, pausing on one with familiar government postage. She took that one out for herself and left the rest.

“More mail from you’re degenerate?” Neji pulled it out of her hand.

Hinata snapped it back before he could pull it out of her reach. “We’re not having this conversation again.”

Neji frowned at her. He wasn’t happy when Hinata signed up for the prison pen pal program. She knew because he reminded her frequently. “He is a…”

“Murderer, I know.” Hinata finished for him. “I knew when I started writing to him. I knew last week when you told me and the week before, and I’ll remember when I write him back.”

Neji sighed, collecting his bag to leave. Hinata waited for him to say something else, but this time he was going to let it go.

Hinata tore the seal to get to her letter. She had long since learned to read chicken scratch, or maybe he just got better with time. The letters were long rambles, sometimes over multiple days, that didn’t usually have a point, but there was something there, even if he wasn’t doing it intentionally.

It started when Hinata was in university with a clipboard someone asked her to sign as she came out of class. Hinata hadn’t really been paying attention. She thought that she was signing up for a policy for prisoners to be able to send more letters to their pen pals, not become one. Putting her address down should have been a red flag, but she was in a hurry.

Hinata thought about not responding when she got the first letter. In fact, she almost didn’t read it when she saw the name on the letter. No one could escape Hidan’s name on the local news while his case was ongoing. It didn’t help that he was erratic in court, and there was a new story every week about something he shouted disrupting the trial or boldface claimed on the stand.

There was a debate on whether Hidan was actually insane or if his theatrics were just for an insanity plea, but he did brutally murder several people and desecrate their corpses. That was insane in itself.

What made Hinata pick up the letter and respond was a nagging in her gut because she knew one of the victims, and it may make her a horrible person, but she was happy to hear they were dead. The creep from her first internship that she never felt comfortable around. A married man that sat a little too close, putting his arm around the back of her chair, and she knew she wasn’t the only one. He didn’t try anything worse with her, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t try it with the others. There were also rumors that he was skimming from the company, so no one was really sad to see him gone.

It made her wonder if Hidan knew.

It was a question she had never asked, and it was an answer she couldn’t really determine from his ramblings because it was similar to his theatrics in court. He said what he wanted to, when he wanted to, with very little filter.

It was unclear if there was ever a motivation for what Hidan did, even replying to her. At first, he complained about how ‘prude’ she was with her wording and speech. He could tell she didn't like it even if she never scolded him specifically for his language. It made her laugh when he started writing out the swear and then scribbling it out for her ‘delicate eyes.’ So at least, he considered being considerate.

Hidan was a bastard, but he knew he was a bastard. At least he wasn’t lying to himself.

“Aren’t you late?” Hiashi’s voice called from down the hallway.

“I’m heading out now,” Hinata told him. “Have a good day.” Hiashi didn’t respond as he disappeared back down the hall. Hinata wasn’t expecting anything, but hope would get the better of her once in a while.

Hinata collected her bag on her way out the door with a sigh. She would have to respond to the letter when she got back.

--**--

Hidan laid back in his creaky uncomfortable bed and tried to drown out the usual sounds of prison, including his cellmate’s annoying way of flipping pages. If you were audibly sliding the page across another every single time, it was deliberate. Fuck him.

Mail came in the morning, and if his little pen pal was as predictable as usual, she would have replied already, and tomorrow would come faster if he fell asleep. His eyes fell on his small portion of the world plastered on the wall with her little doodles and the pictures she sent. He only had one picture of her, the university ID picture that was originally sent with her first letter. It had been a few years, and she was older. He knew she had cut her hair. He didn’t really care how she looked. It would make the mental picture more complete.

It started out funny, the convicted serial killer signing up for a pen pal program. He chased the first few people off, but this girl never stopped sending a letter back. Even when he was purposely trying to get on her nerves, she just scolded him and eventually just ignored the parts of his letters that would annoy her.

Hidan got the picture. He wasn’t chasing her off. He wasn’t going to get to her. Hinata knew who and what she signed up for, and he wasn’t going to surprise her. It took a weird pressure off of him to keep the act up. Hinata never asked him why or how he did any of his murders and squashed his theory that she was writing a book. She could have made one by now if she just collected and printed the letter he sent over the years. It would probably be that long.

Hidan always wondered if the last one he read would be the last one he would receive, and he would have to find something else to make his prison life interesting. He’d be damned if he was going to do something stupid like get a degree in here. There were a few dumbasses who thought they might get their life sentence overturned by showing they ‘changed.’

Speaking of damned, the edges of his collage were Jashin symbols, along with the one he was going to get in trouble for carving into the wall… again. He sighed, laying his head back. He wanted to sleep, damn it!

--**--

Hinata tucked her hair behind her ear as she crouched down at one of the small desks in her classroom. She pointed at a mistake on the page and waited for her student to make the correction. “Good job.” She praised as she stood back up to continue looking around at the children’s work.

Kids this young wore her out, and her father hated that she was teaching primary school and not university classes, but she would take helping blow a few noses and being patient with tantrums over being hit on by students to get better grades. She had enough of that during her teaching assistant days to last her for the rest of her life.

Now she just had to worry about the occasional single parent and the, unfortunately, more common married parent, but she rarely had to talk to parents.

Hinata felt a light tug on her skirt and crouched down to another desk. The little girl held her hands up to show her broken pencil and pouted. Hinata could help the smile that spread across her face. Children were so pure and simple. “That’s okay. We can get you another one. Pink, green, or blue?”

--**--

Hidan crossed his arms, waiting for his state-appointed hour of sunlight and fresh air to be over. Then he could go back to his cell while everyone else went off to do chores.

Why wasn’t he doing chores? Simple, they didn’t want him to. He got banned from cleaning for spraying cleaner in someone’s face because he wouldn’t stop talking, then the next time for trying to drown someone in a toilet. He got banned from laundry for trying to put someone in a drier to see if it would be a fun ride. The rumor of him being a cannibal kept him from the kitchen, and maybe that one time, he successfully stabbed someone with a spoon. In his defense, he didn’t know it was going to work as well as it did.

All things he told Hinata and all things she never asked a reason for, and sometimes he did have reasons. She seemed to assume he had a good reason, or they ‘must have done something too.’ To be fair, prison didn’t have a lot of completely innocent people, so maybe she was assuming the worst of everyone.

Hidan was nudged and broken out of his thoughts to scowl at Kakuzu holding out a pack of cards. “Stop praying and play with me.”

“Piss off,” Hidan grumbled. Kakuzu liked one thing in life, money. It’s what got him in prison in the first place. An embezzlement case. He wasn't embezzling. He killed the man embezzling from him. Which, in Hidan’s opinion, was a ‘play stupid games, win stupid prizes’ situation. Just because it was rare to get murdered for white-collar theft didn’t make it safe. Only after looking into his business did the police realize all the investment money for the business came from people who had mysteriously had someone in their life missing.

When asked, Kakuzu admitted that he had been a hitman for hire for years and had the records to prove it. He went through a few cellmates before they were jammed together. His body count was beyond impressive, so Hidan at least was happy with the match. He couldn’t stand the whiny bitches that were in for beating their wives or selling drugs. You got caught doing something stupid. Suffer in silence.

Kakuzu just smacked his arm with the deck again. “Come on. I need you.” Kakuzu wanted him to cheat at cards with him, and he wouldn’t mind it if it weren’t what he did every single day.

“Greed will send you to hell.” Hidan shot over his shoulder, knowing that it would make Kakuzu grind his teeth.

“We are already here.” Kakuzu shot back.

Hidan shrugged. “Maybe you are.” Prison was probably where Hidan belonged, and might as well enjoy it.

Lavender Letters

Pairing: Hidan x Hinata Rating: M for Violence and Strong Language

Description: Hinata signs up for a prison pen pal program and is assigned to Hidan, a serial killer known for his brutal murders. Hinata becomes friends with him despite his crass nature. And, oh yeah, they kill her father.

#hidahina #hinata hyuuga #hidan #hyuga hinata #full chapter #lavender letters #tw: blood

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