#i was only 6 but i did see it live and remember it very clearly and gathered enough context just by listening to the adults talk around me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anakinsdove · 1 month

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Sub sam monroe x fem friends hot older sister ❔

𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 | 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞

pairing: sam monroe x older!fem!reader

summary: it’s been like what? 6 years since you saw sammy, he’s still as weird as he used to be, only prettier. After seeing him again you notice there some tension that wasn’t there before.

c/w: nsfw, loser Sammy, blowjob

discord - twitter: anakinsdove. -PART 2-

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ﾟ。Love you

𝘄/𝗰 - 1,352

“What’s that for?” You ask your little rat of a brother why he’s suddenly carrying enough snacks to throw a party.

“Sam is coming over, he’s going to spend the night here” Your brother says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Who?” “Sam” he rolls his eyes “Oh! Sammy, blonde, walks weird?” “Yes…” he’s slightly confused at your description then he realizes you haven’t seen Sam in a while…. A long while?

“He dyed his hair” your brother ads “Seriously?” You say sarcastically clearly faking interest trying to find something worth watching on tv “And he walks normally” “I’m sure he does”

“Anyways aren’t you a little bit too old for sleepovers?” Your condescending tone is very annoying to your brother but that’s what sisters do. “Aren’t you too old for Halloween?” “Huh?” Your brother smirks pointing at your makeup, you respond by throwing the pillow on the couch with enough force it feels like a brick, he runs upstairs

“coward” you mutter to yourself and suddenly someone’s knocking on the door

Someone’s knocking extremely loud

You decide to ignore it as you keep painting your nails but the knocking is very persistent and it gets louder somehow accidentally painting your toe “fucking loser” you curse under your breathe and stand up walking furiously towards the door.

“What!?” Your tone is harsh and the boy takes a step back, Sam looks stupid as he makes sure he’s in the right house “I-is James here?”

“Sam?” You ask softly this time, your anger quickly dissipating from your features, eyeing him up and down… wow.

“Hi Y/N”

You open the door for him to come in as he awkwardly goes through the door, he tries to keep his hips as far he can from yours while walking in, you sigh at the awkward silence

“How have you been-“ “You look very different-“ both of you say at the same time “You look the same” he says “I looks twelve?” God you’re making fun of him

Hes about to answer when your brother comes down running from the stairs “Sorry dude I was taking a shit!” He greets him as you stand aside

“Don’t talk to her Sam” your brother says smirking “Shut up man” they run upstairs and you shrug trying to shake the awkwardness away

You keep trying to distract yourself with tv but it isn’t fucking working

Sam Monroe….

He looked so different from what you remembered, he’s taller, there’s a lot of piercings stuff on his face and you’re pretty sure he was wearing eyeshadow.. his hair now it’s black… funny because you remembered him being blonde and looking like a puppet, you giggle at the thought… Oh! and his clothes, he was wearing a Metallica t shirt, Vintage….

You moan and you realize you been rubbing your clit through your panties this whole time then gasping in embarrassment and closing your legs

What a slut… what if someone saw you rubbing your cloth on your living room, that would be a reason to kill yourself, what if Sam saw you like that?… that however doesn’t sound as bad

Control yourself Y/n

A few hours later the sun has set… you succeeded distracting yourself and as soon as Sam leaves you won’t have to see him again you’ll forget this awkward chapter in your life where you masturbated to the thought of your younger brother’s friend until… “Why me man!?” “Cause I’m about to win this level” “Youre shit at the game” “Shut up!” you hear the boys arguing upstairs “It’s just fucking popcorn Sam” your brother mocks him as Sam sighs coming down the stairs

You can’t help but look up at him “Hey” Sam stops midway “Hey” he tries to sound and look relaxed, but when did your boobs get so big?

“Pop corn?” You asks pointing at the box he’s holding in his hand “I’ll burn them” he says

“It’ll be my brothers fault” you laugh and Sam smiles “C’mon” you guide him to the kitchen and put the popcorn in the stove “You look very different too” he responds to your earlier conversation, you smirk at the opportunity of teasing “Really? I thought I looked twelve” “Fuck no” he suppresses a laugh and you nod playfully “Well, maybe a little” “Fuck off” you push him playfully and his back makes contact with the counter “You still have your dimples when you smile” your heart actually softens at his comment “You don’t look like a puppet anymore” he rolled his eyes “I meant that in some ways you look the same but in other- other ways you look very different” he stares at you collarbone

“Sam?” You take a step forward “It’s mean to look at girls boobs when they’re talking” he freezes “I was not-“ you grab his bicep “I always knew you liked me” Sam is really about to die or kill himself, whatever is option is quicker… instead he grabs your waits and pulls you to him then freezes again “You want to kiss me Sammy?” His gaze switches from your eyes to your lips, to your boobs that look so good in that thank top, then your lips again, his lips hesitantly meet you in a clumsy kiss… but then you find out he’s so hungry for this, teeth clatter and he hums into your mouth, his hands shaking as he holds your waist…. You pull away teasingly as he tries to chase your lips but you have other plans like kissing his neck

“Fuck” he moans, his little sound has you clenching your thighs, you need this boy asap…as you nibble and suck his neck then pulling away again “Sam” “What?” He says breathlessly

“Can I suck you off?” WHAT THE FUCK he nodds shakily and you get on your knees “J-James?” Sam’s says as he watches you unbuckle his belt “Don’t talk about my fucking brother when I’m going to give you a blowjob” “Sorry..” “He’s playing, he wont find out.” You try to reassure this poor boy as he nods shakily “I promise” you unzip his pants and take his boxers down urgently, it’s too much, you hear the popcorn popping, heavy breathe, the waves crashing distantly… his cock slapped against his stomach… Sam looks down at you in awe

You start stroking him, watching the angry red tip leaking already, “w-wait wait I’m gonna c-cum” Sam warns virgins you think to yourself and force yourself to stop stroking him, if he’s gonna fucking cum he’s cumming down your throath tonight “fine” you say angrily and take him down your throat “Fuck!” Sam moans as his shaky hand tangles in your hair pushing you down further “I can’t I can’t I’m sorry” his eyes roll back and his back arches, your wet lips wrapping around his thick cock…. Sucking him sloppy it’s just so much

He doesn’t know why god is on his side tonight but he’s not complaining, he beats himself mentally, he seeing stars, fireworks exploding behind his eyes and all that cringy shit he once heard, now he knows it’s real, he feels your tongue massaging the underside of his cock and you make something with your tongue where it licks at his balls slightly and-

“Fuck!” He yells as he cums…. Thick ropes of cum hit the back of your throath, he tastes salty…

Your doe eyes look up at him seductively as you keep licking his tip, his legs tremble as he spasms, he has to push you away so he doesn’t pass out

You finally release his cock from your mouth “breathe Sammy….” “Fuck sorry I-“ his breathe is heavy “Shhh….” You kiss his lips softly so he tastes his own cum…..

“You’re sleeping here right?” He nodds

“Come to my room at 2:00 AM” he nodds again and you know this boy is completely at your mercy

“Oh and Sammy….. your popcorn” you point to the stove and evident smoke “Shit!” Sam runs and trips over his pants, pulling them up quickly and trying to not burn your damn house.

dividers - @i92-93

(Im very sorry for the absence! I been pretty much busy and a little unmotivated to write but I’ll try to post another fic this week, this was a little bit rushed but I hope you like it)

@anakinsbbgirl

#sam monroe x reader #sam monroe x you #sam monroe smut #sam monroe imagine #sam monroe hayden christensen #sam monroe life as a house #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen characters #hayden christensen fluff #hayden christensen

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mr-walkingrainbow · 8 months

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CALLING ALL MONSTER HIGH FANS. I JUST MET GARRETT. AND I WAS ABLE TO SCAVENGE SO MUCH LORE AND CONFIRMED HEADCANONS TO YOU. THIS IS ALL SAID BY GARRET OR CONFIRMED. I HAVE SPOKEN TO GOD AND HE HAS SPOKEN BACK

#1. Robecca and Venus were implied and ARE dating!!! He said it was like. Just like other monsters they had tried putting hints and characteristics into monsters that we could see and relate too. (He also said it outright down here. Lol I got all the proof guys!)

2. They never actually came up with Jane Boolittles Origins. And yes Dr. Morou and Dr. Boolittle raised her. But it was always a thing to them they'd say ‘oh well get back to this’. And then they never did. When asked; he genuinely doesn’t remember what they had planned for her.

3. a REALLY big mystery solved and lore dump guys. This one’s juicy. I KNOW HOW SPECTRA DIED. I KNOW HOW SHE DIED. AND WHAT THE TRAUMATIC STORY WAS FOR HER. I ACTUALLY FUCKING KNOW! Y’all ready? Drumroll…. It was, a, CAR CRASH! Yes you heard me. THE VONDERGEIST FAMILY ALL DIED IN A CAR CRASH. I think he said he she just came with her family off skirts and they got into an accident. I’ll reblog this with the video of him saying it!

4. Toralei lives in a monster high housing/boarding building when she is not attending school. This place is used for kids who do not have a place to go too, or if their home is too far to return to easily. I think there was an error somewhere where she mentioned parents? I mentioned that to him and he was very confused/didn’t remember. Reconfirmed that if she wasn’t in the monster high housing area. She would have been in either Jail or The streets.

5. Robecca was not rebuilt for 100 years due to Misogyny. Also because it had to go into the lines of her ‘mysteriously’ disappearing for her to have her comeback. I asked about how it was low key such a dark story, and he mentioned that since technically Monster high was the ‘horror’ genre. He was able to get away with things like that.

6. the Vampire Heart mystery! So remember how in Friday night frights we all see Ghoulia place a Robot Heart into Robeccas chest. Something that is very clearly not the Vampires heart? But then suddenly in Frights camera action it’s there? Well, technically that’s an official Error by the crew. He actually said he noticed it, and told management and stuff like ‘won’t people notice it?’ And they were all like ‘nah it will be fine no one will notice’. But then we all clearly did lol. He also said that because if this, he came up with the idea that the Vampires heart was ENCASED in the Robot heart we saw in Friday night frights. Ergo, explaining how Robecca had two hearts in one body! (It’s also confirmed Hexiciah placed the Vampires heart into her while he was building her. Which would explain why she didn’t remember it was their).

#7. Gooliope Jellingtons Origins. I asked what her origins were. And basically, she DOES NOT have any parents. She was CREATED IN A LAB. Which apparently didn’t treat her right. So she ESCAPED the lab and ran away to the circus! (Or blobbed away?) because he also confirmed, she was the blob. Or based off the blob. She wasn’t actually like. The daughter of the blob. She WAS the blob itself.

#8. Kiyomi Haunterly is Gay! I know this is was already somewhat canon and said before. But I asked and he confirmed it that she was in fact, Gay. And he tried to show it in her diary.

#9. We’re reaching some only implied/supported things. Not fully confirmed or intended. But Kala Mer’ri has BPD. I asked about if she has anything like BPD cause I relate and saw that a lot in her. He replied that he did try to make attributes for each Character specifically so we could related to them like that. And that it was to also make sure every character wasn’t a carbon copy of another. Basically. He didn’t like. Outright say ‘yes. She has bpd’. But he also didn’t disprove it. And he reacted positively to the idea and supported it.

#10. Robecca Steam has ADHD. It’s basically the same as above. Although he did like the note that I (someone with adhd) specifically had the same traits with Robecca, even more specifically, that we both are ALWAYS late. And can never keep track of time to save our unlife.

11. Dedyet DeNile Origins. He actually completely forgot about Cleo’s Mother eventually being reunited. I had asked how she had ended up in that same weird time loop Tomb thag Hexiciah was stuck in. (Which they were eventually freed by Robecca in her SDCC diary). He said he completely forgot about that. And genuinely didn’t remember anything about it. I basically re-explained the whole thing and he was very interested. Unfortunately. Not to much origins to go on.

11. here’s a canon one! What happened to Aamanita Nightshade after she left the DeNiles in the tomb. It was kinda funny, but he basically was like ‘Amanita went up and was just like ‘Peace!’’ And then never came back.’ She goofed around a bit, buuut it wasn’t entirely like her fault? She quickly went back to sleep after breaching the surface. So yeah. She was not awake for long. She quickly went back into flower mode until she woke up again at the Gloom and Bloom party.

12. He’s working on another one of his Monster prints! He sells them on his online shop here

He’s currently working on Toralei!!!!! He said he was working on her on the way over. And that he was trying to go in Order of the G1 doll releases. He mentioned he had only done Skelita out of Order because she was like ‘that one’ who was INSANELY popular with fans when she came out. Especially in Mexico. It’s also why she was the only Funko pop made who was not part of the main ghouls.

13. Random. But he actually didn’t create each backstory individually by himself. In the beginning he did A LOT. Like Frankie was the first backstory he ever created. And it got more help and divided as more and more characters were introduced.

14. he has read every single diary for every monster. Cool little fact cause DAMN theirs a whole bunch of them.

15. everything in the Ghoulfriends book series is CANON in the monster verse.

And that is ALL FOLKS! I had held those questions in for about 7-8 years. So it was everything to me to have them answered and confirmed! I really tried to ask everything that was a huge mystery to us monster folks. And I hope you guys are excited to see all these new CANON facts!!!

I’m sorry if this is not everything. Just like Robecca. I forget stuff pretty easily. I’m wracking my brain for every little detail. Unfortunately my father didn’t record as much as I would have liked. But he did get some perfect key moments! And I’ll make sure to reblog with those moments as proof of confirmation!

I love y’all! Make sure this goes viral so every monster high fan gets to hear the news!

Signing out, I’m Tumblr Spectra Vondergeist, and I report the news.

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fishfission-dc · 1 year

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Batfamily Powerpoint Night! (Part 6: Stephanie)

<<Part 5: Cass | Part 7: Damian >>

[Masterlist]

Steph: Okay my turn! Bruce I think you’ll be impressed by research and persuasiveness.

Bruce (head in his hands): How do I already have a migraine from this

Steph: My words are just that powerful, B-man.

Tim: I like the typo, really gives the impression of “professional social media manager”

Duke: Steph you are so brave

Tim: I’ll be surprised if you make it out of this alive. But you’re so right

Babs: Yeah like I applaud you for saying what we’re all thinking but it will probably get you killed within the next five minutes

[disgruntled Bruce noises]

Jason: HA not the list of descriptors in the bio

Tim: For someone with “father” as 50% of their twitter bio you could tweet about your kids once maybe

Damian: It is very clear that you only post what is asked of you by your corporate underlings.

Dick: You met Kris Jenner???

Bruce: I don’t think this information is relevant to my duties

Tim: You don’t know who Pedro Pascal is?

Babs: You’re a celebrity, Bruce, I think it applies very heavily to at least one of your double lives

Dick: YOU MET KRIS JENNER?

Jason: Even I know this stuff and I actively try not to

Jason: I don’t know how much he’ll love you after this

[Bruce migraine noises]

Cass: (signing) He loves you :)

Tim: Another typo...

Duke: Steph how much time was it

Steph: Nope. We’re moving on

Babs: You made a Go Fund Me to make a... “Spoiler Signal”...?

Steph: Yeah do you want to donate I can text you the link

Babs: I think I’m good

Dick: I hate that tweet

Jason: You did it to yourself dude

Damian: Did you receive that footage of Timothy’s fall?

Steph: Yeah I’ll airdrop it to you :)

Tim: Yeah maybe let’s get rid of the vigilante twitter accounts

Jason: I clearly was coerced into that statement

Bruce: Jason why don’t I have your phone number?

Jason: Stephanie

Tim: YOU TEXTED BERNARD?

Steph: He knows a lot about Gotham’s vigilantes

Tim: Where did you get his number? Why did he already know it was you??

Steph: Oh we talk all the time :) Anyway,

Bruce: I’m sure you all remember why I was in GCPD’s headquarters.

Tim: To be fair that was mostly Damian’s fault

Damian: Todd purposely provoked me, the blame is his.

Jason: Okay but why would you bring a grenade to a gala?

Dick: We’re all sorry for fighting at the party can we not rehash this right now guys

Jason: See I would follow this Bruce Wayne.

Tim: Except Steph you’re definitely not the favorite, especially after this

Duke: Why does “The Batman” only tweet in the third person

Steph: I think it fits the vibe

[noises of collective agreement, and Bruce’s pain]

Steph: So Bruc-

Bruce: No.

<<Part 5: Cass | Part 7: Damian >>

[Masterlist]

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miseria-fortes-viros · 3 months

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-> declan bringing ashley to monmouth. ashley, the raven boys, chapter 4. (we’re meant to look pretty for her.)

this is one of the first chapters where we really get to know a lot about our characters, and ashley being there—combined with adam suddenly being aware that they are observed when it’s clear he didn’t feel that way immediately preceding the start of the book—lead me to believe that the fourth wall is very thin here.

-> ashley, this is noah, can you see him?

ashley is one of the only characters outside of the gangsey themselves who is not only able to see noah but also to meet and interact with him.

-> (your hands are cold. (i’ve been dead for seven years.))

ashley is also the first person that noah says this to within the confines of the narrative himself. nobody is surprised when he says this, so clearly he does make these jokes a lot, but it’s significant that we, the reader, hear this for the first time when it’s directed at ashley—ashley who, like us, just got here and doesn’t (can’t) know the significance of this interaction until after everything is over.

-> adam. (don’t you feel observed? someone is looking in when they weren’t before.) the raven boys, chapter 4.

adam: wary, adam: watchful. adam feels the eyes of the reader when the others do not; adam becomes aware of us as soon as we become aware of him. no sooner is ashley named than adam is introduced; no sooner is ashley introduced than adam is wary of her.

ashley (f, gaelic: aislinn): dream, vision

-> (three ashleys) (three brothers) (three witches) (nine’s very three plus three plus three) (6:21) (3+3:+3)

-> declan started hating me first. it was all because declan loved ronan.

-> this is not the first time

declan lynch was 18 the first time matthew fell asleep (was ronan dead)

-> gansey. where’s ronan? i don’t know. something’s wrong. something’s happened to him. how do you know? i can’t explain. i don’t know. we fought. something’s wrong

he’s your dog, gansey (i can’t help him any more (i’m killing him and i don’t know how to stop))

-> he trusted gansey (he still worried about ronan (he never stopped worrying about ronan))

i want you to meet ashley. yes again it’s a different ashley (i need to check in with you) is ronan around? he shouldn’t be (we’ll fight if he’s there (i need to know how he’s doing (he’ll hate me more for hovering)))

-> ronan please just tell me it won’t happen again i’m doing everything i can to keep you both alive

the brothers lynch (a dreamer (a dream (declan)))

-> half none of declan’s surviving family was real. half a dreamer. half a dream. to lose one is to lose the other (part of ronan died when niall did (part of ronan died when his dreamer did))

ronan lynch was 18 when a demon nearly unmade him (the second time matthew fell asleep (the second time declan almost lost them both at once (was ronan dead)))

-> declan cannot let go (if he lets go who will hang on (who will live without him fighting tooth and nail to keep them))

matthew lynch was 18 when he punched his eldest brother in the face (matthew lynch was 18 the third time declan almost became the last living lynch)

-> was ronan dead

declan bringing ashley to monmouth. ashley, the raven boys, chapter 4. ashley (f, gaelic: aislinn): dream, vision. three ashleys. three brothers. three dreamers. three sleepers. three witches. three murders. nine’s very three plus three plus three

(i look just like my father (so do you (every time i see your blood on my knuckles i remember him dead in the driveway (every time i look at you i see the face of a dead man))))

-> was ronan dead

declan brings ashley to monmouth.

#hi guys. this is not coherent i know. sorry. here’s the ashley-declan-ronan post nobody asked for #the raven cycle #declan lynch #ronan lynch #matthew lynch #the lynch brothers #helenaposting #barbi.trc #trc meta #trc quotes #best of

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ravens-two · 10 months

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PICK A CARD reading

How do other people see you?

Pile 1 -> Pile 2

Pile 3 -> Pile 4

Decks used: Dark Wood Tarot & Green Witch Oracle

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Strength & Banana

Main Star sign energy: Leo & Cancer

Hi, Pile 1, Banana is the card of duality and so I think that it may be that people see you in very different ways, like you're not very consensual to the general public. The people you meet can't really decipher you, some perceive you to be incredibly nice, while others find you off-putting. However, with this card and Strength I also feel like people turn to you a lot for advice. People find you to be very wise, and most of all, impartial. They trust that you will see things from every perspective and offer the best advice you can. This also means that some people see you as a devil's advocate, because you insist on giving voice to different points of view.

In general, I think that people perceive you as being very outspoken, you don't shy away from conflict, but you don't go looking for it either. It's just that it naturally finds a way to you and you can't help but stand up for yourself and others. I also feel like other people find you to be a very calming presence, I think that it's mix of it just being your vibe, but also that they know that they can count on you to help solve any problem that might come up.

A bit random, but I think that you are known to make dirty jokes and also your sense of humor is very underrated, kind of deadpan and sometimes others can't tell if you're being serious or not.

Other people see you as being very confident in yourself, even if you don't feel like that. There's a sort of confidence that shines through you. Also, you are known as being very loyal to your friends.

Pile 2

6 of Cups & Lemon

Main Star sign energy: Gemini, Scorpio & Cancer

Pile 2 the first thing I'm getting with your group is that you have big Cancer energy. Being with you feels like coming home. I think that the people closest to you feel almost "mothered" by you, I mean this in the best way possible, they know that they can count on you to make them a nice cup of tea, pull out a blanket and hear out their problems. You have a very safe presence.

Some not so nice energy that is also coming through is that some people think that you're stuck in the past. This sentence is coming through very clearly like this to me, but I think that it will apply differently to each of you. It might be a bit literal, like you refuse to embrace new technologies for example or it could be more like you are frequently reminiscing about the good old days. I think that sometimes you are seen as being a bit sad, like filled with ennui if that makes sense. Despite that, I think that you are someone who remembers. You always know your friends birthdays and you remember the little details about their lives, and they appreciate this so so much.

With the lemon card I think that you are very talkative, but only when you feel comfortable. And the interesting thing is, when you get to the stage where you're really really comfortable you start to hold back less and less and you end up being a bit mean with your words. You're not trying to be mean, but they might sting a bit because you're brutally honest. Also, with lemon being the card of cleansing I think that your friends perceive you as being very good at cleaning. I mean this both in a literal sense (lol) and metaphorically. You're good at closing old chapters and cleaning out the old to bring in the new (with a twist too, because you always make space for the memories). You give me this vibe of it doesn't matter if it was good or bad, it matters that it happened.

Pile 3

Empress & Orange

Main Star sign energy: Virgo & Taurus

Pile 3 people see you as being full of life and energy. You are the life to her party, even if there isn't a party, you know how to cheer and pump up the people around you. I also think that people find you very charming and they love to hear you talk. In fact, I think that others love being around you and being around your energy, because it's just so big. Do you know that poem about the orange? In this metaphor you are the orange.

There's also this really interesting vibe that you are very sensual, it could be like sensual as in sexy, but like sensual as in using your senses. You love eating, you love listening to music, you love pretty things. I think that your friends and acquaintances even always ask you about restaurant recommendations and stuff like that. Also, other people love your style and your aesthetic. In fact, they really admire how cohesive you look.

Others also see you as someone who is incredibly creative and that is always filled with ideas. Honestly I think that most of you are either studying arts/design/etc or you work in those areas. You are known for your work. There's also this thing that if one of your friends has a problem they will come to you if they need an out of pocket solution. Like, you always have one. Your friends love your sense of humor, it's always so random and unpredictable. And I honestly think that you might be very popular on social media.

Pile 4

7 of Swords & Pea

Main Star signs energy: Pisces & Aquarius

Hey pile 4, you are the embodiment of chaotic energy. I don't think that anyone can pin you down, and when someone thinks that they have you figured out you immediately prove them wrong. This is big Aquarius energy honestly, not with the chaos, but with the fact that you see things in such a different manner that no one can predict what you are going to do or say next. I also think that you're the type of person to lie for fun (nothing serious of course, but just making up a whole different life to some stranger you'll never see again).

You are filled with ideas and people find you to be a good communicator. In particular I think that you're good with speaking and writing. There's also this vibe that your friends never know when to expect an answer to their texts, it could be immediately or three weeks later.

Your mind is very very busy, always buzzing with new ideas and scenarios and I think that sort of comes across to other people who think you are a bit scatterbrained. Also, people think that you are very smart. I am also getting this vibe that you have a sharp tongue, especially when it comes to social commentary. Sometimes you'll make a sarcastic comment about something around you, but not everyone will get it and those people find you a bit weird. You may get lost while telling a story, going on multiple tangents to explain your train of thought. And I also think that you get distracted easily. Some people find that a bit annoying, but your friends find it endearing.

There's this type of trickster energy here with the 7 of Swords so it might be that you are known for pulling pranks on your friends. Your presence is very fun, but sometimes a bit unsettling because again, no one knows what you're going to do next.

#pac reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #tarot reading #tarot

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sgiandubh · 13 days

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From barf bag to pity party

The whole 'Kick in the hornets' nest' involuntary series was started by this Anon, received by the de facto leader of the Disgruntled Tumblrettes yesterday evening (in Europe):

The next morning, another Anon chimed in, on the same page, with what prompted the First Kick: S has a child with 'a woman', but God forbid, not with C 🤣🤣🤣.

And then, one of their group felt the need (then the clearly irritated urge) to come back and comment on the above Anon. No less than 5 (five!) long and plethoric comments were written, prompting my Second and Third Kicks - as you all know, the woman practically begged for them.

I feel it's time to show some mercy and draw the line here.

This blog is read (and trusted) by many. Comments were received. Very interesting, matter-of-fact submissions, to say the least. You know: FACTS (🤣🤣🤣). People who have rich and full and loving lives, people who travel. People who don't even agree on many things, yet spontaneously concurred on what things very probably looked like, on that Palm Sunday morning.

Exhibit 1: Mom and Traveler #1 (a mom I am not - but I was a child, unbelievable as it might sound, and I absolutely confirm every single bit of it)

I am not yet ridden with dementia, and I remember very well waking everyone up at ungodly hours and refusing my mandatory afternoon siesta (a very bad habit we have in Southern Europe). I wish I would still have that same insane energy now. I also wish I would have kept my 3 year old fashion model food quirks - but that is another story.

However, I am a dog slave (not owner) and as such, I am taking Baby out for his short (but excruciating) morning routine at 7:30 AM. Come rain or shine. Beg him to finish his business with grace and dignity. He never listens. Labs are a charming, addictive handful and my Greek boy is no exception:

Exhibit 2: Mom and Traveler #2. Who happened to be in GLA on Palm Sunday, March 24, 2024 (for the thick people at the back!):

All that trip was abundantly documented on her own page. I am reasonably sure she might be reblogging this with her own pics from that day.

And now, for the real questions at stake:

Why make such an unbelievable fuss over an Anon with no pic, that I was reluctant to publish myself?

Why have a cosmic meltdown, in public nonetheless, if you do think this is such a pile of unbelievable nonsense crap? (*imagine the freakout in DMs, if this made the headlines!)

How many times has/have S (or C, or SC) been seen by Antis in GLA in similar postures, without a word being uttered in public?

Why would such an occurrence be An Event, outside of this (help me, I have no words) fandom?

Why insist with your crappy arguments, when it is plain to see you have got all your facts dreadfully wrong?

Why mention 'central Glasgow', when it is public lore (and included in Waypoints!) that S does not live there anymore? (* I blacked out the exact reference, which makes total sense - the least thing I would like to see happening is freaks like you stalking them)

One last time, you insist - comments 6 and 7 (wow, girl!):

First comment is a lie and if you read my Anon (and you know you all did and discussed it to oblivion) you'll have also read this:

Which part of 'he didn't approach' you don't get, in plain English, madam? I am lousy at drawing, but hey - for the cause (open in separate page, questionable humor included):

Second comment, I won't even get into it. God only knows what the hell you meant. I am Romanian and we tend to be a very sarcastic bunch - especially the Southerners.

You posted those at about 2:45 AM, local time (if you are, indeed, a Scot). That's 4:45 AM my time.

I am a lifelong sufferer of insomnia. You, madam, you are mad wae it, as they say in Glasgow.

Don't drink and post, seriously. It makes for a very #sorry hangover show.

And with this, I am done with you. All of you, in that corner. You showed me more than enough. You know there is substance to that Anon, despite the lack of a picture - hence the collective freakout.

From barf bag to pity party. Who knew?

[Later edit:] re-reading the sixth comment, I think she wants to imply it was the 'other child' - I was literally blind with sleep when I first saw it. Well, there is no evidence of whatever she is trying to explain (has she contacted The Climber? between midnight and 2 AM, local time?). Also, a 5 year old child is not a toddler anymore: kids are considered toddlers up to 3, only. That boy, as we all know (and I am sorry we do), has dark hair - where is the resemblance Anon noticed?

Desperate, grasping at straws, lying through her teeth and mad wae it, all the way.

@pamalissou, thanks for bringing us a third mom's POV in your reblog.

#fandom #shitshow

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thegreatstoryteller · 1 year

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The Great Shift: Reunion

The Great Shift is a well known event that had swapped over 90% of the world’s population! However, after the initial fallout and chaos, a few years later people began to acclimate to their lives. Though there were still moments where people were confronted with just how much they’ve changed.

“Ok Ned Nuno. No one is gonna remember you as Ned the know it all. It’s been years. People are mature and have their own lives.” Ned said to himself in the mirror.

The young man looked back at his model like reflection. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe it was him. Only a few years ago he was looking at his own bespectacled face with his receding hairline. Sure he’s what some would call cute and charming. He always had a knack for intelligent conversation. After college he embraced his intelligence even more and had the luxury to travel as he got older... but he couldn’t deny that his former body wasn’t turning any heads romantically. They’d haver to notice the 5 foot tall waifish man for that to happen.

But now... that was no longer the case. All those years ago he was traveling at an airport when the Great Shift happened. One moment he was departing his plane, the next he was in a boarding area waiting to be seated!

Needless to say it was a shock. He’d gone from a smaller and dark skinned to a clearly white and very in shape young man! He later found that this guy was named Connor Duval and was just 21 years old at the time! Still in college too. And... well those first few days he certainly had a lot to learn about his new form.

However he couldn’t reminisce any further. He needed to get ready for his school’s 10 year reunion. He wasn’t the same timid nerd that people would pick on. He was braver! He’d seen the world! And wasn’t afraid!

- One ride to the school later -

“Ok. I’m afraid! Jackie! Are you here yet? I know this is the 2nd message I left for you on your phone, but I don’t want to be the only one here I know! You were always my best friend and I’m sorry I’m so nervous and-” Ned was pacing nervously outside of the building he once learned at, waiting to go in with his friend.

“Easy there poindexter. Your bestie is back.” A deep voice says spooking Ned as he jumps.

“J-Jackie?” Ned asks nervously seeing the towering muscular figure beside him.

“In the flesh. I though I told you that I shifted into that big Ukrainian construction worker? I mean all the better for it right? None of your old bullies ever messed with you when you butch lesbian bestie was at your side.” Jackie said with a flex.

“I know. I know. You were always so open and brave with yourself It’s honestly inspiring. I’m sorry i was so shocked. I’m just nervous and it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. I hope your girlfriend is taking it ok.” Ned offers sympathetically.

“Yeah she loves it. She swapped into this bi goddess of a woman and works out with me a lot. Good thing too! I’m still only attracted to women and I have the best one sucking me off every night!” Jackie bragged. Previously her normal crude humor always let out a laugh from Ned, but now Ned trembled a bit as Jackie sounded just like those macho straight guys that bullied him.

“Aren’t you a little under dressed without um... a shirt?” Ned asks.

“Ha! Well you know. I thought about going nude. But I did pack a polo so i can be decent. Aren’t you over dressed Ned?”

“What!? I couldn’t decide what to wear! I just chose one of my body’s outfits that still fits...” Ned blushes in his nice suit. Sure he was a 6 foot tall model with abs, but his indecision in outfits was ever present.

“Neverminded that anymore. Let’s get in there! You’re a tenured professor for Pete’s sake. And I’m a well known LGBT author. We got a lot to talk about.”

Jackie pulled Ned in with his surprising strength and they began to hear the music and mingling. Inside they were given name tags and soon saw the crowds of people that none of them recognized! One of the perks of the shift was that no one was ever mad when they didn’t recognize one another. In this case though Jackie and Ned’s eyes zeroed in on a few key people.

Stacy Skarsgaard was always known as the head cheerleader and total B. Her platinum blond hair and perky breasts getting her through life and landing her a cushy secretary job somewhere in the city, from what Jackie had heard. Now once again, as she was so many other times, she was blasted drunk and taking her top off. Only this time it revealed a powerful dark skinned chest with curly black hairs. Her perfectly shaved face saying, “And like. I”m already on my 4th husband and he totally worships me. Takes care of the kids and still tops me like a champ. Like. I totally see why gay guys do it all the time. I can’t stop. Any more martinis?”

Jackie snorts. “Where was that open mindedness when she tried to get student council to take down the LGBT Support Club? Freaking hypocrite. Their eyes then drifted to three men chest bumping and laughing.

“Are those guys Chad, Thad, and Grad?” Ned asks surprised. “Weren’t they... like the biggest guys on the football team?” Ned recalled the days when those beefy fat bodies would pound through the halls and shove him against lockers.

“Oh yeah. I heard they were working as assistant coaches at some college and ended up swapping with their respective school’s freshman swim team. They... certainly lost a lot of that freshmen 15 that we saw them with in university.” Jackie laughed admiring how they both towered over their former bullies, though Ned once again felt insecure about how much their abs looked better than his. Those three guys kept messing around but in different ways. Instead of belching and arm wrestling they were doing some handstands and showing how flexible they were.

“Ok. Ned. Stop sulking and start catching up. You wanted to prove to yourself you could stand up to your past. Now is your chance. Next person to walk through that door is gonna be a new person you have to say Hi to ok?” Jackie commanded.

Ned gulped and looked at the door nervously and was in awe of who stepped in.

“Paul Bailey?” Ned said astonished. He’d recognize that familiar leather jacket anywhere.... he could still smell it as the closeted athlete wrapped his arms around him all those years ago under the bleachers after a big game. Neither have them had mentioned the night since, but that hadn’t stopped Ned from cherishing that memory.... as well as stalking him occasionally on social media seeing who he swapped with.

Ned hadn’t realized he’d been staring that long as Paul immediately saw him and walked over. “Holy... Ned? Is that you. Wow you sure changed.” The man joked. His voice was different... but still so deep and smooth Ned nearly swooned.

“H-hey Paul. Guess we all have since the switch. You’re um... looking good.” Ned admitted, blushing. He missed his previous heritage that made these embarrassing actions less noticeable with his former darker skin.

“Thanks. I guess I traded in my older pasty body for a new more bronze kind. I wasn’t expecting to swap with an Asian bodybuilder, but hey I was at the airport. Right or wrong place depending who you ask for the shift.”

“Really? I was at the airport too when I shifted. It was kinda funny. I’d been traveling a lot since I got tenure as a professor, but the first thing I did when I shifted was trip. I guess no amount of travelling prepares you for suddenly having size 14 feet.” Ned laughs.

“Really? They do look big... dang. Those are like twice the size of your old ones.” Paul laughs too!

“Y-you remembered me that well?” The nerd felt touched.

“Of course,” Paul replied as it was his turn to blush. “Though hey! I got you beat with these size 17 wide feet. With these heavy muscle I nearly took out an entire cart of luggage.”

The two continued to laugh, comparing bodies, stories, and catching up. Jackie suddenly took her leave to be ogled by all of the female attendants.

Ned and Paul were having a great time walking around, having fun, and enjoying each other’s company.

Ned didn’t know that their bodies had met previously. That Connor was on the way to visit his boyfriend at the time... that miles away their original bodies were holding hands and laughing too... Ned couldn’t know that Paul had also been secretly keeping up with Ned after feeling bad about kissing and never calling...

But there are some things a know it all doesn’t know. Maybe it’ll be fun for him to start learning again. This time with someone both old/new.

#body swap #thegreatshift #The Great Shift #Great Shift #thegreatstoryteller #race change #racial change #height change #gender change #female to male

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thalialunacy · 9 days

Text

[for the @calaisreno May Promptosaurus Rex; cw for toddler stuff, eg 💩 & 🤮]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) 19: weather (20)

'A-ha! We did it!' John says, possibly too chuffed as he holds up a freshly changed and dressed Rosie. 'We--'

She makes a very distinctive face, then grunts. John eyes her. 'Tell me that face doesn't mean what I think it means.'

Then he does the sniff test, and yes. Yes, it does mean that.

He lays her down yet again, fond exasperation tugging at his lips. 'Wee girl, why do you do this to me?' His mum has used the endearment on Harry their whole lives, so it's comfortable on his tongue as he reaches for wipes and a new nappy -- only to discover the stashes depleted. As in… nill.

John rolls several expletives around his teeth. But then Rosie giggle-gurgles up at him, and he swoops in to expel his breath instead on her cheek in the form of a huge raspberry. He almost doesn't hear the knock on the door.

He pauses, but then shrugs and picks her up. 'Sorry, sweetheart. Let's go see who's at the door, yeah?'

She is notably non-nonplussed. 'Livery?'

'Might be,' John replies as he reaches the building door and opens it. 'And it is!' His daughter claps and immediately reaches out for the spotty young man trying to wrestle a rather large box. 'Whoa, there.' John reins her back in; she wants to be friends with everyone, which is both endearing and alarming.

'Do I need to sign?' he says to the carrier, who, now that John's looking, isn't wearing any sort of uniform. He looks like a dishboy haphazardly and temporarily promoted.

'No, sir. I'm to bring it up to the flat.'

A seed of a thought germinates in John's head. 'That was your instruction?'

The lad nods, clearly trying not to show his impatience. John holds back a sigh, and opens the door wider to let him pass. 'By all means.'

And it's as John expected: Wipes, diaper rash cream, and nappies. They're even--though he really shouldn't be surprised--the correct size.

As soon as Rosie's changed (again), he's got his phone out.

'I trust the delivery made it in time?' Mycroft answers.

John spares them both the niceties. 'How?'

'Nothing untoward, I assure you. Sherlock texted me.'

'Right. And where is he?' They may have an… evolving relationship, but Sherlock is still Sherlock, and John can also admit he only vaguely remembers what the detective had said when he'd left earlier in the day.

'I believe the words "spleen" and "unidentified poison" are involved.'

'Excellent. Listen.' He clears his throat. 'I'll pay you back.'

'My mother would call that "vulgar," as you know.'

'And she's a lovely woman, but--'

'Discuss it with Sherlock, please. I've got work and must get back to it.'

He rings off. John stares at his phone.

Death by Holmes. That's it. That will be how his life ends.

---

Rosie has broken the laws of physics and/or cloned herself. She has. She must have done.

That's the only explanation for the sheer reach of mess he finds waiting for him after his clinic hours the next day. 'Bloody hell,' he breathes, standing in the flat's doorway and taking it in.

It's more than the usual whirlwind that happens when Sherlock's between cases and takes Rosie for the day - He claims loftily that he's putting her through intellectual paces, but really he just indulges her every whim, including her lack of enthusiasm for cleaning up. And it's not as if the flat was shining and organised to begin with.

John doesn't even have the bandwidth to log all the bits of chaos surrounding him. For heaven's sake, he hadn't even known they owned bubble solution. But, then again, they don't now, judging by the rather large soapy stain on the rug in front of the window, and the family of tipped-over empty bottles next to it.

'John!' he hears from Sherlock's bedroom. 'Come join us!'

He rolls his eyes, but goes anyway. The noises make it clear as to what they're doing, and John hangs his head before pushing open the door. He'd been hoping to at least have one nice mattress in the flat for a bit longer.

But no, currently Sherlock is holding onto an absolutely delighted toddler while, obviously, jumping up and down on the bed like he's seven. Actually, John fleetingly wonders if Sherlock even got to do such things when he was seven--

'Come on, John!'

--and the unabashed joy in Sherlock's eyes tells him his answer. With that, the resistance whooshes out of him. He toes off his shoes and joins them.

'We're testing the durability,' Sherlock explains, loudly, then swoops Rosie like an aeroplane.

John laughs, huffs of air as he jumps and watches his daughter. She seems to be enjoying herself, except-- 'I think she might--' He stops, reaches out. 'Sherlock, she's going to v--'

With a small noise of surprise, Rosie is, indeed, sick. The remnants of whatever they'd had for tea form a lovely puddle on Sherlock's expensive sheets.

The grown-ups both manage to avoid it, scrambling backwards and into each other, somehow. John, lungs tight, reaches for his daughter, not caring that she's got sick all down her front. 'My girl,' he says, going for soothing, knowing her reaction could go either way. 'Did that surprise you?'

Rosie, wide-eyed, lets out a small hiccough. Then her face crumples, and she starts to sob.

'Oh dear,' Sherlock says faintly.

John, because he's a bastard, feels laughter start to bubble up in his lungs.

Then he hears Sherlock repressing chuckles next to him, and the floodgates are open, them laughing together like errant schoolboys.

'We musn't giggle near an ill child!' Sherlock admonishes, but it works no better than it had the week they met. John bumps Sherlock's shoulder and curls Rosie into his chest, rubbing her back and putting his lips to her forehead in between breaths. She's not feverish, she just likely got swooped about like an aeroplane too soon after tea, so John relaxes and lets himself go, laughing like an idiot in dirty sheets with a dirty baby and a spotless Sherlock (somehow, the bastard).

Then there's a knock at the door. The door of the flat, not the ground floor.

He and Sherlock exchange glances, no longer laughing; even Rosie has geared down from wailing to whimpering. John shrugs.

'Come in,' Sherlock says, loudly, because of course he does; he doesn't give a toss what people think of his cleaning habits. 'We're in the master bedroom.'

A formidable grey-haired woman with a tight chignon and very no-nonsense shoes appears in the bedroom doorway. She takes in the situation, and then she tuts. Actually tuts, in a distinctly Edwardian way that John hasn't heard since his grandmother passed. 'Just as Mr Holmes suspected.'

Sherlock purses his lips. 'Mycroft sent you?'

'He certainly did. Now, out of those clothes and into the bath, please, all three of you.'

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest but the Look she gives him has him shutting it with a snap.

John would laugh if he had the fortitude. 'Beg pardon, ma'am, but he sent you because…?'

'Because you lot are a mess, a fact of which you seem to be unaware.'

John and Sherlock exchange another look. 'Fine,' Sherlock says curtly. 'But could you be so kind as to leave the room while we undress?'

'Certainly.' She gives a short nod, then turns on her heel and exits down the hall.

'Hang on,' John whispers loudly as they start to unbutton and unzip. 'Mycroft sent us a nanny?'

'I'm relatively certain she's his housekeeper, and just on loan for this evening.'

'I guess I should be surprised.'

'No, you shouldn't, as you're not entirely without wits.'

'Such flattery.'

'Dull.'

'It's almost sweet of your brother, really.'

Sherlock points a finger at him. 'Don't you dare.'

John's lips quirk. 'Don't worry, I won't send him a fruit basket or anything. I just-- I appreciate that he indulges a child he hardly knows, that's of no relation to him.'

Sherlock clears his throat. 'Yes, well, be that as it may, I say we take full advantage.' He pulls the now-naked toddler out of John's hands and heads towards the loo.

John watches them go, feeling quite swirled around by the last half an hour's events. But then he shakes his head at himself and his navel-gazing, and follows them.

---

John's phone buzzes while he's at work the next day, and he doesn't pay it much mind until he sees it's the day nursery. After he reads the message and is able to breathe again-- Jesus, being a father is not for the weak, is it-- he thumbs one to Sherlock.

Did you get the updated pickup address from the minder? Trip to park rained out.

He doesn't get a reply, not right away or in the next few hours.

This could, of course, mean a few things. John firmly puts away the worst case scenario, and reckons a case has taken priority, seeing as Sherlock knew John was available for pickup if necessary.

So, needless to say, he's surprised when he arrives at the given address. One, because Sherlock is there waiting. And two, because it's…

John stares.

'John,' Sherlock says after a moment. 'I'm afraid my brother has outdone himself.'

'Yes, well.' He coughs. 'I'm afraid he's turned an indoor football pitch into a Disneyland for toddlers.'

'As I said.'

'Jesus Christ.' He wonders how long Mycroft's been planning this. 'Wait-- Was this just because of the rain today?'

'Knowing Mycroft? Yes. Is that not a proportional response?'

John can hear the amusement in Sherlock's voice. 'Definitely not,' he replies, but his cheeks hurt from repressing a smile. 'Hang on,' he says. 'Why are you here? You didn't return my texts, I figured you were in the middle of a corpse or something.'

'Mycroft told me to stay put.'

John snorts. 'Didn't you think he might be using trick psychology to get you here?'

Sherlock scoffs. 'Soft science, that.'

'Sure.'

'Daddy! Sherlock!' John looks away from Sherlock at that particular mispronunciation of his flatmate's name, and is barreled into by a clumsy sparkly dervish.

'What--' He automatically reaches down to pick her up, then does a double take at the elaborate butterfly painted onto nearly her whole face. It's basically a work of art, honestly, and he has no idea how someone got her to sit still for that long.

'They are hired for speed,' Sherlock says to him, and he laughs, still impressed after all these years.

'Incredible.'

Sherlock glances at him. 'Whether you mean the artwork or my deducing your question about the artist, you are correct.'

John ignores him and listens to his daughter chatter enthusiastically. The words "bouncy castle" and, somehow, "golf" filter out of it, and John chuckles.

Then he hears her say something that makes him double-take. 'Pardon? Say that once more, sweetheart.'

'Uncle Mycroft!' she repeats. Or at least, most of those letters. Enough to confirm.

John's jaw clenches. 'Did he tell you to call him that?'

She nods enthusiastically. 'He's fun!'

This jars John from his confused dismay, and he hears Sherlock snort, too. 'I suppose he can be, in his own way.'

'Don't lie to your daughter, John.'

John tries not to laugh, and nearly succeeds.

You're going to have a hard time topping this for her next birthday, he writes to Mycroft. He doesn't get a reply, but he supposes that's fair.

They get halfway through the relatively short walk home. Halfway. Before the heavens open up, changing from an aggressive mist to actual splotchy rain.

John swallows a curse, ducking under an awning and already anticipating Rosie wailing about prematurely losing her face art, about being cold and wet and out of doors.

But when he looks at them, at Sherlock swinging his daughter down from where she'd been perched on his shoulders, he sees nothing but joy on her face.

Joy, and wet streaks of glittery violet paint. She's clinging to Sherlock's hands, and Sherlock looks -- Well, he looks really bloody happy, if John had to label it. But he hesitates in doing so, and resigns himself to just enjoying the moment.

'What,' he says once he's recovered his voice, 'Mycroft can't have a drone deliver us an umbrella?'

Sherlock chuckles, then sobers. 'He does adore her, you know.'

John looks at Sherlock, not quite hiding his surprise. 'And you're alright with that? With "Uncle Mycroft"?'

Sherlock's eyes flash with something, but John isn't quick enough to categorise it. 'A child should have a variety of influences in their life.'

'True, but--'

'And an expanded support structure they can rely on. I daresay Mycroft qualifies, don't you?'

John nods shortly, finding himself unable to form useful words.

Luckily, Sherlock does it for him. He sweeps Rosie back up into his arms and boops her nose, which makes John's eyes cross with cognitive dissonance but there it is all the same. 'Shall we continue walking and enjoying the rain?' the detective asks Rosie. 'And then have a nice bath and some tea? I'm sure your father will make up a fire, too.'

John swallows. 'Sure, yeah.'

Heart warm enough to hurt, he follows them out from under the cover and into the storm.

Time's too short, he reckons, to fuss about dreary weather.

[ <3 ]

[inspiration: Richard Shindell's 'The Weather'. Also consulted bubbleinc.co.uk, obviously.]

#it's gonna be MAY 2024 #May Prompts 2024 #MayPrompts2024 #Johnlock #Parentlock #BBC Sherlock #This is just meandering Parentlock folks

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yveaart · 1 year

Text

girlfriend application

heeseung x reader

genre : fluff,

synopsis : heeseung who swore to be happily single soon felt the loneliness of being alone, dealing with his college life his friends caught the message making an obnoxious application for his "potential girlfriends"

warnings : HEESEUNG. he is a warning himself.

another sunday in the sun as heeseung was enjoying his walk in the park during the weekends, people passing him by, soon realizing that the people would come in pairs with a love-dazed grin in their faces, and there he was— alone with a bag of groceries to bring home.

reaching his doorstep taking out his keys just to enter to a living room filled with people

"are you guys seriously making my house our hang out area" he stated in a sarcastic manner soon filling the area with silence when no one chose to answer him.

he sighed heading his room dropping his bag down by his desk. he laid down his bed laying his stomach opening his phone soon shining light across his face, "tinder" he laughed on how miserable it looked.

he never felt the need to have a partner until now. he soon started swiping people off his screen somehow not finding anyone who piqued his interest

"hyung?" seeing his friend jungwon greeting him in surprise.

realizing the invasion he quickly hid his phone behind him swiftly while sitting up looking up at the latter.

"y-yeah?? what's up?" his voice barely achieving a steady rhythm. jungwon smirked at him.

"hyunngg~, i saw that" he quickly ran outside alerting the others of what he saw.

"GUYS HEESEUNG HYUNG IS GOING THROUGH TINDER!" he cheered as his dimples has shown through his face with delight.

heeseung quickly following after, his face dropped, it was too late, and there was no way he could cover it up. the others were quick to tease him about it.

"ayee, hyung we could've find one for you than those fake accounts who just takes up your money" ni-ki said walking to heeseung with a smug smile displayed.

heeseung looked plainly at the youngest, he knew that this would be held against him for as long as they will remember. "you don't know my type, it would be embarrassing asking up girls to date me, it's making me seem pathetic"

"yeah yeah, we won't just ask random girls anymore" sunghoon reassured with a smug smile, he was definitely formulating something dangerous. "we'll just have to figure out who wouldn't find it pathetic" he muttered quickly.

what was that supposed to mean.

another day of class, but this one's different, heeseung had to go to the campus alone. what sort of sorcery woke his friends up and get early to class.

he was approaching the entrance as he saw 6 familiar people swarming around handing out papers to the students.

was there a project to be done? they have never been this willing to help out, some of them were part of the student council so he didn't queried anymore.

he went to jake, he was standing by the table, dividing stacks of paper.

"what project is this?" heeseung asked reading into the sheet— GIRLFRIEND APPLICATION???

jake clearly didn't have to answer his question, he just grinned at him. the thought of them doing this actively could go very wrong or unexpected, but definitely did it to tease heeseung.

at this moment he didn't know what to feel, in fact he was feeling to many emotions at once its as if his feet were screwed onto the floor.

"i- WHAT" he said looking at all his friends. he wanted to take back all the printed copies of whatever this bullshit is right into his hands, but no, he was silent again. the people around him looking at him worriedly as they passed by.

he went on with his classes that day, it was unbearable. his classmates, even random people he didn't know was smiling at him oddly as he passed by.

he thought that it was the only thing that he would have to manage but later on he felt more followed, some familiar faces suddenly walking around behind him. letters on his desks, food at his lunch table.

he made it. through the day atleast.

he didn't want to be anywhere his friends' wonky minds, so he went home early brushing of the invites for dates from girls that was in his class for the last subject.

finally arriving at his home, his friends following after him rushing. he knew he couldn't be mad for long, but he's still upset letting them through the doors of his home, his peace.

they settled at the living room teasing but also half apologizing to heeseung. he ignored their passes to annoy him by opening his phone.

"jesus you even gave my phone number???" heeseung exclaimed.

"we know you were gonna ignore them in person so they probably still could shoot their shot through your phone" riki giggled.

where was the peace he held when he didn't t open tinder.

the next day heeseung had to rush to campus for an important report due that day. shuffling through his bag searching for his glasses, with books filled on his arm he had a struggle reaching the object as well as rushing to his room.

unfortunately he ran into another person heading the opposite way

"shit"

"shit" you heard the other person exclaim. you were too busy fixing the ring on your finger heading your way to the school's entrance to meet your friend.

thuds could be heard, their books fell onto the floor.

you quickly helped them pick it up glancing at their charismatic facade.

"i''m sorry, i didn't know where i was going" you said passing it to their hands.

"'no it's okay, i wasn't looking either" you saw the books he was handling, it must be the report for chemistry

"good luck on your report" you smiled at him as he thanked you as you rushed away seeing your friend's silhouette at the entrance

"good luck on your report" the person said with a light tone, heeseung felt his mood giddy from a random good note from a stranger.

he looked down once again seeing an object refract sunlight to his eyes. he saw your ring, it must've fell when you helped him pick his books up.

he squatted picking it up with a grin, as he started walking to his class.

"yoi heeseung hyung, let's go the party" jake invited heeseung who was sitting on his desk.

"i don't know jake it's almost my finals week" heeseung replied putting down the ring that he was fidgeting with.. a bummer he didn't know your name or you at all

"ayee, isn't that y/n's ring? did you get her application?" he grinned, clearly ignoring the fact that heeseung had the huge stack of the said application on the floor untouched.

"y/n?" heeseung repeated.

"yeah bro the one who helped us with the copies, she was head of the student council, she's besties with sunoo" jake replied as there were silence left in the room

"where was the party you say?" heeseung cocked his brow

there it was, the mansion itself, beaming lights exciting such rooms that withheld the device emitting it, loud noises coming from the booming speakers as well as people pooling through the entrance and garden.

heeseung was unsure of coming in, he went through a lot of parties but this one is extreme, extremely going to make him suffocated and fail his finals.

he entered nevertheless with his friends, he was greeted by a bunch of his block mates and such, and some non at all. seeing people getting extremely wasted or extremely horny on display was quite bold, and made a lot of people uncomfortable.

he was met with drinks on the kitchen table, mixed into a bowl, he did not take the risk so instead he grabbed a canned beer inside the fridge sipping it as he circled the grounds of the house, soon ending up on a balcony that held something that the whole building didn't have. people and peace.

he stood there looking at the sky sighing as he backed away from the edge, his head turned as he heard footsteps from behind him.

you rushed upstairs running away from the mess your friends had brought you in. they practically forced you to play the most stupid and cliché game of truth or dare. it was a bad idea, you know so.

you were dared to be stuck with a guy in a closet for 5 minutes, and let's just say you spent 2 on running upstairs, out of that vicinity.

you ran unto a guy standing in the middle of a room as you accidentally stepped on his foot.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry" you gasped as you stepped a few paces back looking at them, his face looking familiar but you weren't sure if you were just tipsy.

"a-ah" he exclaimed as hurt rises up to his face. "no its okay, are you okay?" he asked.

"uhm yeah... no, can you help me? uhm i'm running away from a guy and like a group of girls" you smiled at him with trouble twitching the sides of your mouth.

he had no time to process what you said until you heard a roll of footsteps from multiple of people. not knowing what to do you just faces the other person as panic painted your face.

he pulled you close to him, his arm behind your back, you felt the cold tin can on your back and his chest against yours. a faint sound of something minuscule fall didn't bother you as silhouettes of people came around the walls from the hallway. you looked at each other both of your breaths hitching when your eyes met, it's as if your eyes knew but your mind can't remember.

your so called friends are looking at rooms until they ended up at yours. "damn i wish y/n was down with someone like that already" your friend yunjin sighed as they continued to look around.

you were peeking through your hair as his face went closer to your neck his breath hitting your skin. "y/n?" he said feeling his lips grin as he say your name.

you faced his neck reciprocating his position to him, your lips touching the tip of his ear as he bent over you "you know me?" you asked your voice quieter than usual.

"mhm... kinda" his lips vibrated against your neck.

"who are you mystery guy" you giggled, the music blasting still, but less irritating when you're downstairs. "heeseung... lee heeseung" he answered his voice silky but deep. a few minutes passed as you heard footsteps again.

"okay i think they're gone" his voiced hushed, the warmth of his body radiating onto yours, it wasn't hot at all but you felt like you were burning. he stepped away as he looked at you.

you stared into his hazel eyes until something distracted you, it was coming from the floor.

"wait isn't this my ring?" disbelief filled your mind, you didn't think you would find it. you bent over to reach for it until a sudden advance from the latter was much quicker to make a move.

his long toned arms had reached for it already, but his balance was unsteady as he spilled a little beer on your leg.

"woah, what are you doing with it mr. lee?" you laughed it off as you stepped back from getting more beer on you.

"shit i'm sorry" the ring dropped again in front of your feet as he reached for the tissues on the table. he leaned towards your legs and soon kneeling, wiping it off.

"i didn't mean to spill it on you, or at all" he stammered with his words. he held the tissues as he dabbed and wiped it off your legs.

it was an unusual sight to your eyes, this could be easily misunderstood by people passing over. you were suddenly silent, the words knocked out of your mouth.

"you good?" heeseung asked looking up at you pulling out more tissues to dab on your leg, had he always been so handsome? his doe eyes staring at you with intent his nose built like it was crafted by a great sculptor, his lips shaped perfectly, so soft and his cupids bow are too tempting to not to stare at.

"what you want me to lick it?" a smirk painted on his lips

#enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen #kim sunoo imagines #lee heeseung oneshot #nishimura riki imagines #park jongseong imagines #park sunghoon imagines #sim jake imagines #yang jungwon #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung #lee heeseung imagines #heeseung imagines #heeseung oneshots

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saint-siren · 1 year

Text

A World For Her Alone | A child of ill omen

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

cw (chapter specific): emotional infidelity, abuse, illness, murder, self harm, suicide, childbirth, vomiting

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: in which Claude tries again.

author's note: oh boy.

When he opened his eyes he was in his bedroom. He jolted from the sudden change, looking about him and trying to make sense of what he saw. He was lying on a soft bed instead of the hard, splintery wood he remembered from before. Just a second ago he had been sure to die and now he was home and unharmed. He felt for a wound in his chest, believing that perhaps he’d been saved from his fate, the knights who tried to stop your knight from killing him had taken him back home. But there was no pain there, not even a scar. He had felt the pain searing him for a few beats, the blood drowning him and then there was nothing, there was only this. But it couldn’t have been a dream. He did not dream like this, not so prophetic and pained.

A knock at the door made him jump, every ounce of stimulation made him feel as though he were going insane, as if any moment he would find himself back on the ground. “Come in” He said, in a voice that did not even sound like his own. It wavered with uncertainty very much unlike him, it sounded weak even to his own ears and he resented it. As soon as the butler greeted him with a measuring gaze, concerned he might be ill from the distress on his face and in his voice, he was asking about you.

“You are due to see the lady today. The preparations have been made as you commanded.”

A broken, relieved sound fell from his lips at the words. You were alive. This life he’d arrived in was new, unblemished from the faults of his past and you were the proof. He lived again, you lived again. The day was miserably overcast, the light was a dull gray and much of the room was cast in shadows. This realization of his second life felt like fool’s gold and yet he wanted it badly enough that he reached for it anyway.

“I see…” He murmured “Nevermind that, prepare a carriage now. I will visit her early.”

“My lord, are you feeling alright?” The butler asked anxiously, clearly baffled by the unusually emotional state of him.

“Do I have to tell you again?” He asked sharply, impatient. He sounded like himself again.

The butler looked mortified and had the sense to chasten himself before responding. “No, my lord. I will prepare it right away, I apologize.” He excused himself quickly but not so much so that Claude did not catch a sliver of remaining worry on his face as he looked up at him.

It didn’t matter how he looked, it couldn’t wait. He needed to see you. He needed something to tether him to this bleary new life, to confirm it was all more than a dream, more than a hell made for him where he’d be forever in waiting. He remembered what Felix said. “Do you even know how she died? How long she was held in that filthy, inhumane place?” Had you waited for him then?

This time, without fail, he’d show up for you. Even if it could not change the fact that he hadn’t before.

When he arrived, he was greeted by your parents who were surprised that he was there early but instead of meeting him with an edge of reproach, they apologized profusely for the tea party not being prepared yet. It was ridiculous how much reverence they showed, it was well past courtesy. Claude couldn’t help but notice the way their faces changed when he asked for you, when they told him you’d hurry along and be down in a minute. It was almost as though your name was unsavory gossip, existing only to be whispered and grimaced at.

Nevertheless, they directed him outside to wait for you at the table. His body had never been so wrought with anxiety as then, he thought he might truly go insane with the waiting, the desire to see you again and the fear that in his deserved punishment, he might never.

A sense of foreboding came over him, an insistence this was a doomed desire. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he believed something awful was about to happen. What he didn’t know was whether to trust in it or in his hope, his intention and need. He chose neither and merely observed the beautiful and wretched day he’d come back to, trying to hold fast to the feeling of relief he’d felt when he realized you were still alive but wielding his wariness as a weapon in front of him.

When he set eyes on you, finally, he might’ve flinched. For, even though he wished so desperately that you were here, part of him didn’t expect it to ever really happen. He expected some divine punishment, perhaps it was wishful thinking on par with wishing you would alive and safe. But it couldn’t be a punishment, not if you were here. Not if you were really alive again as he was.

He didn’t want to wait for you to reach him, he wanted to meet you halfway and take you into his arms so that he could feel your heart beating, your breathing, the little sounds of surprise you’d let slip. But he remained seated, somehow, and he was able to ignore the tendrils of doubt creeping into his always so cynical mind. Shortly after you, a figure in red. He could not yet take his eyes from you but his lips could not form words. What could he say to you that would make any sense? And how did he speak without falling apart?

When you reached the table, you stalled a moment, eyes unfocused and dead. You greeted him as you always did but somehow you felt far away from him, from everything. There was a murky look in your eyes, like something waiting to emerge from a great depth. He stood, mercifully his body obeyed, he came closer to you. It hadn’t been like this before. Did something happen to you? It unnerved him see you see you look so dead; even in the sunlight your eyes looked so flat and dark to him that they reflected nothing, conveyed nothing. Unreal, like an ink drawing.

His hand had begun to tremble. Something dark was hanging over this day, over him, over you. Ah, would he wake up now? Would he wake up to the true nature of what he believed was his second chance?

“Are you alright? This isn’t like you.” He heard himself speak, but not from the horror that ruminated in his mind, words that seemed to be at a slight disconnect with his intentions. No…what was this?

Your body was trembling, swaying like a tree in the wind. All of the sudden, life poured into your eyes, something fragile took the place of the shadows. He might’ve been glad for it, for a moment at the least, but he realized that the look in your eyes was utter ruin. Those were not the eyes of his fiancée, not steadfast or bashful and avoidant, these were the eyes of someone who had seen it, the sword falling over her head. Those eyes, he was certain, were his condemnation.

Did you know that he had killed you before? Had the you from his past lent you the view from below?

Lady Diana, whom he had not even considered until that exact moment, finally reached the table. The tightness in his chest immediately unwound. The rose red dress, her golden hair on the wind, these were images he hadn’t known he’d held to until he saw them again. The unwitting euphoria flooded his body yet again, reaching deeply inside his mind and caressing every anxiety. Diana was here. She lived just as you did. That thought was not cause for anything really, it shouldn’t be but…he felt that he wanted to cry when he set eyes on her again alive. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her and she, under his attention, looked bright and curious. Alive. Such a contrast from her before, already cold and dressed in a thin, bloodied gown. Her throat had been slit but from the struggle there were many bruises on her pale skin, along the whole of her body. He ached to see her unharmed like this, the bright girl he had loved well before. He couldn’t help himself, even with the nauseous feeling that accompanied, he longed for her. It was the only thing he could hold on to for the turning of this strange new life. That familiar and far reaching feeling drove itself past flesh, bone, blood, into something immaterial.

It wanted him back.

You dropped a teacup onto the grass, freeing him from the hold momentarily as he turned back to you. His stomach sank to see you, your jaw was clenched and your eyes were glassy with unshed tears. Had you been shadowed by something as he had?

“Are you alright?” He was desperate to know. He felt like he was speaking in a rush, something was creeping up on him as sudden as the clouds blocking the sunlight. Something cloyingly familiar and unwanted. Were you specter or human? Retribution or revision? And what was she, then? What was Diana?

You were the little ghost of something he had killed. You would not respond and he wanted to touch you, so much that his mouth went dry. When had he ever wanted something this badly? He needed to take you by the shoulders, to look into your eyes, maybe his could communicate something to you. Some sincerity that his lips refused to muster. Perhaps if he could only touch you, you’d understand.

“What happened? You’re not yourself today.” He heard it from outside his own body, automatic like breathing. He could not reach you; he was, in all reality, quite far away from you despite the closeness of your bodies.

“I’m sorry…” A wavering voice that sounded as if on the verge of tears. It made him ache inside when you showed him the same smile you always did, the smile that seemed to always be at the verge of collapse. It was as though he could feel the reverberation of the pain he felt when Felix’s sword broke his skin. It was a burning pain, the breaching of his heart. He smiled back at you and soothed a hand over your back.

This was what it meant to be ghost. He understood finally, you were not the ghost, he was. He was immaterial, unable to affect anything around him.

Interestingly, you were different this life in more than the bleakness trapped behind your eyes. You worked with a ferocity and you became a much more cunning lady than you’d ever been before. You were more involved in politics and court, willing to shake hands with twice as many people who before you would not have paid any mind to. When had you ever had any desire to be so congenial to everyone? Had you ever had such ambition in the past life? Your intelligence had always been impressive but now it was frighteningly astounding. It seemed in this life that you had somehow become more proactive in amplifying the position of the marquisate, you were fortifying it against its enemies.

It was just another way in which you were looking after him and he appreciated it but inside, there was a certain hurt that came from seeing you work that hard and be condemned by others for it. They called you a “horrible woman” and rumors swirled around high society about you more so than before when you were merely a “jealous, fearsome lady.” He could only stand beside you and your actions, he couldn’t dispel the notions about you that seemed incessant no matter how ubiquitous your goals were among nobles. He wanted to hunt those who would harm your reputation further, to hold their deeds up to the light and make them see they were not, would never be, in any position to act scandalized over what you did.

He meant what he said, he was lucky to have you for a wife. Even more than that, he was lucky that he was able to make himself express it outwardly. That was a good omen, he thought. This time, things would be different. He was no longer a ghost, he had just needed to see you to come alive. His feelings for Diana, compulsive as they were, would not win him over this time. He would not let them. Maybe he had not been saved completely by god but he had been given the chance to save himself. And he would, he would save you too.

He had all the arrogance befitting of his station.

You had become very protective of your little sister, it was a good thing, he tried to tell himself. If Diana could avoid her death, you would not be a suspect. He knew you hadn’t killed her before but the moment it was murmured into his ear that you might be the culprit, it was decided. And for how many others was that the case – considering how badly everyone wanted you to be a villainess? There hadn’t been a single voice that rose in doubt of you being capable of murdering your sister, the voice had been his and that was buried under the weight of something unmovable.

That was why he agreed when you asked him to look after her one day. He didn’t want to, he hated how his affection for her defiled what convictions he held. He tried to keep in mind that it was for your sake more than anyone’s, to guard himself. But it didn’t work, at the mere suggestion, his heart leaped. He was inundated with a joy that smothered the him that lived beneath. The sweetest of any happiness he’d ever held was to be found at her side, he could not deny that truth but it came with a horrible remorse, a violation of the self that a greater part of him wished to kill.

Diana was glad to have a visitor, no, glad to have him. The thought thrilled his dulled senses. Your parents gave no sense of wariness about having a man alone with their unwed daughter which baffled him, he knew he practically had hearts in his eyes when he arrived, overflowing with anticipation of her. He couldn’t have been more obvious and yet, all your mother did was smile. “It’ll be nice for Diana. She’s really fond of you, my lord.” Her voice was so soft and teeming with the affection she had for Diana, as if she was truly glad for her. Diana was not even her child, born to her or adopted, she came from an affair. At first, he’d thought your mother only showed courtesy out of your father’s desire. But this…it was the smile, the happiness of a mother. And she did not show it for you.

How it felt to be in her room. It was indescribable, what being surrounded by her scent, her books, her things, did to him. Her room to him was like a secret cave, shielded from society. The pink painted walls were not walls at all but barriers from the world itself. All of hell could rage outside and what would they know of it? In that room only, they could get lost inside each other. Diana was feeling better that day, so the two of them were able to have tea together. She showed him some of the books she kept, she would read her favorite parts in her airy voice that always, always betrayed her feelings. She was bursting with happiness at having someone to show them to.

He stayed for hours, captivated by every little detail he learned from her and greedy for even more. She was nothing like a wonderful hostess should be but he liked her that way, she was innocently impolite and honest, unrestrained by the graces of high society. It made her easy to talk to, easy to tease and laugh with. Had he ever laughed so much as he did with her? He felt delirious from the contrast of his headiness and his dread, the heavy stone weighing on his stomach. His body and the greater part of his soul belonged here but his mind was with you. He wondered what you’d think, knowing he promised to be home by dark. You were probably worried and that bothered him, he wanted to be the sort of husband you wouldn’t have to fuss over. He wanted to be dependable and yet it was decided now that he could not.

Diana felt like the center of the earth, a small divot in the earth for him to rest his tired body. Diana felt like a noose around his neck at the gallows, sure and wrested around his neck tightly. The inevitable she. A veritable stranger no matter how he felt he knew her. All he knew was you. You were not important, another part of him argued. You were his wife. You were not Diana.

And so raged his thoughts until he could bring himself to come home to you. He’d been told you’d gone to bed and his stomach dropped with disappointment. He’d at least wanted to bid your goodnight, tell you that he’d come home safely so that you didn’t wonder. He wanted to sleep in bed next to you but his feet led him to another room. He justified it in his mind – you needed to sleep and he would only disturb you. Because he could not control his actions, he made up flimsy justifications for them. Though, he was not sure from which voice they came from. He wasn’t sure which he hoped they came from.

The months that came after were as he imagined they would be, still he could not help but hope, he was yet unused to the kind of weakness he displayed. He was born to be strong, to be responsible for many lives, many fates and yet when was the last time he had felt in control? He needed this dichotomy of his two selves to be a war, he needed it to be something he could fight.

Even in his failure, he treated it as if it were his own fault. When he sent a letter to Lady Diana, feeling as if he had only watched somebody else’s hands write the words, he cursed himself for not trying hard enough to resist. The next time was to be different, he would gather his strength. He told himself this even knowing it wasn’t true, even when the steward gave him Diana’s response and he felt relief soothe every tense muscle in his body. He told himself the next time would be different even when he responded to that letter.

He needed to believe in this second chance. This time around, things were actually going quite smoothly with your relationship. To a certain extent, he’d been able to praise you for your efforts as he hadn't before. He’d made you happy when he told you he was lucky to have you, you looked up at him shyly with a genuine smile on your face, a very rare sight which had only grown increasingly rare over time. It was only in that moment that he was able to feel unconflicted. It was only in that moment that things were simple.

They didn’t stay that way.

A letter arrived to the manor, it was placed directly in his hands rather than yours both because he was the only one who ever received anything from your home and because it was specifically from Diana herself. The steward had whispered the urgency of the matter so he read it at the table before you, even though the him within cringed at the shamelessness of such an act. The larger part of him refused to show such inhibition and as he read the words, his heart only dropped for their contents and not for his wife watching him warily from across the table.

With a shaky breath, he announced to you that Diana’s condition had worsened significantly. He only managed the words because he had to, because it concerned you. The darkness was spreading through his body again, rotting even the reasonable part of himself he’d held above it. He could think of nothing but Diana. Her condition was such that she felt she was going to die, she couldn’t even leave bed without fainting and couldn’t keep down food. The fact that she’d been able to write him would have been a comfort, except that she’d included that she’d had to have her maid write the letter for her.

It shouldn’t have struck him so, Diana had always been ill, this outcome was not a surprising one but he felt as though he might lose his hold on everything if she died. What would he do if he never again saw that smile? He tried to stifle the ache rising in his body, his inner self had not stayed hidden, it objected and raged against the grief. He commanded himself to come together, to grin and bear it if he couldn’t make it go away. But his body did not listen, how could it when his voice was only a whisper?

Claude stood up and announced his departure, he rallied what strength he had to stop himself but it was entirely futile. His body moved regardless of his objections, just as it had the last time. Even so, he strained himself against the almost autonomous machine he’d become, until the very end, he tried to make his body stop. Even the sound of that pleading voice behind him did not give him what he needed. You were begging him to take you along and he kept finding reasons to deny you. It was vile. He knew she was your sister before he was your anything but inside him, woven around his throat was a pressing need to see her. A selfishness that demanded to be alone with her.

The thoughts were stirred up to the surface of his mind easily and they lashed against each other. You didn’t care about Diana, why should you be there? She had asked for him, not for you. You were only trying to cling to him. But why shouldn’t you? He was your husband and he was leaving you behind in matters that concerned your family. No – Diana was hardly your family, if he wasn’t going, would you have even bothered? Of course you would have, he refuted within his mind, you were a dutiful sister even if you weren’t close to Diana. How vile you are, wouldn’t Diana be able to see how little you care for her? Would she have to die knowing her sister curses her for having his affection?

Even though all his eyes saw was the picture of a woman desperate to get to her sister, he was quickly growing agitated with you. Whatever the cost, he simply did not want to be with his wife while he was falling apart over her sister. He thought his face should be the one Diana saw, he wanted to see himself reflected in her eyes. He wanted to be the one to give her hope. No, you couldn’t be there, hovering over his shoulder and serving as the cruel reminder of all that had been robbed of Diana. It didn’t matter if you were her sister or not, he wouldn’t let Diana be unhappy on top of what she was already going through. Why did you insist on being a burden so much?

He shuddered when he felt himself grab you harder than he ever would have and put you from his body. He caught a sliver of your expression and his misery only grew, suddenly stricken by the thought that he might hurt you worse and be unable to stop it again. Would he yet again be helpless? This time, would he be aware and powerless to watch himself harm you? Would he have to watch himself kill you, beat you, betray you — knowing that the difference between himself and this darkness scarcely mattered anymore?

For once, he surrendered and did not try to rebel when his body moved away from you, out the door.

Through the balmy night air, he moved like arrow darting through the sky. He reached Diana, his princess in her tower. Yet again, your parents showed him reverence and did not so much as ask about their other daughter. It was as if they were only expecting him in the first place, no — that they only wanted him in the first place. In consideration of his status, they were courteous and asked about him, congratulating him on a promotion given to him as a knight. He wanted to tell them to shut up, to stop with the small talk if they couldn’t be bothered to ask about you. He was curt with his answers, he didn’t know whether that was by his design or something else’s.

The instant they caught him up on Diana’s condition, however, he was alert. He was fully consumed by the doomed desire for her life to be spared. Every word that came from your mother’s mouth broke him. When he went into her room, finally, he was left alone with her. She was pale, thin, the light had been siphoned from her. When he went over and brushed the hair from her sweaty face, murmuring sweet words of comfort that he’d never been given himself, she opened her eyes and a little glimmer returned to them. Since when had he known of such romantic words when he was a pitiful man who could not even tell his wife once that he loved her? Since when did he have such power that he could return life to this girl?

Diana nearly exhausted herself trying to sit up to talk to him. He’d had to lay her back down as tears rolled down her ivory cheeks from the frustration of her body giving up. It broke his heart, he felt as though he might really bleed to see her cry so hopelessly. She, with her body and her beauty such a temporal, fragile thing, knew that she was withering and could do nothing to stop it. She cried as she squeezed his hand and he could bear it no longer. He leaned over, taking her face in his hands and kissed her until she calmed, until she thought of nothing but him. Her lips tasted like bitter medicine.

When he pulled away, Diana looked at him, docile and sparkling with an ill fated hope. His love for her in that moment caught in every cavern of his heart, it blanketed all else. It was a gentle intrusion like rain seeping in through his clothes. It quieted his better self for the moment. For the time being, he knew nothing but his desire to comfort her. And so he did.

His inner self was already quite tired after a few days, longing for home, for mercy from this place that seemed to revolve around Diana. She’d become the object of his misery and he’d held to the hope that you’d show up soon but you hadn’t thus far. Where were you to save him from this? It was a pathetic thought but it was true that he wanted to be at your side if his body would not allow him to come home. He knew that as long as he lacked control, it was much better to stay away from you and yet he could not deny himself the simplest desire for the sight of you.

He got his wish months later when he needed to return home for work. He saw you in the foyer waiting for him to stop, even though he kept walking as if he didn’t. He raged at himself in that moment, full of righteous fury against his own body. He wanted to hurt himself, to break his bones, to bruise and bleed his frustration, his anguish. But the moment you blurted out the news: “I’m with child!” He was able to stop, everything stopped, his vengeful thoughts and the anger churning inside his heart.

On one hand, Claude felt soft at the thought of a child between you two. You had asked him to start trying for a baby and it was the one time the greater force inside was forced to do something that his inner self was more than approving of. It was satisfying, to finally have some piece of a real marriage to you. It was more than needing an heir, it was wanting to have a family with you who would definitely make a great mother and could teach him to be a good father. His heart was satisfied in that regard.

On another…he was terrified to have a child while he was like this. He was already afraid of hurting you, of the disdain he felt for you. What would he feel for this child? There was no promise that he’d never hurt he child that would be born from you, no promise he wouldn’t be resentful that it wasn’t born from Diana. The fear was like a vice, strangling what joy he’d had about the prospect. This voice inside was like a curse.

And even still, there was another front on which he was conflicted. The greater voice inside made the other conflicts seem like drops of water in the sea. The most pressing issue was that you were pregnant and Diana was about to die. You and this child would force him from her. Why now? Why did you have to be pregnant at a time where his greatest responsibility should be comforting her? How could he tell Diana he would have to leave her for the sake of his child knowing that she could never have the family she desired? Agony filtered through his body, sapping away what warmth he felt before and leaving him empty.

In the end, with such things inhabiting his mind, he could not even express a perfunctory “That’s wonderful” or even tell you that he was thankful to you. He only left, disappearing like a coward with his poorly concealed tears to feel sorry yet again for Diana, for himself. To feel a need to break his own body.

He went back to cheer up Diana, to keep her happy even while you lay at the back of his mind. He knew that he should be there for you while you underwent something so stressful and important but the rest of him didn’t seem to mind ignoring that fact. It was glad to surrender you to thoughts of Diana. He trembled with each sign that she might recover, he died inside at every indication that she would not. He fell up and down the sliding scale of her health and all the while, whispered his love in her ears to reassure her. He felt more justified with every day he spent, that a dying woman needed him more than his wife who had always had robust health and was surrounded by servants and doctors. He strengthened this lie even as a voice of doubt tried to gain his attention. You hadn’t had robust health, not according to Felix who knew you best. Perhaps things would be different in this life but he mourned every single day he spent away from you, he wanted to crawl back home to you. He wanted you to be well, he wanted to make sure you were well.

He could not. His place was with Diana. What pleasure he took in the center of that tragedy, in living in his fantasy of being unburdened and free to love her. It was consolation he felt that he deserved. Soon, Diana did ask to see you and he had to put his greed aside.

Although he did not desire to break the immersion of him living with her functionally as if they were the last lovers alive, her wishes were more important and she was not long for this world. She, who loved you even despite your coldness, had to leave you with something.

When you came, he could not help but notice the difficulty with which you walked. Your skin was wan and you wore a grave expression, the one he’d have been wearing if he had the choice not to smile for Diana’s sake. You were heavily pregnant, he wanted to ask about your health but his mouth would not open. Your parents also did not inquire, although he had hoped with all his might that they would so that his worries would be soothed. He could only translate Diana’s wish to you.

You left nearly as quick as you came once she required nothing else from you, he wanted to catch your arm as you walked by and tell you to stay here the remainder of your pregnancy. It was dangerous to travel, especially looking as sickly as you did. In his stead, who had been looking after you? What was being done for you? He was forced to watch you leave, not even waiting to see you walk through the door before turning back to Diana’s room. His own consciousness screamed for the loss, for the feeling of impending tragedy. The darkness inside relieved the tension in his body and thought only of Diana.

He went into Diana’s room again to find her crying. She refused to tell him why even as he begged for the reason. “Is it because the lady has gone back? She’ll come back soon, it won’t be long at all before I can call her back.” He was scrambling for something to put an end to her tears when his sweet nothings wouldn’t. “No, don’t send for her. It’s nothing” Diana said as she tried to hold back sobs. “What did the two of you talk about?” He murmured as he held her, trying to bring her back to the sated girl she had been. However, his question only seemed to further upset Diana. “I told her that I loved you. How can I confess something like that to my own sister? How can I be in love with you like this? I should have kept it inside until the day that I die.” She sobbed into his shirt. It took hours to calm her to sleep.

He was soft with Diana, reassuring her that it was alright, that you would never blame her for falling in love, that you would forgive her. But when he came home, he was nearing madness with indignation. He was certain that you had lashed out at her in jealousy, if Diana had told him what she was planning to say, he would have talked her out of it. She shouldn’t need to confess to you, who already hated her.

It didn’t matter that his own voice spoke up and refuted, desperately citing that you had every right to be angry with her. What an awful girl she was, stealing away her own sister’s husband when she needed him most and then begging like a dog for her forgiveness, using her illness to force her to be graceful about a situation she should be allowed to have anger about. That denial was thin, it evaporated easily. It was insignificant amongst louder, greater ones that favored Diana.

He took his anger out on you, even though his inner self trusted that you wouldn’t have said anything to Diana. He said awful things to you, feeling like her knight, feeling as though he was seeking retribution for her. He watched you grow smaller before him, your eyes go bleak like they had the first time he saw you. He knew what he was doing to you and he hated himself for it but it was if he were only a player in a story who could not diverge from the role he’d be cast in.

Stop, please, stop.

“Everything you’ve done so far to other people”

Bile rose in his throat as each word left his lips. He tried to stop with all the desperation as one trying to save his own life.

“How can I believe you? You used that same face while scheming against others without a thought”

He knew what his next words would be, he knew they would kill you. And he could see that there was no end. He surrendered to the darkness, he wanted to escape what came next, what he knew would be another sword through his chest.

“That child you’re carrying, is it even mine?”

He left you reeling, with a visceral disgust for his wife whose jealousy knew no limit. To think that she would even choose to attack her sister as she lay in bed dying. He had no doubts that the child had to be his but it didn’t matter to him, he felt that you deserved to be humbled that way. This was the consequence of your actions. If you behaved as an untrustworthy, nasty woman, wouldn’t it make sense to treat you as such?

He went back to Diana, he wanted to be at her side before she woke up.

Diana’s room felt like a place constantly in stasis, the world was on pause when he was there and she was never to die. In his own misery, he had begun to wish that she would finally die. He knew that he would be there until she did so he prayed that she would set him free. Let her die, he thought, Please. Undoubtedly, his eyes must show it. His gaze must be casting the blame he felt she deserved. Why was she still alive, monopolizing his time? If she could only see it. No, if he could only free his body to smother her and end it.

A messenger arrived with news from the mansion. His heart dropped in anticipation. In the halls and safely away from Diana’s ears, the steward told him that you had gone into labor. He saw the fright in the steward’s eyes and knew he absolutely had to be there, regardless of what Diana needed. You mattered more. He said that it was a tumultuous birth and encouraged Claude to be there in more reverent language befitting a servant. Despite the screams from inside, he heard himself brush off the request, citing Diana’s condition even as the steward spluttered objections in shock. He himself was shocked at the extent of his helplessness even though he had no right to be. When he could not win the right to control his own body, when he watched the messenger leave, all hope abandoned him. He was a ghost and this home was his only domain as the world kept turning around him.

Diana finally passed the day after that, as he held her in his arms. Something broke apart and allowed him finally, to vent the anguish he had been feeling for months on end. He cried, he let his fingers dig into his hands so hard they bled. It didn’t matter that he knew the tears were not brought forth out of sadness for his wife, he gave them to you anyway. The only thing worth considering anymore was that he would finally return to you. Those tears were his relief, his daybreak. They were his grief and regret.

However, he was again visited with more news. He was told that you had died giving birth. The situation was further explained to him but he did not hear, all sound negated as he seemed to detach from his worthless body. He had let you die alone. Was he only brought back so that he could watch you waste before his eyes? Why, this time, could he not save you? He had let you die, weak and helpless to even do so much as be there with you as you did.

He’d likely been holding onto Diana as you died. The darkness receded and gave way to grief which weighed his body down, it left him gasping for air as his body returned to his control. He was no longer floating, he was painfully aware of himself, of his failure and what it cost. He reached for his dagger, it was the only thing he could think to do — if this was his punishment, he’d learned his lesson and he would gladly move on to the nothing which surely awaited him. But the steward stopped his hand. “My Lord!” He cried, wrenching the dagger from him and cutting his own hand in the process.

“I’ve already prepared a carriage, please, the daughter Madame left behind still needs you” He was bleeding quite a lot, but he kept his eyes on Claude as he used a handkerchief to wrap it.

The daughter. His child. He’d accused you of being unfaithful, he had said such things knowing they couldn’t be true simply because he knew they’d hurt a fragile woman already in a desolate state. And now she was dead from trying to deliver that child. His child lived same as he did. It was the same as before, same as if he’d killed you himself. Was this all that he lived for?

He allowed the steward to lead him to the carriage, made docile by the numbness that preceded. He came home to the wailing of an infant who, the steward had anxiously explained, had not stopped crying since her mother died. He was urged to rest but refused, he only wanted to see your body, to punish himself further. He wanted to commit it to memory this time, where before he’d abandoned you to a prison far away, he needed now to make himself see.

He wielded the image of your body against himself like a dagger, like his nails digging into his hands. He ripped open his wounds with it, he retched at the sight of you, bloodied and still. He was disgusted at himself, at knowing you had been torn apart for his weakness, as if presented with life he’d taken with his own hands.

He made himself look at his daughter. This pitiful, small thing who resembled him so closely…he’d used her to hurt his wife. He couldn’t bear to hold her and look down into eyes that seemed to damn him with their resemblance. It was as if god had given him his copy to say “You, who would condemn a good woman as an adulterer, have your proof of her fidelity.” When he had demanded an explanation from the doctor, even knowing it was unfair of him, the frail and weeping old man managed to confess that she had declined to save her own life by giving up the child’s.

He wished that reality would break open, would fracture and crumble. He wished that he would lose his sanity so that all that occurred would be rendered nothing to a mind who could no longer comprehend the definite nature of reality. But there was only one way toward even the sliver of a chance for mercy. It would not be given to him as a gift. He held the dagger up to his throat. In the moment before it bit into his skin, he thought of the perverse escape the darkness had offered.

tags: @kage-tobiuo @kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee @cassanderasblog

#claude x reader #wmmap x reader #claude de alger x reader #claude de alger obelia x reader #wmmap fanfic #x reader

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ladyazurith · 6 days

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Vil Schoenheit Headcanons

These are some of my headcanon’s for Vil and how I write him/ characterize him.

The woman who gave birth to Vil walked out on both him and his father right after he was born. She and his father were never married, and he was born out of an on-set fling. The woman that is actually VIl's mother, was a makeup artist, who Eric met when Vil was just a baby, and they married, and the woman (I named her Caroline) treated Vil as if he were her son. This is why when he’s asked about who he could have gotten his magic from, he says he doesn’t care. That woman wasn’t really his mother.

One of the reasons he loves the Fairest Queen and her story so much is because he remembers his mother reading stories about her to him as a small child. Unfortunately, the woman fell ill when Vil was about 5 years old, and her health declined rapidly and she passed away. This was a very traumatic event for him, that he’s suppressed.

Most of Vil’s interests lie in his line of work, cosmetics, fashion, acting, etc. But one that he doesn’t talk about much is gardening. Especially cultivating rare and exotic flora that can be used in various potions.

Vil’s ideas of love and romance are very skewed and jaded because of the fact he grew up in the film industry. With the death of his mother, he lost the one positive example he had in his parents. And was surrounded by people who tended to treat love as leverage for PR and personal gain. This is also why he’s so harsh concerning Cater when he’s been shown to be rather unbothered by other people who are clearly out to use his fame to their advantage. (Azul, Jade, Ace, etc). It’s the romantic angle that ruffles his feathers so much, because of how he’s seen it play out time and again all around him.

He has a terrible sweet tooth, he just has enough willpower to fight it off most days

As shown in Chapter 6, he’s got a very clear personal vs professional side. He’s able to compartmentalize them as separate and distinct. When he talks about Rook’s actions not bothering him at the end of chapter 5 and the start of chapter 6, that’s his professional side talking. On his personal side however I do believe he was hurt, not that Rook voted for RSA, but the fact that he hid his obsession with Neige from him all this time. That I think would feel like a bigger betrayal. (And specifically not that he was a fan of Neige’s but the hiding it bit)

Vil knows the nonsense that Rook gets up to, stalking Leona and the other beastmen, etc. He turns a blind eye to it because he doesn’t want to lose who he sees as the only real friend he’s ever had. Despite how he might act passively and brush off Rook’s behavior (like in Rook’s portion of the Tsum event when they go to his room) his companionship means more to him than he’s willing to voice. And Yes despite what I said above, I do believe they are great friends. Friends can hurt you sometimes, even if they don’t mean it. People aren’t perfect.

This is also why I think Jack’s friendship means a lot to Vil, more so than it does to Jack. Jack was the first person who stood up for him and how he was treated. But to Jack, he was just another kid who lived in the neighborhood and hung out and played with him sometimes.

Leading into, I think part of the reason that Vil has such strong negative feelings toward Neige, isn’t just because Neige was the hero to his villain, but because Neige, despite acting like they’re close friends, never did anything to stop the way he was treated. Yes I know Neige was just a kid, no I don’t really expect him to have truly done something to stop it nor hold him responsible for Vil’s treatment, BUT Vil was also a kid, and I can’t blame him for feeling that way. Kinda like that kid who says they’re your friend, then goes and hangs out with the other kids that bully you. Never registering what the problem is.

We know Vil is a deeply insecure person, especially when it comes to his typecasting as a villain, and I think this extends to his outlook on love and romance, as I stated above he hasn’t had the best examples in his life, but typically the villains don’t get a happily ever after love story, and I think he’d projected that onto himself. Something else he wants but feels he can’t have so he doesn’t try.

I also think he doesn’t know how to make friends or communicate with people in a casual/social manner. This helps account for how few friends he has. And the one he does is Rook, who basically adopted him and didn’t go away. This is also why I think he can come off as abrasive even when he’s trying to help. Like how he dealt with Epel.

I also defend his treatment of Epel. I grew up in a very small and isolated town like Epel. I grew up with a lot of backward views because that’s all I was exposed to as a child. In a place where being even slightly different can make you a social pariah, if you step out of line it can be a nightmare. And it takes a lot of stern force to help someone overcome that. Not letting them make excuses. I’m grateful for the people in my life who helped me see differently, my version of Vil essentially, and I was so happy that they showed that Epel appreciates what Vil had done for him.

I have more but that’s enough for now.

#twisted wonderland #twst #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #cater diamond #neige leblanche #epel felmier #headcanon #twst headcanons #pomefiore

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madrone33 · 5 months

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Ok, so heavy SPOILER WARNING for Pjo episode 6! And the rest of the show since I have read the book! Just, y’know, there’s your warning.

I’d also like to preface this by saying this post will be a rambling, not at all ordered, completely unscripted, kinda-rant kinda-essay of my thoughts on the episode, which means it is inherently biassed and completely composed of my thoughts, feelings, and opinions! None of this is fact, and I’m not trying to force my opinion on you. If you think differently or disagree, that’s completely fine! I would hate to live in a world full of clones of myself lol

With that out of the way, onto whatever this will turn out to be!

Ok, so I really liked the Hermes scene. That part was well written and acted. The family drama and guilt and blame is this show is really complex and everyone just needs multiple hugs tbh. Also, seeing a bit of Hermes’ powers was interesting.

I’m intrigued to know more about Percy’s flashback, while at the same time dreading it because I know it’ll be something heart wrenching and traumatic for poor Percy.

Hermes not agreeing to help them was a kinda foregone conclusion; it would be way too easy for them if he just let them into the Underworld, and we can’t make things easy for them now, can we :D

The Kronos stuff was cool to see, with Luke desperately covering his ass lmao, and Percy confiding in Annabeth. The slight change in Iris Messaging, with them not needing water and using a crystal instead was good. Both that it saved time and that it’s more believable. If your one communication tool is rainbows, of course you’d carry around a portable crystal to make ‘em.

It does make me wonder if they’re ever going to explain that technology - as in phones - makes it easier for monsters to find you. ‘Cause currently I… don’t think that’s been made clear to non-book audiences? Maybe I missed it in an earlier episode? Idk.

The scene where they released the trafficked animals was funny, and Grover completely overlooking if humans would get hurt and only thinking of the animals was a nice touch. I get why they didn’t show the animal abuse explicitly, even if I liked how in the books it was shown more clearly.

Them actually realising that the Lotus Hotel is connected to the Lotus Eaters from the Odyssey was good. I like how they’re identifying the threats faster in the show, whereas in the book they really fell for the monsters’ traps a lot. And the fact that they were on guard and were thinking that it was the food to watch out for added a different kind of danger than the books, where it was more just the readers sensing something wrong and hoping they’d not get trapped.

I like that the Lotus was actually being pumped into the air the whole time. And the fact that Percy and Annabeth being together helped them remember what they were actually there for vs Grover being alone and succumbing quicker was logical.

I didn’t like what they did with Grover so much. Him finding a fellow Satyr and trying to talk to him the way that he can’t to Percy and Annabeth was sad, but then, uh, idk he kinda just felt a bit useless? And the Satyr (who’s name I’ve completely forgotten oops) I think was supposed to be seen as funny? But he was… not. He wasn’t funny. And Grover was just very meh.

Like, this is one of those instances where I would’ve liked for them to change it from the books. In the books they all get split up become slowly addicted to the games in the Lotus Hotel and all that, and then Percy snaps out of it and he goes to wake up Annabeth and Grover, and they find Grover playing something like ‘Destroying Humanity’ and then drag him out of there. Which is basically what happens here, but it’s just-

They’ve changed so many other things for the better, turning moments from a randomness scene to a character beat. And I think they tried to do that by adding the Satyr and the ‘Finding Pan’ game, but it just. Didn’t work for me. He was just kinda there and did basically nothing and, like.

Ok ok so my main problem with this episode is the lack of tension.

First off, they were more meandering around looking for Hermes, it didn’t seem like they were that worried they might not find him. Like, they literally just wandered around and found him, without asking for any directions from strange people that might’ve given some insight into how sus this place is, or even having a quick montage cut of them jogging around peering into shady places. They just- walk around slowly and then there he is. Incredible.

Second, I know the Lotus is supposed to be like a drug, where you forget things and just focus on feeling good all the time, but I would’ve liked if Grover figured out that it was in the air, or that too much time has passed, and tries to fight it or smth?

Like, he starts to forget, and knows he’s forgetting something important, and tries to find- someone- the people he knows he came here with- not just so they can help him remember but to warn them that they were wrong, and it’s not just if you eat the food it’s everywhere and they need to go because the time- it’s all slipping away and he can’t let them be trapped here-

But something or someone stops him, hold him back, makes it so he can’t, and slowly he starts to forget why he’s fighting or what he’s fighting for and then he succumbs, and the switch you can see in him from scared-determined-panicked to dazed-confused-happy is terrifying.

And now we viewers are on the edges of our seats, because now we know that Percy and Annabeth are in so much more danger than we thought, and now there’s a time limit, and now Grover is trapped in his own mind slowly losing himself, and now we’re wondering when it’s going to start happening to Percy and Annabeth too, and now we really need them to realise and save Grover and get the fuck out of there before it’s too late-

But uh, yeah, we… didn’t get that. Instead it was almost- portrayed as comical? Like, there wasn’t a lot of weight put on it.

Old man Satyr keeps forgetting ha ha ha. Oh Grover’s forgetting too? Wow it’s gonna be super hard to get out of that one! Oh, no it’s super easy. Barely an inconvenience! Oh really? Yeah, Percy and Annabeth have barely started to forget anything important, and then they happen to look up and see the Satyr and get reminded of Grover. And then there’s a super short chase scene and then jump cut to them finding Grover playing video games and oh funny, he doesn’t remember them! But it’s fine, it actually doesn’t matter, they get him and go and he remembers on his own a few minutes later! 😀

Speaking of; I might have missed something but did Annabeth do anything at all during that chase scene? Like, I think she went another route to try and cut him off, but then she just kinda disappears, Percy tackles him, and she never shows up…? Idk, I’ll rewatch it sometime, but as of now it’s very strange in my mind.

The car scene was kinda funny, but again, not a lot of tension at all.

(Though as someone learning how to drive that scene made me cringe because of how relatable it was lmao. Honestly, Percy drove way too well for a first timer in a crowded parking lot, and the fact that he actually made that turn decently well? Yeah, someone give him a pat on the back lol.)

… Okay so I just thought of something that is unrealistic and wildly deviating from the books to the point that it’s basically just fanfic, but hey, they deviated anyway when they introduced Hermes this early and it’s my shitty tumblr post so - imagine if there was a car chase. There. I said it. If you’re going to make Percy drive a basically stolen taxi through Los Angeles, fucking commit and make him have to outrun the cops/some monster until they manage to activate whatever makes the car teleport!

Like, do an ‘IKEA after dark’ situation where things are all happy go lucky in the club at first, and then after they talk to Hermes and the Lotus starts effecting them, shit starts to get weird, and the patrons around them start becoming strange, and there’s a creeping sense of wrong wrong wrong as they rush to find Grover and then they find him but he’s wrong, and he looks at them like they’re strangers and they don’t know how to fix it, so all they can do is grab him and run, barely remembering where they’re going or why, but they’re holding themselves together, and when one starts to slip the others are there to haul them forward and remind them what they’re doing.

They have car keys in hand, and they might not know how to drive but fuck it they need to go, so bring on the dramatic dark lighting and wild driving and many bumpy, jerky, shit-we-almost-ran-over-something-important escapades, sirens closing in behind them and then he takes a wrong turn and stares wide eyed into the headlights of an incoming truck, flinches back, eyes slaming shut and-

Silence broken only by crashing waves. Insert Santa Monica scene after slightly hysterical laughter because holy fuck they survived.

… Um, yeah soz, idk where that came from lmao.

Moving on! So, I didn’t mind them getting Hermes’ car too much. Like, hell yes she pickpockets a god. But I didn’t like the way that Annabeth got the keys. Like, he’s the God of Thieves and she’s pretty smart. No way she wouldn’t realise that he let her take them.

A way to make it better would’ve been if he’d done some subtle shit, and she’d done some subtle shit, and then it was shown with some shots that here he puts his keys in this pocket, and then a few shots later maybe she brushes past him, or she “leaves” the room but you can fuzzily see pot plant leaves moving in the background if you know to look for it, and then boom, no more keys in his pocket, and when Percy catches up with her she reveals that Hermes let her take them, and we’re like “ahh, of course, can’t help directly but isn’t stopping them if they take initiative, cool cool.”

But nope. She got they keys, thinks she somehow stole them without his knowledge, and then it’s revealed that, duh, he knew, and they’re just like, welp, guess we should’ve known! Yeah. You should’ve. Annabeth is just- not? She’s just not? Like this? This isn’t how she would- do stuff. She’s smarter than that.

But see what I mean? No tension. Need to find Hermes, oh there he is. He won’t help them, but they got his keys. Lost Grover, but found him almost right away. Don’t know how to drive, but whatever lets go. Grover lost his memory, but nah he’s got it back just fine.

Yeahhh. Idk it just felt weirdly lacking.

What also felt weirdly lacking was the reveal that the Solstice has passed and the gods are going to war.

So, most of that underwater bit wasn’t how the books went, but I’m kinda withholding judgement on how I feel depending on how the next two episodes handle it.

The deadline being up and the gods already going to war? I don’t like it, but yeah, I can see how it might work with the themes laid out.

This isn’t just a war, it’s a family fighting, and instead of Percy just doing it because it’s The Quest, this - his father releasing him from the quest, and Ares telling him it doesn’t matter and they’d go to war regardless of it the Bolt is found, and everyone saying it’s not his place - it gives Percy agency because he’s choosing to forge ahead and save his mother, and find the bolt, and save this family he’s become a part of from itself. It’s his choice now. I can see why they made that change.

Though for some reason the pacing was weird, and the reveal that war was literally upon them was… eh? Like, “oh btw you’re too late and now we’re going to war.” “Huh, interesting, but I’m still going.” Like I said; lack of tension. There’s just no real urgency. It went really fast, or maybe too slow? Idk, there was just something missing.

The four pearls thing? I was very thrown by that, and I’m still pretty uncertain on if that’ll remove all the tension in the Underworld part. Because the whole conflict is if he’ll choose going after the Bolt and saving the Olympians? Or will he choose his mother and doom them to war?

If he has four pearls, then he can do both, which means zero stakes. But I’ve read some other people’s opinions, and I agree that one of those pearls is definitely getting lost/broken/used up before he can give it to her, which means this was done to raise hopes and then bring them crashing down, so I’m withholding judgement and hoping that it won’t be too contrived.

And I don’t like that Poseidon basically says he wants Percy to save Sally too, because a huge part of Percy’s dilemma was that the gods didn’t understand or agree with Percy wanting to save his mum.

Poseidon being on Percy’s side certainly serves the themes the episode set up, with Hermes wanting to be there for his family and failing, this time with Poseidon trying to be there for Percy and Sally, and hopefully succeeding. But it just feels like Percy isn’t as alone as he should be, which is good for him as a person, but bad from a writing standpoint because it makes it feel too easy.

In the books, it’s kinda an act of rebellion, that he would even think of choosing a mortal over the gods, but here he’s… not? Because the gods - or at least Hephestus, Hermes and Poseidon - are on his side. So he’s not choosing a mortal over the gods, he’s just saving his mum, and half the gods have given him the thumbs up to do it.

Not saying they weren’t secretly supporting him in the books too, but Percy didn’t think they were. He felt alone. He felt the pressure of the consequences that would come with whatever descision he made. In the show he’s not really going against the gods, because the gods are actively endorsing him. Which means, say it with me, no tension.

Anyway, like I said: withholding judgment. I'll see how the next ones go, and then come to a proper conclusion based on a complete picture.

Also, side note: When the nereid said, “What belongs to the sea can always return” all I was thinking was the musical and Poseidon’s goofy ass voice saying “It’s a SeAShElL” 😂

Oh and btw, the graphics/makeup/cgi of the nereid was well done to my untrained eye. I have no idea about how it’s done, or if it’s actually shitty in the professional sphere, but I thought it was pretty, so- thumbs up from me.

Though the whole scene at the beach and swimming to her was so dark I literally had to turn my tv’s brightness up to see what was happening, which I also had to do with the Theme Park last episode, and I almost did with the Minatour. Man, they really have a problem with lighting during the night scenes.

But just throughout the whole episode, there's just this feeling of non-urgency. Like, in the episode where time is the most important thing, it... doesn't really feel like it matters all that much.

Um, yeah. I think that was all I wanted to say…

In conclusion, I liked Hermes, aaand not much else. It was still a fun episode, but just all round pretty iffy plot wise. Rip.

I shall leave this with saying WE FINALLY GOT WISE GIRL!! 🥳

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo episode 6 #spoilers #essay #rambles #my posts #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #hermes #long post #poseidon #percabeth #writing #analysis #sorry for any typos

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sweeter-innocence-fics · 10 months

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Summer Fic Week 2023 - Day 6: Find Your Own Way Back Home

Pairing: Dmitri Antonov x Reader

Work Summary:

It's summertime, and Dmitri finally has a place of his own. When he goes to pick up his things from Hopper's place, he's not expecting to find you there, recently dumped and looking so pretty in a sundress.

Dmitri x Hopper's daughter!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1820

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Summer Fics Masterlist.

Taglist: @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye

Taglist info.

Notes:

warnings for age gap, daddy kink, dbf!dmitri, reader is hopper's daughter, one of the nastiest things I've ever written No details are specified so reader could be an adopted daughter.

---

Summer was drawing to a close, and Dmitri couldn’t have been happier about that. He was sweating. Even though the A/C in his car was at full blast, he still felt like he was melting. As he pulled into Hopper’s driveway, the beaten up old Chevy he’d managed to get for pretty cheap protested. It seemed to hate the hot weather almost as much as he did.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and then got out of the car. Hopper had lent him a spare key, but he didn’t need it. The front door was unlocked.

That was strange. No one was supposed to be home.

“Hello?” he called out, stepping into the kitchen.

“Dmitri?”

He spun on his heel and almost lost his balance. He put his hand on his heart. “You scared the life out of me.” You were standing in the doorway to the living room, wearing a sundress that fell to just above your knees.

“Hey, you’re in my house. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Dmitri tried to avoid looking at your chest. It had been difficult to live here, with his only friend’s very pretty daughter wandering around in tight summer clothing. It had been half the impetus to move out. Most nights, he would have a cold shower before bed and try not to think about how pretty your tits would look with his cock between them.

“I am here to pick up the last of my things. Your father said there’d be no one home.”

You frowned, as if suddenly remembering something. “Right. Well, if you need me, I’ll be eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in the living room with all the blinds closed.”

“Wait,” he said, in spite of himself. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed. “I was supposed to be going out with my boyfriend today, but he dumped me last night. Said he thought he could do better than me, now that he’s got a fancy new job.”

“What a stupid boy,” he said. “You are way out of his league.” He had met your boyfriend a few times while he was living with you and Hopper. He had always disliked him. He was rude and ungrateful and clearly didn’t respect you.

“… Thanks, Dmitri.”

“I’m serious.” Dmitri didn’t know what had gotten into him. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the way that the cleavage of your sundress dipped so low that he could see your breasts rise and fall with every breath. He saw the frown on your pretty face and he thought he’d go to the ends of the earth to wipe it off. “You’re so beautiful, and smart, and funny. He was nothing.”

You nibbled on your lower lip. It was a habit that he found charming on you, although it probably would’ve been annoying on anyone else. It helped that you were so pretty.

“You really think so?”

“Of course, I do. If I were twenty years younger…” He trailed off, wondering where the line between friendly banter and him getting in trouble was, and realising that he’d probably already crossed it.

“Well, for what it’s worth, you wouldn’t have to be twenty years younger.”

His heart was racing. Did that mean what he thought it meant? He said your name like a warning, and watched the goosebumps stand up on your arms, despite the heat.

“You’re too cute for your own good, you know that?” He put a hand on your shoulder, in a gesture that could’ve been construed as friendly, but definitely wasn’t.

What was he doing? Hopper was going to kill him. Still, he couldn’t help but slide his hand further down the inside of your arm, letting the back of his hand brush against your breast. He felt you shiver.

“Dmitri?” You said his name breathlessly.

You turned to look at him with those big doe eyes of yours, and he had to fight to stop his erection from straining against his pants.

“Your boyfriend is an idiot,” he said in a low voice. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Oh yeah?”

This close, he towered over you. He cupped your breast through your dress, thumbing over your nipple. That drew a gasp from deep inside you.

“You going to give daddy a taste?” He nosed along your jawline, moustache tickling you.

You nodded shakily. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” His grip on your breast tightened.

“Yes, daddy.”

Without another word, he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder. You made an undignified squeak as he carried you up the stairs to your bedroom.

He kicked the door shut behind him and lowered you onto your bed. Before you had a chance to react, he grabbed you by the hips, rolling you over onto your hands and knees.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured, sliding up your dress. “I want to eat your pretty little pussy. Can I?”

“God, fuck, yes,” you groaned, leaning forwards on your elbows in a way that let your dress ride up even further.

“Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good.” He slid your panties to the side, admiring the little damp spot on them. He skimmed his thumb through your folds and found you unbelievably wet.

“Please don’t tease me,” you moaned.

Dmitri chuckled. He leant back and pulled his t-shirt off over his head. “Are you gonna beg for it?”

“Please, daddy,” you begged. “Please, I’ve wanted this for so long. I want you to make me cum.”

He was rock hard in his shorts. Your voice was going straight to his cock. “How long?”

“Since we first met.” You turned your head to the side, looking at him over your shoulder. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

“Well, it would be cruel of me to keep you waiting any longer,” he said, and dove in, spreading you open with his fingers and pleasuring you with his tongue.

“Daddy,” you gasped, “oh, fuck, daddy.”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Letting me play with you like this?”

“Yes, daddy.”

He leant in closer, moustache brushing against your inner thighs. He ate you out ravenously, motorboating your pussy and sucking your clit into his mouth.

You didn’t know how much longer you could last.

“Can I cum please, daddy?”

“Yes, cum on daddy’s face, princess.” You closed your eyes and felt your pussy clench, a fresh wave of fluid being lapped up by Dmitri’s tongue. “Good girl. Good girl.” His voice was a low hum, sending pleasurable vibrations through you.

You slumped forward, overstimulated, but Dmitri wasn’t done with you yet. He grabbed your leg and rolled you over onto your back.

“Daddy?” you murmured, sounding a little dazed. Dmitri didn’t respond, instead kicking off his shorts and boxers. He shifted closer, letting his hard cock fall against your pussy.

“You want daddy’s cock, princess? You want daddy to make you feel real good?”

You eyed his cock nervously. It was longer and thicker than any you’d ever seen in real life. “Will it fit?”

“Daddy will make it fit, princess, don’t worry about that.” He pulled at the straps of your dress, letting them fall, and then he grabbed at the front, pulling it down until your breasts were exposed.

Thick, searching fingers found your hole, breaching the perimeter and stretching you open. You let out a deep sigh as he probed around inside you, looking for your g-spot. With his free hand, he pushed your thigh up so that your knee was in the air, and that gave him the leverage he needed to press his fingers to the sweet spot inside you.

“Right there, daddy. Right there,” you panted. He kept fingering you, rubbing at that spot. “I want more, daddy, please. I need your cock.”

You closed your eyes as he pulled your panties down and tossed them away. You felt his cock slap against your entrance. You hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when you’d asked if it would fit. He was big. As he slipped the head in, you let out a deep groan.

“You like that, don’t you? You like it when daddy splits you open on his cock?”

You nodded, unable to find words. He slid in a little deeper, pushing the air out of your lungs. You grabbed his shoulders, fingernails digging into the skin as you threw your head back.

“More, please, daddy.”

Dmitri chuckled again. “You’re daddy’s little cockslut, aren’t you? You love being fucked.”

“I love being fucked by you, daddy.”

He slid all the way in, drawing a gasping moan from you. Without giving you time to adjust, he pulled back and then pushed back in, making your toes curl.

He fucked you like that, harsh and consistent, making your breasts bounce with every thrust. He held onto your breast hard enough to bruise, and the other hand was tangled up in your dress, dragging you back against him with each motion.

“Daddy,” you squeaked, “ah, ah, ah, daddy, fuck.” Little gasps and moans felt from your lips, which only seemed to spur him on more. He fucked you harder and deeper until you felt lightheaded.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He buried his face into your skin, breathing you in.

“Cum for me, princess,” he groaned. “Cum for daddy.” With one last, deep moan, you clenched hard around him, your back arching. “Feels so good. So fucking tight.”

You came hard, letting him fuck you through your orgasm. When you let out a little whimper, he pulled out of you. You opened your eyes to see him leaning over you, still on all fours, one hand wrapped around his cock.

“Tell daddy to cum, princess.”

“Cum for me, daddy, please cum for me.”

That was all it took. Thick ropes of cum splattered all over your sundress, which was bunched up around your middle. Dmitri swore loudly and sat back on his heels.

Neither of you spoke for a very long moment. Then Dmitri stood up and left the room. You felt your heart sink. Was that it? Was he leaving you now?

But a moment later, he returned, a washcloth in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing it to you. With his help, you pulled off your messy sundress and wiped all traces of cum off your skin. When you were clean(ish), he cleared his throat gruffly. “I should get going before your dad gets home.” You groaned, but you knew he was right. He turned away from you and grabbed his boxers. You watched him slowly began to dress himself. “But, uh…” He spoke shiftily, without looking at you. “You should come visit me in my new place sometime.”

“Dmitri…” You touched his arm, turning him around to face you. Kneeling up on the bed, pressing your naked body against his half-clothed one, you kissed him. “I’d love to.”

---

Notes:

Preview of tomorrow's fic: Sequel to my Pietro Maximoff fic Leave Me In The Deep End.

#dmitri antonov x reader #enzo x reader #dmitri antonov smut #dmitri antonov x you #summer fic week 2023

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xxlady-lunaxx · 6 months

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What did I do..? | {KokuZan}

Theme: Angst

Note: Ignore the picture i can't find any kokuzan ones ;-;

TW: suicide-

ALSO if anything doesn't make sense it's bc i was too lazy to write out the AU so, sorry..

Reincarnated everyone! (basically it's modern AU; reincarnated hhahahoksmvfewoifkmsssddddffffffffuck.)

As a child, Muzan was very easily manipulated. He believed everyone deserved second chances and said, whenever someone did something they shouldn't have—no matter how drastic the consequences—that everybody made mistakes. Which, as you can see, is quite a naïve way of thinking when it comes to reality.

What's more, Muzan tried to be very helpful. No matter what anyone asked, it was almost guarenteed to be that he would say yes.

You could ask him to do the most far-fetched thing that any sane person would say they couldn't do and he would most likely say, "I'll do my best to achieve that for you."

So, he was often—very often—asked to do things for others. And he let them, not seeing anything bad about it. He only saw that he was making it easier for others to live and so he continued on doing this.

The only exception to his agreeing was his friend—more specifically Michikatsu, Douma, Akaza, Hantengu and his many brothers, Gyokko, Gyutaro, Daki, Nakime and Kaigaku. They were the some of the only people who cared—truly—about Muzan and who constantly protected him as much as they could from people who tried to use him to their own will.

Muzan didn't notice any of this though. But he did know that they were people who would stick by him no matter what—something he was absolutely grateful for and told them everyday.

Michikatsu—also known as Kokushibo within their circle of friends—being the eldest always treated all of them as his younger siblings, telling them to do this and that and making sure they were intact and alright.

All but Muzan whom he treated more as a very close 'friend.'

Everybody else could clearly see the favortism written all over Muzan's face whenever Kokushibo was around, and they let it be.

Muzan didn't notice that either, however.

Now, as the time went on, things began to change.

True, Muzan had never been in the center of attention for selfless reasons and had always only been because people wanted to take advantage of him, but now a rumour had started passing by and Muzan started getting dirty looks from people he didn't even know.

Muzan grew scared to be outside at all as someone would hiss at him that he was a horrible man, that he'd done nothing but bad.

He didn't understand.

And neither did his friends because they had never known Muzan to do anything bad.

One day, one particular person had gone up to Muzan. She looked stern and very mad, dragging two other women with her.

"Do you remember me, Kibutsuji?" she said, glaring into his eyes. She was shorter than him, looking to be almost 5 feet whilst Muzan was at 5"6 at around the age of 16.

"No...?" he said uncertainly.

The girl then made one of the other people stand in front of him. They looked to be siblings, this new woman appeared to be older. She had pink eyes that Muzan decided would probably looking pretty if it weren't for the fact that she was looking at him as if he was going to kill her.

"What about her? Do you remember her? This is my sister Kanae," the first girl said, peeking from around Kanae's shoulder. "You and your little Uppermoon friends killed her."

Muzan looked around for some help but his friends were out somewhere and all around them were only people whispering and glaring at him. "She's alive though..." he pointed out, averting his eyes. What were they talking about?

"Oh really," the girl said. "Listen, both of us were Hashira in our past lives. Both of us died from the same demon. From the same demon you created. You had millions of people killed just so you could be immortal!!" She placed a hand on her hip, her eyes searing into his head. "You are a monster. You deserve to go to hell."

The last girl who hadn't been been introduced was fidgeting with a coin, but at this she slipped around the other two and said, her voice both equally quiet and angry, "I hope you life is it's own hell for all you ever did to all of us."

Muzan backed away against the wall. "I didn't do that! I... don't know what you're talking about! I swear! You have got me mixed up!!" he said, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening. He'd only ever helped people! What did they mean?

"Hmm, maybe you've got it all mixed up," the first girl said, letting her hair down and showing him her clip which was in the shape of a butterfly. "Look at this. And go find your blond friend—Douma. Tell him if butterflies have any sort of significance to him. I'm sure they do because you turned him into a demon. And then you let him go and eat so, so many humans. The butterfly should be a reminder to him of who killed him."

Muzan blinked. "Douma? Douma would never do that! He's very kind!" he insisted, crossing his arms. They could talk bad about him all they wanted but now about his friends!!

"Hmm, kind? Not a word I think of when I think of him. But maybe he was. Maybe he was kind and you turned him to the opposite," the girl said, giving him a cruel smile before stalking away, her hands clasped around the two other girls'.

The whispers around him grew and someone shouted, "I heard he was a cannibal!!"

Muzan shook his head. "I wasn't! I'm not!"

"My grandfather said his mother's father's mother had fought one of his demons!"

"I don't have demons," Muzan pleaded.

"I heard he called himself a demon king," someone else said.

The people seemed to rise up all at once, shouting incoherent threats to him.

They closed in on him and Muzan cowered, feeling terrified. What if he had done all of that? People were to be trusted and he knew that they wouldn't lie about this, right? They must be telling the truth... What if he was such a horrible person after all?

A hand clasped around his wrist and he looked up, dread filling him for a split second. But then Kokushibo's familiar face met his gaze and he stood, being dragged out of the crowd quickly.

"Muzan!!" Kokushibo called back between quick breaths as they ran off. "Are you okay?"

Muzan thought for a moment as they ran and didn't answer until they stop. "Do you think I'm a horrible person like they said I am?" he asked, his voice meek.

Kokushibo narrowed his eyes. "Do I think?" he asked, sounding furious.

Muzan closed his eyes, scared of a reaction. He'd never felt so small before.

"Of course I don't!! You're my best friend! You would never do all that shit!" Kokushibo said.

Muzan opened his eyes to see his friend looking worried and exasperated. "You... don't think so?"

"No!! And even if all what they said is true, it's definitely not about you. They probably got the wrong person." Kokushibo sighed, hugging him tightly. "You worry me, Muzan. Maybe you should just stay at home."

Muzan's cheeks flushed at the physical contact—lately, something about Michikatsu had been making him quite... happy. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice muffled by Kokushibo's shoulder.

"Anytime. Want to go to the library? No one's allowed to shout there so we can have some peace and quiet," Kokushibo said, grinning.

Muzan nodded. "Okay."

~~~

At the library, Kokushibo started roaming the shelves looking for books he might want to read.

Muzan, on the other hand, couldn't get his mind over what had happened earlier. About everyone shouting at him, that is. Not with... with Kokushibo.

He immediately shook his head. No thinking about that now.

He searched through the rows of books until he saw the sign titled, "History."

Here he might find some answers. If he'd done something like this before and had caused people to react like that there must be even a little information about it somewhere here.

After searching through the books, finding a lot of things about everything he didn't want to know about, he found a book with a paper taped onto it that said, in hastily written letters, "May be proclaimed as History and not Historical Fiction." which was interesting enough for Muzan and he quickly took out the book.

He sat down on the floor, not really caring about anything, as he opened the book.

On the spine of the book cover, there were the words, "Demon Slayer" on it, along with the name of the author. (Koyoharu Gotouge?!)

There was a little information over the book and how it was supposedly written based off the character 'Tanjiro' who had actually been real but how the editor had said it must've been simply fiction. It said other things about the author as well that Muzan decided to simply ignore.

He opened the first page, noting that it was a chapter book—quite large as well. He flipped through a couple pages, stopping quite suddenly when he saw a picture somewhere. He went back and nearly gasped as the picture was of a man that looked... almost exactly like him. There were words under it saying it was an illustration of... Muzan Kibutsuji.

He turned his gaze to the words and skimmed the page in a panic.

And there he was, Muzan Kibutsuji. It had to be him. His scent was overly powering and bringing in a deep aura that made me shake from deep in my bones. I lunged forward, grabbing his arm as I shouted, "Muzan Kibutsuji!"

Muzan turned around and his piercing red eyes glared at me for half a second. But then he turned fully and I saw he was carrying a child. A little girl. A human girl. "Dear? What's this about?" a woman asked, a hand on Muzan's shoulder as she peeked around him.

Two humans. They were both humans, I just knew it. But he... he was a demon. There was no mistakening the smell he had, was he... He was hiding amongst the humans.

(Ermmmm pretend this is the part of Asakusa when Tanjiro first meets Muzan LMAO- I didn't know how to write it since kny is a manga :'>)

Muzan's eyes lingered on his name for a minute. He was real, no? This was real.

He skipped more pages towards the end and saw his name again. In this part, he appeared to be fighting the Main Character and the people named 'Hashira.'

Hashira.

Wasn't that what the girl from earlier had said?

Standing suddenly, Muzan held the book tightly to his chest and walked as quickly as he could, his eyes searching for Kokushibo.

When he found him, he said, his voice low and scared, "Koku... I'm a villain."

Kokushibo gave him a perplexed look as Muzan handed him the book. "What? Please don't tell me the people's words have gotten into your head. You're not a villain, you're-"

Muzan didn't necessarily know if he wanted to know the end of the sentence or not and his cheeks flushed as he said hurridly, "Just read some of this."

Kokushibo opened the book at random, still looking confused. He looked down at the page and read a couple words before he looked up at Muzan, his eyes wide. "No, uhm. I'm sure it's just a coincidence it's your name," he said, looking very much concerned.

"It's not!! It's me! There are some pictures in this as well, see?" Muzan said, flipping a couple pages and pointing to a picture of himself transforming into what appeared to be him as a child into an adult. "It's me."

Kokushibo stared at it for a long while, then said, "Oh."

"It's me," he repeated. "Koku... everything anyone had said is true. It's all true. I'm... a monster."

Kokushibo looked up at that, putting the book aside. "Listen, you're not a monster, okay? You're Muzan, the boy who helps everyone even when he shouldn't! You're everything but what they've said. You're not whatever this book is lying about," he insisted, his hands clasped around Muzan's shoulders.

"But I-"

"I won't accept any 'but's' when they're not true at all!" Kokushibo interrupted. "Now, clearly the library isn't where we should be. We can go home now, I'll make you some food."

~~~

Muzan's eyes traced Kokushibo's actions as he cooked. He wondered what it would be like for his friend to cook for him as a boyfrie-

No, no, they could never date. Not when Kokushibo was already getting enough hate as it was.

Muzan sighed, leaning his head on his arms.

"You alright?" Kokushibo asked, placing a bowl of ramen on the table.

"I'm fine," Muzan mumbled, picking up the spoon he was handed. "Thanks."

Kokushibo nodded and sat across from him.

They ate in silence for a while, both consumed in their thoughts.

As Muzan ate, he stared at the noodles in his bowl intently. He wondered if anything would be as it used to be again. He really wished it could be. He really hated this. Hated it too much and wanted to badly for it to be over. Not for himself, no that would be selfish of him, rather for his friends. And his family. He knew it wasn't easy for them either, constantly trying to help him when they should just let him die. It wasn't like he'd been a good person anyways. He had been horrible. He'd killed so many people just so he could be immortal? Wow.

The door opened suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Kaigaku strode in followed by Gyutaro, both looking rather beaten up but wearing triumphant smiles on their faces.

Kokushibo and Muzan stood at the same time and rushed over to them, concerned.

"What happened?" Kokushibo asked as Kaigaku batted his worried hand away.

"Nothing, nothing. We were only teaching some people talking bad about Muzan here a lesson," Kaigaku said, swerving around them and plopping onto Muzan's chair. "Hey, you finishing this? Can I have it? I'm starving."

Muzan nodded slowly, losing his appetite. "You shouldn't be getting into fights deliberately..." he fussed. "Especially for me."

Gyutaro waved him off. "It's fine, they're liars anyways," he said, grinning and stealing Kokushibo's bowl, grabbing a new spoon.

"Hey, that's mine!!" Kokushibo whined.

"They're not liars," Muzan mumbled as Kokushibo went to chase Gyutaro.

The other three froze and stared at him. "What?" they asked, almost simutaneously.

"They're not liars," he repeated. "It's all true, all what they said."

Kaigaku raised an eyebrow. "Is this your attempt to convince us that we shouldn't be friends with you because it'll cause trouble for us?" he asked, his spoon raised half way to his mouth.

Actually, that was what he was trying to do.

Muzan hesitated.

Kaigaku sighed, dropping his spoon and splashing some of the soup onto the table. "Drop that, it's seriously annoying. And you'd have to kill me to make me stop being your friend," he said.

The word kill reverberated(?..) in Muzan's mind and he flinched. "But that's just it! I killed so many people in my past."

Gyutaro gave him a look. "They're lying."

"They're not," Muzan whispered. He looked up, his eyes glazing over the worried faces of his friends. They didn't deserve having to deal with im. They deserved better. "You guys can go home... Take the food if you want. I'll see you later," he said, basically dismissing them.

Fuck, if he was going to be that rude he was better off dead anyways.

Muzan didn't miss the way they looked at each other with worried gazes before nodding and getting ready to leave.

Gyutaro and Kaigaku filed out the door but Kokushibo stayed back.

"Hey, uhm... Please don't do anything reckless, Muzan. If you need to speak to someone, I'm only one call away. I'll be here if you need me to be," he murmured, hugging Muzan tightly before closing the front door behind him.

And then Muzan was alone, feeling like he could feel the imprint of Kokushibo's arms around him still. He wished Kokushibo hadn't left. But it was better if he had, really.

Making up his mind, Muzan went up to his room and got his notebook and a pencil.

He wrote down quickly, writing a letter to each of his friends and his family. Once he finished, he read them all through, making sure that he hadn't made any mistakes and that he'd listed enough things to show that he did appreciate every little part of them.

He signed them all and folded them up into makeshift envelopes, taping them all shut.

He went and slumped onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow. He would deliver them tomorrow.

~~~

The next day, as he'd promised himself, he went to his friend's houses, handing them the letter and telling them to read it in a few days time—his birthday, actually.

They didn't really think much of it, especially since Kokushibo was the only one who knew his birthday and he probably didn't remember anyways.

Muzan wouldn't have minded that, after all it didn't matter whether or not Kokushibo remembered.

By the time he opened the letter, it would be too late.

~~~

The next few days passed rather quickly and Muzan found himself in a sort of daze as he continued on. He was waiting for the last day, the day he could finally let his friends live in peace.

He found his most battered clothes—deciding his better ones could be given to people who needed them. He didn't need to wear his best clothes if he would just be wasting them by dying in them.

He went out walking, ignoring all the stares he recieved. He had left a letter on his bed in case anyone bothered to look there. Solely a letter of thanks to his family—he'd already written them letters individually but he'd felt it wasn't enough.

It was early morning when he'd set out and so most people were asleep, although the occasional person was around. But when he finally arrived, the sun was already half way up.

He had to hurry, he didn't want them to read the letters before it was true.

He waded into the water, trembling at the coldness that hit his skin.

No. He had no right to be cold when he'd made people suffer before.

He clenched his teeth together and continued into the water, nearly tripping several times before he made it to the point that the water nearly reached his mouth. He held his head up high and bounded forward cautiously.

The water rose to his mouth and he could barely keep it from his nose as he started treading water, keeping himself upright.

He turned back to the town he'd grown up in, bobbing up long enough to murmur, "I'm sorry," before he closed his eyes and mouth, slipping under the water.

The cool water slipped around Muzan and he could feel it soaking into his body. He gave himself a couple seconds to change his mind before he let out a breath and opened his mouth, letting the water flow into his nose as well.

He resisted the urge to go back up, though it pained him to. He'd chosen this specifically because it would be the least messy—his body would just float out into the ocean or sink or something, and probably disintigrate eventually—and because it would still be painful to himself. He deserved more pain but he didn't know how else he'd do it since he wasn't particularily strong. Not now.

He used to be. And he deserved every form of torture he'd ensued(the fact that i don't rlly know what this word is-) over everyone... and more.

And so, as Muzan felt himself slipping out of consciousness as the water flowed into him, he thought of everyone he ever knew—whether the experiences with them were pleasant or not—and thanked them. He apologized over and over as he slipped away from the world of the living.

~~~

Kokushibo was smiling to himself as he ate his breakfast, excited for today.

"Why are you so happy?" Yoriichi asked skeptically.

He said nothing and continued eating, wondering how he might ask out Muzan.

He'd been planning for some time now and had decided, finally, to ask him out. Especially since it was Muzan's birthday.

He felt that he wanted him to have the best day today since every other day had been absolute shit. And besides, he figured Muzan would say yes. He'd noticed him blushing around him so constantly.

Yoriichi leaned on the table, looking annoyed. "By the way, are you going to open that letter Kibutsuji gave you? I heard he gave them to all of his friends," he commented, nodding to himself. "I overheard him telling you to open it today. Or are you smiling because of the letter?"

Kokushibo hadn't, in fact, opened it yet. He'd actually kinda forgotten about it in all his plans. "Right!" he said, abandoning his breakfast going back to his room.

Yoriichi sighed and watched him run upstairs. "He's in love, isn't he," he said to himself, grumbling.

Kokushibo opened the letter cautiously, noting how the paper looked a bit smudged with ink.

His eyes landed on the first words, smiling to himself as he was met with Muzan's handwriting. Willing himself to read it slowly and not only skim through it, he started down the letter, his smile wavering on his face for a while. But as he reached the middle of the paper, it slowly slipped away forming a frown in it's place. The frown deepened to a look of sheer horror and he dropped the letter as his eyes consumed the last word.

He turned abruptly and ran back down, ignoring Yoriichi's questioning looks as he harshly pulled on his shoes and ran out the door in a panic.

Yoriichi glared at him. "What now? Has he gone to confess his love to him?" he said, sighing.

He went upstairs and picked up the letter which looked a bit crumpled at the bottom. He skimmed through it then placed it on the table. "Muzan is a fucking idiot," he said, following his brother's tracks downstairs and out the door.

~~~

Kokushibo knocked furiously at Muzan's door and the fact of a devestated woman met his. She was Muzan's mother.

"Is... Muzan...?" Kokushibo whispered, dread swimming in his stomach.

She looked down. "He's... I think he left home early. He left a note on his bed... And he gave us each one a couple days ago," she mumbled, lifting a paper. It clearly said something different than Kokushibo's but he figured it had some sort of thanks and then apologies and then explanations as he glanced at it.

His face fell and his arms wrapped around his stomach. "He's dead?" he said, his voice coming out cracked.

Muzan's mother flinched at that but Kokushibo was too preocupied to notice. Muzan was dead.

A hand was placed on his shoulder and he turned, numb inside.

Yoriichi gave the woman an apologetic look. "I'm sorry for you loss, Mrs.Kibutsuji. I'll... take my brother now," he said pulling Kokushibo away.

~~~

Kokushibo found himself in a park sitting next to Yoriichi who was glaring at the ground.

"Yorii?" he said hoarsely.

Yoriichi glanced at him. "Hm?"

"Why did he die?"

He sighed. "He was worrying too much about you, I guess."

"But why? He had only to worry about himself! He didn't have to worry about me—us—anyone but himself! He was getting the threats. He was getting all of the hate and yet... he did this for us?? He didn't say once in the whole letter that he died because he couldn't handle it for himself anymore! He said it all because he was worried about the lashback on us!! He was worried about us when he should've worried about himself!!" Kokushibo spat, glaring at the ground.

"Michi, he was a selfless fuck in this time. He used to be... otherwise, but he changed, I suppose." Yoriichi looked at his brother with a look of pity that had nothing to do with Muzan. "But he's gone and you can't change that or the reason for it."

"No!! He can't have died!!" Kokushibo looked up. "I can't let him die!" he decided, standing abruptly.

Yoriichi stood as well and his voice came out more of a command, "Kokushibo. I want you to sit down."

At the nickname—the name Michikatsu had heard most of from Muzan, he felt himself break. He sat down and Yoriichi stood in front of him with a stern look.

"He's gone and you cannot change that. You can't change the fact that he was who he was. I need you to think about it. Just accept it. I don't care how hard it will be, but you have to accept it. You'll just pain yourself more if you don't." Yoriichi's eyes were narrowed in a glare but when his brother started to cry, his gaze softened. He wrapped his arms around MIchikatsu, feeling that he couldn't bear him to cry over so dead person.

Michikatsu sobbed into Yoriichi's hug, letting himself pour out. "I was going to tell him I loved him," he said between hiccups. "I was... I was going to..."

"Shh," Yoriichi murmured, "don't talk until you're ready."

And it was quite a few minutes until he was ready, but when he was, he rubbed at his eyes and looked up at his brother.

"Today was his birthday," Michikatsu mumbled. "He... on his birthday. I'm sure he did that on purpose."

Yoriichi gave him a sympathetic look. "Perhaps he did. But we will never know. Why don't you... invite your friends over to our house? I'm sure they'll need some help through this as much as you do. Take yourselves through the process together, at least," he suggested.

Michikatsu had never known his brother to give Muzan any sort of proper acknowledgement and at that, he was surprised. But he nodded and stood, pretending not to notice all the people around them staring.

"Alright... Will you help me call them?"

Yoriichi nodded. "Of course."

~~~

Dear Koku,

Or Michikatsu? Kokushibo? What do I call you?

I always wanted to call you my lover.

I know it's quite sudden, but I really love you. I have hoped against hope that one day I could tell you. But I couldn't tell you when everybody was hating you for being my friend—and I feared their reaction if you were dating me. If you did like me, of course.

But there was a reason I said nothing, and I apologize if it makes you uncomfortable knowing I've been crushing on you for a while now though you may not like me in that way at all.

I just found myself so deeply in love with you all the time and you were most likely one of the main reasons I've been able to make it quite so far in my life.

I always loved how you were. How you act, how you talk, how you walk... everything. You were always just so beautiful to me. I'm sure others see you like this as well. How could they miss such and amazing person?

I adore you with all my heart and my being and my mind. I want to stay here with you forever but I know that would only bring pain to you for being seen with me. I know you don't want to be targetted for knowing me as much as I don't want you to be hated on because I love you.

Yes... I love you. Too much for my heart to handle sometimes. You make me so happy and I want to live so much longer with you by my side.

But I can't.

I can't live, Koku. I want you, and everyone else, to be content. If me being dead brings happiness to people, then why not give them a time to be happy?

I know how much you'd blame yourself for this though it was purely my own decision, so I need you to know that everything you've done for me has made me ever the most happiest person alive. I need you to know that you're worth everything, every breath, every smile, every little moment. So please keep living for me. Please don't blame yourself.

Make a life you can live in happiness with me gone now. Make a life you can grow up as someone known as the amazing Koku and not the Person Who Made Friends with Kibutsuji. Please be happy for... for anything you love.

You're very dear to me, and I love you, Kokushibo. I love you so, so much.

I promise to think of you till the very end.

You may not see me anymore, but I promise that I'll be watching you. I'll make sure your life goes as heavenly as possible because you are heaven. You're the greatest person to exist.

I love you, Michikatsu Tsugikuni.

I love you.

In hopes of your well being and greatest happiness, Muzan Kibutsuji.

{Word count: 4825}

I thought I had not motivation

Ig i lied to myself (my motivation always tends to come when i have to finish my hw the same day!!)

ngl this was both depressing to write and fun

and i hate it but i love it yk?

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