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marshmallowdarling · 2 years

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♡Bitter (JJBA - Lisa Lisa)

Another one from my Wattpad, it was something I randomly put together with no thought before hand, I just wanted a strong MILF character though I did change the ending so its not ass angsty. Hope you enjoy it Bubs! Mwah~

"Baby girl I'm not asking you again." The older woman flicks her dark brown hair and goes to grab a pack of cigarettes but she stops herself.

"Sure, I'll stop when you let me out." (Y/N)'s is just as irritated as Lisa Lisa, she had thrown her into a house out of no where to keep her 'safe' from attacks. "You and I both know there isn't going to be any attacks, you just don't want Joseph to-"

"Enough." One single word has enough bark, enough cold seeped into it that it strikes (Y/N) right in her soul.

It's not Lisa Lisa's fault, really it isn't, but after everything that happened, after everything with Caesar's death and her-

She stands up and grabs the packet before she unlocks the backdoor and slams it behind her.

-No, she can't think about him, he's long gone and she has a new lover to take care off. This one way more fragile than her other, if he was stronger and still met his demise then what would happen to (Y/N)?

Her long fingers gracefully twirl the cigarette before she sighs. "I forgot the lighter." Lisa Lisa whispers bitterly as she leans her head on the wall.

'Joseph, Oh Joseph why did you have to do what you did.' The thoughts of her son run through her mind.

Oh that memory its still as fresh as when it happened, the emotions, fury, anger, sorrow, disgust, are also as fresh along with the raging wound in her heart.

Joseph was just, well just being Joseph. He had flirted with (Y/N) teasing and complimenting the (H/C) female before he started to get touchy, touchy enough that Lisa Lisa was on guard, constantly keeping an eye on the both of them. A hand around her pudgy waist, an arm hooked with her's as they walked, those small pats on her shoulders. It drove Lisa Lisa insane, but he was her son so she let it go, but then Caesar's death struck and Joseph crumbled. He craved vengeance, justice to his deceased friend and then he tried to drag (Y/N) into it, even if he didn't their relationship was too close for the pillar men to look over.

Lisa Lisa was furious with Joseph, there was shouting and throwing of glass and other objects, hurtful words and swearing and smoke. Bitter bitter smoke that engulfed the room, seeping into your clothes and filling your lungs so much you can't breathe.

(Y/N) had been caught in the middle, again, like always, and Lisa Lisa just couldn't take it anymore. No more deaths, no more pain, no more memories of a person who should be alive. So she dragged her out of that god forsaken run down apartment and threw her into this small house on the edge of nowhere. It's a bit shabby but the sky blue outside and cozy interior made up for it all, thats what Lisa Lisa thought anyways, but (Y/N) was too busy trying to get out. To try and help her idiotic son and get herself kille-

Her cigarette crumbles in her hand, her grip tightening so much that the paper contorts in all sorts of ways and the filling spills out from multiple places.

She sighs before throwing the wasted stick away and walking back into the house. It's quiet, the small cozy feeling suddenly becoming claustrophobic to her as every seems so suffocating.

"Have a nice smoke?" It's rhetorical, sarcasm dripping from her tone as (Y/N) keeps her focus on one of the many books in the house. She's not reading it but if it keeps her from looking at Lisa Lisa its all she can do. She's the reason why Lisa Lisa is trying so hard to stop smoking, because she knows how much (Y/N) despises the bitter smoke that lingers on your skin and clothes no matter how much your scrub or wash.

She just strides over and plucks the book from her hands, (Y/N) goes to shout but she beats her to it. "Don't bring that boy-" Pictures of her son as a newborn, only a few minutes old, pass through her head, but she continues. "-Don't ever bring that boy up again. Do you understand me?"

Her blue eyes narrow but (Y/N) just snatches the book back and walks off.

"Maybe don't give me ways to push your buttons and I won't, Miss Lisa Lisa." She throws the book behind her and it lands with a loud thud at the woman's feet.

#yandere #soft!yandere #jjba #jjba Lisa Lisa #Yandere jjba #Yandere Lisa lisa #tw yandere #darling core #soft yandere #Yandere gxg #gxg #lesbian #lgbtq+#Yandere lesbian #lesbian jjba #lesbian Lisa lisa #chubby reader

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bill-y · 3 years

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INURE

Peeta Mellark x male reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part five: Click here, butters, elpacho, last meheecan.

Part six: You're here, dumb!

Part seven: Finally here!

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

Peeta and I end up helping Haymitch to his compartment, the reek of vomit and alcohol wasn't exactly pleasant. Since we couldn't set him down the bed, we ended up hauling him to the bathtub, setting the shower on him.

Peeta gave me an odd look when I laughed awhile ago; there was no humour in the situation after all. Forming a good impression wasn't really on my agenda. "It's alright; I can take it from here," he said.

I nodded, "Okay," I nodded, putting my lips together. "Do you—need me to call those Capitol people?" I asked, stumbling over my words. My confidence seemed to have been drained at some point.

He shook his head "No, I don't want them," he responded. I nod for the last time and head to my own room, relieved that I don't have to wash putrid vomit off Haymitch's chest hair, or something. Though it would be the perfect "revenge" for the people working here, I get why he doesn't want to see them.

I wonder, why does he want to help such a wreck? Was he simply kind like the time he gave me bread? Or was he using this to gain Haymitch's favour? A feeling of nervousness bubbled up within me, a kind Peeta Mellark was way more dangerous than an unkind one. Not everyone in the district can afford to be kind, so kind people make such a mark on me.

I looked at the packet of cookies at the table beside the fancy bed—a lump formed in my throat. Kindness would've been nice, but not in this situation. I sighed, taking my attention to the window instead.

There stood a lonely yellow flower, a dandelion. It took me back to the schoolyard, all those years ago. My eyes had just left Peeta's bruised face when I saw that dandelion; hope rose within me that moment, I plucked it gently from the ground and hurried home. I grabbed a small, broken bucket and grabbed Nal's hand and headed to a meadow. It was filled with the same flowers.

It was the first moment where Nal smiled after our Father's death. He loved the way the flowers smelled and looked. However, he was quite upset because we had to eat them, with the rest of the bakery bread. My father loved his plants, maybe a bit too much.

I remember countless hours we spent in the woods looking for a specific type of plant, whether for eating or for medicine. He had me memorize them by heart, which took a couple of years because I got distracted halfway through.

The next day, we were off to school. I hung around the edge of the meadow after, contemplating whether I should jump the fence. My mother couldn't get a job, well, she didn't want to. She thought the whole District would shame her the moment she stepped out of our crumbling home. It made no sense to me; we had nothing to lose anymore.

Which is exactly why I went under the fence, retrieved the old, leather-bound daggers my father made from scraps and wood. It was pretty frail, but if you handle it carefully and throw it properly, it won't break—most of the time.

I didn't go beyond twenty yards that day; I didn't feel confident enough to go deeper, fearing I'd get lost in the forest. I took home a small rabbit that day, we hadn't had meat for months, so it honestly looked like a full course meal, like the one we were served in the tribute train.

My mother isn't the greatest cook, so she burnt a couple of bits, mainly the thighs. But it still filled us. The woods became my second home, escaping the sad atmosphere my mother gave off and the pressure the Peacekeepers would regularly make us feel.

The hunting started slow, but each time I went under, I went deeper. I stole eggs from nests, jumped from tree to tree and managed to shoot a squirrel or two down. I struggled with the fish; my father would always throw his dagger to the fish with little to no effort. Whenever I'd throw mine, it would miss. It took me a couple of times to figure out the water distorts my vision.

The plants were no effort; I knew which one to pick, which ones were poisonous. The signs of danger used to terrify me back to the fence until I gathered enough courage to climb the tall trees, then I stuck with it, not liking the feeling of being chased. The wild dogs would always leave me alone after a while.

On July 15th, I finally signed up for the tesserae, carrying the first batch of grains and oils in the same broken bucket I used to gather those dandelions. I patched it up with some scrap bark. On the 15th of every month, I would put my name once again. I still had to hunt; grains weren't enough. We still needed soap, milk, thread and many more things we used to have. I began to trade in the hob, learning how to hold my tongue in the process. My father used to trade there as well; he used to do all the talking while I watched, stayed silent.

And so I simply tossed the game I had to their tables. They caught on fairly quick; I'd only speak up when it came to bargaining or when I'd change what'd I'd buy. Or when I would insult wild dog soup. My father was a charismatic man, always able to persuade people to buy whatever. Not me, though, I was like a sore thumb. Painful, to talk to at least.

My mother wasn't very enthralled with the fact that I had been hunting, too much like my father, she said. That's when we argued, "Don't be stupid like your father!" she shouted. I remember my face contorting to anger, how my fists clenched as she continued to scream.

I finally exploded, "Why don't you go out and get a job if you don't want me hunting, then? You'd rather we starve?!" I said, slamming the table. "I won't die, I won't end up like father! I won't be Capitol's pig, neither was he!"

"But if you do die?" She argued back, tears flowing down her cheeks as she gripped both my shoulders. "I'm only thinking of you, Y/n!"

I scoffed, glaring at her, "If you're thinking of us so much, then why aren't you helping us?! If I don't die being accused of rebellion, then I'll die because of those stupid games because of you!"

"Don't blame me for this! It was your father's fault for being brash—" She reasoned, but I cut her off by pushing her off me. I stared at her as if she grew three heads. "They asked you," I whispered, "All you did was nod, you could've lied."

Her green eyes shook at my words, "Lie to the Peacekeepers? The Capitol? And get us killed as well?! I only what your father wanted,"

"They didn't have anything on father! It was your voice that gave it away! It's your fault that he's dead, now we're over here starving because you can't get over yourself—"

Then there was a sting on my cheek. She had slapped me. My eyes landed on a crying Kunal; guilt surged through me, so I ran. I ran to the woods and slept on top of a tree, humming a soft tune to the mockingjays next to me. They listened and sung back. I fell asleep to their lullaby, surprisingly, not falling off.

I found my hand on the same cheek my mother slapped that day. I was going to die the same way I said, how ironic. I won't be able to apologize or tell my mother I loved her anymore. A sigh left my lips as I continued to stare out the window.

I clenched my fists, punching the wall as my breath hitched. I let out a groan, holding the stinging part of my hand. I glared at the wall, grumbling under my breath before I decided to fall asleep, not wanting to think of my regrets and what I could've done. As I closed my eyes, I only hoped my dreams would be pleasant.

"Up! Up! Up! It's a big big day!"

Effie Trinket's voice awoke me from my dreamless slumber. I groaned, muttering profanities as she left my compartment. I tried to imagine what it was like in that stupid wig--- well--- head of hers, it made my head hurt.

I had fallen asleep in the green shirt, causing it to become wrinkled, the. Not that I cared, there will be some stylist stripping me anyways. I shuddered at the thought of Capitol people touching me, what a nightmare. My eyes landed on the packet of cookies on my bedside table. I decided to grab it.

I entered the dining compartment, still half-lidded and yawning. Effie Trinket brushes me with a cup of black coffee. She was muttering obscenities, probably because of Haymitch. Peeta held a roll, looking somewhat embarrassed "Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch said.

Peeta flashed me a smile, amused by how dishevelled I look. To be fair, I wasn't a morning person, I find waking up to be a tiring task. I rubbed my eyes, the packet of cookies still in my hands as I slid down the chair.

They served an enormous platter of food. I'd hate to admit it, but I was starving. So for the first time, I decided to stab it with the fork, not sure what to do with the cookies so I pocketed them. I figured I'd eat them much. . . much later.

I chewed slowly, glare on my face as my eyes struggled to remain open. I didn't even notice the orange juice next to me because of it. Peeta nudged me, handing me a cup of brown, rich liquid. It was quite warm. "They call it hot chocolate," he said. "It's quite good,"

My green eyes moved from him to the cup, then back to him. As if asking for permission. I sniffed, muttering a "thank you," before I took the cup from him. The moment the hot chocolate touched my lips I felt awake.

Not only was it hot, but it was also amazing. I've never tasted anything like this before. Coffee was a luxury, this I cannot even fathom. After I've drained my cup, I put it down and muster a sheepish smile. "Is there more?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

Effie seemed to be excited by my sudden interest. "Glad you're finally appreciating the finer things," she quipped as another cup was passed to me. "Right," I responded, gripping the cup tightly.

I stopped eating when I felt somewhat full, only asking for more hot chocolate. Peeta is still eating, breaking off bits of roll and dipping them in his hot chocolate.

Haymitch hasn’t paid much attention to his platter, but he’s knocking back a glass of red juice that he keeps thinning with a clear liquid from a bottle. Judging by the fumes, it’s some kind of spirit. I don’t know Haymitch, but I’ve seen him often enough in the Hob, tossing handfuls of money on the counter of the woman who sells white liquor. He’ll be a mess again by the time we reach the Capitol.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," I said, taking a sip of the hot liquid. He grinned, "Here's some advice, stay alive," then he burst out laughing.

My brows furrowed, "Ha. Ha." I let out, unamused. I glanced to Peeta, surprised to see Hardness in his eyes. Usually, he looked mild. "That's very funny," he said as if adding to my remark. He suddenly lashed out at the glass in Haymitch's hands. It shattered, spilling the blood-red liquid on the floor. "Only not to us,"

Haymitch took this opportunity to punch Peeta straight in the jaw, knocking the boy out of his chair before turning around to reach for more spirits. I stopped him, driving a knife into the table, between his hand and the bottle, barely missing his fingers.

I expected some sort of retaliation, but that didn't come. "Oh, well what is this?" he said. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

Peeta rose from the floor and scoops up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. He started to raise it to the red mark on his jaw.

"No," Haymitch stopped him. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you’ve mixed it up with another tribute before you’ve even made it to the arena."

"That’s against the rules," said Peeta. "Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren’t caught, even better," said Haymitch. He turns to me. “Can you hit anything other than the table?"

I shrugged, pulling the knife off the table. "Your head or. . ." I said, before tossing the knife in between the seams of two panels. If I was confident at one thing, it's my aim. But not so much with a bow.

"Stand over here. Both of you," ordered Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. “Well, you’re not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you’ll be attractive enough.”

Peeta and I don’t question this. The Hunger Games aren’t a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seem to pull more sponsors. Though I do enjoy the fact that the stylists are likely going to have a hard time styling me.

"All right, I’ll make a deal with you. You don’t interfere with my drinking, and I’ll stay sober enough to help you," said Haymitch. "But you have to do everything I say,"

Of course, there's a catch. "Fine," Peeta said while I shrugged carelessly, sipping on my hot chocolate. "In a few minutes, we’ll be pulling into the station. You’ll be put in the hands of your stylists. You’re not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don’t resist," Instructed Haymitch

Oh, well there goes my plan on being a general nuisance. Damn you, Haymitch.

He takes the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes dark. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it’s as if night has fallen again. I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs up through the mountains into the Capitol. The mountains form a natural barrier between the Capitol and the eastern districts. It is almost impossible to enter from the east except through the tunnels. This geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to my being a tribute today. Since the rebels had to scale the mountains made them easy targets for the Capitol's air forces.

Peeta and I stood in silence. My finger raised, mouth opening but I decided it wasn't worth it and awkwardly shuffled to one of the windows. He seemed to have caught on, however. "Nice view, isn't it?" he joked.

"I guess if you're blind," I answered dryly, raising the warm cup to my lips. "Sophisticated darkness, my favourite type," I finished.

He chuckled, walking next to me, the train slowing on cue. My muscles tensed as the sunlight entered the compartment. It was blinding. After my eyes adjusted I finally saw the Capitol.

I would be lying if I said it wasn't beautiful. Rainbow hued buildings that tower to the sky, possibly beyond. Shiny cars rolling on the fancy, clean pavement streets. The cameras failed to capture its beauty. It would've been perfect if not for the fact that the oddly dressed colours, wearing blizzard wigs and painted faces exist.

They looked painfully artificial. I much prefer the natural tones of district 12. "Eugh, how do they look at themselves?" I muttered, catching the attention of Peeta, who chuckled at my comment.

Huh, I forgot that he was there.

The same disgusting people began to point at us, enthralled. I was sickened, they couldn't wait to watch us kill each other like wild wolves. I suppose that's better than ending up at soup.

I stepped back, a scowl on my face. No longer able to stand the obnoxious attires and the mocking smiles of scums. Peeta held his ground, smiling and waving at them.

He only stopped when the train stopped at the station, blocking up from their view. "Who knows?" he said. "Some of them may be rich."

My body seemed to freeze as I took one last sip of the now-luke warm hot chocolate. That's when I realized, I had misjudged him. Not that I can read people well.

Which made sense, if I could I would've known that his father visiting me, offering to help Haymitch only to challenge him and now, waving and smiling at those slugs. He had a plan in mind.

He hasn't accepted his death yet. Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread was fighting hard.

And that terrified me.

word count: 2.8k

Hey guys! sorry for the long wait! Had to take a break!

tags;

@nin3s

#hunger games x reader #hunger games #hunger games x male reader #male reader insert #male reader #peeta mellark x male reader #peeta mellark x reader #x male reader #peetamellark #gale #male x male reader #male reader series #gay #mlm #mlm fanfic

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soulshards · 2 years

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1. What’s a unique skill they have? Is their any reason why they can do it?

I have sat on this question for SUCH a long time, because I have not been able to formulate an answer I have been... content enough with? Or something I could see as being actually Unique. And this is your fault, Kiaran. The answer is - Miahka has many skills. But, then I realised none of them are really going to be unique, are they?

In the world of r o l e p l a y, we're all taking what we can from the game - a set universe with, ultimately, limited stuff. As such, eventually, ideas start to repeat themselves. They're going to be different, they will be unique to your character, but ultimately they are the same base idea as someone else - so, to me, that doesn't seem unique at all.

Sky pirate and a sea pirate are still a pirate, right? You see what I'm saying.

However. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, by any means. Character's sharing similar concepts is just... a given. It's what happens. People are interested and inspired by certain aspects and derive something they want to play with that. I never feel bad if I see a character who is very close in terms of personality and background as mine is. In fact, I think it's fun. It's fun to see what is similar, and what is not. What we the writers have changed in order to make this idea suit the narrative we want to create. But, on a fundamental level, they are the same therefore they are not unique - just kind of a whole idea added onto the philosophy as "There's no original idea" - everything is inspired by something.

So. I've addressed the thing that has been bothering me about this question, and now I will do my best to answer it.

Miahka - the woman who came before who she is now, the Baroness in Ishgard - she was attuned to the Moon in the Steppe. Xaela obviously hold the Moon in high regard, as the Moon is the symbol for their Mother, their Deity, Nhaama.

What does that mean? In essence, it meant she drew her powers from the Lunar/Celestial rays of the Moon and/or Heavens, and it made her magic more potent and stronger at night. She could manipulate gravity and time, much like Astrologions in game (Time Mages) but not so much because she could read the stars and the heavens (though she can do that), but because of faith and the Moon. It also allowed her the ability to have something like the Echo.

My head canon about her ~lunar~ powers was that she could look upon the tapestry of time - memories are linked to aether, something that has been outright confirmed by MSQ and I am very happy by this news, as it affirms what magical abilities I had for Miahka in the first place.

She could pluck at the threads of aether that tie us to this realm, to the aetherical sea, and look back (like the Echo allows you too) and project those memories outward. She didn't see it through the persons eyes, rather just... played it like a movie, sort of.

By extension, and by her clans beliefs in faith and destiny, she could see "the future". But, specifically, she could see a version of the future based on their current path. Not what would actually come to happen, should anything change. Or maybe it isn't the future at all? It's all very hard to explain.

But, since leaving the Steppe and losing her clan and family, she's lost all but a slither of her connections to their Mother and as such, cannot do these things without having great drawbacks from trying. So now she is just your standard Mage/Thaumaturge, trying to figure out a way to get it all back.

It's not that Unique. A lot of people play characters with the Echo, or who can tell fortunes and see memories. But it is mine, it is Unique to Miahka, and I think it's cool so who cares.

Thanks for this ask that turned out to be incredibly more complex than I ever thought it would @kiaranwrath!! <3

#// lips that curl as they speak lies but your heart you cannot hide

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