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heavqn · 4 months

Note

Coriolanus as the peacekeeper, being completely mentally unbalanced, possessive and controlling, while he fucks the reader who is totally naive and can't refuse since Coriolanus is basically keeping her alive and feeding her, it all happens in the cabin. and they are almost discovered by her friend Lucy Gray.

It can include size difference perversion, Coriolanus has a hyper fixation with how shy and naive the reader can be, manipulation, doubtful consent.

Can you add any plot? I'm not a fan of angst though. If you take it, I THANK YOU.

i loved this request!! i kind of went totally overboard and i don't think i stuck to your request quite well but i hope you still enjoy it 😭

cw; fingering, sort of controling? coriolanus, allusion to piv but there isn't any. usage of yn like three times. i think that's all. not my finest writing, apologies </33

Being in District 12 was no party. It was as miserable as life got, until she met Lucy Gray of course. Lucy Gray had taken her under her wing, no doubt becoming like a sister to her. She taught [ y/n ] her favorite songs, her favorite stories and even let her have some of her pretty dresses.

She was basically part of the covey though she had known her for such a short amount of time. When Lucy Gray was reaped, she felt like she was too. A part of her went into that arena with Lucy Gray and she was frightened everyday until she came back unscathed.

With Lucy Gray’s infamous return to the District came plenty of singing and dancing back in the Hob. It wasn’t until Lucy Gray was a bit way into her song when she noticed a familiar pale, blonde-haired boy watching her. Though the realization of who he was had been cut short by Billy Taupe and his drunken-state, she was both shocked and excited to know he was there.

The next day, she saw him yet again. Maude Ivory had made way to them though and she had to leave. But it didn’t stop her from inviting him to the lake, promising him only the covey knew of its existence.

On the way to the lake, Coriolanus had made his acquaintance with a few others from the covey. One in particular stuck in his mind though; [ y/n ]. She had a quiet tone and was a bit clueless to jokes that others made. He noticed how she stayed close to Lucy Gray, whispering to her and then looking at him.

And if the shyness and naivety hadn’t got him, seeing her come up from under the water definitely did. Her hair clung to her back and the make-shift bikini she wore did little to cover her boobs as he saw her nipples poking from under the fabric.

He was fascinated by her. She was dumb, to say the least. Usually such things would turn him off and make him go the other way, but he reveled in the way she clung to his every word once the two had become close.

They often spent time together at the lake; his idea. This particular day, he had convinced her to go skinny-dipping. “What if someone sees us?” She had questioned, voice quiet as if anybody was around to hear her. Only the covey and him knew about the lake; she knew this, he knew this. The possibility of anyone coming out this late wasn’t likely.

Though he had to admit that the thought did cross his mind as well. So he prompted her with another idea, “We could go to the cabin instead.” His intentions would’ve been clear as day to anybody else, but she was entirely lost. “What are we gonna do in there? It’s boring.” She pouted.

Most nights at the lake were spent listening to him talking as you nodded along, pretending to understand what he spoke of. So when you made your way inside the cabin and got comfortable on the rickety bed, Coriolanus started to speak about his home.

“I can’t even imagine what the Capitol is like.” She told him in response to his question of if she’d come home with him. “It’s amazing. Organized, powerful. Nothing like the districts. I think you’d fit right in.” His words had her shaking her head.

“I couldn’t leave twelve. My family is here; Lucy Gray is here.” He rolled his eyes. “You’d be with me. I’d buy you the finest things the Capitol has to offer.” The thought of leaving the covey left a bad taste in her mouth, but the promise of pretty things had her looking up at him with curiosity.

“What kind of things?” She questioned. He smiled, knowing he had piqued her interest. It was too easy sometimes. “Clothes, jewelry, makeup. Anything you can dream of.” His hand had made its way to her arm, caressing it as he watched the way her eyes lit up from his words. “Even flowers?” He let out a soft laugh, “Even flowers.”

She fell into him, back meeting his chest as his arms wrapped around her waist. “You know what else the Capitol has?” His fingers went under your shirt, dragging across the skin of her abdomen. She felt that tingling sensation she often got when she was with him.

While they talked a lot when together, she’d also had sex with Coriolanus a lot. It wasn’t a hard thing to convince her into. Her first time was in the lake; it wasn’t comfortable or convenient, but he was a desperate man. She had just talked about how she was a virgin and he was immediately interested in taking that title away from her. So it was no surprise when the next time they met up, he had her under him once again and every time after that.

He told her that she owed it to him. He was protecting her; would she rather it be him or some pervert from the district? He knew what he was doing and he gave it how she liked it. He guaranteed that none of these boys could even dream of doing it like him and she agreed. He was unfairly good at it and knew what had her cumming in no time so who was she to deny it?

She was dragged out of her thoughts as his hand went further under her top, moving to grasp her boobs. She let out a shaky sigh at the feeling, listening to him speak. “I asked you a question.” He reminded her; his voice deep and firm in her ear as he his hands continued venturing her body.

“What else?” She responded, not necessarily caring for anything else at this moment besides being held close to him. “Lingerie. You know what that is?” He questioned her, and the way her face screwed up let on that she didn’t have a clue as to what he had said. “I don’t know what that is.” She admitted softly, feeling embarrassed he had once again caught her in a stump.

“It’s a type of clothing women wear. Nice and lacey; Bet you’d look real good in it.” He spoke to her in that same deep voice he always did, but it felt heavier this time. He was building her up just so he could break her. “What do you think?” He shifted the conversation back to her, knowing she’d get riled up.

“I think–I think it’d be nice to try it on. Is it like a dress?” She asked curiously, not quite envisioning what this lingerie was that he spoke of. He laughed at her question, taking his time to trail his hands down the length of her skirt. “No, no. It’s like an undergarment; Ladies wear it for men.” He tried to explain, feeling her body melt into him as his fingers went to push her skirt up, giving him access to the place he wanted.

Her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, again. “So it’s like fancy underwear?” Hearing the word underwear only brought more of her innocence to his attention. “Exactly. Now you’re getting it.” He praised, fingers trailing on the inside of her thighs, inching closer and closer to where she needed him.

“What makes it different from regular underwear?” She was curious now. Ladies wear it for men? Ladies always wear underwear, she thought. He smiled at how interested she was in this topic, but it was clear she was struggling with her words in the way her breath hitched and how she melted impossibly closer to him, when he finally got to the cotton of her panties.

“Well, you don’t wear it everyday. It’s for special occasions; For times between a man and his woman.” He told her, finger playing with the hem of her panties, teasingly snapping it back and into her skin. “Like–Like us, Coryo?” Her voice was but a whisper when she shyly asked the question.

He reveled in the way his pants tightened at how innocent and naive she was. It made it impossible to hold back the way he smiled into her neck, placing open mouthed kisses over her skin. “Just like us, bunny.” He whispered in her ear, finger finally slipping under her panties and going to feel how wet she was.

“Got you all hot and bothered just from a simple conversation. We haven’t even kissed and you’re already soaked.” He teased her, fingers coming out from her panties to show her just how wet she was. “‘m sorry.” She squeaked out, feeling embarrassed at his words and seeing his fingers covered in her juices did nothing to help that feeling.

He swore he could’ve cum right then and there. The way her body tensed up at his words, and the way she became beat red when she saw his fingers; he was ruined. He wanted nothing more than to be inside her, watching as she squirmed to take him; she would be so thankful for it, a mix of “please” and “thank you” ‘s no doubt on her lips with every thrust.

She was obedient; sometimes too obedient. He just craved one time when she would slip up, so he could punish her. But he knew she never would. She listened to his every word, and she’d be damned if she upset her Coryo.

He squeezed her hips, telling her she had nothing to apologize for. “It’s a natural thing. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He told her, the words like honey as they slipped out of his mouth. “Just don’t be getting this way for anyone else. Promise?” He all but commanded her, quickly discarding her panties before placing her right back in front of him; back to chest. “I promise, Coryo. Only you.” She was quick to agree with him; it’s all she’s good for. Simply a parrot of his words, aiming only to agree and copy everything he said.

He didn’t give her anything else but the feeling of his fingers rubbing her clit as a response. The lack of warning had her surprised at the touch, shocked for a second. But he used his other hand to hold her back against him, keeping her still and pliant. “Don’t move, bunny.” He scolded her, continuing his assault on her delicate bud.

It was hard to not move, but she persevered. Keeping her composure against him as she let moans and whimpers slip through her lips. “Coryo,” She called out his name, looking up at him with her soft eyes, silently begging him for more.

“Need something?” He questioned, a smirk evident on his lips from how still so she was yet her mouth moved so much. He knew what she wanted, he just wanted to hear it from her. She spoke softly, the words not quite hitting his ears, but he heard her. Though he chose to tease her once again. “What was that, bunny? Gonna have to speak up.” His fingers ghosted over her entrance, feeling the way her legs so easily fell wider, giving him more room.

“Need your fingers. Inside me, please.” She pleaded again, a little bit louder than before but no doubt quiet compared to the sound of her heavy breathing. “Why didn’t you just ask?” He smiled sickly at her, leaning down to kiss her as one of his fingers slipped inside her.

The moan she let out had his tongue easily slipping into her mouth, mixing their saliva together as their tongues glided over one another. He made quick work of putting another finger in her, curling them as they went in and out of her. The squelching sound of it all made her cringe on the inside, but the pleasure he was giving her was more interesting to act on. It was all too much; she broke away from the kiss, forehead still against his.

“Thank you, thank you.” She fed him her appreciation, knowing it was exactly what he wanted. She didn’t mind giving it to him either. She was thankful he chose her, thankful she was the one who had his fingers inside her. “Such good manners, bunny.” He responded, feeling her hand trail onto his head, grasping at practically nothing as his buzzcut allowed him little hair.

He put yet another finger in, picking up his pace altogether whilst his other hand moved to rub her clit. The feeling of him on her skin, everywhere, had her on fire. She was going to burst into flames. She almost did–Until a sudden rapping was heard at the door.

“[ y/n ]? Are you in there?” The voice called for her, now recognizable as Lucy Gray’s. She stayed silent, not wanting to rat herself out, but when Coriolanus whispered into her ear, telling her to respond, she had no choice but to.

His fingers didn’t let up, and now he was kissing at her neck, interested in what she was going to do. He didn’t quite care about being caught; she was the one naked with his fingers deep inside her. “Yes, I’m–I’m in here!” She called back, unsure of what else to say?

“You okay honey? You sound awfully out of breath.” Lucy Gray voiced her concern, worry laced in her words as she moved to turn the door knob. “Yes! Yes, I’m okay. Please don’t come in.” She yelled back shakily; she was getting closer to the edge and if Lucy Gray came in, then it would all go away.

“Are you sure?” She questioned, wanting a final answer before she left the girl alone. “I’m s-sure, Lucy Gray. Nothing to worry ab-about.” She tried to assure her, hoping her words did what she wanted. It was getting hard to breathe with how quick and tentative Corriolanus’ touches were, nonetheless talk.

“Okay. I’ll leave you alone now.” Lucy Gray spoke to her. Whether Lucy Gray was still standing at that door or not, she couldn’t keep quiet now. His fingers curled right where she wanted, and his other hand was not letting up its assault on her clit.

“Coryo, Coryo.” His name fell out of her lips easily, arching into him, legs growing shaky at the feeling she was having. “Talking to your friend like that as if my fingers aren’t inside you right now. Such a dirty little girl.” He chastised her, but his words held no real malice.

It wasn’t long before she met her release, cumming on his fingers. Even then he didn’t stop, continuing to drag out her high. “‘nough. Can’t take more, Coryo.” She told him, shakily pushing his hands away from her. He all but laughed, doing as she asked.

“Can’t even take me inside you, bunny?” His voice was teasing. But the second she heard those words, she was up at his disposal. Ready for anything he gave her.

#i am NOT proofreading this #sorry #coriolanus snow #tbosas #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow smut #coryo<3

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selineram3421 · 7 months

Text

*lies awake at night and has an idea*

[Its 4 a.m. by the way.]

Other Worldly

Prologue

Alastor X Shy Reader

(Oneshot turned short story)

Warnings? ⚠

⚠ selectively mute reader, mentions of death-drowning, shaking head = no, signing-ASL ⚠

They were an oddity.

How could such a meek and bashful thing like them end up in this fiery inferno.

Alastor watched from the bar as they bumped into the check-in counter and squeaked before getting off balance and falling.

Clumsy, jumpy, barely making a sound other than some odd squeaks.

Yes, they were quite the wonder.

An entertaining one.

❇

You were somewhat new to Hell. At least two weeks in.

There was an accident where you worked in the aquarium and well..you kinda caused a mass drowning? It sounds impossible but it happened.

It was very challenging to get up after your fall, but you managed and wound up at the hotel.

With the help of the Princess, you were able to figure out what kind of demon you are. It came with pros but it also came with cons. One con being that you couldn't speak unless you wanted to hypnotize someone.

It made you a little sad, but also relieved. You didn't do well around others, too shy to speak up or get involved with anything that put you in the spotlight.

Maybe it was for the best.

There would be one thing you wouldn't give up though.

❇

Alastor was in the hotel's library.

There wasn't a whole lot of demons coming into this room, especially after some guests saw him walk in here a few times.

It didn't matter. At least there were multiple things that could entertain him. A small music room with instruments, projectors in another with film reels and other types of tapes, and the most dazzling room of all was the astronomy room.

The Princess made sure to have this room's dome ceiling painted with an accurate mural of the Earth's night sky.

Deciding to mess with the trinkets on the shelves, the demon in red walked towards the back of the room and glanced at the star charts. Tapping at some of the books and measuring tools on the desk nearby before sitting down on a chair.

No one ventured this far into the library. He was probably the only demon who knew of this room's existence.

And then he heard something.

Someone had entered the room.

Turning around and looking between the shelves, Alastor spots the timid demon that he enjoys flustering so much near the armillary sphere in the middle.

A little spook wouldn't be too bad.

He thought with a small grin, starting to summon up a shadow creature. However both dissipated when there was a note sung into the air.

"Let's go in the garden

You'll find something waiting

Right there where you left it lying upside down

When you finally find it, you'll see how its faded

The underside is lighter when you turn it around "

The Radio Demon sat there, mouth agape as they sang.

"Everything stays right where you left it

Everything stays

But it still changes

Ever so slightly, daily and nightly

In little ways, when everything stays "

Like a siren- a water sprite? A nymph? It was hard to pinpoint what he could compare their voice to.

It was other worldly.

Their voice echoed due to the room's acoustics.

He didn't notice that he had gotten out of the chair, didn't notice he was making his way towards them, didn't notice when they stopped singing until they gasped.

Blinking out of his trance, he found them facing him and covering their mouth with their hands. A panicked look in their eyes.

"You stopped.", Alastor spoke up. "Why not finish?"

They shook their head quickly and backed away.

Before he could say something else, they moved their arms down, one made into a fist on their chest and moving in a circle clockwise. Then they ran out. (Sorry)

He stood there for a while, his smile widening. Maybe there was more to them than he thought.

How interesting~

I'm still on break but I couldn't help myself with this one. 🐚 (Old note)

~Seline, the person.

Part 1

Alastor ML I🎙 | ChL OW🦀

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shayyprasad · 4 days

Text

cool | peter parker

a/n: this concept was so sweet to me, and i had to write something for it. okay, so yeah, this is technically irondad + spiderson... but i wanted to add to it.

repost because this fic flopped with, like, 10 notes. if you look at the og, it says 700ish because of the prev notes of what i reblogged. interact with this fic, it's what keeps me going!

summary: you find that a brown haired boy is always at the restraunt you work at, covered with cuts and bruises. you're curious, so what do you do?

warnings: cursing, minor angst (not really tho, mostly fluff)

pairing: fem!reader x post-nwh!peter parker

word count: 1.5k+ words

you're working late, you don't normally. it doesn't hurt though, having a side hustle outside of college. with shit parents, community college is really all you have as an option, so extra money is welcomed.

it's 20 minutes until closing time, and you're the only one left. you've read enough articles and watched enough true crime to be at least a little paranoid. not expecting anyone else, you spray a table, wiping it down with a rag. might as well get started with cleaning, right?

so when you hear the familiar chime of the door, you've got the right to be suprised. looking up, you're greeted by the sight of a boy. he's got soft brown curls, and (you find, once you meet his gaze) matching dark, hazel eyes.

you wave at him and move behind the register. he looks harmless, but don't most men that have bad intentions? not that you think he's going to do anything.

you're just a woman. it's the way of life, this thought spiral.

"hi, what can i get you?" when he's closer, you can see the cut he's got on his cheek. it's dried blood, but still enough to make your eyebrows shoot up. in fact, he's got a bruise too.

under his left eye, and by the yellow-green, you can tell it's fresh. it's not your business to ask, well, it is... but you're only asking about his order. he runs a hand through his hair, obviously trying to tame it.

there's a leaf at the top, tangled in there. you want to take it out.

he sniffs, eying the menu. you've never seen him here before, and you've been working here for a while. now that you're looking at him, his eye looks swollen - like someone socked him. "a- a cheese-"

you're not sure where the sudden courage comes from, but you cut him off; "do you want an ice pack? or, uh, maybe frozen peas?"

he looks startled for a second, as if he were just now knocked out og this long train of thought. he pauses to touch his eye, "um," you can tell he doesn't want to trouble you, but you're intrigued now.

"seriously, it's no problem." (on the account you have frozen peas, then it would be no problem. if you didn't... a pack of cold, raw meat-?)

"sure, yeah."

"cool. er- stay right there." you go to the freezer room, rummaging around for frozen peas. it takes you a minute, and you're afraid there are none for a moment, but there are. triumphantly, you bring them back out.

he's standing in the same place, although you're not sure why he would've left. "peas!" you sing-song. handing them to him, you smile.

he throws one back, though it's forced and kind of hollow. you're afraid you've made him uncomfortable, or that you're too much. are you too much?

he squints at your nametag, "thanks, uh, gertrude?"

you're confused for a second, "oh, she's dead."

"i- sorry?" he tilts his head, now he's confused too.

"no, i mean, this isn't my nametag. it's old. like, super old. manager's dead wife. this place is too cheap to get new ones, so we, like, basically catfish people."

he nods, "okay. what's is it then?"

"huh?"

"your name."

you mentally smack your forehead, of course that's what he was asking. "y/n."

"cool. i'm peter. peter parker."

"nice to meet you peter peter parker," it's your attempt at a joke, paired with a lopsided grin. it makes peter smile though, so you consider it a win.

peter presses the pack to his eye, a wince turning into a sigh. oddly enough, it sounds sexual to you, and your face is heating up. what's wrong with you? seriously?

"okay, well, um, i assume you still wanna order something?"

"yeah. maybe just a cheeseburger and fries?"

"you got it," it's closing time, but you don't mind. peter is cute, and he seems nice as well. you're more than happy to stay around longer. "on the house," you say when he tries to offer you money, "seems like you had a rough night."

"no, i-"

"no sweat, parker."

you ring up his order, get it ready, and by the time you're done, he's settled at a table. "here you go. enjoy!"

you go back to sweeping, but you want to talk to him more. "you live around here? i haven't seen you here before."

"uh... not exactly. i don't come here often. i, um," he presses his lips together, "had a friend that brought me here. once or twice."

you frown, "oh, i'm sorry."

"what?" peter looks up from his meal.

"i just- well, you used past tense so i assumed you don't... aren't in touch anymore?" maybe small talk was a bad idea.

"oh. yeah. i guess. he's not really... around. he passed a little while back."

it's like your heart physically aches. "that's sad to hear."

"yeah. 's okay though, getting by fine. or- or better."

"mhm. it gets better. lost my sister a few a years back."

"really? i'm sorry." they're empty words, you've probably heard them a lot, he knows that. you know he knows that.

"thanks."

"yeah," it's quiet for a little while longer.

"so, uh," he pauses, taking a sip of his water, "are you still in school?"

"college," you pause, slightly embarrassed, "community, i mean."

"oh. cool. i'm at midtown. it's not, like, super fancy or whatever..."

you cut him off, shrugging, "better than community. and isn't it like so stupid, how they basically tell you that college is a must, and then have you pay all this money? 'oh, you need it for a good future!'" you mock, "aw, really? then make it free!"

you freeze, realizing you've gone on a tangent. "sorry," you say, flushing.

"no, it's okay," he laughs. "it's cool you're... passionate."

"thanks," you put the broom away. "um, i have to go take out the trash. would you mind... not stealing anything?"

"i'll try," he jokes.

"cool. i believe in your ability of self-restraint."

"cool," he says, matching your tone.

"cool."

"okay, that got weird after the, like, second time," you make a face.

"no, yeah, i agree."

"cool," you say, staring at each other in dead silence, before bursting into laughter. you hold up the trashbag, "yeah, so, one sec."

you push open the back door, tossing the bag in the dumpster.

he's so nice, you think. look at you, falling for a basically stranger. you walk back in, closing the door behind you. you notice he's done, so you throw out his things, cleaning down the table.

"hey, uh, when do you close?" peter asks.

you check the clock, "mm... 15 minutes ago."

"holy shit, really?"

"yeah. it's cool though. i was closing anyway, and the company didn't hurt. also... it looked like you needed this."

he looks down at his shoes, smiling, "yeah, no, i did. thanks. and sorry."

"like i said, it's cool."

"cool," you stop, "are you in a cult?" you blurt.

"um, sorry?"

"sorry, like, i just, you look... beat up. and i was wondering if you were in a gang... or something." you squint at the dried blood on his knuckles.

"uh... i am not."

"then how'd you get those?"

he looks conflicted, and you've probably crossed a line. "oh my god, i'm so sorry. obviously, it's not my business. i was just... curious."

you wipe down your last table, cursing yourself internally.

"no, it's cool. i'm..."

"seriously, it's not my business. don't tell me, actually. plausible deniability," you joke.

he says something, and it's so quiet, you don't hear it. "what?" you ask.

"i'm spider-man!"

"uh. what?"

"you don't know spider-man?"

"no, of course i know spider-man!"

"well, yeah. that's me. suprise." he says, doing a small show of jazz-hands.

"there's legit no way. i know i catfished you earlier, but that was on accident!"

he tilts his head, as if he's weighing his options. in reponse, you narrow your eyes at him, trying to figure out if it's one big joke. after that, it's so quick, you barely notice. something hits your hip, not harshly, and then you're spinning towards peter.

"holy-!" you look down at your side, trying to figure out what it is. you're tucked into peter, and you realize it's... a web. "no. way."

"yes way."

"why'd you tell me? now i can't plausibly deny anything! also, isn't this supposed to be a secret? isn't that the point of the mask? how do you know i won't sell you out?"

"that was a lot."

"i know. but it was very valid."

"i don't know. i just wanted to. you're nice and sweet and pretty-"

"oh, so pretty privilege?"

"no! no, of course not!"

"well, um," you wrap your arms around his neck, "thank you for trusting me. i won't tell anyone."

"cool."

his hands are on your hips, and he's leaning in, but you pull away, smirking.

"no kissing until the second date, i'm afraid."

"we're going on dates?"

"if you don't want me to broadcast to the world, yes."

"well, i would've asked to take you anyways."

you smile at him, enjoying the moment.

"wait, are those cameras?" there's absolute panic in his voice, and you giggle.

"those are fake. it's cardboard to scare people off."

"oh. cool."

"cool."

you end up kissing him anyways.

@whatsupstark@ell0ra-br3kk3r@idli-dosa@susvale@kdbsr-h@littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod @one-piece-frvr7

#tom holland #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #peter parker imagine #angst

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sturniolowhore · 4 months

Text

☁️ MY FAVOURITE MOVIE

summary ⎯ "i could watch you for a lifetime, you're my favourite movie"

warnings ⎯ chris x fem!oc, fluff so much tooth rotting fluff

A/N ⎯ as much as i love smut and everything about it, it'll never beat my love for fluff and the pureness of it all. this is super short but i just wanted to try something cute

i hope you enjoy <3

❛ ━━･❪ ִ ࣪𖤐 ❫ ･━━ ❜

there's something divinely beautiful about existing with someone without having to do much at all. the ease that comes with being beside them as though there's no place else in the universe that matters. it's the delight that comes with watching them exist, eyes taking in the gentle rise and fall of their chest as they breathe and ears drowning in the sound of their voice or beautiful laughter.

chris doesn't exactly know when he fell for alina, it just sort of happened and he hasn't been able to do anything but ever since. it was like one second she was the friend he'd always had and the next he was falling for her and the way her hugs made him feel like he was the safest person ever or the way her mere presence was enough to make him light up with joy. it wasn't supposed to happen but it did and he's so fucking thankful no matter how unexpected it was.

as he watches her now, he knows he could do this forever. he could god honestly watch her for a lifetime and die happy because at least he died watching the love of his life. love is indeed a strong emotion but it takes no effort for him to love her. loving her is as easy as breathing and at times, it feels like he isn't thinking about his feelings. his feelings just float in the air and simmer there like oxygen. he loves her but there's no complications to it.

her eyes flutter in the sunlight and he watches the gentle hue cascade across her face, making it glow in a way he finds mesmerising. it's endearing really because he often views her as his own little sun. she can make him shine and sing and that's why he feels so strongly for her. her nose wrinkles as she laughs at something and he wants to kiss it, to capture the image forever.

he pulls her closer to him and wraps his arms around her, hugging her tightly because she's so fucking warm and cosy. her head lays against his chest for a moment before she turns around and locks eyes with him. he swears he forgets his purpose for a second when she connects their lips. the familiar feeling soon washes over him like a tide and he kisses back instantly, welcoming the soft brush of her lips against his.

when they pull apart, they rest their foreheads together and chris knows this is where he's supposed to be, knows this is who he's meant to be with. he pecks her forehead lightly and she giggles, making him repeat his actions so he can hear the adorable sound again.

"you're very smiley," she tells him, prodding at his grin with her finger jokingly.

he smiles even further at the small gesture, "you're so fucking cute baby."

she smiles at him in return, a rosy look covering her cheeks at the compliment and chris never wants to part his eyes from her. he's stuck to the sight of her like glue but he doesn't find it within himself to care.

"you're cute," she retorts as she sits on his lap, her legs moving on either side of his torso as she falls into his chest, inhaling softly.

it feels like home. the embrace feels like normality in the best way possible. it's a touch of no return, one that doesn't need to lead to anything else. it's pure and they both adore that as they sink into it with their hearts for all they can.

she draws patterns on top of his t-shirt, her face still snuggled into his chest, and he exhales slowly, content with everything around him.

when she lifts her head and watches their surroundings, he in turn chooses to watch her. he watches the small smile on her face and the shine in her eyes as she takes everything in. sure, the scene around him is beautiful but he can't exactly look at that when the most beautiful thing is currently on his lap.

"that tree is so pretty," her voice sounds after a few moments but chris simply keeps his eyes on her.

"so fucking pretty," he says but he's not really talking about the tree but then again, she doesn't need to know that. he can admire her beauty without making it known; he always does.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #fem oc #fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo imagine

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castianii · 1 month

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my Ninjago headcanons!!!!

Kai

• Is TikTok famous. He likes to put his camera in everyone’s face while they do normal everday things then says “ooh this is perfect, everyone will love this!!” and then everyone does love it.

• Spends most of his time trying to annoy his teammates. He finds it funny how easily Nya gets ticked off, so he annoys her most often. ex) going into her room and just singing really loud.

• Thinks Tarayummy is his soulmate. He sits in his room in the dark and just watches her videos. He has a hatred for every man she has ever talked to.

Nya

• Says she hates dressing up/wearing dresses, but at night she secretly puts on pretty ball gowns she hides in boxes in her closet. (I do this)

• Loves art, but she mostly paints. She picked it up after seeing the paintings Jay did after seabound. He taught her a lot of it.

• Anytime she sees a friend or someone she knows out in public she has to talk to them. It’s like when you were little and your mom/dad saw someone at the store and they just had to talk to them forever. She does that.

Zane

• There’s a desk in his room with the most random junk on it. He doesn’t even know where most of it came from. This junk varies from model airplanes to defused pipe bombs.

• He’ll give himself weird accents sometimes. If he’s bored he will just put on a new accent and talk to the others to see their reactions. One time he did a Russian accent that scared Jay so much he peed his pants.

• He could watch those videos of dancing fruit for hours. He just loves brain rot, and that’s okay because it keeps him busy.

Cole

• Religiously watches edits of himself of TikTok. Once he accidentally reposted one and everyone lost their mind.

• Thinks Halo by Beyoncé is the greatest song ever written. It’s the only song he will sing in front of other people and he will put his whole heart and soul into it every time.

• Likes to skateboard, but doesn’t have enough time. He thought it would be a fun hobby to pick up before he was a ninja and actually got really good at it. He isn’t as good now, but he can still do some tricks.

Jay

• This man is so zesty oh my god. Everyone in Ninjago thought he was gay until he got together with Nya. There are still people who think it’s all just an act to cover it up.

• If this guy sees a river he is getting in. It doesn’t matter if it’s 10 or 80 degrees, this man is ready to jump in any river he sees. He tries to get everyone else to join, but they aren’t as stupid (except Cole who obviously has to join him)

•Watches Instagram reels instead of TikTok. He thinks they’re funnier, and Kai thinks that it’s the funniest thing in the world and never shuts up about it.

Lloyd

• A lot of people think this, but I think that he bleach’s his hair. He doesn’t want to look anything like his dad, and he thinks his dark hair makes him look evil.

• Also likes art, but mostly draws. He likes to do art with Nya, but picked it up when he was younger. He used to make his own comic books about the ninja in S1.

• Wants to be a theater kid so bad, but he has to focus on his ninja work. He’s made everyone watch Hamilton at least 5 times (so far).

I have other headcanons about a lot of other characters, and more about these guys if you’re interested.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago cole #ninjago jay #ninjago nya #ninjago kai #ninjago lloyd #ninjago zane #headcanon

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sunshinebarbie · 11 months

Text

only love can hurt like this

pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader x Changbin warnings: angst, so much angst, sad bang chan (i promise i love him and i don't want him to be sad but...) swearing/cursing, drama. words: 2,683 parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | FINAL a/n: this is my very first time writing for Stray Kids, for kpop in general! i am very nervous, but i was listening to this song and felt so inspired. please be gentle, i have only ever wrote for fictional characters my entire life, taking a crack at a real life person is a bit intimidating.

There wasn’t a doubt in your mind, you felt like the luckiest girl in the entire world. If someone gave you a lottery ticket right now, you were at least 80% sure you would hit the jackpot.

Yet, you had already hit the jackpot, that even the one that promised you mounds of money wasn’t enough to get you to trade what you had.

Matter of fact, your jackpot was sitting across from you as you typed your latest assignment on your laptop. You looked up through your lashes and smiled softly seeing Bang Chan sitting in his chair, his headphones covering his ears and his laptop opened.

Chan’s makeshift studio was the best place to get your studying done. It was quiet most of the time, that wasn’t including when Chan would start humming a tune, or singing lyrics under his breath.

Your focus shifted to the clock on the bottom corner of your screen. It was nearly midnight and time just got away once again.

You pulled your earphones from your ears and placed them back in the case. You stretched your arms up to the ceiling and stood up. Chan was still focused on what he was doing, he didn’t notice you standing behind him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek causing him to jump a little in his seat.

“oh, it’s you.” he smiled and pressed pause on his latest project.

“were you expecting someone else?” You teased, pretending to be offended.

“yeah, I was expecting the janitor, he usually comes in around 12:30 to clean, was wondering why he decided to make a move tonight.” he joked.

“it’s almost midnight, you ready?” you asked showing him the time on your phone.

“uh, give me another hour okay?” he looked at you with puppy eyes.

Your fingers instinctively combed through his hair, and a smile tugged across your lips. “fine.” you sighed.

You sat back down in your spot and started to place your headphones in your ears when Chan turned around and looked at you confused.

“oh, you’re going to stay?” he asked looking at the time.

“yeah.” you chuckled lightly. “i want to make sure nothing is really happening between you and this janitor” you joked.

Chan smiled and turned around, putting his headphones back on.

An hour had passed and Chan was still working, you looked at your phone it was nearing 1:00am.

Chan looked fully focused on his laptop, you could hear his curses under his breath followed by an aggressive pressing of his laptop keys.

“Chan?” you tapped his shoulder softly, he quickly turned around and forced his headset off.

His eyes soften after realizing it was only you, “oh, sorry. you should probably get home.” he frowned.

“i’m not going to leave you here alone.” you smiled softly but feeling unsure of your decision. “i’m just going to go for a walk, because I been sitting there all night.”

Chan nodded and allowed you to press a kiss to his cheek before leaving the studio.

You turned towards him, he was already focused on his laptop again, his cursing louder as closed the door behind you.

You walked down the hall, looking at the photos and framed albums on the wall. That’s when the idea hatched. Maybe, you should bring Chan a midnight snack. You knew he would think better with a little food in his tummy.

You walked down to the nearest 24/7 mart and picked up a few of Chan’s favorite snacks. “it will be a late-night picnic” you thought to yourself, as you handed the cashier the money.

You walked back to the studio to see Chan still in the exact same spot. His headphones over his head, and the laptop at the tip of his fingers.

“Chan.” you tapped his shoulder. This time he ignored you, he was fully focused on his project.

“Chan” you tapped again.

“for fucks sake” he cursed “what? what is it now?” he looked at you his eyes once full of sorrow now full of rage.

“uh-” you stammered full of surprise. “uhm-I brought you some brain fuel” you smiled weakly and showed him the bag full of snacks.

“can you just go home.” he scoffed. And turned back to his laptop. “i honestly don’t know why you’re waiting around” he put his headphones on.

“Chan” you tapped his shoulder again after analyzing what he just said.

“GO HOME!” he threw his headphones hard into his laptop and looked at you, his eyes filled with fire.

You stepped back feeling a little bit of fright from his action. “i-” you stammered.

Chan ignored whatever you were about to say and put his headphones back on. “fuck!” he yelled at the screen.

You dropped the bag on the floor and hurried to gather your things. You were with Bang Chan for 2 years now and never had he ever raised his voice at you. He was always timid, and he even panicked when he gave you your first kiss.

“i’ll see you at home” you whispered to him as you hurried out the door. You closed the door shut and hurried to the elevator. When the door “dinged” and shut, you finally felt safe. Your body relaxed and yet you still felt the panic jolting through your veins.

The taxi ride was quiet, you couldn’t even remember giving the driver directions, or let alone a destination. Still, you watched the city lights zoom by illuminating your tear-stained face every two seconds.

“That will be $52.91” the driver pulled up to a familiar curb. You snapped out of your daze and reached for your bag, your fingers raked the contents of your items in search of your wallet. “shoot, I must have left it the place you picked me up.” you frowned.

“hey, I am not running a free service. You better pay for your fare.” the driver turned around his face red with anger.

“this is my apartment, building let me run inside and I promise I will be back down.” you begged.

The driver went quiet, and sighed. “you have five minutes” he grumbled. “and leave your bag, in case you don’t come back down.” he gestured to the bag Chan bought you for your birthday.

“fine” you sighed and stepped out. You started to head for the door, when the driver sped away.

“wait!” you shouted as he ran the red light down the street.

“shit!” you cursed and looked around seeing if anyone saw what happened, but you were alone on the street.

Finding the bus park bench, you sat down and collapsed your head into the palms of your hands. You choked out a sob, feeling like this night couldn’t get any worst.

“y/n?” a voice stammered out of the dark. “go.” you sighed “away.” you sniffled “please.”

“it’s almost 2 o’clock” the voice grew louder signifying they were closing in. “what happened?” you looked up at Changbin who was towering over you.

“just- a bad day” you sniffled and wiped your tears away. “where is Chan?” he looked up at the apartment seeing if your lights were on.

“at the studio.” your voice hiccupped. “he told me to “just go home.”.” you sniffled again.

“is that why you’re crying?” he sat beside you.

He could feel you beginning to shiver from the cold night air, he quickly pulled his jacket from his body and covered your shoulders.

“part of it.” you smiled weakly at his gesture. “the cab that brought me home, I left my wallet at the studio, and I told the driver I was going to get some money inside and he asked me to leave my bag as collateral, and when I was far enough away, he sped off with my bag.” you started to tear up again.

“between that and Chan cursing at me.” you could feel your lips trembling as the tears began to fall once more.

“he cursed at you?” Changbin stood up, feeling angry now.

“no.” you quickly tried to backtrack. “he didn’t. Curse curse at me” you lied.

“no, this isn’t acceptable.” Changbin began walking towards his car.

“Changbin.” you hurried behind him, he unlocked the door and you quickly jumped in the passenger seat.

Your hand touched his as he reached for the ignition. “Changbin, it’s okay. He is probably tired. Or hungry-” “stop trying to justify what he did y/n” Changbin cut you off.

He started the car and pulled away from the sidewalk, you watched as familiar signs and lights passed by you once again.

You felt your heart stop and pound rapidly as the car was put in park at the studio.

“Changbin- please” you begged. “go easy on him.” you felt your face warm up as the tears welled in your eyes.

“I’m just going to talk to him, and ask him what all this is about.” he assured you.

You followed behind him cautiously into the elevator. It was quiet, only the hums of each passing floor filled the air, and made you even more nervous.

The elevator came to a halt and the door opened revealing Bang Chan standing there, your wallet and house keys in hand.

His face relaxed upon seeing you, but immediately washed over with regret seeing how swollen your eyes were.

“Baby, look I'm-” Bang Chan looked at you sympathetically, “how long did it take you to realize that she left her money and keys here Chan?” Changbin snarled cutting off Chan’s apology as he appeared from behind the wall of the elevator.

“I got caught up trying to produce our next song and I-” Chan began to explain.

“that is not an excuse” Changbin interrupted again.

“Changbin” you stepped forward and put your hand on his shoulder. You could feel his anger pulsating through his skin, making him warm to the touch.

“I think it took you quiet long enough, seeing that she had enough time to get robbed.” Changbin added.

“Robbed?!” Chan’s face flushed, “are you okay?” he stepped towards you. Changbin instinctively stepped in front of you and extended his arm blocking Bang Chan from stepping any closer.

“yeah, I'm fine.” you lied. “it was a misunderstanding, and-”

“She could have gotten hurt.” Changbin interrupted yet again. “luckily, I was coming by to see if you both were home, because I know when we are in the middle of making a new album, you over work yourself-”

“Changbin” you shouted his name a little bit louder, he stopped talking and the both of the boys looked at you.

“i’m grateful that you were there.” you sighed and looked at him “but you have to take it easy on Chan, he is-”

“you’re always going to stick up for him aren’t you?” Changbin stopped you again. “it’s always Bang Chan who can do no wrong in your eyes.” he taunted.

“Changbin. That’s not fair.” you sighed. “anyway, it’s late.” he cleared his throat. “i’ll see you both tomorrow.” he got into the elevator and closed the door leaving both you and Chan in silence.

“y/n” Chan finally broke the silence and turned to face you. “I’m sorry baby, this album is more stressful than our last one, the songs aren’t coming out the way I want them to-” he began.

“Christopher” you stopped him, he looked at you in shock, throughout the entire time you were both together you never used his real name, not once.

“Changbin is right.” you stepped away from him. “I felt like I was the luckiest girl in the world to be dating THE Bang Chan” you smiled at the silly idea.

“but my entire night has been everything but lucky.” you scoffed. “and it is all because of THE Bang Chan.”

You stepped forward and slowly pulled your stuff out of Bang Chan’s hands.

“what does that mean?” Chan asked feeling a heaviness in his chest after you went silent.

“Christopher-” you sighed, you refused to look at him as the words rolled off your tongue. “-we need to break up.”

“y/n” Bang Chan stepped forward.

“I will be by tomorrow to get the rest of my stuff, but give me 20 minutes to get a few items when we get back.” you turned away and hurried into the stairwell. You would rather stumble down a flight of stairs than be in an awkward silence with Bang Chan in the elevator.

You hailed a cab as soon as you reached the bottom and exited the building. As you settled into the cab you looked out the window. You gave the address and looked out the window hoping to see Chan, instead you noticed Changbin sitting in his car.

You looked in the other direction and spotted a familiar bag on the seat.

“I hope you brought your money this time” the cab driver from earlier scoffed. “great.” you sighed as he started the route to the apartment.

You paid for your previous fare and this one. Before exiting you requested the driver to wait until you came back down. Promising double.

You arrived to the apartment before Bang Chan, and you knew this because the lights were out still, and his shoes weren’t by the front door.

You walked to the room and started to collect a few items, some clothes for tomorrow, your pajamas, a warm jacket and a hoodie. You were in the bathroom collecting your hygiene products when you heard the door shut close.

Bang Chan walked into the bathroom; his body leaned against the frame as he watched you pack your things.

“y/n, baby please.” he begged.

“don’t-” you stopped him. As you continued to drop products into your vanity case.

You tried to walked past him but he blocked the exit to the bathroom. “can we talk about this.” his eyes were beginning to well.

“Christopher-” you sighed “don’t call me that.” he argued back.

“it’s Chan, or Channie, or baby or-” he began to fumble his words in frustration. “anything but Christopher-” he sniffled.

You looked at him and shook your head. “my cab driver is going to leave... he- he does that.” you gulped down a dry lump.

As Chan wiped his tears you hurried past him and back to the livingroom where your luggage case was waiting.

You were heading towards the door, when you felt Chan’s hand grab yours. He pulled you into his body. His lips immediately meeting yours, you melted into his lips as you have done many a times.

The kiss was interrupted as Chan sniffled; his tears seeped into your cheeks as leaned his forehead against yours.

“please-” he begged again. “-don’t leave me.” he sobbed.

“I-” you tried to pry yourself from his grip. “I will leave my key when I come back tomorrow.” you pulled away.

You hurried out the door, and into the elevator. It was in that moment of silence you felt the tears falling violently down your cheeks.

The elevator bell dinged and you exited quickly, your cab was still there as you exited the building.

The cab driver, opened the trunk and started to put your luggage inside.

“where to now?” he asked. “the hotel, just three blocks down” you replied.

“you got it.” the driver walked to the driver side.

You opened the door and took one last look at the apartment building you called “home” with Chan for a year.

You got into the cab, and settled in once again. You buckled yourself in, and looked out the window towards the building. The voice of Bang Chan echoed in your ears as he begged you not to go.

You closed your eyes and inhaled a deep breath. “can we go please.” you requested to the driver, not wanting to stay and endure another memory that haunted this space.

“just finishing putting in the destination” the driver replied and put the cab in drive.

Bang Chan walked out of the lobby, his focus on you as he watched the cab pull away from the curb.

#bang chan #bang chan imagine #bang chan imagines #bang chan angst #bang chan oneshot #bang chan blurbs #bang chan blurb #stray kids fanfic #bang chang fanfiction #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #stray kids angst #stray kids blurbs #stray kids oneshot #stray kids blurb

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davekat-sucks · 11 days

Note

Okay! Hi! So I have something fun to say! I read the anon talking about Karkat being headcanoned as ace. It made me remember the person who runs this blog saying Dave is uncomfortable with sex. I have a narrative reason as to why Dave would be uncomfortable with sex. Two actually! I decided to reread a certain chapter and I realized something. It’s big! The biggest scoop this fandom has ever had!

I think you guys would love it! The fandom is going to have a rude awakening someday. You guys are going to be SO HAPPY! Let’s watch this thing burn down together and hold hands singing Kumbaya My Lord Kumbaya! Fuck I’ll bring stuff to make s’mores!

This me going off about the homestuck epilogue DaveKat scene again and there is some brutal topics covered in here, you’ve been warned. I imagine Dirk was in control of the some of the narrative when Karkat and Dave had sex. I think Dirk had a lot of control over what happened but not all of it. Free will is still a thing. Here is Dirk saying as much! He says he likes using persuasion!

Did you guys catch a certain part of this when reading it? The non stop animalistic fucking part I mean. That’s weird to say about your family. Moving on.

Dave and Karkat don’t really admit that they like each other romantically… seems like they don’t want to. Right that’s what the fandom must have picked up on. It’s hard for them to date because of the Ace/Aro thing. Or. They DONT. They don’t want to date. They never did. They’re forced to. In meat, it looks like Dirk just wants Dave to top this guy.

Here. Read what Karkat says.

Then Karkat says “I’m glad you’re my friend.” “I don’t have to wonder what is missing!” Karkat doesn’t have to wonder what is missing! We’ve got everything we need here! But wait! they’re not just friends! They are… best… friends? Karkat sounds unsure of what to even say here? He sounds like he doesn’t know where this is going. What he’s even being pushed to say. He said what he meant already. Dave is the one asking him if they are more than friends.

Look. If someone with the powers of a god is compelling them to talk about their feelings and this is the most Karkat can say, it means there is NOTHING ELSE THERE. Dirk is losing his shit here.

Here’s an excuse! “Maybe relationships isn’t a thing Karkat does!” Hold on to that thought Dave! If it makes you feel better about having animalistic sex with a guy! I’ll come up with anything to make you think that.

“HE WANTS IT! YOU WANT IT!” Karkat wants it! You want it too, Dave!

It’s nothing to worry about Dave! You two can do it right here on the couch if you want! Please want that! I mean he loves you so much! See you two are so so so close! He’s going to bust it open for you! Dave he wants it! Dirk wants it. He is excited at the idea of it. Karkat doesn’t seem to care and diving into Karkat’s head to convince him he loves Dave isn’t Dirk’s goal. Karkat falling in love has nothing to do with anything. Why would Dirk even care? Dirk only cares about Dave having sex here. Dirk isn’t really influencing Karkat either, he doesn’t get into his head at all.

I don’t know how much Dave wants Karkat. I’m not able to really discern that. Though I wouldn’t count this as a confession. Dave is drunk! Or at least tipsy. He has someone else chatting in his head. He can even hear hear what Dirk is saying.

Dirk is saying all sorts of things in Dave’s head. Dave is stressed to the point of sweating. What was Dirk going to say before he was cut off? A threat? It sounded like a threat. Is it supposed to be encouraging!? Either is fucked!

The let me do this myself bit reads more like an act of defiance. Let me see if this is right or not, Dirk! Though if you’re under the influence and someone has been fucking with your mind to fill it with what they want for you, do you think that isn’t ABUSE?! Brainwashing? Do you think Dave is being lead to believe Karkat actually wants to date him? I think all of those things are true here.

It all reads like Dave and Karkat are forced together. Like that’s even what the writers are trying to fucking say. It reads like they are spitting on the couple and using them as a narrative tool. Someday in the future they have to address Dirk and Dave’s relationship.

When I read this line it conformed for me something I was certain of before and I’m certain that is what is being said here. I think there is a clear reason as to why it was put into this chapter. What Dirk’s intentions are. Read it and see if you can catch what I’m going to point out.

There it is. This is what the epilogue is going with.

Born again virginity. Dave didn’t have his virginity before he died at 13. Why even bring up a line like that if meant nothing. If was a joke?

Why was Dave willing to pay Dirk respect for killing himself in Candy?

For that matter! Why is Dirk so into Dave topping some guy? Isn’t Dirk a bottom? Why is Dirk so into talking about his son and/or brother having animalistic sex with one of the few male characters left alive? Karkat is someone the fandom would have loved to see Dave end up with since they smiled at each other once in Act 6.

So. Here’s what I want to get at. The to long didn’t read version of what I wrote!

What’s the two narrative reasons Dave doesn’t want to have sex?

1. Dave doesn’t want to have sex with someone if Dirk is just going to come into his head and get off to it.

2. Dave isn’t comfortable with having sex because of unresolved trauma.

What was the scoop? The big scoop that would tear the fans apart?

Karkat and Dave aren’t in love. They never were. Karkat wanted to say he appreciated having someone who put so much faith in him. It meant something to him. He said he feels content with that. He doesn’t have to wonder what is missing.

Karkat is Dave’s best friend. They are close. I love that. I want them to have a normal relationship, but they don’t. And they can’t. Even the running for president plot line was introduced so we could have Dave backing Karkat and giving him support. But that, once again, may have just been the narrative fucking with them, setting them up to have a moment like this. This is the problem with meta fiction. How much of this is the characters? The writers? The gods overseeing them? They have Calliope and Dirk picking at these assassinated characters like vultures. Just like how Calliope had John and Terezi get with each other in his dad’s car. John might have liked her but he was dying in that moment. Narratively, that was setting Terezi up to want to bring him back to life. To think they could be lovers in some way, and maybe they can. I don’t know. How much of that was John being fucked with? This story is a horror story. No one here is happy. Nothing here is good. Nothing is clear.

The one thing I am sure of is that born again virgin line meant something. Dave was holding onto his new founded virginity. Maybe he didn’t even feel comfortable saying he liked men because that is like saying he might have in someway enjoyed what Bro did to him. Maybe he didn’t want to have sex because of a terrible experience he had. Maybe the writers of the new homestuck content will pivot, maybe they will undo all of what is being set up here. But why do that? They like the drama!

I can see them containing with this theme. Dave was molested before homestuck even started. That is what is being said here. Bro molested him. Dirk feels horrible for it. He wants Dave to be the one to decapitate him too, like it’s closure.

The true to long didn’t read is basically this: Dave and Karkat is only canon because it’s forced. The writers are even announcing it! Thanks for the years of us having to listen to people falsely celebrating DaveKat! Now we’re going to just sing our hymns and celebrate their destruction.

That actually makes sense. It is fucked up if all along that Ult Dirk and by extension Hussie, WhatPumpkin, James Roach, HICU, and the fanbase itself, are forcing the two without their consent and they can't escape it.

It was so obvious from the start and yet people accepted it for what it was. This kissing in the laundry scene now gives a different meaning now that these boys did not actually want this but are forced to anyway without their say.

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fistfuloftarenths · 3 months

Text

isn't it a marvel

Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!Tav Rating: G Wordcount: 1400 Genre: Self-indulgence Summary: Tav, Rugan, and Olly after the end of the world has been averted, sitting in a tavern in Waterdeep. Tav causes minor trouble, as is her wont. AO3 link here

Faerun never stayed saved. Not for her, not for anyone. Not even Elminster. On this fine spring afternoon, however, it seemed to have slowed its hurtling towards certain destruction to a near-halt. Tav had some hours to idle away, and meant to make the most of her reprieve.

The tavern reminded her of the Singing Lute, back in the Gate. Small, cantilevered over the water, and crawling with bards. None of them were familiar to Tav, and yet the conversations she could overhear were the same as ever - someone had a new lute, someone else had finally brought down the hammered dulcimer they’d been talking about for weeks, someone owed someone else money and didn’t have it, someone had a new hat, and - bards being bards - there was that one table who were convinced of their own natural superiority, and were talking too loud and flinging themselves about in dramatic poses.

Tav and her companions were tucked in a corner, their backs comfortable against the sea wall. Their choice of table is habitual now, much like the way she always checks for other exits. A trellis covered with vines shelters them from the sun and lines of sight, and Rugan has a shield up, just in case. Her chair was tipped back, one booted foot on the railing to keep her balance, and she was quietly running through fingerpicking exercises on her new lute. Yesterday Gale had reinforced it with magic, while Tav paced around his room in an excess of nervous energy. Just because her wizard friend was a genius didn’t mean he understood the importance of tuning, or resonance, and Tav had had to stop herself flinching every time a spell took and sank into the marquetry.

His calculations had been right, and Tav was delighted with the results. The instrument ought to survive the indignities of the road with aplomb. Tucked away in a pouch she also had a fingerpick ring for the first knuckle of her thumb. This was enchanted to amplify the volume of her lute, but Rugan had taken one look at it and approved of it as a way to take someone’s eye out.

He was sitting next to her, talking to Olly over a pint of something bitter. Her Zhent looked much the same as he did when she met him. Less blood. His hair wasn’t as grey as it should be, and he’d stopped complaining about his knees a couple of winters ago. Tav had her suspicions about this, but she was reluctant to look a gift Zhent in the mouth, not when she wanted it to keep kissing her for decades yet. In her opinion the gods owed her for that whole tadpole business - still owe her, really. Turned out that getting out of the world-saving business was harder than she’d thought.

Olly looked well, crow-black pulled back in a glossy ponytail and no longer hiding behind his fringe. She wasn’t entirely sure what he did these days, and hadn’t asked, since what she doesn’t know can’t be winkled out of her with magic or torture or both. Regardless, smiles were coming easily on his face, and he was carrying at least two items that were positively seething with enchantment. Whoever he was running with now was much better for him than the Gate crew ever was. Present company excluded.

Tav seized upon a lull in the conversation. “I learned a new one,” she said to Olly, and strummed a little louder so the tune would carry over to him. Rugan, recognising it, sighed heavily. Tav ignored him. “Comes from Moonshae, or so they told me.”

“They're far from staid after a raid,

These men of Zhentil Keep.

They kill off all the women,

For they much prefer the sheep.

The men don't eat their ill-got treat.

Not one of them's a glutton.

So isn't it a marvel

That they always smell of mutton?

Olly laughed. “They used to call us sheepfuckers at home. Busted some heads about it as a boy. Or tried to.”

“Met a man from Ashabenford who claimed goats were a better lay than sheep,” Rugan added. “Said they were friskier.” As with most of Rugan’s stories, it was impossible to tell if he was lying. It seemed plausible, and yet -

He hadn’t taken the song with that much equanimity when Tav had first learned it, so much so that Tav had taken perverse delight in whistling the melody at odd times and places and waiting until the scowl lowered itself onto his face. Things had come to a head over Tav's extended digression about whether it would be ethical for Rugan to eat mutton stew. They had been very late starting on the road the following morning.

Unfortunately, Tav’s lapse into fond memories was interrupted. Someone from one of the closer tables had come over, and was looking uncomfortably at her.

“Excuse me,” said the interlocutor, a young human girl in peacock velvet and a scarlet feather in her cap, “but you might want to be careful where you play that. The Black Network has eyes and blades everywhere.”

“Do you mean to say there might be Zhentarim here? Listening to me?” Tav asked, all wide-eyed innocence and absolutely not looking anywhere near the man next to her.

“Davil Starsong’s played on that very stage,” said the girl pointing, where the hammered dulcimer was being drowned out by the table of posturing assholes. A pity, because Tav would have liked to hear it. It’s not the sort of instrument she came across often on the road.

“Hmmm,” said Tav, noncommittally, and strummed through the first few bars again. The girl looked pleadingly at Rugan, being the oldest and presumably the wisest of their little group.

“Shouldn’t think she’s got much to fear from the Zhents, lass,” he rumbled, and slid a hand onto Tav’s thigh. Tav relented - the girl didn’t know, and the warning was kindly meant.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” she said. “But while you’re here - who are that group over there? With the purple hat and the moustache? The loud ones?”

“Them,” said the girl, screwing up her face with disgust. “That’s Arlon. His aunt’s a guildmaster, and his uncle married up, and they’ve got a lock on half the good parties.”

Tav nodded. There was good money to be made there, and if they liked you they’d ask for you again. Most of the time the kitchen staff would feed you leftovers, too, and damn if the rich didn’t eat well. If you could get your foot in the door. If.

“He’s not even that good,” continued the girl. “Says he likes Volo, because everyone knows them and it’s easy.”

Tav shot bolt up right anyway, outraged. “Volo’s not even a bard,” she spat, and Rugan chuckled into his beer.

“Exactly!” said the girl. “He’s a -”

“Lying hack of a wizard,” finished Tav, vengefully. She glared at Arlon. “Something should be done.” Rugan’s hand tightened on the inside of her thigh. Careful.

“Er,” the girl said, somewhat doubtfully. Her eyes flicker across to Olly, who grinned back at her. Gods, he’s grown up.

“I’m not going to burn down your local,” Tav said. “Just…dampen the noise. Promise.”

“Really?” The girl’s eyes shone.

“You can’t,” said Tav. “I can, and I’m leaving town tomorrow. Consider it a thank you for the warning.”

“Oh. All right.”

“You should go sit down. Don’t want to be near me when it happens.”

Tav tapped a soft rhythm onto the body of her lute, summoning water, and dropped it onto Arlon and his clique. Shrieks of outrage and surprise echoed across the bay, and then most of the bar was laughing, and laughing hard. Water’s heavier than people think, but Tav has judged it nicely; they’re drenched to the skin and will have to sadly squelch all their way home, but no one is physically injured. Gods, they look ridiculous, careful coiffeuses turned to lank rat’s tails on their necks. Even Arlon’s moustache is drooping. They barely manage to flounce as they leave.

“Nice work,” said Rugan, into her ear, in that tone, in that voice. Deliberately, Tav guesses; he knows the effect that has on her. He slid his hand further up her thigh, and Tav shot him a sideways glare. Damn him. Damn her susceptibility to him.

Emboldened, the hammered dulcimer player launched into a frottole, and began to sing.

#bg3 fanfic #bg3 rugan #bg3 olly #my tav #bards will be bards #with thanks to @my-favourite-zhent who found the original shanty on the forgotten realms wiki

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star-girl69 · 11 months

Text

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: exams are crazy 😰 but i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions cannibalism, mentions of death, swearing, hallucinations, panic attack kinda, mentions of kidnapping, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Twenty Five - Crown of Bones

Chapter Twenty Four - Crown of Bones

—-

1996-

“People of Europe, I send you the rainbow of Argentina!”

Misty and Crystal have been singing for ages now, sweeping, and everyone is doing their best to ignore them, eating their starling soup.

You sigh and turn to the window, trying to get away from the world, feeling Natalie breath out heavily next to you, muttering under her breath about them.

But at the same time- their singing feels normal. You smile to yourself, wondering if something like this would have happened at Nationals in a hotel room the girls had remade into a party room.

Would you still be sitting next to Natalie like this?

Who would still be there?

You rub your eyes, looking out the dusty window, trying to spot Shauna coming back with the bear meat for tonight.

Antlers, white like bone, the parts that aren’t covered in blood, at least, shine back at you.

Antlers like these used to mean so much to you. They meant a win, food in your stomach, and now everytime you even think about them- glance over at the wall above the fireplace-

And you remember that night. The antlers you saw. The sounds, the taste, how good it all felt.

You’re not sure of what you’ve lived through, you don’t know what is happening in this place, in this cabin, but you know those antlers aren’t supposed to be there.

You gasp, your metal cup clattering to the floor, soup spilling, staring, staring and those fucking antlers you can’t escape from.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” Natalie asks, her hands all over you, but you’re not hurt, you’re just staring at the antlers in the window, wondering why you’re going fucking crazy-

You bring your hands up to your eyes, and when you open your eyes again- there is nothing but the dusty window and the snow, the trees in the background.

“Nothing,” you gasp after a second, your lungs tight, your breath not able to come through properly. “I… I just thought I saw something.”

The rest of the cabin is silent as Natalie shifts closer, looking out the window.

She nods. “It’s alright. There’s nothing there.” She looks into your eyes, places a hand on your face. “It’s alright,” she repeats.

You nod, feeling shaky and odd.

You’ve felt for a long time like something is inside of you, the wilderness, a poisoned sapling in your liver that is just pumping you full of poison- and the more you get it the more you want it.

You shake your head and try to take a deep breath, but it comes out as a shudder.

“I’m- I’m fine.”

Natalie nods, but you know she doesn’t quite believe you, and when you glance around the cabin- no one quite believes you either.

“You’re not,” Lottie says after a moment, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She stands up, crosses the room, and holds her hand out. “You need to breathe-”

“Oh, my God,” Nat scoffs. “She doesn’t need your bullshit, Lottie.”

“I’m trying to help,” Lottie frowns.

“I’m alright, Lottie,” you say, and Lottie takes a step back under Nat’s stare.

Shauna bursts through the door, setting down the tray of bear meat.

In a moment, everything has forgotten about you and your vision, just leaving you and Natalie in the corner.

She exhaled harshly, turning back to you after she’s done glaring down Lottie.

“You don’t need to be so mean,” you mutter, feeling like someone has stabbed the antlers through your chest, and the blood is yours. “She’s just trying to help.”

“She can go and help anyone else.”

“So who’s the thief?” Shauna asks, standing up, glaring around at all of you. No one says anything, confused as to what she’s talking about. “Someone stole some bear meat from the shed. I guess they think they deserve it more than the rest of us, which… at this point, is pretty fucked. If anybody, I’m the one who should be taking some more, but I’m not, because I’m not the fucking worst. So which one of you is?”

After Shauna’s rant, everyone is silent, and you share a glance with Natalie. She shakes her head, and you do too- and you believe her.

“Okay. Right. Whatever,” Shauna hisses.

Coach comes out of the shadows, moving to his chair in the corner, his crutches banging against the floor.

“It was probably him,” Mari whispers to Akilah, staring at him out of the corner of her eyes. “He thinks he’s so much better than all us.”

Coach stops and looks up to the sky, sighing.

“I didn’t take the fucking meat,” he glares at her. “Okay? And in case you forgot-” he holds up one of his crutches, “Not exactly nimble in the snow, huh?”

He keeps walking forward, and your breath finally feels a bit more normal, and you shake your head, not risking a glance out the window.

“But you know what?”

He stands in front of his chair, turning around to face everyone.

“If it had been me… what exactly would you do about it? Would you eat me?”

Everyone exchanges glances, and you’re not exactly sure what anyone’s trying to say-

Mari stands, taking a few steps forward confidently, like she would.

“Let’s all just chill, you guys,” Nat says, scrambling to her feet and raising a hand out to Mari. She gestures to him. “There’s no way that Coach would ever-”

“This is because of you, you know.”

You look up at Mari with wide eyes.

What the fuck has Mari done for you all?

“Excuse me?”

“Why we don’t have any meat. Lottie tries to bless you for the hunt, but half the time you’re MIA. Or when you do show up, it’s like you’re practically holding your nose.”

“Are you joking?” Nat hisses, and you stand up, feeling a little angry and a little on edge-

“What have you done, huh, Mari? Have you been hiking through the mountains in the freezing cold looking for food?”

She takes a step towards you, and you do too.

“No. You’ve been here, in the cabin, nice and warm while we were out there trying!”

“If there isn’t any game, then how did Lottie get the birds.”

“Lottie didn’t fucking get the birds,” Nat scoffs. “They flew into the cabin.”

“Because she told them too,” Mari says.

“It did happen when the blood dripped on the symbol she made,” Akilah mutters.

“We’re still not really sure that’s why,” Shauna says.

“Yeah, you see, that’s what we call a coincidence,” Coach sighs. “Okay? Those birds were just… like, confused, or had a disease or something.”

“No. If they were diseased, then we would have gotten sick from eating them,” Misty says, the broom still in her hands.

“What about the bear?”

Everyone turns to Van.

“I don’t think anyone who saw that could call it a coincidence.”

“Exactly.” Mari turns back to you and Natalie. “It all goes to show the only food we’ve had in months is thanks to Lottie.”

Natalie runs a hand through her hair.

“Then we should have a fucking contest, huh? One-on-one. We both go out. Just her and me, and at the end of the day we see who makes it back with more food.”

You stare up at Nat, but she’s not looking anywhere near you.

“Come on, Nat. That’s not fair,” Travis says. “Lottie’s not a hunter.”

“Oh, according to them, she’s better than a hunter.”

She looks around, and everyone else does, but not one says anything.

You grab Natalie’s hand, making her look at you.

“You’re not serious.”

She stares into your eyes.

“You’re not serious, Natalie. You can’t- can’t just go out into the wilderness all by yourself,” you laugh, just because it’s so hilarious. You look around, and no one says anything. “All of you can’t be serious. You’re gonna freeze out there all by yourselves.”

Natalie looks at you.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s stupid.”

You take a step closer and drop your voice.

“Why do you let them get to you, Nat?”

“I’ll be fine, Y/N.”

You stare back at her, and when you look at her shadow behind her, you swear she’s wearing a crown of bones. Of antlers.

—-

2021-

“I know you’re in there, Y/N!”

Misty’s sing-song voice has been at your door for the past five minutes, banging and knocking, shouting that it’s her! It’s your old best friend, and you should just let her in-

“I don’t wanna talk to anyone, please Misty,” you groan, leaning your head against the heavy door. The following knocks make your teeth chatter.

“Okay,” she says, slightly shouting. “I wanted to tell you this in person, but since you’re being difficult…”

“What, Misty?!”

“Natalie’s missing.”

You open the door quickly, and when you look in her eyes, you know she’s not lying.

But you know nothing about the man behind her.

“I… who? Who the fuck-?”

She glances over to the man, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

“That’s Walter. Seriously, do not mind him. He’s just helping me.”

“Hi,” he says after a moment, holding out his hand that you cautiously take. “I’m Walter,” he smiles. “And you must be the infamous Y/N I’ve heard so much about. All good things, besides for the shouting of your name just now.”

“Ha,” you say, and maybe you would she laughed if you weren’t so scared and confused.

One Yellowjacket missing could mean bad news for the rest of them.

Misty barges past you and inside, and Walter smiles awkwardly at you before following her.

“Oh, okay,” you mutter, shutting the door and following them. “Nat’s missing?”

Misty sighs, sitting on your couch, like she had when Travis died.

“Yes. But, we have a lead! Purple people.”

“Misty… do you have any meds you should be taking…?”

“Oh, no, no, Y/N. Not actual purple people. But people dressed in purple clothes.”

“Oh, yeah. ‘Cause that makes much more sense, huh? Besides, how do you know she didn’t just take off?”

“Has she contacted you?” Misty asks, taking out a notepad. Walter looks around your apartment while you wring your hands together nervously.

“No,” you sigh, and she sets down her notepad, adjusting her glasses.

“You know something.”

“I don’t,” you mutter.

“You do!” she shouts, pointing her finger at you.

You roll your eyes. “God, Misty, fine, I-” she looks at you expectantly, and you look away. “I… may have kinda, like, completely cut things off with her at the reunion?”

“Y/N,” Misty gasps. “What? What happened? You guys were so…”

You sigh and turn back to her. “It… it was never really healthy. And we were too focused on saving each other to save ourselves, it- it was never meant to work, you know?”

Misty looks you up and down. “Well,” she mutters, writing something down.

“She’s probably in Texas,” you mumble. “She always runs to Texas. She took me to Texas. She likes… the heat.”

Because winter makes her feel a little sick.

Misty nods. “Texas,” she sighs. She looks around your apartment. “Goodness, Y/N. Breakup really effect you?”

“It wasn’t a breakup, Misty,” you sneer. “We weren’t together. It was just… a formal… we shouldn’t ever get back together again.”

“Okay,” she says, raising her eyebrows, not really believing you. “Well, pack your bags. Don’t worry, I already called out of work for you-”

“Misty?! You- you can’t just-”

She cuts you a harsh glare.

“Listen to me. I know, and everyone else knows, that you still love her. And now she’s missing. I need your help, Y/N, and you need mine.”

“I don’t need your help, Misty,” you roll your eyes.

She shrugs.

“Aren’t you at least curious?” Walter asks, the first time he’s spoken since he came in. Misty rolls her eyes. “Come. I’m paying.”

And you are curious. And you do care about Natalie, even if you’re working to not love her anymore. Besides, who doesn’t want a free vacation?

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydokii @happysparklingshadows @zhivaxo @maraudeerrs @karsonromanoff @onlyangel-444 @subastronaut

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

#yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader

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fangirleaconmigo · 1 year

Text

Is it too Late (Can we Start Again) Geraskier. 3600 words. Mature. Hurt/Comfort. Geralt taking care of Jaskier and his burns. Gift fic for @masterlokisev159 for the @witcherficwriters Winter Gift Exchange.

Also on ao3

Jaskier had never been a martyr.

After the unpleasant business with Rience, he had planned to take a break from being the Sandpiper until his hands healed. After Yen had left and he’d gotten out of jail, he had gone home.

A young elf had tracked him down at home when he hadn’t shown up to the tavern the first night. Jaskier looked into her eyes and gave his apologies. He showed her his angry, blistered hands.

“I’m so sorry, dear, but I can’t play the lute with burned hands, and I can’t sing a capella for these philistines. The proprietor won’t allow it.”

Surely, someone else could do it for a couple of weeks. That was all it would take to heal up enough to play. He was only human after all, and he wasn’t the only one helping smuggle the elves out. Someone else could play and then sneak them onto the ferry.

But that same night, they closed the ferry to tourists and visitors. Jaskier didn’t know it.

With the ferry closed to visitors, the performer the elves had gotten to take his place was not allowed onto the boat. Jaskier was home for a night of rest when the stranded elves decided to try to swim.

The next morning, Jaskier was walking along the water, headed to his favorite bakery, when he came upon the scene of an elf’s body being fished out of the river.

He ran to the tavern and found a survivor. After listening to the whole story, Jaskier understood his predicament. Under the new rules, he would be the only performer qualified for admittance onto the boat. He was the only one here who could help.

Before things had gotten too bad, he'd bought a place across the water, so he was considered a resident. He was a resident with a gig that warranted his travel back and forth nightly. There was also the matter of his fame, which afforded him a certain amount of protection.

It could only be him.

Jaskier marched directly to a healer and coated his hands in an adhesive that felt like the flames of hell. That had worked his first night back, but the second night, it started peeling.

So, the healer devised a special pair of thin gloves that were thicker than adhesives, but more supple than cloth. It helped for a night, but then his burns began to weep.

But he kept playing. What else could he do?

His friend, Sam, noticed. “Why don’t you take a break?” he asked.

Jaskier laughed a little too loudly, just before downing his tenth shot of whiskey of the night. “I’m a whore for attention, my sweet friend, I’d waste away without a night of the stuff.” He threw his arms wide and stumbled towards the stage. “I just can’t live without the applause, dear Sam.”

If Jaskier had known more about infection, he would have known to be worried when the fever hit.

--------

Geralt of Rivia threw open the door of the tavern. The first sensations to hit him were those of the crowd. Ale. Sweat. Lust.

The second sensation to hit him was his body’s reaction to hearing that voice again. It was sweet and sour. It made him feel joy, followed quickly by shame and guilt. He closed the door quickly and slunk against the wall, looking for a place to watch.

At least he’d made it in time. Jaskier was still upright. Still singing.

He knew his friend must hate him. If Geralt had spoken to him right away after he’d lost his temper, if he had set things right, it wouldn’t be like this. But Geralt had left without a word. It was what he did.

He shouldn’t be there now, he knew that too. But he had to be. Jaskier needed him. He might not want him. But he needed him.

He examined his friend from the cover of a shadowy corner. Jaskier wasn’t prowling the tavern like he normally did. He was perched on a stool. His voice was breathier. His hair was longer. He wore a long leather coat now, and a hat.

The most important bits were the same, though. Those were his eyes. That was his voice. This was the man who Geralt now understood that he loved, though it was far too late to do anything about that. But he could still make himself useful. He could still help.

As Jaskier sang, the crowd hung on every note. Being a witcher, with all the sensory inputs that entailed, was an overwhelming thing when sitting in Jaskier’s audience.

Jaskier always broke open deep wells of longing in his audience. But whether people were feeling those things for memories long past, or for the man in front of them, Geralt never knew. He could never separate it out.

Despite himself, Geralt felt something like territorial anger. He let it subside.

There was no time for his childishness, because the third sensation that swept over him was panic.

Underneath the mass of things to see, smell, taste, and hear in a crowded tavern, lurked an evil, wicked scent too faint for anyone else to detect. It was like vinegar and something rotten.

It was an infection that had spread and turned into something else.

Unlike the audience, Geralt could see the truth of the matter. Jaskier’s eyes weren’t sparkling. They were glassy. His skin wasn’t glowing. That was sweat. The heat radiating from his skin wasn’t the heat of excitement. It was the clamminess of illness. Jaskier held a long note, and finally, looked straight at Geralt.

The bard’s eyes widened in shock. A string twanged and broke. Silence fell. There was an awkward, pregnant pause. Then, Jaskier’s eyes rolled slowly back in his head, and he pitched forward.

His body fell hard from the stool, like an unbalanced sack of bricks. His head would have hit the corner of the table as he fell, but by the time he reached it, he was already in Geralt’s arms.

-------

The first time Jaskier awoke, it was like a nightmare. The world was hazy. His tongue felt fat in his mouth. He could not hold onto reality. It slipped out of focus. It faded from his grasp.

Was he dead? Dying?

As a poet, Jaskier thought often about life and death. The moment of death, he supposed, cut through a lot of shit. The thought that occupied your mind the moment you believed it was all over was the thing you should have lived for. The people who were there by your bed were the ones who lived for you.

And there, in his moment of death, or near death, what he saw surprised him, though it shouldn’t have.

Lurking in the tiny dark room was a gleam of white hair. A glint of feline eyes. He did not know if Geralt was really there or if he only imagined him. But he thought of Geralt, only of Geralt, and he whimpered.

Darkness came for him again, but the inky black could not take everything from him. There was another presence in the pitch black. It was his Witcher sitting by his side. It was the man he thought did not care for him. But he was there, so maybe he did.

Then, there was the cold.

Jaskier was being poked and prodded. Voices floated above his body, arguing with one another.

One voice was low and rumbly and, yes, it was Geralt. His Geralt.

Jaskier’s consciousness slowly flickered to life. He was naked and cold. So cold. It was the kind of deep cold that ached in your bones. It was the kind of stabbing cold that made you want to sell your own grandmother for a shred of warmth. He felt several blankets atop him, but they didn’t seem to help.

“We need a fire.” Geralt sounded angry, but he was hiding it well.

The other man in the room demurred. “They’re rationing our wood and tinder now. We’re all freezing.”

“But he’s sick!” Geralt roared, all of his restraint gone. “He’s in shock!”

The man squeaked in fear and scampered away, slamming the door behind him.

Geralt cursed as many curses as he could summon, calling upon all the languages of the elder races and humanoids put together. He strung them together like a symphony. Jaskier didn’t even know that Geralt knew so many dwarven curses. Then, Geralt plopped down at Jaskier’s side and buried his face in his hands.

His hands. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open for heartbeat, catching a glimpse of them.

They were just as thick as before. Just as gnarled. His hair hung over them in a curtain. His broad shoulders hunched, pinched in grief.

And then he whispered.

“I frightened the man away. I’m sorry, Jaskier. I keep fucking it all up. But I’m here. I don’t know what I’m good for. But I’m here.”

Jaskier shivered. His teeth made a clattering noise. Geralt’s face whipped up and his hand darted to Jaskier’s neck, groping for his pulse.

“Are you awake? Jaskier? Are you there?”

“Cold.” Jaskier croaked. “Cold.”

Geralt disappeared for a second. It was only an instant, but Jaskier felt like the whole sun had been plucked from the sky.

Then there was a cup being tipped to his lips.

“Just sip. Slowly.”

He obeyed. He took a few sips.

“Cold,” he insisted.

Jaskier wrenched his eyelids open again. Geralt’s face was etched deeply with worry. The last time Jaskier had seen him, he’d been angry. Shouting. But now he looked old and tired.

Jaskier had thought that the next time he saw Geralt, he would shout at him.

In his fantasies he would be dressed to the hilt. Sometimes he pictured himself in black, with kohl around his eyes, and hair sweeping his forehead. Sometimes he pictured himself in maroon. It set off his eyes. But no matter what he wore, it would be tailored. It would show off his newly honed athleticism. He would be performing, or at least he would have fans nearby, one of whom would interrupt their conversation asking for a kiss.

Jaskier would grant it of course.

Then he would continue his righteous, angry rant.

He hadn’t planned on being too angry, of course. He couldn’t seem pathetic or out of control. He had settled on expressing a cool, casual anger. He would express himself in verse, and be clever. Geralt, in this fantasy, would say that he had been right. In fact, Jaskier would be so eloquent that Geralt would have no other choice.

You are right Jaskier, I should have never abandoned you.

You are right Jaskier, you do not make my life worse, you make it better.

I love you Jaskier, and I’m no longer afraid to say it.

He would kneel, and Jaskier would decide whether he forgave him or not.

In all of his fantasies, Jaskier forgave Geralt, of course. He pictured walking away from Geralt once, denying him, and he’d almost thrown up.

But now there Geralt was, worry and kindness written on his face. Love bathing in his eyes. It was not the kind of face you shouted at, not if you had a heart beating in your chest. And further, there Jaskier was. No finery. No admirers. Sick. Stinking. Weak. And as for his eloquence, all he could say was...

“Cold.”

Geralt cleared his throat and his eyes darted around the room. He spoke haltingly, unable to finish a single sentence. “I could warm you. But… the best way to do that is… It’s indecent.”

Jaskier allowed his head to roll over, until his eyes locked with Geralt. “Do it,” he croaked.

Jaskier’s eyelids dragged closed again, but he managed to hang onto his consciousness by a sliver. Geralt undressed in the dark, fabric sliding over skin, falling to the ground. He removed each of his rings. They clattered on the nightstand. Then he removed the ties in his hair, and lastly, his medallion.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier’s heart was pounding.

“Maybe this was a bad idea. We have to keep your heart rate steady.”

“Do it,” hissed Jaskier, a tear sliding from one of his eyes.

Geralt’s hands were on him again. Geralt’s lips were pressed to the corner of his eye, blotting out the tear. Then, Geralt climbed into bed with him.

Geralt was a mountain of a man. The bed creaked under him. But he was so gentle. He arranged himself around Jaskier, draping his limbs over him tenderly. Geralt touched him like he was the most precious thing in the world, and would tear if handled carelessly. Geralt pulled the blanket over the two of them, and a refuge of heat formed around them.

Jaskier was in Geralt’s arms, just as he had always dreamed.

“Am I dead?” he croaked.

Geralt kissed his temple. “I thought you were for a minute. You scared the shit out of me. I thought I’d really lost you.”

It was the first time Jaskier had ever heard real fear in Geralt’s voice.

“This is real? This is actually real?”

Jaskier had been experiencing odd visions just before he’d collapsed. What if this was one of them?

“It’s real, Jaskier.”

“Oh, fuck yes.” Jaskier burrowed into his arms, luxuriating in every press of skin. That was Geralt’s chest. His arms. His hips. His scent. His breath. His heartbeat. He rubbed against him like a contented house cat.

Geralt huffed in flattered amusement at Jaskier’s joyous reaction.

When Jaskier had fantasized about being in Geralt’s arms, and he had fantasized about it many times, he figured he would be wildly aroused. But now, he was very ill and all he felt was comfort and love.

Darkness took him again.

He awoke later to the sound of Geralt whispering. “I am sorry, Jaskier. It’s easier to say it when you’re out. I’m a coward, I know. But I’m sorry.”

“Ha, ha,” Jaskier huffed. “‘M ‘wake. Heard you. You’re sorry.”

Geralt smiled softly, obviously relieved to see him awake again.

Jaskier was pressed to Geralt’s chest now, and a pool of drool was formed around his chin.

“‘M sorry too.”

“What are you sorry about?”

“‘been singing that butcher song about you for months like a rotten cunt. And after everything I’ve done to erase the butcher thing, I just...I wasn’t thinking, you know. I was only feeling. And...well...I regret it, my friend. The moment I saw you, it hit me like a stone what I was doing. You aren’t a butcher. You don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.” His voice failed from exhaustion and grief.

They sat for a heavy moment in the silence of their regrets. When Geralt answered, his voice was light but careful. “It’s alright.”

“But it’s not alright.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t. You’ll forgive me, but I will not forgive myself. I could have called you anything.”

It was quiet again. Geralt was the first to speak again. “Your friend Sam--”

“You know Sam?”

“He’s the one who came to find me. Told me you were ill. Said you wouldn’t listen to him.”

“Oh, darling Sam. I owe him one. What did he say?”

“He told me how you got your injuries. Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice choked and he was forced to pause and breathe. “Jaskier,” he continued, “I am going to find Rience and I am going to kill him.”

Geralt said it like it was a simple fact, and Jaskier believed him. But the simple mention of Rience’s name caused him to flinch.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Alright.” Geralt kissed his shoulder.

It was odd how natural it felt. How Geralt had just started kissing him and they were both treating it like it was a normal thing for him to do. They were silent again for several long moments.

“Thank you for coming, Geralt. I didn’t think--”

“I know, Jaskier. I know what you thought, because I know what I said. And I regret that. None of it was true. I wish I could take it back. I do care. And I am here.”

Jaskier lifted his head with difficulty and looked into Geralt’s eyes. “I thought this would be more difficult.”

“What?”

Jaskier smiled, lopsided and wry. “Getting you to apologize. I had it all planned out.”He tried to gesture in his normal manner, but only managed a sad little pirouette of one finger. “If I had only known. All I had to do was get disgustingly ill, look and smell deeply revolting, and you would come running to my aid. You saved my life Geralt. You are my hero yet again.”

Geralt blushed. He never took compliments well. Next, Jaskier knew, Geralt would change the subject. And he did.

“You had it planned out?”

“Obviously. First, I was going to accidentally run into you on a night in which I looked elegant and sophisticated, entirely by accident. I was going to speak my mind eloquently and compel you to see things my way.”

“You don’t have to convince me I was an ass. I know I was.” Geralt smirked and softly dragged his thumb across Jaskier’s forehead, pushing back the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “And I don’t want elegance and sophistication. I want you.”

“Hey. Rude. I’m plenty elegant,” said Jaskier, wiping the crust of drool from his chin with the back of his hand. His hands were still bandaged but felt remarkably improved. Geralt must have employed a magical healer. Jaskier didn’t want to know how much that had set him back.

Geralt chuckled to himself for a moment, but then he cradled Jaskier’s hand and grew serious. “What you’re doing here, Jaskier, for the elves. Helping.”

It was silent again, as Geralt wrestled with his words. Jaskier managed to stay silent.

“That’s what I—” He inhaled and exhaled. He examined Jaskier’s bandages with too much intensity. Then with much effort, he finished his sentence. “That is what I love most about you.”

“Are you saying that Geralt of Rivia is more impressed by kindness than by fashion? I should have known you’d be so boring.”

Geralt hummed in the affirmative. He pulled Jaskier in tighter. He squeezed him until it became laborious to breathe, but Jaskier would sooner faint than tell him to loosen his grip. The Witcher pressed his lips to Jaskier’s ear and began to whisper. Jaskier knew it was easier for him like that, when he could not look into his eyes.

“Can we start again?” Geralt’s voice sounded thick and shaky. “Is it too late?”

Is it too late?

The words echoed like a warning. Like an ill omen. Like a horror story.

Jaskier swallowed hard, pushing away all realities where that was true.

“Oh, Geralt,” he said with an air of superiority, pushing his hair from his face. “Too late is for people who are sensible enough to know when to quit.”

Jaskier pulled away, just enough to see Geralt’s face. He propped himself up on an elbow, his face so close to Geralt that he could see every tiny movement of his expressions. The corners of Geralt’s mouth twitched hopefully.

“Too late, my dear witcher,” Jaskier continued, tracing a bandaged finger along Geralt’s jaw and looking fondly into his eyes, “is for people who have no love left to fight for. It is for people who are cold and dead and in the ground.”

He kissed Geralt’s nose, and watched his Witcher’s face relax. A real smile spread on it, pushing away years and chasing away exhaustion.

“We, my dear man,” Jaskier continued, his chest warmed and his tongue loosened by the sight of hope on his beloved’s face, “are alive and foolish. And as it happens, I love you too.”

“You do?”

“I do. And love is the molten life blood of second chances. So yes, darling Witcher. Yes, my love. Let us start again.”

Geralt laughed and very nearly sobbed. “Fucking poet.”

“Your poet.”

Jaskier cradled Geralt’s face and leaned in. Geralt surged to meet his dry cracked lips, pressing into them, kissing them as though they were the most succulent delicacies in all of creation.

That was what they did that first night.

They touched one another. They showed one another love in ways that did not require words. They kissed and grasped and moaned in the dark.

Jaskier was still weak, so Geralt handled him like bone china, trailing petal soft kisses along his ribs and his neck and his thighs. He looked at him with wonder and only consented to make love to him when Jaskier begged for it, assuring him that he would not break.

Geralt even managed to do that gently, slipping in and out of him with quiet moans, ensuring that he did not put any stress on Jaskier’s hands. It verged upon teasing and Jaskier begged and pleaded and shoved his body back onto Geralt until they both released, giddy and trembling.

That was the shape of the new beginning that dawned in the lives of two old friends that night. Their courage was born in the shadow of terror but it ended in tender caresses traced along new and old scars alike. Their courage reveled in a familiar embrace. It found new ways of touching. It lost count of kisses. It gave a witcher and a bard their second chance in a small back room of an old tavern. And in the midst of war and loss, it brought them hope, and that was the thing that they needed most of all.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #descarada writes #descarada writes geraskier #my fic on ao3

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uldren-sov · 2 months

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Another try

Just a little snapshot of some pre-relationship/sevenmance Camy Rose (Camila Rodriguez-Rose), around 20-21 years old, trying to make something work... again :) When "it's complicated" is only just scratching the surface lolol Camy Rose and Jacqueline are OC's Seven Lawless, Rowan Hart, and the band are all from @infamous-if

✩

Camy is always her best when she’s on stage. The lights, the music, the heat, the crowd, all of it comes together in a perfect way that lets her get out of her own way and forget herself. It’s the perfect relationship: the version of her that she loves most gets on stage and it’s the version that people love. Hell, for a long time no one even saw her and she used to prefer it that way. You can’t be rejected or ignored when there’s no interest in the first place. But that first time on stage was the first time she dared to want that attention, the first time people wanted her, the first time she wanted to be seen. Out of all of the relationships she’s had over the years, friendships and partners alike, her relationship with the stage has been one of her few constants.

Jackie, though? Jackie saw someone more – wanted something more. Another relationship she can add to a comparably far more recent list.

Maybe it was a cliche to want the waitress of a bar they had just played at, but she couldn’t help herself if she tried. Not when Jackie’s full tight curls bounced when she laughed at her jokes, not when Jackie revealed she had a dimple on one side of her mouth as she talked music and art, and definitely not when her dark eyes glittered when she talked about her plans for the future; Camy was inspired as much as she was in awe. It was so rare for her to find someone who she connected with so quickly despite being so different. Their small talk after the set led to talking until the sun rose behind them, and kissing until she was late to class. It was one of the most tame excuses she had for Seven when she got home to explain why she was still in last night’s clothes, but it still had her gushing until her roommate was rolling his eyes and drowning her out by blasting music in his headphones.

That was 62 days ago. And while Jackie saw more than most, Camy Rose has yet to meet someone who wanted to see everything. The bet Rowan has going is that they can alternate who plays the guitar solos if she can keep a partner down for 90 days.

She wished she came close.

Still, nothing can compare to a performance, everything else fades away especially when it’s one as good as tonight’s. It’s their biggest venue to date, the crowd was alive, the band sounded great, and she and Seven could not be more in tune with each other – musically, mentally, truly everything was just perfect. The crowd’s energy was infectious, so when she danced her way to him, he wasn’t surprised. His eyes lit up when she covered his hand with hers to steal his mic for her part, tilting it to her to sing. It was impossible to look away from him and even as the lights bared down on them they were nothing next to how bright his smile was as they locked eyes, how his eyes glinted as he pulls the mic back to sing his part, how he practically glowed with his energy and effort and how it made wisps of his long hair stick to his skin. Back and forth, they shared his mic through the short rally of lyrics, leaning closer and closer until their harmony ends on their high note. She dissolved into soft laughter as she let go of him and returned to her own mic. Fuck, it was fun when they were locked in like this.

The rest of their set was perfect, or at least she thought it was. Because now she’s left chasing, following, feeling like she’s trying to hold onto sand that just keeps slipping through her fingers, as she’s jogging after Jackie as they wind through backstage. She said she’s leaving with or without Camy, while Camy’s left racking her brain for how she fucked up this time.

“Can we at least talk about this?” she fixes the rolled up sleeves of her flannel shirt as she accidentally elbows - and apologizes to - yet another staff member as they rush past.

“What is there left to say?” Jackie throws over her shoulder, and the disappointment hurts far more than any of Jackie’s anger. Pulling off to a side hallway that led to the stairway exit, she’s able to run and stop Jackie with a gentle grab of her hand. Despite her opened shirt and exposed bralet she was still burning up from the performance, having just run off stage, and she’ll admit it: stopping Jackie while knowing she looks like this might make her girlfriend think about what she’ll be losing if she leaves now. She’s come a long way from the mousy girl she was in high school and she knows it, and something tells her she’s going to need everything to get through this. A quick glance down her body from Jackie’s dark eyes makes her think maybe it’s working, but she know’s that’s only the start.

“Tons! So much. Please, whatever it is we can work it out, let’s just get on the same page here.” She stands before her now, searching her face, searching for Jackie’s other hand to hold. She’s beautiful and her makeup is immaculate on top of it, Jackie is immaculate, is perfect, so how could she feel as though this is anything but her own fault here? Yes, things were getting tense between them. Yes, they were seeing each other less due to – a lot of different reasons, but that didn’t mean they had to do anything hasty! Right?

“I don’t think there is a same page for us here anymore, Camila,” she regards her coolly and a muscle twitches in Camy’s jaw. Despite the sweat and heat, an immediate chill soaks through to her bones. Did she regret telling Jacqueline about her name at the time? No. Does she now? Well. “I saw all I needed to.”

“Whoa, what?” She stiffens. Now, she wasn’t expecting this. “Saw what? The performance? You’ve seen us perform that’s how we met, that’s how we started.”

“It’s not that. It’s just – I get that I’m new in your life, I do. I get that I’m an outsider when it comes to a lot of what you go through, of what and how your life is. I get that making time for us is hard with what’s on both of our plates. I understand and I hope, after everything I’ve done - we’ve done, I’ve shown that,” she begins in a measured tone that repeats all the issues they have already worked through. Or at least, Camy thought they had worked through. But she shifts on her feet even as she keeps gentle hold of Jacqueline’s hands. Already her heart starts to pound and her pulse starts keeping a beat in her ears. So much for being seen, for being understood, for being...

But, where’s the but. “But-” Right on cue. “Oh, don’t give me that look.”

“What look? No, I just appreciate you going back to all the things that you already had an issue with when you’re now about to add to it,” she can’t help herself as she already starts to heat up.

“It’s valid criticism, don’t be such a child.”

“And now I’m a child for being upset over you having a list of things you don’t approve of in my life again. If you get it, if you wanted to make the effort to understand, you wouldn’t bring it up like you’re glorifying your sacrifices.” Maybe not a child but she didn’t say anything about petty. “I’m an artist, if I couldn’t handle criticism I wouldn’t have gotten where I am now, so don’t insult me too.” But that wasn’t anything new, what’s new? She grinds her teeth as energy starts to charge under her skin.

“Don’t turn this on me. Because all of that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t even talk to you when it comes to trying to make some space for me. Camila, I can’t trust you. I can’t trust you to include me in your life when it matters, I can’t trust you not to keep me out,” Jacqueline takes her hands away. “And I can’t trust you around Seven.” Camy’s stomach drops and she lurches straight, she can’t help but immediately pull up her guard.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you really expect me to believe I’m not some kind of an experiment?” Jacqueline scoffs. A narrow of her eyes sharpens the chill in her blood and turns something vicious on her tongue; lots of meanings to that, and she wonders if Jacqueline means them all.

“He has nothing to do with any of this!”

“There’s not going to be any space for anyone else with him there!”

“He’s my best friend, and my roommate. Do you want to pay for half my rent instead?” She can’t help but raise her voice at this. It twists her stomach to want to defend this, to be in this position in the first place, and to cheapen her friendship with Seven like this. Crossing her arms she squares herself up for the finale, because now? Now, there was no talking this down, there was only talking through. Last minute barbs, critiques, before the inevitable farewell.

“You’re wearing his shirt,” she says. Simple, straight, to the point, and shot through her heart. The heat that washes down her spine has nothing to do with the heat of the performance as the embarrassment and shame sinks into her. Silence weighed heavily on her now as she chewed on her tongue, losing the game of chicken as she has to look away.

“So we’re just saying fuck it to sides of the closet now,” Seven said, breezing through their bedroom as he chucked on some deodorant.

“If you want to pull from my half go ahead,” she grins as she fixes the sleeves and after a second of consideration in the mirror, undoes another button to really show off. “Don’t complain just because I look better in your clothes than you.”

“Better? Ha, sure. I’d say we should test it out, but I don’t think Jackie would approve,” he replied. They find each others eyes in their reflection and she presents her choker to him.

“Probably not. Guess you’ll just have to live with defeat.” He rolls his eyes as she grins and gathers her long hair up, letting him thread her choker around her neck. Something brief catching as their eyes meet in the mirror when he dusts his fingertips over her neck to clasp it, brief because he’s quick to skitter away after. Whatever.

The shirt feels heavy and itchy and uncomfortable now; indecent almost, like somehow it means something – something that it doesn’t! She sets her jaw as she chews through the shame, staring down at her scuffed, worn high-tops, and just shakes her head free of the blame Jacqueline is trying to assign to her.

“You know what, I also don’t need all this insecurity over my friends.” She says with a weight she hopes feels like a judge’s gavel. Jacqueline’s jaw drops open, scoffing in response but Camy still shrugs sharply in the face of her, well, ex’s outrage. “And at least we don’t have to do the song and dance of the ‘let’s stay friends’ lies, huh? You can go fuck off now, I’m done chasing,” she sniffs casually and settles her hands on her hips instead, glaring down dismissively at those gorgeous fucking eyes for the last time.

"At least I can face the truth when I see it, Camila, and confront it. I thought you were just a coward in denial, but now I see you’re completely fucking delusional." Jackie marches right by her, catching her shoulder on the way out as she stares at where Jackie once stood. The door bangs and reverberates down the hallway as it crashes out and bounces back closed.

Sinking into herself she slowly collapses down further and further, curling until her knees are into her chest and her hands are deep in her hair. No more hot air, no more excuses, Jackie was way too smart to not have her points and…

“Dammit,” she hisses, “fuck, fuck, fuck!” Was that really so wrong? Is it- are they really just that fucked? At some point, when can she just take responsibility that - that what? She can’t even start to approach whatever the fuck is going on in her fucking life, let alone whatever the fuck is happening with her and Seven now. The shirt she wore felt as charged as Jackie made it and in a rush she rips it off over her head and spikes it onto the floor. Why the fuck would she wear his shirt? Of course that was fucking dumb. She’s with someone why is she doing this? She shoves the heels of her hands against her eyes as she digs her chin into her chest. Fucking shirt, fucking stupid, stupid move.

The AC is cold and clammy on her bare back, it and the misery sinks into her meat and bones, and she’s pretty sure she hears people walking around way behind her. She should really wear the stupid shirt. Can she get arrested for indecent exposure if she’s still wearing a bra? Probably. She drops her hands and stares at the crumpled bit of flannel as the wave of anger ebbs and the resignation flows onto the shore of her emotions.

Jackie was so out of her league, she actually knew what she wanted to do with her life and was gorgeous on top of it. She had a plan, direction, and a goals for one, five, and ten years. What the hell were they even doing together? What the fuck did she see in her: struggling, working, student-slash-singer-songwriter? Her goal is a dream, nothing less and some days nothing more.

She’ll do anything but try and confront what’s right in front of her, won’t she?

She sighs heavily, dragging the shirt over to her, dragging it back over her head, but not yet dragging herself back up, not yet dragging her pieces back together. Not yet. Not while she can feel bad about the relief this bout of heartbreak gives her, not while she can wallow in how she doesn’t even cry over this.

She hugs the shirt around her, folding the top closed. It did feel nice to wear, to settle into the warmth of it, the comfort of it. It makes all those sharp things just a little softer.

“Was gonna ask what my shirt did to you,” Seven’s voice rings out from behind her and she flinches. It’s not only because she’s feeling sensitive about what really is happening in front of her, but mostly because she can’t deny what a relief it is to hear from him right now. “But figured something else went down. You okay?” He knows better, but the undercurrent of what he’s saying is there, and she hears what he didn’t say as clear as what he did. The hand on her back bleeds warmth back into her, the familiarity a flood that gets rid of all the anxiety and chill of her fight. Wordlessly she gets to her feet and threads her arms around his chest tight, taking refuge in the heart she knows so well.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she pulls her face from his shoulder, but doesn’t let go. “I will be.” Her eyes slide close as he rubs her back, putting the pieces of her back together wordlessly as she lets herself sink against him. “Just have to tell Rowan I lost his stupid bet again.”

#Infamous IF #Infamous OC #Seven Lawless #OC: Camy Rose #I'm sure there's a reasonable reason as to why her relationships fail #and maybe she WAS seen hmm? lolol #Anyways I was inspired so here <33 #my writing

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slytherheign · 1 year

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MIDNIGHT RAIN | matt murdock

PAIRING: matt murdock x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: you got what you wanted, a life in the spotlight as a famous singer. but at what cost?

WARNINGS: breakup, insecurities, and mentions of bruises. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by taylor swift’s song with the same title. dedicated to @writingstoraes, thanks for requesting a matt fic inspired by midnight rain.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THINGS MIDNIGHT RAIN (reviews, commentary, etc. about this fic).

It was nearing midnight.

The television crackled while the pouring rain decided to dance along with the ticking hands of the clock.

Matt had an exhausting day. Left battered and littered with bruises, his couch desperately called his body to lie on it.

He chuckled, continuing to make the sandwich he was hoping would be enough to ease his hunger. It was moments like this where he missed having someone else in his apartment. Someone else who cared for him even more than he cared for himself. Someone like you. You. Just you. He missed you.

He remembered how different it was when he still had you. He could fight thousands of men and still wouldn’t feel any sign of exhaustion because at the end of the day he knew he would be coming back home to you.

Today was different, though. Today, he was exhausted.

He opened the fridge, feeling the light it emitted even in the absence of his vision. He intended to grab the pack of ham only to find out he had none. Sighing, he closed it shut and got ready to go to the nearest convenience store that was still open.

Again, he remembered you. The fridge was always full when you still regarded his apartment as your home. You had a hobby of going grocery shopping every Saturday night, sometimes with him but most times just by yourself. Granted, you had to dress yourself up with some sort of disguise to keep off the press, but you didn’t mind. You loved going to the grocery, always having a list to guide you through what and what not to buy.

“An empty fridge is an empty home.” That was what you always told him. He had never felt that sentence to be more accurate than it was before until now. You were right, you were always right. But you forgot to tell him one thing, though. And he’s angry at you for it. You didn’t tell him, or at least even warned him, that it didn’t matter if the fridge was full, because a home would still be empty if you weren’t in it.

The trip to the grocery store went by rather quickly. He got what he wanted, smiled at the old woman behind the counter even though he wasn’t feeling it, and then headed back to his apartment.

He noticed that the television still played as he opened the door. He must’ve forgotten to turn it off before leaving. He didn’t care. He went inside, heading straight to the kitchen while allowing the television to play in his background. The Tonight Show was live, the host said something about someone performing a new song later but he paid it no mind.

He placed the grocery bag atop the kitchen counter, grabbing the ham to put it on the chopping board. He opened the plastic covering and started slicing them carefully. “Not too thick, not too thin, just in between,” he murmured, smiling as he found himself repeating the same exact words you said when you once taught him how to make your ‘special’ sandwich.

That was when he heard it.

His little moment of nostalgia was interrupted by a voice singing on the television screen. He gripped the handle of the knife tightly. Too tight that it was starting to hurt his hand.

He knew that voice all too well.

He could recognize it anywhere.

He could never forget it.

The voice of an angel.

You.

It was nearing midnight.

You sat in the room designated for you, waiting for your cue to start performing. You stared at the clock just beside the door, anxiously waiting for the hands to point at the number 12. Because the moment it does, your new single would be out for the whole world to listen to.

“Midnight Rain” was what you named it. It was for all the sleepless nights spent thinking about the reasons why you had to let go of the love of your life, and for all the sacrifices that must be made for the best of both parties. Based on your most recent and most painful breakup that happened on a rainy midnight.

Matt Murdock was a wish came true for you. A handsome lawyer who truly cared for his clients. A loyal, charming, and thoughtful lover. He was everything you ever wanted and more.

But even without the sense of sight, you knew the spotlight you carried everywhere was too blinding for him.

He was secretive, you knew he carried a secret he was never comfortable sharing but you never forced him. And although you trusted him a lot, it was that reason that mainly injured your healthy relationship.

He liked to keep it laid back. Whenever you two were out and you see a glimpse of paparazzi incoming, he would apologize and move slightly away from you. He also changed the topic whenever you brought up that you wanted to announce your relationship in public. You only confronted him once, and it was the night you broke things off.

Some people say that differences made relationships stronger. You begged to differ.

Matt was the most wholesome person you’ve ever known. Secretive, yes, but wholesome nonetheless. He was the embodiment of sunshine. A bright force against this dark world. That was why when you were together, you felt guilty and selfish because you were holding him back from what he really deserved. You always wanted to make your own name. You knew you were made for a life in the spotlight and he wasn’t.

Compared to his sunshine, you were midnight rain.

“Y/N, you’re up!” you heard someone yell. You glanced at the clock once again—both hands pointing at number 12. It was time to sing the song.

It was midnight.

Matt knew because of the sound his clock made whenever it struck 12. The rain continued and the clock kept moving, but he didn’t. He tried to shift his focus back on making his sandwich but your voice was too beautiful not to pay attention to.

Your voice was a dangerous ocean. And God, he was drowning.

He was sunshine, I was midnight rain

He wanted it comfortable

I wanted that pain

He wanted a bride

I was making my own name

Chasing that fame

He stayed the same

All of me changed like midnight

Were you singing about him?

He was never one to assume, but in case the lyrics were really about him, he would tell you that not every lyric was true.

You were perfect. A wish came true for him. The most gorgeous woman to ever step on earth. A talented singer with a heart of gold. A goddess in human form. You were everything he ever wanted and more.

It was true. He never liked the spotlight. Call it natural instincts or an unusual ability to sense danger, but whenever he would see a camera heading towards you, his first thought would be to step away and hide. He found comfort in shadows, in hiding behind his mask—but that’s a story for another time.

He was secretive, that he can admit. He never told you anything about Daredevil. You only knew the lawyer that was Matt Murdock but never his other persona. He was a liar. He knew you were starting to have your suspicions, so he found himself lying over and over again to keep you from knowing.

His secrets were the main reason your relationship ended. He knew that you regarded your relationship as healthy but for him it never was. He was lying almost every day at your face. Saying things like he needed a “really long time” to ponder over a client’s case when the truth was he was fighting crime on the streets. Hell, he even rented another apartment you knew nothing about so he could stay there when he had a lot of obvious bruises.

He felt guilty. Selfish, even. You had told him everything about you. Each joy and heartbreak, he knew about it. But you never knew and would never know everything about him.

When you once confronted him about why he didn’t want to publicly announce your relationship, he admitted that he sometimes felt insecure about being blind and that a star like you deserved better than a blind man. And even though you had reassured him countless times that you didn’t care about his condition, it was an insecurity he couldn’t help and control. Whether it was his insecurities or his secrets, he concluded he was not the best for you.

He lied that midnight when everything broke, he told you he wanted it comfortable and laid back. The truth was his life would never be comfortable. But he had to say it to push you into ending the relationship because he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it by himself.

If anything, you were the sunshine, and he was the midnight rain.

A tear slipped from his eye at the same time you finished singing. He sighed sadly, slightly smiling for a moment before deciding to put the food away in the fridge. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

Regrets were eating him up. All the what-ifs and what could’ve been. He swore he could feel the huge LED screen from outside his apartment laughing at his current state. But he couldn’t do anything.

Midnight rains had never felt lonely until now.

He just wished you knew one thing. That he would never like the spotlight but he wouldn’t mind it as long as he was with you. And when someone would ask him where his bride was, he would say that she was making her own name.

Maybe someday, the midnight rains would turn into bright mornings and sunny days.

Maybe someday, he could finally reveal his secrets.

Maybe there was still a chance for starting over again.

But then again, an angel was never meant for a devil.

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thesnailtail · 26 days

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;; haruan thoughts again because im actually looking at the line distribution for the april fools covers. and??? it's impossible to match up haruka and an's lines 1 for 1 because of the number of people being different person cover but a lot of them do match up either way.

;; tw: mentions of familial death

;; spoilers for: the more more jump! main story, beyond the dream on that day, the vivid old tale and light up the fire

;; they both have the opening two lines about emotions being useless no matter what. and the both of them have emotions they deem "useless" to their goals.

;; we know from beyond the dream on that day that haruka has problems expressing her emotions and is confused as a kid as to why she can't smile like the other kids her age. on the other hand, an is shown to be very expressive in a vivid old tale, to the point of most of the people around her being able to tell what she's feeling at any given point. during chapter 5 she notes that if her unhappiness is audible in her singing, then she just needs to try harder. both of them have different reactions to their own emotions, but they come to the same conclusion. if they appear unhappy and other people notice, then they need to try harder to mask that. they think this as young kids. so imagine that but perpetuated by themselves over several years. and that's how you get main story+ haruka and an! who's relationships with their emotions are even more questionable. because an is still open to talk about problems but adopts a "fuck it we ball" mindset with her own. then (as far as im aware) she hasn't voiced any of her fears regarding the future of vbs to them, because what she's afraid of mirrors what happened with nagi, taiga and her dad when she was a kid. light up the fire also happens but i haven't read that event.. and haruka likely ignored many of her 'negative' emotions during her idol work because they didn't fit in with her image. within mmj, regarding the person problems of the members, haruka (especially in the early events) tends to focus on getting rid of or ignoring the problem rather than dealing with it properly.

;; in the april fools cover haruka gets the line ""no one can oppose, so abide by your desires"", which is interesting because that is the opposite of what she does. she had to have an entire event dedicated to her to say "you're allowed to relax and enjoy yourself, you know that right?"

;; the next line both of them share between the vbs and april fools cover is the third and fourth lines in the chorus, describing how if you see your life as "incorrect" you can throw it away.

;; haruka can fit into this line in the sense that she threw her dream away because she felt she did something "incorrect" (failed to help and unintentionally hurt someone). knowing full well that it was what brought her lots of happiness. an, on the other hand, had someone else try to throw her dream away, because of something she was unaware of at the time, causing her to (at least for a period of time (??)) view the place she grew up in as cruel and "incorrect".

;; the next lyric is in the last chorus, which is about how believing in others blindly can lead them to bury their own beliefs in favour of others', and the singer(s) questioning that (??).

;; an, who was told by everyone around her that nagi was alive and well, and she believed them because she trusted them fully. only to learn that she wasn't, it was kept from her, and for her to question everything she knew about her home.

;; and haruka who listened to the people (one person) around her and buried a part of herself in an attempt to make them happy. because that's all she wanted to do. only for her to go between regretting that choice and fully believing it was the right thing to do.

;; LAST LYRIC!! about how the way people share certain ideals or lies as fact disillusions others.

;; an, was lied to for three years of her life, leading to her own disillusionment of everything she held dear.

;; haruka, who caused someone's disillusionment with something that brought them hope, who tried to stop someone else from finding out the truth so that they could keep their ideals in tact and who personally? was left with her own disillusionment because of her guilt!

;; so yeah, i think both of their devil's manner covers are banger. i love them <3

#the amount of times i just wanted to write “and haruka who is a dick!” because when referencing early mmj events - SHE IS.#i love her but dear miku?? its especially bad in more more xmas and back #<- i get why she was a jerk but off the top of my head she's the one minori tries the hardest to convince in more more xmas to let fans hel #sorry that was a side tangent #I LOVE HARUAN <3 #also i was really making educated guesses on most of the stuff to do with an - the only event of hers ive read in full is vivid old tale..#i love her but i just keep forgetting to read her events.. :(#project sekai #haruka kiritani #an shiraishi #shiraishi an #kiritani haruka #haruan

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9thbutterfly · 19 hours

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I need to whine a bit, and if any of you have suggestions, please go ahead.

Specifically, whine about sleep, the toddler's and mine, and tangentially the husband's.

Part of me is like, "you're a wimp, this isn't nearly as bad as ages 4-8 months, when OR never slept more than an hour at a time, would only go back to sleep by nursing, and I had to go to work as well."

But then again, I could mostly set my own hours, and take a nap at lunchtime/take regular breaks for nursing during work (I brought OR to work with me at that time).

Now I mostly work 8-6, without any breaks long enough for a nap. Then I get home, try to get some dinner into me and OR, and then it's their bedtime. If we're lucky, we have a bit of time left to play/read together.

I mean. At least they now tolerate LG taking them to bed. There was a time when it was all Mama, Mama, all the time, and LG trying to do bedtime got screaming and crying. Now we take turns, so at least every other day I actually have time to shower and tidy up a bit.

(except that I'm usually still frustrated, because LG loses track of time, or spends ages on the toilet, and bedtime ends up being late if I don't remind him and/or do things that he should be doing.)

Anyway, then we get to bed and it's wriggle time. OR wants me to lay down with them, so I'm constantly getting kicked and grabbed and my hair pulled and my covers pulled off and so on.

They used to fall asleep easily with their bottle (and yeah, I know they should have stopped bedtime bottles long ago, but we haven't had the energy to deal with it) but now that no longer works, and they will just wriggle and twist around and talk and talk and keep themselves awake, and I can't figure out how to get to calm down and fall asleep.

And it would maybe be easier if I weren't in the bed with them, but I'm so tired that I just want to lie down too, and I don't have the resources left for a lot of singing/storytelling/whatever (apart from the fact that at least half the time, that just makes them more wound up).

And then most nights they wake up at some point and call for us, and it's always me who wakes up first, and me who goes over, because by the time LG wakes up, OR would be even more awake and scared because noone is coming, and then we're back in Wriggleville, and I have been awake since 3:30 now, and have a long and busy day ahead of me and just want to either cry or kill someone.

I mean. Some changes are obvious. If the bottle is no longer helping them, they could just have milk before brushing their teeth. But the bottle still has about 20% chance of putting them to sleep, and what do I do instead? I need to not be in the bed with them, but where else do I go that's tolerable to my tired body? I thought about buying a beanbag chair, but there is no fucking room for buying anything/if I need to move one more thing to be able to vacuum I will start just chucking everything out of the window.

#9thbutterfly life #(not so) obscure reference

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diodellet · 1 year

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uso pa ba ang harana? (jamil viper x gn!reader)

translation: is serenading still in style? me to jamil: oh ur a dancer? WEH DI NGA... DANCE AROUND THIS!!! *throws out long-distance pining and crippling shyness* content warnings: light desc of bleeding and finger injuries ++otherwise, enjoy some yearning and mild romantic tension, this work is mildly unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. word count: 841 words

“You won’t form calluses if you just force yourself to practice.”

“I know! But—ow!” You can feel tears spring to your eyes at the sensation of the tape being pulled off. Risking a glance, you see spots of red gathering on the tip of your left index finger.

“No buts.” His hold on your wrist tightens, keeping you from flinching away.

You grumble, “...you said you were going to be gentle.”

“I am. Stop being a baby.” Jamil continues to peel off the masking tape you wrapped around your fingertips. His words are admonishing, but for the most part, he seems to be taking care not to further aggravate the injury. “You could have avoided this altogether if you taped your fingers before you practiced.”

He’s not looking at you, focused on peeling away the tape that covered your right hand’s index finger. That one was hurting the most, so of course, it had the most tape wrapped around it.

You sigh, bracing for the incoming pain. “I just want it to be perfect, if not perfect then…at least—” The tape comes off. “—ugh, that one looks horrible.”

At least, Cater had the foresight to help you replace the guitar’s strings before you started practicing. No risks of tetanus here! (Or at least, you hoped so.)

“It doesn’t seem infected at least,” Jamil observes before instructing you to wash off the blood at the infirmary’s sink area. After returning to him, you let him treat the wounds properly.

You try not to think about how your hand was about to start sweating. Or how you can barely feel the sting of the antiseptic, the light dab of the cotton over the wound.

(Because as much as he was cutting with his words, Jamil Viper’s actions betrayed his hidden gentle side.)

“You were saying about ‘wanting it to be perfect’?”

“Not perfect,” you correct him, “It should at least be on beat and in tune with no slipup of the lyrics.”

“So basically, perfect,” he concludes.

“...I guess, yeah.” Your resigned response pulls a quiet, amused laugh from him.

(Who wouldn’t want to sing perfectly when serenading someone? How else would your feelings reach them, if not through a perfect performance?)

“You do know that the Pop Music Club doesn’t really perform, right?”

You knew, but you needed to borrow a guitar from some place. “It’s not—I’m not going to be performing with them, I just…”

“You just…?”

“...I have something I want to…tell someone…through a song…” You shrug, shoulders helplessly rising with the motion. “And I just, really want this song to be good for hi—for them.”

The expression of fond exasperation disappears from Jamil. “Ah, I see.” Replaced with the usual mask of indifference he wore. It does little to hide his soured mood. He continues treating your other hand in silence.

Does he think that you were talking about someone else? No, you misspoke—

The words feel like lead in your throat, refusing to come out. Or if they did, they’d tumble messily along with your heart and the other feelings you’ve tried (and failed) to keep under wraps.

“There, done.”

“Thank you.” His handiwork is neat, without any protrusions from the band-aids. But completed with the cold efficiency that he did everything else.

You might as well rip off the metaphorical band-aid while you were at it.

“Would you… I mean—after my fingers've healed up… and whenever you’re not too busy…would you be willing to listen to the song…?”

He pieces everything together, much too quickly for your liking. But you can't look away from his expression, because your bandaged hand was still resting on his palm. (And more than that, you needed to know even if he was going to say no, because what would be the point of you practicing the damn song in the first place?)

Instead Jamil’s eyes light up with mirth, his lips curving into a smirk. The kind of expression he makes when there’s no one around to watch him.

(But you know of it, because you spend too much time looking at him.)

And to have it directed at you—it does terrible, terrible things to your heart.

“What if I asked you to give me a short demonstration right now?” Jamil asks, the smile growing on his face. Bright, contagious excitement barely restrained in his irises. His fingers are enclosed around your wrist again, you can’t escape.

He’s so close. Your gaze quickly turns away to your other bandaged hand as you weakly stammer a response, “But…what about my hands?” Your cheeks feel warm, too warm.

(Because a part of you knows very well that you would fold, if it was for him.)

Laughter freely spills from him. This sight—this moment, coupled with the golden light of the afternoon sun filtering through the infirmary’s windows, you’re completely entranced by it.

“I was kidding, I can wait,” Jamil reassures you. His features soften into a rare smile. “I’m rooting for you.”

A/N: i'll leave the actual song up to yalls imagination (or not, click link if u dare). i gotta confess that the moment i saw jamil i--🥴wanted to serenade him🥴 IT IZ EMBARRASSING BUT HUHU THE FEELING PERSISTS.... EVEN UNTIL NOW.... i got sidetracked from my current wip (HMM sino kaya may kasalanan dyan HMMMMM 🐍) and ive still got one more jamil wip in the works and im tryna muster the courage to finish it. these next uploads might be on the shorter end, but yee i hope you enjoyed reading this. dont be afraid to rb and holler in the tags ahaha💕💕 tagging my fellow simps😇😇: @merotwst @mochimiyaas

#dellet-writings #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #g/n reader

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