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moumouton4 · 10 months

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What A Lovely Coincidence || Sasuke Uchiha x reader

A/n : Totally forgot about this wip I finished a while ago. I retook it and I think it's perfect lmao. I hope y'all will like it 🎁 I've gt the idea while walking in the street on my way to the bakery to buy a baguette 🥖 if you wanna know 😂

Warnings : Fluff, heavy make out session

Summary : As you return from your mission, you realize that someone is following you. Little do you know that your boyfriend had missed you quite a lot. But it's Sasuke y'all don't expect much from him… unless… 👀

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Words count : 1485

You leapt from branch to branch across the forest at breakneck speed, splitting the distance to Konohagakure with each passing second. You'd just finished a mission that had lasted about a week, and you were slowly making your way back home.

You were looking forward to seeing everyone again, as well as your boyfriend Sasuke, who had left a few days before your departure and should have returned about 2 days ago.

As you moved forward, however, you felt chakra about 10 meters from you, but your speed made it impossible to determine its source. You felt the source getting closer, so you decided to accelerate so you could hide in case someone tried to ambush you.

Once you're safely tucked away in your hiding place, you wait patiently, imagining that the source would go away, but despite your precautions you felt it getting closer. So you draw the kunai from your boot and held it tight in your hand in anticipation of what's about to happen.

The chakra you felt was familiar, but no matter how much you racked your brains, you couldn't answer why this person you knew outwardly wouldn't have come straight to you and been playing hide-and-seek in the trees.

You had to admit that this person wasn't making any noise, but you could still hear them behind you. In a split second you stood up, kunai still in your hand. Out of habit, you brandished it at the other person's throat, grabbing their arm. The other person, however, had managed to dodge your blow and grab the arm of the hand that held in a split second.

It's when you refocused on the situation that you realized your mistake. At the time, you felt foolish not to have recognized your boyfriend's chakra. You wasted no time in putting the kunai back into the holster on your boot before taking him in an embrace.

It's only a matter of a quarter of a second before he's back in the habit of wrapping his arms around you, patting you gently on the back. When you pulled away, you saw his gaze sweep over your body, searching for any wound.

"Hi, handsome, do you often hang around here ?" you said playfully.

Pink started to creep up his cheeks as he turned his head to the side. You had a gift for breaking his facade, that was undeniable. Nevertheless, he managed to respond to your greeting.

His gaze was so intense you could tell he was dying to tell you all sorts of things. So you try to make conversation as you started walking towards Konohagakure, this time on the hard floor.

"I'm surprised to see you here. Wasn't your mission over a while ago ? How long have you been back in Konohagakure ?"

"I'm not back yet" he replied in a calm tone, looking straight ahead.

"What do you mean ? Did your mission last longer than expected ? Nothing too bad I hope" you turned to him, inspecting him briefly as he had done to you, but with his cloak on him was difficult to see anything.

"No, don't worry, everything went fine" he replied, as calm as ever.

But your curiosity was still piqued "But then what are you doing here ? Don't get me wrong it pleases me a lot that you're the first person I see on my return but I don't understand"

He tried to remain calm and composed but couldn't stop the 2nd wave of red rising in his cheeks. He tried to speak. To tell you that yes, he'd come home more slowly than planned, so that you'd pass each other on the way home. So he could spend time with you. Without Naruto and Neji, your respective best friends.

And without having to "make a fool" of himself inviting you to a date, as he thinks he does. He's lucky it's you, because he's right, it borders on the ridiculous. For example, the last time he came out of a training session and asked you "Do you want to experience something different ?" yes, that was his way of asking you to go on a date with him. Good thing you have the built-in Sasuke-translator.

You snapped him out of his thoughts by taking his hand. His head snapped immediately towards you and from there you could observe his rose-tinted cheeks.

"You know you can tell me if the mission went poorly" you said, your gaze softening.

Damn it, he wanted everything except for you to start worrying about him. He cleared his throat before speaking, "Everything went fine, don't worry. I... I just wanted to get in more slowly to... coincide with our arrivals...." he said his gaze fixing on a tree behind you.

On your side your brain was firing like a Turing machine ( a computer ), we could almost see the cog of the load in your eyes. And then suddenly they sparkled as a smirk appeared on your lips "Ooooh I see then" you said before standing on tiptoe to catch his gaze "And are you satisfied that we've coincided ?"

"The weather's been pretty good so-" you didn't give him time to finish his evasive answer and grabbed his shoulders before lowering him to your level and kissing him. His arms froze at his sides and his eyes widened. But as you pulled back, his hands shot to your waist and he pulled you firmly against him. His lips pressed fiercely against yours, causing you to pull your head back slightly. This way he could express all the longing and love he had for you without making a fool of himself with his evasive, enigmatic wording.

As you tilted your head to deepen the kiss, you felt his hands on your hips tighten. He delicately opened his mouth and swiped his tongue on your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you immediately gave in to. You spent a moment like this, your tongues caressing each other in a gentle battle of dominance.

Finally when you parted his eyes were wide at his own actions. A few moments before, he'd never have thought of doing that - not that it was an unfamiliar thing for you both, but for someone as far-sighted as he was, he'd never seen it coming. You always found a way to keep him on his toes after all.

As he held your body tightly against his, you asked again, "And now, are you happy to have coincided with me ?"

"Yes very much so" he said now completely flushed, his face nestled against your neck.

"Then it's perfect !" you said cheerfully. Then he pulled away, immediately looking the other way as his hand took yours in a firm grip that evoked both his love for you and his devotion.

As you made your way back to the village, you spoke again "If you like, later we could coincide at Ichiraku's and then go to my place to watch a movie"

You felt his hand squeeze yours tighter, a little chuckle passing from his lips at the way you'd just proposed a date. He had the impression of hearing himself... except he could never have finished the sentence that way "That would be very pleasant" he replied, trying to suppress the hint of entousiam and excitement in his voice.

As Konohagakure entered your line of sight, you couldn't help the flutter in your heart at the thought of your evening tonight. The quiet meal that awaited you, where you could talk about your respective missions. The undoubtedly short walk in the night that Sasuke would ask for as per usual. And how he'd make room for you under his cloak, pulling you in by the shoulder and pushing you flush against him to discuss more personal matters, knowing he was protected by the veil of night. And then finally the warmth of his body behind yours as you watched the movie. His hand holding yours while his arm is wrapped protectively around your waist, and his legs are entangled with yours.

It's one of those intimate moments when he feels safe and allows himself to be vulnerable. Where he'd allow himself to place little kisses on your neck while his cold feet sought warmth against yours.

Sasuke, too, was extremely eager to get back into a more intimate setting with you so he could catch up and just show you the love he has for you in complete freedom. You heard him take a slight breath before whispering "I can't wait"

You smiled from ear to ear as you turned your head towards his "Me too, Sasuke. Me too" you said, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. A small smile appeared on his face as your eyes met again. This evening was sure to be eagerly awaited and thoroughly enjoyed.

A/n : I hope you guys liked it ! 🍣🍜 Again my requests are open 🍯🍮

Taglist : @foxxymunson, @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople, @glossy1pearl, @jane57sstuff

#naruto #naruto imagine #naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden imagine #sasuke uchiha imagine #sasuke uchiha #sasuke uchiha fluff #sasuke uchiha x reader #sasuke uchiha x reader fluff #sasuke x reader #fluff #miri-writes

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melancholicbutterflies · 10 months

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Now Hold On, Baby

Prompt: Elvis and his buddies are tossing the football around and you accidentally get hit. Needless to say, he more than makes up for it.

wc. 1,570

warnings: my awful understanding of medicine, elvis being a southern gentleman.

A/N: wow two fics in two days i'm impressed with myself LOL. I said i was gonna do football!elvis fic and i did! not sure why all my fics lately have been so fluff-based, but there ya go. there are potential other avenues i could go down with this setting, so if there's interest i may further develop the fic :O

"What a nice day to study outside," you remarked, smiling as you seated yourself in one of the nearby Adirondack chairs with your friend, Janie on the college's green.

"I agree on the first part, don't much care for the 'study' bit," she grumbled, flopping down next to you melodramatically.

"Oh, come on. It's better than studying inside. I've had enough of stuffy libraries, haven't you?"

"Oh sure. I just don't get why we gotta spend a beautiful day like this cooped up in books."

"Well, what would you rather do, then?"

"What would I rather do? What would I rather do?!" She cried.

"Yeah!"

Pausing, she laughed. "Gosh, it's been so long since I could choose what I wanted to do that I forgot what I even like!"

You laughed together.

She wasn't completely wrong; this semester had been a doozy, a far cry from your first one freshman year where everything was new and exciting, the feeling of finally being on your own for the first time in your life leading to more partying than school, the reason you were all there after all. The spring had been a real shock, filled with nonstop deadlines, rigid professors, and nearly as many all-nighters although not of the partying kind. It was a rude awakening for everyone in your year, but for Janie in particular, who had some attention issues although she was plenty smart.

"...Right now, I just wanna sit down and relax. Close my eyes a bit." Janie was saying drowsily, looking as if she was about to drift off to sleep right then and there. As the sun shone on you, a gentle breeze passing by, you had half a mind to join her. Your barely opened textbook slipping from your fingers as your body let loose some of that much needed tension.

Not two minutes later, you faintly heard someone yell "Heads up!" Thinking nothing of it, as it sounded as if it were a ways away, your mind felt fuzzy as it entered that half-dream-like, half-awake state.

Suddenly, it wasn't so fuzzy anymore. It was downright aching, like a bucket of ice-cold water rained down on it. Opening your eyes, you realized you'd been hit by some flying... football? Your hand massaged the side of your head while you looked blearily around for the source of the assault.

"Oh, man, I'm real sorry darlin'," a familiar-looking young man came jogging over to you wearing a forlorn expression. "It wasn't me, but I ain't gon' make excuses for them," he jabbed a finger in the direction of a few other young men, looking concerned. It was then that you realized who they were. You were speaking with royalty, as far as most of your fellow students were concerned. Football was big at your university, and from what you'd heard, your school was one of the top contenders. Elvis Presley, the man standing before you, was a big reason for that. He was quarterback, and he reveled in the attention as much as he enjoyed playing.

"Darlin'?" He questioned; thick dark brows furrowed in deepening concern. "You all right? We need to get your head looked at?"

"No, no," you shook your head, regretting the action as you felt like a rock was rolling around in there. "I'll... I'll be fine. Just try not to hit me again." You joked weakly. You thought it was funny, but also got your point across, and you went to move back to Janie. You didn't realize you were moving sluggishly, and walking not quite straight, until you caught the grass getting closer to you.

"Wha-

"Damn it!" You heard Elvis cry, and stupidly you shut your eyes, as if accepting your fate. "Gotcha," he cooed in your ear, and you came around to the fact that you were now in his arms, his nice, strong, warm arms... You looked up at him, eyes blinking, your head nearly lolling to the side if it weren't for his hand cradling your neck. "It's gon' be OK, sweetheart. Gon' get you to the nurse to get that head looked at. You're stubborn as hell, girl," he shook his head at you, half smile on his face. You wanted to poke it, your hand raised to do so but it landed on his cheek. He laughed. "'Nuff of that, woman. You want me to trip with you? We'll both crack our heads on this sidewalk." In your muddled state you laughed; the image was rather funny.

Some time later, you woke up in the nurse's office, alone. Where were you? You tried to recall the last moments but were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in?" You said hesitantly.

A young, dark-haired woman came inside in a nurse's uniform and greeted you pleasantly as she took your vitals. "You had quite a bump earlier, didn't you? Came in all zonked out."

The machine beeped. "Good, 107 over 20. Had you all the way down in the eighties, was thinking we'd have to send you to the hospital!"

"Oh, gosh."

"Luckily, you're looking a lot better. You don't still feel dizzy, do you?"

"No, I feel all right. Still a little bruised, though..." You went to feel your head, coming up against a light bandage. "Don't fuss with it, it needs to heal. I'm glad you came in when you did. If it weren't for that handsome fella that brought you, carrying you like a white knight and everything!"

A blush started rising to your cheeks, and you glanced away. "He was awfully nice to do that. Then of course it was his friends who hit me!"

"Oh, I'm sure it was just an accident. Besides, girls have done less to get Elvis' attention," she winked, moving toward the door. "You should be fine but take it easy, no sudden movements and no sports for a few weeks!"

"Thank you," you said, grumbling you hadn't intended to get his attention, it seemed to be thrust upon you. You couldn't deny it was a kind act he did; you didn't know many men that would have gone through that much trouble to make sure you were all right. You definitely were lucky he had stopped you from falling and incurring additional harm. And, even though you'd never admit it aloud, you found him not horrendous to look at. Maybe even cute. You were sure he was well aware of his affect on the opposite sex, and rationalized he didn't need more compliments.

"Oh, there you are," a familiar deep voice sounded to your right as you stepped into reception, about to leave toward your dorm to find Janie. You hoped she hadn't gotten too much of a scare. For all you knew she was still knocked out on the lawn; she was the heaviest sleeper you'd ever known!

"Elvis," you said, and it was all you could say in your surprise of him staying close. "What... what are you doing here?"

"Making sure you were OK, silly," he rose to his full height from the chair, stretching. "A bigger ask than I'd anticipated; those seats were none too comfy." He teased.

"Oh, Elvis, that's awfully kind of you but you didn't have to."

He waved a hand off, "naw, I was raised right, I wouldn't leave a woman in distress, especially since it was my numb knuckle friends who got you into that mess. I hope you can accept my apology, darlin'." There was that beseeching look again in his blue hues.

When he turned those eyes on you, you were done. "Of course I do," you said softly. He smiled real wide then, straight, shiny white teeth nearly blinding you in their exuberance. "Oh, doll, I'm so glad to hear that, I am. I was so worried. I know how smart you are, I didn't wanna think we were responsible for knocking all that genius outta your noggin!"

You guffawed; it was so ridiculously inane, yet entirely endearing because of the genuineness with which he said it. But then you sobered at the realization that he knew who you were. Or knew enough to know how seriously you took school. "Wait, how did you know-?" As far as you could recall, you'd never spoken, hardly laid eyes on him more than once or twice in passing, and even then, thinking nothing of it. You weren't someone who got into sports.

"I sit a few rows behind you. Prolly didn't notice, I don't blame you. I'm usually late or taking a snooze, not the most dedicated student," he rubbed the back of his neck as if embarrassed. "Well, I reckon we probably had a few classes together last semester too, but I guess you didn't notice me."

He watched you as you formed your opinion about this, not upset, but strangely earnest. It took you aback. You would've figured The Elvis Presley would have been a lot more cocky and self-assured. He wasn't in the slightest. It was... delightfully refreshing.

"Well, I can be pretty oblivious, but I can definitely say I know you now, Elvis Presley." You smiled the first real smile since speaking with him, and he mirrored you happily.

"Where you headed?" He asked. "My dorm. I should check on Janie, my friend," you add in explanation.

He nodded. "How 'bout I walk you there? It's gettin' late, and it's not but a few blocks from my dorm."

"Sure! I mean, if you don't mind. You've spent enough time on me today as it is. I'm sure you have other places to be."

He stopped you by the arm, forcing your gaze to his steady one. "There isn't anywhere else I'd rather be." He said, and you believed him.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fans #1960s elvis #angst #elvis fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #elvis presley x you #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvisaaronpresley #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x reader #elvis x y/n #football!elvis #football fic #college fic

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upagainstthesunset · 17 days

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Thinking about Death of the New Gods and how it makes me feel bad. Or: I had to read this terrible interview, so now you do too.

Jim Starlin wrote these characters in the past, notably in Cosmic Odyssey, which I did not enjoy. I don't know a lot about Starlin and his work other than that he was a very active comics writer, and hes created some well known Marvel characters.

I've long wondered why Final Crisis needed to start with the New Gods dying. Especially when Final Crisis #1 seemed like a totally different thing going on. I heard somewhere that Starlin's work was not necessarily in line with Grant Morrison's plans. I get there was this concept of ushering in the Fifth World, but boy did DotNG go in a weird direction to get there. Why have it be a murder mystery? Why have these characters who care and love for each other go through such an ordeal? And why, WHY have the Source be a floating ball with a cheeky attitude that was apparently never behind the final barrier or the wall? Maddening.

No, seriously: everything you think you know about the Source is wrong. This is the part that the really fanatical Kirby fans are simply going to hate.

- Jim Starlin, Interview with Newsarama 2007

The really fanatical fans? I'm wondering what fans of the time actually liked the story and what was done with the Source. So based on this interview Starlin did, it sounds like some of the direction came from Dan DiDio (makes sense sadly), but that he himself was totally in favor of killing off the New Gods anyway.

I sort of think of this project as putting an ending to Jack's New Gods' saga. Since Kirby's initial run on the characters others have presented them with mixed results. Looking back I'd say at least half of the past New Gods series have done more harm than good. So for me, Death of the New Gods is half honoring Jack Kirby, half mercy killing.

- Jim Starlin, Interview with Newsarama 2007

Let those words sink in.

Yeah so, I just really dislike how someone could treat not only fans, but the work of other fellow comics writers with such disdain. And then to claim that this "mercy killing" is simultaneously honoring Kirby somehow. So upsetting and just plain disheartening.

So why am I writing about this? Because I'm a Metron fan and I can't think about this stupid Final Crisis lead in without thinking about Metron. I mean, my tumblr header is edited art from the series, believe it or not. And I do own DotNG floppies, one of which is displayed on my wall (placeholder for when I get New Gods 1971 #1 someday). So yeah there are constant reminders.

And the reason I've given this series a couple read-throughs (which is a couple more than it deserves), is because it was at the time considered canon, and for these characters I enjoy it's integral to what was going on for them at that time. The story makes me mad, a lot of the characterizations make me mad. But I have to admit it is what we were given, and it is a part of the New Gods history. Like it or not. And sadly, I come back to it now and again because it's one of the few comics that gives Metron a large chunk of focus. And that also makes me mad.

We all know Starlin liked Metron enough to inspire Thanos, but here in DotNG we see the Source straight up saying, "You were always my favorite of the New Gods." At first that line made me laugh. I feel the same way. But I cannot ignore the rest of the story just for a few bright moments. And then of all of the New Gods (except Darkseid), Metron is the last one alive, dying finally at his own request. So this knowledge makes me mad because it means Starlin truly was a Metron fan. There's not many of us out there. Just me and maybe some random other people scattered across the internet, and a handful of professional comics writers that I dislike, all grouped into one unholy bundle :/ That's the upsetting thing about this. It's me and Jim Starlin, Metron fans. That's the company I'm in. :(

So anyway, this is all to say I have incredibly mixed feelings (mostly negative) about DotNG, and I wish so much that the writers who like Metron and want to put him on the page weren't Like That.

I'm putting the full interview under a read more for safe keeping.

The Wikipedia reference links are broken but I found the interview in a message board from July 26, 2007.

JIM STARLIN: FERRYMAN OF THE NEW GODS

by Steve Ekstrom

In February of 1971, Jack Kirby introduced DC Universe to the New Gods and Fourth World books. After years of failed revamps and re-boots, critically acclaimed industry legend Jim Starlin gives them a proper burial in October with the release of The Death of The New Gods eight issue mini-series by Jim Starlin.

So far of course, the death toll sits at "one" currently-Lightray was mysteriously killed in Countdown #48.

As most hardcore fans of Kirby's Fourth World will know, the New Gods played a central role in DC's Cosmic Odyssey which was also penned by Starlin. Newsarama sat down and talked to Starlin about his upcoming project and he elaborated elaborate on some interesting objects featured in DC's second Countdown teaser image; as well as, just how dead the New Gods are really about to be.

Newsarama: It's been indicated that the New Gods play a very crucial role in Countdown--can you elaborate as to where your story starts or picks up?

Jim Starlin: Let's see, Lightray died early on in Countdown. I'm not sure which Countdown week The Death of the New Gods begins, but as I understand it, several other New God characters appear in various DC comics before my series begins. I never use any of these said characters in my series. To my knowledge, no one plans to use any of the characters I use in Death of the New Gods, other than Superman. You do the math.

NRAMA: In his interview about the first Countdown teaser image, Dan Didio spelled out the writing on the wall--Big Barda and Mr. Miracle's feet are touching the ground--and touching the ground means you don't make it out of Countdown--so to speak. Is your project, "The Death of the New Gods" a literal massacre or more of a metaphorical change in the status quo of Jack Kirby's Fourth World legacy--or both?

JS: Dan's the boss. Myself, I sort of think of this project as putting an ending to Jack's New Gods' saga. Since Kirby's initial run on the characters others have presented them with mixed results. Looking back I'd say at least half of the past New Gods series have done more harm than good. So for me, Death of the New Gods is half honoring Jack Kirby, half mercy killing.

NRAMA: Black Racer's broken skis and a Mother Box of sorts are pictured on the ground in the second Countdown teaser image; care to throw in your "two cents" with an observation about this particular portion of the larger image?

JS: Didn't realize that was a Mother Box until hearing your question. You know they come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. As for the Black Racer cluewell, the Racer was easily my least favorite of the New Gods. So no one should be surprised to learn he doesn't last long in Death of the New Gods. Never could figure out what Kirby was thinking when he created this one. He should have been gotten rid of a long time ago. Then again, that's just my opinion.

NRAMA: Can readers expect to find answers in regards to the more vague aspects of New Gods mythology and status quo? Will there finally be a peek behind the Source Wall at The Source?

JS: Big plans for the Source. You'll never guest whose father he turns out to be. No, seriously: everything you think you know about the Source is wrong. This is the part that the really fanatical Kirby fans are simply going to hate.

NRAMA: Will Mr. Miracle divulge the secret of the Anti-Life Equation or will he be taking that to his deathbed?

JS: Circumstances will get Scott using the Anti-Life Equation freely and to his own detriment. Won't say anymore than that.

NRAMA: Who are some characters for readers to keep their eyes on during Countdown and The Death of the New Gods who will provide insight into what's coming down the pipe for the DC Universe?

JS: Well, coming out of Death of the New Gods, I guess, the only one that it makes any sense keeping an eye on is Superman. He was strictly on loan and I had to promise not to break him.

NRAMA: If the end is nigh for the New Gods, where do Darkseid and Apokolips weigh in? Or are they in danger as well?

JS: I'm not sure why folks keep asking me questions like this. The name of the series is The Death of the New Gods, not The Death of Some of the New Gods.

NRAMA: Got it. Finally, then, will this project lead to a re-iteration of the New Gods in the foreseeable future? Or do you think it is time to close the final chapter on an old idea and try a new concept?

JS: DC owns the rights to the character's names. There's some great names there. What do you think?

#newgodsmeta #metronmeta #metron if i fits i sits

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delilah705 · 2 months

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I’m not sure…it was only something I saw in passing and they just wanted to give the advice about saving things to a secondary location so the situation that happened to them won’t happen to others

You should! I’ve seen other authors post fic rec threads. Mainly on twitter tho (I refuse to call it x, will forever be twitter to me). They post a brief summary and a link to the fic. That’s how I found some of my favs!! Yeah, for sure would have to be confident that the right crowd would be the only one to see recs. Wouldn't want it to reach the wrong audience 😬

Omg, it would turn out like those memes where the premise is when your cousins are over and you guys end up laughing instead of sleeping while trying to not wake up your mother 🤣. Don’t say such nice things!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺 You fr would never be able to get rid of me then. I’d be one of those annoying small flying bugs that never seem to have anything better to do than bother you (this fr will be me 🪰🪰🪰🪰🪰 lol). Haha, not us having that cheesy, cliche drug deal scenes in the movies but with fic recs instead. What are your top tags/fandoms??? Or better yet what is an absolute no for you? If you have specific preferences I can comb through the fics I have saved/bookmarked that you might be interested in or at very least narrow down what you’re more likely to enjoy

Well if you say that I definitely do have recs but they aren’t exactly fanfics and really depends how you feel about the genre as a whole…..these books have 100% destroyed my soul but I’ll rec them in a heartbeat (it's what my main account centered around). They hold such a special place in my heart (really helped me out in my teen years), but I am careful with who I share them with due to past experiences. I shared them with, who I thought was a friend at the time, but they obvs didn’t care which made me feel like I was too forceful sharing my passion; like,, sorry if I came off as too much I was just excited to share….

Not that I think you’ll do that and I’ve toned down excitement levels when first sharing, unless the person is just as passionate as me lol, but nevertheless all I ask from others is that if you truly aren’t interested just say so in the beginning instead of leading me on 😅. We can always find something else that we share a passion in. Idk, I don’t mean to sound vague/guarded but that experience still haunts me sometimes…..(I feel like I brought down the vibes, I didn’t mean for it to get so negative at the end I swear 😔). Anyway, I’d be down to drop the titles if you want

Make the world ready lol. There’s got to be at least one person out there waiting with open hands, right? Then again fics always choose to publish on their own time. Some of my fics have definitely been published out of order. I’ll have them lined up this one publishes at this time, that one publishes next , etc but there’s always that defiant fic and honestly at that point I’m like ‘you do you’

Ahhh, that makes sense then. Not having read the books I lose a lot of info straight from the source and mainly come across bits and pieces of info…

Well wishes as always xx <3

Aww. :(

Maybe I will… I've been thinking about it for a bit, and I've seen other people do it on here. (XD Omg! Same! I don't call it X either. Not when the url is still Twitter) D: Oh, I did not think of that, though! That kinda makes me nervous to do it now. Hmm… I don't think any of my current followers on here would be that rude, but other people on this website I do not trust. Tumblr has certainly become more aggressive and hateful recently than I've ever seen it in the past.

XD Omg! Aww, but why not? I don't think you're annoying! And you're certainly not bothering me! I've been popping back in occasionally to see if you've answered, haha. XD Omg! Dealing fic recs! Okay, uh… Hmm… That's a tough one. I usually mostly read reader-inserts as of late, but I'm always open to discovering new ships and there are certain characters I multiship like no one's business (like Tohru, Zelda, Link, and Haruhi off the top of my head). There's a lot of fics I still gotta re-find concerning canon x canon, and it makes me so sad that just today I removed several from my bookmarks that the author of had deleted. I'll read any kind of ratings G-E, and I like everything from fluff to angst to smut to humor, platonic or romantic. For E rated fics, anal stuff isn't really my thing, nor spanking or the dirty talk that involves daddy kink or names like 'bitch' 'slut' etc. I'm not a fan of inflation or food kink (in like, the extreme feederism you see in r34 art. I can handle the whipped cream on the tiddies or pouring wine on someone's body and drinking it stuff, but I don't like force feeding or overfeeding until the character throws up or pressing/squishing their stomach to make them throw up, which I have seen in fic before. Not my thing), anything to do with feces or piss, or hardcore descriptive gore. Descriptive body horror tends to make me nauseous, and while I have powered through gorey irl books, I do not like necrophilia or wound fucking, which I discovered the latter was a thing pretty recently. And I'm not very fond of bugs more often than not, though I'll make an exception for Cell.

Other than that, I'm pretty open-minded and can't really think of any other hard no's off the top of my head, though I would prefer no recommended Trigun fics until after I finish FTPOF and maybe it's manga variant. I've been kinda holding off looking back through the Trigun fandom now on Ao3 because I'm scared I'll see something in someone's fic that I really want or plan to use in mine and psyche myself out of using it or change it because I'll be worried about idea theft claims. It's like, right now, even if I still get idea theft claims ever, I won't be worried about it 24/7, you know? XD I won't feel like I'm stealing anything if I don't know it exists currently in someone else's fic! Oh gosh,… As for fandoms, I've been in quite a few… I don't think I could possibly list them all. I haven't really checked out stuff on Ao3 yet (x reader. There's way more I haven't checked out for canonxcanon just yet): Naruto, The Legend of Zelda (but please no ToTK spoilers just yet. Rauru be lookin fine tho 👀), Undertale, Claymore, Pokemon, Fruits Basket, Black Butler, Death Note, OHSHC, Wolf's Rain, Spider-verse, FNAF, Psycho-Pass,… I used to also read oc / oc when it came to monster fics. I love those. As for canonxcanon, other fandoms I enjoy are: Bleach, Dragon Ball, Fullmetal Alchemist, Detroit: Become Human, Yu-Gi-Oh, Transformers,… Uh, can't think of anymore rn. ^^; At least not ones I know are probably pretty decently sized on Ao3.

Books, you say? 👀 Depending on what they are, I might not have access to them for a while as I can no longer shop online at the moment, but if they're something I could potentially find locally, I'd be willing to check them out. D': Aw, I'm sorry! I've definitely felt that way in the past, feeling too intense about my interests, and I've toned down a lot when sharing things irl because of this. DX Oh, gosh yes! I wish people would just be more upfront about their disinterest! I even had a so-called "friend" once lie to me about checking out something that I was talking to them about, leading me on and making me think they watched it too. And… I would have just not talked about it if they'd told me upfront they didn't care enough to actually check it out or hear about it; we could have used that time to be talking about something else, but no. You're okay, I promise! Being vague/guarded is totally valid after an experience like that! (You're okay, don't worry! You didn't bring the mood down or make it too negative! I was worried that I did with some of my earlier responses, and I'm sorry and apologize if that's true.)

But yes, I'd love to hear about it! I like reading physical books just as much as fanfiction, and I really love the fantasy genre with a dash of realism, but I'll read about any book my mom and I are given which are often your generic romance and suspense books you can find almost anywhere with the usually white and red covers for the romance and the purple and black for suspense. Right now I'm actually finally giving Pride and Prejudice a chance (as I've heard so much good about it and we had a school library give it to us) alongside The Hunger Games books and a generic cowboy romance called One Lucky Cowboy. I've also been dabbling in Nancy Friday's spicy women and men's fantasy novels for smut inspiration. Usually the only reason I'll put down a book is if there's like, hard no stuff for me which has only happened twice so far? A book about witches scared me with the details it went into with the witchcraft (I can't recall the title) and I could not handle the start of the first The Vampire Chronicles book and dropped it. But I could handle The Mountain King by Rick Hautala, Blood Trail by Tanya Huff, Endless Night by Richard Laymon (which was arguably the most fucked up book I've read so far), the first The Passage book by Justin Cronin and I've even made it up to A Dance With Dragons in the ASOIAF series (part listening, part actually reading) and listened to a lot of the Chaos Seeds (up to book 8: Monsters. Sion my beloved :')) books on Audible.

XD Trust me, I'd love to, but fate is stopping me from getting that particular fic file back and has been for over a year now. If it can't be recovered, I do fully intend to make the best of what I had on my USB that I so foolishly did not back up that night from the temporary laptop I'd been using which would not boot up the next morning. I do intend to post it one way or another if I can, but… I really would love to get the version I'd been polishing that should still be on the hard drive. :O Wait, really? XD Omg! Sometimes, I tell ya, that's just how it be. I dunno what it is. They like, seem to have a mind of their own sometimes.

Which,… The movies cut out a lot of details and a lot of it is hard to convey movie-wise mostly because it's all in Katniss' head, all her inner thoughts and feelings. She's very stone faced outwardly because she has to be in the books, and that's often how she comes across in the movies. It's all an act, though. Her inner feelings are very loud inside, but she has to be strong and it sucks because she's still just a teenager.

Thank you! :') Well wishes for you too!

#Sfw #Ask #Anonymous

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hermitslifeforme · 5 months

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Why am I encountering so many KakaGai comments online that confuse fanon with canon materials?

Ever since Konoha Shinden anime adaptation came out in 2019, KakaGai has been gaining popularity. In fact, about 80% of KakaGai fanfiction on AO3 were published post 2019. And I can see why. It's one of the healthier ships for Kakashi in my opinion and there are a lot more canon interactions as Gai is officially designated as Kakashi's close friend. Konoha Shinden itself is a pretty fun read and while the original Japanese made me squeal about how Kakashi and Gai are friendship goals, the English translation...well, gave off a different vibe that is good shipping fuel I guess. Let's just say the English manga also made some translational choices that made me go...ok (Gai definitely did not say "that's MY Kakashi" for example. In fact, reading the English translation definitely made me reach for the Japanese version because I couldn't believe that's in the original text. Let's just say there were some important nuisances that could not get translated properly as well as some stylistic choices that I wouldn't have made).

Anyway, what that means is that inadvertently I am seeing KakaGai fan comments on more platforms everywhere, from Reddit to Quora to YouTube comments. Again, nothing wrong with staning your OTP. But WHY are most of their comments filled with fanon being passed as official facts?

The biggest one is obviously the one where Kakashi and Gai live together. Apparently it is all based that panel in Chapter 700 where they are sitting together at an outdoor patio.

Or that in Konoha Shinden novel Mirai compared them to her parents. Yeah, no, Kurenai was not mentioned. The so called comparison is "if Asuma is alive would he be more like Gai or Kakashi?" I get that Konoha Shinden novel was not released in English but there is a fairly decent fan translation floating out there that is easily searchable.

Even the Shinden trip itself is being framed as "they take vacations together" versus it's a mission under the cover of a vacation. In fact, the novel revealed that the "nostalgia trip" Kakashi mentioned taking with Gai in chapter 700 IS the Shinden mission.

I've also read so many partial representations of the actual context when trying to make a point of Kakagai being "canon", such as "oh, Gai can't wait to go to the bath with Kakashi" (the communal public bath btw) when it's really about Gai being afraid of ghosts, or the old married couple comment from Mirai which was clearly an comedic metaphor about their slow walking speed.

Is this just a case of the echo chamber effect and no one cared enough to actually read the actual materials? I don't mind anyone shipping OTPs but shouldn't you at least verify your sources and context before you spread something as fact? It's frankly straight up irritating to come across at this point (the "fanon being passed to canon" thing, not the ship itself).

#fanon is not canon #naruto

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emmybeearts · 9 months

Text

Day 24: Warp

My data pad has once again died. It should be able hold a charge for months and I just recharged it at the outpost not even three days ago. In that time, I was, fortunately, able to scan and learn the names of a few dozen animals that we already have on record as well as document those not yet in our system for later classification. But three days worth of data is not enough. It should've been able to make the whole journey on a single charge. Clearly something was wrong.

I had initially thought I had permanently damaged the battery back in the cave. It could've been damaged from the initial fall, or from using it to supplement Lily’s charge the entire way back. I have no clue how much power they draw and there was a good chance using it like that could’ve fried the battery. It was at this point I figured percussive maintenance of the device would be in order. Shaking it did nothing; however, calmly and rationally throwing it with all of my strength against a rock did help me figure out the issue.

The culprit was a new species of ray. Similar to the Cathode rays from deep within the cave, this new ray was also an electrovore. I'm not sure when I picked it up but it must’ve spent the past few days siphoning the charge from the data pad’s battery. And it did so in, easily, the most impressive forms of visual mimicry I've ever come across.

Earth has its own forms of mimics. From something simple like assorted leaf-tailed geckos, who's skin looks almost indistinguishable from the lichen they rest upon; to animals like the cuttlefish who can change their shape and texture to blend in with almost anything in their surroundings. Atria, however, is a world of extremes, and this species of ray has taken the simple rules of mimicry and pushed them to match that extreme.

It had pressed its body almost completely flat against the screen of my data pad, copying, not only the shape, but the texture of the screen too. It felt smooth, hard, and glassy the whole time I was using it despite being a soft-bodied animal with minimal bones. That's the most interesting thing; the fact that I was able to still use it. The animal was, somehow, not triggering any inputs while pressed against the touchscreen. It's very possible that this animal, having its entire biology built around consuming and manipulating electricity, would send a signal straight down from where I pressed on its back to act as the input trigger.

What really made this animal’s mimicry truly stand out is the degree to which it took bioluminescence. Many animals on Atria possess specialized organs that allow them to break down and utilize the glowing cells of bioluminescent algae for their own purpose. The Opticalaber Ray, however, isolates these cells into highly specialized photophores that give it the ability to change brightness, saturation, and even color of its bioluminescence. Somehow, this bizarre animal was able to warp the light from my screen and project onto its back the text and images of the screen below it almost perfectly.

Once the datapad had settled after bouncing off the rock, the opticalaber ray pried itself from the damaged screen. It seemed dazed for a moment but promptly began to float away from the spent energy source. I watched as it shifted the color of its underbelly to mimic the sky before it pressed itself onto a nearby rockface. Despite seeing where it landed, it was hard to accurately pinpoint its silhouette against the rock and bioluminescent algae it mimicked so perfectly. Getting a sample from the ray was even harder since its body became nearly as hard as the actual rock it mimicked.

I understand why mimicry is found so commonly in nature, and why near-defenseless, soft-bodied animals like squid and cuttlefish rely on it so heavily. But what I don't understand is why an animal, like this ray, evolved photomimicry to such a precise degree? Why does it need to have each cell that covers its body act as separate individual pixels that can all operate together? My number of resources that provide me any semblance of an answer is rapidly dwindling. Not to mention, the number of questions I have never stops rising.

[End Transcription]

#Myart #creature design #character design #scifi art #aliens #scifibruary 2022 #repost

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thegempage · 1 year

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it's 2:42 a.m. which means my nerves have calmed down to attempt to write something but not far enough that i can do it on a google doc

so have some sbart au stuff bcus i was thinking about smith waking up for the first time and having Feelings™ about it (update after finishing it: this isn't all of them but i also should probably go to bed bcus it's past 3 a.m. lmao)

Your eye snaps open.

The first breath you take isn't as shaky as someone would expect, but being shot for the... third? Time in your life takes some of the nervousness out of it. Even if something feels off about this time, like you...

This isn't a hospital room.

The thought makes its way into your brain before any of your others can catch up, flashing in the front of your mind like you accidentally hit the button on your squad car. The air tastes wrong, too much like sugar and not enough like sterilization, and your ears are free from the crowd of machines making sure you're still breathing. In fact, there's almost no sound at all in here, only faint music from what you presume is outside wherever you are. The sheets are so soft, too, not like any hospital bed you've ever stayed in. This bed feels like you're sleeping on a cloud!

You close your eye and take another big, deep breath. There's no one else in the room, you're pretty sure, which is a little concerning. Chief has been there when you woke up the last two times, is he okay? You sit straight up and start to pat your pockets to find your --

These aren't your clothes.

They look an awful lot like your clothes! You like the cool golden suspenders, and the pants look fancy but are pretty soft when you run your hands across them. Instead of a button-up shirt, you have on a sweater, also golden yellow with a big moon on the chest. Wait -- yellow. You're wearing yellow. You're wearing yellow! The sleeves are tinged a little gray where they brush up against your wrist, but you're wearing a whole outfit of yellow! When you stand up, the whole room is colorful, and looks an awful lot like your room back at your apartment, if the whole thing was washed in that nice pretty pink you picked for your messages.

"Good to see you up and about, kiddo!"

Your hands freeze above your pockets again. The voice sounds... so familiar, and so comforting, but you can't place who it is. You turn around to face the source and the sensation of not having to look down but up to meet his eyes is almost more disconcerting than the fact that the source of the voice is a man who looks like his skin is made of porcelain and is extremely, uh... rectangular! He doesn't seem to have a mouth until he smiles, and you can't tell whether his teeth are sharp or round in the short time it takes him to let out a bellowing, Fatherly laugh. You try to stumble out a few words, but nothing comes out, and he reaches out to pat your shoulder. "That's alright, don't stress yourself out! I just wanted to come check on you. I was a little afraid that ol' kiss goodnight wouldn't be enough to save you from certain death, but it looks like everything worked out."

Death. Certain death? You roll that thought around in your head and...

Well, you did see quite a bit of blood, didn't you? That Priest didn't miss this time.

"Where... am I?" you manage to ask.

"Somewhere safe! This is your room, after all."

It certainly looks like your room. You look up at the ceiling, at the stars you'd put up a few weeks ago, now yellow instead of green.

"Hey, why don't you get some more rest, son? I'll come back once I've checked in on the rest of your friends and we can watch the game while we wait for the party to start!"

You turn to ask him about your friends, he must mean Chief and the others, are they --

He's already gone.

You look out of the window and you are very, very high up.

You are very, very high up, and this is not the planet where you started.

#little rock.txt #ciaran does the art #homestuck #tales from riftdale #sbart au

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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years

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How is Raf doing? Is he settling well in his new house?

In response, I give you a teeny thing:

When Rafael wakes up, stretched out on an air mattress on the floor, Chris is already gone. He blinks a few times, stretching his arms above his head, arching his back. There's no residue on his skin, no sense of lips pressed to his neck, teeth digging into his shoulder until it bruises and bleeds. Only... only him, and a t-shirt and sweatpants, and the pile of blankets carefully mounded around him.

Only the empty space where Chris slept beside him, giving him warmth and the knowledge of someone nearby to keep him safe.

Rafael swallows, lifting his hand to touch the space where his collar should used to be. It's empty, with a faint tan line, but the man who runs this house, Mr. Stanton, says it will fade.

He also says, call me Jake.

He also says, I'm here to help you, and yes, you took some risks but you didn't do anything wrong.

He also says, come downstairs when you're ready.

Raf pushes himself up to sitting, tipping his head to one side and then the other, before he stands and steps off the air mattress, walking over to the window and peeking through the curtain to look outside.

The sun shines warm and yellow as it rises across the mostly-empty lawns, sparkling with dew like they've been doused in glitter. He's worn glitter before, painted on his lips, his cheekbones and collarbone, a stripe along each hip peeking just above the low-slung pants he'd been dressed in. His masters had been delighted, and their tongues had shimmered before they were done with him that night.

Not just their tongues.

Staring out, he unconsciously reaches down to pull the waistband on his sweatpants up nearly to his navel.

He hears the sound of laughter traveling muffled up the stairs and turns to look over his shoulder, listening. It's easy laughter, Mr. Stanton-... Jake's, he thinks.

He turns and steps with graceful, silent movements out into the hallway, making his slow way towards the source of the sound. He ends up in the kitchen, brightly lit if a little old and faded, and a table surrounded by other rescues - and Mr. Stanton, Kauri, and Antoni serving food.

There's an empty chair at the table.

He hovers, one hand on the doorframe, not sure what to do.

Chris looks up, lavender hair shimmering at the tips with something he's put in it, and grins at him. "Oh, you're-... you're, you're awake. Come, um, Jake made food, he made biscuits and gravy."

Rafael cranes his neck a little to look. "I've never had that before."

"Well, that's because you haven't lived in the South where people like to pour fat over their butter," Jake says brightly, taking a freshly-baked biscuit and splitting it apart. Rafael's mouth waters at the sight of the steam rising from flaky layers, the smell of it - butter and salt and flour and milk. He pours milky-white sausage gravy heavy with pepper over the top, and sets the plate before the empty chair. "Here, eat. Do you want coffee? I'm on the second pot, it's fresh."

"It's always fresh," A young woman with dark hair says, sipping hers. Her eyes are cool and dark on Rafael's.

"Because we drink it so fast," Another woman replies, and the two laugh, their heads almost together.

Rafael wants to know someone like that, and he aches with need for it, to have someone look at him with that kind of affection, and touch him without insistence or demand. He swallows and steps carefully forward, seating himself - straight-backed, perfect posture, always - at the table.

"I... I would like some coffee with cream and sugar, please." He keeps his voice low, and soft. Chris sways hard to the right and bumps him, lightly, in the shoulder. Rafael's nervousness fades a little.

Rafael gives him a faint smile. "Was it too hard, to sleep on the floor last night with me?"

"Nope." Chris grins. "I've, I've, I've slept in worse places."

"He used to sleep under his own bed," Antoni says, standing with his back against the counter, drinking from his own coffee mug held in two hands, long fingers curved around the warm ceramic. "Every single night."

"You are Rafael?" There's a rescue on his other side who looks at him, squinting, very dark eyes, brown skin, dark hair, and a delicately constructed face with full lips. Rafael nods, carefully, and the rescue sticks out his hand.

They shake hands, and Rafael's breath catches a little as they have the exact same carefully-trained firm grip.

"Have I seen you somewhere before?" He asks, hesitantly.

"Maybe. I think our masters were very like each other. My name is Eli. It has always been Eli. I will keep it."

"I'm Rafael. Or, well, you can say just Raf, too... I... I like my name."

"Your identity is your own," Jake interjects, setting the coffee down for Rafael to pick up, too, already lightened. When he sips, the sweetness is perfect. "You choose it, you decide. I never make anyone pick a new name. Most do, but that's up to you entirely, okay? Got it?"

Rafael notes that Jake seems to favor one side, and wonders if he's been injured recently. But he's too polite to ask. He only nods, carefully. "Yes, you said so when I arrived."

"Right. Just... keep it in mind. I'm going on a grocery run later, and if you want to come along, you're welcome to."

"I... I am?" Raf feels a little dizzy, overwhelmed. He takes another sip of coffee just to do something with his hands, his mouth.

"Yep. I figure, you're staying with us now, I'll take you with and you can pick some stuff out just for yourself."

"I can?" He's going to pass out, isn't he? This has never happened before. He never picked his own food, not even with Mr. Martin. Never, ever, with his masters - except at restaurants, and even then they had to approve it first.

"You can."

"Can, can, can I come with, too?" Chris asks, swaying again, and this time Rafael leans over, resting the side of his head on Chris's shoulder. Chris stills, but it's relaxed, comfortable. "I want to, um, to see if they have that juice Laken likes."

"Sure. More the merrier, at least until I can't fit any more of you in the car."

Rafael closes his eyes, listening to the conversation going on around him. He feels Chris's cheek rest against the top of his head.

"Hi," Chris whispers.

"Hi," Rafael whispers back.

Good morning.

#rafael is no one's saint #chris the strawberry blond romantic #jake the shelter guy #fluff #recovering whumpee #trauma recovery tw #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #referenced past noncon

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wh6res · 3 years

Text

dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

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bogkeep · 2 years

Text

been seeing posts going around lately that Seem to refer to some greater discourse around monolingualism/The Privilege Of Learning A Second Language, and i'm not entirely sure what it's about at its core, but it strikes me as a little shallow and Dare I Say a teensy bit americacentric, because language is such a massive part of every culture and history and there's always going to be more to it, right? an english speaker getting to learn french or german might be a privilege. not a bad thing though! learning more languages is good. also, learning english for everyone else across pretty much the entire globe is a necessity, and i've seen hundreds of anonymous asks on this very website starting with "sorry if my english is not very good it's not my first language". immigrants are actively punished for not speaking a language "well enough" everywhere, and not just the UK or the US, it happens in places like norway, too. i'm pretty sure every "english speaking" country has more native languages that are being suppressed, forgotten, or straight up murdered. indigenous languages, gaelic languages, languages of ethnic minorities, etc. languages that were outlawed by our governments. i say our because this isn't a problem exclusive to english speaking languages either. saami musician mari boine when asked, "why are you writing an album in english? isn't it a colonizer language?" replied "norwegian is the language of my colonizers." when people say 'norwegian' they usually refer to bokmål, but actually there are two official norwegian written languages. one is the norwegianification of the danish written language, because danish is what the literate upper class would write. the other is nynorsk, which is an amalgamation of spoken dialects. the politics of these two languages and the politics of dialect diversity is pretty complex up here. does this mean norway as a country has two official languages? we have five, actually, because there are three saami languages (northern saami, southern saami, lule saami) that also count as official norwegian languages. (that you may remember used to be outlawed in the past.) there's nothing wrong with the norwegian language by itself, it has a complicated history like any other language, it has its own struggles, and any language can be weaponized against people, not just english, or spanish, or russian. because it's culture and history, not just Words. consider also sign languages. languages plural, because sign language comes in different languages and dialects too. sign language is a huge part of Deaf culture, and learning a sign language is always a benefit to your community regardless of hearing ability. i'm sure other people more educated than me on the subject could bring up a million points about how sign languages connect to this discussion. so those are my two cents i think. i am just a bilingual european person, i am not a trained linguist, i have cited no sources here, and everything i say is a huge oversimplification. none of us choose the circumstances to which we are born.

#too long for twitter #i do wonder how many populations get to go about their daily lives without having to learn english in any capacity at all #when we travelled through the baltics several years ago my mom mostly spoke russian to people bc while they may know SOME english #its fairly recent that ppl in europe have been learning english at school #like my generation has been learning it from the get go but not my parents generation #kvenish may also be an official language in certain regions of norway #i know my northern hometown has signs written in norwegian northern saami and kvenish

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arrowflier · 3 years

Note

oh my god your xmen au!! i've just recently thought about them having powers and ian should def be a healer ❤️

it's so good, i'd love for you to continue or like... do another mutant au (same setting but later? im not picky haha)

as always, your writing is truly amazing!

Yeeesss thank you thank you thank you. I've been wanting to so bad but I'm already neglecting all my WIPs so I needed this excuse.

For everyone else, original here. I'm also tagging this for A.U.gust (hosted by the amazing @gallavichthings) because their professions are inspired by prompts 7 and 19.

---

Ian was crouched over a client, hands flat on a wrinkled and twisted back, when Mickey fell through the door.

Ian stiffened, and not just because his gift was working on the man stretched out on the table in front of him. Mickey attempted to straighten himself on the coat rack by the door, but only succeeded in knocking it over, hands slick with blood.

Not his own, by the looks of it, and that was the only reason Ian kept working.

“What’s that racket?” his client croaked, trying to lift his head, but Ian pressed harder and pushed his gift deeper into the man’s muscles, forcing his neck to relax.

Ian winced as his own neck tensed further, but forced his head straight so he could watch as Mickey stumbled through the room before finally collapsing onto a chair. His head was down, but Ian could see faint streaks of red at his hairline, glistening in his dark hair when he ran a shaky hand through it. The spikes on his shoulders, exposed by a tear in his black shirt, lay flat and weak and similarly wet against his pale skin.

Ian swallowed hard, and removed his hands from the body in front of him.

“You’re done,” Ian rasped, waiting for the usual weariness and weakness to fade. He rubbed his eyes with a hand that felt more gnarled than it was, and grimaced. His eyelids felt like sandpaper.

“That’s it?” his client asked. They weren’t one of his usuals, just someone that heard about him from a friend. Ian tried to accept new clients where he could, especially those that found him by word of mouth—there wasn’t much else he could do in the way of advertising without a license or registration for his unorthodox mutation.

“That’s it,” Ian confirmed, and tapped the edge of the table impatiently, waiting for the man to get up and leave. He should be perfectly capable of that sort of movement for at least a few days, if he didn’t do anything too stupid with his newfound physical freedom.

“I heard you offer…other services,” the old man said slyly, twisting to look at Ian as he sat up and swung his legs toward the floor. “For a price, of course,” he added, smiling like he knew something.

Clearly, he did not.

“No anymore,” Ian answered shortly. “And never for patrons of your type.”

“Of my type?” the man repeated, voice now rising with suppressed anger. “And what does that mean, you mutant scum?”

“Means he don’t like wrinkly old man balls no more,” Mickey called out from across the room, and Ian had never been so grateful to hear his rough voice, despite what it was saying.

“It doesn’t,” he assured his client. “I mean, I don’t, but—”

“No need to explain, boy,” his client stated—probably ex-client now, and Ian should really feel worse about watching him leave.

Instead, he held his breath until the door slammed behind that narrow, weak back, and then immediately darted over to throw the bolt.

Room secured, Ian took a moment to breathe, in and out, as the last of the other man’s fatigue finally left him.

“You gonna stand there all night?” Mickey asked, somewhat quieter, behind him. “Or are you gonna come patch me up, doc?”

Ian turned to see Mickey struggling to rise from his seat, and was there in a few long strides to push him down again with a firm hand on his shoulder. Mickey hissed as Ian rubbed his spikes the wrong way, but let himself be secured.

Without thinking about it, Ian stroked his hand down, following those dangerous barbs along the length of Mickey’s bare arm. He wasn’t worried about them; he had seen firsthand the danger they could do, throughout the years, but never had Mickey harmed him.

Well, at least not without reason.

And he had clearly come to Ian for a different reason, this time. It had been a few weeks since they’d seen each other, and in that time Mickey had apparently found someone new to piss off, judging by the blood on his spikes. Someone that didn’t already know all his tricks.

“You have to stop doing this,” Ian said accusingly, gesturing at Mickey in general, and the other man snorted, then winced when it opened a cut on his face.

“Define ‘this’,” he challenged, and Ian shrugged.

“Picking fights, I guess,” he answered. “I know you have that new gig at the bar, security or whatever—”

“Bodyguard, doc, it’s a little more impressive—”

“But you don’t always have to jump straight to violence.”

“Why” Mickey asked, quirking a bleeding eyebrow. “I’m paid to be a badass, Gallagher, and you always fix me up just fine.”

Ian shook his head, eyes scanning for the worst of Mickey’s injuries. Thankfully, they were few—a slowly seeping gash at his hairline, the source of the blood about to drip into his blue eyes; an oddly bent finger; a patch of quills at the base of his neck that looked nearly torn out, like someone had gotten hold before Mickey flexed them.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Ian insisted absently, trailing his fingers from Mickey’s shoulder to his neck, to his face, heedless of the red trail they left on pale skin.

“Please,” Mickey scoffed, bending his head obediently when Ian pushed it back for better light. “The principle is that you like havin’ an excuse to get your hands on me.”

“Could get my hands on you anyway,” Ian mused, digging his fingers roughly into Mickey’s hair as if to prove a point.

Mickey hissed, but smirked through it.

“Oh yeah?” he questioned lightly. “Think I'm that easy, huh?”

“Know you’re that easy,” Ian murmured, leaning in closer than he strictly needed to to finish surveying the damage.

Mickey blinked, eyes only inches away from Ian’s own.

“Get those healin’ hands on me then,” he breathed, and Ian didn’t bother to point out that they already were.

Instead, he moved one hand over the scratch on Mickey’s scalp, one hand to the damaged quills on his neck, and his mouth to Mickey’s bottom lip.

And he reached inside himself for his power, and pushed.

They both gasped, deepening the sudden kiss almost by accident as Ian’s power coursed through them, between them. Mickey’s cuts started to heal even as they opened on Ian’s skin, quills bristling and growing strong again as tiny pinpricks of red showed on Ian’s own neck.

Let go of her, Ian heard in his mind, Mickey’s voice ordering some creep to release the girl he was trying to carry from the club.

I’m just gettin her home, man

Thin fingers reach for Mickey’s jacket, Ian’s jacket, their jacket. Grasp the hem, tug faintly, fall again on a limp arm.

I don’t fuckin’ think so

Pain in his fists, then pain on his back as someone else joins the fight, someone Ian can’t see. Sharp fingernails in his hair, on his neck, gripping, twisting.

A flare. Quills puffing from their sleek layer against warm skin, finding their target. The slippery wet feeling of blood on his shoulders, wetting them down again.

Okay, it’s okay now as frail hands grasp at him again to stand straight. Come on, it’s okay.

Ian’s hands fell from Mickey’s wounds as the last ones finally closed. He ignored the wetness in his eyes, the wetness on Mickey’s face, pretended they were blood and not tears.

“You did good,” he whispered against Mickey’s searching lips. “So good, Mickey.”

“Shut up, doc,” Mickey murmured back. “Give me something different to feel good about.”

So Ian did.

He kissed him again. Bit his lip, licked it clean. Ran a finger over the indentation, felt the bite on his own mouth as he soothed it. He scratched at Mickey’s back, didn’t recall when it was bared, felt hot lines down his own and couldn’t tell if they came from Mickey’s dirty hands or his own neatly trimmed nails.

It was always like this, when it happened. A feedback loop, not knowing where he stopped and Mickey began as they hurt and healed and hurt again. Hurt in good ways rather than bad, ways they had been hurting and helping each other since they were just children in a schoolyard chasing bullies. Ian lost himself in it, lost himself in Mickey’s mouth and eyes and skin and his own touches upon it, a constant blooming sensation deep in the reserves of his power.

He wondered what it felt like for Mickey, but then he didn’t have to. He never had to. He could feel that too: the tug of quills pushed the wrong way, the press of them into skin at both point and base, the prickling sensation when they settled, flared, settled again within sensitive skin and muscle.

But they never stabbed on purpose. They never hurt more than he could take; than they could take. And as he let Mickey stand, let him walk Ian back toward the bedroom on newly strengthened legs, Ian embraced all the feelings it invoked in the both of them.

Tomorrow, Mickey would most likely leave again, possibly even before breakfast. He would go back to his job, the one Ian didn’t like, and work and live and thrive until he needed Ian again.

It would feel worse, that separation, if Ian couldn’t feel the truth in every movement they made against each other in the night.

Mickey didn’t need Ian to fix him up; he never had. He had been doing fine on his own long before they met.

No, Mickey didn’t come to Ian because he liked to pick fights. He picked fights because he liked to come to Ian, and for now, that was enough.

#daily speedwrite #x-men au #A.U.gust #gallavich #ian gallagher #healer ian #mickey milkovich #bodyguard mickey #tw: mentions of violence #tw: blood #injured mickey #fanfic

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brunobeloved · 2 years

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I just wanted to say that I really appreciate your understanding of Bruno’s character, including his flaws. Your blog is one of the few I’ve come across that have acknowledged that while he had the best intentions in leaving to protect Mirabel, the way he did it caused just as much harm as good. I adore Bruno and understand he wasn’t in the best mindset when he left, but I think that had he stayed and showed the vision he could have been there for her as the emotional support she really needed.

oh wow! :O thanks!

i love bruno too, so so so much. and maybe i would be more willing to overlook/excuse his actions if he had been 20 at the time he left, but he was a 40 year old man. i'm close to that age myself, and trying to wrap my mind around his decision is just... man, bruno, wtf were you thinking. i completely sympathize with his reasoning, and he honest to god thought he was making the best choice. but ultimately i think it was the wrong choice, and him returning to the family is going to require just as much apology from him as from the rest of the family.

i mean this man missed the birth of his nephew, was absent for antonio's entire life up until the events of the movie. he missed being there for his other nieces and nephews as they grew older. (also you're SO right, he could've stuck around and been a much-needed source of support for mirabel) and his sisters and mother MISSED him. i'm not particularly close with my younger brother anymore, but if he up and vanished i would be devastated.

but yeah i've seen a few posts villainizing alma and lifting bruno up as some blameless uwu baby, and that's a way too simplistic take on the situation. this was a grown man who straight-up abandoned his family for a decade, and yes he was doing it in an effort to protect mirabel, but i also think he was doing it a little for himself as well. he has a lot to make up for, and i really hope we get some additional stories that explore how he and his family are continuing to mend. :')

#bruno madrigal #this was a really unexpected ask thank you so much!#this blog is still new i think i have like 30 followers haha #i'm sure there was a moment when bruno realized he'd made the wrong choice #but by then the thought of coming back and dealing with his mom and sister seemed too insurmountable #i really do feel terribly for bruno and i want to swaddle him in blankets and kiss his head #i also want to shake him vigorously by the shoulders

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

Text

Their Doll 8

Let me in

B.Barnes x Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n gets emotional

Warnings: swearing, feelings

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Life at the tower was...tiring, to say the least. During my free time I often found myself in the gym, lobbing knives at a target and trying my hardest not to biting one in Steve's chest every time he would correct my technique. When I wasn't trying to murder the avenger in cold blood, I was usually dragged into things by the other: briefings and debriefing for missions I'd never go on, my dad's parties, group training sessions and study periods with Bruce in his labs to name a few.

But for now, I was huddled in my rooms - fresh out of a hot shower after a brutal two hour training session and four mile run with Natasha - curled up on my bed and attempting to catch up on a few of the films I'd missed. But the exhaustion and drowsiness clouded my eyes, the noise from the TV merely in the background as I felt my eyes growing heavier by the second.

A sharp knock at the door snapped my out of my lowsey state, the people movie across the screen simple a blur of colour as my eyes darted past the tv and over to the door.

"Mr Stark is waiting at your door. Would you like me to let him in?" FRIDAY's evenly calm voice chimed, making me groan and mumble a 'no' into my pillows. The last person I wanted to see right now was my dad.

"Come on kid, let me in." My dad called from the other side of the door, and I could practically hear him roll his eyes and shake his head when I stayed silent. When he spoke again, it wasn't directed at me. "FRIDAY, override command and open the door."

"Wait! That's hardly fair!" I whined like a five year old, groaning again when the door swung open and my dad stood on the other side, quite clearly just as exhausted as I was.

"Get used to it, kiddo. Life isn't fair." Tony chided, walking over to my bed. I tried to shuffle away slightly when I felt the bed dip, my dad perching on the edge as his eyes scanned over the room. "I see you haven't decorated yet." He commented casually, as if nothing had ever happened between us.

"Yeah, well, I thought It'd be a shame to spend so much time on something when you're probably waiting to kick me out anyway." I mumbled, refusing to look at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you, y/n? Ever since you got back you've been-"

"Acting different?" I cut in, and when Tony simply swallowed thickly I nodded. "Funny that, seeing as I was kidnapped and tortured for three years. Not to mention made to kill people for another year after that."

"Y/n I'm sorry..."

"But you're not! You can't be, otherwise you'd actually have tried to save me, rather than leaving me to rot!" My voice cracked, tears pricked at my eyes and I now sat up straight in my bed, facing my dad but not looking him in the eye. "And you can't change that, you can't go back in the past and fix your mistake. And trying to fix it now sure as hell won't work, so I suggest you leave before I'm tempted to use you as my target for my training session tomorrow." I raised my voice, eyes now keeping his captive as the tears rolled freely down my cheeks.

"Oh, kid, they broke you." Tony murmured, cupping my cheek with his hand, eyes swimming with sorrow. Sorrow that I didn't want.

"You can't fix me either, because I'm not broken!" I said harsher now, voice only getting louder. "I don't need to be fixed..." I trailed off, voice barely above a whisper Joe as my eyes broke the contact, averting to my lap as the tears dropped onto the bed sheets.

That's how I found myself in my fathers arms, face pressed against his shoulder as the sobs made my body shake, hiccups escaping me as I tried to speak.

"A-all I needed W-was my D-dad, and yo- you took him f-from me!" I wailed, hands clutching my dad's shirt and his arms wrapped protectively around my shoulder, hands rubbing circles over my back soothingly.

"I know, kiddo. I'm sorry."

...

"Who is that?" Clint frowned, staring at the pictures scattered over the table in front of Natasha and Steve as they studied them deeply, brows creased in thought.

"Our newest pain in the ass." Tony answered for them, slapping a thick folder down in front of Clint as he said so. The marksman was quick to pick it up, flicking through the documents, news stories and information sheets greedily.

"The...winter soldier?" He asked, looking at the three superheroes in front of him as if they'd gone mad. "But he's a ghost story!"

"I've seen him. Been shot by him, actually." Nat said, an sadistically proud smirk forming on her lips with her last words, almost as if it were an achievement.

"We're trying to find out more about him, maybe that way we can beat him." Steve explained, sitting back in his chair with crossed arms as he huffed in defeat, sick to death with staring at the same five pictures all morning.

Y/n walked in, a skip in her step as she crossed the room to Tony.

"Morning, dad." She greeted, placing a quick kiss to his cheek and heading over to the cupboard to grab a mug. Clint and Natasha frowned in confusion, looking between the two as if they'd witnessed pigs fly.

Tony shrugged, y/n too preoccupied with making herself a coffee to notice the avengers' reactions. When her coffee was done, y/n swiped her mug from under the machine and sipped happily, letting out a content sigh before wandering over to stand behind Natasha.

"What are you working on?" She asked, peering over the spy's shoulder to get a glimpse of the pictures.

A loud smash crashed through the room, Tony's eyes widening in shock and Natasha jumping from her seat in order to not get covered in spilt coffee. Y/n stood paralysed, eyes never leaving the photo in front of her as she started at the Soldier. Steve frowned deeply, studying the girl as her eyes glossed over with with what seemed to be...sadness.

Clint was already at her side, a comforting hand on her shoulder as they all asked y/n what had happened and if she was alright. It was like a constant ringing in her ear interrupted their words before they reached her ears, and y/n suddenly felt nauseous as she starred at the bright red star on the soldier's arm, his long and messy dark hair shrouding his face and his leather clad, muscular body. Only his cerulean blue eyes could be seen, the rest of his face covered in a black mask she didn't usually see him in.

"I-I need some air." She stuttered, stumbling blindly out of the room and down the stairs, tipping over a few steps from the bottom and tumbling down the last few. She quickly pulled herself to her feet, hearing still ringing and vision offset, hazy, as she scrambled for the double glass doors. Luckily they already stood open, so she flew through them and out into the busy streets of New York.

Y/n found herself colliding will someone almost instantly, angry shouts of 'hey, watch it!' And 'look where the fuck you're going, kid!' Being called after her like a chorus as she pushed through the bustling people.

She finally stopped, dropping to her knees and simply staring straight ahead, no intended subject in her line of vision as she tried to comprehend the-the grief, at seeing the a soldier's face again.

It had only been two weeks, and yet two weeks without him, his touch, his scent - it felt like an eternity to y/n now. She hasn't registered what her feeling meant for him before, liking him beyond a source of comfort had just felt...wrong, after all he'd done, and yet y/n couldn't deny it.

She was in love with the Winter Soldier, and she didn't even know his name.

...

I wasn't aware of when someone had found me, nor of how they got me back to the tower or even how I was now stood staring blankly out of the window that stood next to my bed. I gazed longingly, almost as if I stared long enough, hard enough, he'd appear.

But of course he wouldn't, he was probably half way across the world, knowing HYDRA. A soft knock on my door and my head was turning, facing my visitor with a look of pure grief and want. Desperate, unhinged want that could eat you up from inside out and you'd still feel it.

"Hey, y/n. Can I talk to you for a moment?" Nat asked tentatively, clearing trying to to disturb my shaken up state. I nodded, offering a small smile which she returned as I now faced her. She walked up to me, talking my hands him hers and playing with the as she spoke, eyes kind and full of understanding.

"There's a mission, and we want you to go." She said calmly, almost as if the mere thought of it would send me into some kind of heart attack.

"Okay," I begun, eyes flitting down to the floor before back up again. "What is it? Aren't you scared that I'm still HYDRA and all I'd do is stab someone in the back?"

"Not exactly." Nat informed me with a smile, amusement glinting in her eyes at my assumption. "For starters, we all trust you, well maybe not steve - but everyone else does." Nat and I both laughed slightly. "And I think you wouldn't have it any other way it to go on the mission yourself." Nat finished.

"How come?" I asked, brow raised.

"There's been a lead..." she started. "On the winter soldier. We thought you might want to help check it out, possibly capture him. Your powers may be the best chance we have a detaining someone as strong as him." Nat spoke. "And if we can detain him.."

"We can save him." I finished.

"Exactly."

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Unexpected Places (Pt. 07 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 1.9 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

<- Previous part (06)

Next part (08) ->

{Vikings Masterlist}

Honesty

“(Y/N), wake up.” A faint, weak murmur fills your ears. You're still under water though, floating away. “C'mon, wake up.” A sudden motion makes you bounce, a movement too abrupt to someone who's drowning. That's when you acknowledge the air filling your lungs. Not too much, but enough to bring some relief. You can't be under water. People can't breathe under water. “You won't die, hear me? Not from the cold.”

Ubbe. What's Ubbe doing here? Closing your eyes tightly, you feel like you're climbing back to the surface, back into consciousness, forcing your eyes to open. The first thing you notice is the cold, piercing, attached to your bones. Then, you realize you're being carried. “What...” You mumble, clenching your shaking hands into fists.

“There you are.” Ubbe happily says, walking fast. “We're almost there.”

“Almost where?” The lightning suddenly changes, and everything gets a little darker.

“What happened?”

“She was at the lake. The ice cracked and she fell.” Ubbe says.

“Get a warm bath to her room now!” You recognize Aslaug's voice. “Bring her close to the fire.”

The moment you're put down and feel a source of warmth, you push yourself closer, but arms hold you back. “Not that close.”

“Shit.” You curse, hands hovering above the fire. It comes back suddenly. The woods, the lake, and the ice cracking under your feet, swallowing you. How you got out, however, you have no idea, but you figure it was Ubbe. “Damn it.” You're shaking like a leaf, wishing you could sit inside the fire.

“(Y/N).” Someone calls, and when you look at your side you see Ivar and Hvitserk, both looking worried. Ivar moves faster though, dropping to the floor next to you.

“Are you alright?” He asks, hands cupping your face.

“I'm cold.” You mumble, laughing at how stupid it sounds. “I'm freezing.” Giggling, you feel as Ivar pulls you close, your body collapsing on his chest. It makes you blush, if that's even possible given how the cold has penetrated your bones. Shaking against him, you place your forehead on his neck, welcoming the warmth emanating from his skin. “Sorry, I'm soaking wet.”

“Don't worry.” He says, a hand caressing your hair. You don't know exactly what's going on, but Ivar is like a second fire right now, and you have no intention of letting go of him.

“Here,” Hvitserk mutters, and you feel a piece of fabric being laid around your shoulders.

“Alright.” Ivar fixes the blanket, rubbing your back. “You'll be fine.”

“Let's leave them,” Aslaug says in a low voice, and you notice Hvitserk and Ubbe walking away. “I'll send someone to call you when the bath it's ready.” Her voice fades away as she speaks, and then there's nothing but the low noises of the fire.

Slowly, you feel yourself warming up, the shakings finally surrendering as you sink more and more into Ivar. You don't want to think about what this means, so you barely move, not wanting whatever this is to end just yet. You almost died today. Drowned, frozen, whatever. But you did think that was the end of it. And life has so much to offer, you'd hate to lose all of its endless possibilities. Death will come one day, but first, you want to live.

“What happened?” Ivar asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“I didn't know I was at that lake, I just... I wasn't really paying attention then I heard a cracking noise.” Taking a deep breath, you remove some hair attached to your face. “Then it broke right under me and the water was so damn cold.”

“(Y/N),” Aslaug calls, and, hesitantly, you move away from Ivar, sitting up straight. “Come take your bath. You need to warm up.”

“Alright.” Nodding, you glance at Ivar before pushing yourself up.

The bath is a blessing, and you couldn't be more thankful. The warm water cleans the ice that fixated itself on your bones, and you relax in the tub. Aslaug, of course, wants to know exactly why you ended up on the frozen lake, and you have no choice but to tell her what you heard. But you beg her not to speak to Bjorn about it. You can deal with your own problems, and you don't want to make their already delicate relationship worse.

After you're clean and warmed up, she allows you to leave the bath and get dressed. You're eager to leave this episode behind and never again you'll set foot on frozen water. As you leave your room with Aslaug, her maids left to drag the tub away, you meet Hvitserk coming from the opposite direction.

“Ice lady.” He says, smiling.

“I'll leave you two to talk and go find my husband,” Aslaug mutters, and you sigh to know she will be speaking to him about Bjorn.

“How about not calling me that?” You tell Hvitserk, crossing your arms. “I almost died.”

“But you didn't.”

“Hvitserk just...” Complaining it quite useless. He'll probably only make it worse. “Fine then, call me what you like.”

“It looks like I won this battle then.” Raising an eyebrow, he gives the girls passing by a glance. “What was that, by the way?”

“What was what?” Running a hand through your hair, you still have a threat of hope he might be talking about anything else.

“Really? Do you expect me to ignore you and Ivar hugging like that?”

“I don't know what that was.” Shrugging your shoulders, you sigh. “But I'm willing to find out. It's better than think too much and end up with wrong conclusions.”

“Ivar is in his room, in case you want to know,” Hvitserk says in a low voice, walking closer and giving you a glance that always makes you want to punch his jaw. “And he was very worried about you.” And he walks away, leaving you there like an idiot.

“You're putting some effort into ruining this friendship, aren't you?” Rolling your eyes, you turn on your heels and start making the way to Ivar's room, walking fast and eventually leaving Hvitserk behind.

You were feeling brave until you're at Ivar's door. Then you wonder if this is a good idea. Some things are better left alone, and Ivar is a complicated person. But still, you can't bring yourself to walk away, so you knock three times, not sure if you want him to answer. But you hear footsteps, and seconds after the door is pushed open. It still takes you by surprise how tall he is, and those blue eyes still send shivers down your spine.

“I left my necklace here.” You mutter, feeling a little stupid. “Earrings, bracelets...”

Silently, Ivar moves aside, giving you space to walk in, so that's what you do. “They're where you left them.” He mutters, but gestures at the table he has set near the fire. Following his gesture, you sit down, hands hovering over the fire. “Ubbe said he saw you wandering through the woods.” He starts, settling down on the chair across the fire. “He called, but you didn't listen.”

“Yeah, I was just... Trying to run from my own thoughts, I think.”

“What happened?” The question is the same as earlier, but it means something entirely different. This isn't about the ice cracking, it's about what led you into that situation. Raising your eyes from the flames, you find Ivar's intense stare as he leans forward, the fire illuminating his features.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to tell him. “I heard Bjorn and your father talking and when I caught my name I decided to know what was that about and... Bjorn said something about a prophecy that says he'll marry a princess and guess what? He thinks I'm the princess.” A humorless laugh escapes your lips.

“Bjorn wants to marry you?” He states, cupping his hands together, anger taking over this expression.

“I don't care what Bjorn wants, only about what I want and I surely don't want him.” It sounds mean, like you despise the man. “I won't be told what to do, not here, not anywhere else, I'm done with being just a piece on somebody else's game.”

A smile creeps through Ivar's lips, and the anger slowly fades. “That's good to know.”

“And... Ragnar said he kept me alive because he promised my father.” Looking down at your hands, you decide to share this with him as well. “That if I didn't get used to Kattegat he'd just send me anywhere. He wasn't thinking about any prophecy.”

“So you're not into Bjorn?” Ivar asks, and you stand up, rolling your eyes.

“I wouldn't have fallen into a frozen lake if I was.” Running a hand through your hair, you tell yourself not to keep bringing that up. The talking or the lake incident. Both things are better if forgotten. “I thought it made things obvious.”

“I've been seen women falling for Bjorn since I can remember.” Ivar says, resting the clutch on his lap. “Some had him, some were left with a broken heart. The older he gets, more women chase after him. Can you blame me for thinking you would be one of those?”

Turning to look at him with both hands on your hips, you chose to be honest. As honest as you can, because there are things you don't understand, things you can't put into words. “In the boat, sailing here, for a moment I thought Bjorn was... I don't know, he was being nice to me. But it didn't take long for things to... Change.” The moment you saw Ivar for the very first time, something went off... Or on, inside you. You don't know what, but suddenly Bjorn was already on second plan. But you're not bold enough to tell him that. “Then he knocked me down with a shield, made my mare bolt up a slope, and now the lake... It wasn't directly his fault but I didn't like him talking about me like I'm just a thing that he thinks belongs to him just because someone else said so.” You get angrier with every word, as the memory of everything he said comes back. Moving to the table, you grab a cup and pour some drink for yourself, taking long sips. “I'll belong to whoever I chose, and only if he wants to belong to me as well.” You only realize what you said when you can't take it back anymore. Taking a deep breath, you drink what's left before putting the cup down. “Sorry, I needed to give vent to my anger.”

“That's alright.” Ivar stands up, slowly making his way over you. “It's good to know you won't bow down. You're more Viking than some people I know.”

“More Viking? Please, I can't even hold a sword properly.” You're about to move away when Ivar's hand comes to your waist, holding you as he did on the day you almost fainted because of the head injury. It clouds your mind immediately, and when you turn back at him, your faces are only a few inches away.

“You can still learn if you want and if you don't...” His hand moves away, coming to caress your cheek instead. His fingertips are cold, but they leave a trail of fire on your skin. “I'll still admire your bravery, Christian princess.”

The way he says it makes you smile. For the first time, it doesn't come out as an insult, or in a sarcastic way. Could Ivar accept you, despite the differences between your worlds? Right now, it feels like he can.

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla @anotherfan07 @heavenly1927 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @msrawog

#ivar the boneless imagine #ivar imagine #imagine ivar #ivar vikings #ivar the boneless #ivar fanfiction #imagine ivar vikings #imagine ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless x reader #imagine vikings #vikings imagine #vikings ivar #ivar vikings x reader #ivar vikings imagine

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