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#Just ANGST
no1knzme · 5 months
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I frgt to post this aaa
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blueysobssesions · 11 months
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blueeyy medj naiiyak ako HAHAHAHA. but like i need to feel angst rn (low key jealous of ada na she has all leon's attention (also like it's so stupid they're fictional but like let me feel HAHAHAHA di kasi nagpaparamdam si crush lol))
so can i request angst no comfort of just reader being insecure/jealous of ada and leon? whether leon and reader are in a relationship or it's before they get into a relationship, i just need the angst. pretty please 🥺
Same tayo, di nagpaparamdam si idol tsk... I just love angsty request <3 I like how there's no comfort hehe.
~Insecure/jealous
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And there they were again, laughing and smiling at each other. While you just looked around, avoiding them. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy and insecurity as you watched Ada and Leon's easy fellowship, wondering if you'd ever have that kind of connection with him. Leon would smile whenever you two hung out, but his smile towards Ada was different. You can't blame him; she's beautiful, highly skilled, and an intelligent spy! 
Looking at them again, they're still talking. You wonder what they are talking about. Perhaps they are discussing something important or catching up on old times. Sighing, you closed your eyes but got interrupted when Ashley spoke to you. “Y/n? Are you okay?” she asked you with a worried tone. “Yeah, I'm fine” you reassure her "But I appreciate your concern," you add with a smile. "Do you need something?"
She shook her head and said, “Ah no, I just wanted to see if you're okay.” She smiled at you and went back to what she was doing. “Hey, Y/n?” your shoulders slightly jolted as you heard your name being called. You turned around to see who it was. Leon. “I didn't mean to scare you sorry” he apologized “I-it's okay… Do you need something?” you looked at him in the eyes hoping he would see that you want his company right now. “Yeah, Me and Ada are going to check the basement if there's supplies or maybe food down there” You felt a pang of disappointment as he didn't seem to catch your hint, but you put on a smile and said, "Oh, that sounds like a good idea. Ashley does have an injury on her hand so... we need something" Why do you need Ada to go down there? Why her? I can come with you, you know… Leon smiled and put his hand on your shoulder, “Keep an eye on Ashley for me” he said before going to the basement with Ada. You nod and watch as they disappear down the stairs, wondering why Leon had chosen Ada over you. You shake your head and decide to follow his instructions, keeping a watchful eye on Ashley as she explores the mansion.
Little did you know… Leon and Ada confessed their feelings to each other.
Boom, go ahead and CRY.
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abiiors · 9 months
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haunt // bed - pt. 1
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a/n: a while ago, i wrote do me a favour after which i said, i would write a matty hate sex fic. well this is it (and perhaps a bit more than anyone asked for), read dmaf again if you want to refresh your memory, or don't. there are 3 parts to this + an epilogue. i also know very little about western weddings, so ignore the inconsistencies lol.
a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3
minors dni! part 2, part 3
wc: 2.7k
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see u in an hour xx
charli’s text flashes on your screen, illuminating a small corner of the dimly lit room. it’s not that late in the day, in fact, it’s quite early—only about 10 am. you’re supposed to be hurrying around the room, checking for any last minutes things you might have forgotten. you won’t be back home until tomorrow after all. yet here you are, surrounded by the things that should have been packed in your bag last night. 
the dress, laid out on your bed, feels like a weapon; red silk slippery enough to slide between your fingers effortlessly. “a wily vixen”, that’s what charli had called you when she'd seen you in it for the first. the thought of that day—bridesmaids dress shopping with four other excited girls—brings a small smile to your face. 
everything laid out here is a weapon really; your four-inch, sharp heels, the delicate and dainty diamond jewellery, the makeup you plan on wearing—blood red lipstick, a perfect shade match for the dress. an expensive crystal bottle of the same perfume you have used for the past six years. 
familiarity breeds contempt. familiarity is also an excellent knife to twist in someone’s gut. because everything here, today, is meant to maul and wound him.
see you in an hour babe, love you. you write back and chuck your phone onto the pillow where it bounces a little before nestling between its creases. you stare at it, maybe your body still yearns for a call that will never come? no more can’t wait to see you up there. no more cheeky selfies in a state of half-undress. just a smooth, black screen.
right then…time to get going. 
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charli has been flittering around the room for the last twenty minutes. her white dress fits her like a dream, her makeup is a work of art and her excitement about marrying george is so palpable in the room that at least one person squeals or sighs every five minutes. 
most importantly, the smile on her face is a permanent fixture. and every time you look at it, a warmth spreads through your body. she deserves this—the happiness, the celebration. the happily ever after. no matter how your marriage ended, you won’t stop believing in it for her. 
“so!” charli walks over to you and takes your hand, “how do i look?” she twirls and the dress swirls around her, the tiny crystals catching light and making her shimmer like starlight.
you laugh in response, “like george is about to go into cardiac arrest the minute he sees you!”
the pair of you giggles like teenagers. you can so clearly picture it before it has even happened. the joy and love that will shine on george’s face; his excitement, quiet yet infectious and for a brief moment you’re transported back to your own walk down the aisle. 
small, unsure steps, worried about falling flat on your face in those tall heels, but all of that had evaporated the second you had seen his tear-stained face. and the bright smile that had bloomed a split second later. 
but that’s how long the ache lasts; a brief moment. it’s bad enough that you’re going to have to be civil to him, there’s no need to make it worse with unnecessary nostalgia. 
besides, there’s her to think about. 
she in question is a beautiful, leggy blonde who is at least seven years younger than him. not that you’ve seen either of them today…yet. it’s only because you and charli got drunk one night, four weeks before the wedding, and she felt bad about keeping it from you that matty had a plus one. and that’s how you fell into the rabbit hole of scrolling through this girl’s Instagram profile at two in the morning. 
if you thought you knew his type, you would be dead wrong. physically speaking, she is the exact opposite of you—someone who looks like they belong on a giant billboard in times square, perfect and stunning. then there’s the more questionable aspects of her feed. the flat tummy tea adverts and the paid partnerships with various brands that are always under fire for being unethical.
but that’s the ugly green monster rearing its head. it’s not like you aren’t known for indulging in vanity every once in a while. 
she will be here today, no doubt, clinging onto his arm like a decorative little thing—woah, where did that snide thought come from?! you shake your head to yourself, at least a little embarrassed. he’s not even here yet and he’s already screwing with your head; pushing you back into old jealous and insecure habits. someone clears their throat. 
nora, one of charli’s longtime friends, has her champagne glass raised. a toast. she takes a deep, shaky breath and smiles tearily at the room, about to give her sentimental speech when a resounding knock echoes and cuts her off before she has even begun. 
five heads turn to the locked door and you happen to be standing closest to it. 
‘i’ll get it,’ you tell no one in particular, hand already on the doorknob. the possibility of it hits you way too late. 
it hits you right as his clean-shaven face comes into view. 
it has been ten months. ten months since you gave up the last name healy and changed it back to your maiden name on all your official documents. it had felt like a form of catharsis, getting it done with such urgency back then. but you also remember the days when you would be asked to state your full name and stagger a little at how odd it sounded to no longer have healy in it. to not have a ring around your finger to fidget with. no one to hold you at night. 
but back to now. back to here. 
it’s not hard to see that he has changed a lot in the last ten months. he looks serious; not necessarily sombre—it’s his best friend’s wedding, after all—but mature, more grown up. the grey in his hair, in his beautiful curls, is now much more prominent. the crow's feet around his eyes are more or less the same (and it sends a small pang through you; has he not laughed recently?). his mouth holds—held—a faint smile that’s already slipping, already morphing into a thin line. the exact same face that you woke up to for years now turning into a mask of carefully arranged neutrality.
“charli,” he whispers roughly and then clears his throat, “here to check on charli.” and just like that, he steps past you and into the room where he’s engulfed into a hug by the bride (and slapped on the bum by another bridesmaid but you ignore that for now).
pointedly, you also ignore the sting that comes with being sidestepped so easily. 
you stand by the door, back still to the room, for a second longer than necessary. it doesn’t even register that you’re letting the warm spring air in. is this really how little seeing you impacts him? it must have. because if he’s here then she is also here. 
“tell him i’m fine!” charli’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, making you shut the door softly. “and tell him not to meddle, i’ve got my girls.” she looks at you over his shoulder and throws a wink. your gut tells you it’s nothing but a charity gesture, just trying to gauge the tension between you two. guilt gnaws at you—she shouldn’t have to play peacemaker, she shouldn’t have to worry about two adults behaving themselves. 
“only doing my duty here,” matty raises his hands defensively, “keeping the groom happy.” 
the rest of them tease and taunt him playfully while you take the time to admire—no, simply look at—his suit. it’s nowhere near as nice as the one he wore at your wedding, of course not. but it’s beautifully made, tailored to fit and accentuate his muscles. and there are a lot of those now, that much is evident from the way his sleeves stretch over his biceps. he fills it out nicely, not that he didn’t before, but something about the fabric straining across his arms does funny things to your stomach. funny, you thought that feeling was a thing of the past. then there’s the navy trousers that compliment his backside rather nicely. 
there’s a part of you that is appalled at all these observations you have been making but there’s another part—bored and much more matter-of-fact—that reminds you that there’s nothing under those clothes that you haven’t seen, touched, licked or sucked before. there’s nothing new. he is still the same as he was before, just now with a few extra muscles. 
“go away,” charli’s nudges him gently toward the door. “we’ll be out in fifteen.”
he hugs her just before he leaves, dropping a friendly kiss on her head. after everything you’re glad no one had to pick sides in the divorce. you’ve at least managed to hold the friend group together, even though the same can’t be said about your marriage. 
matty leaves just like he came in, sidestepping you and making sure he’s looking straight ahead. there’s a brief second however—a fraction of one really—when he slows down and breathes in. his adam’s apple bobs roughly and his face struggles to hold the blank expression. 
but it must have just been you projecting right? no one can go through that much in half a second. 
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“there you are, darling,” denise walks in on you mid-smoke. “i was looking for you.”
she’s in a beautiful pink dress that brushes her knees and makes her look ten years younger than she is. you blush slightly at having been caught smoking; it’s a recent habit, not one she would be aware of, and you don’t want her to judge you for it. 
“denise,” you try to hide the half-smoked cigarette, “you look beautiful.”
she pointedly looks at your hand and laughs. “my son does enough of that.” then she straightens up, as if bringing matty so casually into this conversation was a mistake. you suppose it was—it does make your heart skip a beat. 
“i just wanted to say hi, darling,” she adds hastily, “and look at you…” her eyes scan you from head to toe, linger on your face for just a second before she smiles again. “simply stunning.”
“thank you.” your voice comes out in a whisper, fighting to get past the lump in your throat. you didn’t think there would ever come a day when she would have to so formally stop by to ‘say hi’. yet here you are, almost a pair of estranged mother and daughter. 
“i don’t…” she starts but shakes her head minutely, “i don’t want to condescend you. but are you okay? with matty bringing that girl, i mean.”
that piques your interest. “that girl?” you stifle a little giggle. “sounds like you don’t like her…”
denise shrugs, leaning against the wall and looking at the bushes in front of her. “she’s okay, i guess.” then she takes a bit to smooth out her dress. “but she’s not you.”
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“dearly beloved…” the officiant, charli’s godfather, begins, which you tune out instantly. weddings are lovely and romantic, wedding speeches are dull and boring. besides, like it or not, something else has captured your attention. 
you stand behind the bride, holding the ring she’s supposed to put on george later. and right in front of you stands matty, holding the matching platinum band in his hands. adam and ross stand behind him, smiling and occasionally laughing along with the rest of the guests. you tried it at first too, to only keep your attention on george—who looks very handsome and beams wide the whole time—but it’s impossible when you feel your ex’s piercing stare right on you. 
you would have thought he would stick to the little ignoring act from before. instead, his eyes have lingered on you from the second you walked down the aisle as a part of the processional. tracking your every move, every small step. frankly, it’s insulting. does he think you would ruin the wedding as some sort of diabolical revenge against him? you scoff internally; of course, he would think such self-centred thoughts, it’s just all about him, after all.
you raise an eyebrow at him. what’s your fucking problem?
he smiles back; an arrogant curl of his mouth that turns his face from sweet to insufferable within a matter of seconds. you, his eyes seem to say, you’re my problem. 
well too fucking bad then…
you huff and look away to the side at the guests. it’s only about fifty people from both sides. just family and friends—a lovely kind of intimacy the couple had asked for. you smile at george’s parents who sit in the first row. his mum dabs at her eyes, clearly overwhelmed with emotion. and behind them sit denise and tim. right next to her. 
she’s exactly what she looks like on her instagram page. dainty and beautiful, picture-perfect elegant. her whole face looks like it could be hand-crafted by the gods (or very expensive surgeons according to the snide little voice in your brain) but her eyes are bone dry. 
that’s because she doesn’t belong here, your brain chimes in. not among your friends and your family. 
well, ex-family…
her name doesn’t immediately come to the forefront of your mind. all you know from that drunken night is how charli made you block all her socials at the end of it. as if you were going to go back to them again and again. as if you have no purpose in life other than obsessing over your ex’s new girl. 
she sighs, then looks out the window with a bored expression on her face and you have to focus your attention back to the bride and groom before you do something drastic. not before you catch matty looking at you from the corner of your eye, however. 
not just at you…he’s staring at the plunging neckline of your dress that shows off your cleavage wonderfully. with the big window to your side, it’s so clear to see every little detail of his face—his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip (he’s unaware that he’s doing it. you know that for a fact). his pupils that are blown out wide, making almost the entirety of his eyes look black; dark and hungry. 
your mouth curls into a smirk, arrogant enough to mirror his own. well, this is interesting. 
matty’s mouth presses into a thin line. even now, after you caught him so red-handed, he’s trying to deny it. but you don’t miss his ears turning the telltale shade of pink. 
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“...and i promise to love you for the rest of my life.” george’s voice breaks on the last word, the tears flowing freely but he smiles through all of it. in front of you, charli’s shoulders shake. they haven’t even put the rings on each other yet and they’re already emotional. it makes you laugh, and surprising, you feel the tears escaping your eyes.
i promise to love you for the rest of my life. that’s what matty had said too. i promise to dance in the kitchen with you and do all my silly little romantic gestures. i promise to never let you fall. i promise, i promise, i promise…
so many of them unkept, so many of them just pretty words spoken on a perfect day in front of a tearful audience. 
“i do!” charli squeals before the question is even finished, making everyone laugh. a wet chuckle escapes you at her infectious joy. 
“do you, george, take charli to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant asks. 
“i do,” he says patiently and charli sticks her tongue out at him. 
you sincerely hope they stay like this for the rest of their lives—polar opposites who complete each other. not people who are so similar, they don’t know how to exist in the same space anymore. 
matty smiles, first at the couple and then, shockingly, at you. husband and wife he mouths. 
jarringly still, you smile back. 
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i would love to hear what you think 🤭
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lxkeeeee · 11 months
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SOME THINGS I WANT TO WRITE FOR HUSBAND! SCARAMOUCHE X FEM KITSUNE WIFE! READER
these ideas will be in bullet form and I'll eventually write this into a full fic.
Angst. Just angst.
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•Scaramouche went to Inazuma to assist Signora for the electro gnosis right?
•His part of the plan was to just kill the traveler.
•He was so close to killing the traveler but yae Miko made him an offer he couldn't resist.
•so, he took the gnosis and fled and was called a traitor.
•BUT
•imagine when the day he left for Inazuma, [reader] was already pregnant of his child and was unaware considering she's a kitsune and her body reacts to pregnancy different from humans and since she lived her life without parents, no one was there to educate her about their species.
•Imagine how her world would crash down as she realized that she just experienced her fourth betrayal.
•and from her husband nonetheless.
•imagine her sadness and anger as she realized her husband broke his promise.
•imagine her fainting due to the stress of her husband's betrayal and also because her pregnancy.
•imagine her finding out she was pregnant when dottore checked her
•everything was crashing down, her whole world slowly getting destroyed.
•imagine her crying so hard in their once shared bed, her hand over her stomach.
•crying so hard at the fact their dreams of having a child became true but her husband chose power over her and their child.
•but despite the heartache, she still longed that Scaramouche would go back to her, go back to them.
•also, imagine when scaramouche deeply breathing as he tried to catch his breath from running away.
•his hands tingling as he clutched the gnosis
•his eyes darkened with power
•but then fear
•fear at the realization that he just broke his promise to his wife
•he wants to go back
•but he's afraid
•afraid what the Fatui will do to him
•imagine him breaking down as he realizes that he just gave his wife her fourth betrayal.
•fast forward
•imagine him finding out his wife's pregnancy through dottore when he was in Sumeru
•he felt his heart dropped despite not having one.
•guilt would immediately wash over him.
•he would scream at dottore that he was lying
•then dottore would tell him the duration of her pregnancy
•and then realizes that, fuck... The last time they did it fits the duration of her pregnancy.
•dottore would just smirk as he left the broken puppet.
•only the puppet's cries of guilt and agony echoes inside the room, as multiple sorry's left his mouth.
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How Could You Think, Darling, I'd Scare So Easily? (ao3)
The moment I heard this song, I just knew I had to write a Nessian drabble, and so here it is for day 3 of @nessianweek !
Set post-acofas and pre-acosf. Each night Cassian sits on the roof of the building across the street from Nesta’s apartment, waiting for a light in her window.
There was a light in her window.
A flickering flame, almost swallowed by the darkness, a candle fighting hard to stay lit in the draughts that slipped through the cracks in her window frames. 
Go home, Cassian.
The words she’d spat on a darkened road laden with snow, with venom on her tongue and agony in her chest. That Solstice night - weeks ago now, months - when she’d pushed him away so thoroughly he thought it a wonder there was any part of himself that remained unbroken, he’d taken it in his stride, let her walk away, only to follow her at a distance to make sure she got home safe.
Go home, Cassian.
Didn’t she realise that he was home? Wherever she was, whenever he was by her side— he was home. And it didn’t matter that she hissed and spat and clawed at him with that sharp tongue of hers. Fuck, it didn’t even matter that she had been out tonight, in a bar with other men. It killed him, but it didn’t matter when she took them home, didn’t matter that it wasn’t him waking up in her bed in the morning, or bringing her tea as the sun broke above the horizon. 
It didn’t matter, because no matter how much she tried to make him run— here he was.
Sitting on a rooftop across the street from her apartment, waiting in the darkness for a glimpse of a light in her window. A sign that she was home— that she’d made it back safe.
She was broken and hurting and trying desperately to find some way to mend, and gods, didn’t Cassian know well enough what that was like? Didn’t he remember his own anguish, his own agony, after his first war? So how could he judge her now— how could he fault her, when her heart was breaking as much as his?
And how could she ever think it would be enough to make him turn away?
His love was not feeble or fickle or fragile— it was unending and uncompromising and unwavering, and gods, how he wished she saw it. How he wished she knew that she was the beginning and ending of his everything, that which his entire world seemed to now revolve, and it was her name he whispered in the darkness each night, her face he saw behind closed eyelids. What was he, without her? Who had he been, in all those centuries he’d endured not knowing her name?
So it didn’t matter that she pushed him away.
None of it mattered.
Nesta was his, the one he’d almost died for, and when he promised her they’d have time he meant it— meant every fucking word he’d uttered as he lay there close to death. He wouldn’t turn from her now— not even with all the distance between them, all the words spoken in anger. 
And as that candle continued to flicker on her windowsill, he ran a hand through his hair and rose to his feet. He turned away, knowing that he’d be back tomorrow night. 
And the next, and the next. 
For however many nights it took until she was okay again… he’d be here, sitting on that rooftop. Waiting.
And with each tremble of that fragile flame in that distant window, he’d picture it— the day he’d wake with her by his side, her fingers woven tight with his, her eyes no longer stricken with the kind of grief that stole his breath, endless in its magnitude. The day he’d hold her again, kiss her the way he had in those last few moments on that battlefield, the kiss he’d thought would be his last. His heart ached behind his ribs, some piece of him shattering with every slam of her door in his face, but still—
It didn’t matter.
He wouldn’t break, could take anything she threw his way, and good gods, he’d been through enough to know that he’d go through it all again if it meant that at the end of it all, he got to hold her in his arms.
So he’d wait. 
He’d sit in the darkness and make sure she made it home. He’d stand back, waiting on the sidelines with his heart bruised black and blue, because he’d promised to find her and he’d meant it, and even if it took her a little longer to find her way back to him…
Cassian would deal with it. 
Because he was hers in every way imaginable, and oh, he loved her. And there was not a single thing in the world she could do that could shake the love from him, make it vanish from his heart. Nothing, no matter how hard she tried.
He’d wait for her. For a week, a month, a year. A century or a millennia. It didn’t matter. She was his, and he was hers, and someday, he knew, they would have the kind of forever that the poets and the bards sang about, the kind that made everything else cease to be. Someday, he would love her the way she deserved, cherish her the way she ought to have been cherished all along.  
It was just a matter of time.
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viinieroxide · 1 year
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—how does one love without scruples or fears or restraints?
pairing: neteyam x fem! kekunan! reader.
summary: this is the last page of the love story of the son of the chief and the daughter of freedom.
author's note: this is inspired by that one phenomenal jo and laurie scene in little women. sorry if haven't opened tumblr in a while because of exams. i also wrote this within an hour. hope it turned out well.
part 1. part 2.
"I love you."
"I won't ever become Tsahik."
"I love you."
"I am incapable of managing a home."
"I love you."
"I despise kids. They are horrendous."
"I love you, and I still want you."
"Neteyam," you said slowly, willing your voice not to quake under his gaze, but because of your effort, his name came out like a warning, a plea for him to stop uttering those dreadful words. You never knew when exactly you had stopped feeling butterflies and began feeling outright dread upon hearing the three words of proclamation of love. "I won't."
"Why?" he asked. 
"Aren't you tired of this?" you asked, swiftly changing the topic because you did not want to answer that question. "Asking me over and over again and receiving the same answer?"
"I will never get tired of you," Neteyam said, and he sounded so sure and earnest that you just had to close your eyes and take a big step back, because you were afraid that you'd do something you'd regret. The closer he was, the foggier your brain got, and you needed your brain to think and not succumb to the desire in your heart. It disgusted you far more than anything in the world, the enormity of your desire. You wish to be free from its claws every single day, but it proved only to be difficult because it was Neteyam and how can one not desire Neteyam?
"You soon will be."
He placed his hand over his chest, right above where his heart should be, "This had loved you ever since we were little. I can wait a little longer for you."
"Neteyam–"
"I love you."
"You are the next Olo'eyktan–"
"I love you."
"And you need the right person who is capable of supporting you and strengthening your position."
"You are the right person," Neteyam insisted. 
"How am I the right person?"
"You are what I need."
"But am I what the people need?"
"Do not think about them. Only think about us."
"But they need a Tsahik," you reasoned. Or at least, you tried to sound reasonable. "I cannot be Tsahik. You know that. The people need a Tsahik and they have chosen—"
"No, dont."
"—Zekem for you."
"But I choose you," Neteyam stressed. "Not Zekem, you. Only you."
"She is perfect—"
"I love you."
"—and she's beautiful—"
"I love you."
"—she's a great healer and your parents adore her." 
"But I love you.
An I love you from his mouth was not powerful enough to change the fact that you could not accept his love.
"Neteyam, love won't bring prosperity to the people," you said, and you ignored the twinge of guilt you felt immediately when you saw Neteyam's ears flatten on the side of his head, and he had avoided your gaze in favor of looking down to the ground. When he began blinking rapidly, you knew then and there that he was trying to stop his tears from falling down his cheeks, a habit of his. When you looked further down and saw his clenched fists, it only confirmed that your suspicion was right.
"So am I supposed to just become unhappy for them, too?" Neteyam whispered. "I sacrificed a lot to become the perfect person to lead them in the future, to become the perfect son they needed me to be. I was selfless, and for the first time, I actually wanted to be happy and now—now—"
"I'm sure you'll be happy with her," you said but you felt like choking on your spit when you said that. There was a petty part within yourself that said I hope you won't, but you shot it down because you had no right to say that.
"I'm going back to my clan anyway," you said, trying to sound cool as you admit the decision you had made five months ago, and Neteyam had looked up so fast that you feared he snapped his neck in half. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape.
"What?"
"I'm going back," you admitted. The very reason why you refused Neteyam's attempts at confessing the past three months. "To the Kekunan. My clan. I overstayed my welcome here."
"Wait, what brought this decision—" He was panicking, you could tell. "I thought, I thought you'd stay. Here. With us. With me."
"I do not belong here. I'm not an Omaticaya," you said and that was the truth. But the thing about the truth was that it was harsh and there were people who could not handle it.
"No, you are—"
"I'm not." You adored the Omaticaya clan, really. You were beyond thankful for them, for Jake and Neytiri for housing you when your parents had died during their visit in the clan (if your parents weren't friends with Tsu'tey and Sylwanin, both of whom were dead but owned the couple's utmost respect, you doubt they'd even glance at your situation) the same time the Sky People came back, but you knew that this was not where you belonged. You belonged to the clan of colorful banshee masters, a clan of pride, freedom, and colors, not the spiritual artisans. You belonged to the skies, free and forever unbound, and because of that, you could not become what Neteyam needed. He was destined to lead, not to become yours. 
You heard Neteyam take a deep breath, turning his head away from you. You unconsciously reached out to comfort him, until hesitation struck you because what right did you have anyway? So you pulled your hand back and it fell limp by your side. Neteyam saw this, saw your obvious hesitation, and he got your message, so he pivoted on his heels and started walking away.
"And I—"
He quickly stopped and turned around, looking at you. With a nod of his head, he urged you to continue your words, and you fucking hated how this little gesture of his made you feel because after all the suffering and pain you were causing him, he would still come back to you and listen to you and cling onto anything that shares the same shape as hope.
"I don't think I'll ever settle down, Neteyam."
There it was. The acidic words you had been desperately swallowing down your throat. Because as much as you were known for your courage and boldness, you still feared love more than any war or any horrific creature. You feared love more than death itself. And when it presented itself to you, your response was to flee and to utter lies.
He stared at you, long and hard, searching for something in your eyes. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke the gentlest of whispers.
"I think you will."
"No, I won't," you were quick to deny it.
"I think you will love someone. I think you'd have a family, raise your child, only one because you could not handle more, and become the best mother in the world. I think you'd teach your child, a son because that's what you wanted, how to fly and handle a blade. I think you'd love your spouse unconditionally and he would be the luckiest man out there because he gets to come home to you. And then you'd realize that love was never meant to restrain you or cage you, that loving does not require you to give up the freedom you cherish more than anything," Neteyam said. "And I will only watch."
And this was the end of the love story between the son of the Chief and the daughter of freedom.
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coffee-system-uwu · 1 year
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How do you think Andrew felt when he made Aaron get sober?
Do you think he ever almost caved? Listening to Aaron beg and scream and cry? Do you think it broke him a little bit on the inside? How often do you think Andrew had to remind himself he was doing the right thing, that it'd be better when it was over?
Do you ever wonder if Andrew felt the urge to comfort him, but buried it? Did they talk during the process? Did the trauma of the experience dig the wedge deeper into their relationship? Was it the straw that broke the camels back?
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jaeurwayintoheaven · 3 months
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some good omens angst i made based on a post i found on pinterest mhmghhgjbnhjh
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whitefantasy21-blog · 2 years
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"It was funny, really" Cale looked at the sunset, mind wandering to distant memories.
"Mother was a seer, and she was so afraid of the what will happen that she forgot i needed her in the present. I felt like i lost her long before she even died..." he sigh "Then, Father was depressed and stuck with what once was, that he forgot I needed him too." still not looking away from the view Cale continues
"Then you..." Cale felt abit more tired than ever, "You stuck by me after all these years, only to leave me without a word" it was like life was all one big joke on the red hair, his companion stayed silent "Sometimes I wish you just left from the beginning, rather than making me believe that I meant something to you too" Cale turned his back, like everyone did to him.
Ron still didn't say anything, (he had no right to.) but, it feels like he lost a son.
The irony of pain is that you want to be comforted by the person who hurt you, but they never do.
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no1knzme · 6 months
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Some edgy art horray
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its-stupidhours · 7 days
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funky little huge smir fic snippet for the fans
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abiiors · 9 months
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haunt // bed - pt. 3
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a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3
a/n: oh this is it...my chance to be evil >:)
minors dni! part 1, part 2
wc: 3.9k
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you have experienced many kisses in your life. most of them were with matty who you once thought was the great and lasting love of your life. there was your first kiss, fumbling and hormonal—a result of waiting months upon months until the desire to tear each other’s clothes off got too much. there were all the heated kisses that came after, sometimes even in public when the lust-filled thoughts wouldn’t let you stay still. all the breathless kisses that turned into softer, slower ones after he would come home from tour. the morning kisses that got less and less frequent until one day it was your last and you didn’t even realise.
this is unlike any of them. 
your hands fist his shirt tightly enough to tear off the expensive italian fabric, shoving at him and pulling him closer in tandem as if your brain and body are locked in a battle. his fingers dig roughly in your hips, keeping you trapped between himself and the wall. 
matty’s lips work feverishly against yours, his knee coming up to part your legs so he could push against you further. each brush of his knee against your core has you gasping for more. matty’s tongue slides in your mouth and you taste the champagne on his lips mixed with a coppery-metallic taste. blood. from you biting on his lip. 
this is wrong. this is so so wrong. 
and morality is not even one of the top ten reasons why you shouldn’t be doing this out in the fucking corridor at george and charli’s wedding!
“stop” you gasp out, the word half swallowed by his kisses, “we should stop…”
“you’re right,” matty says against your lips, almost managing to step away before the thought of being away from him becomes too much to bear and you tug on his tie again. 
his mouth is everywhere, on your jaw, your chin, smearing your lipstick all over no doubt. if there’s even any left of it at this point. your hands roam over the front of his shirt, feeling for all the muscles underneath. feeling for his abs that flex and contract with each stroke of your hand, before he groans loudly in your mouth just as you tug at his belt buckle. 
“this is dangerous,” he warns, half crazed, half desperate. his lips are swollen and red from the mix of blood, kissing and your lipstick. his hair is a mess, his tie askew and his shirt collar undone. the flower on his lapel has long since crumpled and lost half its petals. 
he looks like a fallen angel, devastating and irresistible. if you follow him now, it will lead to nothing but your ruin. 
“we should find somewhere else,” you suggest, utterly ignoring all the warning bells that go off. all you need is the feel of his tongue dragging over your lower lip and everything else just melts away. 
matty steps back, only half a step, and raises his eyebrow. if it weren’t for the hard evidence pressing right against your stomach, you would have mistaken this expression for disgust and judgement. 
but you know what this is 
this is shameless and open desire and the willingness to lose anything to get what he wants.
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“you are a cliché, healy.” you push matty into the wall of the supply closet as soon as the door closes behind you. “fucking me in a supply closet like some sixteen year old.”
“sounds like you could take it or leave it,” he smirks, leaning his head back against the wall and casually putting his hands in his pockets. his tongue rolls softly over his lower lip, trying to soothe the sting from your teeth. the single dim lightbulb makes the shadows on his face dance. 
his lips are glistening and red, like forbidden fruit, and suddenly it’s very clear why one woman would doom all of humanity for just one taste. 
one more and then you will be sated. right?
“fuck you,” you step up to him, boobs brushing against his chest, chin pointing up haughtily so you can look down your nose at him despite being shorter. 
matty’s takes his hand out of his pocket and wraps it around your throat, catching you off-guard. his movements are quick and almost forceful, flipping you around till your back is pressed against the wall once again. 
“you’ve said that before,” he points out. “nothing new to add?”
“what,” you tilt your chin up defiantly. the pressure on your throat brings tears to your eyes and makes your head feel tingly, just like the rest of your body. “you want me to beg you to fuck me? you would like that, wouldn’t you?”
his mouth is so close, so sinfully red, breathing right over the shell of your ear. you turn your face, lips ghosting just over his jaw—barely enough to feel the stubble. 
“want me to get on my knees? hmm? so that you can grab my hair and fuck my mouth the way you want?”
matty grunts in your ear, hand tightening around your throat until you feel the tell-tale tingles once again. it’s a small sort of triumph that your words still have an effect on him. 
“would you?” he asks, then swallows roughly. 
“no,” you shrug and unexpectedly nip at his skin. “but you should.”
matty pulls back, hand loosening around your throat so that all the blood rushes back at once. it’s dizzying and exhilarating—spreading heat all over your body that finally gathers between your legs. a moan almost slips out, needy and desperate. 
the hand digging into your waist slips onto your back and hovers just over the zipper. he’s silently asking for permission. you nod against him, his stubble softly scraping against your cheek.
in one fluid moment, matty pulls the zipper down, hands moving deftly to slide the straps aside. the soft silk slides off your body, pooling at your feet and you stand in front of him, entirely naked and ready to be devoured. 
“fuck,” he whispers roughly, staggering back to look at you properly. “fuck.” 
you smirk despite yourself. a dress like that doesn’t deserve to be sullied with undergarments. bet he didn’t know about that when he was inches away from you on the dance floor. 
in the dim light, you can only roughly make out the colour of matty’s eyes and the hunger in his dilated pupils. he surveys you from top to bottom, taking his sweet time, making up for an entire year. he lingers hungrily on your breasts, the curve of your hips and between your legs, no doubt paying extra attention to the way the inside of your thighs glisten with wetness. then he steps back entirely, no longer touching a single part of your body and for a moment there’s only the wall that keeps your legs from giving out from under you. matty grins—a cruel slash of red across his face—and takes a mocking bow. 
as you wish, his eyes seem to say, before he kneels right in front of you and paws at your thighs. 
in the ten months since the divorce, you haven’t been a saint either. ten months is a long time to go without the touch of another and yet when he comes closer, your body reacts to his like it has for no one else. the barest touch of his hand makes your blood sing. not that you would ever admit to it.
a moan rips out of you, dripping with desperation, and his mouth curls over your thigh in a smug smile. he’s not going to be gentle, you don’t want him to be. 
his teeth nip into the soft flesh of your thighs, drawing out a scream. his mouth leaves hot kisses right after. you want to beg for his tongue, you from a year ago would have said ‘please’ at least twice since he fell to his knees. now you only grind yourself against his face. 
“eat me out like a man, matthew…” you warn when his hands pin your waist to the wall.
“desperate?” he croons. “looks like no one fucked you well enough in these ten months.”
anger burns within you at the way your body reacts to his words, his voice that sends vibrations through you. “so needy,” his teeth scrape over your clit making you jolt forward. “need me to get on my knees, then you need me to fuck the bitch out of you. it’s always about you, isn’t it.”
your retort is on your lips but the second you feel his tongue, it evaporates into thin air. all that comes out is a strangled cry that sounds a lot like his name. 
matty laps at you like a starved man, pouring all his anger and hate into his actions. he doesn’t care what bruises his hands leave behind, if his teeth scratch your sensitive flesh. he cares about the screams and the cries. 
his tongue moves at a pace that barely leaves you any time to catch your breath. it’s one lick after the next, building you up to higher levels of pleasure than you’ve ever achieved before. 
“more,” you gasp out. 
he pulls back, cocking an eyebrow up at you “more, what?”
humiliation makes your cheeks heat up. only matty would know how to make you beg while being on his knees. 
“more…please,” you grit out, tangling your fingers in his hair and yanking till you hear a hiss. 
“feral bitch,” he spits before plunging his fingers inside your cunt. a second later, his mouth is back on your clit. 
the pain and pleasure is a dizzying, heady mix. he keeps a brutal pace, deliberately tortuous enough that you reach the heights of pleasure without actually being able to let go. every time you come close, every time you clench desperately around his fingers, he bites the inside of your thigh, flooding your head with pain. you’re sure they’re littered with angry, red marks by now. 
“can’t make me cum?” your voice comes out breathier than you would like. it’s a useless and empty taunt—you know he can make you cum multiple times if he wanted to. 
if he wanted to. 
shamelessly you grab onto his head, trying to control his movements. your desperation for a release has reached new heights, the ache between your legs worse than when he first started. the skin on your thighs stings, raw and red, the knot in your stomach is ready to snap any minute. 
if only he’d let you. 
“don’t want to,” he stops mid lick, fingers stilling half in and half out. “not unless you beg me to. you know how to beg, don’t you?”
matty lets go and sits back on his haunches, looking up at you while licking his obscenely wet mouth. his chest rises and falls rapidly, his eyes are half-lidded and delirious. and a scream of frustration burns in your chest. 
beg him…you would rather die. but the thought of not cumming right now feels worse than death. 
matty leans forward, mouth pressed just under your navel and trailing down sinfully slow kisses. 
“beg,” he whispers, “and i’ll make you cum.”
your fingers knead your breasts, grabbing and pinching at your own nipples, hoping for the same stimulation. but nothing even comes close enough. 
“beg, darling,” he coaxes again, grinning at your subsequent scream of frustration. 
“please…” you mumble, barely loud enough for your own ears let alone his. humiliation burns through you almost as fervently as desire, burning everything in its wake. “fuck, matty. please.” you repeat louder. 
“more,” he says and moves his mouth lower.
if the first two pleas were hard to get out, the third burns like poison. 
“please,” you choke out, “i want to cum.”
“but you said i couldn’t make you,” he tuts, a millimetre above your clit now. you should have never given him this much power over you, this much control. 
“you can,” you whine, “only you can. please, fuck, mat—”
his fingers thrust inside you roughly, hitting the spot you desperately want him to. his tongue laps up at all your wetness, coaxing the most filthy and obscene sounds out of you. 
“go ahead, darling,” he coos, “cum for me.”
as soon as matty’s tongue rests flat against your folds, you clench around his fingers, cumming with his name on your tongue. a chant of the damned. his fingers pump in and out of you effortlessly, holding you up with one hand around your waist. ecstasy swirls around your brain, taking precedence over all other thoughts. this is the feeling you had craved for all these months without even realising it. 
matty mumbles something against your hips, it almost sounds like “missed your taste” but your brain is too mushed up to make sense of words. even when he stands, pushing his erection into you, you can barely open your eyes. 
his soft cotton shirt feels too much against your sensitive nipples. it elicits a hiss out of you every time your chests brush. matty’s eyes are on you, hungry and assessing. even with your eyes closed you can feel his stare. so you grind your sopping wet cunt into his hips and smile when he groans abruptly. 
“my begging turn you on?” you laugh weakly, fumbling with his zipper. you need more of him like you need air. just once is not enough. 
matty leans against you, foreheads almost touching. after all the energy you’ve spent on hating him and despising his existence, this small corner of a dingy closet feels like it’s part of a different reality. one where things might even be different. 
who knows, when you walk out of here, you might not go back to being divorced exes. 
a feeling that suspiciously feels like longing niggles at your brain but you push it down vehemently. this is about lust, this is about fucking him out of your system one. last. time. 
his hand yanks at your hair, smushing the soft waves while he wraps them around his fist. suddenly you’re looking into dark, intense eyes. 
“i could fuck you again,” he says, “won’t even make you beg this time.”
his mouth moves to the hollow of your throat—exposed and unmarred skin that he sinks his teeth into, sucking at the flesh, lightly dragging his tongue over it. leaving hickeys and bruises for people to see. 
sure you have makeup in your bag but the bag is nowhere near you. your only option is to do the walk of shame. charli won’t mind, she’d be too far gone to notice. the thought of the wedding party outside is foreign. so distant that it takes you a minute to remember what exists outside of this tiny room. 
your friends. his friends. your ex-family. his date. 
a sour taste lingers on your tongue—acidic and rotten. grace. beautiful, perfect grace, bonding with denise and tim right now, dancing with charli and joking with george. stunning grace, replacing you effortlessly while you fuck her sloppy seconds. 
matty’s thumb runs over your lips, forcing you to turn your thoughts back to him and the heat between your legs burns anew. 
“open,” he tugs at your bottom lip, urging you to part them. obediently, you do, getting only a moment’s warning before he spits in your mouth. “now be a good girl and swallow.”
you do as he says, swallowing it past the sudden emotion welling up in you. 
“i don’t have a condom,” you say. 
“i don’t…” he clears his throat, taken aback at the mention of a condom. you can’t remember the last time you used one with him. it feels symbolic to want to put at least one thin barrier between you; one flimsy, weak line of defence in place. “i’m clean.”
you think about it for a second. you’re on birth control and clean according to tests from two months ago. the question is, can you handle this all over again?
“we don’t—”
“shut up, matty,” you make up your mind and unzip his pants in one swift motion. “let's get this over with.”
if he registers the pointed jab, he does show it. he’s too busy fumbling with his trousers and pulling his hard cock out of his boxers. you don’t give him even a moment before wrapping your hand around it in a tight grip, pumping him fast—once, then again. 
“you sure about this?” 
it’s an uncharacteristically soft question. it makes you stop and look into his big brown eyes. at the barely-there frown between his brows. a pit forms in your stomach. is he not sure anymore? does he not want you? this? 
“cold feet?” you try to be unbothered about it. this is nothing more than a casual one night stand. just because it’s him doesn’t add to its significance. you pump him a few times—what man doesn’t forget everything else in the world when he’s about to get his dick wet?
but matty grabs your jaw quickly, almost halting your movements. “i want you to be sure.”
he speaks each word with deliberate clarity, eyes boring into yours, hand holding your jaw firmly so you won’t try to avert your eyes or lie to him. 
you scoff, unable to get the exact words out. “i have your dick in my hands, darling. of course, i’m sure.”
a second passes and panic slices through you. he’s going to pull away. he’s going to say no and walk out of here into her arms. and then your chance of one last time will be gone forever. 
matty moves his hand away from your jaw and wraps it around his cock, right over your hand. “right then,” he murmurs, lips moving against yours. 
you hook your thighs around his waist, wincing when the leather of his belt rubs against the sore skin. but the wince turns into a gasp as soon as he pushes in—deliciously hard and thick, familiar. 
“shit,” he moans, bracing a hand against the wall to steady himself. “you feel—”
you cut him off with a rough kiss. you don’t want to know how you feel, you just want him to move, to fuck you and make you reach your climax again. you just want him fully inside you and thrusting until your hips are bruised and your back scratched from the wall. 
he takes the hint and slides in, hitting the right spot, making you scream out his name right into his mouth. you’re surrounded by him for one intoxicating moment that stretches into an eternity, full of him and moving your hips for more. it takes him half a second to find his pace, to slide into his old habits. he knows your body inside and out, knows how to draw out the small, whiney sounds only he can get you to make. 
“faster.” you muffle your cries by burying your face in his shoulder. sneakily, you also take a deep whiff of his cologne. it’s mixed with his sweat and some of the champagne he’d been drinking earlier. it’s just in the heat of the moment, you tell yourself, just to get you off. 
his arms encase you, his body cages you against the wall and his hips move at a fast, almost bruising pace. the steel belt buckle hits you repeatedly each time, sending a shock of cold through your entire body. it’s a jarring contrast to the heat coursing through your veins. it makes your head spin. 
“so fucking wet for me,” he groans. 
the tiny room is filled with disgustingly filthy wet sounds, flesh slapping on flesh, loud moans and softer whines. it’s every bit like it used to be; except this is some twisted mirror dimension. 
matty moans your name when you clench tighter around him, slamming his hips into yours until you’re rocking your hips equally fast. involuntarily, his hand slides behind your head. it’s to stop your head from hitting on the wall, you realise. 
his head is slightly tipped back as the ecstasy hits him, eyes half-lidded and mouth parted. you feel the familiar feeling build again, you feel him twitch inside you. you’re both close. it’s about to come to an end. 
your one last time. 
“so close,” he moans and you hum in response. what’s better? holding back or letting go?
“want to feel you cum on my cock,” he breathes, sounding almost like the matty you knew. all you can do is say yes over and over again as his tip hits the spot deep inside you. the knot tightens in your stomach, you feel his thrusts lose their rhythm and then with one last cry the coil snaps. 
your eyes roll in the back of your head as waves after waves of pleasure come crashing down. matty keeps going through it, losing himself into it more and more, slamming harder and harder until you feel his hot cum filling you, spiling down your thighs and mixing in with your slick. 
he doesn’t still right away, only slows down gradually—trying to get the most out of it, trying to make the final moments last. 
your chests heave together—naked breasts touching his shirt. it’s too much but you endure it, all of it just to stay close. 
his dick is already softening, he realises it too because he moves to peel your leg off his waist so he can pull out. the pain you feel is not limited to just your body. 
even when he pulls his boxers up with one hand, matty makes no move to step away. if anything, he inches closer. your face stays buried in his collar, his stays buried in your hair. for the second time, you’re aware of how much it looks like a lovers' embrace. 
he moves, lazily swiping his fingers through your folds and collecting everything he can, you have no energy left in you to gasp at the overstimulation. all you can do is arch your back and look up at him, just in time to see him put the fingers in his mouth. 
“sorry,” he winks, “couldn’t resist. wanted to see if we still taste good together.” then his mouth lowers to yours for a ghost of a kiss, just enough for you to feel his tongue against yours. 
“do we?” he whispers. 
blame it on the post sex hormones, blame it on the pathetic part of your brain, but tears prick at your eyes. this is it. this is the end of it. so you just nod, unable to trust your voice. 
“say it.” matty’s voice is husky, scratchy. “do we?”
you stop yourself from analysing it too much, from reading into it. does his voice hold desperation? is this triumph? gloating? the anger drains away, so does the hate. and all it leaves behind is bone-deep exhaustion.
if that is what is takes…
you square your shoulders, and will your voice to come out strong and clear. “we do,” you say, “we always have. shame it didn’t last.”
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the good news is, there’s an epilogue yet to come. the bad news is, i had a happy epilogue and a sad epilogue written in my outline the worse news is, idk which one I’m going to expand upon >:)
lemme know what you think please <33 mwah
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holyfavour · 9 days
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Just thinking about that one line in Everything Everywhere All At Once where Raymond tells Evelyn, "In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you." But it's you and Miguel. You see what you guys could have been and what you have lost.
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chimerabliss · 2 years
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Hiiii
It’s me again ^^
Thanks for doing my last request, and now I have a new one 😅
Angst cause I said so
Also, ⚠️ Season 3 season finale specials spoilers ⚠️
Last chance
Possesed WuKong hurting his s/o rlly badly (like broken limbs or something similar, rlly bad injury but not fatal) and then having to deal with the aftermath shortly after being freed from LBD’s control. [These eps had me crying and I need some comfort angst 🥲]
You. Yes you. I love you. Platonically ofc but I love you and your ideas give me more angst I need it.
Corrupted Wukong hurts his SO
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•The pain was one of the worst thing you ever felt. Your Wukong became someone else entirely, despite having the same..physical body, his usual warm colors were colder and duller. As if he wasn’t alive. The fear in your eyes didn’t match his empty ones. It felt like he stared at nothing, as if you didn’t exist.
•You were just in his way, he took your arm, bending it on the worst way and threw you away, your back hitting the icy wall. Both your back and arm were injured. Your arm was broken, you were scared to even move it.
•Wukong fought Macaque..he then almost hit MK..so much things have happened. You looked in horror of what he did. Sure, it wasn’t him..but somehow it was still him.
•You also hit your head when you hit the wall, the back of your head hurt badly. Everything was dizzy. Your sight was dizzy, your ears buzzed at every single sounds. Then it went all black, it was a weird welcoming sleep.
•You woke up in your room, all bandaged up. MK was by your side and sleeping. Poor boy..you can’t imagine the guilt he had when he saw you. None of it was his fault, and you’ll remind him of it soon. Your head felt numb, so was your arm. Your back was sore.
•The door opened, you looked up already stressing out after just waking up. There was Wukong, with his warm eyes, gold fur and warm colored clothes. And yet you felt your gut screaming to run away and hide. Your lover looked at you with a small nervous smile, "Hey peaches..how are you holding up ?"
•He didn’t see yet how you trembled, eyes fixing at him in terror. As if you were a terrified deer, caught by a predator. Though, when he walked to your bed with a food tray, armed with a bowl of soup and a glass of water, he saw how you wanted to scramble out of the bed, to just only hitting the wall. He saw how terrified you are. Wukong stopped in his tracks and stared in confusion and guilt.
•He remembered everything he did to you when he was possessed. It was heartbreaking, he never wanted to hurt you.
•MK woke up when you started to try and get anything related to a weapon, anything, to fight against your lover. You were hyperventilating and seemed lost in your thoughts. Poor boy had to see what was going on and asked Monkey King to leave the room until you calmed down. It took him a bit to leave and just, listened to your cries and pleas to be left alone. Everything broke inside of him.
•Wukong was scared of himself afterwards, leaving you alone most of the time so you could calm down. He would sometimes text you to check up on you. You would reply in short sentences.
•After three weeks of not seeing each other, he came in your apartment after being given the green flag, and stood four feet away from you. You wanted to warm up to him, you really do, but you weren’t able to. His eyes, so warm and so soft for you..didn’t really feel the same, you were scared to look into them in case the icy and empty ones would appear once again.
•It took you many months to warm up to him, but you barely looked into his eyes. Wukong noticed it. He felt so guilty about it. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone alone to beat the lady bone demon. It wouldn’t have happened.
•Wukong tried to make you look into his eyes. It worked somehow? Just for a millisecond and you looked away. He would often crack a few jokes and bring peaches to your place, so you two could eat together.
•When he asked if he could sleepover for the week and you accepted, he couldn’t help but feel delighted. And mostly nervous. After not being able to feel your touch, he will be able to hug you in your sleep! But will you try and kill him by doing so ? You were so on edge with him, nearly hitting your lover with some sort of weapon like a pillow. And it hit hard let me tell you.
•The night came and he was laying next you. A pillow between the two of you as a barrier. The urge to cry was strong but he was holding up with his everything and decided to try and sleep.
•That is, until you moved away the pillow and got closer to him. Your hand on top of his, slightly shaking.
•It was hard for you, but being separated from your lover was getting to you, you missed him. You never looked up to his face and only muttered, "It wasn’t you. I am still scared but I’ll do my best to fight against it." Wukong felt his shirt getting wet, and he fought the urge to hug you as it would startle you.
•"I don’t want to lose you my love, I want to spend the rest of my days with you, Wukong." Was all you said as your voice cracked. Slowly, Wukong reached to your body and made a small movement to pull you close, his tail wrapping up against your leg.
•"Don’t worry, peaches..I’ll never let anything hurt you again." He whispered slowly as you broke. You were oh so scared of what he did to you, you we’re still willing to be with him.
•He’ll never hurt you again. And that was a promise he made it himself.
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hetamyutism · 1 year
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Мой дорогой…
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mythicalm0thii · 7 months
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The one thing that I think would actually compel me to like Derek's books again is if he did a prequel based around Skulduggery's life and then eventual death
I don't want any high stakes, just something simple, seeing him interact with the people around him and in his life
Then, add some small foreshadowing to his death (like maybe even have Ghastly warn him of it)
But Skul will brush it off, and promise to be safe idk
Then, when the time comes, I want him to be desperate, start off with a rightfully angry man who misjudged his decisions, a simple mistake, then slowly add in the grief and the rage and the fear and the absolute devestation
I WANT TO BE BEGGING FOR ANYONE TO SAVE THIS MAN AND HIS FAMILY, FOR NOBODY TO COME
Skulduggery's death was a tragedy, it was sad, a waste of life
He was too young to die, too fresh, still truly understanding what it means to be in a war (he was around 100-150, wasn't he?)
Then, when he finally dies, he isn't granted peace, no, he wakes up, painfully aware of his own existence, and his own anger...
it would be very silly of Derek Landy to write that
I BETTER BE BAWLING MY EYES OUT OK??? I WANT TO BE SOBBING, MAKE THIS A SLOWBURN. WE KNOW THEY'RE GOING TO DIE, BUT DOESN'T THAT MAKE IT WORSE? KNOWING WE HAVE A TIMER ON THESE CHARACTERS LIVES, BUT WE CAN'T HELP BUT GET ATTACHED
oh and make Skulduggery ginger please
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