#he's so-- SOFT HERE. AUGH. SO TENDER. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bratshaws · 2 months

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through the hourglass 359.brb x oc

a/n: AUGH, he's so beautiful !!(comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

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(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @novastories @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix @lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @louisahale @leobabbyyy @booklover2sblog @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

@caitsymichelle13 @becks-things @caatheeriinee07 @fanboyswhore9 @jesfreedark @katiemcrae @lilmonstrjedi @hobiismyhopeu @teacupsandtopgun @insominac23 @gh0stsgoodgirl @mygyn @chavivaelisheva @kmc1989 @enchantingharmonyalpaca @callsign-magnolia @mrsbradshaw01

Her husband had many talents.

He could play several instruments.

He was funny.

He was great for quick fixes!

He could also drink water angrily.

She looks up at him as she fills her own bottle, the gym had more people now and Rooster took on himself to stay close to her at every second they were there. Ever since she told him about the women…well,he was never one to hide when he hated someone. “Roos.” she whispers, “Baby, you look ready to murder someone while drinking water.”

Rooster glanced up from his water bottle, he swallowed the water in his mouth with a deliberate gulp, the muscles in his jaw tensing with controlled restraint.

"Sorry, Bea," he replied, his tone light yet tinged with underlying tension. "Just...keeping an eye on things, you know?"

Beatrice nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She appreciated Rooster's protective instincts, even if they sometimes manifested in seemingly mundane actions like drinking water. "I know, Roos," she murmured, her voice soft with affection. "But you don't have to worry about me. I can handle myself."

Rooster's gaze softened at Beatrice's words, his fingers intertwining with hers as he leaned in closer to her. "I know you can, gorgeous," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I just...I don't want anything to happen to you."

She leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. "I know, Roos," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "And I appreciate it more than you know. They walked away, they didn’t even notice us."

Rooster smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit at Beatrice's reassurance. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before pulling away, his gaze however, was still scanning the gym for any signs of trouble.

"Come on," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "Let's finish our workout and get out of here."

“What’s the next thing you want to do,Roos?”

He glanced around the gym, his mind racing with possibilities before settling on an idea.

"Well," he began, his voice contemplative, "how about we hit the weights next? I could use a good strength training session, and I could show you a few exercises too if you're interested."

Beatrice smiled at Rooster's suggestion, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. "That sounds great," she replied eagerly, her excitement evident in her voice. "I've been wanting to try out some new exercises, and having you there to guide me would be perfect."

“Oh you stop it.” he murmurs,kissing her lips softly, “You are too cute for your own good. You know I wouldn’t mind.”

Beatrice giggled at Rooster's wods, her heart fluttering with warmth as. She leaned into his kiss, "Alright, alright," she teased, her voice light with amusement. "No need to butter me up, Roos. Let's hit the weights before you start getting too charming."

Rooster chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he stood up from the bench, offering Beatrice a hand to help her up. "As you wish, gorgeous," he replied, his tone playful. "But just remember, you asked for it."

With a shared grin, Beatrice and Rooster made their way over to the weightlifting area of the gym, the sound of clanging metal and grunting exertion filling the area. Rooster selected a pair of dumbbells and demonstrated the proper form for a bicep curl, his movements smooth and controlled as he lifted the weights with ease.

Beatrice watched intently, her eyes focused on Rooster's muscular arms as he performed the exercise. She admired the way his muscles flexed and bulged with each repetition, and she couldn’t look away.

"Your turn, gorgeous," Rooster said, setting down the dumbbells and offering them to Beatrice with a smile. "Give it a try."

“Hm?What?” Beatrice blinked, momentarily lost in the mesmerizing sight of Rooster's muscles. She shook her head slightly, refocusing her attention on the task at hand. "Oh, right," she replied, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. "Sorry, got a little distracted there."

Rooster chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he handed the dumbbells to Beatrice. "No worries, gorgeous," he said, his tone light and teasing. "Just remember to keep your form steady and controlled, and you'll do great." and he leans his elbow against the wall and his bicep flexes again.

Evil.

Beatrice noddedand she positioned herself to begin the exercise. She took a deep breath, focusing all her energy on her biceps as she lifted the dumbbells with deliberate precision.

At first, the weights felt heavy in her hands, and Beatrice struggled to maintain her balance. But with each repetition, she found her rhythm, slowly,her muscles growing stronger and more accustomed to the movement.

Rooster watched on with pride, his gaze never leaving Beatrice as she powered through her set. “Atta girl, that’s my girl, you are doing great!”

“Y-Yea?”

“Yeah.” he smiles, “You are doing amazing.”

Beatrice's confidence soared at Rooster's encouraging words, a sense of accomplishment washing over her as she continued to lift the dumbbells with determination. With each repetition, she felt her muscles burning with exertion, but she pushed through the discomfort.

As she completed her set, Beatrice set the dumbbells down with a satisfied smile, her chest heaving. She glanced up at Rooster, her eyes shining with pride. "How was that?" she asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

Rooster grinned, his eyes alight with admiration. "That was amazing, gorgeous," he replied, his tone filled with genuine warmth. "You've got some serious strength in those arms."

"Thanks, Roos," she said, her voice soft with gratitude. "I couldn't have done it without your guidance."

Rooster reached out, gently cupping Beatrice's cheek in his hand. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Bea," he murmured, his thumb brushing against her skin. "You're stronger than you think."

Beatrice leaned into Rooster's touch, savoring the warmth of his hand against her cheek. She closed her eyes, relishing in the quiet intimacy of the moment, grateful to have Rooster by her side.

After a moment, Rooster reluctantly withdrew his hand, a playful glint in his eyes. "Alright, enough mushy stuff," he teased, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Let's see what else you've got."

Beatrice laughed, the sound light and carefree. "I'm ready for the next challenge."

“Good.”

They turn around just in time to see the two women on the machine they wanted to use. Normally, Bea wouldn’t…care. But her husband was angry, so he was going to deal with that…”Come with me gorgeous.”

Beatrice followed Rooster's lead, her heart pounding with anticipation ,she could sense the tension radiating off Rooster, his jaw clenched with frustration as he prepared to confront the women.

As they reached the machine, she stood beside Rooster, her gaze steady as she braced herself for whatever was about to unfold.

"Excuse me," Rooster said firmly, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. "We were waiting to use this machine. Do you mind if we take turns?"

The two women glanced up, their expressions shifting from indifference to annoyance as they took in Rooster's imposing figure. Beatrice held her breath, waiting for their response, her heart pounding in her chest.

One of the women rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "Sorry, handsome," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "We're kind of in the middle of something here. Maybe you can come back later? Wait…oh you are the cute pilot."

Rooster's jaw tightened at the woman's flirtatious tone, his expression hardening with annoyance. He glanced at Beatrice before turning back to the women with a forced smile.

"We're actually in a bit of a hurry," he replied, his tone firm but polite. "So if you wouldn't mind, we'd appreciate it if you could finish up here."

The second woman scoffed, her eyes narrowing with irritation. "Oh, come on," she retorted, her voice laced with disdain. "Can't you see we're busy? Why don't you find another machine to use?"

Rooster’s patience wears thin. "Look, we're not asking for much," he said evenly, his voice tinged with irritation. "We just want to use the machine for a few minutes. Is that too much to ask? The gym is full"

The first woman leaned in closer to Rooster, her gaze smoldering with false allure. "Well, if you're nice to us," she purred, her tone dripping with insincerity, "maybe we can work something out."

Rooster's expression darkened at the woman's suggestive tone, his grip on Beatrice's arm tightening in frustration. He took a step back, putting some distance between himself and the women, his jaw clenched with anger.

“I don’t think so," he said firmly, his voice laced with warning. "See my wife and I are just going to do this and leave.” he narrows his eyes when the women looked at Beatrice and he almost dared in his mind for them to say something about her.

The women exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from annoyance to frustration as they realized that Rooster wasn't going to be swayed by their flirtatious advances. Beatrice bit her lip, resisting the urge to intervene, knowing that Rooster could handle himself.

"We're not interested," Rooster said firmly, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a workout to finish."

The women exchanged incredulous looks, their attempts at seduction falling flat in the face of Rooster's resolve. With a frustrated huff, they reluctantly stepped aside, allowing Rooster and Beatrice to pass.

Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief as they walked away from the women, her hand still tightly clasped in Rooster's. She glanced up at him, "Thanks for handling that, Roos," she said softly, her voice filled with warmth. "You didn't let them push you around."

Rooster smiled down at her, his eyes softening with affection. "Anything for you, gorgeous," he replied, his voice gentle. "I won't let anyone disrespect you or make you feel uncomfortable."

“Well they did talk about you but…”

“Bea,baby,” he smiles, “The only woman who can tell me things is you…and your mom sometimes.”

Beatrice chuckled at Rooster's playful remark,she leaned into him, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. "You're the best, Roos," she murmured, her voice filled with gratitude.

Rooster wrapped an arm around Beatrice's waist, pulling her close as they made their way towards the weightlifting area. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the room for an available bench press. "Looks like there's one over there," he said, nodding towards an empty bench.

Beatrice followed Rooster's gaze, her eyes landing on the vacant machine. She watched as Rooster adjusted the weight settings, his movements fluid and confident as he prepared for his workout.

As Rooster settled onto the bench, Beatrice stood beside him, offering him words of encouragement and support. She admired the way he focused all his attention on the task at hand, his muscles rippling with strength as he lifted the weights with ease.

With each repetition, Rooster pushed himself to go harder, his determination evident in the set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes."You're doing great, Roos,"

Rooster flashed her a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks, gorgeous," he replied, his voice tinged with exertion. "I love having the visual reward.”

Beatrice smiled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her as she stood beside Rooster, “I can say the same– how many of those you usually do?”

Rooster paused for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered Beatrice's question. "Hmm, it depends," he replied thoughtfully, "I usually aim for three sets of ten reps, but I can adjust the weight and repetitions based on how I'm feeling."

Beatrice nodded in understanding, her eyes following Rooster's movements as he continued his workout. She marveled at the way he effortlessly lifted the weights, his muscles flexing with each repetition. “Hmmm…so you are going overboard to impress me?”

Rooster chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly with amusement. "Maybe just a little," he admitted with a grin, his gaze meeting Beatrice's. "But you know me, I can't resist showing off for my gorgeous wife."

Beatrice laughed, "Well, you certainly know how to make a girl feel special," she replied, her voice filled with warmth.

Rooster's grin widened at Beatrice's words, and as Rooster completed his final set, he sat up on the bench with a satisfied sigh, his chest heaving with exertion. He glanced over at Beatrice, a playful gleam in his eyes. "Your turn, gorgeous," he said, patting the empty space on the bench beside him.

Beatrice raised an eyebrow in surprise, her gaze flickering between Rooster and the bench press. She had never tried weightlifting like that before,"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Rooster nodded, his expression encouraging. "Absolutely," he replied, his tone filled with confidence. "I'll be right here beside you, every step of the way."

“...okay…” Beatrice settled onto the bench, her hands gripping the barbell with trepidation. She took a deep breath, channeling her inner strength as she prepared to lift the weights.

Rooster positioned himself behind Beatrice, his hands resting lightly on the barbell as he guided her through the proper technique. He offered words of encouragement and support, his voice gentle yet firm as he helped her find her rhythm.

Rooster watched with pride as Beatrice completed her first set, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You're doing amazing, gorgeous," he praised, his voice filled with admiration. "Keep it up!"

Beatrice smiled, trying her best to stay focused. It doesn’t take long for Beatrice to finish her final set, she sat up on the bench with a satisfied sigh, her chest heaving like his was. She glanced over at Rooster, a proud smile on her lips. "How did I do?”

"You did fantastic, gorgeous," he replied, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Roos," she murmured, her cheeks going red. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Rooster leaned in closer to Beatrice, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Anytime, gorgeous," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. "I'll always be here to cheer you on, no matter what."

With a shared smile, Beatrice and Rooster made their way towards the water fountain, their bodies buzzing with energy from their workout. They refilled their water bottles, savoring the cool liquid as it refreshed their parched throats.

"Hey, Roos?" Beatrice spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"Yeah, gorgeous?" Rooster replied, turning to look at her with a gentle smile.

"I was thinking..." Beatrice trailed off, her mind racing with possibilities. "Maybe we could make this a regular thing? Going to the gym together, I mean."

Rooster's eyes lit up with excitement at Beatrice's suggestion. "I'd love that," he exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "It would be a great way for us to spend more time together when I’m not deployed."

"Great, it's settled then," she said, her voice brimming with excitement. "It was fun.”

Rooster nodded in agreement, his smile widening at the prospect of their future gym sessions. "I can't wait," he replied, his voice filled with anticipation. "Now,come on, time to get our kids back.”

#im happy yall are still here #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x named reader #tgm oc #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction

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pharahsgf · 2 years

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i:m sad lwj gets such a bad rep from jc fans and non wangxian fans in general. he's so good... i struggle to put into words why i like him but he's such a good character. he deserves to not be made ooc in fandom stuff :,|

g-d fr. anyway here's my incomplete list of things i like about lan wangji in no particular order

his resting bitch face and intimidating icy exterior hide a soft and romantic heart but also he is genuinely a bitch and intimidating and would stab someone for disrespecting his husband

the fact that he would stab someone for disrespecting his husband

very strong 'would get rained on to hold his umbrella over a tiny stray cat' energy

when jin zixun tries to peer pressure him into drinking only for lan wangji to 1. not care 2. make the gayest most openly homosexual expression humanly possible when wei wuxian swoops in to save him, no shame whatsoever

every time a social event occurs you see lan wangji sitting somewhere by himself just staring peacefully into the middle distance and thinking lwj thoughts and i always get the distinct impression that lan xichen went to him beforehand like "wangji i know you don't like to socialise but you should really try talking to some people today, it'll be good for you and you might make some new friends" and lan wangji was like hm and proceeded to not do any of that

it's such a stupid cute detail that lan wangji buried a'yuan in a pile of bunnies. like what the hell. i am on the verge of tears

conversation: *gets personal* lwj: *leaves*

his little smirk when he calls wwx boring in ep8 like you can almost see the photoshopped sunglasses and hear denzel curry's ultimate

he's considered an unequaled prodigy when it comes to guqin abilities and inquiry specifically like he can communicate with ghosts by playing music and they're not even physically able to lie to him how is that not the coolest shit ever

HE SAID BYE TO THE BUNNIESSSS

wwx doesn't even expect to be doted on and treated like a princess after coming back lan wangji did that entirely on his own volition. wei wuxian just exists in peace and lan wangji will start picking him up and throwing money at him and composing soaring love ballads dedicated to his beauty

the fact that despite all this he will hesitate for exactly zero seconds to make fun of wwx when he's acting stupid

very strong emotional inertia causing his character to be in a near-constant state of mourning as represented visually by his white clothing and the frost/snow motif that accompanies the respective apotheoses of said mourning. which, in addition to being genuinely heart-wrenching, FUCKS as an aesthetic

associated with rabbits and dragons, easily two of the coolest animals

episode 43 drives me insane. lan wangji with his hair down dressed down domestic as fuck bringing wwx emperor's smile and setting out tea and playing their song, laying no expectations on wwx but making it clear that he's welcome and wanted and offering his love and warmth for wwx when he's ready... augh romance, tenderness, throwing bouquets and roses

"you are not qualified to speak to me"

he's canonically good at math which isn't relevant to anything but i do feel like it adds a new dimension to his character

he wrote a gentle, soul-baring, beautiful song that silently confesses his love for a person who remembered the melody even decades after first hearing it and then made its title a portmanteau of their names

kneel.

*spends 3 years in seclusion to learn from & reflect on his grave sin of defending and siding with wwx the evil demonic cultivator* *returns to immediately add wwx the evil demonic cultivator's inventions to the core curriculum*

was a cute baby so you know he's blessed

he's one of the best if not Thee best cultivator of his generation yet refuses to indulge in the narcissistic posturing his peers engage in and instead uses his privilege and access to exclusive resources to serve lower class people completely for free.. yes lord

*grips sword handle to communicate emotional issues*

very polite and well spoken and clearly well-versed in all kinds of etiquette but if he hates you he has no qualms about being as rude and disrespectful as he reasonably can (pov you are jiang cheng)

he is very fundamentally misunderstood by almost everyone he's ever met and when wwx starts figuring him out and realising what makes him tick he's entirely resistant and hostile to his intrusions despite deeply craving that intimacy and acknowledgement.... mortifying ordeal of being known in its purest form truly. i want to study him in a lab

how he slowly goes from being distant and frosty and rejecting all of wwx's offers of friendship to being so warm and attentive towards him and you look at those gifsets of early lwj vs later lwj and it's like the first rays of sun after a long winter like he's radiant

ally to bi women (nice to mianmian)

when he was punished alongside wwx jc & nhs the first blow landed and he didn't even FLINCH, he sat there back straight and chin up with the dignity of a king and wwx was so impressed he caught himself mid-overreaction to follow lan wangji's example. absolutely iconic

188cm

the fact that he spends the entire gusu lectures arc in an ongoing emotional crisis bc wei wuxian is too attractive and he doesn't know how to deal w it

there have been zero small animals who didn't immediately trust lan wangji with their life so again. blessed

#replies #anonymous #long post #he's miserable. he's powerful. he's gay. he's under 3 years of house arrest. he's a wizard. he's an artist. AND he's my little meow meow

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keicordelle · 1 month

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A First for Everything Chapter 11: A Watched Pot! Somewhere in my notes folder, there are eight (8) drafts of this chapter. Thancred just really did not want to express himself. Which, given the situation, is fairly in character, actually, I guess

Read it on Ao3 at the link above, or check out the first chapter on Tumblr here.

"Uri—" Urianger didn't so much as look back, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away. His nightgown swirled around his ankles as he fled, his usually soft steps striking through Thancred’s ears like tolling thunder. Each step a finality.

Not half so final as the thud of the door as it closed behind him. Leaving Thancred staring at the space where he had just been, the heat of Urianger’s body still clinging to his sleep clothes. He could still taste him on his lips, sweet and tentative and new. Could feel the phantom touch of his hands through his hair, and his tongue coiling against his own.

Thancred touched his lips, still staring after Urianger. That had been... sweet. In all the hundreds of times he'd pictured kissing Urianger in the last few weeks, he could never have imagined how gentle he'd be. How eager. Even his wildest fantasies paled in comparison to the reality.

The tangled snarl of emotion that had replaced Thancred’s heart squeezed tighter as he heard the front door thunk closed. Fuck. "Haaa...." He sank down to sit on the end of the bed, head dropping to bury his face in his hands. Gods, he shouldn’t have done that. He should have waited until he was sure it was really what Urianger wanted. He'd let his own desires get away from him and let himself get swept up in the moment because he had wanted to kiss Urianger. He should have waited until Urianger was ready — until he was ready. Thal's balls, he wasn't sure he was prepared to handle the implications of what he'd just done. He'd kissed Urianger. His friend — maybe his best friend, and certainly one of his oldest. One of the few bright spots in the chaos and strife of this other world. And Thancred had just up and kissed him on a whim, knowing full well that Urianger wasn't the type to just up and ask for something like that. That alone should have been clue enough to slow things down, but no, he'd let his selfish desires get in the way and put their whole friendship on the line.

He should have expected he'd react badly. And yet... he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Urianger had responded. The way his hands hand curled into Thancred’s hair, and his lips had parted beneath his. The way Urianger had pushed into him, needy and hungry. The way he'd proved that he was just as good a student when it came to physical study as with literary. Thal's balls, that had been one hell of a kiss.

And despite everything, somehow Thancred couldn't find it in himself to regret it. It had been everything he had ever— No, it had been better than he could have imagined, tender and sweet in a way he... hadn't ever really experienced before. Thancred had kissed more people than he'd bothered to keep track of, and yet none had ever held him so gently, or melted so thoroughly into him. It had been awkward at first, but even that had been cute: the way Urianger had been stiff against him, unyielding and uncertain, and slowly opened up before him. The tentative way he'd responded, growing bolder and pressing forward. Gods, the sounds that he had made. A scene that would linger in Thancred’s memory for many days and many, many nights, he was sure.

Augh. He flopped back against the bed, dragging his hands roughly through his hair. Urianger’s scent still clung to the sheets, billowing up around him like some cruel and peculiar punishment. What was he supposed to do now? Should he chase him down? That stood a heavy chance of backfiring, he thought. Maybe all Urianger needed was some space, to put his thoughts in order. Or maybe he never wanted to see Thancred again, and he should gather his things and plan to move on with Minfilia before everything got too awkward to bear.

No... If Urianger needed some space, Thancred could give him some space. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to react if Urianger came back and wanted to pretend the whole thing had never happened, but that was— a problem for another time. Thancred was good at lying, to himself as much as to others. He could pretend, if Urianger wanted to pretend. Probably.

Yeah, because you've been doing such a great job at that the past few weeks. He shoved aside the thought. With a groan, he hauled himself back up to a seated position. Wallowing here wasn't going to help anything.

His gaze snagged on the glittering pile of chains on the dresser across the bed, Urianger's robe folded neatly beside them. Twelve, please tell me he at least brought his astroglobe with him. If he were out there alone and at the mercy of whatever vicious fae creatures wished to take a bite out of him.... But no, surely even in the heat of the moment, he was smarter than that. No matter how distraught he was, he'd come back if he were at risk of running into trouble, right?

Right. Thancred was just looking for an excuse to go chase him down. With a frustrated groan, he gained his feet. Better to get dressed and find something to do with himself rather than sit here dwelling on it. Thinking about it was only going to make it worse.

It was amazing how many meaningless tasks you could find for yourself when you really really didn't want to think. The house had never been so clean: baseboards dusted, windows washed, books organized (he was sure he was going to hear about that one later, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time). Thancred’s muscles burned with the strain of a lengthy workout, and the scent of yeast clung to the inside of his nose as he punched down a bulbous ball of dough.

It was also amazing how much thinking you could do when you had nothing better to focus on than dust and soap. He couldn’t stop his mind from spinning, the world around him seeming at once too small and overly large. He had half a mind to go out for a run, just to escape these walls that seemed to press in on him from every side, but he feared that the second he set foot outside, his feet would take him to hunt down Urianger whether it was his intention or not. No. He would let Urianger come to him, as he’d resolved himself to do. He'd come back eventually. He had to. It was his house.

Minfilia lingered at the edges of his vision all day long, just close enough to grate on his nerves but far enough away that Thancred knew it wasn't warranted. Only once had she ventured closer, watching him timidly with those baleful blue eyes as she asked, "Is... everything alright, Mr. Thancred?"

"Everything's fine." A grunt as he drove his knuckles into the dough, digging into its soft flesh. It wasn't half so cathartic as it should have been.

"Oh..." Thancred thought she might be smart and drop it, but after a moment's hesitation she continued. "Where did Mr. Urianger go this morning?"

"Out."

Her hands wrung themselves in front of her, twisting the end of her skirt nervously. Thancred lifted his eyes to her face, and something in his gaze made her quail, shrinking back from him and edging towards the door. "Oh..." Her eyes dropped quickly to the floor.

He turned back to his dough, and the quick patter of her footsteps told him she'd fled the moment he looked away. Damn it, she hadn't deserved that. He'd have to apologize to her later. For once, his bad mood wasn't related to her in any way — though he couldn't help but wonder what his Minfilia would have to say about this situation if she were here. She'd always been good at advice, whether he wanted to hear it or not. Hells.

Instead, he punched his distress out into his dough, and waited for Urianger to come home.

[Chapter 12]

[Kofi/Commissions]

#ffxiv #thanuri #urithan #thancred #urianger #thancred waters #urianger augurelt #ffxiv fanfiction #my writing #first for everything #~k

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remyfire · 8 months

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if you're still taking requests... 🎲 bj/margaret?

(You get a kiss while one party is carried! Augh. We know I can never resist them. Fuck me. Sorry for always putting our boy in situations and never letting him not angst about it for a little bit. Sorry for never being able to not bring up Carrie. AUGH.)

It takes time to put an OR back to rights after it's been wrecked with the past 40 hours of constant surgery. Corpsmen come through to mop, to remove the bloody sponges, and every tool must be accounted for. While BJ is used to his role as surgeon being complete the moment the final patient is swept away, sometimes his body forgets that he's no longer on duty. He'll strip off his scrubs, toss them in the laundry bag, and sag down onto the bench outside of OR to catch his breath and see if he can collapse precisely like this or if he'll need the brain-killing power of moonshine to knock him out.

For their part, Charles and Hawkeye are already long gone. He doesn't fault them for it. Beej got stuck with the last patient. It's luck of the draw, and next time it'll probably be one of them that pulls the short straw. But it makes the bench far quieter than it usually is. The gentle cleaning of OR through the wall behind him is a soothing lullaby, one that—

When BJ jolts to sit up, he flicks his gaze straight to the clock on the wall and breathes a sigh of relief. Only lost a few seconds. One of those terrifying moments where you blink and the world falls away all at once. He only had one or two of those in residency, and thankfully never behind the wheel of his car, but they happen far more frequently now that he's here and nothing but a pair of tools attached to a brainstem.

He scrubs his face, forces himself to his feet, and only teeters a little before he can start walking.

He checks on OR, mostly to make sure that Colonel Potter has also wandered out and isn't still working, the stubborn bastard, then passes further through the other door just to put paid to that question. But what he sees on the far side brings him pause.

Margaret Houlihan is a force of nature, never slowing, barely ever letting herself sit. She's got the right idea. If the head nurse loses her rhythm for even a moment, the entire OR would shut down in a way that even losing a single surgeon wouldn't cause. The whole camp knows how much pride she takes in being the last nurse to pull off her cap.

And right now, she's curled up on a bench of her own, fast asleep.

There's a tenderness that strikes BJ in moments like these. He doesn't know if it's her tousled blonde waves, the softness of her normally sharp expression, or how she has her knees pulled to her chest as though she's over a decade younger, but she tugs at his heartstrings. He can practically feel those long nails pressing ever so gently into his atria.

She is so utterly reminiscent of his Peggy, exhausted from yet another sleepless night with Erin, curled up on the couch where she swore she'd close her eyes for only five minutes, where BJ had let her rest for hours while he kept Erin on the furthest side of the house possible. He learned more about fatherhood during those naps than he ever read in a book.

Just thinking about Peg while staring down at Margaret makes his pulse quicken.

He takes a deep breath. Holds it. Lets it out slowly.

It seems the epitome of cruelty to wake such a hardworking woman as this when she's been busting her butt even harder than so many of the rest of them. She'd snap to attention, snap her voice, maybe even snap her fingers at him to back up and check on something that she forgot before she went under.

He makes a million logical excuses for why he bends, slips one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, and lifts her.

She's lighter than he might expect. Something about that stings him. No one in this camp is eating enough, even looking past his mealtime habit of staring at Hawk's thin face as he sniffs yet another gray piece of meat before putting it aside. How does the Army expect them to continue on infinitely? They may not be marching, but their feet are screaming, legs ready to give out under them, brains squeezed out like juicing an actual fucking orange.

BJ's thoughts slow as he realizes that he's being watched.

It shouldn't surprise him, but as he backs out through the swinging door, he's hyperaware of it. Stares everywhere. Nurses, enlisted men, a few locals here and there to sell their wares or pick up laundry to wash for pennies. If anyone has a reputation in this unit, it's Major Houlihan, the woman who won't so much as let someone see her with puffy eyes, much less actually crying. And here she is, being carried like a child. No, not even that. A bride. And BJ Hunnicutt, second-most devoted man in all of Korea, next to Colonel Potter, is the one taking charge of her.

He's tempted to squirm, even though he's explained away far more than this with significantly less effort. Instead, he keeps his gaze straight ahead, fighting to make sure his eyelids aren't drooping either, and takes the long way around to the Head Nurse's tent—quieter that way, fewer people nudging each other and whispering and pointing.

When Margaret turns her head, her nose brushes over his chest, lighting a sparking trail over his pectoral. She begins to stir. "What the hell are you doing?" she asks.

God, her voice is husky right when she wakes up. That was knowledge that BJ could've gone his whole life without knowing. "Carrying you to your tent."

A pause. "Huh." She looks at herself, as though assessing her physical condition, but her eyes are still barely open. "God, please don't tell me I passed out."

"Far as I can tell, you were smarter than all of us. You just laid down and went to sleep."

Margaret huffs. "I'll never hear the end of it." But as she shifts slightly in his hold, he steels his arms, makes sure even in his exhausted state that he won't drop her. "I suppose I should thank you. I can name at least eight people who would've drawn a mustache and glasses on my face and left me there."

BJ's lips twitch. "I can't imagine who that might include."

"I'd tell you what his name rhymes with, but honestly, I can't think of anything. Unfortunately he's one of a kind."

Suddenly she grabs his shirt, tugging it between her fingers, almost pulling it out from where he tucks it into his trousers, and the brush of the fabric along his bare stomach sharpens his concentration to disturbing clarity. He's viscerally aware of the shape of her in his hold, the warmth that bleeds from her into him, and he struggles to remember the last time he felt someone in quite this way. There's nourishment in leaning into Hawkeye, in sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Charles in the mess tent. But there's nothing more comforting in this world than this exact shape of person against him.

He curves his arms slightly further. Feels just the barest brush of her breast against his stomach. Immediately regrets it and lets himself relax that tiny bit back into place.

"Fierce," BJ blurts finally. "That rhymes."

"Or Sock Guy." Margaret's quiet for a moment before she starts giggling out of what sounds like sheer exhaustion, and the sound is so surprising that she brings BJ right along with her.

"You could've gone for Sockeye," BJ points out in between chuckles. "Made him a salmon instead of a bird."

"He might as well be." Margaret beams up at him with a dazzling white smile, her eyes sparkling in the low sunlight. "He's always swimming against the current to try and find somebody to mate with."

He gets the sense that if he keeps staring at her, he's going to be struck dumb by her face. For his own good, he looks back up again, keeping his gaze on her door, but the moment she returns to snickering, he snorts. He can protect his eyes, but the rest of his senses are caught by her all the same.

It's an elegant dance, nourishing the part of his soul that craves intimacy, but barring off the door so he never surrenders fully to it. Maybe he can reach through the cold iron poles, can feel his fingertips brush the skin of another, but he can't permit himself more than that. He can't take another risk. Can't even set himself up for the possibility of temptation. He was barely here for a handful of months before Carrie began lingering in his dreams, nothing but sweet smiles that never reached her eyes.

There are days he resents the cocky young husband he used to be, teasing Hawkeye about affairs. "Never. But it's another subject!" A fucking fool. He'd lit a match that day, held it to the fuse in the back of his brain, trusted that he'd remember to stomp it out before it reached a waiting bomb, and to this day, he's not sure if he forgot to extinguish it, or if he had the choice between keeping his promise or leaving Carrie to suffer alone and chose accordingly.

No matter what he'll spin on the nights he can't sleep, there's never a satisfying answer. There's no noble choice there. Not really.

"You could've put me down and let me walk on my own," Margaret points out, breaking him from his poisonous thoughts by brushing the gravel in her voice along his skin.

"Correct," he simply replies.

"So why didn't you?"

"I already blinked and found myself asleep once." As BJ reaches her tent, he finagles his pinkie around the door handle, manages to open it and pull it the rest of the way with his boot so he can slip inside without bumping her against anything. "And that's all you needed, wasn't it, to do the same thing, break your nose on the dirt."

Margaret huffs in amusement. "So what you're saying is because you've already blinked yourself to sleep, it absolutely wouldn't happen again? Even when you're carrying me? That I should trust my nose to your tired arms?"

"I wouldn't hurt you."

For a moment, she's silent. "Ever?"

"Ever," he says with more confidence than he can reliably promise, given his track record.

But it keeps him focused as he carefully comes over to her cot, begins to lean down, his nose briefly tickled by silky blonde hair. There's a soft thigh under some of his fingers, a jutting spine under the others, and for a moment as he's lowering her, BJ's eyes fall shut, and he's frozen in time, bringing Peg to their bedroom after he's put Erin to bed, and as he kisses her mouth to wish her good night—

Margaret inhales sharply against him, her fingers tightening in his shirt—

BJ jolts, drops her the last two inches with a gasp. She bounces, steadies, and sits halfway up as they stare at each other in shock.

Oh God, he can fucking taste her, the salty sweat from OR, and beneath it the distinct sweetness of Margaret.

"What was that?" she asks, breathy and small.

Fuck. BJ blinks wildly, the world spinning until he steadies himself. "Just..." He swallows hard, licks his lips, and the heated feedback loop resets in his head. "...a good night. From a friend."

Margaret's brows shoot up. "You kiss all your friends good night?"

"Ah." BJ cuts his gaze to the door, then takes a sideways step toward it like a crab. "Well, you know, only Hawkeye gets the tongue, of course."

"Uh-huh." It's an interesting tone, as if she might believe him, might not. "I think you should go back to your tent."

"I think you're right," he says with incredible relief. "Before I go, I want to say that, uh, that I'm sor—"

"Get out," Margaret says firmly.

"Yep." As though those two words were an incantation, he backs out of her tent faster than he's ever run to catch a taxi in California.

The moment he's outside, the sun beating down on him, his thoughts go as fuzzy as cotton candy. He gets the sense that maybe he accidentally caught sight of the key to his barred door on the ground just within reach. That maybe if he kneels down, stretches as far as he can...

His fingers are still on the wood behind him. He shifts. Breathes. Brushes over the warm metal of the handle.

And all at once, he hears the door latch lock.

BJ lets out all of his air, empties himself and stays that way until his vision starts to go dark at the edges. Okay. Okay. Good. That's very good. He doesn't have to... There's no need to worry about...

After curling his fingers into a tight fist, he pulls away, begins weaving an exhausted path back toward the Swamp, where he can tuck himself into the safety of his prison and forget he even had an opportunity at a lapse.

#i'm fine i'm just in constant agony over them it's fine #bj hunnicutt #margaret houlihan #margbeej #beejmarg #my writing #ask meme answers #m*a*s*h

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sakumasmut · 1 year

Note

Midinon here

Damn I've been thinking about idk, and a lactation thought just rolled out out of nowhere.

So here are 2 scenarios

Because idrk who to use I'm just gonna use HiMERU because I'm very normal about HiMERU

One scenario where you and HiMERU are in the mood. He carries you to bed and you notice that his chest feels... Different. But you didn't say anything about it. He puts you on the bed and prepares you very well, with as much care as he can give. He then pushes himself inside, which made you hug him, so that your face is against his chest. It was at that moment that you noticed something wet. You pulled away and noticed that he was lactating. You gently started to lick the milk, making HiMERU moan so submissively, you couldn't help but take advantage of it. You somehow made him lay down on his back and you sit on his lap, moving at your own pace. After a while, he asks you to suck his nipple. You suck it up, while taking his dick. It all ends up in you being very tired, with HiMERU taking care of you. Oh god how he'd kiss you everywhere, while whispering how good you made him feel... That would end up in a wholesome cuddling session...

Second scenario where HiMERU impregnated you without either of you knowing. So when you suddenly notices 2 small wet patches on your shirt or whatever you were wearing, you were surprised. You showed this to HiMERU, and you both came to the conclusion that you were pregnant. Of course, both of you were happy, but also kinda scared. You both went to bed at the end of the day, but your nipples kept lactating sometimes. HiMERU noticed this and started sucking them gently. But not gently enough to not wake you up. After realizing what's happening, you pat him while moaning softly to tease him. It ends up in very soft and delicate sex. The next morning, he'd let you sleep and made you your favorite breakfast lmao

I'm so normal about HiMERU, definitely so normal. I have the most average opinion about HiMERU.

augh these are delicious. I like the idea of riding on cock while licking his nipples, even if the likelihood of it is low it’s fun to imagine.

(afab reader below)

himeru getting so interested in your body after finding out you’re pregnant…he’d love to see what’s changed, including your chest that’s so tender and drips milk from the lightest squeeze. he can’t help but taste a bit of what you have to give

#nsft es!!#thirsts #himeru smut #midinon

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sparatus · 2 years

Note

heyy

💋(or suitable turian alternative)🍦💖💞 (I think I know who but feel free to babble about them I'm all ears)

hell yeah thank u 💍

Fanfic Emoji Asks

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

LOVE LOVE LOVE god i need to write more im so weak, especially for when it's two characters who've been friends a long time but haven't been able to bring themselves to admit their feelings until at some point everything comes to a head in an emotional moment and AUGH YES

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

i already answered this one here but let's be honest i've got a lot of soft sweet shit under my belt, lol. Where the Wind Rests definitely gets a shout-out, part of a series and has spoilers for the end of broken mirror but god tender reunions and marriage proposals my beloveds. i went looking through my desabrudas stuff to pick one out but honestly any of the stuff i wrote about them post-shanxi with kids is just pure cavity fodder, i need to write them more everything is oLD

💖 What made you start writing?

i used to be a semi-famous rper in the facebook rp community (back in. 2012. yes it was a thing fb used to be an easy haven for rp) for a. certain anime community i'm not going to mention you must be at least a level 3 friend to learn this fact. but that started it, and then i had a couple friends from that community who helped foster that and got me writing - i have an old twilight spitefic still up on ao3 (do not read it. cannot emphasize enough it's very old and i was mimicking smeyer's writing style and the characters have evolved since then) that was inspired by one of those friends!!

i got started writing mass effect specifically because my partner @lightspeedpowerpunk was writing a fic about our ocs, which eventually grew into Rise & Reign (we're rewriting it soon i prommy plans are in the works i miss my dumb stupid boys) and around chapter. idk, 10?? 12 or so?? i started contributing to writing it myself, and that just kinda kickstarted everything. everybody say thank you to the ogs axilus and thie'haasn for my [checks notes] jesus christ 84 mass effect works on ao3

💞 Who's your comfort character?

m. many,,,,, definitely cnclr sparatus, obviously, and also my oc for his wife, aediteia. the way i've written sparky has taken nearly the full 8 years i've been in this fandom to slowly build, and he's very near and dear to my heart. conversely, teia has also grown along with him, and their narratives both personal and together touch on a lot of things that are somewhat personal to me and my own growth as a person.

in the same vein, the arterius brothers also count - i can look back and see how the way i've written saren has changed over the years as i myself have grown. i write him less depressed now, he has a support system, in yes-reapers yes he's still having a Bad Time because sovereign is fucking him up and the reapers are tied to his brother's death but it's less. idk. gloom and doom emo sadboi 24/7, he's allowed to have moments of peace now. desolas in particular i've kinda realized is also reflecting a lot about myself, ESPECIALLY in no-reapers. his arc in my no-reapers au, and in fact a major theme of the entire series, is all about recovery from trauma and how our choices make us who we are; no-reapers desolas has been through a lot of shit, so much, 89 years of it, from his parents being killed to having to help his baby brother through his own trauma to his career to 314 and everything in-between, and he's been in a really bad place and learned really bad habits and attitudes, but after shanxi he makes the active choice to grow and move on, at first just because valis needs him but with therapy also comes to do it just for himself because he's tired of being sad and hurt and angry. and that's a very personal story for me, even tho i certainly didn't set out intending des of all assholes to be the one carrying most of my weight, lol.

nihlus and (valis) abrudas are also in the same boat, characters who've been through a lot of shit and got mad about it and have their own ways of dealing with it. something that's going to become apparent to shepard in itlog is that saren was nihlus's morality chain, not the other way around - saren played a large part in nihlus learning to heal from his father's death and move on as a person, and now that he's been hurt in this whole thing nihlus is starting to slide back into old habits. valis, on the other hand, is the lone sane man in the whole clan, trying to keep her head on straight and above water while her friends and loved ones are drowning, and i've had to be that friend myself and boy i really do appreciate that kind of character, especially for somebody like desolas who's been drowning so long he's forgotten what the surface looks like.

god i have so many emotions and thoughts about sparkyteia and the desabrudas/kryterius group (i like to call des + valis + saren the evolution trio, personally, as they're all in it, but nihlus makes a proper group name hard :lmfao:) they're all my comfort characters i come back to them every time when i get stuck in my head and start Thinking About Stuff i probably have others but this is already rEALLY LONG,

#press conference #callista-curations

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velvetafterdark · 2 years

Text

Here have some fat boyes

Starsc/ream sneers at the steady force against his tender middle that he can’t see.

“Don’t you poke me, now.”

As if on cue, nubby little horns prod at the sensitive mesh. He can barely utter a complaint; it hurts to think too hard.

“Bumblebrat.”

“Shush...” Bumb/lebee whimpers right back. Though Starsc/ream can’t see him over his gut, the buggy cradles his own swollen midsection. Getting comfortable is nigh-impossible, but he wiggles in Starsc/ream’s lap anyway.

In tune with its owner, the jet’s engorged stomach makes its annoyance known, roaring loudly in Bumb/lebee’s face, and squashing back against his poor little belly.

GWOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLlll....

“Starsc/ream, you’re squashing me.”

“Quit squirming,” Starsc/ream growls with no venom, completely at his own body’s mercy. “You’re lucky you’re allowed up here at all.”

“Whe/eljack will scold you if you kick me off.”

“It’s so cruel of you two to gang up against me like this; you know there’s no room in my lap.”

“You’re the one who was complaining that nobody was rubbing your belly when Whee/ljack had to go check on the rest of the food.”

“Not everything is an invite for you.”

Whee/ljack moseys back into the room.

“Aww...look at you two,” Whe/eljack’s voice lilts, enamored with the sight of his lover and friend snuggled up together. “All cute n’ soft. You cuddlebugs want dessert?”

Stars/cream winces, and Bumb/lebee is inclined to agree.

“Ugh...maybe in a bit, Jack,” he hiccups, wincing as Starsc/ream flops on his back and jostles him.

“Jackiiiie my tummy hurts so baaaad,” Starsc/ream laments, a hand flung over his forehead.

“Heh, you need a lil’ rub?”

“Mmmmmmn,” Starsc/ream holds his arms out, whining.

Whe/eljack maneuvers himself carefully, draping himself across Starsc/ream’s vast belly without putting too much pressure on it. For a while, he just rubs his rough hands over the pillowy paunch, gently massaging the sore belly.

“I’ll give you a lil’ rub too in a bit, Bee; you just know how this guy is.”

“Nah, I’m good. I will do this, though--”

Bumb/lebee gathers up his strength to haul himself from Starsc/ream’s lap to Whe/eljack’s back, squashing the inventor against the fattened emperor.

“Augh! I’m in a tummy sandwich!” Whe/eljack laughs, sprawled out between the two.

Stars/cream moans loudly, complaining that they’re flattening him.

“I think you mean fattening,” Bumb/lebee stifles a hiccup, resting his chin on Whe/eljack’s shoulder. “Get ‘em, Whe/eljack; keep him down there until he learns some manners.”

“Stoooop!”

Starsc/ream’s wails go unanswered, as Whe/eljack is preoccupied with patting his pudgy cheeks.

“Gosh, you two are cozy. I could get used to this.”

“Aw, shucks; thanks, Whee/ljack,” Bumb/lebee utters before slipping into a food coma.

“Don’t ignore me!!”

“Nobody’s ignorin’ you, swee/tspark; we’re right here.”

Whe/eljack’s optics dim, clearly tired despite not stuffing himself silly like Starsc/ream and Bumb/lebee did. He falls asleep nestled against Starsc/ream’s chest.

“Jerks...” Starsc/ream huffs, though he’s finding himself too tired to keep fighting.

He resigns himself to being their mattress...

But just until he finishes digesting.

#chubformers #velvet writes #this is too long to be a drabble but I mean here it is #stuffing #chub #chubee #is beebles a part of the polycule? is he a third wheel? is he their emotional support buggy? it's a mystery #this isn't canon to cargo plane #I just wanted these three snuggling

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ahlis-xiv · 3 years

Text

journal 50.4

G’raha sat alone, semi-hunched over a piece of parchment as he worked. Although he did not show it, the drafting he ambitiously began was nothing short of a place between fascinating and downright tediousness. The solution to tempering that nestled within his mind and finding a proper way to convey it into some sort of physicality that others could understand took time and a level of focus that brought him back to his Studium days.

He did not mind the effort, really, yet part of him couldn’t help but feel he could be applying himself to something else...namely figuring out why his dear friend decided to depart in such a hurry without so much as a word.

G’raha sighed, and scratched out part of the formulae he attempted to use as a proper proof. It wasn’t correct or, rather, not good enough, and he knew it: it almost felt like he had to somehow invent a whole new notation and he was second guessing every attempt. That, he knew, was as strong a sign as any that he needed a break.

Abandoning his work for the more welcoming sight above Mor Dhona proper, he took to his usual perch and leaned over the ledge to watch the activity below. Ever since he arrived there—since waking up, really—G’raha found the habit of people-watching a welcome one when it came to clearing his head. It had also been an old habit as well from his time as the Exarch. It was difficult at times to not be reminded of it when he went there to be alone--not that it troubled him, but rather his thoughts inevitably wandered to those he had to let go. To old friends and, naturally, to her.

What would Lyna think, he wondered. Of everything? Despite assurances, both given and told to own self, he knew it was a question not quite answerable. He was unfettered, free—free to live the life he wished. A second chance. Yet something gnawed away at his heart that only grew in the wake of what occurred in Ala Mhigo. And the Warrior of Light was nowhere in sight.

He didn’t wish to admit it, but that this point most of all prickled his thoughts. She had been wounded in the confrontation: not severely but enough to warrant considerable healing, namely for her arms. She berated herself for not properly handling the situation, that it was foolish to not deal with Fandaniel and his summoning there and then somehow. When the dust settled with wounds seen to and mended, she slipped away and out of his reach.

G’raha’s hands clasped together in front of him, fretting as his anxiety swelled. Ahlis said many things in the aftermath at the menagerie; much of which he knew was said in a fury he rarely witnessed. He also knew he ought to not dwell on it, as it was not directed towards him—but it felt personal, watching the anger and the walls that suddenly erected around her, forbidding his approach. Surely she knew, she must’ve known that he cared—that they all cared? G’raha understood what it meant to seek solace, to lick one’s wounds after a poor bout in battle, yet to shut him out? Why?

He huffed a frustrated growl, and pouted to himself. This is not about you, G’raha, his more sensible self spoke in his mind. It did little to help when he knew naught what to do with his...feelings, with no soul to utter them to. For the moment, all he had in certainty, was himself.

Looking above to the darkening sky, stars were beginning to sparkle in the deep blue, the gloom weak and unable to hinder their shine. He hoped that wherever Ahlis was, and however she felt, that her safety was sure and her healing swift.

---

Ahlis suddenly grasped the pillow within her bare arms as a sneeze escaped her nose and immediately regretted it.

“Bless you, dearest,” Aymeric spoke above her, his hands gently working her back’s aches and pains into a soothing massage.

“Augh, no,” she said, voice muffled by soft cotton where she shoved her face into it. The great debate of whether she should lift her head up or not kept her in place, lest she reveal a potentially not-so-graceful mess. “I think I ruined it.”

Wordlessly and only with a soft chuckle of amusement Aymeric rose to retrieve a handkerchief as if reading her mind in her current discomfort. When he returned Ahlis was already sitting up, the pillow still pressed to her face. He did not know how to assure her that there were far worse things that could ruin one’s bedding, but seeing the flushed look upon her face while she cleaned herself as discretely as possible encouraged him to say nothing.

“Are you feeling better?” Aymeric asked, once she seemed satisfied to show herself, the pillow and handkerchief no longer covering her face.

“Yes, thank you,” Ahlis spoke, relief entering her voice. “I am sorry, about this, though.” Her hands still held onto the pillow until he reached for it himself, lightly tossing it aside and back onto the bed.

“It is of no consequence. My home is yours, including the aforementioned pillow.”

That made Ahlis laugh, as he hoped it would, and Aymeric took this moment to join her again, sitting side by side upon the edge of the bed. It was useless however to ignore the wrappings around both her palms and forearms, both of which had been kept out of sight when lying on her stomach. Catching his glancing eyes, Ahlis took that moment to adjust her bandages.

“The pain is mostly gone. Now it’s just itching,” she spoke, more annoyed than in any sort of true discomfort. “New skin takes some getting used to and breaking in, imagine that.”

“May I see it?” Aymeric asked after a moment’s pause, his voice careful in its near-whisper like intensity.

For a second, she hesitated. Unraveling them didn’t hurt much anymore, so when she did reveal the newly healed burns that rested beneath she didn’t hold back in extending her arm in front of him. If only her heart that thumped heavily in her chest agreed! Nerves, however troublesome they proved to be, would do little in assuaging his concern.

“There you are,” Ahlis said with an exuberance she hoped sounded sure and confident. “It’s not so terrible now, aye?”

It was not her intent to fool him, rather, it was better than the ire she felt deep within at how it happened, and better still than to appear caught off-guard or foolish to have been struck at all by such an injury. It had been a mistake, one that could’ve gone even more horribly wrong in an instant if not for…

“Oh, Ahlis...”

Her thoughts stopped, everything stopped. She was helpless as she watched the shock that touched his eyes turn to despair, to pain that flowed into the tenderness that came with his touch as he cradled her wrist to his cheek. There was a knot of scarred tissue just below where his lips met her skin; the first kiss was given there, then another just above it towards her palm.

Such sensations, intensified against her freshly healed wounds, rendered her voice frozen within her throat. It was almost too much; she released a heavy, shaky breath that gave him pause, and Aymeric turned to look upon her so intensely, so painfully, she dared think she might cry herself.

“It’s fine,” she found herself saying, finally, unsure if it truly was after all.

---

Later, long after they had gone to bed, she would wake to see the stars out in the beyond just outside the window, the silhouette of spires cutting across the dark. A rare, clear night in the city. Gripped by the sight, she stole herself away to find a place to write...

Evenings have proven to be the best, and only time, to write clear-headed these days. As if I do not need sleep.

The itching has finally subsided enough to carry on without thinking about it and now I can finally sit for half a bell to write while at the same time not wishing to scratch my skin off. I’ve had lacerations, all manners of bruising and concussive injuries. I’ve even been shot at! But note to self: never get fucking burned like that again.

I’m going to kill that bastard with his own medicine, and I will enjoy it

[there is a drawing here of a figure in a robe with a sword skewering it all the way through, who is also on fire]

The healing has progressed as it will, and I trust Krile and Alphinaud’s hands more than any other—although granted my sourness over it all could have been a little less scathing, I guess.

But what can I say, a lot of bullshite has been happening these days. I’m getting a mite bit enraged that these Ascian arseholes aren’t leaving me alone, and yet I am not entirely surprised. It’s not over until it is over.

gods when will that be never ah ha ha ha

In the meantime I have made good on my own promises to make my own self comfortable as best I can, heal as best I am able, and spending what time I can in Ishgard. The others are probably wondering when I’ll return to the Stones but until G’raha outlines our approach on implementing proper protocol on the tempering solution I honestly don’t want to hear about anything else. Alisaie should be helping, I am sure, as is Alphinaud too I think. It’ll be fine! And fast too.

I mean I would help more too but I don’t have a crazy as all hells academic background as they do seven hells I’d love me a curriculum found in the Studium within those stupid halls and their even stupider “zero involvement” stance on bloody everything

share your goddamn science you twits

I am far more tired than I thought. But! I am also finally able to think about the impending reconnaissance we’re bound to have soon once Thancred and Urianger return.

if something happens with them I swear to ever loving shite I am going to boot them back to the First with my fist

Without my Stupid! Arms! Annoying me!

OH is that little

[the writing stops here with an ink blot, as if the pen was dropped and left there, the smeared and distinct shape of a cat’s paw crossing part of the page]

#my writing #the journals #this got way longer than I thought but I did it!#big thx to em for helping me edit this bless and thank #I enjoyed this even if it was difficult to write #hey I finally got some g'raha writing in AND some kinda fluffy angsty stuff? yeeee #; final fantasy xiv #patch 5.4 #shadowbringers #reading for maint har har

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boonki · 3 years

Note

17. “Can you let me see your eyes?” + obikin slow dancing <3 <3 <3

hello lovely! thank you so much for the prompt!! this was so much fun to write, i uh, got a little carried away with the romance i just love slow dancing so much like bro its just so good, so tender, AUGH from this set (and i kinda forget this was supposed to be angsty but i think it worked out in the end lmaooo)

youre having a lovely tuesday :)

here you go my dear <3

______

Snow dots Obi-wan’s eyelashes, holding perfectly still as the pair weaves their way through the crowd; the Christmas festival had just begun, gloriously donned trees and handcrafted, larger-than-life gingerbread houses carefully placed through the city like a treasure hunt for Christmas spirit. Obi-wan, a native to the city and a long time participant in the festival, drags Anakin, a new initiate and boyfriend of a few months, behind him by the hand, their fingers intertwined through thick gloves.

“Oh, this one is by far my favorite.” Obi-wan throws the comment over his shoulder, eyes alight with elation, his whole face aglow from the warm lights meticulously strung through the trees lining the city sidewalks. Far off, Anakin can hear the faint echoes of Christmas carolers, of bells, of horns honking, and friends chattering.

A sharp tug sends him stumbling to keep up, and Anakin has just a moment to take in the building’s exterior before being thrust into a hotel more expensive than his life savings doubled. Tripled. It’s old money, marble staircases and velvet rugs, bellboys in suits and incandescent, shimmering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

“Are you sure we should be here?” Anakin mock whispers to Obi-wan, who is only half-listening. “I can’t afford to be here.”

They come to a sudden halt; if Anakin hadn’t had his eyes latched onto Obi-wan's red and ruddy face, tinted from the cold, he would’ve tumbled right into him. Obi-wan pulls Anakin’s hand up to his mouth, giving it a chaste kiss through the glove. “Look.”

In front of them, he doesn’t know how he missed it, is the largest Christmas tree Anakin has ever seen. Red ribbons cascade down the sides, a waterfall frozen in place, and lustrous silver and gold bells, ranging in size from a fist to his entire torso speckle the branches, interlaced with dozens of tiny doves and cardinals. They stand there and stare at it for a moment, in awe of its beauty, Obi-wan occasionally glancing over at him with the joy of a child written all over his face. Guests race around them, like a river finding its way around a boulder, veering off to various hallways and exits, lugging suitcases and families behind them, not paying the couple any mind. Somehow it makes the moment all the more special: how beautiful it is, to capture something so lovely in secret with someone, standing in the open, lost in your own bubble.

“Wow. A lot of balls.” Anakin teases: a facade to cover up how much he actually really likes it.

Obi-wan gives him a side eye and a thin smile. “I know you want me to make a joke out of that, but I refuse to stoop to your level, they’re ornaments.”

“You’d have to be taller than me to”-he holds up air quotes, dragging one of Obi-wan’s hands with him-“stoop to my level.”

Obi-wan rolls his eyes at Anakin’s smug grin. They settle back into gazing at the tree for a few moments more, studying every detail.

“You haven’t even seen my favorite part of this place,” Obi-wan says, bouncing off behind them, tugging a reluctant Anakin, yet again. They make their way across the lobby teeming with people, up a set of shallow stairs lined with plush carpet, and into a quieter part of the hotel, a midsize room with mirrored sets of doors on either side, the staircases continuing to loop up the other side of the room. It looks like a resting point of sorts, a midpoint between the lobby and the rest of the hotel. The chatter of the lobby doesn’t follow them, and Anakin is suddenly aware of how alone they are.

“Uh, yeah, it’s…” Anakin tries to come up with a compliment, and fails. It’s just a regular room.

Obi-wan laughs, full of mirth. “No, this isn’t it.” He lets go of Anakin and saunters up to one of the sets of doors, pulling it open like a butler, holding a hand out for Anakin to enter first. “This is.”

Anakin draws his eyebrows together, bemused and wary. “Is this the part of the date where you murder me in a big, fancy hotel?” He walks towards the open door anyways.

“No, but a rather good idea, I’ll save that for the future.” Obi-wan snorts, his hand falling to Anakin’s lower back as they step into the dance hall.

It’s like something out of a movie, Anakin thinks. The hall is enormous, dauntingly tall, probably meant for a ball. There isn’t any light save for the white streaks that stream in through lofty, narrow windows, like a painter had dipped his brush in moonlight and stroked once across the canvas, but it’s enough for Anakin to make out the exquisitely patterned wood floor, the white and gold molded walls, the unlit chandeliers, the grand piano tucked neatly away in the corner. A thin layer of dust seems to cover everything, and the air is stagnant, desperate to see life waltz in again. Anakin feels as though he stepped out of reality, the hustle of the Christmas festival light years away.

Stringed music starts to play behind him, audio clearly from a phone or small speaker, tin and canny in quality. He turns in confusion. “What are you-”

“May I have this dance?” Obi-wan asks, a hand offered in between them, no longer gloved. He is barely visible in the low lighting, shadows enshrouding all but the curve of one cheek, the glint in one eye. Obi-wan’s phone is on the floor, volume turned as high as it will go.

A breath moves through Anakin, quiet and shallow, otherwise he is a statue. If he tried to speak, he thinks he’d choke around all the emotion flooding his chest, spilling down into his hands and legs, roaring up through his head and leaking out through his eyes. The music continues to float out into the space around them.

Obi-wan coughs lightly, laugh lines falling away to reveal a layer of nervousness. The ocean inside Anakin churns.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, and slips off his wool gloves, stuffing them into his back pocket and grabbing Obi-wan’s hand. The touch is like a shore to his ocean, pulling him forward, asking to be caressed, returned to, loved.

They fall together naturally, staged for a lazy waltz, and begin to sway, like the tide creeping into the soft sand, retreating back into itself only to race ashore, finding a home in its rhythmic ritual. Anakin lets his forehead drop onto Obi-wan's shoulder, breathing him in, ignoring the lingering wetness from the snow. He thinks he’s crying.

Obi-wan pulls back a bit, releasing his hand from the small of Anakin’s lower back to cup the dense gathering of curls just above his neck. “What’s wrong, dear?” The words are spoken into his hair with a gentle, hot breath that tickles Anakin’s ear.

Anakin lets out a ragged breath, trying to get a hold of himself. This is more than anyone has ever done for him, more than he deserves; the whole evening had been a dream with a golden filter over it, every bit of it sewed into his heart with needle and thread, bleeding all over the place to never forget the details: an early dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant, snow bumbling down around them in the crisp winter air, a cup of shared hot cocoa from a street vendor, the crowd cheering together as the city’s tree was illuminated for the season, Obi-wan giddy to show him every single tree, every single gingerbread house. No one had ever put this much detail into a date, had ever given him this much thought, this much care and attention in a relationship. And he loved every bit of it, loved all the banter and casual touches, loved learning more about Obi-wan’s life growing up, loved- oh god, he loves this man.

Still on Obi-wan’s shoulder, Anakin’s cheeks are hot, and the sea is still leaking from his eyelids, salty and stinging. “I love you,” he admits, whispers, confesses, knows to be true.

Obi-wan stills beneath him. “Can you let me see your eyes, dear one?”

Anakin leans back, just far enough to hold his face above Obi-wan’s, and looks at him, into him, through him, lets Obi-wan search his face for any sign of a lie, Obi-wan trailing the hand that had been on the back of his head to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing across Anakin’s lower lip. “I love you,” he says again, a little louder, his voice echoing into the cavernous hall.

“You love me.” Obi-wan repeats back to him, almost a question, almost a statement.

Anakin blinks a few times, trying to figure out if he had just massively messed things up by admitting it so carelessly, so impulsively. “Yes, I mean, it’s okay if you don’t…” he trails off, not wanting to even say it. “I mean, do you-”

“Oh, Anakin, yes.” Even in the dark, Anakin can make out his brilliant smile, the gleam of his teeth, the twinkle in his eye. “I love you, of course I love you.”

The broad swaths of the curtains seem to open a little wider, the room a little brighter, air humming with energy, the whole room seeming to say ah, love, finally.

Obi-wan sweeps Anakin off his feet, which is no small task given his build, and spins him in a circle, breathless with laughter, swept up in euphoria. If Anakin is the ocean, Obi-wan will drown with him. The music continues to play out of Obi-wan’s phone, but the pair pays it no mind, coming together for a giddy and messy kiss, giggling at their cold noses and lips.

They’ll have the rest of their life to dance, anyways.

#boonki writes #obikin #obi-wan/Anakin #prompt #i just wanna...dance with someone u know #also sorry it isnt christmas anymore but i just?? love the holidays?? christmas year round whats good

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quirrrky · 4 years

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Hi Author-Chan! ＼(￣▽￣)/ I am a simp for the utimate simp himself so could I get a Zentsu Preztel promopt? Thank you!!

ZENITSU AS YOUR DRUNK BOYFRIEND 🥰

I seriously enjoyed writing this one!!! The ultimate simp is drunk and asking you to simp on him too. God, this cute fella’ @sanemisthiccerbih Here’s your pretzel for Zenitsu will tag you again on the next ones! The idea just popped into my head that the pretzels will be scenarios.

drunk = 🥨 pretzel

Zenitsu went out of the restaurant red-faced and silly. His smile definitely said it all. He’s so drunk that he tripped over nothing. Fortunately, you’re just in time and caught him in your arms. He clung to you like a child asking his mom some ice cream.

“I got drunk hehehe…” He informed you and sheepishly grinned. “Are you here to save me?”

You sighed. A cute pout appeared on his face while his hold on your waist tightened. “Don’t be mad~ I just got carried away. It’s all Minosuke’s fault!”

“I-nosuke.” You said.

“Augh! His wrong naming is rubbing on me. Y/N-chan! It’s scary~” Zenitsu complained as you both walked with him still clutching on you.

The people around were staring at the both of you but he didn’t care. Noticing their gazes, a blush creeped your face then you distanced away from his clingy hugging, prompting him to endure.

“Y/N-chaaan! Do you not love me? Why did you push me away?”

Tears welled up from his eyes as he sobbed like a big baby. Well, your big baby.

“You…You want me to walk on my own?” He asked you in the midst of crying until he stopped and collected himself. “Okay…I will. Only on one condition~”

“C-Condition?” You asked, surprised at first but then you let out a soft giggle by his antics. “Okay now, tell me. What is it?”

“What is it~ What is it~” Zenitsu chanted with a silly happy face while he swayed his head. “What is it, you asked…Hmmm…C’mere, c’mere.”

You heeded his request and went closer to his face as he revealed, “Not gonna tell you~ Hehehe~”

Seeing your questioning gaze, he forced himself to stand up straight and happily headed home without any complaints, noise and whines.

Surprisingly.

As soon as you both entered your home though, you felt Zenitsu hug you from behind and whispered. “Condition…”

Goosebumps traveled over your body when his low voice hit the skin of your nape.

“Z-Zenitsu…” You muttered weakly.

Without a word, he kissed your neck then your cheek until he conquered your lips and you melt in his drunken kiss. He reeked of alcohol but the way he kissed you was making you tipsy.

You felt him tug your shoulders and made you turn your body facing his. His embrace on you deleted all the gap you have between the both of you except your clothes.

N-Not here…You thought to yourself, but it’s as if he heard you, Zenitsu already parted from you. However, his eyes were so focused on you and that alcohol-driven reaction on his face made him look inviting.

“Y/N.” He said with a chilly voice. Then, he closed his eyes and looked away. “Mhmnn!!! I can’t help it! You’re just so damn cute!”

W-What? Were you expecting something more? You disappointedly sighed at yourself and told him to fix himself up for bed time.

“Y/N-chan~ Y/N-chan!” Zenitsu called on you lovingly and hugged you again.

You puffed your cheeks and refused to look at him.

“Come on now, look at me~” Zenitsu protested.

With a sigh, you turned around to grant his demand. He was just so endearing and adorable that you can’t help it.

“I love you.” He told you, which was followed by a tender kiss on your cheek.

Inching near you, he whispered in a very mischievous yet child-like tone, “Tomorrow~ I’ll put you to sleep tomorrow.”

Zenitsu gave you another kiss on the forehead as he swayed his way through your bedroom. There, you were left feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks.

#agatsuma zenitsu x reader #agatsuma zenitsu headcanons #zenitsu x reader #zenitsu headcanons #quirrrky zenitsu #quirrrky bread

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globgor-of-mewnie · 2 years

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🤍- Best dream they ever had.

Ah, there she was. His literal light at the end of tunnel. Funny, it hadn’t been that long ago since they’d last seen each other—probably just a week or two. Yet the sight of her delicate form, rowing down the Rose Garden catacombs, filled with such an intense longing. Why did it feel like an eternity since he’d last seen her?

He took a dive into the murky waters, wanting to greet her by surprise. He swam by her boat and slowly rose highly above her. He was planning on swinging his hair back majestically, wanting to flaunt his rugged good looks for her. Unfortunately, he hadn’t accounted for the water stinging his eyes and going up his nose, making his soaked pose look more like a dog coming in from the rain than a hunky BF making his appearance.

When Globgor was finally able to open his eyes, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the silliness of the whole thing. All thanks to the woman far below him of course. After all, she was the one who had taught him it was okay to laugh at yourself every once in awhile.

Eclipsa scoffed playfully at him. “Augh, you.”

Globgor crouched down and buried his arms under the water so that he could reach down to her size. She was still the size of his face, but it would make it much easier to talk to her.

“What took you so long?” It may not have sounded it, but there was a depth of raw need in his words. It was always difficult to be away from his love, but never had he felt so relieved just by her mere presence. He just wanted to hold her and this time never let her go.

“I had to pick the perfect box for your gift!” She showed him a delicate little box with pretty wrapping. She really was too good to him, but honestly, her love was the greatest gift she could ever give him. He’d much rather she’d ditch the present all together and get to him sooner!

He gave her a soft smile, letting her know he appreciated the gesture, before taking a large index and gently moving the present down. He wanted to look at her beautiful face. “Oh no, no, wait. I’m taking you to a sacred place.”

He grinned as he leaned forward and kissed her face (literally as his lips were currently the exact size as it). He then reached forward and sat aside her oar, silently telling her that he would handle it from here.

“I’ve missed you so much, Eclipsa.” His voice was tender as he used his large finger to stroke the side of her face. “I….actually don’t remember what I was doing before I snuck here, All I know is that I’ve felt….lonely. And cold. But now that we’re back together, I feel much better.”

Eclipsa gave him a knowing smile and took a shaky breath. She placed her hand lovingly on one of his knuckles. “I know, Globgor. I feel the exact same way.” She clutched the present close to her chest. “But don’t worry, my dear. Our loneliness is about to come to an end…for good.”

#asks #rp memes #rp meme answers #all i want is you [globclipsa]

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

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IM SO SORRY THAT I SENT YOU A SUCH A SAD SONG BUT NEVERTHELESS I LOVED READING YOUR THOUGHTS & TAGS (AS ALWAYS<3) tho if it makes it better at all (& since you say you like music recs) there are a few songs that actually remind me of comte — and not all of them are so sad ! ^^;;

others include ‘The Sore Feet Song’ by Ally Kerr (“I wandered ancient lands to hold, just you…/And every single step of the way, of pain/Every single night and day,/I searched for you”) and ‘English Rose’ by The Jam (“I've been to ancient worlds/I've scoured the whole universe/And caught the first train home/To be at her side”) ALSO the song ‘The Fear You Won't Fall’ by Joshua Radin really specifically reminds me of (ISAAC ROUTE SPOILERS) the misunderstanding where isaac thinks mc doesn’t like him back and they stop talking etc,,, qq

again ily LOTS & hope you’re having a vv wonderful day !!!💖 also sorry to send such long asks sdjsdjsdj feel free to summarise ahh

All good!! I loved it haha, I’m glad you enjoyed my reaction! 💖💖💖

And these songs make me so softe??? My goodness they’re all so sweet ;-; and so fitting; I always loved the implication in Comte’s content that he’s been just sort of wading through his life/time until he found the one person he loved more than anyone else 😭 💕💕💕 (I’m a closet die-hard romantic, sue me). Like straight up the exquisite hurt/comfort psychic damage “I'm tired and I'm weak, but I'm strong for you.” did????? I have no words, that’s just so Comte-core and I am unable to Cope^TM. And the mellow steadfast quality of the tunes remind me of him too (I feel like he’s just a very measured man in general? Like even if he feels intensely sometimes, by nature he prefers to take his time and assess carefully.)

Tbh I also love “English Rose” bc it’s just giving me such Wedding ES flashbacks??? Basically Comte tells her about how he had gone to so many weddings, and when he was living in England he picked up a certain tradition that he wanted to try if he ever found somebody. And I’m just so many levels of Tender inside at the thought of him traveling the world for so long, and while he probably did enjoy his travels and learned a lot--there was always a distinct loneliness at the same time “Caught the wild wind home/To hear her soft voice speak”. I think one of the most touching things about Comte for me is that he’s very much a man that has spent so long wandering that all he really wants is a place and people to call home. It’s one of the things I truly love about him so much, how he values the people around him...(too many thoughts and they’re all filled with Comte ahkjldkjh)

My god tho the Isaac song is killing me slowly inside AUGH, you can just feel the longing in it??? This is definitely how that misunderstanding seemed to me--being in the same place mentally in a way, but feeling so divided/estranged otherwise ;-; Isaac is too precious “Thought being alone/Was better than, was better than.../I miss you more than I should, more than I thought I could” I feel like it really captures how much he isn’t familiar with something like this, and doesn’t really know how to understand it entirely?? But it still weighs on him and he doesn’t want to just give it all up without a fight either...Oh to be full of bittersweet tender feels on this Thursday evening 😭❤️❤️❤️ (don’t get me started on how the harmonizing straight up took me out like jesus christ I did not see that coming and it hurts so good)

Haha ily3 fam!!! Always a pleasure to chat with you, you’re always welcome here 💞💞💞 I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day too, tysm for the recs!!! :D

#asks #pls dw i loved reading your ask it was no trouble <333 #it's reminding me of all the reasons i love these two boyos and im Softe Like Mash Potat #god esp bc i just played the first chapters of jeanne's rt and my heart MY H E A R T #comte insisting on wanting to make sure she's safe and happy ;-; SOMEONE HOLD ME IM GONNA BAWL MY EYES OUT #isaac being so upset he almost hurt her and BEGGING for a chance to explain???#the way he just so sincerely hung his head and asked for her to believe him #YALL IM GONNA EXPLODE THIS AINT EVEN YALL'S RT I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE SWEETNESS IM GONNA GET CAVITIES #like yes comte and isaac are absolute sweethearts and i'm not taking ANY criticism bye #may you thrive with your big brain and sweet energy <333 #rambles #not incorrect quotes

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cdyssey · 3 years

Text

“Lyra’s Jordan” Reaction:

Hello!! I just recently got into the His Dark Materials series, and now that I’m almost done with the The Subtle Knife, I wanted to start the first season of the show! It caught my eye on Tumblr and made me want to start the books in turn. I’ve heard such good things about the series, and I’m keen to see what it does with this gorgeous world of Pullman’s.

DJDJS, nooooo, not the expositional text scrawl. I get it. You have to introduce people to this world, but still.

OH, it’s Asriel, Stelmaria, and Lyra!!!!!

Aughshsh, baby Lyra smiling at the Master. 😭

Lmao, the canon of Asriel literally just dropping his baby off at a college is objectively the funniest thing in the world. The Master is just like, Wtf? What is wrong with you, man? (To which the right answer, ofc, is a lot of things.)

OH, Dafne Keen is already everything I’ve ever wanted in a Lyra adaptation. Playful, witty, adventurous, (currently) carefree. The type of girl who has no qualms playing with a skeleton’s bones.

And I’m also really glad we get to see these shots of Lyra and Roger playing together. It feels like such a real childhood friendship.

Ooooooh, the show’s letting us see what Asriel’s up to even when Lyra’s not around, which I think is a great move. In the book, Asriel really only showed up at the beginning and end, so having some extra content to help flesh out his character is nice.

Whoa! The title credits and score are so pretty. They remind me of the ones from The Crown.

The Librarian’s fond smile at Lyra when she says please is wonderful. And then she yeets out JSJSJSJSJS. Perfect Lyra.

“The retiring room is expressly forbidden!” / “Not for family reunions.” SJSJSJ.

The Master’s hand shaking as he pours the poison into the Tokay. 🥺

They did such a good job capturing Stelmaria’s air of elegance and regality. I love her VA!!!

God @ Asriel pinning Lyra down. You suck. When I was reading the book, I didn’t know what to think of him until this precise moment, which shaded all my impressions of him from there on out.

(Holistically, tho, I actually do love both his and Mrs. Coulter’s characters. They’re both stunningly vile, but Pullman invests them with such interesting nuances that they’re genuinely two of the most electric characters in a series full of electric characters.)

God @ Lyra rubbing her shoulder after Asriel lets her go. Worst. Father. Of. The. Year.

“I’m sure he had a good reason. To be honest with you, if I were him, I would be afraid of me.” / Huh, I don’t remember if these lines were in the book, but the self-awareness here is really interesting. Asriel knows that he’s playing with dangerous fires, and he’s still doing it anyway.

That sweater on Asriel? And that little gray curl in his hair? Hot damn.

A subtle worldbuilding detail that the show was spot on to pay attention to is how all of the Scholars are essentially old men.

Between Asriel and Dr. Malone, Pullman really understands how much of academia runs on asking for grants hahahaha.

OH, MY GOD. IS THAT MA COSTA.

SHE’S SO WARM AND LOVELY AND OH MY GOD. BILLY. HE’S SO SMALL. JESUS.

And the inclusion of this little coming of age ceremony is beautiful. 😭 The Gyptians are so wonderfully communal.

BILLY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭.

Aufh, Asriel carrying a sleeping Lyra to bed. That’s so soft.

Ur still a shitty father, tho.

But you’re a nuanced man, and I appreciate that.

Lyra waking up and smiling gently in realization. Asriel untying her shoes. Oh, my g o d.

“Can I see the man’s head?” / “No, why would I let you do that?” KWEODIDJ.

This Master and Librarian conversation has me tender. They both care for Lyra so much.

Lyra desperately pleading for Asriel to take her with him. 😭😭 And Asriel’s response: “I am sorry, but I just don’t have time for you right now.”

GOD.

“Did it look like this?” / “What?” / “The airship that my parents died in.” / “No. No, it was smaller.” Jesus.

Something that got me from the books, and that gets me here, too, is that the adults in Lyra’s life had had a similar refrain. “A college is no place for a child.” “The North is no place for a child.” And because these are the only paradigms that Lyra knows, whether through experience or imagination, the most consistent lesson that she’s ever been taught is that there is no place where she belongs.

JOHN FAA!! I love him.

And man, I’m really appreciating the way the show is paying close attention to the Gyptians, who are marginalized in their world. The way that they’re organizing to look for Billy just has me feeling some type of way.

OH? Lord Boreal!!??

“That includes her.” IT’S TIME.

I’m not going to lie. The Tumblr gif that got me interested in the series was a set of Ruth Wilson acting her ass off, so I’m ready to be hurt by her in so many more ways than one.

LMAO, this evil theme at her power walk entrance. Perfect.

The golden monkey!! He looks so deceptively cute here.

It is insane how much Dafne and Ruth weirdly favor each other. If you told me that they were really related, I’d actually believe you.

Thinks about how this is the first time Mrs. Coulter has seen her daughter in, like 12 years.

Also, ooooh, the Master in the background is intently monitoring the conversation because he knows how significant it is, and ofc, he’s absolutely wary of Mrs. C.

She’s so soft-spoken here. 😭

AUGH, and her reaching up to briefly stroke Lyra’s cheek.

“You feel utterly alone. And you feel utterly... magnificent.”

Lyra’s wide-eyed adoration of Mrs. C breaks my heart. It only makes the revelation of her true nature all the more awful. Though she doesn’t know it at this point, Lyra looks up to both of her parents, and both of them so completely fail her.

Wow, in the show, is the implication is that Mrs. Coulter gets Roger kidnapped because Lyra talked about him to her??????? Brutal.

OH, GOD. RUTH WILSON’S FACE AT LYRA UNRESTRAINEDLY HUGGING HER FOR THE FIRST TIME. THE SURPRISE, the CONFUSION, the TENDERNESS.

Roger. 😭

Ma Costa sobbing and Tony hugging her oh my g o d. I’m upset. It is no coincidence that this scene almost comes directly on the heels of the Mrs. Coulter/Lyra hug. The juxtaposition is bonechilling. Mrs. Coulter is partaking in the joys of motherhood for the first time, and Ma Costa is contending with the grief of missing a child directly because of everything that Mrs. Coulter is doing.

“Lord Asriel himself brought it to the college when you were just a baby.” Cue the Master and Librarian smiling fondly at their little Lyra, remembering. 🥺

Lyra frantically shrieking for Roger stings. The show did an excellent job of capturing their friendship—honestly, better than the books I would argue.

“BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN A GOOD AND STRONG MOTHER TO HIM, MAGGIE.” I’m crying a little at this line because my name is Maggie, and so now I love Ma Costa even more if that’s at all possible.

John Faa’s casting is pitch perfect. He’s authoritative and stern but so caring and compassionate at the same time.

In an alternate universe, Mrs. Coulter and Lyra track down the Gobblers would be such a badass plot line.

“We’ll have plenty of time to discuss whenever you wish.” Wow, this line echoes Asriel’s from earlier: “I am sorry, but I just don’t have time for you right now.” But the irony is that they’re both saying nearly the same thing. Mrs. Coulter may say this, but she absolutely doesn’t mean it.

OH, the complexities here!! The monkey noticing that Lyra shoves the alethiometer deeper into her pocket, Pan noticing the monkey growling, and then Mrs. Coulter looking up. Such quick but charged moments.

What a magnificent first episode. I’m already hooked.

#his dark materials #lyra silvertongue #marisa coulter #lord asriel #ma costa #roger #john faa #f: his dark materials #reginian blogs #maggie blogs

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katsukikitten · 5 years

Text

Hate you

Six fucking tries to realize it's the emojis the text post dont fucking like. Well without further bullshit here is a fic based off the angsty as fuck song I really wish I hated you by blink 182. Plz enjoy

Bakugou struggles to leave his bed as the sun rushes in through cheap drawn curtains, smooth glass pressed to his palm with some sloshing amber liquid swirling at the bottom.

He rights himself, absently reaching for his phone as he tips the bottle to his lips, emptying the contents. Scarlet eyes reread over messages from a year ago before he extends his arm above his head just to bring it down in a swift motion letting the bottle go half way through. Glass litters the dirty laundry that acts as a rug over the old floor. His phone meets the dry wall, smashing another hole into the grand gaping art that is behind his door. He runs his deadly hands through his hair uncaring how sparks fly from agitated fingers.

Scarlet eyes flicker to a photo of himself with his arm wrapped around you, a candid shot of you two laughing at some stupid shit Kirishima said at a party long forgotten.

He growls to himself as he swipes at the frame causing it to soar off of the nightstand.

An action that has become a daily ritual, he sighs, standing on the shards of glass with uncaring feet before he lifts up the frame, sans glass, as he learned the first time in his fit of rage to leave it out. He sets the photo back up neatly, eyes burning.

His phone begs for his attention, alerting him to some stupid notification. He cannot be bothered as he know it will never be something from you. Yet he makes motion for it anyway, lazily reading a text.

Kirishima: Come on bro, meet us for drinks tonight.

Katsuki's fingers fly across the cracked glass to reply with two words, 'I work.'

An excuse he uses often knowing full well no one will question it, when really he just wants to drink alone and stay drunk. Even if it means drinking before during or after shifts.

He pulls his matching black shirt over his muscled torso looking at his all black hero suit that he's come to hate.

He made it all black per *your* suggestion. As he stares at himself in his mirror he sees an image of you. You drape your arm around his shoulders, mischief dancing in your eyes and in your smile as you trail under his shirt. Fingers slowly going up his chiseled abs.

After all this time he can still feel the ghost of your lips to his ear, can even hear your whisper.

*"It looks great on you....but it would look even better on the floor."*

A loud ping pulls him from the memory as he stares at his phone.

Another meaningless text.

Kiri: *I'm buying. So I'll see you tonight.*

He pockets his phone without another word into the pants of last night's hero suit making a mental note to stop by the liquor store for more booze for his going on now five day binge.

The sun shines too bright for Katsuki, too cheerfully, as it kisses sunshine onto all of your favorite blooming flowers. He snarls at each flower head, half meaning to kill them as he walks past.

His scarlet eyes rover over people out of habit as he walks, couples especially, a thing more noticeable to him now than ever before.

All his seething glares safely hidden behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

A gift from you for his birthday last year. He ducks into the liquor store, numb over the fact that the paparazzi linger around the entrance eagerly waiting to snap photos of a top pro hero boozing on his shift. The only thing they get is melted a lens or over exposed film.

Katsuki has been numb to a lot of things since you abandoned him, left him for dead emotionally.

Not a single feeling except for rage, waiting to see you again so he can tell you how much he hates you

Or so he tells himself as he stands outside your old apartment, staring up and thinking of the future you two could have shared. He tries to drink the possibilities away as he swallows burning liquid. Deft fingers idly fly to the golden band with a single diamond in his pocket. A reminder he has kept on his person since you.

A reminder that truly there is no such thing as love.

Because if you loved someone how could you bring them so high, make them forget what anger, sadness or pain really was just to leave them with nothing but.

To pack up their happiness along with your books and clothes as if it meant nothing to you at all. Your eyes brimmed with selfish tears as you unpack y'alls favorite photo.

Leaving it on the bedside table to haunt him. All he can see is your misting eyes slowly giving up on him.

He forces himself back towards his normal path to work.

His shift comes and goes with each swallow of burning liquid before the ash blonde finds himself in front of the exclusive club. He pushes open the double doors to spy Kirishima waving at the bar.

"Drink up Ground Zero!" He teases with a sharp toothed smile. Katsuki takes the offer to heart and orders a whole bottle.

Swigging it as the night blurs together, as ever song that he sings is about you.

Sad heartbreak songs disguised with happy beats, the whole club filled to the brim with melancholy over a shit emotion.

"I'm not lying this is what she said!" Denki laughs as he shows intimite texts on his phone. Denki goes onto continue as Kirishima reads but whatever retort he has dies in his throat as his face pales. Kirishima gives a puzzled look as the hot head begins to get to the better half of his bottle. Golden eyes beg with Rubies to be seen as he silently screams, *"WE SHOULD GO."*

But instead it catches the ash blonde's attention.

"Oi." He growls, "It looks like you've seen a ghost."

Little does Bakugou know that he has. A ghost of the top pro hero's past waltzing into the door with an arm draped around the shoulder.

He follows the golden eyed gaze to spy that it is you.

You are the ghost that haunts the bar, nuzzled up and fucking *laughing* beneath the arm of an emerald haired cuck. Katsuki cannot help himself as the bottle explodes in his hands, the flammable liquor encouraging his sparks catching your eye.

Your cheeks burn and your eyes narrow as you steer that God damn useless Deku onto the dance floor.

Scarlet eyes watch as you dance, laugh and smile.

Genuinely smile up at Deku, the kind of smile where it makes your cheeks scrunch up, reaching your intense eyes.

He couldn't remember the last time you looked up at him like that.

He hates the way that you're better off.

He decides he's going to tell you how much he fucking hates it and so he waits. Eyes never leaving your thick frame although the two men beside him say that they can leave, that there are tons of bars in the city.

But Katsuki sits right there, like a lion in the tall grass knowing when to pounce.

The opportunity presents itself as you excuse yourself from your "boyfriend" or so the media says. He sees you slip into the bathroom and he stands.

Sending deadly glares to keep people from lingering around the doors.

You emerge from the bathroom and immediately wish you hadnt.

Your heart sinks to your stomach as you stare up at an all too familiar scowl.

"Hello Bakugou." You say tightly, fighting the emotion tearing through your body. This...this is what you both wanted.

To be distant friends, strangers even but it still bothers you when he recoils from the sound of his last name. You try to steel yourself yet your heart still weighs heavy with him reeking of booze and with that one rare look in his stunning eyes. He rages a war within himself, the venom soaked words no longer sitting on the tip of his tongue.

When he says nothing you sigh, going to slip around him but instead one of his toned arms slams against the wall beside your head. Pressing himself agaisnt you and you against the wall.

Trapping you in a darkened corner much to your surprise, his fingers silently gripping onto the band in his pocket to no avail. The gold circlet threatens to snap beneath his touch and yet he cannot remind himself in the presence of you that love isn't real.

Because it is and it flows from you in soothing breath taking waves that crash over his starved form. Making him forget why he is sad, angry, fucking hurting with his beating heart curled in your delicate fingers. Depsite not wanting it you still treat it with tender care, sure to smile his way, to be polite.

To never speak ill of him behind his back. To even go as far to point out his few, so very fucking few, redeeming qualities when the media tries to shit on him.

He reminds himself that at one point you loved him, you loved him, you fucking loved him. You could love him again right? Because he needed you. He so desperately needed you to grow as a plant does sunlight.

He really didn't like himself without you.

He cannot stop himself as leans closer, eyes searching yours for answers he cannot find. Scarlet eyes dip down to your plump lips, a shiver runs down his spine as he relives a memory of hushed words. Of whispered I love yous late into the night.

His free hand cups your face, letting the pad of his thumb slide over your feather soft cheeks before it pulls at your bottom lip.

He can no longer hold himself back as he captures your lips to his, unfucking caring over your boyfriend standing feet away. Unfucking caring at the fans that gasp with flashes of cellphone cameras as he bites your lip demanding entrance. Tongue flickering over yours earning the softest of moans from you.

He wants you wrapped around him but he doesn't trust himself.

He cannot trust himself to leave you untainted as you help save him from himself.

So he pulls away, pressing something small and cool into your palm. Whispering words with that damn husky voice that will echo in your head for months to come.

"I really wish I hated you."

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katuski bakugou #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou imagine #bnha x reader #x reader #bnha au

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redeyedryu · 4 years

Text

Cross Dimensional Problems

Chapter 7 - Dreaming | [Ao3] | 1 | « | x | » |

Whoops. Fell a bit behind on updating here.

Very important warnings for this chapter! I wound up bumping up the rating of this story with this chapter over on Ao3, so just a heads up that this has shifted to an Explicit fic. I also tacked on the non-con warning. There’s nothing explicit in this chapter, but it does involve non-consensual touching, biting, fear play, tentacles, and negative ideations. Bear in mind these warnings and the upped rating for future chapters and please, proceed with caution.

Summary: ...are you really, though?

You rouse at some indeterminate hour, chest tight and aching, a vague recollection of less than pleasant dreams floating along the periphery of your sleep-heavy mind. A cursory glance around the room clues you in to the late hour. It’s pitch black, no light peeking from beneath the heavy curtains nor from under the door. There is no clock or digital device in the room to signify time and without your phone, you have no sure way of determining what time it is beside it being late o’ clock. Or early, you suppose.

You frown and bring a hand to rub at the space above and between your chest. The tightness is starting to radiate into your throat, your stomach now churning as well. A sure tell of your anxiety fighting to the surface.

That frown deepens into a scowl. You don't need this right now; you don't want to deal with this right now. And yet… it's like everything from the past forty-eight hours and then some has decided now is the perfect time to slap you like a cinder block to the face.

Good lord, you feel so damn sad. It isn’t even your pre-period angst time or anything. What the fuck.

You roll over with a growl, brows furrowed about as furrowy as they can get. You catch yourself clenching your jaw and have to consciously release the tension. Huh. Looks like you’re doing the same thing with your shoulders, too.

“Augh!!” you grumble, flopping onto your back instead. If you slammed your fists on the plush of your sheets and foamy bed top… well, who can blame you? You’re tired, your anxiety is trying to bubble up to the surface, you’re unreasonably sad and just so a n g r y that you’re feeling like this.

You glare at the ceiling of your borrowed pitch-black room. Somewhere in the distance you can hear the rumbling of someone’s obnoxious snoring. You want them to shut the fuck up.

You close your eyes.

Take a slow, deep breath.

Hold it.

Keep holding it.

Exhale s l o w l y.

You take a moment to try and center yourself and think: why are you feeling like this? You can be temperamental, sure, but this? ...this is a bit extreme. It’s… abnormal.

You let loose a rather choice, rather loud expletive as you shoot up into a slouching sit.

Of course.

This isn’t you. Not exactly.

“It’s you, isn’t it, you asshole! Show your happy ass so I can kick it!!”

Hm. Maybe… maybe you shouldn’t have done that because you’re suddenly feeling a very uncomfortable, oppressive sensation, almost as if you’re drowning—suffocating, even. There’s a heavy, constrictive tightness in your chest, like a weight has been placed upon it. Those unwanted feelings you’ve been trying so damn hard to hide away are crashing back into you and damn if they don’t feel ten times worse.

You slouch forward, head nearly resting on your knees, hands gripping at the flesh of your upper arms, nails biting into skin as you struggle to ground yourself.

A chuckle permeates the dark, heavy air around you before it speaks.

“aren't you an interesting little morsel?” His voice has a strange, echoey warble to it, though it is just as deep and gravelly as any of the Fell Sans variants. A shiver racks down your spine and your blood runs cold. Part of you didn't think he was actually here and another part yet didn't think he would show himself.

Shit.

So much for having learned anything.

You shift your head to get a proper glance of the monster now standing at your bedside. From your position doubled over yourself you can only see about midway up his chest but it's more than enough to confirm just who it is you're dealing with. The dripping, tar-like goop, the negativity seemingly radiating off of him… Your blood turns to absolute ice.

Nightmare stands before you.

Not only do you have to deal with Ink and Error, but this joker is here, too? Hell, did the universe put a hit out on you or something? because this is getting ridiculous.

“oh yes, do keep that up, human,” he practically purrs, “you sure know how to treat a guy, don’t you?”

You wince as a fresh wave of negativity surges through you—all your self-doubt, your loathing, and hate. Trying to force it down, you bite at your lip and dig your nails deeper into the flesh of your upper arms.

“What… what’re you… doing here?” It’s a struggle to get the words out but you manage through sheer force of will (and no small amount of spite).

He chuckles and you watch through squinted eyes as his torso shifts with a motion your limited view misses out on.

“heh. your bravado’s cute, kid, but i wouldn't force myself if i were you.” He leans down, the sudden exposure to his face, to that cyan glowing eye of his, has you reeling. You jolt from your doubled-over position and fall to your side, quickly scrambling further along the bed, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. You curse when your back hits the wall, having forgotten the bed was positioned in a corner.

“like i said, treat: you're interesting. there aren’t many people who know of me in this frustratingly small universe, even less that are aware of what i can do… but you?” He chuckles and you flinch as he sits himself on the edge of the bed, a palm and his tentacles resting on the sheets. He leans towards you, causing you to clutch the blankets tight to your chest.

“the game changes when your prey knows it's being hunted.”

You’re at a loss for words, mind an absolute blank, and the goopy monster’s Cheshire smile stretches. He’s probably getting off on this, on your fear and negativity, and that rekindles the fire that had been burning when you first picked up on what was going on. Oh hell no, you're not going to take this—not from him, not from anyone!

Your spine straightens and you all but growl at him, “You don't scare me!” You fist the blankets in your grasp and boldly declare that, “I won't fall for your stupid mind games!”

Much to your frustration the asshole just continues to smile at you.

“that so?” he asks as he tilts his skull back and leers down at you. His gaze is challenging with a hint of a smug dismissiveness. You hold his stare for a moment, body tense and on edge, just waiting for him to do something. So engrossed in your staring contest, you jolt when he lets loose an abrupt laugh.

In the blink of an eye something dark and viscous shoots across the bed and tightly wraps around your ankle. You can only manage a yelp as you’re yanked across the bed, back falling against the mattress and hair haloing around you. Dread coils in your belly as you register that you are now pinned beneath Nightmare, his arms on either side of your head and the tentacle wrapped around your ankle s l o w l y slithering its way higher and higher up your leg, its embrace constricting.

Nightmare’s grin turns absolutely nasty as he proceeds to wrap each of your remaining limbs with a tentacle, the appendages roaming all over your trapped figure. He’s near drunk off your panic, the hopelessness and fear just pouring from you in waves. It has been far too long since he’s held this level of power and control over someone and damned if he lets a morsel like you slip from his grasp. He just needs to educate you a little, put you in your place.

You do your best to fight back the tears welling in your eyes, jaws clenched tight, and try to pull at your trapped limbs, grunting and growling with the effort (those aren't whimpers, they're not), though you ultimately succeed in merely straining your muscles. You’re left panting from the futile effort.

He’s so much stronger than you…

A shudder races through your spine as Nightmare leans down to speak into your ear. You can hear the smile, the unbridled glee in his voice as he speaks, “thought you said i don’t scare you, treat.” He shifts and tilts his skull into the flesh of your neck, rubbing his skull against it in a mockery of a nuzzle. It’s an odd sensation—the feeling of bone and something wet and wrong trailing along your skin. “you can’t lie to me,” he continues, jaws parting. You feel his warm breath ghost along your neck and your flesh prickles with goosebumps as something laves against you, trailing down to the juncture between neck and shoulder, leaving a tingling, chilling sensation in its wake.

You’re hyper aware of just how far that first tentacle has traveled as it gently massages the meat of your inner thigh. You bite your lip as tears begin to fall. You hate this, you hate him—you hate that you're powerless and trapped in this stupid situation and that you can do little more than struggle in vain.

“just you wait,” his husky voice whispers, “i’ll show you real soon just how pointless it is to fight against me.” And then he b i t e s into the muscle of your shoulder.

You wake up in a gasping panic, greedily inhaling as much oxygen as you can, eyes wet and wild. You pull yourself into a sit and cast your gaze around you. You're in your borrowed room and there’s soft blue light spilling from the edges of the curtains. There is no skeleton covered in a vile, viscous tar hovering over you, no tentacles holding you down.

You make a conscious effort to slow your breathing and close your eyes. Just a dream, you tell yourself, it was just a dream.

You lift a hand to ghost along the phantom pain radiating from your shoulder. You don't feel any swollen skin, no tenderness to the touch—your mind is just playing tricks on you.

“It was just a dream,” you repeat aloud. “Just a dream…”

You think… you think maybe you’ll grab a drink from the kitchen, maybe a quick snack, to distract your mind, to help ease the dream to nothing more than a vague, faded recollection.

You pull the sheets to the side and slide your legs towards the edge. Just as you're about to slide to the floor something catches your gaze. Through the hazy darkness of the room partially illuminated by the mid-morning light, you notice it: a blooming, purple bruise ringing your ankle. The aching, radiating pain comes next.

—–—–—–

“you don't look so hot,” a voice rumbles from behind you. You shift your gaze to its owner and note that it’s Rus, the Swapfell Papyrus. He’s got a brow ridge quirked as he looks down at you, crumpled across the couch. You’ve been occupying this particular piece of furniture since the crack of dawn.

“Yeah, well neither do you,” you grouse back.

He chuckles and shrugs as he makes his way across the room. “didn't sleep well?”

You groan miserably, clutch a throw pillow and smash it against your face. “No… Nightmare,” you mumble through the fabric.

With a rustling of fabric and displaced air, Rus drops himself into the nearby love seat. “a nightmare? that sucks but guess it ain't surprising.”

You grumble and shake your head, face still mashed into the cushion. “No,” you protest, raising a leg (the one without the ugly, aching bruise) to drop it heavily on the couch. “Nightmare.”

He’s silent for a moment. Long enough that it has you wondering if he’s even still here, so you twist your head and peek from the side of the pillow. Maybe he hadn't heard you, what with you speaking into the pillow?

…

Nope, he’s still here. He’s just… staring at you. Frowning.

Another awkward moment of silence passes before he speaks, “s’what i said: a nightmare.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows and give the skeleton a look. “No,” you protest, “not a nightmare. Nightmare, with a capital ‘n’. You know, the goopy guy with the tentacles?” To emphasize your point, you pull an arm to your back and waggle it around in your best (worst) imitation of a tentacle.

Now it’s Rus’s turn to give you a look. It's indescribable.

“You uh… you do know about him, right?”

It's silent for a moment more before Rus lets out a thoughtful hum and slides into a comfortable slouch. He fishes around for something in his signature jacket as he says, “damn, sucks to be you. what’d you do to piss him off?”

You sputter, raising yourself to your palms in an indignant huff. “Me? Why is it my fault? I hadn't even met the guy, I only just got here!”

Much to your frustration, the bastard just shrugs. He pulls what can only be a dog treat from his pocket and props it in his maw. “yeah, well, ya did somethin’ t’catch his attention. haven't seen the guy in years-” You balk at that—he’s-they’ve been here for years? “-’n makin’ an appearance now all’a sudden?” He pulls a zippo from somewhere, flicks it back, and lights up the edge of the biscuit. It catches and a deep purple smoke begins to rise before he flicks the lighter closed, shoving it back wherever he pulled it from. Rus tilts his skull towards you, takes a heavy drag of the treat before pulling it from between his jaws, and tells you, “i’d say it was nice knownin’ you, but ‘m not one for lyin’.” He replaces the dog treat between his teeth and then settles further into the couch, skull now turned away from you as a purple haze settles around him.

That… that actually kind of hurt. A lot more than you thought it would. You rub at your chest and try to ignore the uncomfortable prickle that surfaces at his words. Why would he care if Nightmare is targeting you? You’re not friends, and just like how you don't know them, they don't know you, either; there’s no attachment between you, you're not endeared to any of them, no matter how much they meant to you in your old world.

You don't mean anything to anyone. Not here, anyway.

You don't say anything as you pull yourself into a sit, don't so much as look in the skeleton’s direction as you lift yourself from the couch. You place the throw pillow you had been assaulting back along the arm of the couch and silently make your way out of the room. Maybe it’s better if you just… make yourself scarce.

As you pass through the hallway leading to your room, you walk by Ink. The way he’s lingering against the wall, a hand slightly raised towards you, you figure he was more than likely eavesdropping. Dodging his reach and ignoring the apologetic expression he gives you, you make your way to your borrowed room.

A nap sounds great right about now.

#Red Drabbles #Undertale Fanfiction #Reader Insert #Cross Dimensional Problems #Reverse Harem #Nightmare is an asshole #So is Rus #Actually everyone's terrible

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