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goldenlikedayl1ght · 2 days

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the albatross - m. murdock

a/n: hi everyone! so this is that weird and off putting reader i was mentioning earlier! she's not that weird but she's sort of odd so yeah. also i know bucky is the winter soldier but idk how else to tag this so oh well! i do have lore and stuff for readers time as a soldier so i'll include that in later installments! i was kind of in a writers block and this pushed me out of that. so enjoy! please please tell me what you thought and if you want more! warnings: cursing, mentions of death, war, torture, pain, people being dead, reader having horrible people skills and ptsd, mentions of sex maybe? uhmmm in general reader is just sort of strange and this is her and matt's early relationship, so sorry if i missed anything ! word count: 3.6k summary: you have spent the past ninety (give or take) years tortured and in pain. then, a handsome stranger comes into your life and changes everything. pairing: matt murdock x winter soldier!fem!reader now playing: the albatross - taylor swift "i'm the albatross/i swept in at the rescue/the devil that you know/looks now more like an angel/i'm the life you chose/and all this terrible danger"

You’re working a morning shift at the bakery when he comes in. The pastries in the case are laid out just so, and you have been meticulously working on this sign for your fall specials. You are determined to focus on something that is not how poorly you slept, your hair tied up in a braid behind you as you work.

You’re determined to get these pumpkin stems drawn correctly; a green marker clenched in your hand. Your knuckles are white with the tension you are holding in your fingers. It’s around eight in the god damn morning, and you have been awake since around three a.m.

You don’t even hear the bell ring, nor do you hear the click-clacking of a cane on the tiled floors, you only hear an awkward clearing of the throat, to which you spin around, about to throw the marker at the customer, but stopping when you realize what you’re doing.

The customer smiles awkwardly at you, and you recognize instantly that between his glasses and cane, he is most definitely blind. You almost feel silly, until you remember everything, and you wish that there was more moments where you think you’re silly for being paranoid.

And there’s something else, too. You look at this man for a few moments, before realizing that he is so god damn hot. Which, is weird, because you have not felt anything for any man or woman in years, too busy focusing on other things, too busy thinking about everything that’s happened. But god, the stubble tracing his face, the way his dark hair falls, and the way his hand wraps around his cane..

But what gets you really is his lips. Maybe you’re staring, maybe you don’t care. But his lips are this pretty pink, and you find yourself getting lost in the nicest daydream you’ve had in a very long time..

And then, you snap out of that fantasy to remind yourself that you are working and don’t even know his name.

“Hi, sorry,” You cough awkwardly, “Was just focused,” You tell him, approaching the counter. You wipe your sweaty hands on your apron, before putting on your best ‘I’m a friendly bakery worker who just wants to sell you pastries, also tip me please!’ smile on. “What can I get you?” You ask.

“Do you guys have apple turnovers?” It is the first time this fall that is under 65 degrees, so you understand that there is some cravings for autumn snacks.

“Yeah, yeah,” You move towards the case to get some, “Just the one?”

“Three, actually. For the office.” He hums.

“Some big office,” Your voice is a sarcastic mumble, not really for the an to hear but he chuckles at it, and you almost think it’s weird that he an hear you but your brain tells you not to judge, since there is a whole lot the handsome stranger could judge you for.

“We’re a small business. Very friendly, very personable.”

You cannot help yourself, and you find yourself asking, “What sort of business are you in?” What the handsome stranger does not know is that you are insatiably angry at yourself for asking that because you had pretty much promised yourself that you were never going to have any sort of relationship—it wouldn’t be fair to them, it wouldn’t be fair to you. And as previously established, that wasn’t a problem, because you weren’t really attracted to anyone before this handsome stranger waltzed on into the bakery.

“I’m a lawyer.” He smiles. A lawyer.

“Well, Mr. Lawyer, your total is 10.75.” He pulls out a twenty and when you hand him change, he asks, “Which one is the five?” and you wordlessly pull out the five from the stack you handed him, before he puts the rest of the change in his wallet, dropping a five and a small card into your tip jar. “You have a good day now.” He hums, before making his way out of the bakery.

You watch intently, maybe a little too intently, and you hear the voice of your best friend from your teenage years in your head saying, ‘You hate to see him go, but you love to watch him leave.’ And a small smile finds its way to your face.

Then, you notice the card he dropped in the jar before fishing it out. On the front, it reads,

‘Matthew M. Murdock, Attorney at Law.’ On the back, you read,

‘Nelson, Murdock & Page, Attorneys at Law,

Hell’s Kitchen’

Accompanied by this is a phone number and an address.

You pocket the card, and before you know it, costumers are flooding in, and you ease into the day, forgetting about the handsome stranger until you leave the bakery at around six o’clock that night. You finish cleaning up from the day before letting the woman who works to prep for the next day. Then you leave, heading home to the too quiet, too small apartment.

You don’t have much in your apartment. You sleep with a gun under your pillow and you have a cheap TV on your dresser. You spend most of your time catching up on books or movies. You make yourself box mac and cheese before eating it right out of the pot, sitting on your kitchen floor.

As you cook the mac and cheese, you say his name over and over again, letting it sit on your tongue and escape your lips, thinking about him intently. You glance at your watch and decide that maybe it’s early enough that he might still be at his office.

You fish your tiny flip phone out of your pocket, dialing the number on the card and waiting. You’re holding your breath as the phone rings. A thought runs through your brain that maybe he gave you a wrong number and then your brain immediately reminds you that no man is ever going to give you his card, printed out, just to fuck with you.

“Nelson, Murdock & Page, how can I help you?” A voice asks, and you blink, hesitating for a minute.

“Uh, I’m looking for Matthew.” You say, and there’s some light shuffling, and again, this regret shoots over you until you hear a very smooth, very familiar voice,

“Hey,” His voice is like honey and you long to hear it clearer—The first time you’ve desired a better phone. “I was hoping you’d call.”

“Yeah, well, Maybe I just like the sound of your voice.”

“You know usually, that’s my line.”

“Wait, that works on people?” You hear his laugh on the other side of the phone and a shiver runs down your spine as you itch to make him laugh more.

“Telling people they’re beautiful doesn’t hit the same when you’re blind.”

“I guess not..” There’s a silence on his end of the phone, before he says,

“I never got your name.” For a moment, you consider giving him a fake name, but you find yourself giving him your name, the one that your parents gave you all those years ago. It’s foreign on your lips, a rare gem that you do not often give out. He repeats it and you swear you could almost die right then and there. “What are you doing tonight?”

You’re taken back by his forwardness, not anticipating that maybe this handsome stranger, Matthew, wants to be around you just as bad as you want to be around him. And then you look around at your dingy apartment, with your boxy TV, the gun under your pillow, and you, sitting on the floor of your kitchen, having just finished eating box mac and cheese with a wooden spoon that just for a second tastes like the one your mother used to cook with, the one you’d get tastes of sauces, soups, anything you could get your hands on.

And then you remember everything that happened after those days sneaking tastes of your mom’s cooking and you feel guilty for pursuing handsome Matthew, because he has no idea what he is getting into.

“Just finished dinner. Was planning on just relaxing.” Reading until around midnight and then getting an hour or two of sleep.

“Well, how about we go do something?” You detect a bit of hopefulness in his voice. You find yourself asking before you can stop yourself,

“Like, like a date?” And he laughs again.

“Yes, like a date.”

“I don’t know,” You start, “Usually I have to ask my father’s permission before I go out on the town with a boy.” You want to slap your hand over your mouth because you sound your age. Oh god.

“Really?”

“..No.” You hope he finds your weird, totally not a cover up, joke funny. And he laughs again, telling you,

“You’re funny.”

Yeah, really fucking hilarious.

“So, a date?”

“A date.” You consider this for a moment. A date might lead somewhere real. Somewhere dangerous. Somewhere you haven’t been in.. years. Years might be an understatement. Your heart thuds against your chest, and you find yourself full of that nostalgic thing you call desire.

“What would we do?”

“Anything you want.” He tells you.

“Anything? That’s dangerous.” Because this whole thing is dangerous, you want to tell him, maybe you should mention the whole age thing, the whole assassin thing, the whole brainwashing thing, the whole thing.

“Yeah? What dangerous things do you have in mind, doll?” You have to hold the phone away from your ear to breathe, because it feels like someone just took the winds out of your sails. Suddenly it is 1940 something and a boy is flirting with you, and you have to act like a lady in hopes that he will treat you right.

Odd thing to think about today, but you’re an odd person.

“What about ice cream and a bookstore?” You ask, and for a moment you want to hit yourself for not suggesting something cool like a club or something and then you realize that you have no idea what counts as a cool date in this day and age.

Did you know when you were a teenager and had the world at your fingertips, eighty (give or take) years ago?

But to your surprise, handsome Matthew just responds,

“That sounds nice. Do you want me to pick you up at your apartment?”

The idea of handsome Matthew being at your tiny apartment that is not suitable for a date makes your heart race.

“I’ll meet you at the ice cream place in an hour. You know the one near the bakery?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

“Yeah. See you.” And when you hang up, you realize just what has happened. For the first time since 1944, You have landed yourself a date with a handsome man that is genuinely interested in you and in your infinite wisdom decided that ice cream and books were the best way to impress him.. Books.. Blind man.

You lightly bang your head against the counter behind you, muttering to yourself how stupid that was. But you an only dwell on it for a moment before you are standing up and making your way over to your room to get ready.

You’re still in your work uniform. And you look like an idiot. So, you clean yourself up and pull on something presentable, something comfortable. There is no confusion as to the nature of this meet up, you two are going on a date and you asked a blind man to go to a bookstore. You feel like an asshole. And you’re aware that you’re putting emphasis on that, but still!

You go through outfits and outfits, trying to figure out what an appropriate outfit is for this first date. You end up in something casual, and you hope you’re not underdressed. Honestly, you know you’re making a fuss over something as standard as a date, but you are genuinely desperate to have this go well.

You finally decide on an outfit and make your way out the door, grabbing your jacket and stepping out of the apartment. You stop outside of your door before turning around and going back into your room to change your top.

But eventually, you do get to the ice cream place Matt and you had discussed on the phone. And there he is, in all his glory, wearing the same outfit he wore when you saw him in the bakery that morning, only, without his tie, and he looks more disheveled. Somehow it’s more charming to see him like this, more exhilarating to imagine a life with such a low stakes man (You’ll look back on this thought later and laugh)

“Hi,” You greet, and Matt smiles in your direction.

“Hi.” He hums, and again, you feel nervous! So, before he can say much else, you blurt out,

“So, This is my first date in a while.. So. Sorry about that.” You say awkwardly.

“A while?” He asks, tilting his head like a curious dog. You’re struck by the fact that he is around 70 years younger than you. “Like, a few months?”

A beat.

Handsome Matthew is much busier than you are, it seems.

“More like a couple of years.” And by ‘a couple’ you mean eighty some odd years, but Matt doesn’t need to know all of that right now. But he just hums and nods, before answering,

“That’s alright, I’ll be gentle.” Your face flushes, and with a nervous laugh, you ask,

“You mean we’ll take it slow?”

“Sure. Whatever. We’ll figure out the details of it all later.” His hand finds yours, and before you can protest he pulls you into the ice cream shop. Handsome Matthew orders chocolate chip cookie dough because he is perfect in every way, and you order..

“Butter pecan, please.” You get odd glances from Matthew and the seventeen year old minimum wage worker behind the counter, but neither of them say anything. You manage to beat Matthew to paying for the ice cream, and as you walk, he asks,

“Butter pecan? Really?” And you roll your eyes. Young people today, always judging.

“You’re lucky they didn’t have butterscotch, that’s my real favorite.” You respond, before taking a lick of the ice cream. Your handsome date, gives you another bizarre look.

“Okay, what’s your third favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Mm..” You take a few minutes to think about it, before deciding on your answer. “A tie between pistachio and coffee.” And at your answer, Matt laughs at you. You let out an offended gasp, although you’re not being serious, before asking, “what’s so horrible about that?”

“You have the ice cream preferences of an eighty year old,” He laughs and you laugh too, because oh, if only he knew.

“Sorry, my pallet is straight from the 40’s.” It’s a joke. That’s a joke. Not at all based in facts or actuality. You continue working through eating your ice cream and talking to your handsome date. “So, does the handsome lawyer have any family I should know about?”

“You think I’m handsome?” He grins, and your face flushes.

“Answer the question.”

“No siblings. My dad died when I was young and It’s only recently that I’ve been talking to my mother.” Interesting, you think, and then this dawning realization happens where you realize that the next thing out of his mouth will be the inevitable question, “How about your family?”

You consider lying but you decide against it. If this is going to lead anywhere good, you don’t want to base it off lies.

“Not much to say. I’m the sole survivor.” You shrug, keeping it vague. He frowns a bit before squeezing your hand.

“A couple of orphans, huh?”

You squeeze his back.

“Seems like it.”

You kind of aren’t over the death of your parents and your siblings and quite literally everyone you knew as a teenager and young adult—You’re not over so many fucking things that if you went through it all, you’d probably keep poor Handsome Matthew up all night.

But instead of talking about that, Matt finds himself walking with you to the bookstore. You hold the door open for him and begin to wander. You quickly move past the books on World War II, as if faced with an ex you want nothing to do with them.

You begin to look at the romance books, scrunching your nose at how cheesy and surface level so many of these young adult novels are. But then you remind yourself that you are a hundred years old. But you look like you’re in your late twenties, early thirties. As you’re looking at the books, Matthew makes his way to the aisle next to yours, and talks to you through the stacks.

“So, what’s your favorite book?”

“That’s like asking a mother her favorite child.” You answer quickly, and you hear him laugh. Your face flushes.

“Try for me.”

“Uh, I really love Great Gatsby. I’m kind of fascinated with the zombie genre, too, it’s sort of new and interesting, and uh, oh, I read this Neil Gaiman novel, uh, Stardust? I really liked that.” You confess. Matt listens as you fumble through novels, both of you making your way towards the end of the aisle.

“And movies?”

“Why is everything about me? I didn’t hear your favorite novel.”

“The Outsiders.” He responds, and you make a mental note to try and find it in the bookstore. “So, movies?”

You’ve had autonomy for around three years now, so.. Your movie knowledge has been kind of stunted, so you wrack your brain to try and come up with something impressive.

“I really like the Indiana Jones series, uh, oh, The Matrix, and..” You ponder your brain. “Oh! And King Kong!” You saw that one in the theatres for your thirteenth birthday.

“Like, the one that came out in 2017?” He asks, and again, you consider lying, because you actually have seen that one because when you looked up ‘King Kong’ it came out, and it really blew your mind how far CGI had come.

“No, the one that came out in ’33.” As if it is the most normal thing in the entire world.

“One of your favorite movies is one from 1933?” And the old woman in you wants to insist that you loved the decades you grew up in, and that seeing King Kong in the theatres was a marvelous thing because you could barely afford rent. And then you remember you shouldn’t reveal your history with the Great Depression to a man you’re on your first date with.

“Yup.” You assert, and ask, “You?”

“Star Wars, any of them, and the Princess Bride.” Again, you make a note to add it to your list.

“Interesting.” You hum, and you find The Outsiders, wanting to read it, to consume it, to consume him, and every thought he has. The two of you meet at the end of the aisle, too close to be platonic as his hands come to find your arms, and you shudder at the affection.

“Touch starved, huh?” He grins. You flush and roll your eyes.

“You’re so mean.” You huff, and he laughs. His hand moves up your arms and cups your jaw, enjoying the feeling of your warm cheeks.

“Well, you’re odd.”

“Odd?”

“Everything about you. Your movie tastes, your jokes, your ice cream flavors.” He hums, with a soft shrug. “It’s not a bad thing, I’m just.. Trying to figure you out.”

“You’d be the first to accomplish such a feat.”

He laughs at that, and he’s so beautiful.. That you cannot help yourself when you lean up and gently press a soft kiss to those beautiful pretty pink lips that had caught your attention that morning. He kisses you back, without hesitation.

You feel at peace for the first time in years, as if everything you had gone through, every moment of torture and pain, has been worth it because it leads you to this. To Handsome Matthew, who kisses you so tenderly that no matter how simple it is, you are left breathless and desperate for more. You lean into him, deepening the kiss, pushing him back a bit, his back pressed against the stacks. The book in your hands is crumpled, and eventually, Matthew pulls away, before pushing you back a bit.

“Easy,” He says breathlessly, and you need the reminder, because you try to catch your breath. Holy shit. “Easy, easy..” he repeats, his hands rubbing up and down your arms a bit. “I’ve got you, just breath.” He laughs, and you lean your forehead against your shoulder. Fuck.

“When can I see you again?” Is your only thought, and he chuckles gently.

“Whenever you want.” He promises, and you nod, before leaning up to kiss him again.

One day you’ll tell him everything. You’ll tell him all of the horrible things you’ve done and have had done to you, and you’ll tell him why the nightmares came, and why they won’t ever go away. One day, you’ll tell handsome Matthew why you sleep with a gun under your pillow and why you have no family and why you are so odd.

For now, you decide that you deserve a few nice things.

And when he kisses back, you realize that maybe he is just as infatuated with you as you are with him. Maybe. Maybe he is full of secrets and his own horrors that plague him while he sleeps, and maybe that’s the unspoken reason you are so deeply fascinated with one another.

Maybe.

Maybe you’ve spent the past ninety years going from fight to fight, to nightmare to nightmare. Maybe you’re owed some time in the sun with Handsome Matthew.

Maybe.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock fic #daredevil #matt murdock fluff #winter soldier!reader #tortured reader #super soldier reader #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil fluff #daredevil x reader #netflix daredevil #matt murdock fanfic

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kookyburrowing · 2 days

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and so now that i have your attention here are the couture looks i think fox would ABSOLUTELY rock. note these are from women’s collections bc a) fuck gender roles and b) men’s fashion is very meh. there’s no drama.

This is look 23 from their spring 2024 collection. despite my bitching about the awkward number of looks, this is a collection I do really like. Sigh. Fox would like this outfit for two reasons. First, the cut would emphasize his shoulders and thus make him more intimidating. Second, it’s very elegant, but not particularly elaborate, making him stand out in a room filled with whatever nonsense the Senate put on today (cough Palpatine cough).

This is look 28 from the same collection. A bit more elaborate, and again shoulders are emphasized. It allows for a more formal setting with retaining freedom of movement.

This is look 15 from FW2019. A lot more elaborate, but easier to hide weapons in and the pants allow for greater flexibility. Also: POCKETS. more importantly: SUBTLE POCKETS. for knives ❤️❤️

This is from Galla Lahav’s spring collection in 2017. I don’t know the exact look number because I found it through pinterest but I think this works for a dinner or something because it’s less outlandish and more practical. (Dinners are usually SIGNIFICANTLY less formal than things like balls and galas btw).

I’m stealing the coat and running. This is from Dior’s Spring 1998 collection, and I love the shawl/cape thing, but the dress? Eh. Not a fan.

Zuhair Murad AGAIN. they really said “let’s serve cunt constantly” tbh. This is look 2 from their FW2022 collection and I have actually used this in writing wherein Fox wears this (or a modified version of this, with knee-high flat heeled boots) to an opera. Sorry I just HATE thigh high boots with a passion.

YET AGAIN. ZUHAIR MURAD. This is very “oh no the Chancellor died! of natural causes im sure” which is why I love it for Fox. he’s got a femme fatale vibe. to me.

I cannot for the life of me remember where I got this one. If someone else could find it it would be HIGHLY appreciated. I like this bc it’s giving a Sith AU and idk man. The concept of Fox becoming a Sith fascinates me.

tagging @sevdalinkas because they said I could and also i genuinely thought i had more than this? alas those were all rtw not couture. SIGH.

#star wars #fashion #commander fox #sw fashion #haute couture

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valiantroeagleangel · 2 days

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Nosferatu I.

Vampire Ruffilo x female reader

Nosferatu! Ruffilo, Nicholas is not necessarily very mentally stable, a bit obsessive too, and a perv, masturbation, voyeurism.

I PUT MY SOUL IN THAT THING. I'm pretty sure I'm about to pass out. Seriously it took me days to proofread it because I'm weak and lazy and I thought I could just write gothic stuff like it was the XIXth century as if I was a native English speaker. Spoiler alert: turns out I cannot.

Anyway, there will be a second part but that second part is long as fuck and I didn't want to put everything in there because I'm not writing 10k words long chapters. So I'll have you waiting for the rest of the story. But here, take my fucked up stuff. It sucks, it's short, but it's here.

Where Noah is a young and arrogant vampire, Nicholas is more mature and full of remorse (and a total psycho).

Mama’s tag list: @philomenie @gipsonnikki @circle-with-me @somewhere-diamond @malice-ov-mercy @smokeynaomi @darkhallcorner @loeytuan98 @sthnog @cookiesupplier @cncohshit @lma1986 @skulliecadaver-blog @talialovesmiw @to-be-written @4rtificialfolio @arkiliastuff

He used to be so gorgeous, him who used to profane the bed of many people of the fair sex. The type of man any woman's mind would go blank just by the sight of it. He used to be so gorgeous, tall, and talented. But now all that was left of him was a name.

Nosferatu. What a pathetic sobriquet.

What was the worth of his life now? What deserved a soul like his, doomed to damnation? Nothing. He deserved nothing, only the pity he could experience for himself. Those crooked fingers didn't merit to be seen, nor this monstrous face.

He used to be so gorgeous but now, now all he was reduced to was awful looks and a stupid nickname. He had lost all his greatness, all his presence for the sake of an immortality he no longer even wanted. He had dreamt of eternity, a forever life that would grant him power, money, love.

Love.

No love was left for him. No one stayed by his side after all these centuries. His body was perishing like a bird hiding to die. He was ageing in the worst kind of way. In an inhuman kind of way.

Sometimes he tried to remember what he used to look like but even then he couldn't see it anymore. All he could see in the mirror was the time that had passed and the lack of blood that destroyed him without ever letting him die. Sometimes he also told himself that he deserved it, that it was his sentence for being so greedy during his young years, thinking that he would pass eternity in the arms of simple women, women who would have been ready to give him their life. Oh, he could kill to live that again, he would die to live that again, just one last time. To feel the heat and the adoration from another someone.

And when he thought about that, he thought about her.

The first time he saw her, he wondered for a second if it was people like her who inhabited the Garden of Eden. People like her deserved to live in the heavens and were cursed to live in that hell of human life. He wondered that for a second, to not regret his appearance. To not regret the fact that he couldn't dare to approach her even if he wanted to. He would kill for her, die for her, even live for her. Live that miserable life if it meant spending eternity by her side.

Nicholas was consumed by her presence, his mind haunted by her image incessantly, day and night. Other women held no allure for him now; his thoughts were fixated solely on her. Yet, how could he dare approach her, she who was so pure, so holy, while he remained steeped in sin? She was beyond his reach, an angelic figure in a realm far removed from his own. Accustomed to the company of prostitutes, he could only hope that one day, amidst her divine radiance and devout Christian devotion, she might cast her eyes upon him.

As time passed, his longing intensified, driving him ever closer to her. The first time he spoke to her, she seemed unaffected by his gaze, as though she perceived him differently from others, as though she saw the man he was beneath his sinful exterior. If such were the case, he thanked the heavens for this unexpected mercy.

It seemed a miracle from above, an answer to his relentless prayers. How could it be possible? He feared her seeing him, hearing him, uncovering the darkness within his soul. But in her presence, surrounded by her saintly aura, perhaps he was not as rotten as he believed. Just as animals flee from their predators and dragonflies shun the shadows, he felt compelled to flee from her, lest his darkness tarnish her innocence.

"Pray for me, pray for the salvation of our souls, and I shall pray for you."

Perhaps he was not irredeemable, after all. Perhaps his perception of himself was skewed by his past sins, by the atrocities he had committed. He saw himself through his own tainted lens, blind to the possibility that she saw him differently, saw the goodness that still lingered within him.

In her presence, he began to see himself anew, to crave her with a fervour that surpassed all else. He longed for her touch, her gaze, her salvation. With any other, he would have succumbed to his basest instincts, sating his desires without remorse. But with her, he found himself captivated, entranced by her naïveté, her chastity.

She became his guiding light, his salvation in a world corrupted with darkness. Though their encounters remained chaste, devoid of lust or romance, he found himself drawn to her with an intensity that bordered on obsession. He cherished every moment spent in her presence, every fleeting glance, every whispered word.

However, she was too kind, too pure for him to pollute. He dared not cross the line, to stain her innocence with his immorality.

Until one fateful night, as he wandered through the rectory garden, drawn once more to her window. It was a simple gesture, a fleeting glance to ensure her safety, but it would change everything. As he peered into her room, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight, he perceived her, naked.

In that moment, he realized that she was unlike any other, her beauty transcending the physical realm. He already knew she was so much more but his desire for her, once suppressed, now burned with an insatiable fire. He longed to feel her skin beneath his fingertips, to taste her essence upon his lips.

In the shadowed embrace of the night, she stood, an ethereal vision of delicate beauty, unaware of the storm brewing within the depths of Nicholas's soul. His vow echoed in the caverns of his mind like a cursed refrain, a promise forged in the crucible of his darkest desires. He had sworn that he would never defile her virtue with the stain of his lust. But, as she moved unknowingly, marked by purity, madness clawed at the fragile confines of his sanity.

Nicholas had known many a depravity in his timeless existence. Nicholas had sinned so much before. Sins that festered like an eyesore upon his immortal soul, but sins he bore with the weight of indifference. What use was there for remorse in the heart of one condemned to an eternity of solitude?

But now, as he stood in the cloak of night, his gaze fixed upon her, he felt a stirring of something long dormant within him. A flicker of care, of forbidden longing burning like a phantom flame. It was a torment he had not known before, a torment born of the realization that he cared, cared too much, and yet not enough to resist the call of his baser instincts.

In the hush of that nocturnal sanctuary, she moved to put her nightgown on, unaware of the predator lurking in the shadows. And as she dressed herself, Nicholas succumbed to the darkness of his fantasy.

With trembling hands, he unfastened is belt, allowing it to fall to the ground like a silent plea for absolution. A hand slipped beneath the fabric of his attire, a profane offering to the insatiable hunger gnawing at the last strands of his sanity. The moment hung suspended in time, a symphony of temptation and remorse warring for dominance within his fractured soul.

And then, as if in defiance of the heavens themselves, he bit down his lower lip, a desperate attempt to stifle the sinful moan of ecstasy threatening to spill forth from his lips.

With haste, his fingers passed through the band of his underwear as he only caressed his tip before stroking himself a little. There was nothing in the world that this Nicholas treasured more than sex, except for blood maybe. But god that woman was all he desired and the fact that she was far from his touch was killing him.

Yet, even if he tried to struggle against his sinful urges, groanings escaped him the moment he pressed his palm against his member. He observed her with a hunger that defied reason, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of her form as she tended to her hair with tender care. It was a simple gesture, devoid of any overt carnality, but it was enough to kindle a fire within him.

Nicholas found himself trapped in her gaze, a glance that pierced through the room. It was as if she possessed an otherworldly awareness, a subtle acknowledgement of his presence that sent shivers down his spine. His breath caught in his throat, a stifled gasp escaping his lips as he struggled to maintain composure.

In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, suspended in the fragile balance between desire and restraint. His hand continued its desperate rhythm, betraying the turmoil raging within him. Even as his body yearned for her, Nicholas wanted to look at her, to observe her like he never did, in the vulnerability of the night.

She remained oblivious to his presence, lost in the mundane tasks of dressing herself, unaware of the tempest brewing just beyond her window. But for Nicholas, her every movement was a symphony of temptation, a call beckoning him ever closer to the edge of reason.

With each passing second, the boundaries of propriety blurred, giving way to a primal hunger that consumed him whole. He was a man possessed, shackled by the chains of his own desire, unable to resist the pull of her allure.

And as he stood there, bathed in the pale glow of the moon, Nicholas knew that he had ventured too far into the darkness, surrendering himself to a passion that could only lead to ruin. But, even in the depths of his despair, he found solace in the knowledge that for one brief moment, he had allowed himself to want her as he damned the consequences.

The more he touched himself the more he frowned his brows, slowing the movements of his fingers. He tried to calm his tempestuous breathing, tried not to come in his garment like a young one but it was an undying torture.

In the hushed sanctuary of her chamber, she moved with a delicate grace, her form, a silhouette against the flickering candlelight. Her slender arms swayed gently as she reached out, fingertips brushing against the handle of the candleholder, guiding it to its rightful place on the nightstand. The candle, cradled within her grasp, cast dancing shadows across the room. There was nothing more than innocence within her every movement.

But as she performed this simple act, Nicholas found himself trapped in a web of his thoughts. Though her actions spoke only of purity and grace, his mind betrayed him, wandering down forbidden pathways fraught with desire and longing.

His hand pressed on himself, he groaned again, his forehead covered in sweat betraying him. He couldn't handle anything anymore. He touched himself like she touched the light. And he whispered her name as he finished between his fingers.

She continued her ethereal motions through the room. Each step echoed softly against the ancient floorboards, a melancholic melody that stirred the very air around her. With a gentle sigh, she departed, leaving behind the confines of her sanctuary.

As she vanished into the shadows beyond, the weight of her absence hung heavy in the air, leaving Nicholas to wrestle with his unruly desires amidst the solitude of the rectory garden. Alone with his sins, he was left to confront the horrors of longing that raged within his heart. He was left to face the monstrosity he just committed.

#bad omens #nicholas ruffilo #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #vampire! ruffilo #smut #vampire! nicholas ruffilo

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hersurvival · 3 days

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I wish I was your floor length, navy blue velvet curtains -

The first thing you touch in the morning, letting in the day be it blue or grey.

Or your coffee pot, you fill me up, flick the button, and refuse to let me out of your sight

Until you're able to carry some of me around in your cup.

I would like you to think of me as your bookshelf,

Wobbly old thing, under all the weight of stories you'll one day read,

Unwavering as I hold onto every hopeful page.

But I find myself as your favorite pillow -

Tear stained and misshapen.

You always wonder why no cover seems to fit.

Beaten - holding your screams, your pleas, your dreams.

I have been with you forever,

From being tucked in by your mother

To your first kiss with the door open,

As you stood in your childhood bedroom for the last time and grew up, moved out.

That home now sold.

You buy a new pillow every handful of years

But they cannot replace how I have been molded your whole life,

To be a perfect fit.

Tagged by @the-hollow-quiet (some time ago but I did not forget!)

Created originally by @wordrummager to describe what piece of the home you identify with.

@coffeexxcigarettes @ivaspinoza @yakultstan @sfsolstice @walkthruthewords @brb-on-a-quest

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coraniaid · 23 hours

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Top five Fuffy fics (written by authors other than yourself)

Well, I'm not sure the restriction's necessary: I don't think I'm being unduly modest in saying there are a lot more than five Fuffy fics out there that are much better than anything I've ever written (or even come close to writing, frankly).

Uh. Limiting myself to one per author and to completed works only, and not trying to sort the top five in any way, without thinking about it too hard my top five would be:

To Live In The World by IvorySteel92. There are lots of Season 6 Fuffy fics, lots of which are really, really good, but this is the only one that made me cry twice, so it must be the best. Faith comes to Sunnydale after Buffy dies to try to do the right thing and take over as the Slayer, but then Buffy comes back to life. Only this time, unlike in canon, Buffy really does come back wrong...

Je me souviens by zulu. A classic, from all the way back in 2005. Again, there are lots of Season 4 Fuffy fics -- including at least one more that I love and that almost made this list -- but I don't see how I could not include this one. Faith wakes up from her coma, not knowing where she is, struggling to remember the fading details of a dream in which somebody she can't remember is chasing her with a knife. To the extent there is a single Fuffy fic any fan of the ship should be familiar with, I think this must be it.

147 Days by TigerDragon. Another relatively older fic -- this time from 2012 -- but one which doesn't seem to have gotten quite as much recognition as I think it deserves. It's part nine of a fourteen part series (starting all the way back in Season 3 and carrying on well past canon), but you don't really need to know much more than that this is -- technically -- canon-compliant, and that it covers the time Faith spends in prison while Buffy is dead. I think it's amazing and that far more people should read it.

Flowers For A Ghost / The Girl From Away by aliceinwonderbra. I'm cheating a little bit here, as these are technically two separate stories, though you could read them in either order and both have the same starting premise. Buffy wakes up in hospital surrounded by her friends after jumping into Glory's inter-dimensional portal to save Dawn. Only, she isn't waking up surrounded by exactly who she thinks she is. While the main reason I got into Fuffy a few years ago was rewatching Buffy during lockdown and finally having the pieces click, I genuinely think this series runs it a close second. I don't think I would have started writing anything Buffy related myself if -- having finished that rewatch -- I hadn't thought "huh, I wonder if anybody has ever written Faith/Buffy fanfiction?" and eventually stumbled onto these stories.

Body Language by explosionshark. As a rule, and despite my many complaints about Season 7 itself, I think Chosen was pretty close to the perfect way to end the show, which makes me a little wary of post-canon fics. But this one is so good it makes a mockery of any reservations I had: I cannot imagine a happier, more faithful-to-the-characters continuation to Buffy and Faith's story. (Oh, and as the tags make clear -- and as I think Faith would insist my previous description already strongly implies -- Buffy and Faith have a lot of sex in this one.)

#thanks #asks #fanfiction #fic recs #fuffy #btvs

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elainiisms · 5 months

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"you can't ship those characters they tried to kill each other!" sounds like someone can't appreciate the inherent eroticism of violence 🙄

#like idk grow up?#hannigram #villaneve #carmilla #fuffy #catradora #judecardan #soukoku #satorika #rhaenicent #tamber #interview with the vampire #andreil #loustat #i cannot for the life of me think of things to tag #u get it though

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tongues--and--teeth · 2 months

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Lovvveeeee this fic from @thebiscuitlabryinth sooo much omg. She’s such a visual writer I felt like I could actually see what was going on while reading lol.

Click for better quality!

POV: you’re Pure Vanilla Cookie

#Sorry for the tag!#I cannot give compliments for the life of me sorry #tbf I really like all his fics #but this one….. I am a sucker for dream sequences and stained glass….#couldn’t get SM’s soul jam fizzling out to look right #like I drew a whole abyss thing under it but it just kinda… didn’t work #anyway SM in light while PVs in more shadow a la we’re two sides of the same coin #they’re so special to me I also think they kiss right after this /j #crk #teethart #cookie run fanart #cookie run kingdom #fanart #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #cookie run #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla cookie #vanilla milkshake #shadowvanilla #pureshadow #pure vanilla x shadow milk #digital art #artists on tumblr #honestly though it might just be the flu talking but this might be legit the best thing I’ve ever drawn #They're in the solarium of unity right??? bc I swear I saw that

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n3ongold3n · 5 months

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Ever since i saw the thongTM i could not stop thinking about this 🐳

#käärijä #häärijä #khäärijä calendar #diary bit coming up in the tags bear with me since this is #also my diary kind of; this blog #this thing has fought me every step of the way - and it shows i know #but i needed at least /some/ tiny little crumb of standing up for myself against my own defeatist thoughts #not just drawing. just. in general there are so many tiny and medium obstacles to accomplishing tasks that i just feel #like such an idiot for not just getting rid of the obstacles and moving on #at the same time i know how very unfair this kind of thinking is towards me since i #literally have the neurodivergence of cannot set priorities for my life or coordinate several things unless under strong duress #and then i feel sad for not even living my life unapologetically #((and disappointing jere :') - you have not read this that would be way WAY too embarrassing for me)#and yes i know you shouldn't trust yourself after - what was it? - 19:00? Well. If I didn't have to struggle until 3 pm to get through #the wall of anxious paralysis we wouldn't have that problem but here we are #anyway. off to bed. for what it's worth #got to figure out how to electronically validate my ID :''') and/or call the job center - fun!#my own stuff

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every-character-ever-poll · 2 months

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I have now been shown mpreg Clippy three whole times. All against my will. One of them is in my inbox and I don't know how to make him leave

#not a poll #I don't particularly wish to post that. Mainly because I'm sure there's a tag I should use but for the life of me I cannot figure out what #What do I tag so people who do not wish to see anthropomorphic paper clip pregnancy art can avoid it. I feel like this is a thing people -#would wish for me to tag #(For the record I the mod think this is all very funny. Mildly disturbing in that I've seen something I didn't really want to. But i think-#it's funny)

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craycraybluejay · 2 months

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ik people like to act like sex and imbalanced sexual dynamics are uniquely traumatizing (moreso than any other kind of power imbalance, abuse of power, or just flat out abuse period) but from personal experience not really. there's nothing inherent to sex and sexuality that makes it traumatizing. there's nothing inherent to sexual trauma that makes it more traumatic than any other trauma.

and chiefly trauma is never really about the intentions of any party who made or let it happen. someone who wants, intends, and tries to hurt you might bounce off you just like that; because they simply failed to psychologically damage you, because what they did didn't bother you a lot whether it be mental physical or sexual. conversely someone who does not want, intend, or try to hurt you may scar you for life with something either they don't understand is harmful or isn't even inherently harmful and is uniquely that way to you.

i just. i'm annoyed at the narrative of trauma being taken away from the survivor themself. if i say this was traumatizing and you think it's not a big deal, too fucking bad, listen to me. if i say that wasn't traumatizing at all and you think it's the worst thing in the world upon hearing what it is, too fucking bad, you don't get to tell me what my trauma is. i'm sick of seeing people put words in each others mouths and tell someone's story for them without that person's consent. idk like? it makes me so angry that whenever i used to talk about things people would blatantly disregard the most horrific times of my life and instead focus on stuff i was neutral or even positive toward as a big terrible thing that ruined me.

nowadays i'm very grateful to have people who are chill and don't jump to conclusions no one asked them to. people who listen when i tell them "i know this sounds bad but it wasn't actually" or "i know this sounds stupid but this was world shattering." people who i get to laugh with. the RIGHT people who extend me the same kindness of knowing their strange "good bad things" and "bad fine things."

life just isn't as simple as "this is always terrible for people" and "this is always fine for people." PEOPLE aren't a monolith. yes, even that thing that you think must be the worst thing possible. yes, even that thing that you think no one could possibly be hurt by. it's hard to involve myself in serious discussions about abuse because there is a very clear Narrative people want to follow and if you as a "victim" don't follow it then either it didn't happen or you're wrong about your own experience.

hopefully I can consult my therapist about this phenomenon in discussions of abuse and trauma. and also about the specific thing that made me think of this. it irritates me quite a lot when others pity me for something that i knowingly chose-- and in retrospect never hurt me either. like what are you fishing for. why are you looking at me like that. i'm fine, maybe you're the one that needs counseling if my talking about this creates such a visceral reaction in you.

#listen to trauma survivors #listen to victims #listen to people who say they AREN'T that when you say they are too #the only person who knows their life best is that person especially in retrospect #ask to tag #trauma #the narratives surrounding trauma are regressive and ignore anyone who does not fit them #mental health culture critical #mental health #i consume [one] weed and then have sex and its immediately rape. pls touch grass jfc #idk everything surrounding sex is this mystical thing rife with potential evil #and i'm tired of it #the anti sex culture #the whole: there's nothing more traumatizing than someone 2 years older asking you out #pls stop #sex is not inherently more evil or potentially evil than literally any other thing that can be used to abuse #and abuse isn't as simple as 2 neat boxes labeled abusive thing and not abusive thing #for example you cant claim a karen yelling at you in a store is abusive. rude and mean yes but shes not abusing you #but if the same person is yelling at you all the time and has power over you so you cannot stop them thats a diff story potentially #idk people have this #black and white thinking #that never fails to irritate me #and we are never going to get anywhere in understanding these difficult topics if we cannot disconnect the narrative from our ego to always #always be right. to always know what is one thing and what is the other

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