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venus-haze · 11 months

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Brother's Keeper (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: You’re Vincent’s. You have been since you ended up in Ambrose. Bo decides it’s time to make an exception.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Please read the warnings before deciding whether you want to read. Before anyone asks, I’m already planning a Vincent-centric follow-up. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Extremely dubious consent since reader is Vincent’s captive, elements of Stockholm syndrome, sadism (mentioned in reference to Vincent but also Bo to the reader), dacryphilia, slapping, blood, mommy kink, overstimulation, I guess cheating? There’s a lot going on in this. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Even though your eyes were closed, you knew the man coming down the stairs wasn’t Vincent. He’d wordlessly disappeared up them about an hour earlier, no indication of where he was going or when he’d return. Unusual that he’d be gone for so long and not leave you a note with a vague idea of what was going on. Maybe it was urgent.

You hadn’t seen Bo in a while, though you’d certainly heard him plenty of times. While Vincent had a knack for slinking around like a cat, Bo reminded you of a wolf, howling loud with his razor sharp teeth on display. All the better to eat you with. You had the feeling that if he’d gotten to you first, he would have taken up hunting you for sport.

You sat up, blinking your eyes open. They didn’t need to adjust to the dim lighting anymore. The last time Vincent had brought you upstairs for the shower you begged for (and now felt long overdue for another), you were dismayed to find the bright lights stung your eyes. You asked him to just turn off the lights altogether. The longer you spent there in his studio—lair, as you’d come to personally refer to it—with him, the more like him you were becoming, slowly but surely made in his image.

Bo’s eyes were dark in the basement where Vincent kept you and all of his other art supplies. For the longest time, you thought his eyes, and, in turn, Vincent’s, were brown. Instead, they were a raging, stormy blue that threatened to drown you in their depths if you stared too long.

“You just sleep all day, huh? Leave us to do all the work?” There was a joking lilt to his accusatory tone.

Though you knew better than to protest, you desperately wanted to. Being Vincent’s muse was unforgiving work. You were available to him at all times, posed and molded and used whenever he felt so inclined. Your body had been the victim of several bouts of artist’s block, bearing the scars of his frustration and inspiration. Most of them were due to candle wax burns.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

Bo’s eyes raked over your body, nearly nude save for the thin t-shirt and athletic shorts that barely reached your mid-thigh. Humiliation coursed through you when Vincent first presented you with the clothing, your size, taken from someone who was too dead to miss them, probably. The first clean clothes you had since he first imprisoned you. You soon found it to be the best choice with how hot it could get in his lair when he was working. Practical until that moment, when it left you exposed to Bo’s hunger for a handful of flesh.

“You look good. Vincent always took better care of his toys than I did,” Bo said with a grin, his tone eerily playful. “Mama said I was too rough.”

The chain around your ankle rattled as Bo pushed you back onto the bed. Less restraints than when you’d first been brought there, but you couldn’t parse a rhyme or reason as to what compelled Vincent to grant you these minute freedoms.

“Please don’t,” you whispered. “He’ll know.” He knows everything.

Whether you were easy to read or he was just observant, you had slowly convinced yourself Vincent was omniscient. Your captor was an otherworldly entity, aloof and removed from the messy emotions that you and the other poor, unfortunate souls who found yourselves in his lair were burdened with. He moved coolly, without care, without remorse.

If Vincent were merely a man, what little bit of sanity you were clinging to would unravel. A man was vulnerable, conquerable, real. Like Bo. Brash and impulsive to contrast his twin. He unsettled you more than your silent captor. After god knows how long of being met with Vincent’s cold, emotionless wax face, the way Bo’s shifted with each mood, each thought, left you feeling overwhelmed.

“Vince and me shared a lot growin’ up. He won’t mind,” he said, the alcohol on his breath burning your nostrils.

His lips parted with the intention to devour, like a snake unhinging its jaw to swallow you whole. You wondered how long he’d been drinking, how long Vincent would be gone for, how long Bo had wanted to do this. Bo wouldn’t kill you, but you knew he didn’t care if you were in one piece. He growled against your mouth, his lips bullying yours into kissing him back.

Satisfied with your reluctant return of affection, his attention turned elsewhere. Coarse hands slid up your shirt, roughly massaging your breasts. He pinched your nipples, eliciting a pained moan from you that only reached his mouth. Upon feeling his lips upturn, a siren went off in your mind. So used to blindly vying for the approval of your unknowable captor, you shouldn’t know he’s enjoying this.

He broke the kiss to pull your shirt over your head. Wasting no time, he latched his lips to one of your nipples while his hand attended to the other one. His teeth tugged at your nipple almost experimentally before biting down a bit harder.

Tears blurred your vision. Where the hell was Vincent? You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will the sound of him walking purposefully across the floorboards above. Instead, you were met with silence and the sound of your own whimpering.

You released a breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding when Bo finally released your nipple from his mouth. He landed harsh slaps to each of your breasts, especially painful on the sensitive one he’d been—nursing on? Torturing was more like it.

A mean snarl had made its home on his face, reveling in your suffering at his hands. Rounding his arm back, his palm smacked against your cheek. And then it did again. And again. And again.

You could feel your lip split, your wailing echoing through the basement. He’ll know. Maybe that was what Bo wanted, because the slapping soon stopped.

“That’s it. Gimme those tears, mama,” he cooed, brushing his thumb against the wound he inflicted. He collected the blood that beaded at your lips and brought his finger to his mouth, sucking it clean.

Your brain felt fuzzy. Even worse, you could feel his words going straight to your pussy as it clenched around nothing but air.

“You cry this pretty for Vincent? Or just me?”

“J-Just you.”

He grinned. “Don’t I feel special.”

He slapped you one more time for good measure, harder than he had before. Your arms flew up to shield your face from further damage. His hands moved down your body instead, pulling your shorts down to your ankles.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel his hands on your at all, and you glanced down to see what’d given him pause. His gaze was fixed on your upper thigh where Vincent had neatly and painfully carved his initials into your flesh some time prior, long enough for the mark to scar over. Bo glanced at you, expression unreadable for a split second wherein you felt some relief.

His face soon betrayed his anger, and you felt your stomach drop upon hearing him unbuckle his belt. He then unzipped his jeans, pulling them and his underwear down to free his hard cock. There was no warning, no preparation as he pushed his length inside you. While the encounter hadn’t been about your pleasure in the first place, you realized with the pain between your legs that it’d turned into a punishment, and there was little you could do but lay back and take it.

“Lookit you, ‘bout to leave a wet spot in the fuckin’ mattress,” he mocked. “You’re a natural cockslut, ain’t you, mama?”

You earned another smack across the face for your silence.

“You answer me when I talk to you.”

“I’m a cockslut,” you forced out.

He groaned as tears rolled down your swollen cheeks. Still, his stamina proved to be more than you could handle, because your calves started to ache from flexing while being painfully close to orgasm. You choked out a sob, his pace relentless as he pounded into you. The metal bedframe clanged against the wall, a loud and ugly noise that made your skin crawl. It was as if he knew exactly what to do to make you feel like you were losing your mind.

“Gonna make you cum, mama. Leave you dreamin’ ‘bout my dick.” His words slurred together, probably from exerting so much energy in his intoxicated state.

You responded with a moan that sounded foreign coming from you. It was good enough for him, because he didn’t slap you this time, instead bringing his hand to your clit. His calloused fingers rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves, and you grabbed his forearms for leverage.

“Know you’re close, way your pussy’s squeezin’ my dick. Wanna take it all, huh?”

“Wanna cum,” you moaned.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright then, cum,” he said, slapping your clit so hard you almost swore you saw stars.

Your hips bucked, and your orgasm blazed white-hot through your body, fire engulfing your muscles as they constricted, black spots hazing your vision. You thought you were going to pass out. Vincent had brought you to that point before, thought it was usually from pain rather than the pleasure that overwhelmed you.

Bo chased his own release, thrusts becoming sloppy as he got closer. “Fuckin’ whore, cum all over my cock like this.”

He finally bottomed out inside you. Your pussy clenched around his throbbing cock as he came, filling you with his cum. Cursing under his breath, he made eye contact with you, a lazy smirk spreading across his face.

He pulled out of you, licking his lips upon seeing his cum leak from your pussy onto the mattress beneath you. Physical evidence that he’d laid claim to you. The grown-up version of him messing with his brother’s toy. He was right about that much, at the end of the day, that’s what you were, biding your time until Vincent grew bored of you and moved onto something shiny and new.

Staring at the ceiling, you let out a shaky breath when you heard the sound of his pants zipper and then his belt buckle. There was no point in you pulling your flimsy articles of clothing back on. You jolted when he grabbed your unchained ankle.

“Thanks for the taste, darlin’,” he said with a wink, as if it were something you’d flirtingly suggested, a playful secret between the two of you.

After a few moments of silence, he disappeared upstairs unceremoniously. You listened to the sound of his heavy footfall until it became inaudible. The faint sound of a truck engine revving made you relax a bit. He was gone.

You laid motionless in the bed until Vincent finally returned, and it took everything in you not to scream at him. Where the fuck were you? He began walking toward you, freezing in place before rushing to your side. He knew. Your lip trembled at his concern. It wasn’t for your well-being as a person, you knew that much, but because you were his. His muse. His living, ongoing art piece.

He touched your shoulder tentatively, and you avoided making eye contact with his mask. Were you angry? Or ashamed?

His fingers moved to brush his initials in your skin.

“He didn’t care,” you whispered.

You hissed when his fingers dug into your thigh. He moved his other hand, signing, “It won’t happen again.”

You scoffed. No acknowledgement he fucked up. No apology. You should’ve known better to expect that much from Vincent. The half-assed promise was the closest you’d get. Part of you hated yourself for finding some comfort in the cold familiarity of his emotional distance.

Vincent looked at you, his blue eye staring down yours, a whirlpool threatening to drag you into its depth until you closed your eyes. You heard a light rustling, but nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his scarred lips pressing gently against your forehead. The tenderness was a momentary reprieve, as you felt him lift his hand from your thigh. You heard him walk a few feet away, the metal stool he favored scraping against the concrete. Feigning sleep, you waited for him to join you in bed.

#bo sinclair x reader #slasher x reader #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slasher fandom #slasher community #bo sinclair

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pomrania · 7 months

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If you don't already know, @prokopetz is hosting a thing this month, where people are making 200-word RPGs. Here's some I thought were cool, and my commentary on them; in order of how they showed up in daily compilations. Disclaimer that I'm finding these entirely based on the compilation posts, which only show the title and the creator, so there's a chance I'm missing something I'd thought was really cool, simply because I didn't remember what it was called.

Bun Chaos by @nyalaholic This one just seems delightful. I always love stuff where the literal premise is "you are little creatures, and causing problems on purpose"; and everyone loves "stats that rhyme" (or at least I do, and that's what's most important when we're looking at my opinion). A thing I particularly thought was cool, was using a d20 to put a "time limit" (really more of a "rounds limit") on the game. Also, how the points are for the group total, because what really matters is "how much chaos was caused" and not "who did what".

Crushing It by @writemeasandwich I would never play this game myself, because folding paper into any shape more complicated than a basic paper airplane, makes my eyes glaze over, and also I have slow reflexes. However, I am glad that it exists, and it seems like it would be tremendous fun to watch; probably also to play, for people who don't have my particular issues. I enjoy the bit about "more dots shown is better, unless it's the most dots shown, in which case you want to avoid it".

Knock Knock, Cthul-Who's There? by @bookoramaenderteeth This one goes on the list because I absolutely ADORE the premise, it's just so GOOD. And also I like the mental image of just calling up some unrelated person and having them listen to the stuff you came up with.

Raccoons and Goblins by @kaninchen-reblogs Honestly pretty much ANYTHING where you play as raccoons and goblins would prolly make it on here. The gameplay seems pretty generic, which, there's only so much you can put into a thing when you're limited to 200 words, but 'generic' also means 'functional' (absolutely not a given with these kinds of weird games). Within that though, I love how the "goblin" actions all start with G, and the "raccoon" actions all start with R; incredibly basic stuff that just makes my brain happy. I like the bit about most of the 'actions' you choose are from your own list, plus one from the other list.

VAMPIRE DANCE FLOOR (not sure if it's supposed to be all caps, or if that was just to emphasize the title) by @danacarajb First off I always love stuff where there's various 'traditional' monsters; that's like a cheat code for my brain. But aside from that, the STRUCTURE of this is fascinating, how each type of monster has a different win condition, and WHAT the win condition is for each of them; they're all things that make sense for that type of monster, AND work within the mechanics. I think this is my favourite of the games from the first day, but I genuinely can't say how much of that is from its own quality, and how much is because it aligns with my tastes.

And I think that's where I'll stop for now, to post it, because I don't want this to just stay forever in my "I'll finish it eventually", and also there's a nice clear cut-off point of "this is the stuff from the first day".

#no fandom #not a reblog #rambling

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archivalofsins · 4 months

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So, I'm filling out my mail in ballot and like... Lately I've been getting hit with the cultural differences between myself and others.

So, I'd like to talk about how that may impact how I view Milgram.

It's no secret that I'm African American. Yet, there's a great deal of people that will have assumptions on what that means, how it looks, what I must be into outside of Milgram etc. These things as we've come to know quite well through Milgram, are biases.

As we've discussed before biases aren't inherently bad. Biases in and off themselves are ideas we pick up about society based on our personal experiences. They're like a quick cheat sheet that no one can help but make in their head.

For example- Since I said I was African American. One could assume things about my,

Skin tone

Education

Social Status

Simply based on that knowledge alone. One could assume that I'm dark skinned. An assumption that a good deal of people make when that term is used despite the various skin tones throughout the African American community.

If I were to then respond to that assumption with,

"Actually I'm light skinned." (This is a fact and a example.)

Another assumption would come into play.

"Oh what are you mixed with?"

This would lead to two answers. Nothing, literally everyone in my family is black. Or, "Wow; can you take an educated guess? I did just say I'm African American is there any historical context you could possibly gleam without asking me why my skin tone is what it is. Anything, is there anything coming to mind that may explain? Might rhyme with armory. Might involve a word that sounds like shave?"

Nope damn...the answers still nothing just African American or well if we discuss the history of slavery real quick we get this very complicated non-answer of too many things to count. Including white and Native American. Yet if you ask my dad what they put on his papers when he fought in the war they put negro. Because those other two things matter relatively less than the whole black thing.

So, most of my family history is black and I was raised in the black community. Didn't really stop me from getting that question a lot growing up. Mostly from people within said community. These are the sort of biases I believe are pretty common in most cultures. People will judge others based on how they look and assume things about their background.

This is highlighted in Milgram through Mu. It's brought up multiple times that Mu has been othered because of how she looks. Because she does not look typically Japanese, she looks foreign. She has honey-blonde hair and light grey eyes.

She mentions in a minigram that she doesn't like how rain makes her hair stick up.

People headcanoning Mu's victim as half black when France has the highest black population out of Europe wild.

X X

Hmmm, wonder why that headcanon hasn't been put on her ahn who knows.

Basically, noting that humidity and water makes her hair frizzy. Probably playing a bit into the reason she doesn't portray herself as being soaked in After Pain. Because she finds this aspect of herself to be embarrassing.

This also could subtly imply that she may straighten or style her hair. Outside of that Milgram highlights how different she looks before the series even starts properly. Noting it in her character description on the website.

A beautiful prisoner with overt features that set her apart from other Japanese people. Despite her slender frame, she’s very candid, and the type to rebel against the abnormal circumstances Milgram has presented her. Due to her nature, she will be very wary of Es at first. The way she conducts herself gives a sense of her upbringing. Leading us to speculate that she was probably born into a wealthy family. Perhaps, being born into wealth is why she has such a sense of pride, bursts into tears when clashing with others, and is prone to whining.

My sorry spells must be wearing off./I am always the drama queen.

Why won’t you stop hurting me? My heart is all dried up. My sorry spells must be wearing off. But I guess some of it is my fault./ It’s not my fault. I told you I’m queen, and it will never be changed. I’ve got EVERYTHING, everything is as I wish.

And even having it called to attention in the portal timeline.

20/05/31 Mu: Hey, Mikoto-kun, aren’t you scared of this place……? You can’t think of any reason you ended up here, right……? Mikoto: Ahh, yeah. Of course, it’s not like I’m not scared at all. But just between you and me…… I still haven’t dropped the thought that this could all just be a TV show. I mean, I really haven’t ever murdered anyone. ……and if that is the case, we’re definitely being monitored. For like a prank setup or something. Wouldn’t it be super uncool and embarrassing to get angry or lash and have it shown on prime time? Mu: Is that what you think……? A prank, huh…… I hope that’s all it is…… Mikoto: Ah! If that is the case, then you’ll probably be super popular since you’re so cute, Mucchan! There’s a lot of girls out there who make their big break coming off reality shows like that!

Like the fact that Milgram lays all of this out from the beginning along with the way it follows through on it is really good. Because it isn't just building as it goes or adding pockets of tidbits of character information on as the trials progress. It's all been there and still is there rewarding people for going back and looking, if they feel like it.

Through bringing to the forefront how different Mu is from those around her Milgram subtly highlights another form of discrimination in Japan. Racism.

Then it does this really interesting thing when it comes to her core friend group in particular.

Milgram makes a point of having all of Mu's close friends be individuals who for one reason or another would not be considered to look stereotypically Japanese. Milgram manages to do this without even giving Mu's friends faces.

Even highlighting in their insect forms through giving them different hair colors from the rest.

Just like Mu herself.

Q.11 Who do you want to see right now? Mu: I miss my friends too but most of all, Papa and Mama.

In her second voice drama Mu says,

...Warden-san. I think you're really doing something bad. Isn't it a bad thing to act like there has to be something wrong with someone for them to get bullied? Oh? No matter the circumstances, it's always the bullies who are in the wrong! Isn't that obvious? Warden-san you're so smart but you didn't even know something like that? maybe you should take some lessons on morals or something. ... Besides even if I've done something wrong, there's nothing that can justify bullying. Warden-san I thought you were nicer than this.

Not one thing that can justify it not even others doing something wrong. Meanwhile Mu's first trial character voice line,

It's your fault....for doing horrible things to me...

Mu goes on to say this in response to Es asking why does she think she was bullied after that,

"How would I know? I mean I'm from a rich family, and I'm an eye-catcher too... It was probably out of some kind of envy or prejudice, right?"

Plus, Mu's stance on bullying quickly changes when it's brought to her attention that Es believes she may have been a bully before she bullied. As she states,

"Leaving behind all that stuff you said about me possibly having been a bully myself- not that any of that's true of course!"

Sorry it was an easy shot.

Can you believe she said this right before this mv came out? Wild. Prisoners stay lying in their voice dramas. Never incriminate yourselves, always lie to authority figures. Double down on the lies if you need to. No one owes honesty to individuals or systems putting them in terrible predicaments.

Lie like you and honesty had a falling out. Lie like being honest betrayed you worse than it did Kazui. Keep lying. Honesty sorry that's a luxury I can't afford right now. I'm in my lying arc trust me at your own expense.

Be Mikoto trial two and gaslight the audience into believing that everything Milgram uncovered was actually a dream trial three. It will work better than you think Mu.

Like naw be more dishonest actually. The realest thing all the prisoners have ever done was just blatantly lie and not back down from said lies. They're all like fucking prove it go on prove it! What do you have mystical songs where I go I did that shit and I'll do it again?! That's not substantial enough evidence.

That could have been an over-exaggeration done to better highlight my artistic vision- Fuck you and your song extractor bring in some actual proof or piss off. This machine was provided by your facility how do you know it's providing accurate unbiased information. The facility had already deemed us guilty of something on incarceration this isn't fair or trustworthy.

Meanwhile if they're innocent what a great and interesting machine you have here.

Sure. So, if I'd gotten payback for how my bullies treated me then that'd count as revenge right? And if you believe that was my only option then don't you have to forgive me? ...Uh...I'm not really sure what you're trying to say? You see~ If you think that me bullying someone back after being bullied is the natural course of action, then wouldn't it be bad to bully me back in return? ... "But if you were like. "I won't forgive you Mu revenge is bad!" Then wouldn't that imply that it's also bad for me to bully someone back after they bullied me?" I think I'm kinda...starting to get your point...maybe. Warden-san are you maybe not all that smart after all?

Since the way Mu talks is rather quick and confusing purposely Es has difficulties understanding what she's saying. Despite the fact that she is just reiterating that since she's already been forgiven it would be best if Es kept to that verdict. Because Es has already set the precedent that killing out of revenge or in response to a slight is forgivable. Changing her verdict now won't change that precedent.

Meaning Mu has every intention to bully someone for bullying her again if necessary because Es has stated that the appropriate response to being picked on is picking on that person back. In a way Mu is saying that's what trial one cemented that treating people who have caused direct harm to your or others is completely okay actually.

So, it's best not to start problems for others others at all. So, if Es wants to change their verdict and pick on Mu now that would be no different than what happened to her.

This isn't even a veiled threat. Because she's just saying since you've realized that bullying is the appropriate response to bullying then you shouldn't pick on me because the obvious response would be me picking on you and you don't want that right? Or,

"If you want to betray from jealousy. I’ve told you what’s gonna happen."

The thing is the way I view Mu's story is subjectively changed based on my experiences as and African-American.

When I view her story I don't see the simple one of bullying. I see a story about prejudice and the othering of mixed and biracial individuals in Japan. How the mistreatment these individuals face when younger can lead to them bullying others later in life.

The fact that kids like that are often exposed to discriminatory treatment from a young age by peers and adults due to their overt physical differences. Something that can lead to a great deal of bitterness and self-loathing. Even internalized othering.

Q.08 Which of the other prisoners is most like you? Mu: I don’t think there’s anyone? They’re all weirdos.

This can be done to make oneself feel less than others or to cope and convince oneself that they are more special than those around them and everyone is just jealous actually. Mu falls into the later category. However, the later category is commonly used in response to discrimination of some sort.

Because it's easier and healthier to respond to others making fun of ones immutable traits such as physical characteristics by going they're just jealous. The other option is attempting to changing how you look entirely which for a lot of people won't work anyway. From that angle it's no suprise that in high school Mu would start doing something that may just have been done to her for much longer by girls who probably resembled those who picked on her a great deal or were people who used to pick on her.

Q.02 What scares you most? Mu: Painful things, scary things. Also embarrassing things. Q.07 What is your favourite place? Mu: Mama’s hometown of Nice. The sea there is beautiful.

As someone who grew up in the states a pretty diverse country. Well Mu saying things like her favorite place is her mothers hometown has a different ring to it. Because in Nice the way Mu looks wouldn't be considered odd or draw attention. Whereas in the place she grew up she can easily tell that the way she looks gets her both positive and negative attention.

I've said this before and I'll say it again the fact that Mu stands out due to her mixed ethnicity is just as a part of her story as being a bully is. The fact that she surrounds herself with people who are similar to her (seemingly mixed as well).

Well it really puts this spin on her story. Not just making it as simple as bullying it but turning it into this story of long term accepted bullying and what that cycle can lead to. If Mu was bullied and treated as different because of her looks and families wealth at a young age. Then she gets into this high school with other people with those experiences. It wouldn't be farfetched for her to want to use the opportunity to get revenge on the people who treated her poorly before and take advantage of the system that allowed it.

In order to lessen the impact of the idea of her being a bully which she denies as ever being true she states it would be fine for her to be one under Milgram's logic if it was in response to being bullied in the first place. That it's fine as long as it's revenge. A mindset many victims of bullying who become bullies later have. That it's fine to do because no one said it was wrong when it was happening to them. It's okay if they do it because if they do then it can't happen to them.

This especially puts an interesting spin on her first cover song and trial song.

Especially these lines,

Otome Dissection

There's been a lot of analysis of this song for a long while. For now, I want to analyze it from the angle of the singer dissecting themselves. An angle that the song has been taken from before. Given the visuals in the mv near the end.

The more overt ones.

Along with when the signer is shown pretending to call someone and closing their own body bag.

All after the line "Let's see if our climax had been a let down. Ever since that night."

Now if we phrase Otome Dissection as the singer singing to themselves that would make it more interesting in the context of Mu's case and the way it can relate to ethnicity. Because I think Otome Disssection manages to perfectly encapsulate the feeling of self-loathing, dejection, and hopelessness that being a minority can make a person.

The song highlighting how the singer has found something that makes them feel good as long as it hurts. Something that's validating and invalidating all at once. A way a lot of people feel about exploring or expressing their culture/ethnicity in a place where it's marginalized or stereotyped in some way. The feeling can be just as isolating as it is liberating simply because at times even when people want to do this there's not much community around them locally.

Plus, taking an interest in it won't make discrimination stop. At the end of the day people are still going to put you on a pedestal or hate you because of how you look. Though it can still be fulfilling. Also highlighting how one will dissect themselves, cutting themselves down to be more acceptable in an environment that didn't want to accept them to begin with. Again, going back to how it only feels good when it hurts.

They only get acceptances when they're burying parts of themselves. Yet, still desiring to be loved for everything they are the good and the bad and trying to convince themselves that they love who they are despite everything around them making it feel as though it'd be better,

If I had just disappeared.

All that self-loathing and disdain turns into boisterous self-confidence. Because it's feels like the only way that person can survive. Yet they still need this constant outwards validation because they don't know if they're allowed to be here. Even though they feel like they should be it doesn't feel like they are.

I want to feel “alive”, is it ok if I breathe? Tell me./I wanna feel shame, ever since the night when I realized it's good as long as it hurts.

Yet no amount of validation is enough because the person can't validate themselves. They're always going to be afraid of being found out then hated or the other person finding someone else.

Hey, what if If I am a bad girl- Don’t hate me./I actually had a dream you fell in love with someone else. Please tell me it's not true. Come on love me please?

A problem many people who have faced racial discrimination in their environments have is believing that others can like them. Because sometimes from birth all those people are given are reasons why others wouldn't. A list of things that make them odd or different from their peers. So, it's easy to understand why it would be difficult to believe.

After Pain

"I don’t want tomorrow to come. I want to forget yesterday I was miserable, someone please help me."

"If it’s endurance, I’m used to it. It’s just having another taste of it."

When it comes to Futa we see him become the victim of what he dished out after in Bring It On. Lamenting if both sides are losers in Backdraft. Yet, Mu tries her best to hide all the things that hurt and embarrass her. The source of her pain.

Because she doesn't want people to look at it. She doesn't want to replay it. Just like her second cover song further highlights along with her second trial mv.

She even states in the second written interrogation,

Q.01 What were you like as a child? Mu: I think I was pretty normal. I had a lot of friends, and learned a lot.

Yet she also states that she gets walked up to by modelling scouts on the streets because of her looks.

Q.15 What’s your dream for the future? Mu: A model, maybe. I’ve been turning down scouts while I’m still in high school though.

Definitely sounds easy to have a normal childhood with stuff like that occurring.

It's easy to write off Mu as not going through that much and just being a spoiled brat and a bully. However, I feel like that would be ignoring some very compelling parts of her character. Plus, she's not the only prisoners for Milgram to allude to dealing with forms of discrimination.

Plus, it is kind of strange that she would jump from having her friends bully people for her to murder. Like that isn't a very natural progression. Now she could be lying about not doing any of that stuff herself like dumping water on people or beating them up. However the only time we see her actually harassing a student is when they appear to be shaking them down and none of that stuff is occurring.

Then she's only alluded to being around in After Pain after her friends do that stuff. So, I genuinely doubt she was being dishonest about that. None of these feelings on Mu I stated here are new. I always appreciated how her story subtly deals with the ethnicity. I like how it shows a victim of bullying become a bully.

I like that it highlights how cycles of harassment begin. I love how Mu's first inclination is to frame herself as a victim of bullying in this situation because on some level she really thinks this is revenge for all the mean things others may have done to her. I also like that she's unapologetic about it. Plus my own complicated relationship with stuff like that makes me sympathetic to her a bit.

Even still it's Mu we're talking about she's not one to be knocked down and stay down. That's simply just another aspect to look at her under and it's one of the ones I find the most interesting given how I grew up.

I feel like that may just be one of the many things that may go overlooked based on how one grew up. Even though Milgram highlights it in a lot of ways.

Another one that may go over some's head is poverty in general given the cases of Amane and Mikoto. Like people not really understanding why he's so focused on his job or why Amane's family lives where they live etc. It's just interesting how Milgram tries to represent varying demographics. Like there's a plethora of other examples but I've gone over them before.

At least I find it interesting.

#gunsli rambles

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codgod · 9 months

Text

OKAY. slightly more comprehensive and hopefully more useful tips for writing qmariana because the other post i made was kinda a mess. this one also is but hopefully less so. this is basically me expounding upon everything i already said + adding info from a lot of the tags i got on the original post pointing out stuff i didn’t mention

also going to mention again that a lot of this IS related to slimeriana because that’s the main flavour of qsmp fics i read BUT they should all work as general pointers. slimeriana are just gonna end up as my go-to examples for what i’m talking about. and second disclaimer that i barely speak even basic spanish so there are probs gonna be even more things i may have missed or messed up, i’m forging through with the power of youtube auto translate

all that said, here:

he’s not great at speaking english —

it is okay to write a character not being good at speaking a language! i don’t know why everyone seems to be fine with writing charlie speaking broken spanish but not the other way around. so many times i’ve seen him written as speaking perfect english and then just sometimes swearing or having a few lines of dialogue in spanish, if even that. that is simply just not how he talks

common things i personally have noticed mariana does: repeats words, says words that sound similar to the one he wants but not Quite [think words that rhyme or have a similar sound to them, like nipples and pimples lol], he’ll often get frustrated and switch back to spanish and just rely on the translator, especially for longer or more complex sentences/statements, there’ll sometimes be pauses between words or he talks slowly. he tries his best to speak english around the english speaking server members but again, will also just speak spanish and use the translator if he’s gonna be talking a lot

other small things: he swears quite a bit, and has a few favourites [namely mamahuevo (eng equivalent is cocksucker) is the one that comes to mind. and i don’t feel like i’m writing this out correctly but also chinga tu madre (fuck you/fuck your mother? i think?). in english the first one that comes to mind is motherfucker]. also calls kids mami/papi a lot, not even just juanaflippa

he’s almost always written as either too nice OR too mean —

he’s not a one-dimensional piece of paper just there to either dote on slime or make his life hell. he jokes and teases and he has a bit of a harsh sense of humour sometimes, but he’s very rarely malicious in his actions. if he’s really in the wrong about something he’ll get defensive, but will eventually end up apologising

that said, again, he’s not always nice! he gives as good as he gets when slime picks fights with him, he and bobby had a very playfully antagonistic relationship as far as i could tell. it’s like picking playful fights is part of his love language

he was always very sweet to juanaflippa though :D except a few teasing jokes here and there. he was a good dad, besides the murder JHVSJD

speaking of his sense of humour —

it can be very… blunt? for lack of a better word? he says some bizarre shit with a completely straight face. best example i can think of is him suggesting he and charlie could play a porn game together because they wouldn’t have to talk. obviously that’s cc not character, but it carries over. or, alternatively, the circumcision bit on day 1. basically if u watch charlie more, look at his sense of humour and translate it into spanish — there’s a reason they get along so well :D zero normal people in this relationship. the most you’ll get is them occasionally passing the “straight man” role back and forth, getting bewildered at each other but ultimately going along with whatever the bit is

he’s not a cheater! —

i know. i know ppl like the angst. but he never actually cheated on slime, not beyond being kinda flirty with other men but then pulling back and saying he was married whenever they returned that energy. he’s a bitch, but a loyal one /silly

but seriously, qmariana loves his family so much. he always wanted things to work out between him and slime. the only mc skin of his that actually shows his hands has him wearing his wedding ring, for christs sake. he’s not an absentee father, and he’s not a cheater, he just likes to joke flirt with his friends

he’s very open about his emotions! —

i have never once known this man to hide his feelings or be stoic in any situation. if he’s sad he cries, if he’s angry or frustrated he yells and swears, if he’s happy he laughs. if you are writing mariana as a person to keep his feelings hidden you are Doing It Wrong. the most he might do is hide one emotion behind another, but he’s almost always showing something

he LOVES music —

this man will sing at any given opportunity. he quotes song lyrics out of nowhere constantly. english, spanish, doesn’t matter, he loves music. it is literally always worth it to have him singing a lullaby to juanaflippa in a fic because it is both very in character and very cute

#.txt #qsmp #qsmp mariana #there we gooooo #this is better #still open for people to add or correct things in the tags #i just wanted a better post for my own peace of mind

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soulfungai · 2 months

Text

Synopsis: The stupid decision Tressa made was to ask Trey for help in protecting her from her possinle stalker, however the paranoia is getting to her and she hopes that her stupid decision was the correct one, especially with how unsafe she’s starting to feel with the competition growing ever so closer, and her opponent being right at her side.

Contents: Trey x Tressa, stalker, teasing(rivalry way?), bickering, misunderstanding, fighting(not gruesome)

Authors Note: I was honestly so lazy but I think it deserves a part two, I mean there will be more but y’know— also, thanks to @cafekitsune for the dividers!

Word Count: 515

prev story » ❤︎ « next story

Tressa couldn’t even thank herself, what was she doing? Why was she even asking Trey? What about Ari and Rhyme Monarch? She was a night, or meant to represent a night, and yet she asked a clover, the man himself, Trey for help. Was she going insane? Was she delusional? Why did she call him out of everyone? Especially since the date of the competition is coming ever so closer, it was stupid. What was she even doing? Her rival was next to her. Yet she thought, yeah! This is a smart idea, it’s not like this could backfire on me right? Tressa sighs,

What was I even thinking? This is stupid! I can’t believe…Tressa was deep in thought before Trey snapped her out of it,

“You good scaredy cat?”

What did he just call me? Tressa thought to herself, as soon as Trey finished grabbing his lunch, she stopped him,

“For the record, I am not scared! I’m just taking safety measures!” Of course, she was lying, safety measures? Of course she was trying to be safe…but it was practically an excuse. Other than the fact that she was actually scared…

“You sure you’re not? Look at you, you called your biggest rival to come protect you from this ‘stalker’, and you have the last name as Night! Can’t believe you expect me to just believe you don’t have some sort of plan to make NRC lose.” Trey chuckles, his words make her blood boil.

Is he seriously doubting me? Why was she even surprised? They were rivals, of course they’d try tricking each other every now and then.

Eventually, Tressa and Trey had to practice for the competition. How are we gonna do this…Tressa thought to herself, trying yo be and all, thinking about some overly complicated way of making sure Trey doesn’t cheat when the answer was pretty simple…she snaps out of her thoughts when he speaks.

“Why don’t we just use different kitchens?” Tressa stares at him, wait, why is that an actual good idea? She thought to herself, Royal Sword Academy had two kitchen, why didn’t she think of that?

“That’s— actually smart! Okay, let’s do that.” Trey geld back a snicker, Tressa was acting as if she had come up with the idea, was she that desperate to feel powerful and smart? He smiles at at her, then asks,

“How come you’re acting all smart? I did come up with the idea.” Tressa freezes, she turns to look at him,

“Well— I— I’m smart! And— I— you— just shut up!” Tressa couldn’t even construct her sentences properly, jeez what is wrong with me? She thought. Trey stared at her blankly, before chuckling.

“Was I supposed to understand that?” Tressa’s face burned red, out of embarrassment of course.

“I— of course you were! You’re just— stupid!” Her voice cracked somewhere in the middle, anyway, Tressa continued to scold Trey for being “stupid” when clearly there was no way a human could understand what she was actually trying to say before.

Of course Trey made fun of her for being a scaredy-cat and of course, Tressa would have to deal with it for the rest of the time.

© pekoetiikapu ❤︎ These stories are originally created by the original poster (me). Please do not steal or plagiarize my stories and do not steal their ideas. Do not repost the stories in or out of the app, please and thank you.

#twst #fanfic #twisted wonderland #rsa #nrc #OC x canon #Trey clover #Tressa Night

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stupidfateheadcanons · 6 months

Note

Which servants do you think would play Mobile Games? (like Gacha, Idol games, Candy Crush, Fruit Ninja)

Gachas and Gacha-Adjacents

(don't spend money on gacha)

Tomoe Gozen

Despite being a #gamer, she wouldn't play most mobile games due to them, generally speaking, having pretty unskilled gameplay (unless some piece of canon I'm not remembering smites me down.) However, given all the hyper-intense Arknights blogging I've seen, Tomoe would be entranced by crunching numbers and solving her little military puzzles with her units. Also, she'd be into catgirls, and whatever the hell the Doctor has got going on with that scientist woman who hates them.

Blackbeard

tries all of them. even the bad ones. ...especially the bad ones.

has one of those AI Waifu apps.

Fusehime, Okita, Ushiwakamaru

Touken Ranbu players (the sword boy game). Ushiwakamaru nerds out about the history of the swords, Fusehime is a #collector, and Okita just likes the simple gameplay of mowing down people with her prettyboy units. Nobunaga also plays, trying to piss Okita off with her luck in forging boys, but Okita genuinely loves the low-rarity units so it's only half-way effective.

Shuten-Douji

Shuten plays a gacha game where all of the waifus are humanizations of alcohol. She's spent well over a thousand dollars trying to get Aged Red Wine, who's a milf that looks like Raikou. Don't question why.

Jalter

Plays one of the more lore-heavy gacha games. Whales for her favorites and writes intense meta posts. She's very insistent that this is just the natural course of things.

Gilles

Isn't huge into gachas generally, but he'll pick up whatever game has a Jeanne expy (or, because he considers Saber-faces to be 'Jeanne faces', Saber expies) to roll for the girl in question, max levels her, and then drops the game.

Valkyries

They play Obey Me and other Shall We Date games to debate over the best boys.

Kama

Gets invested in one hot girl in one game and her money is gone. The girl in question has glasses and a turtleneck like Medusa's casual form.

Gilgamesh

Plays gacha games with ranking and pvp elements like Epic Seven to lord his units over the plebs. Is also a pull streamer. A lot of his clips go viral, and the atmosphere of his streams are very fun.

Other Phone Games

Nobunaga

Downloads one of those 'We're under fucking attack!' games. Nero is the woman in the ad.

Helena

A daily wordle girlie. Shares her scores on Servantgram with Sherlock.

MHXX

Plays Angry Birds on her break.

Miss Crane and Phantom

Idol games. They're friends over it.

Nero and Elizabeth

They compete in rhythm games to get higher scores than each other.

Osakabahime

Plays mobile fortnite on her bed.

Chloe and Emiya also play, but Emiya gets dumpstered by the other two.

Iyo

Plays Stardew on her phone. Likes showing other Servants and her Master her farm layout and progress.

The Paladins

Collectively have an old iPhone 8 that still has flappy bird on it that they pass around. It's beaten to shit but still kicking.

Paul Bunyan

Needs to use the largest I-Pad ever, but she plays pretty basic Facebook-esque games like Candy Crush. In her Alt form, she posts game scores for likes.

Kintoki

Jetpack Joyride and the Hello Kitty games.

Author Servants

Hans gets them all into phone scrabble. They keep getting collectively mad at Shakespeare because he cheats and tries to make new words.

anderson voice: dumas that word is not allowed in scrabble

dumas: but it's a word in FRENCH

Ptolomey dominates

Among Us

The child servants generally play Among Us together, once it gets popular in Chaldea.

Jack: Loves to be the imposter because murder is fun! Pretty bad at keeping her identity hidden, though. LOVES the little hats.

Nursery Rhyme: Sees it as a game of Hide and Seek. Fails at being the imposter and doing tasks.

Jalter Lily: Does tasks, is decent at being the imposter. A generalist.

Voyager: Very good at doing tasks. Hates being the imposter.

Erice: Terrible at Among Us, but wants to play to hang out with Voyager. She gets really upset about losing, though. This genuinely affects her self-confidence.

Mephistopheles: Plays with the children. Pretends to be the imposter even if he's not.

Douman: Also plays with the children. Generally pretty wretched to Meph, but is a good and fun player otherwise. Hams up being the evil villain when they're shot out of the air-lock.

Pokemon Go

Achilles

Da Vinci Lily with Goredolf

Erice with Voyager

Iskander with the very specific intention of conquering the world and catching a Pokemon in every city he conquers. Waver cannot keep up with him, so Iskander would -- in the hypothetical world-conquering scenario -- get one of those phone holders and drive the car real slow to help him catch Pokemon.

Guda is a shiny hunter.

Carmilla gets all the dogs, eventually branching out into other Dark types (with the occasional cute animal.) Defends her team's gym with a massively overpowered Houndoom.

Bakin has a full dog team

Rakou has a teddiursa she named Kintoki. Kintoki would catch Raikou a Raikou. Gotta do things for your momma!

Michi teaches Izou how to use a phone so he can have his little Pokemon.

Sei plays with the girl gang (Suzuka, Nobbu, Okita, etc. Murasaki is dragged along too.)

Honorable Mentions

Beni Enma

Doesn't play phone games, but does have a DS and 10,000 hours in the cooking mama games and their offshoots collectively.

#headcanons #phone games #video games #pokemon go #among us #long post

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chocolate-teapots · 2 years

Text

Upper East Side: Park Jimin

●╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮●

The bitch is back and she’s coming

for blood.

●╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯●

Warnings: toxic rich friends, toxic bts, angel jimin, body shaming, cheating, cringe, mentions of threesomes, jealousy, possessiveness, manipulation, public humiliation.

"Is that last season's Armani hanging from her hog body?"

This was the night of the year. My parent's annual fundraiser party was always a hotspot but this year I was more excited as they took more responsibility in the planning. Cameras were flashing around the historical golden hall, anyone who was anyone sauntered in the middle of the room screaming for attention as people whispered on the sidelines.

"Stop watching that drag race shit Nina."

Unlike the rest of the dysfunctional functional families on the upper east side, mine had genuine intentions when it came to their generous donations to charity. We had a shared vision of making the most of what we were fortunately given and doing something good with it.

"I can't help it, I liveee for the gags."

However, the people invited relished all the good publicity by accepting invites graciously knowing that it will do wonders for their image and unfortunately your image was your first impression in the community.

"Your mother really outdid herself this time Y/N," my best friend Hani gawked at the huge gold chandeliers dripping from the ceiling and completely ignoring my involvement.

I followed her gaze with wonder and pride, sipping my champagne wondering how that amazing woman could get any more amazing. The venue was perfection, with Italian and french design details that were palace-like. We wanted royalty.

"For sure Y/N, you think she'll do the designs for my big sleepover party this year?" Nina, my other best friend, quizzed beside us probably already wondering how these chandeliers and crystal glasses would look in her bedroom in autumn.

Everyone was here from school. Hani and Nina stayed by my side for the majority of the night as we giggled and reminisced about relationships and what the hell Charlie Fish's socks said on the side.

"I swear it says, Goof Rhymes!"

The rest of the school crew were mingling around somewhere, probably reminiscing or trying to make newer memories if you know what I mean. Something strange about the close relationship between the seniors of St Judes was the fact we had all dated/had sex with each other at some point, even the guys and girls with each other.

"No way! You're blind. It clearly says 'Gond Fames'!"

I had dated all seven of those boys, regretfully, but there was only one I had ever loved and it still hurt a year later. The girls also had a certain fixation on some of them more than others. Jungkook and Nina, as the youngest of us all immediately latched onto each other and never let go (as unhealthy friends of course with a few added benefits. Hani and Yoongi had declared some kind of war between them the moment Yoongi slept with some random girl at a party thinking it was her.

He was very sorry.

She was very pissed.

"Gond Fames? Is that even real words?"

We had all been merry friends since the very beginning of our trust-fundom but I never felt like I belonged. And she knew it. Gossip Girl somehow always found a way inside of our chain and knew exactly how to unlink us one by one until we were forced apart. No one knew who she was and yet she was a part of us all. The first thing anyone on the upper east side would think as soon as they did something was-

"Oh, I hope Gossip Girl hasn't found out about my tequila threesome with Namjoon and my cousin! I'd just die!"

All of us would be on eggshells all day every day to see who she would target, waiting for our lives to be ruined with news we probably would've never known if it weren't for some messed up kid and their laptop.

Yet, what was even worse was when Gossip Girl was quiet because then you knew she wasn't taking a break she had something really good and was just waiting for the right moment to drop it.

Cut to now.

"When do you think Gossip Girl is gonna post again? I kind of miss her talking about my daddy issues," Nina pouted, her thick pink lips glistening under the rich lights decorating the endless room.

"Who cares? We're finally being left alone, enjoy it," I admit, sipping on the champagne and a little too familiar feeling of bubbles and haziness jumbling inside of me for an 18-year-old.

Park Jimin walks through the archway in a black Chanel suit and incredibly styled hair, saying nothing and already he had ruined my life again. He always looked elegant, presentable, the definition of sex. The man oozed sex appeal and yet his invites to these things always seemed to have gotten lost in the mail. Jimin wasn't a trust fund rich kid like the rest of us but we have all been close the moment he started to beat the champion dancer Hoseok in his own damn sport.

I place down my glass, not liking the empty spot on his arm.

"Excuse me."

I lift my black Valentino as I walk over to him, trying my best to hide my nerves behind the long dress and gold chains but it wasn't working. I just wanted to greet him, to hear his voice again considering we hadn't spoken in just a short of a year.

"Park Jimin," I greet him and he nods, pretty eyes giving me and my dress an unidentifiable look. I was starting to crumble in his presence. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

Fake conversations. Keeping up appearances.

"Y/N, you look beautiful," he kisses my cheek, had around my waist to pull me close and I shiver at the memories it brought back. "How could I miss the event of the century?"

"Thank you, I'm so glad you could make it and for loaning us your amazing staff. My parents and I are truly grateful," I speak formally, nervous to go beyond that border with fear of being unable to turn back.

Jimin bites his plump lips to quieten his heavenly smile and I thought I could just pass out right there. The man was beyond beautiful and the golden lighting was doing wonders for his clear skin.

"You're grateful? I think they're the ones that should be grateful considering how much you're paying them," he chuckles, his eyes widening with the unfamiliarity of my world despite living at the heart of it.

"It's all in the good name of-"

"Y/N!"

I look over my shoulder to see Hoseok strutting our way with the rest of the gang behind him like an entourage of incredibly successful models. Jimin shrinks into a blonde blur as Hoseok kisses my cheek, his tailored and insured hand fixed to my very lower lower back to pull me into him.

"Hoseok..."

"Hello beautiful," he huffs, stepping back to take in the view though I weren't sure it was the dress he was looking at.

"I'm so glad you could all make it, you all look fabulous as always," I complimented but they knew they looked good so genuine compliments were wasted on these six pairs of deaf ears.

"We know Y/N, there's no need for flattery. Now I need a drink," Jin eyed up the drinks being passed around as though they were mini servings of orgasms just floating for free. His pretty lips turned into a rosy smirk as he eyed the waitress nearby. "Or maybe what's carrying them..."

"Always the delight Jin."

I was feeling bold. So in an attempt to present him to the rest but to also try and feel even a tickle of his touch that I longed for, I pulled him forward by his jacket to line up with me. His eyes widened, lips puffed in unreadable surprise.

Just tell me you love me.

Hani and Nina joined the little high school circle, giggling and touching their men like little designer accessories. I watched as Nina and Jungkook flirted with one another, strong-arm never intending to let go of her tiny waist as though they were handcuffed.

Jimin didn't dare touch me, even look at me despite the fact no one was talking to him and he had nothing else to look at.

Flattering.

"Who the fuck is Chantelle, Yoongi?"

It wasn't just the feeling of being an outsider in this group of wealthy lovers and serial flirts, I could feel something else, something creeping onto the night.

"What do you mean Chantelle, woman? I don't know a Chantelle!"

Maybe it was just the champagne.

"You were moaning her name in your sleep!"

I bolt the rest of it, soon grabbing another and drinking it like Jin who was now on his fourth glass. Maybe if I drank enough I'd finally get the courage-

Jimin's head finally turns towards mine and my heart freezes in hope. It's that moment where you don't want to move in case you ruin it.

"Y/N-"

The music cuts out, the atmosphere defrosted in the room immediately and my parents come to the rescue as the whispers begin and the feet begin to tap. The tuts echo across their words of reassurance and I feel the heat creeping through my skin for them.

"We apologize for the inconvenience everyone, the sound has just cut out but the problem is getting fixed as we speak. Please help yourself to another drink while we-"

About a thousand mobile phones all ring, ping and vibrate at the same time, chiming along like a song of their own but no song was this intimidating, this excruciating and fucking scary to sing. We all exchanged a glance, knowing the voice that would be waiting to speak through the screen and yet we look anyway.

"Good evening Upper East Siders, a perfect greeting from a lion who has been away from the jungle for too long. Sorry for the silent treatment but I have been busy cooking a feast with a little help from some of my friends."

We all look in confusion, hearts racing and minds aching already at the cryptic wording of this pop-culture princess. She was a phone, an inanimate presence and yet even Namjoon shook nervously.

"Word around the log fire is that our favourite upper east side good girl has decided to play hostess for the annual fundraiser so I decided to put all of our differences aside and make a generous donation to charity at no extra cost- except for a few friendships of course. This is for our sweetheart on her special night with maybe not the sweetest by her side after all..."

The murmurs sizzle in the pan, waiting out the explosion. I squirm at all the attention, suddenly feeling not so glamourous and not so golden and definitely not so good. What was she planning? Was it truly a favour?

"Section a titled 'bad to the bone.' Our youngest golden boy may not be so golden after all, using our golden girl's lipstick stains to make a certain special friend jealous. Oh, Jungkook when will you learn that when a girl says no she really means no?"

There's a picture of Jungkook and me after an amazing day out where we're genuinely happy and I'm kissing his cheek. It was platonic. It meant nothing other than friendship.

I guess I was wrong. That's what hurt.

I look up to Jungkook, uncertainty and my willingness to not believe the news plastered over my expression. How could I trust Gossip Girl over my own friend? But, he just gulps, strong hands smoothing out his jacket nervously. Was this true?

"Jungkook, tell me this isn't true," Nina speaks next to him, suddenly finding his grip on her waist less comforting and more oppressive. She wiggled out of it slowly, stepping back to observe the pissed off maknae who maybe wasn't as innocent as we all thought.

"Nina, it isn't what it looks like," I reason genuinely and I think she swallows it dry for now.

I stand in shock, frozen like a mannequin and feeling stupid for ever thinking that day was anything but a mistake. I bunch up the full skirt of my dress again, wanting it to swallow me whole and turn around to leave not wanting to know anything else she had to give me tonight.

"I can't stand this," I muttered, heading straight for the large wooden doors hiding me from the fresh outside world that was a lot lighter than the darkness in this room. Only, they refused to open no matter how hard I tugged them and not a single one of us had the key.

I stomp back to the chain that I had broken myself from, impatiently waiting for more heartbreak.

"I can't believe you would do that Jungkook," Jin mutters in disappointment by the side of the youngest and he reacts defensively to the hurt caused by Jin's disapproval, someone he looked up to so much. My heart almost hurt for him.

Almost.

"Oh please, you saw how Nina was latching onto Oscar like he was some kind of lampost! She knew what she was doing," Jungkook spat in greedy dirty jealousy, he gave 'sin' a different definition now.

The second chime stopped my launch at the smug handsome boy wearing his suit with dare I say a little pride. I just wanted to hug Nina but by the way she didn't reply, it seemed as though she didn't really like me at this present moment either.

"Chapter two, 'The Tale of Two Hoes'. Did you know that mother Jin isn't so loving to his precious boys? Jin meddled in a little sabotage with Y/N's date with our loving Hoseok to make it look like he stood you up with a text from a disposable phone leaving him to pick up the tearful pieces. Looks like a date isn't the only thing he took that night, was it Y/N?"

I felt almost ill, the disapproving look of my parents making me want to pick up a tile and throw it at my own head. Jin flushed on the spot, scratching behind his head as J-hope started towards him. The orange-haired man gritted his teeth, ready to throw hands but Namjoon held him back from the exposed eldest.

"Jin," I shook my head, tears starting to collect like magnets in my painted eyes. I look down to hide them and even though I knew this was just the beginning of this torture I couldn't wait for more pain. "Is that all I am to you?"

He says nothing.

"That one must've been hard for you Y/N, knowing Jin was always by your side but maybe it wasn't always to collect your feelings and to steal something else. But, Jin isn't the only thief with a light-fingered Joonie stealing underwear from your room and positioning it in his back pocket for ultimate bragging rights!"

I let out a loud laugh, throwing my head back maniacally as the arguments begin to erupt within the group.

"Wait, you didn't sleep together? You bastard!" Taehyung snarls, his large eyes turning small and intimidating as he faces the lies thrown upon himself in the process. "You knew I wanted her!"

There was even a picture to prove it on my phone, sure enough, that red lacy underwear that I was saving hanging out of his uniform trousers like they were a first prize trophy. I knew I should never have bought them.

I felt ill.

Betrayed.

Unsafe.

"I only did it because Jin was bragging about getting the first taste so I needed evidence that we went further you can't blame me!"

"Can't blame you? Are you fucking kidding me what kind of lame unintelligent excuse is that?" Jimin bursts by my side, cheeks flushed in outrage as the blonde flushes at his own stupidity in front of him. "You should be honoured to have a friend like her, she's not some piece of ass."

I almost forgot he was there.

Almost.

"Y/N you don't have to listen to this," Jimin whispered leaning in beside me, hand supporting behind my back trying to comfort my seething. I was seeing red and blue, the red beyond the details in Yoongi's tie or Hani's lipstick. Pure anger and sadness. "I can get us out... somehow."

"No! It's fine Jimin. I am loving this, in fact, I can't wait for the next one! Let's see what we have," I exclaim crazily, hands gripping the ruffles in my dress as they clung uncomfortably to my blushing body.

"Hmm, what's next." I read the blast with sarcastically dramatic expression of interest as I summarise the text. "Taehyung, how could you do that to your own best friend!"

The blue-haired millionaire lowers his golden face to the marble beneath us, not daring to retort or make a single expression as he hung his head in shame. Jimin looks at him in disappointment, forcing his eyes from the ground with his own sadness but Taehyung only looks down again.

I looked at my parents and they smiled apologetically and almost in shame. I could only imagine Taehyung smoothly sipping on his tea as he waited for me to get ready, horrible lies about Jimin tumbling out of his mouth without any intention of stopping so that he was almost banished from society forever.

I could imagine the smirk he threw to Jimin as he chased after me in the debutante ball, closing the door to a room upstairs and giving all sorts of signs that were absolutely wrong.

The more chimes, the more lies went by.

Hani was in tears on Nina's shoulder as she found out that both of us had lost our virginities to Yoongi in the same night and even under the same circumstances.

I had begun to grow nauseous, sick with worry at what to do with all this new information.

I didn't know my duty. There was nothing in the upper east side manual for this level of chaos.

I just stood and listened to the truth with dignity and giving into Jimin's heavenly touches of assurance as he ran his fingers along my back. It was like taking several bullets in complete silence.

It was also finally refreshing to have some closure with these assholes.

"It's nice to finally understand what I am to you guys," I mutter from the corner of my eye, not wanting to give them the pleasure of eye contact.

"Trigger warning, this next is not for the faint of heart. A little fun fact about the upper east side, nothing brings friends closer together than a scheme. So it was no surprise while golden girl was waiting for her prince in the pouring rain for their happily ever after, six villains teamed up to lock him in his castle for one last grizzly goodbye."

Our heads slowly shot up from our screens.

"That was you guys? All of you?" Jimin glared hand now pressing against me, scarier than all of them combined when angry due to his usually bright and charming exterior. He took his first step forward and they took their first step back, all awkwardly trying to avoid any questions with a mumble or a sip of their drink.

"You don't even have anything to say for yourselves?" I choke, softening their faces at the sound of the hurt building up inside of me ironically since all they had done so far was hurt me. "For me?"

"Beautiful," Hoseok spoke softly, reaching out for my arm but the hate wouldn't stop pouring and I slapped it away harshly not caring about the bill that would soon be facing my way. I would rather burn than have him touch me.

"Don't you dare."

Yet another highlight was finding out my stellar therapist had been writing notes in our sessions not for her but for Yoongi to directly read with a generous tip so he could keep track of what I was saying about our relationship. Lovely.

Another was finding out my school life had been meddled with too after Namjoon getting the best teacher ever fired once I confided in her about our toxic relationship and Taehyung getting me rejected from Harvard since Jimin was going too.

"Don't you have anything to say? At all?" Jimin barked and I finally noticed how silent the room was, relishing in this little circle of big drama as if it was some kind of telenovela. "You're ruining her life because you don't like me! Because I don't have a trust fund or a dog groomer or a foot spa! If you wanted to ruin my life fine but don't use people to get what you want- especially not her."

They were silent, guilty faces copy and pasted so identically I didn't even know whether or not to believe if they were true or not. Everything they had ever done or said had turned out to be a lie so far but there was always one more with Gossip Girl.

"I hope I haven't made Thanksgiving too awkward for you guys but this last one is a real doozy. Get out your pens everyone this is one for the history books as I am making a formal apology for my involvement in this last crime committed by none other than Mr Big Shot himself. Hoseok was a naughty boy and since lover boy was back in town, he dished out on the R-Rated details of him and Y/N to yours truly disguising as Park. The plan? To get the golden girl away from her true love and into the arms of the pot-stirrer. Well played Mr Jung, your lust was good while it lasted."

The pattern was screaming out to both Jimin and me and the reasons why made the hot flushes and cold sweats begin. The end of the blasts meant the doors would be open right? And yet I walked out, taking the chance to get away from the yelling, the tears, the violence, and the betrayal.

"I'm so sorry," I said to my mother, trying to regain composure in these last moments as if it would make up for the rest.

I was beyond embarrassed, already thinking of ways I could make it up to my parents for behaving so immaturely. But, for now, I sobbed into the back of my hand once I was outside, gown making me feel ugly and even more alone than ever before. Jimin did nothing wrong but I left them there in the jungle. I had to be alone.

"You know you love me XOXO Gossip Girl."

I ran towards the cabs parked outside, the rain audible at the end of the dark hallway I was running to. At the end of it should've been light, a group hug and some great parties but it was just grey, murky and full of the ones that you thought loved you trying to pull you away from pure happiness because they knew it could never be them.

I love Jimin I always have and it ate those boys alive to know I could love him beyond his bank account because he was more than enough as he was. He couldn't afford college and I remembered his late phone calls to me about it, sobbing about the end of his path.

Now? He set up his own restaurant, starting with a bar and ending with plans for chains and maybe even someday a hotel.

And, I was so proud of him.

"Y/N wait!" Jimin calls behind the clicking of his shoes against the concrete following me like the judging giggles of the people in that hall, all loving the drama just because it wasn't them at the centre of it.

I harshly wiped away a tear, continuing to run as fast as I could with my dress that moved like smoke and my shoes like cocktail sticks.

It seemed as though none of the rest even bothered.

"Don't go!" He catches up, my back facing him as I cry in the pouring rain and not a single cab in sight. It was just my luck. I just wanted to run away, to not have to face any more lies or betrayals.

I just wanted a friend but an invisible one I couldn't hurt.

"I'm sorry Jimin I need to be by myself for a while. I tend to have an inevitable negative effect on people and I don't want to hurt you again," I manage through a thick voice and even thicker sets of hot tears mixing with the cool rain.

I could hear his pity and it made me sick.

"I don't understand," he began softly, taking another step towards the hem of my dress. "It was them who did the plotting or scheming, not us. Don't you dare feel bad about anything, it's not your fault!"

I wanted to hug him.

"Thank you for not sending anything in..." I thank him quietly but genuinely, ready for another shock since he was too good to be true. It was only a matter of time until he too would darken under my presence.

He puts his hand on my shoulder, warmth spreading from it like tie-dye. I turn to face him, ashamed of the makeup that I knew was running horrifically in all directions of my face. I didn't know if it was my mind playing tricks or the rain but when I looked beyond his handsomely wet finger, I saw red stains of tears like mine too. Had he been crying also?

He smiled weakly "I would never."

I returned it, even weaker.

"I just need to be alone for a while if that's okay."

I didn't. It wasn't. In truth, I wanted him to pull me and kiss me until we physically couldn't anymore. I wanted him to cling to me until I was sick of him and prying him off of my body.

Which of course would be never.

He nodded through a sigh "Of course, just at least let me take you home safely."

He calls over a car and helps me in, feeding the inside my large dress through the door with a heavenly giggle. I held my spinning head in my hands on my lap, the weight of what to do with all these bridges to fix and the ones that were unfixable hurt my head like brain damage. I was incapable of thinking a single decent thought.

The door shut, ringing in my ears and Jimin rubs my exposed back, which tickled with the droplets of water. I eventually gave in to his comfort, nestling into his chest with silent cries of sadness coming from my painted lips.

The thing that pumped the tears the most and choked me beyond swallowing was the thought that I had come between so many friendships tonight.

Had I not existed, Jimin would still have so many friends and an amazing person by his side- a functional existence.

"Please don't say that Y/N. Those actions were in them all along and eventually, they would've come out anyway. I'm just sorry it had to be all on you," Jimin's pretty hands ran along my bare skin making my heart continue to explode. But was he just trying to make me feel better?

"I would do anything to take this pain away from you."

I melted at his words.

"You are my pain, Park Jimin."

He stopped, scared at what I was going to say and honestly so was I. The emotions of the evening had engulfed me to the point where nothing I could say could make it any worse.

"The stabbing in my heart I feel whenever I see you and realise you could never love me the way I love you is greater than any fake friendship or any gossip girl blast. They want us apart and so do you."

I look up at him, removing my head. His silence was killing me.

"And yet here we are."

He hugged me closer, arms wrapping around me so many times so that Jimin could get as close as possible. I could smell the homely scent of his that even the rain couldn't wash away. It was comforting and made me hum against his bare neck as I wrapped around him.

"Do you want me to take you back to mine?"

Oh.

"No, not in that way I mean it's uh probably better if you just um-"

"Anywhere but here."

I sighed, breath hitting his shivering skin at a tremendous strength. I felt his body shiver against mine, clinging, and reaching out for heat.

"You know that day, I was getting ready to meet you. I had a speech planned and everything," he chuckled sadly, kissing the top of my head as I grinned through the silence. I could imagine him rambling nervously in front of the mirror, adjusting his jacket and trying on seven different outfits that all looked the same.

"I couldn't wait to finally call you mine, to be able to tell you every mushy thing I felt on the inside. Then I blinked and you were with Hoseok again."

"Then I sneezed and you were in France," I retorted lightly, smirking through it so I wouldn't have to apologize. I didn't want to face the horrible things I had done.

"I'd love to take you some time. The entire time I was there every 5 seconds I'd see something and say 'God Y/N would love that'," he giggled and I felt the joy tingling in his chest and through his sheer shirt.

"I'd love to see it."

There is a questionable silence, Jimin's noisy thoughts screaming through his body and though I couldn't hear it I could feel the cogs turning.

"Let's go."

"Now?"

"Right now."

I pulled away from him to study his face. There wasn't a single glint of madness or delusion in those eyes just pure determination. I would be lying if I said it wasn't extremely sexy.

"We'll get out of New York. Nothing serious if you don't want to. We'll take a breather and we'll do it in style darling," Jimin gets excited at the luxuriousness of it all, not being used to spontaneous trips like these I was sure. Though I was, this didn't feel as dull as an ordinary trip, I got giddy in the backseat.

"Wait, what about your restaurant?"

"My parents are in town. They can run the show for a while," he bites his lip, reaching out for me begging me to agree to this after all the built-up excitement.

France really was a really beautiful place and it was the start of summer...

"Why me?"

"I obviously have made the wrong impression if you don't think I'm desperately and hopelessly in love with you now haven't I?" he grins into my fingers as he holds them to his mouth, kissing my knuckle just once as a teaser for what's to come.

I peck him on the lips, stunning him in his seat as if I had sprayed him still with hairspray.

"I'm all in."

#bts imagines #bts smut #bts fanfic #gossip girl #park jimin #jimin imagine #jimin x y/n #jungkook #kim taehyung #hoseok #kim seokjin #namjoon #yoongi

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zyrafowe-sny · 5 months

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Jagodzianka's 2023 ao3 wrapped [writers edition]

click here for the original post by floydsin!

and here's my 2022 wrapped

How many words have you written this year? I've posted 33,388, and I kinda wish I didn't include 55 of them.

How many works did you publish this year? 31, though many were 100 word drabbles/drabble sequences (23 had less than 1000 words)

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? I am going to cheat a little. I'm proud that I was a Whumptober completionist and posted at least one drabble a day every day in October. It actually cost me one or two subscribers, but it is what it is.

What work of yours has the most hits? arm-upgrading is a love language

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? It's not my most kudosed fic, but I was a little surprised my Chickadee drabble beat out other drabbles of mine.

Favorite title you used LuLuRoe is my underappreciated punny title (combo of Lilith's nickname Lulu and the MLM LuLaRoe)

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? Umm...all unique, I'm afraid. We've got an old nursery rhyme (ashes, ashes, we all fall down), a scout song inspired by a 19th century poem (a circle's round), Green Day (is the cop or am I the one that's really dangerous), and OK Go (while our bone's keep looking back (this will be the one moment that matters)).

Pairing you wrote the most for this year? Ballister/Ambrosius, mostly movieverse

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? Also Ballister/Ambrosius

What work was the quickest to write? Probably one of my many drabbles or smubbles, though it's highly variable how long drabble editing takes. Other than that — arm-upgrading is a love language was remarkably quick to write (for me).

What work took you the longest to write? Well, I started Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future in December 2022, put it on the backburner for many months, and made enough progress in November/December that I finally have the first chapter up. The first chapter of phantom limb pain has been in the works almost since late July/early August but wasn't posted until November (some interruptions when sick/busy but was never truly on the backburner even when I wasn't adding words).

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? Ahahaha. Unclear how many I will actually work on, but we're into double digits.

What’s your longest work of the year? LuLuRoe at 4,853 words

What’s your shortest work of the year? I posted 11 fics that were 100 words exactly.

What WIP are you taking into next year with you? Many! phantom limb pain (and 1 or 2 one shots in the series), Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future, The Tragic Tale(s) of Jody Scab, my unposted Prince Ballister AU, years from the land of the bird, and others.

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag? Drabble. Yeah, that checks out.

Your favorite character to write this year? Ack. Um. Maybe Luz Noceda? Though Vee and Camila are both up there.

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? Flapjack in an unposted WIP

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? Possibly Aladarius as a new-to-me pairing to write.

Which work of yours have you reread the most? Probably Intervention.

How many kudos in total did you get this year? I got 1,383 on fics I posted this year — less than last year, but I wrote more niche stuff for less active fandoms.

Which work has the most comments? Party Like It's 2007 because of a long thread with theprincessofdenial. After that, arm-upgrading is a love language.

Did you do any collaborative works this year? Nope

Did you write any gifts this year? Yes! I wrote Hush Little Baby (Owlbeast) as part of the Fic Exchange Coven. LuLuRoe and The Tragic Tale(s) of Jody Scab were both written for theprincessofdenial.

Did you receive any gifts this year? Yes! Sugar Cubes from theprincessofdenial and First Step to Friendship from AnimationAdventures (organizer of the Fic Exchange Coven event!)

What’s your most common category? Gen my (still) beloved despite the unexpected Goldenheart plot bunnies

What do you listen to while writing? mostly the chaos of my household

Favorite work you wrote this year? Intervention is definitely high up there. Luz and Vee are both very dear to me, and I intended to write this missing scene from Blood Brother for months before I actually did. I poured a lot of myself into Luz — particularly my experience with executive dysfunction and depression —and didn't even realize it until I read some lovely comments. phantom limb pain is still a WIP, but I am proud of what I have so far and am proud that I am pushing myself out of my comfort zone of one shots. It took me months to post that first chapter — needed to be sure I was dropping enough breadcrumbs for future plot points and a rough go with COVID slowed me down significantly — but it's actually up and roughly twice as long as I expected. The second chapter still needs a lot of work, but I am chipping away at it.

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? One of my favorites is this one from is the cop or am I the one that's really dangerous: Ambrosius says, "Because I love you," and Ballister's (aching, concussed) brain tries to comprehend love without trust, love with reservation, love that takes the twisted words of others over the bone-deep knowledge that comes from a shared life. I've been enjoying the "[Character] says, '[X],' and [Y]" construction. Adjectives in parentheses are also part of my brand, and of course we have the good old rule of three with the repetition of "love."

Biggest surprise while writing this year? I really, really wasn't expecting multiple multi-chapter WIPs, but here we are. I also wasn't expecting to write much shippy fic after writing mostly-gen last year (the smubbles were an even bigger surprise).

#ao3 wrapped #sometimes I write

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drakesmistakes · 8 months

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I'm going to say it and I'm going to sound like a hater but I really don't care

As a person, who identifies as a poet, as a spoken word artist, as a lyricist

I truly despise when some of you really pretty women, really handsome men, and really good looking non-binary folks, think that you can write poetry because you are undeniably attractive

Are you hot? Very much so

Is wordplay your strong suit? No bro

If I was ugly maybe I wouldn't say nothing but it's the fact that I am also not ugly and I'm a poet and I am tired of y'all getting on stage to be like y'all do poetry and it's some of the most mediocre rhymes I've ever heard

And also, while we're on this topic, can y'all talk about something other than love or heartbreak or getting cheated on

Cuz that's usually what the poem is about it's usually about somebody that did them wrong or people that betrayed them or them going through heartbreak or something to do around the topic of romance

These are the people that hardly make poems about the corruption that they see, how it feels to be a bad friend, being less fortunate than others, understanding the topic of influence and how it works, it's like you don't want to expand your brains to talk about anything other than love and betrayal

The truth is, I want better for y'all. I want you to go to a damn poetry workshop and actually work on getting your words up. Work on your vocabulary, growing knowledge about different words you can use. Understand and get to know different forms of poetry, utilize different literary elements, make your art indifferent to what's outside and more personable so it matches your heart. Your art matches your soul. And I think y'all probably have some really cool souls but it's buried a lot of vain

#take poetry seriously #even if it’s something small #Even if it is a hobby #wordsmith

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venomsvl · 2 years

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- When I said I love you (P.P)

Summary: Peter Falls out of love with the reader and strings her along. Lovers to enemies

Warnings: swear words, shouting, cheating not exactly, The usual breakup stuff, crying, angst, peter is an asshole, implications of using the reader, as in taken for granted! No happy ending. am not sure i hope thats all.

Pairing: Peter Parker x gn!reader

Word count: 1585

Note: written for @anyfandomangstbingo

Square filled: lovers to enemies

A/n: Hey! Am back been a long time since i wrote something hence am a bit rusty so be gentle please. I hope you enjoy it!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You and Peter have been together ever since you could remember. You were first neighbours, then friends, then best friends, and finally a couple. You never really thought about Peter that way before, always thinking he was just your friend and what you felt towards him was normal, but let's be real, friends don’t think of each other twenty-four seven. They don’t get butterflies in their tummies when they see or hug them. Those feelings were for more than just friends, yet you couldn’t decipher them.

Dating Peter was amazing. More than amazing, he was every girl's dream man. He's sweet, kind, and acts like a gentleman; he's quite the charmer. The boy could never flirt to save his own life. The way it all started was weird and unexpected, and like in any rom-com, he got jealous enough to go up to you when you were all alone and kiss you. And boy, did it feel good! Like floating between the fluffiest clouds there is to exist with the sun hitting just right. You both were on cloud nine that night, oh that rhymes!

You remember all the smiley texts you would send each other when you first started dating. The countless flirts to suck you guys both back into each other. It was messy, it was needy—but in the best way. You loved him. He loved you.

But like anything good, it all comes to an end. Again, truly unexpected. You were both the school's IT couple. Every couple aspired to be you and Peter. The perfect partners, Peter and Y/N. Everyone was rooting for both of you to make it, because if you didn't, is love even real then?

In the past couple of months, Peter has been distracted. You thought the case was caused by the stress that comes with being Spiderman. You gave him the benefit of the doubt, but by the looks of it, he just wants to prove you wrong every goddamn time. It eventually progressed to him being emotionally distant too. He may have been physically there, but you had no idea what was going on in his life anymore, and the only source of information was Ned.

Ever since the changes started, he has missed a total of almost 16 dates, always giving you lame excuses when you try to bring it up. You also noticed that he started to focus more on his phone, ignoring everything around him. In class, at lunch, and even when he somehow shows up late to date night, he was always on his phone, as if he looked away, he might die.

You and Peter didn’t like to show much PDA, but you always exchanged "I love you"s when ever you passed each other in the hallways or even stopped to have a little hug if the other needed it. But obviously, they now rarely occur; you can’t even remember the last time you both kissed.

You knew, deep down, what was going on. You knew what it was all leading to, the inevitable end. You just didn’t want to believe it, that this is how it was all going to end, how all the love and support you kept on giving was going to go down the drain like nothing.

You tried to change, to be better, to try and maybe get his attention for even a minute. Your friends tried to warn you, to show you that this was bad and toxic, but you never listened. Whenever he needed help, you would immediately grant it to him without a second thought.

You felt used, tried even, maybe not it, but you haven’t been feeling up to the weather lately and you are sick of the way Peter has been acting towards you. You wanted a break; you've had enough of being taken for granted. And now you know and firmly believe that the end has come.

It was too quiet in the room; not a sound could be heard. You could actually hear a pin drop. It felt like the calm before a raging storm. You and Peter were at your place studying, or only you were studying for the upcoming test, as Peter was, as usual, stuck to his phone screen. It all exploded when he laughed at his screen and began to pack up his things.

"Where are you going? I thought we had a study date today to finish our work before tomorrow?" you felt uneasy, like something was going to happen. Is this what his Peter tingle feels like?

"I’m uhh... I- Something came up okay? I have to go. May needs me right now." You both knew he was lying since May had a long shift at the hospital she works at and won’t be off until late at night. He could tell by the look on your face that you had caught on to his lie.

"No, she doesn’t. She’s not even home yet. You know what just go, but don’t come to me when something bad happens like you usually do." He was almost out the door when you said the words that will change your relationship for ever. "I love you, stay safe please" he wanted to act like he didn’t hear them, so he won’t have to say it back because he knew it was a tradition you both had from when you were kids. But he couldn’t since he wasn’t out the door. He would after only one step that he is yet to take.

"peter? When I said I love you, why didn’t you say it back? Didn’t you hear me? " He was doomed, he knew it. He felt the storm forming, the one that would end it all. The last storm between you two.

Peter, are you even listening? I mean, why the fuck should you listen to me anymore? You haven’t done that in like months" You seethed with anger.

"What? That is not true! I listen very much to you, almost all the time"

Is that so? Then tell me what happened to me today in computer science class!... Come on, spite it out. I don’t have all day"

"I don't even know who you are anymore! What did you do with the old Peter? I miss him so fucking badly" You cried.

"What else do you expect from me? We don't do anything anymore! We don't have fun together anymore" He huffed.

"And whose fault is that? Huh? Tell me! " His phone buzzed at your side. It was Michelle texting Peter.

"You promised me that she was just a friend. Is she really? Because fuck! It sure as hell doesn’t look like it! All you do is sit there on your phone. Talk to me! Do Something! " You pleaded. This seemed to ignite him all of a sudden. One minute you were sitting on your bed, strolling through your notes, and the next you’re standing in tears.

"Am I not talking right now?" his voice raised as he motioned between you and him. He knew this wasn't what you meant, but he didn't know what else to say.

Your eyes were rimmed with that shade of red that you had grown too familiar with. His own brown eyes pricked at yours as you fought the tears from spilling out.

You were so tired of crying; it was exhausting. You had almost gotten used to the way you would wake up the next morning with eyes so puffy it almost hurt.

"Do you even love me anymore?" you whispered, your lips quivering through the words.

"Don’t you get it?" He shouted out, "I never loved you." He felt a raging fire inside of him. All he wanted was to be with her, not you. Maybe in the beginning, but now? He doesn’t, he is sure of it.

"Was I just a game to you?"

"No! God no! Don’t you know me? I would never do such a thing! " Your words cut through his heart like a dagger. All you guys used to do was talk, though. What happened to us? You both thought

What had happened? We weren’t like this. I used to be madly in love with her. Now I can't even look her in the eyes. Many thoughts seemed to be going through his head. He wants to leave. He wants to be with Michelle, not here with you having this fight. At the same time, he doesn’t want to lose you. You have been a constant in his life ever since he was young. He honestly doesn’t know what he would do without you.

"I don't even recognize you anymore" you spit, your venom almost dripping from your lips. "Get out! Just get out and leave me alone! I never want to see you again. Do you understand me? NEVER AGAIN PETER!"

The sound of his name coming out of your mouth hurts. What happened to all those cute nicknames you had for him? When did you stop using them? So many things were left unanswered as he left. He left to go back to her again. He ditched you again.

You didn’t think he would actually leave that easily. You thought that he might fight or beg and apologize for being such a bad boyfriend, but nothing braced you for when he, in fact, yet again, stranded you for her. But this time you knew he wouldn't return and that things would never be the same again.

Taglist

@lovelysofiii , @sunflowerleii , @whatareyouhidingpeter , @musicalkeys-blog , @asuperspecialseahorse , @madame-ree , @spiider-girl , @past3lw1ngs , @sensaxtional , @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts , @thors-angels , @sucker-09 , @stefans-wife , @averyfosterthoughts , @ilovemarvel124 , @elizabeth-brown , @idk-whats-wrong-with-me-blog

#stella chaos #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #peter parker x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #tom holland #tom holland imagine #peter x mj #spider man #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman #marvel cenimatic universe #marvel

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tranquilitybasehotelcasino · 2 years

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if you ask iris about her family she’ll list off like

drayden - grandpa the first, supervises her pokemon-wrangling, tries to teach her about politics and when it inevitably fails he just takes her to the park and pushes her super high on the swings

alder - grandpa the second, always has interesting stories and gives really GOOD advice, knows a million rhyme songs and jump rope games and stuff like that, always gets her souvenirs from wherever he goes

caitlin - big sister that is really good at doing hair in fancy styles, good resource for Teenage Girl Problems, will only do tricks with her psychic powers at iris’ requests (no one else’s)

grimsley - cringe uncle that gives really BAD advice, teaches her how to cheat at every card game ever invented and always lets her stay up as late as she wants even though he’s not supposed to

shauntal - world’s best auntie that has never once not told a good bedtime story, also lets iris stay up past her bedtime, good cook and fun to play make-believe with

marshal - cool older brother that can always be counted on for ice cream money, also always comes to watch her exhibition matches, fun to watch reality shows with

lance - epic win dad that takes her to the amusement park and checks for ghost types under her bed, lets her wear his cape around even though she drowns in it

diantha - awesome mom that makes her soup when she’s sick and comes to cheer her on at all her exhibition matches and gives her lipstick kisses on her cheeks despite all protests

leon and hop - cousins she doesn’t see in person that much but has very fond memories of and talks to on skype all the time, always sending and receiving silly christmas cards

clair - aunt that buys her crazy birthday presents and can pick her up and swing her around like she doesn’t weigh anything, always helps her with her math homework, took iris to get her ears pierced even though lance got mad

drasna - best grandma ever that also always has good stories to tell and lets iris wear her old dresses and jewelry for fun, takes her to museums and stuff all the time to look at the artwork

agatha - has asserted herself as lance’s (and now iris’ by proxy) weird witch of a grandma that knows all the swear words and offers to lay curses when people come to her for romance advice

plus like six other people but if you actually look into it the only ones that are actually related to her are drayden (not bloodwise but he’s her legal guardian) and the postwick brothers (kids of the sibling of one of iris’ parents assumedly? who knows they’re just her cousins) like the rest of them are just people she’s accidentally endeared herself to forever because she’s incredibly prodigiously loveable

#pkmn #like do you understand my vision. she’s everyone’s daughter/little sister/cousin she is just so loveable #also inb4 ‘clair is mean she wouldn’t do that’#1. the fact that she does is a marker of iris’ power #and 2. she would do it for lance’s catgirl daughter

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fangirleaconmigo · 3 years

Note

Hi! If your prompts are still open, would you consider perhaps Jaskel with them being soulmates? Hope you have a good day!

Hello dear! Once again, after saying I would answer these with 500-1000 words, I've written a full story arc of about 7500 words. Typical!

I started with this: In the books, Jaskier is extremely famous. What would the repercussions of fame be in a 'first words of your soulmate written on your arm' AU? How would people manipulate or weaponize it to get a piece of you?

What would it mean for a witcher, when so many 'first words' said to you are invectives?

And how would Jaskier and Eskel, with existences that seem at complete odds, navigate the cruelties of such a world, and fall in love?

Content Warnings: Brief references to past manipulative or coerced sex. Brief references of past self harm (to get rid of a soulmate mark). But it is a fully happy ending with loads of comfort.

It's Hard to be the Bard it's also hard to be the witcher, but that doesn't rhyme

As a rule, Eskel liked to keep things simple. Philosophy was for mages, who had nothing to do but plot and scheme. Ruminating never once helped a witcher.

However, there were occasional moments when he let himself drop down into his thoughts, despite his propensity for reigning in that sort of thing. And Eskel was right in the thick of one such moment.

He was in a Verden tavern, watching a man with a lute.

The man sang as he stepped playfully around the tables, soaking up the enthusiastic attention. He didn’t avoid the intense gaze of the crowd. He looked each of his admirers directly in the eyes. He drank it in like a desert flower soaked up the only rain of the season.

The man with the lute was handsome. Charming. He had a spare but lilting voice. Townspeople crowded in, hanging on his every note. Men sighed. Women cried.

But Eskel wasn’t thinking admiring thoughts. He was bewildered. Slightly perturbed. What did it feel like to be this man? To not pull away from such intense, focused attention? What was it like to have people habitually look at you with admiration instead of fear? To be the recipient of fevered lust instead of disgust?

Eskel couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He wondered if two people with such diametrically opposed experiences of living in the world could even be thought of as belonging to the same species.

But the longer Eskel looked, the more interesting the man became. It was like moving closer to a painting and picking out the red and white strokes that combined to make the pink. The singer had a fair youthful face that contrasted with his filthy mouth. He wore the most elegant ensemble Eskel had ever seen in an ordinary tavern, but his doublet lay open rakishly and an obscene thatch of chest hair peeked out.

On closer inspection, he was gorgeous.

Then suddenly, the man was looking him in the eye. He locked into Eskel’s gaze before the witcher could avert his eyes. Eskel froze, fingers hovering over the handle of his mug. He waited for the man to look away to more pleasing vistas. But instead, this confounding man broke easily into a wide, wild grin. Even the warbling lusty note he held couldn’t dim its shine.

Eskel smiled back, with no thought to what his own face looked like.

And then the man with the lute winked at him.

That small gesture sent a thrill of excitement up Eskel’s spine. But that was only the beginning. The spirit and the spark Eskel now saw in the man’s eyes grabbed him by the heart and screamed “Pay attention. This is important.” It was a chain reaction, like one of Lambert’s experiments. It ignited a buzz, which transformed into a lightness of being.

It was infatuation.

Eskel hadn’t felt that in ages. Maybe not since he was a youngling. He couldn’t help it. He chuckled.

Well look at that, you’re still alive, old man. He murmured to himself.

He knew that the wink was the totality of the connection he would have with this man. So he tucked it away in some recess that he could visit later. He would think of it again when he was alone and the world was quiet. No one could judge him for it, because no one would know.

A voice cleared.

The alderman had arrived. This was the part Eskel had been dreading.

“Eskel.” He said Eskel’s name the way one would point out a rotten fleck of cheese. Eskel had made an effort to bathe after his messy hunt and before meeting this man. He had used a fragrant soap and scrubbed until his skin was pink. He had flattened and spit down his hair until it gleamed. He had shaved around his scars so that he didn’t have scattered sparse hair on his cheeks.

He knew it wouldn’t matter. And it didn’t. But he had tried.

“Carlen,” he answered evenly. He kept his voice low, as was his habit. He had been told it sounded like barking dogs.

The alderman didn’t deign to sit. He stood beside the table and dropped a bag of coins. Even looking at it, Eskel knew it wasn’t enough. He picked up the bag and Carlen cocked an eyebrow.

“You don't trust me, witcher?”

He said it like it was absurd. Topsy turvy. Backwards.

“Just business,” said Eskel. He dumped the coins and looked up at Carlen. “This is half of what we agreed to.”

“I gave the rest to the other witcher,” Carlen insisted.

“Lambert took half. I get half.”

“He took more.”

No he fucking didn’t. Eskel knew Lambert would never short him. Carlen was a lying piece of shit.

Eskel hadn’t even responded when Carlen spoke again. “Don’t get upset!” he said theatrically, looking around at the tavern. Eskel instinctively surveyed the place too. The singer had finished his set and was putting away his lute. He was crouched on the ground. A ribbon tied his trousers together at the back. Even in his irritated state, Eskel noted the ridiculous, adorable bow.

“We all know how witchers get,” Carlen said to the tavern, which was now silent other than clinking of glasses. “We wouldn't want any trouble.”

Eskel knew what this was. It was a threat. Carlen was gambling that he could turn the crowd against him if he pressed. Eskel turned back to Carlen, calculating his risk. Calculating how much money he absolutely needed...how much was non negotiable to let him survive to the next job.

Eskel opened his mouth but then startled because suddenly, the singer was right next to him, a vision in teal. How had he moved that quickly? He positioned himself right between Carlen and Eskel. He took up space like a man who had never had to shrink to be found palatable. He placed his hands on his hips like he was a man who belonged anywhere he chose to be. He tipped his head back to look down his nose at the alderman.

“Carlen,” he said imperiously. “Surely you aren’t trying to cheat the man.”

Carlen shrunk backwards. “Oh well hello, Viscount Julian.”

Viscount. What was a viscount doing performing in a tavern? Eskel figured this Viscount Julian should be in court somewhere or enjoying his land. Of course the tavern was packed with an adoring crowd. Maybe he just liked the attention.

“Don’t hello Viscount Julian me,” he sniffed in Carlen’s direction. “Pay the man what you’ve promised him. Do you want witchers to deny us their services? Are you prepared to do battle with a beastie? Well I can’t imagine that,” he cackled mockingly. “You’d piss yourself the minute you were in any real danger.”

Carlen’s eyes hardened, but he was clearly outranked. “No, no, of course no. A mere misunderstanding.”

“I would hope so,” snorted Julian. He picked at his doublet, straightening the buttons, as though Carlen was beneath his notice.

Usually an outsized air of entitlement like that grated on Eskel’s nerves. But it wasn’t so bad when it was deployed in his defense. Most people assumed he didn’t need defending. And he didn’t need it, strictly speaking. But secretly, he liked it.

Julian looked at Carlen again but gestured at Eskel. “After all, how often do we get such brave, handsome men in this godforsaken town? Valiant men who have quite literally slayed monsters, like heroes of old. And that smell of--” Julian sniffed the air, “orange blossoms.”

Eskel’s heart sank as soon as he heard the word handsome, and it kept plummeting like a stone at the words ‘valiant’ and ‘hero’. This was all bullshit. Another performance. He knew he wasn’t handsome. He knew that for a fact. And no one thought that witchers were valiant. Useful maybe. But this was all way too over the top to be true.

Viscount Julian was mocking him.

Wasn’t he?

There had been times when women in taverns would dare each other to go talk to the monstrous man in the corner, as a test of courage. They thought Eskel couldn’t hear them chatter to each other before sending one over to say hello. It always made him feel sour inside. Humiliated.

This had to be the same.

Eskel clenched his fists, bunching up the knees of his trousers. His heart rebelled. This man had smiled at him so brightly. It had felt real. It had felt so real.

There was only one way to find out whether Viscount Julian was mocking him. He had to ask.

“Did Lambert put you up to this?” asked Eskel.

Lambert had been in here collecting his pay on the contract just before Eskel. He might still be around. Eskel leaned back to sweep his eyes around the tavern. He searched for Lambert’s smirking face. He didn’t find it.

He looked back at Julian, and was startled to see a stark transformation. Julian’s face had fallen. It had gone completely slack. It had just been full of verve and charm for Eskel, and righteous disdain for Carlen. Now he looked hurt, and stunned, as though Eskel had just slapped him flat across the face. Carlen didn’t notice, he was busy pulling out more coins.

Eskel panicked and ran through what he had just said. In retrospect it didn't make sense, of course. Lambert wouldn't have put Julian up to this. If Lambert had wanted Carlen put in his place he would have done it himself. And he wouldn’t have gotten anyone to mock Eskel’s looks. Lambert was an asshole but he wasn’t cruel. There was a difference.

But in the moment, Eskel had just instinctively grasped for someone to blame for a trick on him, and had come up with Lambert out of rote habit. And now Julian was standing before him, his eyes hardened into little blue points of wounded betrayal.

And Eskel had no idea why.

“Here you go, sir witcher,” smiled Carlen falsely. Eskel looked back at the alderman to gather his coins. The man dropped a second bag into his hands and turned on his heel. The doors of the tavern clattered in his wake. Eskel turned back to Julian, but he was gone.

He was up front again. A smile was back on his face, but it was brittle. It was nothing like before. The barkeep cupped his hands around his mouth and exhorted the crowd to “give a hand to Jaskier!”

Jaskier. Must be a stage name.

The crowd went absolutely wild. Eskel picked out squeals and shrieks from people who Jaskier honored with a wink. But it looked forced. Eskel felt slightly ill. He felt responsible for this reversal of moods. He shifted in his chair and drummed his fingers on the surface.

Eskel didn’t know why he cared so much, why his mind churned and guilt settled on him like a shroud. Geralt and Lambert always told him that he cared too much what other people thought of him. He knew they would advise him to leave the tavern. He had his money. And he hadn’t said anything rude or disrespectful. He had nothing to apologize for.

And yet.

Eskel hadn’t been offered a friendly expression all spring. Then, when he was greeted with a joyous open smile, Eskel had chased it away. Worse yet, he didn’t even know how he had done it. It irked him. He wasn’t going to be able to leave here until he found out. He lifted a finger to call over the server. His appetite had mostly withered, but he needed a reason to be at the table for the rest of the evening. The server ignored him. After a long wait, the proprietor himself came out to serve him. The server must have refused to help him. It was fine.

Eskel ordered his supper, then sat there as dusk settled outside. He nursed his pint. He clanged a spoon around in his soup. And he trained his witcher hearing on Jaskier, who sat with his back to him across the tavern at the bar.

Over the next hour, people approached Jaskier in an unrelenting stream. Apparently, he was a singer of some renown. Some people asked him for a song. Others wanted good wishes for their families. Some told him their personal problems in lurid detail. Some grabbed him and kissed his cheek. Others propositioned him in such obscene terms that Eskel’s ears turned pink. He wasn’t shy about sex, but he was uncomfortable with aggressive, public propositions.

Jaskier responded to them all in a practiced, cheerful tone. He laughed and squirmed subtly away from caresses. He smiled into cheek kisses. But Eskel could tell that by comparison to his earlier vivacity, this was pure performance. His mood was sour, but he was hiding it remarkably well. And he was throwing back pint after pint, growing intoxicated.

A protective instinct bloomed in Eskel, but he resisted it. Jaskier clearly liked fame, he must know how to handle it even when drunk.

Eskel watched carefully as the next man approached Jaskier. He had a doublet and trousers on that were similar to the outfit Jaskier wore. He smiled lasciviously. Then he said something quietly in Jaskier’s ear that made Eskel’s hair stand on end.

“Did Lambert put you up to this?”

Jaskier exploded. He slammed his stein down on the bar. “Put me up to what?? Who would put me up to sitting on my ass drinking ale? It doesn’t even make sense! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The tavern fell silent and tense.

Jaskier hopped down from the stool and almost stumbled forward onto his face. An empathy response made Eskel jerk forward but he stopped himself. He was too far away, even if Jaskier wanted his help. The man who had spoken tried to steady him but Jaskier yanked his arm away. He grabbed his lute and pulled it over his shoulder. Then he rushed towards the exit. As Jaskier passed Eskel on the way to the door, he kept his eyes trained forward, steadfastly avoiding looking at him.

Jaskier burst out the door and into the night. Several people jumped from their seats and followed him, whispering frantically to one other.

Eskel desperately wanted to know why that man had said what he said. He almost moved to go ask. But then he nervously glanced at the door. Those overbearing people were stalking Jaskier in his vulnerable drunken state. Alright, Eskel was stalking him too. But he was keeping a respectful distance.

Eskel pushed to his feet. He dropped a sufficient amount of coin onto the table and followed the trickle of people outside. Verden was no backwater, so the streets were wide and lined with shops all closed up for the night. The mercantile district was built close to the banks of the Yaruga so the air smelled of wet earth, fish, and tar.

He spotted Jaskier headed north in the direction of the docks. It was a bad idea. Generally, when one was drunk, one should avoid large bodies of water.

Eskel walked down the cobblestone street, keeping to the shadows. It was quieter outside and his ear rang slightly, adjusting from the loud noise of the tavern.

Two young men who had been tailing Jaskier, reached him and touched his shoulder to get his attention. Eskel was close enough that he could see Jaskier turn around. The streetlamp shone warm gold on one side of Jaskier’s face and the moon lit him soft and gray on the other. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. His eyes were watery and his mouth was set in a grim line.

Eskel’s pulse quickened when he heard one of the men lean in and ask, “Did Lambert put you up to this?”

Jaskier flipped them off and took off further down the street.

The men gave up their mission, and turned back, only for Eskel to emerge from the shadows, glowering down at them. One of the men shrieked like a frightened child.

“Why did you say that to him?” gritted out Eskel.

The two men skittered backwards, eyes wide, stammering apologies. “I’m not the only one who’s tried it,” said one man, his round face pinched in fear.

“It can’t hurt to try,” said the other, holding tight to his hat as they scattered away.

What in the fuck did that mean? There were three more people behind Eskel who had come out of the tavern to follow Jaskier. He whirled around, stepped towards them, and growled. They all yelped and retreated.

Eskel surveyed the empty street in satisfaction. Then he hurried to recapture Jaskier. He calculated how close he needed to be to pull Jaskier out of the water if he pitched off the side of the pier.

But thankfully, Jaskier found a seat on a wide, squat, wooden beam safely away from the edge of the pier. He lowered himself carefully and raised his face to inhale the soft breeze cooling his face. The lapping of water and the chirp of crickets soon swallowed every other noise.

Eskel drew closer, debating what to do. Then he came to a decision. He approached and knelt beside Jaskier.

“Hello,” said Eskel gently.

Jaskier turned slowly to look at him. His bleary eyes focused, lit up briefly, then extinguished.

“Fuck off.”

There was no fire behind it. He sounded drained. He didn’t slur, but his words were fuzzy. Slippery. He looked back at the water and inhaled, as though he meant to block Eskel out of his mind.

“My name is Eskel.”

Jaskier rubbed his face then dropped his hands heavily back in his lap. “Th-blazes do you want, Eskel?” His face looked drawn, all efforts at jolliness had vanished. Eskel wanted to touch him to comfort him, but he knew it wouldn't be welcome.

“Why are people saying that to you? About Lambert?” he asked.

Jaskier chuckled bitterly. “You tell me. You said it too.” He stood up and walked to the edge of the pier. Eskel almost stood up, in order to be at the ready if Jaskier fell. But then he heard the telltale sound of him pissing in the water.

Jaskier returned to his seat on the beam and settled in, looking out over the water once again.

“Yes, but I know why I said it,” insisted Eskel, picking the conversation up where he left off. “I have a brother named Lambert. He likes to play tricks sometimes. What I want to know is, why did the others say it?”

Jaskier picked up a bottle sitting on the docks between his feet. Eskel hadn’t noticed it there before. Jaskier pulled out the cork and took a sip. Then he lowered it and licked his lips. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it's true.”

Jaskier’s shoulders shook. He was giggling. But it wasn’t a nice giggle. It was bitter. “I really thought you were different. For just a moment.”

Eskel had thought the same about Jaskier. It had felt awful when that belief turned to ash, when he thought Jaskier was mocking him. He replied softly, “you don’t even know me.”

It was quiet now. The sounds that were left of the town were far away. There was only the ripples of water and the rustle of reeds. Each time they spoke, their voices broke the silence like a pebble in still water. It made their conversation feel intimate. Eskel supposed that should have been weird. They didn't know each other, and Jaskier didn’t trust him. But oddly, that was exactly how it felt. Intimate.

Jaskier shrugged. Eskel thought that meant “fine, don’t believe me,” and that the line of inquiry was dead. He opened his mouth to try a different tack.

But Jaskier cut in. “It was your smile,” he said. The words sounded like truth dragged up from the depths of his soul. “It was...utterly sincere.” Jaskier paused and pondered, his lips frozen mid utterance. Eskel waited until he continued. “I could feel it. I was drawn to it. And when Carlen came in, I saw you were a witcher.” He lifted the palms of his hands and shrugged. “So you were also brave, and a man who didn’t deal in bullshit. I admired you straight away.”

Eskel flushed. He had a hard time with compliments. But this was even worse, because Jaskier was using the past tense. These nice words were things Jaskier used to think of him.

Jaskier fiddled with the cork he had pulled from the bottle. “And when Carlen tried to cheat you, you were humble. Quiet. Like you didn’t want to be too big or too much. The fucker instantly took advantage of that. And it did silence you.”

Eskel couldn’t protest, because it was true.

“I relate to that,” said Jaskier. “Being afraid of being too much. Perhaps for different reasons. But I do. It was a small thing. But I connected with you.”

He threw the cork out into the water with a flick of his wrist. It made a soft plunk when it hit the surface, and it bobbed downstream. Jaskier took another sip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Plus, you’re handsome. It made me stupid.”

He really did think Eskel was handsome, after all.

The wooden beams were digging bruises into Eskel’s knees, so he sat back and crossed his legs. Jaskier glanced at him, watching him getting comfortable. He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t ask him to leave.

“Why did the others repeat my words?” He had to persist until he got an answer.

Jasker snorted. “It’s a trick.” He held out his arm in the moonlight and shoved up his sleeve. Up his forearm ran the neat line of his soulmate words in stark black against his pale skin.

It sounded absurd, but Eskel often forgot about the existence of soulmate words. He had gotten so practiced at blocking them out...pretending that they didn’t exist.

Lots of people didn’t put stock in them anyway. Believing in soulmate words was a leap of faith, like spending all season tilling new ground, or trying for a child. You hoped for the best. But sometimes the winter was harsh. Or the baby had a head too large for birth. Or you had terrible soulmate words. Words that were common. Words that were cruel. Or worst of all, words that were both common and cruel.

It was a mess, bordering on a clusterfuck. But now, looking at Jaskier’s forearm, Eskel was flooded with emotions so potent he had to concentrate on pulling in breath to slow his pulse. On Jaskier’s forearm sat the following words:

Did Lambert put you up to this.

Eskel’s heart pounded. His hand came up to his own arm, covered by his sleeve. He was almost a hundred years old. He hadn’t thought of his own soulmate words in decades. He had practically forgotten they existed. But now he made the connection.

His spirit eased. A fear he had been guarding and allowing to fester ever since he was twenty one, began to slip away.

Jaskier pulled his sleeve back down. “See, you seem genuinely surprised.” He shook his head slowly, eyes hollow. “And something inside me still fights to believe you.”

The light went on and Eskel understood. He hadn’t been overheard. Jaskier’s fans had already known the words on his forearm. The man in the bar, the people chasing Jaskier in the street, they had all been trying to trick Jaskier into believing they were his soulmate. Eskel had trundled right into an existing situation like a bull in a china shop.

“So, your fans have seen your words, I take it.”

“Fine,” said Jaskier. “If you want to play this, I’ll play it.”

He turned around and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. The full force of his expressive doe eyes looked straight into Eskel. Fuck. He was even more beautiful under the stars. Eskel wanted to touch him. He didn’t.

“Tell me,” said Eskel.

“I have never been in a hurry to find my soulmate,” began Jaskier. He had the air of man who was going to tell a story with a beginning, middle and end. Eskel settled in. He was curious. Jaskier’s life sat in the starkest contrast to his own. He wanted to know what it was like, living under such different conditions.

“I wanted to fuck my way across the continent,” Jaskier continued, though he spoke softly now. “I wanted to enjoy every flavor of person. Life is short. And I do love the attention. But--” he raised a finger and tilted his head, “I am still a hopeless romantic. And people have found a way to---” his breathing stuttered, “--use it against me.” The last few words were so quiet, even sitting this close to him Eskel might not have heard were he not a witcher.

At some point this had shifted from shoving his story defiantly at Eskel, to telling it sincerely.

“How?” asked Eskel.

Jaskier lowered his eyes, seeming to build courage. It plucked at Eskel’s heartstrings. “Well, first it was my lyrics. You know how your words don’t come in until you’re twenty one? I was famous by eighteen. So I was out in the world, meeting new people every day, I had no idea what my words would be. So it was easy for them to write my lyrics on their arms. Ink them. Paint them.”

“Your lyrics? Of the songs you sing?”

“Yes,” Jaskier rubbed his forearm absently. “When I walk into a tavern or entertainment hall and begin a song, technically, those are the first words I say to the entire room of people. And there’s no instructional pamphlet. No rule book. Does singing count? It doesn’t. But I didn’t know.”

“So they would ink your lyrics on and claim they were you soulmates because you said those words to them.”

“Yes. And since I didn’t have words of my own yet, I had no way of knowing if it was true.”

“I see,” said Eskel.

“Do you?” Jaskier’s voice turned metallic, rage simmering below. The rage wasn’t for Eskel. It was directed at some memory. “Because the first time a man claimed to be my soulmate, I believed him. He had my lyrics on his arm. He said that I had locked eyes with him across the room when I’d sung them. I was young. Stupid.”

“Trusting.”

“Seeing my lyrics, words I had composed from my heart, on his arm, moved me. I thought it so romantic,” he said, in a tone mocking his past self. “It wasn’t until we were somewhere private, I was divested of my clothes, and I’d--submitted to him that my fingers slid down the sweat on his arms and the words smeared.”

The full reality of what that moment must have been like, dawned on Eskel. “What a piece of shit.”

“The soulmarks were fake.” His voice grew thick with the threat of tears. His vulnerability was almost painful to look at. But Eskel wouldn’t turn away if he didn’t. “The man had lied. Tricked me. I felt like an imbecile. Like an idiot. I may be a slut, but I still like to make my own decisions about who I have sex with, and under honest circumstances.”

Eskel ached in sympathy. He didn’t want to ask how far the tryst had gone before Jaskier knew he’d been lied to. He didn’t want to ask how he’d responded, whether he pretended he hadn’t seen and finished? Or whether he had pulled away and fled.

“Am I boring you yet?” asked Jaskier.

“No.”

Jaskier slid his hands through his fringe and tucked it behind his ear. “I thought I had learned my lesson. So when my words were ready to appear, just before my birthday, I had my mother sew loops onto my sleeves to hide my soulmate words. I didn’t want anyone to learn them and try again to take advantage of me. But one day, the string caught and rode up. Someone saw my words, and I didn’t realize it.”

“Fuck,” whispered Eskel.

“They had my lyrics. I had their words. I thought...I thought I’d found the one again. I fell right into bed with another liar. Another trick.” Jaskier’s throat closed and he fell silent.

“I’m sorry,” said Eskel. “I’m a witcher. People reject us. Hate us. But to have people use your body, to take a piece of it whether you want to give it or not...I don’t know what’s worse.”

“It’s not all bad,” said Jaskier, forcing some levity into his voice. “Most of the time I love fame. Wouldn’t choose anything else. But no rose is without its thorns.”

“I suppose so,” said Eskel. “But you don’t deserve that. No one does.”

“I was stupid.”

“You were brave.”

Jaskier looked doubtful.

“It’s brave to hope in the face of cruelty,” said Eskel. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Jaskier fiddled with his fingers. “Some of my fans are lovely, though. The first man who lied to me? He boasted all over town that he had taken me. That he had tricked me into fucking him. It didn’t go as well as he hoped. Not everyone admired him for it. In fact, a gaggle of adolescent girls, they call themselves Jaskier’s Angels,” a smile curled on his lips, the first real one to occupy his face since Eskel had spoken his soulmate words, “cornered him in an alley and thrashed him with sticks until he cried.

Eskel chuckled. Jaskier joined in. Soon they were both giggling. It wasn’t funny. But they laughed anyway. And it helped. Jaskier sat up and grabbed the bottle again. He chugged it this time.

“I have learned, Eskel,” he said loudly with sharp corners in his voice, as though telling not only Eskel, but the Yaruga itself, “That a pedestal is not love.”

Chug.

“It is just something to fall off of.”

Chug.

“I have learned, Eskel, that someone can be on you, and in you, all without ever fucking seeing you at all.”

Chug.

“I have learned, Eskel, that someone can have your name endlessly on their lips and never care to know who you really are.”

Chug.

Then he swept the bottle to the side in a grand gesture, looking at Eskel, increasingly unsteady. Then he sat in silence, again looking at the water, as the alcohol hit his system.

Eskel swallowed hard. The loneliness that dripped from Jaskier was so thick it felt corporeal. He knew exactly how that felt. He ached to do something, anything to assuage even a bit of it. To reassure him.

He settled for reassuring Jaskier about him. “If you want to check on my story,” he said, “you can ask Carlen. He paid my brother Lambert for the job and made a receipt in the town ledger. I’m a lot of things. But I don’t force people or lie to them for sex. I would never--”

He knew it sounded false. He stopped, letting the words trickle away. Jaskier didn’t respond. They sat in silence as Jaskier downed the rest of the bottle. Eskel watched his throat bob, and vowed to stay and make sure Jaskier got back somewhere safe.

“Where do you live?” he asked. Jaskier didn’t answer. He finished the bottle. Then he turned to face Eskel once again. He hadn't heard his question.

“S-sorry,” he croaked. “I s’pose I'm having....a bit of a night.”

And then he leaned over and vomited into the Yaruga.

Shortly thereafter, he laid down on the slats of the pier for a nice nap.

Eskel carried a snoring Jaskier back to the tavern, bridal style. His sweaty body curled against Eskel’s chest, tranquil and without defense. His fingers pinched periodically at the fabric of Eskel’s shirt. The lute dangled over his shoulder, gently thumping against him as he walked. The proprietor showed them to a modest room upstairs. Eskel settled Jaskier down on the cozy bed with a creak. He took off his shoes and stockings for him, but left the rest. Then he pulled the quilt over him and tucked it against his sides.

He was careful not to touch Jaskier unnecessarily, but he watched him sleep for a few moments. It was good to see him like that. Peaceful. Chest rising and falling.

He found a chair and pulled it out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him.

And he took up watch.

----

The next morning, by the time Jaskier stumbled downstairs to try to pay for his room, Eskel was already gone, heading north on his horse Scorpion. Pines towered above him and the wind was at his back.

He had slipped away as soon as he’d heard Jaskier groan himself awake. He didn’t know how much Jaskier would remember of the previous night. But he would always remember it. He would remember sitting on a creaking dock, listening to Jaskier entrust him with his story. It had been so different from his own, yet he had recognized himself in it. He knew what it was like not to be able to trust. He knew what it was like for people to see you as an object, not a person.

He had wanted to stay longer, maybe for breakfast. But if Eskel had stayed he would have been weak. He would have been selfish. He took a less traveled, dirt road out of town. Not that he thought in a million years that Jaskier would try to follow him. But he took precautions as a rule.

Still, he couldn’t help that his heart leapt to his throat in joy when about five miles out, he heard hooves pounding up the road behind him and Jaskier’s voice shouting his name. “Eskel! Eskel please! I’m still dehydrated. Don’t make me chase you anymore! Have mercy! Stop in the name of Viscount Julian!”

Eskel pulled Scorpion to a stop and turned around, a laugh burbling from his throat. Jaskier looked absolutely ridiculous and splotchy. He was disheveled. But the bright light was back in his eyes. He was smiling from ear to ear.

“I caught you!” He chortled when he was close enough for their horses to eye each other warily.

“Jaskier, what are you doing here? You look...”

“Like shit?” asked Jaskier, panting and running his hands through his hair. In the morning light, the firmness of his muscles, the broadness of his shoulders, were more apparent. Eskel’s body warmed, and he reminded himself that he couldn’t have this man. He shouldn’t.

“Let’s get down so we don’t have to yell at each other,” Jaskier suggested.

The both slid from their saddles and stood in front of one another. Eskel had no idea where this was going, but the full body relief he felt to be standing close to Jaskier again took him by surprise. “I was going to say, you look better. You look happier,” he said.

“Yes,” conceded Jaskier, shading his eyes from the sun. “Last night was rough. But sometimes you need to cleanse your demons with whinging and whiskey.”

Eskel chuckled. “I get that. Have done it more than once.”

Jaskier smiled and it was the first time Eskel had seen him look...shy. If you’d asked him when he’d first laid eyes on Jaskier whether the man was even capable of looking shy he would have said no.

Be strong, you ridiculous witcher, Eskel thought to himself.

“I also benefited greatly from a patient ear,” Jaskier continued. “I benefited from the kindness of a man who carried me back to a room, then apparently sat outside my door all night and chased away several fans who wanted to wake me.”

Eskel’s had frightened a few people away. It had felt sort of good, actually.

“And you paid for my room out of your hard earned coin.”

Eskel felt awkward being at the receiving end of all this gratitude. He liked it, but it made his insides squirm. So he changed the subject. “Did you go by Carlen’s house?”

“I did. On my way here. I hope you don’t take it as an insult.”

“I’m grateful you did. I don’t want any doubt left between us.”

Jaskier stepped closer, and Eskel’s heart thumped in his chest. He could usually hear the other person’s heart and gauge it, but Jaskier was still out of breath from the ride, so his heart was already thudding. But his intentions were clear when he reached out and took Eskel’s hand.

Eskel let him. He revelled in the curl of Jaskier’s fingers around his own. His eyes even fluttered closed momentarily when Jaskeir squeezed him. He wanted this touch. He wanted more.

“Eskel, I think you are the best man I’ve ever met.”

There was no way Eskel could process that fully. He squeezed Jaskier’s hand. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“You couldn’t have known,” replied Jaskier. “You innocently stumbled into my mess.”

Their clasped hands swung between them. Scorpion whinnied. Jaskier’s horse moseyed to the edge of the trail and sniffed around.

“What does your arm say, Eskel?” challenged Jaskier.

Eskel’s smile melted into concern. “Jaskier,” he pleaded. “You don't want to know. I’m not right for you. My life is hard and cold. I move from place to place, and sometimes I don’t even know when the next coin will come.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what is right for me?” Jaskier asked. His voice was gentle but there was the slightest edge.

Eskel thought about Diedre, and how he had tried to protect her from herself by keeping her out of his life, and how disastrous the consequences had been. He realized that this was similar. The thought that he was repeating a mistake distressed him greatly. Perhaps he needed to stop protecting people and start trusting them. Perhaps he needed to have a little faith.

Eskel looked above Jaskier’s shoulder, towards the horizon. He slowly pulled up his sleeve, turning his arm so that Jaskier could see his soulmark words.

Jaskier’s lips moved as he read them.

Fuck off.

They were the first words that Jaskier had properly said to him. Jaskier ran his finger over the bumps of scar tissue surrounding them. “What happened?” He looked into Eskel’s eyes with naked concern.

Eskel didn’t like talking about it, but Jaskier had shared his story. It was Eskel’s turn.

“People tell witchers to fuck off pretty regularly. And it would be weird to offer yourself up as a soulmate when they do.”

“Oh,” said Jaskier. His shoulders slumped, looking distressed at the thought. "You deserve so much better than that, dear man."

This kindness caused Eskel to pry his heart open just a little bit more.

“Every day I am outside of Kaer Morhen, I have to prove that I’m a person, and not a monster. Trying to destroy the marks was my way of rebelling against a destiny that wanted me to hate myself. Against accepting a soul mate who I would have to convince not to hate me.”

Jaskier’s face pinched in sympathetic pain. He pulled Eskel’s forearm closer and pressed a kiss to the ridge of the burn scars running along the words. Eskel melted.

“I stopped when I got these,” he pointed to the scars on his face. “After that, I didn’t have the stomach for more scars. So I just tried to forget.”

Jaskier chewed his lip. His hand was warm and comforting in Eskel’s palm. “You know that’s not the reason I told you to fuck off,” he said. “It had nothing to do with you being a witcher.”

“I know,” said Eskel. “You thought I was trying to take advantage of you, like the others.”

“You have my deepest apologies, darling Eskel,” said Jaskier.

“You didn’t know. You stumbled innocently into my mess.” He repeated the same sentiment that Jaskier had offered him. “This might be weird, but I was relieved when you said my soulmark words. I had always assumed it would be the words of someone disgusted by me. Someone I would have to convince that I am a person. But it wasn't that after all. You and I, we just...had a bit of a misunderstanding.”

Jaskier reached for Eskel’s other hand. “Can we begin again? Shall I beg? I’m willing to beg.”

They stood clasping hands as though they were about to dance in the middle of the dusty trail. When Eskel didn’t answer him, he pressed again.

“I always pictured myself being dashing and romantic,” Jaskier said plaintively, “if I ever met my soulmate. I’m a poet, for fuck’s sake. I can do better than fuck off. If you give me a chance, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll write you a hundred poems.”

Eskel released Jaskier’s hands and took a step backwards, giving him an out if he wanted it.

“Jaskier, this life is bloody and dangerous. The life span is short. The food on the road is shit. The monsters are absolute cunts.”

Jaskier closed the distance between them, grasping his hands again. Butterflies fluttered through Eskel’s stomach.

“I’m hardier than I may seem,” he insisted. “And I happen to be looking for a change of scenery.”

“What about your music?” asked Eskel.

“Adventures and brave deeds make the best ballads.”

Eskel chuckled. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Yes. I hope you aren’t used to winning arguments.” Jaskier grinned mischievously, and it was obscenely endearing. There was so much more to this man than first met the eye.

Yes, he had been imperious and entitled. But he had weaponized it to defend Eskel. And Jaskier’s breakdown by the docks had shown how trusting he still was, under it all. It was resilience. It was courage. It was hope. Eskel remembered hope.

“There are no beautiful boys and girls here,” he said.

“I am looking at the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

Eskel blushed and smothered a smile. But he wouldn’t be dissuaded yet. He had to be sure that Jaskier knew what this would mean. “But every night you play, you get your choice of the partner. You can have anyone. You can taste any flavor.”

“But I am ready for something more. Something better. Someone better.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“I want to find out,” said Jaskier. “Please, Eskel. Grant me the chance to find out.”

The sincerity of his pleading gave Eskel the courage to drop the last of his defenses. He allowed hope to rush in like the tide. He pulled Jaskier against him and cupped his face in his hands.

And he kissed him.

Jaskier whimpered in delight and melted against him, fingers sliding up to rest against his neck. It was a kiss of promise. It was the beginning of a journey.

Eskel drank in his eager lips and the press of his warm, enthusiastic body. Then he pulled back to look at Jaskier closely, a smile tugging at his lips once more.

“Very well, Viscount Julian,” he said with a teasing flourish. “Would you like to crawl around in the brush with me and be menaced by a bloodthirsty bruxa? Because that is what comes next.”

“I would,” said Jaskier. “I do”

“Don’t you want to go back to get your things?”

“I’ll buy more. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

Pieces of Eskel mended at that. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier and held him for several long moments, feeling their hearts beating against one another. Jaskier rested his head on his shoulder with a sigh, and ran his fingers up and down Eskel’s back.

Then they mounted their horses and rode off together, towards the first adventure of many.

#the witcher #jaskier #eskel #jaskel #jaskier x eskel #the witcher fic #soulmate au

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iammarriedtothemusic · 3 years

Text

A Compilation of The Death Threats/Hate Sabrina Carpenter Received Over One Fucking Line

Because I’m mad at the entire internet for dismissing this and going as far as calling it fake when it is real and nasty. I can also post whatever I want because guess what? This is my account 🖤

TW: death threats, slutshaming, the slow rupture of your braincells because these are all so dumb, transphobia

NOTE: I’m not blurring out anyone’s names because these people are sick, and I’m also too lazy to do that and couldn’t care less (also, you posted something on a public domain, you unnecessarily gave your unprompted “opinion” over a topic you don’t like, over a space that isn’t really for you, if you’re one of these people- owe up to it). Some of these pictures were from other users (CTTO) and some were mine. Obviously, this isn’t anything because scrolling through her posts for just a few seconds already makes me sick, but this is to give context about the death threats and the fact that yes, this really did happen- stop saying it didn’t, you guys owe Sabrina Carpenter one big fucking apology.

Also, I do know that there are mature Livies in the fandom, I’ve talked to stans (are friends with some) who agrees that yes, this is madness and yes, Sabrina doesn’t deserve all of this. This is a call-out to the vocal majority of the fandom who had done nothing but send hate at an innocent girl for months (even on her birthday) while said innocent girl was struggling with her own mental health and personal issues (intro hints her dad cheating on her mom).

NO CONTEXT (because it doesn’t need one)

CONTEXT: Sabrina posted one of her photos for Skin release, the caption was “i hope i don’t fall”

CONTEXT: more replies / attacks to Sabrina Carpenter

CONTEXT: This was sent to a Sabrina Carpenter stan. Some are claiming that this user is sending similar messages to other carpenters.

CONTEXT: This was from when intro was released and getting the hype it deserves. Some of these includes replies from carpenters.

CONTEXT: Cameron Kasky is one of Olivia’s friends (?), or at least that’s how some of my more active friends introduced him as. He has been tweeting unnecessarily about Sabrina like crazy and it’s annoying how he isn’t getting more consequences for it.

(JUST A COMMENT: the list of rhymes for blonde was literally stupid because isn’t it blonde because it IS the only rhyme? Because it was originally brunette but blonde sounded better so O was advised to change it to that or something)

BOTTOMLINE- I’m not saying Olivia should apologize over this, please don’t put words on my mouth. Olivia is not entirely responsible for the immaturity of majority of her fanbase. That said, Olivia should’ve said something about it way earlier than 8 fucking months after the drama [in a magazine interview where she didn’t directly address the hate at all] where both Sabrina and Josh got hate and connected to her no matter what they do every single time. Josh got nuke and death threats, invalidated for his sexuality when he came out (I will be making a similar compilation about the hate Josh got because it’s also nasty), while Sabrina got slutshamed, death threats, and invalidated for her struggling over her mental health.

And yes, even if Olivia said something about this way earlier, I’m aware that some people would still send hate to Sab and Josh. The point is you could’ve at least done damage control and eased out the hate because at least then majority of your fanbase will know that you do not tolerate them sending death threats to innocent parties in your expense. Especially when both Sabrina and Josh already did damage control to their own fanbase and said multiple times to not send hate on anyone’s way. This did not stop the hate entirely, I know Olivia probably still gets hate from immature people from both fandoms, but at least the hate is much more manageable and tamed compared to the legit death threats and other hate the two got. (tl;dr: my point is we [carpenters] don’t want her to apologize, we don’t need her apology. what we needed her to do was clear the air so the vocal majority of her fanbase would get a sense that no, she doesn’t tolerate this and it’s all good. her silence is what further fueled the drama, and that’s the ugly truth.)

If you are curious more about the death threats, you can look into Sabrina’s tweets and I guarantee you- there will always be at least three Livies in that reply sending her hate (slutshaming/death threat). Her skin posts especially has an overwhelming amount of hate replies and QTs.

This is your evidence, this is the tip of the iceberg (not even the fucking tip because I guarantee you, when I said the internet, I literally meant everyone straight up went all witchhunt on her), Sabrina Carpenter deserves better.

(Also, this is just public replies and comments, imagine what she gets on her DMs.)

tl;dr: The internet owes Sabrina Carpenter an apology. Everyone literally dragged this girl for standing up for herself for what? For a fucking line?? For a song?!? I’m sorry (not), but yes, Sabrina Carpenter did not deserve this. She deserved way fucking better.

#sabrina carpenter #sabrina #sabrina carpenter death threats #sabrina carpenter hate #death threats #hate #olivia rodrigo #joshua bassett #driver license #dl drama #yes i snapped #mttmhomies

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deceasedanddesist · 3 years

Text

stuck in detention ( james potter )

this is for @ladyvesuvia’s 400 follower writing challenge! although she has 700 now :)

pairing: james potter x ravenclaw!reader

gender neutral!reader: if you see any mistakes let me know and i’ll fix it

warnings: none

notes: if you saw this when i accidentally posted it unfinished….. no you didn’t. also this is unedited and i wrote it on my phone so my grammar is going to be shit.

word count:

heres the thing;

you never actually meant to get detention, you swore to merlin himself that breaking your boyfriends ( who, conveniently, is now your ex boyfriend ) nose was a completely an accident.

it seems as though saying your “hand slipped” didn’t really sell it to professor flitwick, and to ashton davies, who now has an undeserved vendetta against you.

so what? in case he forgot, he was the one who cheated on you, and didn’t even seem the tiniest bit remorseful about it! but it didn't bother you, if anything, you knew it was coming. after months of him telling you how you were too intense, and making you suppress your personality because it was “too suffocating for him to be around”. you just got so sick of it, rightfully bloody so in your opinion. but because professor flitwick didn’t agree, you were stuck in detention during the first quidditch game of the year! your team, out on the pitch, without their captain, against gryffindor of all houses.

curse james potter and his stunningly good training regimen, you figured he was basking in the glory of not having to deal with you. he’s probably gloating to his team right now, and you could picture the frustratingly fit face that is going to be haunting your brain after ravenclaw looses.

its not that you are not confident in your team, because, you were very proud of their progress and you were very sure they are capable of kicking gryffindors arse. but at the end of the day, at team is like a puzzle, if one piece is missing, there is no way for it to become cohesive. and without their team captain, you really couldn’t predict the fate of your team.

thats why, you were in a pretty glum mood on your way to the library. you figured flitwick took pity on you when he gave you library duty, after all, it probably was the only thing he could see you enjoy doing for detention. not that you were always reading or something, that was the most hated stereotype among most ravenclaws. most of you guys don’t even read, but you can find a certain kind of solace in a good book that you don’t get with anything else.

walking in, you greeted madam pince with a small smile before continuing to the back where you knew a giant stack of books were waiting for you to organize.

as you made your way through the shelves, you heard a loud yelp, but when you looked back at madam pince she was just staring at you with a watchful eye.

you cautiously continued, but you speed up into a jog when a groan followed. you whipped around the corner to come face to face with james potter himself, flailing his limbs under a pile of books.

“potter?” you questioned, “you’re supposed to be on the pitch acting like an idiot, why are you doing it here?”

the boy on the floor scoffed in reply, holding his and out to you.

you stared at it awkwardly, brows furrowed.

“mind giving me a hand here, (l/n)?”

“oh!” your hand shot out to help haul his body up, you were pretty much half of his size so you didn’t know why he reached out to you.

“so, what are you in for?” he joked, but looked as if he was expecting an answer, so you gave him one.

“slept in.” you shrugged.

hey, you didn’t say you would tell him the truth!

“i find that hard to believe,” james huffed, “(y/n)(l/n), sleeping in? right before the first quidditch game of your seventh year?”

you wanted to be mad at him, but for as much of an airhead he is, the boy read you like a book. there was no way, rhyme, or reason you would be sleeping instead of going over quidditch plays or berating your team.

perhaps intense was the correct way to describe you after all, and fuck ashton davies for making you realize it after he cheated on you. you honestly wouldn’t of had a problem with it if he had decided to man up and actually break up with you before he slept with someone else.

you must have been lost in your thoughts for a minute, because james was snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“hello? earth to (y/n).”

“sorry. but enough about me,” first you lie, and if that doesn’t work ( it usually does) you evade further questioning. “how did you get in here, don’t act like i’m tougher on my team than you.”

“yeah, we’re both hard-asses.” he agrees, “i accidentally set someones hair on fire in transfiguration.”

you opened your mouth to ask, but ultimately ended up keeping it yourself, james seemed to approve.

“you don’t want to know.” you nodded, and that was that.

you began to pick up the books from the floor and place them back into the boxes that james seemed to have knocked over. they were labeled and you probably would have thought it was fairly easy at first glance, but judging by the amount of boxes and your clumsy detention partner, you estimated it would keep you for at least a few hours, if not the whole day.

after you filled the potions box with the correlating textbooks, you made your way to the designated section of the library. you started to place the books in alphabetical order by author, and just when you placed ‘advanced potion making’ by libatius borage on the shelf, it immediately flung off the shelf and straight into what would have been your face if you hadn’t moved at the last minute.

after you got over the shock of an almost broken nose ( which you found very ironic ), your head whipped around to a very shocked james at the end of the isle you were standing in.

he visibly got paler once the realization of what happened set in, but before you could confront him, he had set of into a run.

so, you did what any sensible and composed person would do, and you chased after him.

although he has longer legs, your endurance was unmatched. and this was proven when he started to slow down after five minutes, but without realizing you were right on his tail, he stopped. you sucked in a breath to brace yourself before you collided with him, and the next thing you knew the both of you were toppling to the floor.

james groaned as you rolled off of his chest and onto the floor beside him as madam pince rushed over to find out where the commotion was coming from.

“its actually surprisingly clean down here.” you noted as madam pince stared down at you and james with upmost displeasure.

she muttered something along the lines of “why did i take this job” and “i hate children” as she walked back to her desk, still shaking her head.

james waited until she was out of sight before bursting out into laughter.

““its actually surprisingly clean down here”? really?” the boy was practically crying now, a great contradiction to your pure confusion. you had never made someone laugh like this before, your friends only ever giggling out of pity at your odd observations.

when his fit was over, he cocked his head at you and made a face. albeit, you were probably looking at him weird, but who wouldn’t be. you only ever knew him as an opponent, as the two of you shared the same position in quidditch. chasers were a pertinent part of the game, and you and james potter were both the only second years accepted onto the house teams. it made you wonder if you were just imagining all of competitiveness, and now, in the midst of your very last year, just realizing it.

“what?” he looked more confused than you at this point, so you decided to let him in on your thought process.

apparently, your mouth had other plans, because what came out of it was “i punched ashton davies in the face.”

“what!” he yelled, resulting in a ‘shhhhhhh’ in reply from pince.

“thats why i’m in detention, i broke his nose.”

to your surprise, he smiled “i knew you didn’t sleep in, you wouldn’t let down your team like that.”

you scoffed, “it doesn’t matter james, i still let them down. i should have controlled my anger.”

he shook his head, “look, i don’t know much about you, but i do know you’re a reasonable person.” you sighed, so he continued, “let me rephrase: if you broke someones nose, there has to be a good reason, because theres no way you’d miss your last first game.”

“yeah, you’re right.” you said as you got up, brushing yourself off before holding out a hand to him, “he deserved it.”

another laugh from the boy behind you, “i’m sure he did.”

you smiled, checked the time, told james your time was up, and headed back to the front of the library. though, when you guys turned the corner both of you were faced with flitwick and mcgonagall, who told you that fooling around wasn’t to be tolerated and the two of you would be spending your weekend in detention to finish the job.

as you left, you found yourself in the best mood you’ve been in all year, and to your surprise, you found yourself actually some what excited for this weekend’s detention.

#james potter #james potter x reader #marauders era #hogwarts #harry potter

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever”

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Notes: Inspired by the Klaine advent drabble prompt "ache". So this is a story I started a while ago, but stopped after chapter 4 because it started to get a little too real. But I’ve started revising, and now I’m ready to finish it.

Chapter 1 (3197 words)

“God! That traffic was insane, wasn’t it?” Sebastian complains, pulling off the highway and onto the less congested road that leads to the heart of Manhasset.

Kurt mutters in agreement, but he barely noticed. His right temple has been glued to the passenger side window the entire trip. Eyes pointed skyward, he watched the clouds pass by as they drove, counted the trees, followed a flock of birds as they flew off to warmer climes far, far away.

Away from here, the way Kurt wishes he could.

“I called ahead to turn the gas on. And the electricity... ” Sebastian has been rambling about nothing for the whole hour and forty-five-minute drive, filling the tense air of the Navigator with verbal static. “We’re gonna want to air the place out for a few hours. The realtor told me it stinks like mold but that there isn’t any actual mold in the house. I hired two separate contractors to go through the place anyway and make sure. I wasn't going to take the guy's word for it. He struck me as a sandwich short of a picnic. I mean, you should have seen him, Kurt! He was wearing a purple paisley tie and brown loafers with a grey suit. And not like royal purple. That would have worked. But puce! Jesus Christ!” He chuckles. It bleeds into a nervous cough. “I didn’t say anything, but it would have been nice if you were there to give him some subtle pointers. Or not so subtle. You know how much I love seeing you in action. Oh, and we'll have to go over our insurance policy. I’m having a second independent appraiser… ”

“Are we there yet?” Kurt interrupts, preferring to focus on how the changing leaves mute the skyline than on a single word coming out of his husband’s mouth. Not that he could catch a one the way they’re sprinting off his tongue like lemmings off a cliff.

The trees soothe Kurt, smooth the rough edges of this bumpy ride. They grow differently out here than in the city: springing up in rows, displaying their fall colors, blending one into the other like an ever-changing river - red tree, yellow tree, brown tree, gold tree…

Their daughter Grace would call out the colors on their long car rides Upstate, conjuring rhymes where there were none. They roll through his memory in her singsong voice.

Green tree… uh... lean tree!

Kurt smiles, clutching on to the sound of her voice.

He's terrified of the day he'll forget what her voice sounds like.

“Just… uh… just a few more blocks,” Sebastian replies, his attempt at chitchat cut short by his husband’s impatient tone. Despite his infinitely expressive voice, Kurt only uses three tones nowadays - angry, impatient, and indifferent. Sebastian hasn’t learned how to avoid any of them, but he hates Kurt’s indifferent tone the most. “Not too far.”

“Good. Because I’m tired of sitting in this stupid seat.” Kurt switches positions, massaging his hip for emphasis. 'Tired of sitting in this stupid seat.' That's what he said. But he meant, 'tired of being stuck in here with you.'

And Sebastian knows it.

Sebastian turns down two streets that spiral together tighter and tighter until he and Kurt are locked in to their new neighborhood.

Locked in to their decision to move here.

“Here it is.” Sebastian pulls up to the curb at the point before the street turns into a cul-de-sac.

Kurt sits up slowly to accommodate his stiff spine and numb ass. Looking around, he sighs in frustration. “Here what is? There are five houses on this block. Which one is it?”

“Guess.” When Kurt sighs again, Sebastian says, “I’ll give you a hint – it’s one of these three,” and motions to the houses on Kurt’s right. Kurt rolls his eyes but turns to the houses closest. They all appear relatively identical – three floors with a pointed roof and a square porch, reminiscent of a gingerbread house. They probably have basements – a huge selling point in this vicinity. But they don’t call them basements Upstate. They call them cellars. Somehow, the word cellar is more refined, and therefore more acceptable than having a dull, run-of-the-mill, drafty basement.

Need that cellar so you can have the most expensive cabernet on the market on hand in case we need to drunkenly judge Sally Jones’s latest highlight fiasco.

“She should have gone with lowlights, Sharon. (sip) Haven’t I been saying that, Kayla? (sip) Haven’t I been saying that she should have stuck with lowlights? But only around her face. (sip) Ha-ha-ha-ha! Please, pass the brie.”

Kurt spent a good portion of his life living in a basement bedroom, so he’s not above the word. But he remembers a time back in high school when he thought that was the person he would grow up to be. He’d start out as one of the New York elite, then become an Upstate snob. When his kids (two of them – a boy and a girl) were grown and gone, he’d start an artists’ colony. He'd retire to a lighthouse, isolate himself in obscurity while being ironically jaded at the world.

Well, he's nearing forty, and he is jaded, but for entirely different reasons.

The house at the curve in the cul-de-sac is painted a sea green Kurt isn’t thrilled with. But that can be remedied with a bucket of paint and some elbow grease. From its position, it probably gets the bulk of the noon sun.

There goes their electric bill.

Kurt knows Sebastian doesn’t care about trivial things like finances, but just because they have the money to spend doesn’t mean they should shovel it out the window. Plus, there's their carbon footprint to think about. But more importantly, there goes his fair skin, which will freckle at every meal while he does nothing other than sit at the kitchen table.

No, thank you.

The house beside it is in a better position, slanted away from direct sunlight. But it’s painted a slate blue that comes across as too harsh considering the neighborhood’s neutral color scheme. Sebastian should know better than to see that house and say, “Yes. That’s it. That’s the one,” unless the inside looks like the Palace of Versailles.

The last house is also blue, but this blue borders on pale grey, a similar shade to his father’s house in Lima. A maple tree has grown through the pavement in front, shading the house and shedding its red-gold leaves all over the front yard.

And this house has a porch swing.

He and Sebastian used to talk about owning a home with a porch swing. It became a prerequisite for the home they wanted to retire in. Kurt pictured sitting on their swing side by side in the early mornings, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

Sebastian, on the other hand, talked about having sex on the thing and scaring the neighbors.

Same planet, different worlds.

“It’s this one,” Kurt guesses, gesturing to the blue-grey house. “The one with the swing. Isn’t it?”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Sebastian jokes but warily, afraid of what the fallout might be if Kurt doesn’t like it. Sebastian has been climbing a tenuous ladder to make his husband happy. One misstep and he'll plummet back to the bottom, with no certainty that Kurt will let him try to climb up again. It’s his own damn fault, Sebastian reminds himself as they get out of the vehicle. He did this to them, so he’ll let Kurt lash out, let him bare his teeth and his claws, let him dig in with both hands and rip.

Sebastian deserves it.

He leads Kurt up the walkway in silence, past the tree and the swing. He unlocks the front door and pushes it open, standing back so Kurt can be the first one over the threshold. Kurt takes his time, poking his head in first, then taking a hesitant step. This is an all-or-nothing moment for him. In his heart, once he walks inside, there's no turning back.

He sets his foot down, rests his weight on it, and a dozen memories come flooding back: the house he lived in with his mom and dad, the house he and his dad moved into when his dad remarried, the dorm rooms he suffered from high school to college.

The first night he spent in Sebastian's penthouse, the excitement of feeling like he'd found his true home.

The house he dreamed of raising Grace in.

In the end, they stayed in the penthouse for convenience. He regrets not getting her an actual house with a yard and a swing.

Like this one.

The irony.

The room lists, Kurt's head swims, but he wraps his arms around himself and doesn't let it show. He focuses on the here and now. He's taken a step. He just needs to take another. And another. Keep going. Keep moving forward, or else he'll crumple to the ground.

And Sebastian will rush to catch him.

Kurt would rather bury himself under the porch.

Kurt breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, relies on a cold and detached demeanor to help him instead of the strong arms of his husband.

This house has a different feel from the open floor plan of the penthouse they've been living in since college. It's cramped around the corners, with a lot more shadows and a lot less noise. Sebastian likes that better. He’s an Ohio native, same as Kurt. But unlike Kurt, he considers himself a country boy. Even though Sebastian built his identity around becoming a state's attorney like his father, he loved the quiet life: wide-open spaces, blue skies, unhurried, and just plain normal.

Kurt saw Ohio as a cage he couldn't wait to break free from.

Sebastian could have bought Kurt any house he wanted. In that vein, Sebastian feels like a heel for jumping on this one without consulting Kurt first. He reasoned that he'd been the one house hunting, not Kurt. So when a contact told him that the owner of this house, a house Sebastian had had his eye on for a while, was finally selling, it seemed too perfect, especially considering the timing.

Sebastian bent over backward to rescue it from escrow.

Kurt didn't want to leave the city, but it was full of too much pain for him to handle, too many memories, friends and acquaintances who had yet to hear the news, and those who constantly offered their condolences. Few people greeted him anymore without their smiles dropping and the words, “I’m so sorry,” coming out of their mouths, as if joy shouldn't exist around him anymore.

It made his head, his heart, and his soul ache.

Kurt loved New York City, but there was nothing left for him there but the constant hollow thud he felt whenever he saw something that reminded him of their angel Grace. School would be starting soon. All of her friends will be moving on to the fifth grade. But his daughter...

Life ended for her too soon.

“Here.” Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s hand, but Kurt reflexively pulls it away, slipping his hands into his pockets to cover for his flinching from Sebastian’s touch. Sebastian should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. “Let me show you why I think you’re going to love this house.”

Sebastian jogs up the stairs to the next level. Kurt follows a few steps behind. When he reaches the top, he sees three doors. They pass the first two without mention. Sebastian opens the last.

“Here.” Sebastian crosses to the opposite side and throws open one of two windows, filling the musty space with the crisp bite of autumn. “I thought this room could be your new studio.”

Sebastian knows him too well. The room is perfect. Even at dusk, it’s flooded with natural light. It looks out over the rooftops of the other houses, giving him a view of the surrounding forests and orchards stretching way past the highway. With a little TLC, it could look just like his studio in their penthouse.

Or he can turn it into something new.

Start with a clean slate.

“What are the other two rooms?” Kurt asks offhandedly. He doesn't need to.

He knows what the other rooms are.

There are only two rooms they can be.

“A bathroom and the master bedroom,” Sebastian answers, watching his husband stroll across the floor.

“So this would have been… ?”

“A spare? A guest room?” Sebastian shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to find an easy groove to stand in.

Kurt frowns. No. It would have been Grace’s bedroom if she were still with them. Kurt was trying to get his husband to acknowledge that. Cruelly. But if she were with them, Sebastian wouldn’t have cheated, their marriage wouldn’t be falling apart, and they wouldn’t be running away from their problems.

“I guess I could put a foldout bed in here,” Kurt throws out as he estimates the space.

“You can if that’s what you want,” Sebastian agrees. “Or you’re just saying that to hurt me, which, if you are, you’ll be happy to know, it’s working.”

“I’m not saying that to hurt you,” Kurt eloquently lies. “I’m being practical. I’m not going to have easy access to the Vogue workshop if I live two hours away. If I expect to get a new line started, I’m going to have to pull long hours.”

Sebastian scrutinizes his husband, who’s doing his best to avoid looking at him. “You’re… thinking of starting a new line? You didn’t mention that.”

Kurt shrugs. “Did I have to?”

“No. I mean, I wasn’t sure that you would go back to designing so soon after.”

"After?" Kurt tilts his head inquisitively but still makes no eye contact.

"After... moving. There's going to be a lot to do here. I thought you'd give yourself a year. Maybe more." Sebastian answers so quickly, Kurt wonders if he'd practiced. They talk in code, this whole conversation a carefully choreographed tango through a labyrinth of knives.

Sebastian didn't mean after moving. He meant after the death of their daughter. Kurt practically spent every spare second he wasn’t designing for work designing with her. Kurt has been a designer since high school. Aside from music, it's his passion.

Sebastian feared Grace's death might sever those harp strings.

"I think you underestimate me. Besides, you’re considering going back to working in the city after… ”

Pivot, walk walk, close.

The dance changes. They switch places, and Kurt leads.

Kurt isn't talking about them moving or Grace.

Kurt means after Sebastian cheated.

Kurt only agreed to move out of the city and live in a house he's never seen to keep Sebastian away from the man he's convinced will become too big a temptation to resist the next time they get into any kind of argument. Granted, it took their daughter dying for Sebastian to cheat, but Kurt figures it’ll keep getting easier from now on to come up with an excuse.

Can't agree on where to go for dinner? Have a huge blowout over which cards to send out for Christmas? That's it! I'm sticking my dick in someone else!

“Anyway, I wouldn’t want to wake you by crawling into bed at four in the morning, not when you have to be at work at six,” Kurt finishes when he’s let that dig soak in long enough.

“I’m not going back to work for a while, remember? That’s what a leave of absence is. And even if I was, why would I mind you waking me?” Sebastian risks a grin. “In fact, I was thinking that it might be nice to get back to what we used to do in the mornings before work. I miss that.”

Sebastian holds his breath while he sees how that remark lands. He waits for Kurt to look at him. Kurt hasn’t been able to look at him, really look at him, since hungover Sebastian came home in a taxi the morning after, clothes ruined, their marriage officially in the gutter. Grace passed away six months ago, which means he’s been waiting for a while.

He’s still waiting.

“This isn’t all about you,” Kurt reminds him, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

Kurt didn't yell. But that doesn't mean he's not furious.

“I know,” Sebastian says softly. He rubs his cold hands together, wishing he could stick them underneath his husband’s thick, button-down sweater, and press his palms against Kurt’s skin. A year ago, Kurt would have squealed, “Bas! Your hands are freezing!” But he would have wrapped his arms around himself and held on, would have let Sebastian lean in for a kiss, would have fallen for the line, “Now that my hands are warm, maybe you can help me warm up a few other things.”

Then they would have made love on the wood floor with the door open.

If only he could make Kurt laugh the way he used to.

Then maybe Kurt would love him again.

But going by his husband’s expression, dreary as the olive sweater he holds closed with one hand at the neck, Sebastian knows that now is not the time.

“Is this what you need to make you happy?” he asks. If only it were that simple. If only a house, or a car, or a vacation could turn back the clock and erase everything that happened.

Erase everything Sebastian did, and bring their daughter back.

Kurt doesn't answer right away. He's not purposefully keeping Sebastian in suspense. He couldn't care less what's going on in Sebastian's head. This is his future he's considering.

He's going to take his time.

He circles the room, contemplating the echo of his footsteps on the roughly finished wood, debating whether or not it's a sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life. If not, is it worth putting in the time to fix it?

He traces the path of sunlight as it travels across the wall. That brings a new detail to his eye - a torn corner of wallpaper above the open window revealing a word underneath.

Darling.

Kurt eyes it from a distance, tries not to pay too much attention to it in case Sebastian is behind it. It doesn’t look like it was written recently. It's more than likely part of the pattern underneath. But leave it to Sebastian to try to woo his husband back with something syrupy like that.

Something hopelessly romantic.

Something he thinks Kurt will fall for.

“No,” Kurt answers honestly, re-examining the fading wallpaper, the scuffed floors, the peeling ceiling. His gaze glances his husband’s face and settles on the dust-streaked window. He stares out at the sky, the clouds, the trees, the birds flying wild and free. He’s never going to be able to fly away like that, so he might as well accept this cage he's been given. It's what he's supposed to do, after all. “But it’s worth a try.”

He has little else left to lose.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #kurt hummel

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