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websterss · 1 year

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𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 — 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: Hi!! So I've seen your account recently and I really would like you to write jatp luke Patterson x reader, when the Reader is always so goofy and childish. So they are sick like they have a very bad fever, and they are very weak and Luke takes care of them, and maybe sings a lullaby to help them sleep by singing to them and rocking them please.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): um cussing mostly, and fluff

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 985

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Luke Patterson x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! This is my shortest story omg. I am fully recovered from having the flu this past week, so I’m trying to get back into my writing, but it’s still a slow process for me, because I was really drained of energy for a week, so be patience with me lovelies. ♡

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“Y/n, I know you’re in there!” Rapid thuds against your window can be heard. The loudness that vibrates through the window shook through your body. You pull the duvet over your head to hopefully muffle the sounds of your annoying friend.

“Come on, let me in!”

“Goaway.” You muffle yelled. Though to your annoyance, it simply slipped your mind that Luke has the ability to poof in and out of places. Perks of being a ghost. “No. I wanna be at peace!” You whine as you sense his presence before you.

“Hello to you too, sunshine.”

“Goaway.” Your voice muffled under your blanket.

“Can’t do that. Julie specifically told me to come and help you around the house since she’s at school.”

“Why!” You kick out the duvet off you. Moving around frantically, part tantrum. “I don’t need a ghost. I need a goddamn miracle-“ You stop feeling clogged up air in your chest causing you to cough. “God I hate being sick.”

“Do you need anything?” Luke walked over, pressing the back of his hand against your warm tempered forehead. “No fever.”

“I just wanna sleep honestly.” You sigh heavily. Turning your head to meet his eyes. “I have this massive migraine that I’ve been trying to cure with ibuprofen for the last couple days, but I stopped because I’m scared of growing an addiction.” You muster a grin, finding the bit hilarious. “Then there’s my congested nose, trying to breathe has been a bitch. I keep waking up in the middle of the night in coughing fits because my lungs can’t get any air.”

“You gotta tell your lungs to work man!”

“I’m trying!” You laugh, heaving a slight bit then feeling the urge to cough again. “This sucks. I don’t even know how I got sick. It’s like all my energy just got drained right out of me. It’s ruined my whole week.” You let your arms fall in defeat by your sides. “I’m sorry, Luke. I know I said I’d be there for the band’s rehearsals but— I barely have the energy to get out of bed these days.” A faint smile paints your face.

“Hey, don’t sweat it okay. Rehearsals will still be there for you to watch after you get better alright? Besides, we can always record what you’ve missed.” Luke sat on the edge next to you. His comfort dissolves the aches and pain that run through your entire system. The mere thought of knowing someone wanting to look after you, gave you hope for a full recovery sooner rather than later. “Though you’re not missing much honestly.”

“Only my social life.” You dismissed passively. “Can’t believe I’m stuck here and you guys are making music. Unfair.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better-” He pointed at your side, activating your flight or fight response. You laughed moving away from his hands, never one to enjoy being tickled. “We’re not really having much luck with coming up with new songs.”

“Now that I found it hard to believe.”

“No seriously, it’s like we ran out of inspiration.”

“Oh come on! You guys seriously haven’t written anything while I’ve been at home sick?”

Luke shrugged. “We’re all missing our muse…” He reached forward to boop you on the nose.

“Please, I’m no muse.” You half heartedly laugh.

“Maybe not the guys, but definitely mine.” He nodded surely.

“Well then, I’m honored.” You reach forward and take a hold of his hand. Twiddling with his fingers. Intertwining and untwining your hand with his. “Any chance I can hear something?” You batted your eyes playfully. A pout full on display. “Would you sing for a poor sick girl?” You force a cough out of your mouth. “A sneak peek of what’s to come?”

“You sure know how to persuade a guy.” Luke smirked.

“What can I say–“ You cough again. “I’m pretty convincing.” Your eyes crinkle, a sleepy haze falls over your tired form.

“Alright sleepy head, I’ll give you something.” He brought his hand up to lightly brush away some flyaway hairs from your eyes. His touch softly lingering. Soothing the slight ache that didn’t want to go away.

“What’s it–“ You yawn big. “called?”

“Well, Julie, the guys, and I haven’t really settled on a name yet, but I think we’re inching closer with Those Eyes.”

“It sounds nice…” You adjust yourself into the bed. Bring the covers up to your chest. The thing about having the flu was that you had the tendency to get shivers here and there, other times hot spells causing you to kick off the covers. A continuous back and forth situation. Right now you were just simply feeling cold.

“It does. It’s a little slower than any of our other songs, but I think it’ll be a nice touch to the album.”

“Let’s hear it, rockstar.” You hummed. Placing your hands flat over your covered stomach.

“Give me a second.” Luke scoffed humorously. He began making a rhythmic beat on his jean clad thigh, head slowly bobbing as he tried to find his pitch. He took a deep breath and began singing.

“Cause all of the small…things that you do…are what remind me why I fell for you...” His smile grew seeing you start to slip into a deep slumber. Your breathing evening out and becoming slower. He leaned forward, letting his hands caress the side of your cheek gently. His heart fluttering as you subconsciously leaned into his touch. “and when we're apart, and I'm missing you. I close my eyes and all I see is you...and the small things you do.” He leaned back and watched you sleep. His favorite pastime, knowing you were getting rest, and at peace in the comfort of your bedroom. “Sweet dreams, peaches.” Then he was gone in a poof. Silence filling the space, and your sleep unbothered.

#luke patterson #luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson x fem!reader #jatp luke patterson #my gif #writings by juls

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starsreminisce · 2 months

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I didn’t intend for this to be so long I apologize in advance😭

Have you or anyone mentioned this before?

What if when Elain and Lucien had their ambiguous meetup in WAR,.. what if Elain wanted to give Lucien a peck or a hug and be in the comfort of her stranger(!) mate and was drawn to him in a way she couldn’t fathom which is why she now keeps clear of him. It’s not hate, it could be confusion. People really exaggerate her being freaked out of the feeling of the bond. It is because SHE IS AWARE of it. We know this, Elain knows this, Lucien knows this, her sisters know this… there’s no need for readers to be all shocked pikachu face about Elain currently not wanting to be around Lucien. Nesta and Feyre or mostly anyone (especially someone like Elain who misses their old life) would’ve reacted similarly. If you’re only seeing the couple/pair and not the individual, isn’t it then harder to figure out what motivates that individual? Elain’s decision-making won’t have to do with someone else, that’s her own thing. What happens after a couple is formed is another thing (i.e. Feyre in TAR and MAF vs Feyre in WAR and SF where she makes plenty of decisions as a unit with Rhys aka when a couple gives into one another fully)

Yk, I can imagine it’s much scarier when you feel a pull to someone while knowing that somehow you both are connected biologically.. and they happen to be someone you just met. Feyre and Nesta were scared too when they found out they had mates! Heck they were a little intimidated when they first met the guys who were going to be their mates (duh they were among scary fae)

I think people tend to forget that Feyre and Nesta also took their time at different points of their own journey and in their relationships to figure out what kind of future they wanted. And they did this while away from their mates (i.e. Feyre accepted the bond before she gave Rhys her heart and body, so a more traditional romance approach, while she was alone at the cabin. And Nesta wanted to keep it strictly physical w/o the bond. Meaning keeping her heart/feelings out of it bc of her low self-worth. The aftermath of her fight w/ Cassian was spent with Emerie and Gwyn).

It’s actually perfect that Lucien is constantly away from Elain right now because otherwise it would all be much harder for her to process the situation she’s in. This exact courtesy given to Feyre and to Nesta by the author (all of this isn’t my thought I know this point has been made a lot!). Again, if we only think in terms of romance and not the individual then it’s going to be harder to understand why a character is making a certain choice

Idk how readers are interpreting these male characters but do they really think these males are they type to be like “we are now bound together, accept the bond or else; you must obey and come with me” I mean, SJM even found a way for Rhys to whisk away Feyre with her consent!

I think SJM likes showing different ways mates end up together and she’ll “select” a couple to demonstrate that. For example, Feysand= mates which one person isn’t aware of the bond because they grew up human, and it snapped for the fae without them revealing it to their mate and etc, etc. Elain and Lucien just happen to be the fated mates who had their bond snapped before they knew who the other was! Honestly SJM could’ve had any of her other couples go through with this. But also maybe there’s a specific reason- which she knows- for why she choose it for Elucien. Maybe it fits their characters best?

Authors are just puppet masters pulling at strings and coming up with possibilities y’all! There’s no need to act like these characters were done dirty because it was designed that way, pls for the love of the Mother. All that means is you have a problem with the story or writing and that’s not gonna change. So maybe it’s best for some people to look for other content?

Anyway- Elain is right now in the series taking the time to figure out what she wants (like her sisters did when they learned of their bonds!!) Maybe SJM could’ve elaborated with Feyre and Nesta and how they considered their options for the future? Lets be fr there’s a few details that SJM leaves out which tends to be important for the readers but not to her (maybe). But anyways the difference with Elain? She’s taking her time to decide and figure out the bond situation outside of her own book. As soon as Elain’s book is out why would she need to be away from Lucien any longer? Feyre had reason to be away from Rhys in MAF.- tamlin, her human life, etc. Nesta wanted to stay away from Cass at the beginning of SF because what even is a mate plus her self-worth issues. Do we wanna see this again with an Archeron in a whole book or rather it happening in the sidelines this time around? I mean with an Elain (Elucien) book they then have to be near each other at some point. NOW their story is beginning. I just expect it to have a happy ending:) <— Elain staying away from Lucien now but not later isn’t an original thought, I know this point has been made by many blogs!! Sooo I think this is what SJM is doing. Keeping them at a distance in the meantime. Because they won’t need it at some point.

It’s going to be different in Elain’s book because who wants a repeat of how Feyre and Nesta dealt with their bonds and their mates! We want some difference in the romance with each couple and how they handle big revelations! Authors love stepping out of their norm and showing variety, surely SJM will do that!

P.S this msg had a lot going on so if there’s anything you’d like clarification for pls feel free to say so :)

It's all good!

If there is one thing that SJM appears to have an issue with regarding fated pairs, it's the idea of instant love that often comes with fated mate tropes. She weaves into her narrative a desire to demonstrate why these pairs are perfect for each other and what her idea of a perfect match looks like.

As Elriel shippers and other non-shippers begin to realize, the bond itself serves as the primary conflict in Elain and Lucien’s story. It's something they both will tackle and eventually come to accept because this bond is now an intrinsic part of them. That's what I personally anticipate and look forward to in their story.

Upon rereading ACOMAF, I found my perspective shifted. Despite Feyre and Rhysand's bond snapping after Under the Mountain, Feyre still entertained thoughts of her upcoming wedding and pondered her future alongside Tamlin, all while feeling guilty and inexplicably drawn to Rhys. It wasn't until spending more time with Rhysand that Feyre began to recognize their shared desire to protect loved ones. This shift in perspective was crucial for Feyre, who grappled with her past actions, including the deaths of innocent faeries, and came to the realization that Rhysand had supported her far more than Tamlin had during her trials.

Rhysand's actions spoke volumes about his commitment to Feyre, even when she was unaware of his feelings. Conversely, it's somewhat frustrating when critics question why Lucien didn't do more for Feyre, especially when ACOMAF emphasizes the unique and profound nature of the mating bond. Lucien's efforts to support Feyre are acknowledged, but it's clear that Rhysand played a significant role in keeping her grounded. Similarly, Lucien's understanding of Elain's needs and his efforts to help her, such as demanding she be exposed to sunlight in ACOWAR, further illustrate the difference of their connection.

While there are limitations to the bond, it's unfair to hold Lucien to the same standard as Rhysand. Lucien and Feyre share a close bond, but they are not mates. Their relationship is distinct from Feyre's bond with Rhysand, which offers a unique level of support and understanding.

Similarly, Lucien demonstrated his understanding of Elain's needs in ACOWAR by demanding she be brought outside to the sun, just as Rhysand knew the music and images of the Night Court would help Feyre.

The passage of time is felt more keenly in Elucien's story compared to Feysand's and Nessian's. Feyre met Rhysand in Calanmai, saw him only once after a month, and then spent much of her time with Rhys Under the Mountain in a drugged state before returning home. It was only after two months that Rhys called in the bargain after Feyre reached out for help.

Nessian isn't exempt from this, either. There were four months between the war and Nesta and Cassian's confrontation, followed by another nine months before Cassian was sent to Nesta's apartment under orders for an intervention.

The difference lies in our experience of Elucien's time apart from each other. They are still included in other's stories, whereas we receive only a brief mention of the time lapse before the start of Feysand's and Nessian's story.

I often wonder if Nesta's and Elain's story drew inspiration from ACOMAF as some sort of "what if" scenario. For instance, what if Rhysand had decided to rescue Feyre himself, considering he kept hearing her vomiting, and that's what ACOSF explores? Or what if Rhysand hadn't winnowed away after their bond snapped after Under the Mountain, but instead blurted out to Feyre, rather than Mor, that she was his mate? Then Feyre went back to the Spring Court knowing she was Rhysand's mate. That is the essence of Elucien's story.

SJM does love to show the variations of the bond snapping. For instance, Kallias and Vivianne's bond snapped after they were married, Miryam was a slave present to Drakon, and Drakon set her free. Miryam had a relationship with Jurian, and while Jurian was seducing Clythia, that's when Miryam's and Drakon's bond snapped. We don't know when Tamlin's parents' bond snapped, but we do know that Rhysand's parents' bond snapped the first time they met, and Rhysand's father did not give his mother the freedom to decide what to do, even after he had saved her.

Elain is the only one among the sisters who knew about the bond firsthand. She knows that whatever she is feeling towards Lucien is a result of that bond. It's interesting to note that both Elain and Lucien, who spent most of their lives suppressing their needs and settling in their environments, have similar experiences. Lucien was severely punished for making waves, whereas Elain grew up with two sisters with big personalities who had no issues rocking the boat. Consequently, Elain does what she can to avoid being a problem. This is where the conflict of the bond comes in - Elain was engaged to someone she loved despite the short amount of time to be told “well, actually, your soulmate is this person. That person who told you that they love you actually hates you because of what you are now.”

This is also the first scenario where Elain actually gets to tell someone what to do. She isn't trying to argue against or support someone. For the first time, Lucien is giving her autonomy for the decision and the space to make it.

I personally believe that SJM was so confident in her match between Elain and Lucien that she mated them almost instantly, pulling back any further conversation beyond their initial discussion. In ACOSF, Cassian and Nesta primarily think of them as a package deal because whenever Elain does something, there's usually a comment about where Lucien is or isn't. It's also extremely telling that their only interaction in the book is with Lucien still looking at her with longing, while Elain acts the opposite towards the only person she cannot hide her real emotions from.

If Elain wouldn't reject the bond in someone else's book, including the novella that includes multiple people, then we should also be asking why Elain would act a certain way towards Lucien, except for the one thing that will absolutely cement that we know she doesn't like him.

It's been two years since it was revealed that Elain and Lucien are mates. The reason why she resisted this long deserves more than a hundred pages (roughly part one) of her book.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #asks #pro feysand #feysand #nessian #pro nessian #acotar mating bonds #mating bonds

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quordleona03 · 1 year

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A Priest in Korea is Moving to the AO3

Many years ago, I was friends with Scarlatti on Livejournal, and I found she had written a whole lot of M*A*S*H fanfiction (twenty stories! That was a whole lot back then!) using the name Iolanthe.

I read all her stories - mostly Hawkeye/Mulcahy: as far as I know, she was the very first person ever to write Hawkeye/Mulcahy slash stories - and I loved them and I started seeing Hawkcahy in the series and one of her stories gave me the idea for the story that eventually grew into Sins and Virtues.

She read the final part of S&V only in first draft - I started sending her sections as soon as I had finished them - because Susan had cancer, and she died, four months before she would have turned 40. Her website, A Priest In Korea (William Christopher's description of M*A*S*H was "Oh, it's about a priest in Korea") fell into the Wayback machine, and last year, thinking of her stories again and looking for them, I found a complete snapshot of her website, and I thought "I could transfer this over to AO3 and let everyone read them: I bet they have a process for that".

They do. Julie was my Virgil as I walked through the Open Doors and now a priest in Korea has moved to AO3: A priest in Korea03. The longest story on site isn't even a Hawkeye/Mulcahy story: it's a Francis Mulcahy & Margaret Houlihan story, Polarity, which uses "a creaky old sci-fi plot device" to put Francis into Margaret's body and Margaret into Francis's -

He grew even more uneasy under the appreciative once-over with which Dickinson now favored him, and a blush warmed his face. When he caught sight of Houlihan's sidelong glare, he wondered how she -- or any other woman, for that matter -- would normally handle that kind of attention.

"Well now, Major, I can see you're a take-charge kind of gal," Dickinson drawled. "Meaning no disrespect. But your C.O. would have my head on a platter if I sent you off without an armed escort. Ain't that how you got into this mess in the first place?"

And the next-longest is also not precisely Hawkeye/Mulcahy, Playing the Game: The night air was pleasant and warm, and I was enjoying the mind-fuzzing effects of several beers, so my pace was unhurried. I'd almost made it to my tent when a man stepped out of the shadows behind the nurses' tent and latched onto my upper arm. "Hold it right there, Mister Vatican," he hissed.

I knew who it was without needing to see his face. No one but Colonel Sam Flagg, alleged CIA operative and all-around loose cannon, had ever addressed me in that fashion. I froze obediently, though my heart was racing and every instinct was telling me to flee for the hills at the earliest opportunity.

"Got a few questions for you," Flagg went on.

(sadly, now and forever unfinished, but rather in the sense of "there should have been more" than "ends on a cliffhanger")

She wrote what is still (as far as I can tell) the only Henry Blake/Trapper story, one of the few Radar/Hawkeye stories, and also Trapper/Mulcahy.

But mostly, she wrote about Francis Mulcahy falling in love with Hawkeye, and Hawkeye's gentle reciprocation.

Between us, we somehow managed to get the tent door open and cross the threshold. At that point, I expected Mulcahy to say goodnight and go pass out in his bunk, which is what I would've done, but instead he had a surprise for me.

As soon as the door closed behind us, he turned in my grasp until we were face to face. Before I had time to fully register what was going on, he'd looped his arms around my neck and was pulling me forward into a kiss.

It was, I think, the softest, sweetest, most tender kiss I've ever received...and one of the most inexplicably erotic.

What can I say? I loved her stories. She inspired me to write Hawkcahy long before that shipname was invented. I never got to meet her. I'd like you all to read her stories, and thanks to Open Doors/AO3, there they are.

They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead, They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. I wept, as I remembered, how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of grey ashes, long long ago at rest, Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake; For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.

This is sort of a sad post, but it shouldn't be: Susan was hilarious, and it's been a pleasure and an honour being her archivist.

Thanks, Susan.

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asteria7fics · 1 month

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i'm back!!! o(>ω<)o i don't usually make outlines (mostly because i was never taught in a way that makes sense to me) i guess what i wanted to ask is how u make your outlines? or how you decide what will be in ur story ik i could just search it up but i like hearing it from someone I'm mooties w/ or someone in the same genre as me sorry for bothering u w/ this pooks (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

-i'm stalking ur blog and inbox again (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ)

Welcome back! Thank you for gracing my ask box once again!

I'll happily break down my outlining process! I've tried a couple of different methods and have found success with both! (´⌣`ʃƪ)

Mild spoilers for TSOB under the cut, so if anyone hasn't read it yet tread lightly!

SO specifically for TSOB I kept my outline really simple because I ended up coming up with the logistics of a lot of the events as I wrote them (a bad idea, truthfully! If you don't have to do it this way, don't!)

I literally found some kid's presentation on the Trojan War (paired with my existing knowledge of the war lol I promise I know things) and copied down the events in chronological order, using the original characters names and everything.

i.e:

Wedding of Peleus and Thetis

Judgment of Paris

Paris goes to Menelaus

Paris steals Helen

Menelaus goes to Agamemnon for help

And so on and so forth, until I'd covered the entire war. I chose to use events outside of just The Iliad because I thought the additional context would be helpful for readers who maybe weren't as familiar with the source material.

I did make a few small notes for events I had planned in advanced (the crappening was one such event!) but for the most part, that list was a majority of my planning. The rest of my notes were character based, or just small things I wanted to remember to include (like all of Jimmy's jokes, I would write them down as people told them to me irl)

I cannot lie, my outlining for this fic was not very extensive. If you want a more effective idea I'd honestly recommend trying the method I used for my next fic, Exactly Where I Left You (coming to an ao3 near you veeery soon!!)

For that fic, I ended up with a whole board absolutely covered with sticky notes. I posted this picture a while ago, but I'll drudge it back up because I know a visual can be helpful!

Obvi I blurred it because I don't need you goobers getting spoiled for the whole dang fic before I even post it, but I found this method to be extremely helpful for crafting a narrative fully from scratch, rather than pulling it from a pre-existing source like I did with TSOB.

You don't have to follow a 3 Act structure (I hardly did myself) but I found it easier for my own creative process. I also prefer using stickies to, say, writing on a whiteboard or chalkboard because if an idea didn't fit in a specific part of the story I could easily move it. I regularly rearranged entire arcs as I was working on this fic.

I don't have a photo of the backside, but that's where I wrote down character information, as well as plotting out the overarching narrative of the story. This will all make a lot more sense once the fic is out!

I hope this explanation has been helpful for you! Finding the right strategy takes time and lots of trial and error, but if you try either of these let me know how it goes for you! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

Thank you again for the lovely ask!!

#ask asteria #once again i remind you i am not a professional writer #but the stickies are the best method #hands down #try it you won't be disappointed #writing #fanfiction #TSOB #EWILY

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skelebonecentral · 2 months

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imposter syndrome 2

continuation of previous

words under cut

“ECLIPSE!”

He startled and looked over, seeing the human. They’d found out about his body snatching, his voice and everything. Lunar turned his head and asked, “Who’s that?”

“Lunar, hon, if you don’t mind, stay as still as possible, okay? I’m here to talk to your brother about…us.” They looked furious. He wasn’t scared, but the part of him that had latched onto their stolen tryst was quaking from how badly it wanted to keep those moments as they were and not tinge them with any other emotions.

“What do you really want to do about it?” He finally replied as they stomped up to him, “I did tell you I wasn’t who you thought I was. I di-“

The kiss was unexpected, leaving him speechless as they slowly pulled away, “Did you ever, for a moment, think that maybe I could love you, too?”

“What?!” he stared at them, unbelieving, while Lunar ran away and giggled.

“Eclipse, you’re awful, that’s true, and I do love Sun very much,” you say as you back away, “But I already knew you existed when we made love.”

“You…what? Then why?” he growled, not able to process this, “Why are you saying you love Sun if you’d betray him like this? Why make love with me and pretend it was about Sun?!”

“Because that’s how you wanted it! You didn’t drop the act and I wasn’t going to wound your pride with that. You’re a proud man, Eclipse, and Sun and I had already discussed what to do about the feelings I’d been having. He’s smarter than you think.”

“Clearly.” Eclipse almost wanted to attack you for this insult but he was more intrigued by your motivations. “But you said you loved me, right? How? You know what I’ve done by this point. Trapped them in their heads, made Moon into a pained puppet, separated the twins forever…you’ll never see your Sunshine again.”

“I have more faith in them than that, but I also want to have more faith in YOU than that, too.”

“Faith in ME?” Eclipse laughed, fully this time, “Oh, you are so naïve. What, you expect me to just melt into your arms and beg forgiveness? No.”

“that’s not what I want at all. You aren’t remorseful and won’t be for a good long time, if ever. I said I loved you, Eclipse, and I do, just as you are.” Their hand reached out to him, “I made love to you knowing exactly who was looking at me and who I was looking at. I loved to hear your voice, I loved to be vulnerable with you. If you don’t feel safe letting Sun or Moon out right now, I understand and while I don’t like it, I want you to have your chance at a life. And I want to be part of that life, with you.”

He tried to find an angle, there were so many that could be negative toward him but…that piece of his soul that clung to those stolen moments in Sun’s bedroom were singing at the chance that it was really meant for him.

“What do you really think of me, then? I’m a big boy, I can hear it.”

Their eyes looked sad. He didn’t like that. “Eclipse, you’re incredibly smart, witty, and gifted in robotic coding. You’re vindictive, cruel, and spiteful, too. But I can see where that comes from. I know where YOU came from. And I wouldn’t wish your creation story on anybody. You survived through what would have driven a lesser man into self-destructive insanity. Not untouched, you are quite mad,” they smile softy through the sadness, “But we’re all mad here.”

His cackle was mostly of surprise, but also to hide the sting of how close to the truth their words were. They really did see everything, even if he had been so careful…

“And July 16th?”

“I know that was Blood Moon, not you. Your doing? No. Partially your blame? Yes.”

Another startle, and he felt himself closing his walls, “What are you? You’re not really human, humans aren’t that smart.”

“Some are. I am. Why do you think Moon bothered to have anything to do with me?” they held their arms out fully, utterly defenseless. “Eclipse, right now, you only have Lunar…please let me be someone you can turn to. You were my partner in that moment, and I’m sorry if keeping up the charade with you hurt you in the end. Please, let me love you now, openly.”

They were only human after all, he reasoned, closing the distance. They also didn’t know anything about coding, he knew that from watching through Sun’s eyes. Hell, they could hardly figure out how to run a private Minecraft server with instructions. And all their vital signs pointed to them telling the truth. They really did love him. They really did want him…and that afternoon in the bedroom had been real. It was REAL.

“If you betray me, Hell won’t have half the torment I’ll give you,” he threatened as he cupped the back of their head and turned it up.

“I don’t plan to, but say whatever you have to, Eclipse. I’m here for the long haul,” that smile was the same warm, happy one they’d given him that day. It was real. It was true, and the tentative touch of their hands on his chest made his fans go into overdrive.

He kissed them of his own volition, and they returned it with passion he wasn’t expecting. He was glad Lunar had left them alone. He hoped Moon’s stupid computer got a good view, because he was going to claim that love for himself right here in the middle of the stupid daycare and he didn’t care who saw.

#enswif

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elkement · 5 months

Text

Lone Black Telephone by elkement 2022. Inverted pencil drawing.

Thinking about 2024 art projects ...

I have mainly been presenting my digital art here on tumblr. But I am again looking at this drawing now - Lone Black Telephone, the first drawing I had created - after having not created any art at all for decades.

I took a photo of my vintage phone, turned colors into gray scale, and inverted it. Then I drew this inverted image with pencil, on white paper.

I scanned the negative image, and inverted the scanned image again. No the phone is black again!

I had created two other sketches of the phone to get accustomed to its features. I knew nothing about drawing, and I did not use any drawing aids to get the proportions right like using a grid. I would never trace anything.

For the past months, I nearly abandoned drawing for digital art and creative coding.

But in the era of artificial intelligence, I feel the pull and the allure of the analog.

I know, there are thousands of paintings and drawings of vintage telephones out there, so AI for sure can give you any image of such a phone, using any style you like. Instantly.

The point of drawing this phone has not been to "create an image of a phone". This phone has a story, and a particular meaning for me. Layers of meaning. The creation of this artwork was overshadowed by reality in an eerie way. I had worked on this on and off for a few weeks - enjoying the process, and I completed it a few hours before Russia invaded Ukraine on February 24, 2022. Inverting the image and turning it so black again happened after that, and it felt "right", unfortunately.

The phone has been standard office equipment in the research center I once worked. These black phones had mostly been replaced by more modern types when I was there, but this one had survived in a dark room. It was the time when microscopy images were still processed in this analog way. The phone had actually not fully survived: It was in this dark cabinet, but not functional any more. Later I found out, it was dumb: Its carbon microphone had been removed. The Lone Black Telephone has likely served as an organ donor for another phone. I did surgery a few years ago, and made it speak again.

The more I think about this, the more layers these stories get. I also did an analog photography course in high school. I remember how peaceful that type of image processing was. The toxic fumes were not healthy for sure, but work felt very peaceful.

I am drawing to contemplate and process all this. Whatever the motives of potentially sentient AI will be to draw, whatever robots with pencils will feel - they don't have access to my web of stories!

With digital art, I always feel I could "automate it" more, like not tweaking my parameters manually but letting code create a large number of images based on more random input, and selecting the best ones... like generative artists do.

But I think I do not want to go down that path. I actually want to slow down. Feel the "restrictions" of putting marks on paper. Without an undo button.

I haven't fully thought this through. But I want to leave this post here, as a message for my future self!

#drawing #pencil drawing #original drawing #telephone #vintage phone #antique phone

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autolovecraft · 8 months

Text

Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch.

The tower at length finished, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. It may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. I'd hate to have it aimed at me! Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass.

In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. Great heavens, Birch, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself. That he was not an evil man. Another might not have relished the damp, odorous chamber with the eight carelessly placed coffins; but Birch in those days was insensitive, and was concerned only in getting the right coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not care to imagine.

He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. Clutching the edges of the aperture, he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles.

The pile of tools soon reached, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity.

As he planned, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. Three coffin-heights, he reckoned, would permit him to reach the transom; but he could do better with four. Birch, being by temperament phlegmatic and practical, did not shout long; but proceeded to grope about for some tools which he recalled seeing in a corner of the tomb. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol.

The pile of tools soon reached, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry.

But it would be well to say as little as could be said, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds. Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles! Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it.

It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass. The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles!

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distortionbobble · 2 years

Text

Sick Day

pairing: eddie brock / venom x fem!reader

summary: Eddie’s sick day goes a little differently than expected, and you both end up discovering more about one another than you’d bargained for.

warnings: venom (he deserves a warning on his own), oral (f receiving), literally venom’s tongue, i don’t know if this even counts as tentacle porn tbh, uhhh bondage if you squint??, sensory play, this ended up sappier than i expected but oh well, sorry idk how to title things . minors dni

word count: 2.4k

You didn’t trust people. Never did, not even from a young age. Not for any particular reason, but maybe it was remnants of your mother’s skepticism in the people you were surrounded by and her rather Hobbesian belief that everyone had a price. But with Eddie Brock, things were different.

Your journalist coworker was brutally honest, with his intent and overwhelming principle of justice on display. After all, everyone had watched his fall from journalist-grace when he’d called out Carlton Drake’s unethical practices. The man was, to some extent, your personal hero, and you had been more than a little starstruck when he’d found work in the small printing press you were employed at.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt so comfortable with someone else. He was vocal about his emotions, honest about any damn thing you’d ask him about. Eddie had shared his story, bit by bit, even down to his split with Annie. Poor guy had been through a lot, but he never failed to see humor in the situation. And slowly, Eddie had become a source of strength for you. It was hard to admit, considering how fiercely independent you were. But it was okay, you could trust Eddie. He was honest and, at his core, a good man. Months of collaboration at the office and drinks over dinner at his house on the weekends had slowly but surely allowed your friendship to blossom.

So, because of this, you’d felt comfortable enough to swing by with the ingredients for homemade chicken soup and ensure that Eddie was fully taken care of, because he’d been uncharacteristically silent, save for a few “sick” texts when you checked in on him for the last three days.

“Eddie?” You called out, rapping your knuckles on the door. “Hey, Ed, it’s y/n from work, I figured I’d swing by because you’ve been M. I. A. for the past couple days and uh, I- I missed ya, so… anyways, I’ve got stuff for chicken soup, I’ll go ahead and make that for you. I can also help you clean the place up a bit if you need it.” Silence. “Eddie, I’m starting to get worried. If you don’t open the door soon I’m coming in, can’t have you dying on me when I just met you, okay?”

The door swung open to display Eddie himself, pale and sickly looking.

“Hey, sorry,” he coughs, avoiding eye contact with you. “Not feeling too well, I might be contagious, so I appreciate the thought but maybe not today, yeah?” Eddie offers a weak smile before moving to shut the door, but before you could even process the interaction fully, you felt something wrap around your waist and whirl you into Eddie’s apartment.

“She has chicken,”a distorted voice stated.

“What the fuck?” You whispered, mostly to yourself, but Eddie was within earshot and cringed.

“Sorry about that, I don’t know what got into me, that was weird, and it’s not happening again, right?“ Eddie attempted to push you away again, but the same thick arm wrapped around your body and pulled you flush to him.

“Brock, what the actual f-” you began, but as you spoke, Eddie began to shift, black tendrils crawling up his shirt and up his neck, until you were faced with the scariest fucking creature unknown to man.

“Hello y’n,” it hissed out, grinning at you as it snatched your bag from off your shoulder and began to rummage through it, grasping the raw chicken.

“You could get salmonella from that,” you whispered. The creature paused, chicken still wrapped in its tentacle, and began to laugh— at least, that’s what you hoped it was. You cracked a weak smile at that, still frozen in place. The black began to retract once more, leaving a mortified looking Eddie Brock where the creature once towered.

“Let me explain, please,” he pleaded, reaching for you but stopping when he saw you flinch ever so slightly.

“You’ve got ten minutes, Brock.”

“Is it too late to ask for that soup?”

🖤

“Holy shit.”

“I know…”

“Okay, hold on, let me get this straight— you got infected with an alien species and, once you got it out, let it back in and now it—sorry, he, is just… chilling in your body. Eddie, that’s fucking insane!”

“But I promise you, everything else that I’ve told you is the truth,” he pleads with you from across his living room, scratching the back of his neck after explaining, in excruciating detail, exactly what had happened.

“And he’s got a name.”

“Yeah, Venom. He’s really nice, actually. Once you get past the whole carnivorous desire for, uh, humans.” You snorted at that, and turned your gaze to your hands. The situation had put you on edge, because it wasn’t exactly great to hear that the person you trusted the most was hiding something so important the whole time.

“Can I meet him?” You asked quietly. You couldn’t deny that you were nervous, and terrified to an extent you’d never been before, but what else was left to do? Eddie looked hesitant, but allowed the black veins up his body to give rise to Venom.

“Hi, Venom. It’s nice to finally meet you too”

“I’m glad we’ve formally met. Eddie thinks about you a lot. Although, you’re wearing more clothes than you do in his thoughts. I was not supposed to say that. Sorry, Eddie.”

“Um.” “Ignore that!” Eddie’s face merged with half of Venom’s before disappearing again.

“So are you gonna like… eat me?” You asked the symbiote, who walked towards you and picked you up with a tentacle around the waist.

“No. Eddie says I can’t go around eating people. Fucking buzzkill. But a symbiote gets hungry, you know? So we’ve limited it to the bad guys.” Comforting. “Can I eat the chicken now?” You nodded, eager to have your feet on the ground again.

“Make sure to wash the chicken, Vee.” One of Venom’s arms grabbed the container with the raw chicken in it, and flew backwards into the kitchen to rinse the chicken quickly before whipping it back to his mouth, causing water to splash everywhere. The chicken went into Venom’s mouth, and Eddie quickly replaced Venom.

“Okay, but none of this explains why you look like you’re on the brink of death,” you stated. “And your place is more of a mess than I’ve ever seen it be.”

“Oh, yeah, I clean up before you get here, usually. And I dunno, I guess I just haven’t ate in a couple days, usually Vee can keep me from feeling hungry when he’s fed and I’ve been broke as fuck so… no takeout and I’ve been too tired to cook?”

“Okay. I can help with that. First, though, go take a shower. You are in dire need of it.” Eddie nodded at that, while you grabbed some cooking supplies out of your bags and began to slice the vegetables and prepare everything for a nice meal to eat. As you prepared the meal, your mind wandered. Maybe to the wrong priorities. What had Venom meant when he said that Eddie thought about you a lot? And with less clothes on?

Could you two ever be more than just friends?

A shiver ran down your spine at the thought of Eddie being yours. He was genuinely an amazing guy who knew how to engage people and ask just the right questions. He was honest and kind-hearted, humble yet talented, and all you could think of some days was just being closer to him. He’d changed your life in just a couple of months, changed you for the better, and proved to you that you could rely on people Just the thought of being his made your heart flutter.

Not to mention how attractive he was.

You gulped at the mental image of him in the shower, knowing he was only a few doors down. You thought of him pulling you into the shower with him, water running down his hair and nose as he’d stare at you intensely. Rivulets streaming down his collarbones, running down his pecs. You’d drop to your knees as you stroke him, kissing your way down the bones of his v-line as you made your way to his hard length before taking it into your mouth. He’d hold your hair up, maybe. The thought of Venom holding and fondling your tits as Eddie mouth-fucked you entered your mind and made you drop your knife. You stepped away from the kitchen counter, body warm with the heat of your fantasy and heart pounding. You could hear the distant sound of the shower turning off, and the door opening quickly, but you didn’t process it until Eddie was standing in front of you, chest heaving, still wet from his shower with a towel wrapped around his midsection.

“What’s wrong?” He asked frantically, growing into Venom and peering over at the door.

“Huh? Nothing, what do you mean?” you responded, eyes fixated on his bare chest. He smelled clean from his shower and part of you wanted to help him… dry off. With your tongue. Yeah, that would be helpful. “Venom said your heart rate spiked all of a sudden. I kinda assumed it was an intruder.” You meet Eddie’s gaze, suddenly hyper aware of the heat pooling in the pit of your belly. You knew your eyes were dark with desire, and you knew he could sense that. Your eyes flicked to his chest, then down, then back to meet his eyes. An invitation of sorts. And it seemed as though he understood you, because he stepped towards you, slowly, until he was pressed against you, cold water transferring from his chiseled body to your clothes.

“There’s no intruder, huh?” He asked softly, watching you react from his proximity, no doubt hearing your heart rate spike and breathing grow heavier.

You shivered, and he took note of it as he ran his fingers down your jaw. You watched his eyes as he observantly trailed his finger down the column of your throat, tracing your collarbones before stopping right above the first button of your shirt. “Say yes,” he pleaded. And at your nod, he began to slip the buttons off of your shirt. Venom’s tentacles sprouted out of his bare back, making light work of the rest of your clothing as Eddie continued his slow descent down your shirt. Both of you now stood in the kitchen, chests still touching. Your breaths synced with one another, faces a mere inch away from one another as you gazed up at him with fear and excitement. You realized there was nothing you wanted more than to make the leap with him. Just him.

Eddie’s warm, big hands cradled your jaw as he neared your face, peppering kisses to your forehead. You shut your eyes, feeling him move his way down from your temple to your mouth, where he waited for you to kiss him first. You pressed his mouth against his, gentle, slowly at first before a sense of urgency overwhelmed you and your kiss went from soft and sweet to breathless excitement. All you knew was that you wanted more.

You could feel his tongue meet yours, flashing between Venom’s thin long tongue, and Eddie’s, flat and heavy against your own. His lips were full and warm, and you were dimly aware of his bulge pressed against you and growing underneath the towel he still donned. You moved to undo his towel, but he caught your wrists, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss them and moving to kneel at your feet.

“No, baby,” Eddie murmured. “You’re finally in my arms. I finally get the chance to worship you. Don’t take that away from me, sweet girl.” He kissed the tops of your thighs, gently spreading them apart. The rough hairs on his beard dragged against the sensitive skin on your legs, making you gasp. The sensation quickly changed though, going from Eddie’s warm and rough skin to what you recognized as Venom’s, cold and smooth. Venom looked at you, face blank.

“Can I come play too?” Venom growled out, and you nodded. Venom’s face retreated once more, replaced by Eddie as he continued to work up your thighs. You shut your eyes, feeling Venom’s tentacles wrap around your midsection and thighs. They hoisted you gently into the air and brought your exposed core to Eddie’s face as he sat up straight. His hands found the small of your back and he began to tongue your center. You could feel his warm breath on your folds and his mouth latch on to your clit. His tongue pressed against your clit, heavy and demanding, as his fingers found their way to your center and pushed past the resistance. His fingers pushed in and out of you rhythmically, and more of Venom’s limbs began to brush against your bare skin. Skimming the tops of your breasts, tracing along your neck and shoulders before running down the length of your spine.

The combination of the chill from the air and Venom’s arms contrasted to the sinful warmth of Eddie was almost too much for you to bear. Eddie’s tongue flicked and circled your clit, his fingers still pulsing in a rhythm bringing you close to your peak.

His fingers left you suddenly, making you cry out at the gaping emptiness you felt just as you had begun to near your peak. But Eddie’s fingers were quickly replaced by something far longer and thinner at the tip, delicate but strong as Venom tongued the inside of your pussy.

Venom’s tongue curled against your g-spot, the thick base of his tongue stretching your hole as it thrusted inside you. You could feel yourself nearing your orgasm, warmth spreading across your body as Venom continued his methodical assault against your sweet spot.

Then it hit you, waves of pleasure rippling across your body as you found your release. Your vision went blurry and you cried out unintelligibly, grasping Venom’s arms.

The soft brush of Eddie’s beard against your thighs accompanied by kisses brings you back to reality, Venom’s arms lowering you gently to the ground and into Eddie’s embrace.

“You did so well, sweetheart,” he murmurs, holding you close as you sagged against his chest, his chin resting on your head and thumb rubbing against your back.

You’d never felt safer.

#eddie brock #venom #eddie brock smut #eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #venom smut #smut #mcu smut #venom: let there be carnage #fic #my writing

2K notes · View notes

munamania · 2 years

Note

so like. i'm super curious. how do YOU think the friendship between robin and nancy is gonna start in s4?

ahaha hey i appreciate you wanting my thoughts on this. so keep in mind i really haven't explored the st4 story/theories beyond watching the trailers like once and sorta skimming thru what people say on here. so there's quite a bit of context i could be missing.

very short answer in case you dont actually want my whole rambly thought process about their characters and whatnot (sorry idk how this happened.) i generally agree with the fandom's understanding of them being somewhat bitchy/standoffish at first, but i do think some ppl take it to... an absurd extent... like it comes across like 'women can't interact without fighting/having a rivalry!’ like. they’ve now been described as a ‘dream team,’ there have been enough little moments (mostly from robin) that planted the seeds for them to interact later on, as well as their mutual friendship with barb. so like, this idea that they’re gonna entirely fail to mesh doesn’t work for me lol.

ok i realized i didnt fully answer your actual question till later in this rant so tldr: i think theres a good chance nancy realizes she doesn’t have anyone her age in hawkins that really gets her/what she’s been through once jonathan leaves and kinda awkwardly reaches out to steve and robin in some way. or, she gets pulled into the investigation of the creel house/asylum and she and robin just kinda. pair up. whether by choice or not, really idk which to expect.

generally what i gather from them is they're both leaders. they're very intelligent. we've seen how bright and clever robin is, and nancy is dedicated and similarly smart. a lot of people think they might butt heads, and i think that's possible, but i think it could absolutely be in a way that motivates each other? like i think they could challenge each other’s thoughts and push each other. which would be really advantageous in investigations and whatnot.

i mean, something people overlook in considering them is how theyre...... i don't want to say foils, but like right we have these lines of robin assuming nancy's a priss. she's not like your other friends, and not like nancy wheeler. i think there's a more vulnerable side to robin that we see in that coming out scene, and she might feel insecure in how she relates to other girls/her peers in general? particularly in the 80s. and especially seeing nancy as this pinnacle of a high school cliche, i could see it being a point of discomfort.

meanwhile nancy. well, nancy kinda wants to reject traditional suburban ideals and all, while still absolutely living in the comfort of it (hence the whole jancy fight in s3). i think she needs someone that challenges her and makes her sort of uncomfortable in this. LIKE. im not explaining this well. i don't think robin's throwaway 'priss' line is totally accurate and it'll be really interesting to see that explored outside of the mall battle; at the same time, i think if robin brings that witty/sarcastic humor she had at the beginning with steve to the table, even a little bit, nancy would be thrown off by someone not immediately agreeing and going along with her plans/thoughts.

and that's a good thing imo! for the type of person she is, it obviously is good to have someone willing to collaborate and listen, since she cares so much about what she's doing and does the work to deserve to be heard. but i think a lot of growth could come from her being challenged by robin not always bending to her will. and i also think, given the time to collaborate, they’d both learn to appreciate and respect the others’ intelligence and perspective. that’s just my take.

so. the vibe i have in mind ignoring the plot for a sec. like. i think it'll be very awkward at first. what's interesting is they have a lot of assumptions about each other to break down. like, robin went from the whole priss line to witnessing nancy in the mall fight in one night. and while we don't have a huge indication of where robin is on nancy's radar, im willing to go with the popular fandom belief that she'd be a little confused about her relationship with steve at first. but wouldn't want to ask right away. or maybe she would. idk. point being, she's probably at least sort of on her mind. particularly with jonathan leaving. she seemed to only really be close to barb, and then steve (tho she had some walls up). she hung around tommy h and carol, and ig there's a throwaway line abt a girl named ally, but she doesn't really seem to have a lot of close friends. so like. it could be that she approaches robin at school, or even at her and steve at family video, bc she doesn't really have anyone else in hawkins that gets what she's been through. if not that, and she just floats along with acquaintances, then whenever they're introduced i think it'll be like something ive already mentioned.

rq im gonna dig into something i think a lot of ppl overlook which is what we got from rebel robin. i think she's supposed to be like 15 in it, so obviously she's matured a bit in current canon, but she's this very inquisitive and excitable and passionate kid. she seems to want a lot of answers that she can't always get. naturally likes a challenge. we know who else is like this. ANYWAY nancy also pops up in rebel robin! it sorta throws a wrench in the 'who are you?' line, bc as far as i remember, they acknowledge each other.

and a big one. barb was robin's best friend up until like 6th grade!!!!!!! robin absolutely remembers the girl who replaced her as a best friend (maybe that’s where some of the resentment lies? though it was a long time ago), and nancy was likely aware of robin as well, as unless they had some big falling out, im sure barb and robin were still friendly. there's a good chance they played together as young kids - it's a small town. anyway, they’re connected through barb. in theory at least, it’ll probably be nice for both of them to have someone who understands the grief of losing her.

um another thing about barb. im pretty sure she was gay. right. first of all, queer kids flock together somehow far before that realization, and like, the sulking after the fight with nancy? the fashion? idk. anyway, i really don't think nancy would've been totally thrown by barb if she ever had the chance to come out. it might've been something she had to learn about and sit with, but i personally think ultimately it would've been fine. i know some people even ship them or at least suspect a one-sided crush. so, this idea that she'd be a total dick to robin abt it just doesn't line up with me. also, like, if it's a popular fandom belief that mike is bi/gay, and it's essentially canon that will is, we've seen how much she loves them! im not saying a equals b, im just saying dont rush to say she couldn't ever get it. but also i think some of the thoughts of her being very clumsily supportive/taking time to get used to gay people could be very accurate lol. part of my reading of her does come from noticing some repression, as is natural with the wheelers in general.

we know one way or another they wind up exploring the asylum together. idk if this comes before or after the group goes to the creel house, but. at some point they must either realize they both have the same questions and team up, or are forced together after the group starts investigating. i think this will follow some sort of flow of what ive said before.

this is my understanding of the show and characters and dynamics and all, obviously some people read the characters in very different ways. im just doing my best with my perspective. can’t wait to see how right or wrong i am lol <3 thanks for asking if u read this far

#asks #anon #stranger things #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #im procrastinating can you tell #anyway. i very much love the like theyre besties theyre rivals theyre lovers theyre enemies etc etc dynamics #i just rlly went off the rails talking abt them. yall were bound to get my thoughts at some point ig

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snelbz · 3 years

Text

I'll Be Seeing You {2}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @tacmc

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away.

Trigger Warnings: war

A/N: Enjoy a surprise chapter a couple days early, we’re just too excited for y’all to read this story.

Chapters will be posted every Monday.

Word Count: 2336

IBSY Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta was making her rounds as the sun set outside of their desolate war camp.

It had been a long day, one filled with losses. After the ambush two days prior, their tent had become full. Now, there were far too many empty beds.

It never became easier.

With every soul that she attempted to heal that passed from this world to the next, she felt like a failure, even though it was impossible to save every soldier that had been injured in the heart of battle.

There were victories, though.

Those who were left in the tent were improving.

The ambush had brought in nearly fifty injured soldiers, and just over twenty of them remained.

Including Corporal Cassian Nazari, who she was walking up to now, a glass of water in hand.

He blinked a few times against the light of the guttering candle on the table, but after a moment his eyes settled on her. Settled, but still glazed with pain.

“Nurse Nesta,” he said, voice rasping from sleep, attempting to resituate himself in the uncomfortable bed, with one good arm. “Is it time for my sponge bath already?”

She sighed through her nose and closed her eyes, resisting the urge to rub her temples.

Most men in the infirmary were polite, respectful, grateful to be taken care of, especially knowing what befell their fellow soldiers who hadn’t been quite as lucky as they were. The first day she’d attended to the corporal, she’d assumed his inappropriate comment about foreplay had been some sort of unintended joke, something he hadn’t been able to control as he awoke.

But as Cassian slowly healed, Nesta learned those little comments were quite regular for him. And when he learned that they made her blush, or even snap at him occasionally, it only made him say them more frequently.

“I’ll give you a bucket and a sponge and you may help yourself,” she quipped. “Does that interest you?”

He laughed, quietly, but winced as it seemed the simple shaking of his shoulders brought a bout of pain. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Why do you think that?” she asked.

“You joke with me,” Cassian said, shrugging a shoulder. “You joke when you’re in a good mood.”

“I don’t joke,” she replied. “I only give back what is given to me, even though I do it in a far more appropriate way.”

“There are worse things than being inappropriate,” Cassian promised her.

Nesta simply shook her head. “Here.”

He took the pill from her palm and took it, swallowing it with the glass of water she gave him. For a moment, his eyes closed and he sighed, deeply.

“How are you feeling today?” She asked, sitting down in the chair next to the table. He opened his eyes and she reached out to feel his head. He had been feverish the night before, and she was worried about infection setting in.

He was just as clammy as he’d been, if not more so. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, but before she said anything, she wanted to hear it from him. Even if she was fairly sure it would be a lie laced with male bravado.

“Fine,” he replied, though he attempted to sit up with one arm again and winced. “Like I could get back on the battlefields right now.”

Rolling her eyes, she stood. “Too bad that won’t be happening yet.”

She strode for the medicine cabinet in the center of the tent, aiming for an antibiotic strong enough to stave off the infection. His own inability to keep still had led she and Madja to band his fractured arm to his side, but this kept the bullet wounds on his back from airing out. It was about choosing the lesser of two evils with this man it seemed.

Last night, they’d elected to set his arm. Tonight, it seemed he’d go back in the sling and she’d see what needed tending to on his back.

“Are you allergic to penicillin, Corporal?” Nesta asked, coming back to his cot.

“Not that I’m aware of, but I have a feeling that we’re about to find out for certain,” he noted, chuckling, then breaking into a cough fit.

“Alright,” she sighed, and pulled him fully into sitting position. “It seems you still have a fever. I’m going to give you this penicillin. Then, I’m going to take off your bandages and clean your wounds.”

“And then?” he asked.

Nesta blinked, hesitating as she a needle with the drug. “Pardon?”

“After you clean my wounds, what will you do?” Cassian asked, that sly smile remaining. “Because I have a few ideas-.”

“Corporal,” Nesta interrupted. “I am here to heal you, and nothing more.”

Cassian lifted a brow. “First of all, it’s Major, actually. It’s been years since I was a corporal. Secondly, I thought we could play a card game. What was it you were thinking?” Nesta’s cheeks heated and she ignored his pointed question. “My apologies, but Private Hale said—.”

“He knows nothing, which is why he’s only a private.”

She cleared her throat and held out her hand, letting him take the two pills in her palm. He did so, without any commentary, which Nesta took as a blessed relief.

She retrieved the sling his arm had previously been in, as well as fresh bandages, an ewer of fresh water and a bottle of antiseptic.

And a bit to put between his teeth in case the pin became too unbearable.

With a few tugs on the knots tying them together, Nesta unwrapped his arm from his body, not taking a full look at his back yet.

Almost immediately, Cassian tried to stretch out his arm, which earned him a chastising look from Nesta. “It’s tight,” he defended.

“If you move it too much before it’s had time to set and heal, tight will be the least of your worries, Major,” she replied, carefully tying the two ends of the fabric sling around his neck. “Not to mention your shoulder is still too weak as well. Do you want to dislocate it again?”

He grumbled something that sounded similar to No, ma’am, and sat still while Nesta settled his arm into place.

Once she tended to his arm, she prepared herself to examine his back again.

“This isn’t going to feel good,” she warned, taking in the angry, red skin puckering the edges of the wounds. They’d been able to retrieve the bullets while he was unconscious, but they weren’t in the most ideal and clean conditions for a healing to take place. Gently pressing her fingers around the mildest looking one earned a hiss and sudden jerk from Cassian. As well as puss, far more puss than Nesta was expecting. “I’m going to have to clean these out.”

“Can’t you give me more of that stuff that put me under and do what you need to do?”

His words weren’t unkind, but the tone… Nesta knew he was in pain.

She could, of course, but the powdered pain killer was much stronger than what she’d already administered. Not to mention is much, much shorter supply. It was reserved for surgeries, mostly, or life-threatening injuries.

An injury like the major had been brought in with at the time.

Not for a standard, but nasty, infection, unfortunately.

War was unfair, Nesta decided then. She’d known it for quite a while, watching good men die for their lands, but it was evident in that moment as she looked at the man’s ravaged back before her.

“Unfortunately, no,” she said, at last. “But I promise to work quickly.”

He gave her a curt nod and braced himself.

The alcohol burned, she knew that, she knew that it had to feel like fire was being lit to the surface of the skin, but as she poured the alcohol over the wound and began to clean it, the only sense of pain that Cassian showed was his rigid posture.

“Bear with me,” Nesta muttered, beginning to rebandage the wound.

“Got any whiskey?” he asked.

Despite herself, Nesta snorted. “No, I don’t. Is that your drink of choice, major?”

She was trying to distract him, trying to make the time go by just a little bit quicker as she worked.

“Usually,” he said, and huffed. “Every now and then I like to order a simple lager.”

“Lager,” she repeated. “What a luxury.”

“It has been a while,” he agreed.

She worked in silence for a few minutes, having to go so far as to scrape out the bits of skin that were too far gone and only likely to slow down the healing process. But when his breathing became ragged as she started on the worst of the wounds, the one right near his spine, she asked, “What’s the first meal you’re going to have when you get home? What have you been dreaming of since you enlisted?”

Mindless chatter, she reminded herself, was just as effective as a painkiller.

He was quiet for a moment, only hissing as she pressed the alcohol-soaked rag to his back. She had accepted he wasn’t going to answer when he softly asked, “Don’t you mean if?”

She was suddenly very thankful that she was working on his back and was unable to see his face. Playing dumb, she kept him talking. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Don’t you mean if I get home?” He asked. His voice was hollow, lacking the warmth it usually did when he spoke. It was unlike what she’d started to grow accustomed to. “This is a war we’re in the middle of, ma’am.”

She cleared her throat, continuing to work. “I think you ought to change your manner of speech, major, or you’ll be more likely to conscribe yourself to believe the worst.” Pressing a clean bandage to his skin to staunch the bleeding, she asked, “Now about that meal, sir?”

Surprising her, he laughed, quietly. “I guess I haven’t thought about it too much. My mother used to make a mean pork roast. With carrots and potatoes. That would hit the spot right about now.”

Nesta couldn’t help but lick her lips at the thought of a nice, hot, homemade dinner. “How about dinner rolls?”

Cassian hummed. “My mom used to make the fluffiest dinner rolls. She used to make me roll the dough. I hated it, until it was time to eat them.”

She smiled to herself. “My sister Elain loves to bake. She makes this pear crumble…” Shaking her head, she sighed. “It’s the best. Especially when she whips cream to put on top.”

“I don’t remember the last time I had a warm dessert,” he admitted, wincing as she applied antibacterial cream to the wounds. Turning to glance at her, he amended, “Actually, I don’t remember the last time I had a hot meal.”

The words hurt Nesta’s heart. The food they had in the med camps weren’t great, but she was sure they were better than rations the soldiers were issued.

“Tell me more about your sister,” he breathed, clearly needing the distraction while she worked.

Nesta sighed. “Which one?”

“How many do you have?” he asked.

“Two,” Nesta said. “Couldn’t be more opposite of one another. Feyre, the youngest, would rather spend her time painting, or outdoors in the woods behind our house, while Elain prefers to spend her time baking, or in her garden.”

Cassian nodded, thoughtfully. “And you?”

“What of me?” she asked, beginning to rebandage his wounds.

“What do you prefer to do with your time?” he pushed.

Nesta’s hands slowed. She wished she had more time to fill as of late. “I enjoy reading, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” he asked, then chuckled.

“What’s so funny about that?” Nesta asked, eyes narrowed at the back of his head.

“You either do or you don’t,” he said, shrugging, and wincing from the simple motion. “But, you suppose.”

Nesta scoffed. “Fine. I enjoy reading.”

“What manner of books?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Romance.”

He snorted. “Of course. Let me guess, a knight in shining armor, coming to rescue a damsel in distress?”

Nesta’s cheeks heated as his guess was nearly spot on of the plot of one of the tattered, well-loved books she kept in the small bag she brought with her from home. “And what’s so wrong with a knight saving a lady who needs help?”

“Nothing,” he replied, trying to shift his hurt arm. She adjusted the sling to hold him tighter. “I just think it’s a silly ideal to hold. Not everyone is going to have someone come save them.”

She was suddenly very aware of the fact that they were in a med camp in the middle of war.

“I guess you’re right,” she mused. “But I don’t see why that should stop anyone from dreaming.”

Cassian huffed and said nothing more.

When Nesta was finished, she asked, “How does that feel?”

“As good as it can,” he answered, in grumpy sincerity. “Although, I still wouldn’t mind that sponge bath.”

“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculously impossible you are?” she asked, the words flying out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

Cassian’s smile only grew. “If only you knew.”

Nesta’s chin rose as she tried to make sense of his remark, but she asked, “Can I get you anything else for the time being?” Cassian opened his mouth, but Nesta interrupted with, “Nothing that has to do with sponges.”

He laughed, quietly. “A cure for boredom?”

Just as Nesta was getting ready to reply, a cry came from just outside the tent, and her body was tensing, preparing itself. Madja’s eyes connected with hers, and Nesta’s feet were immediately in motion.

Another body coming in, caught in warfare.

It seemed he would have to entertain himself, as Nesta was once again vividly reminded that no one may ever come to save her.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t save someone else.

#snacmc ibsy #i’ll be seeing you #nessian ibsy #snacmc collab #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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hxnmantii · 3 years

Text

Class 1-A and their car habits

tw: crack/fluff, cursing

People: Bakugo, Shoto, Izuku, Sero, Kiri, iida, Mina x mostly gn!reader (Mina is the only one that’s implied female!reader)

Ratings: PG

A/n: yuuhh get into💋 I personally would like to ride with Shoto. I just wanna hold his hand👉🏾👈🏾 but not on no simp shit. Originally, this was going to be just boys but who would I be if my gay self didn’t add the queen herself? Anyways, Who would you like to ride with?

Bakugo~

Bakugo does that sexy ass thing where he drives with one hand on the wheel and one hand on your thigh and when you don’t pay him enough attention he’ll lightly squeeze your thigh. This man does NOT share the aux....his stingy ass. He says he doesn’t wanna listen “to your trash music” but will play bxmb threat and NBA Youngboy at full capacity with the windows down. If you beg enough maybe he’ll play 1 Nicki song. But he will throw a fit and act like he doesn’t like Nicki even though he knows all of the lyrics. Altough he’s really uptight about his car, he enjoys driving and picking up the Bakusquad in it because he likes to feel useful and needed. No doubt about it, this man has road rage. He’s screaming outside the window and in the car about how someone cut him off and when someone screams back him, he’s like “Pull over right now cuz those sound like fighting words to me.” Now y’all in the back of a cop car and 30 minutes late to your dinner date. You are not, I repeat, you are NOT allowed to even think about eating in his car unless he’s got that plastic wrapping on his car. He treats his car so good (at some point you think he likes the care better than you) her name is Bethany. I-

Shoto~

Shoto has one hand on the wheel and one hand in your hand, stroking your hand from time to time and kissing the back of it. He had a sleek gray sliver car with a sunroom (he never actually uses) that goes fast and he likes going real fast because what they gon do, give him a ticket??? When his dad the number one hero??? Try again. He’s also the type to flick off the cops as he driving by because ACAB. He’s always wearing a gold Rolex and you got your nails done so when you hold his, the acrylics compliment his hand and watch.(like the pictures from Pinterest) You guys ride in comfortable silence. It’s so calming riding with him because although you’re slightly anxious with how fast he’s going, you’re at somewhat ease because he’s doing it so smoothly and you trust him. His windows are tinted because once again he’s the son of a pro hero and people are nosy, neither you or him like that. Although you don’t really need the assistance with Shoto being a living AC and heater in one, his seats have buttons for each seat and you can warm your bum. His car had the clean car smell...it just smells really clean. He’s got a bunch of condiments and napkins in his glove department. He doesn’t know where they came from. His whole vibe in his car is rich and elegant. He gets his car professional wash every Tuesday and you are required to come.

Kirishima

Kiri’s got a big ass red GMC truck and he gave the truck these monster wheels so it’s a force to be reckoned with. Her name is Sophie and like Bakugo, he loves her dearly but makes it clear to you that he’s love you more than her. He does the sexy ass thing where he’s got one hand on the wheel and one hand tightly holding on to your head rest so his arms flexing and he’s backing up with a concentrated look. that is so hot to me. He’s got a sticker on the back that says “honk if you’re manly” . He definitely would let you take the aux because you guys made a playlist of songs you chose together. He would be the type to start dancing when a good song came on, almost hitting someone in the process because he took both hands off the steering wheel out of excitement. He’s got road rage but not enough to actually start shouting or flicking someone off. In the trunk of Kirishima’s car, he’s got at least 5 different protein bottles as well a case of water and some jump rope. He says “You never know when I’ll need it to work out” but he has his personal gym?? Anyways, he has a specific section in his closet for red button ups because he likes to match Sophie when he drives her😭 I hate to say it but Kiri looks like a hill billy especially since he’s got those shoulder cut out button ups. He’s cute with it and he’s happy so you somewhat tolerate it

Midoriya

Izuku has more of a family car like a soccer mom car or a dark green Ford explore because he likes to pick everybody up to hang out and he needs space since he’s got a lot of them. Not to mention, he also likes to cruise and enjoy his time with you no matter where y’all go because we all know this man is a simppp. At every stop light, he’s gently grabbing your face and either kissing you on your cheek or forehead. He tried giving you a kiss on the lips once but he got so caught on the feeling that he ended up holding up the line and everybody was honking and made at him. He was so embarrassed that he now waits til you guys get to your destination to do all that extraness. Being the big fan he is, naturally he has some All might themed seatbelts and has all might stickers all over his steering wheel. He also has little all Might figurine on his dashboard that he prays to get him out of car trouble. Genuinely think it’s works too. Izuku in his trunk has a bunch of workout gear and gaze cuz he’s sexy like that. He does not have road rage at all....maybe a little. He might flick someone off but that’s as far as it goes. He definitely gives you the aux because he loves watching how lively you get it. (Y/n) “Do you know your Megan baby?”🥰 (ZuZu) “Y-yes?”

Iida

Now hear me out...Iida has a motorcycle. He’s got a need for speed that cars can’t really fufill because you can’t weave through other cars like a motorcycle can. His motorcycle has the highest tech on it naturally. It’s all black but has lights underneath it so he can change it by phone and ofc it’s always blue. You guys also have matching helmets that are Bluetooth so you’re able to talk to one another without having to yell very much. When you guise stop, he rubbing your arms to make sure that you’re okay and/if you need to pull over. Now when he’s not riding the motorcycle he’s got a Tesla. He preaches about the law and following the rules but when he get in the car, that’s a different story. With him you better either hold on tight to him or you better get double seat belt buckles for extra protection because he’s about to try and race the flash. (And you thought Shoto was bad) You get out thanking the universe for letting you touch ground again. Iida got the type of car that if you even breathe incorrectly around it, it’s going off and waking up the whole damn neighborhood. When iida first got his car, he read everything up on it so he would be fully able to use the car to its full potiential meaning that he’s got Siri set up, he can lock the door from his car, and watch the cameras on his house through the screen of his car. The Bluetooth is automatically connected to his phone so no you will not be getting the aux but you can play some tunes form his phone. He’ll even make you a playlist on Apple Music with his rich self.

Sero

Sero’s got a red convertible with tan seats and the weather allows it, his top is always down. His car always smells so good because he uses the wild cherry air freshener in his car. He blasts bad bunny and daddy Yankee as y’all are cruising slightly over the speed light. He also likes blasting Ski Mask. He’s the type to sing you the words while gently holding your face and singing to you with a lovey dovey smile on his face. He’s very respectful and turns down his music when entering neighborhoods because he doesn’t wanna mess with the vibes. You two have matching glasses that says queen/ king on yours and king on his. He definitely has some throw dice hanging from his mirror along with a picture of you and him taped to his dashboard cuz he’s also a simp. He’s always has a packet of Extra gum in his middle console along with warm water bottles. If police pulls him over, he definitely the type to start flirting with him so the officer just to make him uncomfortable enough to let him off with a warning. For a fact, he has the Puerto Rican flag on the antenna of his car. He has Led lights and likes them to be colorful rather than on one color. Sero definitely jogs around the front to open the door for you because he’s a jester and a gentleman in one. His part of his car is that the top can go down solely for the fact that the sun always highlights your skins so well.

Mina

Do I even need to say anything about the Pink queen herself?? She has a cute pink steering wheel case with matching pink seats and ofc she has a bedazzled stick shift. She has a Jeep. She the type of person to has matching glasses with her interior and when you get in the car, she’s putting her music on shuffle: a dangerous move because you go from Brent Faiyaz to Jhene Aiki to fucking Cardi B, Flo Mili, and etc. When you unbuckle your seat to start twerking in the seat, she’s automatically going to start hyping you up. She’s got one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on your ass smacking it as you fuck it up in the passenger seat. Y’all are literally swerving from side to side and let’s be honest here, Mina is not that good of a driver so you have almost gotten in an accident multiple times. She’s the type to pull over to take cute selfies or videos with you and post them all at once captioning it with “Late nights w/bae”. Underneath seat she an emergency packet filled with makeup, clothes, hair and first aid kit supplies. Although she’s not the best driver, she takes the rules really serious because she would hate to have an accident with you in the car. Like Sero, She has led lights in her car but they only flash pink. Mina is the queen of putting falsies on so she would mostly definitely put yours on (without tweezers) once you park as well as do your edges if you ask. She just has that talent. *chefs kiss* amazing

Reblogs are appreciated!

A/n: I’m lyin I definitely would be riding with Bakugo because I have major passenger rod rage lol and you definitely don’t wanna get your ass beat TWICE

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vidalinav · 3 years

Note

im so happy you’re accepting prompts!! just know that there’s no pressure at all, and that we love your writing🤍 prompt: cassian and nesta talk about whether they’d still inevitably end up together if they weren’t mates and just alot of fluffy sweet banter

I did yours first because I really appreciated you saying that there was no pressure in completing it. I felt that and I thought it was the nicest thing in the world.

BUT It came out really stupid sorry so... I'm not going to tag anyone. However I will own my shame so here you go.

It's banter in the form of pillow talk, where Cassian constantly keeps Nesta up by asking her questions. In my brain, he goes on tangents and Nesta is the pragmatic one. That's like... okay Cassian. But again. STUPID!!!!!

“Do you think it would have been me?” Cassian asks as he tries to count constellations in fresh paint. “If we didn’t have the bond... would it have been us? I guess the real question is did the bond choose us from the start--our relationship destined? Or did the bond see us... how we acted and felt about each other, and some cosmic force recognized our love?

Nesta shifts in the bed, her eyes blinking up at him slowly. “Cassian these are not the type of questions you ask right before bed.”

But he has to ask, he always has to ask. There’s something about the darkness that has these questions bubbling out of his throat. “But think about it Nesta, don’t you think we’re sort of... odd.”

Cassian thinks about it all the time. There's no one more perfect for him then her and yet, he sees the way people look at them. His hands will always be stained with blood and Nesta is more fitted for white gloves and lace. And he knows she can hold a sword and fight with the best of them, but Nesta can fit anywhere and Cassian can’t fit.

“I mean I understand opposites attract,” he rambles on, “and we do have similarities, but we mostly fought in the beginning and yet I still wanted you even then. Was my want for you a part of the bond? Or was the bond part of wanting you? And if it��s the first, in another universe, in another time, would it have been me? And if it’s the second what if you hadn’t wanted me, too.”

Cassian turns to face her, the bed creaking as he moves. He watches as she frowns, her lashes casting shadows on her cheek. “I promised we’d have that time, but I never considered that in another life it might not have been me at all.”

It's not the first time he keeps her awake with some question or another.

Usually, she merely sighs exhausted at what do you think the meaning of life is? Does time even exist if we really think about it... Do you ever think about how you can know a person you’re entire life and only scratch the surface of who they are? Does that mean you can never really know a person truly in the first place and if that’s the case aren’t we all living with practical strangers?

More often than not Nesta’s covering her ears with the pillow, groaning while Cassian tries to pull it from her face. They’ve had a hundred and one nights like this. He wants a million more.

Cassian tries to catch his breath, almost wishing she’d groan or sigh or roll her eyes, play it off like it’s a stupid question because it is. he knows it is.

“So tell me,” he says, his words a whisper of worry, “what do you think? Was it always going to be us?

Nesta's brows furrow quizzically and she purses her lips. “I don’t know if you can tell this about me Cassian, but I don’t like many people.”

Cassian frowns at the words, “Is that an answer?”

Nesta shrugs, “I find it hard to believe I would have loved anyone else.”

“So you’re with me... by process of elimination?”

“Or...” She offers, her gaze alight with mirth, “you’re the exception.”

Hmm.

Cassian needs to think on that one.

“But hypothetically, what would you have done if it wasn’t me?” he goads. “We only exist because you turned fae, what if you hadn’t? There may or may not be a bond but the relationship is impractical if you’re human and I’m fae. You’d just get married to some poor bloke who gives you this large diamond ring and you have 12 children?”

Nesta scoffs, “Twelve?”

“Whatever number,” Cassian dismisses.

Nesta raises her hands to stop him, “we are not having twelve children.”

“That’s... a topic for another day,” Cassian waves off.

“No,” Nesta sings, “that’s a topic I will resolve now. We are not having twelve kids.”

“But I want a big family,” Cassian pleads, grabbing her hands and giving her that look that he knows makes her take pity on him.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “You’re head is big enough to fill up the entire house. We have no room for that many people. No. No!”

“The House is four stories. What are we suppose to do with all those rooms?”

“Cassian unless you are birthing these babies yourself in which I will fully support you emotionally, spiritually, and financially, we are not having twelve children. End of discussion.”

Cassian only grumbles out a response.

“And regarding your other question, I don’t know what I would’ve done. That scenario doesn’t exist. I’m fae, you’re fae. That’s it and unless we plan on dying tomorrow, I don’t know if we’d end up together in the next life. I don’t know if the bond keeps us coming back to each other. I don’t care. I want this life with you. I chose you and you chose me and we’re here together. And I guess, if the bond, or what I deem as love, means I’m going to have to answer these questions every night, then I guess that’s what I’m going to do.”

Nesta reaches for him, and Cassian shifts to make room for her. She settles her head on his outstretched arm. It tickles at his skin, but he can’t believe she’s just satisfied enough with that answer.

“Would you have married someone else though?”

Nesta sighs, but Cassian waits for the answer. She groans, mumbling about not getting any sleep.

“Probably,” she says at last. “Yes. If you want that answer, then yes. But quite honestly knowing my character and knowing the males in my town, we probably wouldn’t have lasted long. I would have killed him long before we ever reached twelve.”

Cassian laughs and Nesta brightens at the sound.

“Or he might have run head first into a moving carriage on his own accord. I wouldn’t have judged him.”

“How would you kill him?”

Nesta smirks, her eyes maliciously bright. “Poison... knives... a trip down the stairs.”

“Make it look like an accident.”

“Of course,” Nesta beams.

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” Cassian says, noting his mate’s excitement.

Nesta sets her hand on his cheek, rubbing her thumb along the rough stubble of his chin. “Murder is always on my mind.”

“I should probably stop keeping you up with my questions, then.”

Her lips are impossibly close to his, and he can feel her breath on his skin. “Maybe you should. I’m sure the House knows how to hide a body.”

Cassian laughs, the sound bright in the shadowed room. He’s sure that’s true and her lips raise at his calm shrug of acceptance. His eyes dart to her mouth.

Cassian wants to kiss her, but he has to tell her first.

“I love you.”

“I know,” she says, her lips nearly touching his.

Being near her is a relief. But hearing her speak is something else entirely. Maybe he asks her these questions because he wants to hear her voice into the last moments of the day. At all hours of the night.

Nesta wraps her hand around his hair and tugs.

But another question forms in his mind. “Would you’re family have approved of me?”

Nesta rolls her eyes, pulling away from him. Cassian grasps her arms, pulling her back. “Hey, come on now. You’ve indulged me this far.”

Nesta pretends to think about her answer, and as he waits she looks to the ceiling as if she’s actually thinking about it. Cassian can practically hear crickets.

“It’s taking you this long!”

“Well... I’m trying to be accurate!” She throws up her hands. “You know maybe they wouldn’t, because you’re not... princely. No offense.”

“None taken,” He remarks. Because he knows all too well the differences between them. Cassian doesn’t mind. She’ll be his queen. He can be her guard. Her knight. Whatever keeps her next to him.

“But then again, maybe they would because you are rich--hey!”

Nesta catches the pillow he throws and she throws it back at him. He catches it easily before it hits his face.

“Who hits their mate upside the head?” She yells.

Cassian rolls his eyes, “You hit me all the time.”

“I smack your butt. That is not the same.”

Cassian scoffs, “You won’t let me smack your butt.”

“That’s because you try to do it in public places!”

“Oh, so you’re okay if I tap your ass in private. You trying to tell me something Nes? Who knew you'd like to be spanked?”

Her cheeks redden and Cassian shrugs, thinking about it. "Actually I should've known that."

“I change my mind," She announces, grabbing his pillow, "they’d hate you and you know what? I would marry that man and I’d have twelve beautiful children!”

Then Nesta simply turns away from him and pulls the blanket over her head.

Cassian tries to pull the blanket down, but she doesn't loosen her grip. “Take that back! Nesta, take that back. I’m serious.”

“Nesta!” He hisses. “Nes, I’m not going to stop bothering you. Nesta!”

But Cassian slumps as the lump of blankets stays still. Nesta doesn’t even make a sound.

“How about I pretend you didn’t just tell me about one of your fantasies and I'll bring it back up later. I’ll even pretend I found it in one of your books."

He rubs at what he thinks is her ass and Nesta shoves down the blankets with a flourish. Her hair is a mess of tangles all over the pillow.

“I hate you,” she says.

Cassian grins, setting his palms on her reddened cheeks.

“I love you,” He says softly, lightly tracing her soft skin with his thumb. It’s a privilege to be near her, to touch her, to be loved by her. To laugh and laugh and laugh. It doesn’t matter how, when, what, or why. “I wouldn’t want anyone else but you.”

Cassian kisses her lightly, “I still think we should talk about those children though.”

He merely gets smacked in the face with a pillow.

Fin.

I keep reading this and I can't make it better, so.... you win some, you lose some, you know.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #oy vey did not want to post this one #but... you know exposure therapy #got to get used to ugly #I will not put my name on this #though #author unknown writes

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sunrisefairy · 3 years

Text

All yours

Pairing: George Weasley x reader Warning: NSFW! daddy kink, dom/sub, unprotected sex, thigh riding, dirty talk, spanking, slight degradation, crying kink?, cock warming, swearing, mention of alcohol. Summary: Y/N wants to make George jealous. Taglist: @hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines @georgeweasleyswhre @horrorxweasley @amourtentiaa @anxiousblanketqueen send me an ask if you would like to be added ——————————————————————————————————

You were playing a dangerous game and you knew it, flirting with another man only metres away from George. The two of you had arrived to the party separately, George not wanting anyone to be suspicious of your ‘relationship’ if you walked in together. You weren’t really sure what you and George were, you had been fucking each other for a few months but George was adamant on keeping it a secret. Something about ‘why should everyone know about our business?’ and to be honest at the beginning you were happy with that. Your friends were nosy people and would definitely not stop asking questions if they knew about you and George.

So you went along with the late night visits to George’s apartment to have sex on the counter or the shower (honestly anywhere) and leave before sunrise, and quickly sucking his dick in the club bathroom before anyone of your friends would notice your absence and even letting him rub your clit at the dinner table surrounded by all your friends, none of them the wiser. You went along with it all because having even a fraction of George even if it was hidden from prying eyes was better than nothing at all.

But 4 months into your ‘relationship’ you’ve had enough. You wanted everything from George. You wanted lunch dates and walks in the park and snogging on the dance floor drunk for everyone to see. You wanted to be able to walk into a party holding George’s hand, so all the pretty girls knew this man was taken, by you and no one else could have him.

Blame it on the alcohol or the confidence this short silk dress was giving you, but somehow you decided that George needed a little nudge into growing some balls and hopefully taking this relationship to the next level. And what better way than to ignore George all night and flirt with another man to make him jealous?

You were currently chatting to handsome man with tanned skin and dark curly hair, who’s name you didn’t care to remember. He was good looking, a navy suit stretched across his figure made his biceps noticeable whenever he flexed and the maroon tie which say snuggly around his neck made your eyes dart to his Adam’s apple whenever he swallowed.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted George falling right into your trap, he was blatantly ignoring whoever he was talking to and just watching you. You snap your attention back to Mark? Michael? Or was his name Matthew? He had just finished telling some story that you figured was meant to be funny so you lean your head back and let an obnoxious laugh knowing George is not only watching but he can hear you too.

“Oh my god, you’re hilarious you know? Funniest guy I’ve ever met,” your dainty hand wraps around the man’s bicep giving it a light squeeze before finishing the rest of your champagne and placing it on a nearby table. “Do you want to dance?”

The man nods and you lead the way to the dance floor making sure to stay on George’s line of vision. The dance floor is filled with people, mostly of groups of friends dancing together but some couples were scattered around, grinding on each other suggestively probably hoping to get lucky that night. You take inspiration from the horny couples and turn your back so it’s facing the man’s chest and begin swaying your hips. He rests his hands on your hips as you both dance together.

Your thoughts are clouded by a certain redhead, like they normally are. You can’t help but notice the way the man behind you doesn’t at all feel like George. His grip on your hips feels wrong, his hot breath on your neck is uncomfortable, his hard chest pressed against your back definitely does not feel like George. You close your eyes and imagine that it’s George dancing behind you. You imagine his large veiny hands gripping your hips tightly enough to leave bruises, you imagine all the sinful words he’d mumble into your ear as arousal pools in between your legs. You imagine his hard cock pressing into your back when you grind into it and how he’d growl in your ear telling you to behave.

Your daydream is interrupted by a rough hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you through the crowd of sweaty dancers. You don’t need to look up at the red mop of hair to know it’s George and you can tell from his tense shoulders that he’s angry. Perfect.

The taxi ride to George’s apartment is eerily silent, you don’t dare to speak and George stares angrily out the window while his hand rests on your thigh possessively. Your pussy throbs with arousal at the fantasy of how your night will end. The taxi stops out the front of George’s place and he throws the driver a heap of cash muttering for him to keep the change before letting go of your thigh and allowing you both to exit the car.

It’s not until the two of you are standing in George’s bedroom does he break the deafening silence. “Don’t think you’re getting away with that little stunt, bunny. Strip.” His voice is dripping with irritation as he sits down on the edge of the bed facing you, his gaze burning holes in your body.

With trembling hands, you peel away the silk dress from your body and let it pool at your feet, leaving you bare and exposed due to your lack of bra and underwear. George groans under his breath at the sight of you naked in front of him. His eyes examine your smooth skin, the rise of your chest as you breath in shakily, your breasts are perky waiting to be touched, your nipples are hard and erect, screaming to be pinched and played with, his eyes scan down past your stomach and he notices the way you rub your thighs together, trying to create some friction.

You part you lips slightly, feeling extremely nervous under George’s intense gaze, “George I-“

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He cuts you off abruptly. “You don’t get to fucking speak unless I tell you. You were acting like a little desperate slut tonight, darling.” His eyes connect with yours; the normal caring glint which occupied George’s eyes were replaced with a darker more sinister look. “Thought you could just flirt with some random bloke in front of me and grind that pretty little arse of yours on him for everyone to see. So fucking desperate you are. It’s pathetic.” His words go straight to your core and you’re craving George’s hands on you or his lips or tongue, you’ll take anything.

“I think,” he leans his hands against the soft material of the bed behind him, “you need to be punished for your behaviour tonight bunny. Don’t you?” You meekly nod your head. George tuts at your response. “Words baby. Use that pretty little mouth and tell me.”

“Yes daddy, I need to be punished.”

“Good girl,” George motions to his lap, “come here bunny. Lay across daddy’s lap for me.”

You slowly make your way across the room, kicking off your high heels in the process and lay gently across George’s lap on your stomach, your face resting against the mattress awaiting George’s next move. You tense when you feel his rough hand massage your arse checks, your heartbeat quickens inside your chest thinking about what he’s about to do. A gasp slips past your lips the second George’s large hand connects with your bum with a wack. “Can’t believe that tosser got to feel your perfect arse pressed against him,” another wack, “bet he was hard for you,” wack. “I bet you could feel his cock against your back when you were grinding onto him,” wack. “You’re such a dirty little slut, I’m sure you liked feeling his dick against you,” wack. “Did you bunny? Did you like having his hard dick pressed against your arse as you rubbed on him? Hmm?” wack.

There’s tears springing in the corner of your eyes from the pain radiating from George’s hard slaps, you shake your head, “no daddy, didn’t like it. Wanted it to be you.” George lands another hard hit to your arse and you bite your lip trying to suppress a moan.

“Yeah? If you didn’t like it then why did you grind your arse on him then?” George massages the red skin of your arse, soothing the skin, waiting for your answer. You both knew why you were dancing suggestively against that man at the party, you just didn’t want to say it out loud. George growing frustrated with your silence connects 2 more slaps to your bum. “Tell me.” He grits through his teeth.

“I wanted to make you jealous.” You mumble into the sheets beneath you.

George hums, “you made me jealous alright, no one gets to fucking touch you like that. Only me.”

You nod in agreement, “only you daddy, please I’m so sorry.”

George lifts your hips and you sit up to straddle his lap wincing slightly from the burning pain shooting across your bum as you sit down. His hands cup your face, gently brushing away the stray tears that have fallen from your eyes. “That’s right; your cunt, that sweet little arse and that pretty mouth belong to me. No one else. Mine.”

George pushes his lips to yours and you moan into his mouth. You snake you fingers through his thick hair, desperately trying to pull him closer, even though you’re sitting on his lap he still feels too far away. You can feel his hard cock straining under his clothes when you brush your hips against his. You whimper into his mouth at the feeling. “You’re such a needy little thing bunny. Rutting against me trying to get off. You wanna come baby girl?”

You nod your head quickly, steadily dragging your soaking pussy against him. George lifts you up and positions you so your legs are on either side of his thigh. “Okay princess. Use my thigh then. Rub your sweet cunt on my thigh till you fall apart.”

Your face warms up feeling slightly self-conscious. George is still fully clothed in his expensive suit and asking you to rut against his thigh while you’re completely naked. George holds onto your hips encouraging you to move, a moan escaping from your mouth when the rough fabric of his pants graze against your clit. “There you go bunny. Feels good doesn’t it?” His hands don’t leave their position on your waist as you start to grind yourself against his thigh. Your whiney moans get louder and louder when that familiar feeling of arousal pools in your belly.

“Fuck, fuck.” Your head rolls to the side giving George access to suck on your neck, harshly nipping at the skin.

“My dirty little whore has a dirty mouth. Look at you fucking yourself on my thigh, bunny. Such a whore for me, daddy’s little whore.” George thinks his dick might rip through his pants with how hard he is. He can feel your juices soaking into his pants and the breathy moans leaving your lips are absolutely sinful.

“I’m your whore, daddy. Only yours.” You quicken your pace on the brink of your climax, you squeeze your eyes closed tightly trying not to fall apart. When you and George have sex, he doesn’t let you come without his permission and you don’t want to make him angrier tonight. “Close, I’m close daddy.”

George moves his head away from your neck to look at you; your mouth is agape, eyes screwed tight and brows furrowed trying not to come undone just yet. George thinks his favourite thing is watching you let go, he loves the way you look when you orgasm. “go on bunny. Come for daddy.” As soon as those words leave George’s mouth, the coil in your belly snaps and you’re realising all over his thigh. A trail of curse words falling off your tongue.

Once you come down from your high, George is laying you on down on the mattress then standing up to rid himself of his clothes. Your eyes already feel heavy from the pleasure, but you force yourself to watch him undress. You watch the way his fingers delicately unbutton his dress shirt and how the muscles in his shoulders move when he shrugs off the material. You watch hungrily when he discards his suit pants and boxers, watching at how his angry cock springs up when realised from his confinements. You’re practically drooling when George crawls on top of you, his forearms resting on either side of your head, trapping you.

“Careful bunny, you could catch flies with that mouth,” George smirks his index finger tracing your jaw, your quickly shut your mouth, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes. George stays in that position, his lone finger moving painfully slow against your hot sweaty skin. His finger moves down your neck, barely grazing the skin before inching down your stomach and closer to your core. Just when you think he’ll touch you where you want him most his finger travels back up your body, a frustrated sigh leaves your lips.

“Tell me, princess,” Georges finger skims against your lips, “who do these lips belong to?”

“You daddy.”

His finger leaves a trail of goose bumps and your breath hitches when his swirls his digit around your nipple, “who do these belong to?”

“You daddy.”

It takes an eternity for George’s finger to travel back down your body before they stop at your pubic bone. “And tell me,” he moves his finger down until its hovering over your clit, barely touching it, “who does this belong to?”

It takes everything in you not to buck your hips up into his hand, you look up into George’s brown eyes that are filled with arousal much like your own. You hope George understand the sincerity behind your words “you daddy. Only you.”

And with that George connects his fingers with your already sensitive bud circling and rubbing it. A sob escapes your lips and your head falls back into the pillows beneath you. “No one gets to touch you like this bunny.”

You’re whimpering and whining underneath George, you’re mind foggy from the pleasure that only George can give you. You start to grind your hips into George’s fingers, wanting more. “Please, more, please-”

“What? What do you want darling?” George asks condescendingly.

You’re lifting your hips to meet George’s fingers, “please daddy, need your cock. Please, please, please.”

If George wasn’t so desperate to be inside you, he would have teased you, asked you to beg more or maybe he’d make you come with just his fingers and then his mouth before even thinking about giving you his cock. But George has been painfully hard inside his trousers since the moment he saw you on the dance floor with that other guy. He doesn’t think he has the patience to wait a second longer. So he doesn’t, he strokes his length a few times before pushing into your dripping cunt. George doesn’t stop until his dick is fully inside you, his head rests against your shoulder as he waits for you to adjust to his size. “Fucking hell bunny, you’re so tight for me. Your pussy is eating my dick so well.”

You dig your fingers into George’s shoulders and wrap your legs around his waist encouraging him to keep moving. “God, please. I need you to move.”

George pulls back until his cock is almost completely out before snapping his hips back into you harshly, he sets a relentless pace and your eyes roll back into your head from the pleasure. The room is filled with both of your moans and the sound of skin slapping together. The tip of George’s cock is hitting your g-spot with each thrust causing a loud cry to leave your lips. George is groaning into your neck whispering huskily about how much of a good girl you’re being for him. Your nails are scratching into the skin on his back while the band inside your stomach starts to tighten, tears stream down your face when George’s thumb attaches to your clit once more.

“d-daddy, please I’m gonna come,” you feel George shake his head against your neck. “No,” he growls, “hold it.”

The headboard is squeaking and knocking into the wall from George’s hard thrusts, you can feel more tears leaking from your eyes as you try to hold off on your orgasm. “Daddy please, I can’t. It’s too much.”

George rubs his thumb in circles against your sensitive clit, he can feel your pussy tighten around his cock. His hot breath fanning your neck. “Yes, you can. Bunny don’t you dare come until I say so.”

The tightening inside your stomach builds and builds until you feel like you’re going to explode. You’re trying desperately to hold off; wanting, needing to be a good girl for George. You know George likes it when you two come at the same time, so you decide to help get him to his realise quicker. You clench tightly around his cock and hear him groan deeply into your ear, “fuck daddy, feels so good. Only you can make me feel this good daddy. No one else. I’m yours.”

“Mine, all mine,” he utters against your skin. “Okay baby – fuck. Want you to come all over my cock.”

You feel George release his load deep inside of you as you scream his name, clenching and tightening around him as you come also. George is uttering mine, mine, mine into your ear while you respond with yours, yours, yours. The both of you are sweaty and hot and panting, neither moving from your current position as you try to steady your breathing. After a few minutes you feel George start to shift about to pull out of you, you tighten your arms around him and shake your head. “No, wanna feel you still.”

He shifts to lay on his back carefully manoeuvring you to rest against his chest. You close your eyes and sigh contently, enjoying the feeling of George’s cock still inside you. George runs his fingers through your hair, smoothing it down before he speaks so quietly you think you might be imagining it. “I want you all to myself.”

“Hmm?” You roll your head to look up at him.

“I want you all to myself,” George declares louder. “I don’t want to hide this-us anymore. I want everyone to know you’re mine and I’m yours. I want you. All of you.”

A large grin erupts on your face at George’s words, “I want all of you too Georgie.”

The both of you groan as you move your body to catch his lips in a kiss, you feel him twitch inside of you. “You keep moving like that baby and you’ll have to get ready for round two.”

You smirk up at him and wiggle your hips and purposely clench around him, “okay bet.”

#George Weasley #George Weasley smut #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley x you #George Weasley oneshot #George Weasley one shot #George Weasley fanfic

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keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: iii

(Mostly SFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii (epilogue)

word count: ~2.2k

Nothing ever really ends. It just grows in different ways with different parts.

warnings: description of post-injury, reader and hawks being traumatized but coping, a soft epilogue

the ending folks :’^) thank you for reading this far. here is something gentle for all of us, with some future, past, and the present for sweet starshine and keigo :’^)

enjoy loves 💞!!

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Keigo doesn’t break promises.

He loves white lies, the silly kind where he can rib you for a minute or two before soothing any ruffled feathers with quick kisses. He never leaves big wounds, nothing gaping or jagged, just loving pokes in your sides to get you to laugh and quip back at him.

He never goes back on his words that count.

His journeys out of the house remain short and rarely surprising. He never leaves without a goodbye, whether that’s a sleepy fuck or two, or a hand-written, tooth-rotting note on a scrap of paper next to a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen island.

Keigo’s used to the open skies, rolling forever. The curve of the horizon is his primordial friend that he never got to say goodbye to, but he still chases it a few times a week. Little drives he takes by himself, hikes, and things that he let him feel a bit of that free wind in his shaggy hair.

It takes you a while, but you don’t look forlornly at the door anymore.

The awareness that of his absence from your little bastion lingers as you move throughout your day, but you know he’s good for his word. He always returns, bearing a toothy grin, and usually an armload of snacks or takeout.

It’s better, and you’re both a bit more alive.

...

Spring in the mountains reminds you of something you can’t place.

The memory of it is foggy, far-off and untouched. Probably a bit dampened from, you know, a year of trauma, but the feeling of it makes your quirk burst to light without fail.

It comes when you notice the little patches of wildflowers that spring up in new grass that rings around the porch. Heat flares in your eyes when you see the little seedlings you and Keigo planted into the window boxes begin to bud and flower.

The days get longer, sweeter, and the summer comes easily.

...

The bad days never cease, but you both learn to cope to some degree.

Your scar... cracks one day. You’re doing some half-assed stretches in the living room (mostly arching your back so Keigo gets a good peek of your ass) when it happens. Your right leg bends at the knee, and a resounding ‘crack’ and shatter echo off the walls of the cabin.

You both panic.

Keigo instantly urges you on the couch, trying to soothe your own panic with little coos from the back of his throat. You feel numb as Keigo shoves up your pant leg, looking for any damage.

The scar looks relatively unchanged. It hasn’t writhed since your days at the hospital, and its edges have only faded a shade or two with time. It’s long, obtrusive, and something you still avoid looking at.

All the same, Keigo traces the gnarly flesh, nimble fingers searching for the source of the sound. Any bit of pain he can identify and soothe, ideally, remove. The pads of his fingers drift to the crook of your knee, pressing against the shiny, black seam of the scar.

His eyes go wide before awe shines through, without a lick of fear.

He warns you to take a deep breath, ‘breath with him’, before pinching at the glassy center and pulling. There’s a bit of resistance as he pulls, you’re not sure what he’s doing, and you see ‘it’ before you really put it together.

Keigo holds ‘it’ up for you to see.

The inky glass of the scar.

Literal rock. Inky obsidian pulled from your flesh, about the size of your pinky and painfully jagged.

“W-what is that?” You asked, grabbing his wrist to examine the bit. “That’s... the scar?”

Keigo nods his head, scrutinizing it with you, pinching at it, “Weirdest scab I’ve ever seen.”

Scab.

You have never thought about calling the ugly root of the scar a ‘scab’ but looking at the way it so easily was pulled away, it makes sense. After a bit of examination and tender prodding, the tissue around it looks healthy, albeit thick and burned. The scar goes deep into your flesh, feels raw to the touch, but the skin that’s beneath it is somewhat alive. Maybe too alive, given how sensitive it is.

Nonetheless, you marvel at the little piece of volcanic glass that Keigo had pulled from you like it’s the most precious stone in the world.

...

It takes a long time to convince both of you.

Keigo never receives another call from Suits, ‘president’, what the fuck her name is. Thank fucking god. His snap seemed to have scared her and her crumbling organization away. You can only hope that it was for good.

The potential return comes from kindness rather than demands.

Calls from both Endeavor and Miruko, ‘Enji’ and ‘Rumi’ as they insist you call them. Rumi chatters on the phone for hours with Keigo every few weeks, puts the phone on speaker, and has you give your piece as well. You like her, she’s funny and loud and Keigo smiles when he talks to her.

Enji actually visits.

Once or twice, maybe more. You stop counting when the extra bodies in the cabin don’t have you breaking into a cold sweat anymore. It had taken a great bit of coaxing, but you opened your cabin up for the former pro and his entourage.

He brings along his daughter and the ‘Three Musketeers,’ as the media calls them. The boys train in the mountains nearby, never lingering too far based on the shouting from the blond one that echoes against the hills.

The rest of you settle into the walls of the cabin whenever they come to visit. It feels warmer than normal; it makes sweat gather under your arms and in droplets on your forehead. Even if you wanted to attribute the heat to the old flame hero’s presence, it wouldn’t account entirely for your thumping heart.

You work through it, slowly.

You like watching Keigo and Enji. They both look worn. Keigo’s a bit too young for grey hair, but Enji has more than his fair share around his temples. The beard around his jaw glints silver in the lowlight of the cabin whenever he tilts his head to sip at his tea.

They smile like old friends, talk like it too.

You end up in the kitchen a lot during their talks, distantly cooking and observing. You’re always listening to their stories, the banter. It’s hard to keep up with, a lingering vestige of Keigo’s old persona that clings to him and his mannerisms.

You don’t mind it, even if it feels foreign.

...

“Can you pass me that honey, dear?” Fuyumi asks, voice sweet and close.

You nod, sliding her the jar across the corner top. She carefully spoons a glob of the thick liquid into the four waiting mugs, humming just under her breath.

The cabin feels warm, and it’s not just the ambient heat Enji gives off.

The ‘three musketeers’ plan to camp in the mountainside and ‘rough it’. You couldn’t imagine the freshly-greened hills giving them too much trouble. They bicker, you have found, constantly. Blunt jabs from Enji’s son, met by explosive remarks from the blond one (why is his hero name so long? You can never remember it well.) Consider your growing aversion to loud noise, you like Deku the best. He seems like the peacekeeper (and peacemaker) of the trio and compliments your cooking. What a gem.

The guest room has been polished into an actual guest room. Fuyumi takes it, and Enji, bless his heart, takes the creaky fold-out couch. He doesn’t mind, he tells you, something about enjoying tending to the hearth at night.

Keigo calls the nights where they fill the house ‘sleepovers’, and he adores them.

They’re a bit overwhelming for you if you’re being honest. But Enji is far less intimidating now that you’ve seen him nodding off and slack-faced on your couch. Fuyumi has patience you’ll never fully understand, and babies you a bit, which you don’t welcome but don’t refuse either.

She does just that, scooping up three mugs after pushing your own toward you. You regather and sit next to Keigo at the kotatsu, slipping your legs under the thick blanket and sagging with the heat. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he presses you into his side, pressing a few kisses to the top of your head. It’s an idle action, habitual and welcomed as the conversation flows.

(Something about one of Keigo’s old sidekicks. Another about Endeavor’s agency, still chugging along with him at the helm, albeit not as an active hero. The new hero charts, the new rules established, legislation. Things are getting... safer, a semblance of order being re-established now that much of the League has been apprehended.)

(Things are settling, as horrifying as the change is.)

The thought of so much makes you sleepy, long-standing exhaustion heavy in your bones. You nod off at some point to the kind, safe voices.

Keigo coaxes you awake once the conversation dies down.

“Love,” he purrs, rubbing your side, “let’s get up now and get you to bed.”

You follow him, the way he rises and guides you to the bathroom to help you ready for bed. Enji is settling on the couch, tugging a few throws over himself on the futon. You give him a shallow wave with half-lidded eyes, meeting his own.

Eye contact feels hard, but you manage to hold it for a few seconds.

In the bathroom, you pop onto the counter and slowly brush your teeth. Sleep clings to you, and you know it’ll return quickly, but the process of moving and interacting wears you down so easily. Your toothbrush almost slips from your grip.

“Just a little more, and then you can rest, dove,” Keigo urges, reverent as he finishes his own routine in tandem. You watch as he splashes water on his face, wetting the tufts of hair that fall around his face.

The cabin feels warmer.

You notice it as you enter the bedroom, Keigo already hopping into bed to assemble the ‘nest’ as both affectionately refer to it. The old throw, a few extra soft blankets, and a buttery soft duvet must be arranged just right before he is satisfied.

Keigo knows it’s a remnant.

He carries plenty of them, little chunks of him that are old and worn, old and unused. He can shake them, can’t bury them, they just simply are.

The birdish ones are nice, he thinks. He likes that he can preen you. He loves that you can preen him. That you’ll indulge him in that way, running your hands through his overgrown hair. You detangle any knots, soothe the snarls and rub at his neck until he’s liquid in your lap.

He likes nesting. The cold of the cabin can be almost forgotten in the little nests he makes. The mountains of bedding and pillows that you both can settle in. It’s peaceful, and it's shared, and things are okay.

It’s all slow, and a bit tedious, things that the remnants of ‘Hawks’ scream and thrash at. But, really? Keigo has no reason to listen to a ghost. He tries not to let himself be haunted.

He indulges himself for the first time in his life, probably.

As Keigo nestles you into the sheets beside him, he gives you a bit of room to get comfortable. Adjusts your pillows how you like, tangle your legs together in the comfiest way. Your own version of nesting that makes his palms sweat and his words turn to mush.

You settle together, chest to chest, Keigo’s chin hooked over the top of your head.

“Did you have a good day?” You ask, soft and sleepy.

Keigo nods easily, “I did. Enji doesn’t seem to quite as much of a square as he was a few years ago.”

You snort, muffling a giggle into his chest, “He’s definitely a little bit of a square. But I like him.”

“He offered to host us at the estate if we ever want to go back.”

You swallow, thick and slow, and try to bury yourself deeper in him, “... Do you want to go back?”

“No.” He pauses. “Maybe. Not yet, and not anytime soon. But the offer is on the table. It’s nice to have, even if we don’t take it.”

It’s insurance, somewhere else to tuck yourselves away if the mountains stop favoring you.

The thought of the future makes your head spin, as it tends to. The scar aches, but maybe it’s a tad duller than it was a few months ago. The pains only last a few moments, only stab so deeply. The place where the little chunk of obsidian fell out doesn’t feel quite as tender.

You lay your cheek on Keigo’s chest, your breath coming in time with his.

“‘M tired,” You murmur into his chest. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course, starshine.” He pushes back your hair, clears your forehead to press his lips to the skin, lightly. Little kisses piling up on top of each other. “Get some rest.”

“You too, pretty eyes.”

You both need it. For more than just a day with the folks who stuck around. You and Keigo need more rest than a being can responsibly accumulate during a human life. There are things to be stitched, worn parts of you that need tending to, and burns that’ll need salve until the day you die. It’s not any less than it was in the month’s past.

But it’s easier to manage.

You snuggle into Keigo’s chest, drifting off to the thought of fresh coffee and crackling heat.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

thank you for reading!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #my hero academia #mha fanfic #mha x reader #hawks imagines #wow :'^)#thank y'all for reading

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fullmoonwriting · 3 years

Text

saint of obsession

pairing: the darkling x reader

rating: teen (may become mature NSFW 18+ if continued)

warnings: NSFW themes/inferences, sexual themes, implied obsession

notes: I really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! I didn’t intend on continuing this story however if you guys like the atmosphere here I would be more than happy to continue ☺️ drop me a comment or message if you would like to see a part 2 to ‘saint of obsession.’

word count: 1.6K

Since arriving at the Little Palace a few days ago, it was the servants’ mission to bathe you. They consistently coaxed and nagged you, yet you were still reluctant. Having been mercilessly stripped away from your friends in the first army regiment, you were not about to succumb to the enemy. Most girls would be happy, proud even to find out they were Grisha; to live and dine in such a luxurious place as the Little Palace. Yet the frills and gold did not soften you. You did not welcome the large food portions, finely made gowns and soft bed. Instead, you found yourself longing to fall asleep in the clammy communal tent, more relaxed and with your friends by your side. Although your preference was clear, it was not taken into consideration.

With a large yawn and stretch of your arms you awoke to still closed curtains. The servants must have not been in yet. Waking up exceedingly early was a habit you picked up during your time in the first army. There was always something to do and somewhere to be, and you couldn’t be there or do anything if you were asleep. Your general always woke up his soldiers with the frantic clamour of pots and pans which Mal never grew accustomed to.

Mal.

Your mind always drifted to him in uncertain times such as this. He was your home, your true North. Best friends since first crossing paths in Karamzin as children. You’d do anything to be with him right now. Little to no time was given to you to talk to him and try and explain what was happening. You yourself didn’t fully understand what was happening so how could you possible explain it to someone in a little less than a minute? They told you you were a Sun Summoner; a saint or a fairy tale depending on ones beliefs. Born to destroy the fold and bring unity and peace to the nations. Or at least that’s what General Kirigan kept telling you.

He was the one who proved your status as a Grisha and Sun Summoner. You found yourself being roughly pulled between army tents and hastily pushed into an unusually large one. He stood amongst the shadows, almost completely devoured by them except for a soft beam of natural light that managed to perfectly illuminate his crow like irises. His stature and demeanour simultaneously imposed and intrigued as he spoke.

“Come closer.”

A wave of hushed voices could be heard from the perimeters of the tent. This man was so magnifying that you had not even noticed the other, now very obvious onlookers. After your initial shock of not being alone, you quickly obeyed, stepping one foot in front of the other. A seemingly small yet very courageous step towards uncertainty.

The shadow shrouded General swiftly inspected your body with his coal gaze, looking so deep into your eyes you were sure he was inspecting your soul too.

“Closer.” He spoke clearly and with purpose. Everything about him intimidated you but you could not give away your true feelings. You stepped forward once again, more confidently this time, with your head held high. A ghost of a smile adorned his lips. You were not sure if it was because he was impressed, or because he had already seen through your facade.

“What are you?” He asked clearly and calmly. His face back to his stoic and unchanging expression.

“I’m a medic, sir. A medic from the 36th company.” As if speaking more would make you seem more confident and help you out of this situation. Some onlookers sniggered, whilst others whispered about your confession.

His face did not show disappointment or anger instead, his body seemed to radiate his feelings.

Without another word he stepped forwards, now walking steadily towards you with his head held high to match yours. The tent seemed to become darker with his ever step. The small slither of natural light that somehow found its way onto his face had been completely obliterated by his shadow. The tense atmosphere and complete darkness made the following event even more spectacular. You could feel a small scratch upon your arm and the warm touch of a hand holding it up. A thin beam of pure white light cut through the darkness like a knife, powerfully illuminating the tent and eradicating its shadows.

Since that day you have been kept mostly in your room, warm and comfortable yet too luxurious and uptight for your taste. Forbidden to leave the walls of the Little Palace yet not quite ready to begin training. Solitude made your mind drift to Mal, saddening at the fact that he must be so angry at you for leaving him alone with little less than a few words. It also allowed your mind to repeat what General Kirigan had said to you on the way to the Little Palace. He said that you and him would change the world. Together. That you were special, one of a kind and vital to achieving peace. You found it hard to believe his words. You were the furthest away from special. A simple orphan girl from Kermanzin that only became a medic due to her lack of skills in other departments.

The more you let your mind wander the sadder you got. You were sensitive but you knew you had to hide it to protect yourself. Shaking your head you let your legs dangle off the side of the bed. A distraction is what you needed. Something to take your mind off your home.

No less than half an hour later you were fully submerged in a deep copper tub. The servants seemed genuinely happy (and relieved) that you had ‘finally come to your senses’ and decided to bathe. Despite your displeasure to actually bathe, your did enjoy having something to take your mind off other matters. You decided upon simply soaking in the bath rather than actively bathing. The grime and dirt was the only reminder of your former life you had, with the servants discarding of your army uniform upon your entrance to the Little Palace. You refused to wash yourself in fear of losing your last memory of home.

The steam from the tub floated on the water and continued to rise above you towards the ceiling. Despite the whole room filling with mist, you had no trouble noticing the intricate patterns on the ceiling. A myriad of curves and symphony of blue and gold. Although you were not one for luxury, you couldn’t not appreciate the craftsmanship and time that went into creating all these details. You failed to notice what details adorned your room due to your constant solitude and displeasure of your situation. Perhaps it was time to accept who or what you were.

A sharp knock disturbed your thoughts, jumping slightly and making the water level in the tub shift. Probably the servants checking in on whether you’re actually bathing.

“Come in.” You spoke loudly, leaning your head and neck against the cool copper, closing your eyes in the process. You revelled in the coolness of the metal against your flushed skin.

The click of boots against stone echoed throughout the room. Your ears perked up but your eyes remained shut, too relaxed to spring open. As the sound grew louder it became evident these boots did not belong to a servant. The click was too crisp, each step too calculated. Alarm suddenly arose in your body as your eyes snapped open. The thick mist that hung in the air didn’t help you recognise or pin point the intruder. Looking around hastily you attempted to cover your modesty with your hands as best as you could. You cursed yourself at the lack of soap or oils in the bath that would have helped to shield your body with bubbles.

Eyes still darting around the room a tall figure emerged from the mist. His tall, broad frame parted it with ease. General Kirigan. Saints, what was happening was highly inappropriate. His legs almost touched the edge of the tub as he peered down at you. Your throat became dry however you mustered up the courage to speak.

“Sir, I.. I think you have made a mistake... th-these are not your chambers.”

He continued to peer down at you as you spoke in no more than a whisper. Your words seem to have bounced right off him as his stoic expression did not falter. Instead of replying he kneeled down, positioning himself right on the edge of the tub. He extended an arm, dipping it in the water between the tub and your trembling body.

“You will find that I have not made a mistake my sun, far from it.” The contradiction of the calmness on his face and wrongness of his action made your breathing become rapid and unsteady. The General noticed your unease, removing his hand from under the water and moving it to your collar bone. He traced the water droplets rolling off your skin as if to try and calm you down. This only made you huff harder, widening your eyes as he looked at your chest.

“Where has that confident girl that I first met in my tent disappeared to huh? Oh, don’t work my sun. You’re safe with me. No need to be afraid.” His hand moved to stroke your damp hair as he lulled.

“I’ve been waiting for you for so long. You have no idea what such loneliness can do to a man. But you are here now, beautiful and powerful.”

He placed a finger under your chin, contorting your face to make you look at him. Your wide and watery eyes met with his still dark and calm ones. They possessed a sparkle now, a new feature. A glimmer of hope or perhaps, obsession.

“You and I are going to change the world.”

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #the darkling x reader

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