#my bones are broken but i am CRAWLING AND FIGHTING

[prettycottagequeer]

ok maybe I'm a little late to this BUT I'm gonna do a to-do list motivation thingy because I've had the worst two weeks since I started college :)

SO these I should start on asap:

50 I make the snack I really want but I haven't had the motivation to make

100 I clean my dorm. another thing I've been meaning to do for a week

150 I do the presentation about mid-victorian fashion I've been putting off (due Monday)

200 I start memorizing the monologue that was due a week ago (now due Tuesday)

these can wait longer:

300 I spend time outside. It's so nice but I'm getting stuck scrolling because I feel like shit. vicious cycle ect

500 I start setting a better weekend routine (aka getting up before noon)

1k I start working out again. I was doing a routine to get more masc and build muscle and I liked it but life hit me like Crowley driving the Bentley and I've missed like 3 weeks

2k I buy my first binder. I've been coping with sports bras for almost a year now and I haven't been able to justify spending $50+ on a binder even though I know I'd love it and use it everyday.

Do I tag people? I don't know but I'm going to. @the-globe-theatre-maggot @weirdly-specific-but-ok @howmanyholesinswisscheese

here's just some context if you want to read, feel free to skip. some of this I've talked about in the maggot server, some I haven't, but I really just need a place for this to go that's out of my head. tw homophobia, transphobia, car crash(??)

How I Have Been Run Over By The Bentley Going 90 In Central London What Feels Like 50 Times In The Last Two Weeks

I'm going to college about 4 hours away from my parents, and it's been really nice. They.. suck, to say the least. transphobic/homophobic ect, super traditional conservative catholic, racist, all of it. so i tried to move somewhere where I wouldn't have to think about them and I could be myself and do what I can to be happy. March 1st was the start of my spring break, which meant going home because the dorms close. I was already not excited, but I was prepared. the problem with being away from home is I forget just how bad they are. My optimism gets the better of me and I think maybe this time they'll be better. so I decided to not hide my septum piercing.

that was a mistake. it starts a whole fight where they say we know you're trans, you're actually a girl and you always will be, we have the bones argument, they think I'm being influenced by demons or something (if only they knew about crowley) because I want to change my name, and they tell me that going on t will completely ruin my body and give me cancer and other things. They're also mad about my dyed hair, septum, and general style, and say I'm setting a terrible example for my (5) younger siblings and make it a point to tell me just how much of a disappointment I am. I think I'm pretty cute and fun but y'know, whatever. very fun time. I lie so much, don't give them any more details about my identity, and say I'm not planning to go on t to save my ass. which is all on instinct which makes me feel worse because if I'm really trans I should be able to stand up for that, right? maybe I'm faking the dysphoria.

the next morning I wake up really sick, and spend the rest of the week sick and feeling like shit because I'm home and back in the same place and situation I was a year ago that I thought I escaped. at one point I pretty much lose my voice but also kind of get gender euphoria from it. it's weird.

On Friday it's time for me to drive back 4 hours to school, and I make it about 3/4 of the way when google maps takes me on a random gravel road and I crash my car, really crash my car, like sideways-in-a-ditch-windows-broken-crawling-up-out-the-door crash it in the middle of nowhere. (I was fully paying attention to the road, it was raining and super slick) I call my parents because I have no one else to call and I sit in a Subway for 3 hours while they drive to get my car. when they get there they're (understandably) really mad, and they tell me that I'm not mature enough to be going to school so far away and I need to get my shit together and stop depending on them. which. is probably true. but made me feel even more stupid about the fact that I crashed my car. I get back to school and I'm still Very Sick with no energy or motivation to do anything. So I've spent the last week trying to get better and honestly to do anything. it hasn't really worked. I'm a lot better health-wise (Not emotionally), still sick but I have a lot of work due, so I really need a push to get started

[ichorai]

dinner & diatribes ; adrian chase. (m)

track eleven of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; adrian chase x gn!reader

synopsis ; the two of you only brought the worst out of each other, but you just couldn’t stay away.

words ; 1.8k

themes ; comedy, mild smut (?)

warnings / includes ; arguing, lots of swearing, they fuck against a desk but it's not too graphic and pretty glossed over, reader punches adrian and breaks his nose, chris is the embodiment of e_e

main masterlist.

“I had him!” you snarled, striding up to Adrian until the two of you were practically nose-to-nose. He had ripped his mask off earlier, seeing no point in keeping it on when everybody on the team was already very well aware of his not-so-secret secret identity. “He was the only shot we had at getting information and you just fucking—Argh! You ruined everything, you dumb fucking piece of motherfucking—!”

Raising his hands in a condescendingly placating manner, Adrian retorted, “Woah! Watch it, potty mouth!”

Frustration crawled through your skin and wove beneath your muscles, nestling within your bones. “God, I hate you. This was my mission. You had no right interfering—!”

“Well, excuse me, first of all, this was our mission. Second, I’m sorry for saving your ass!” he interrupted. “If it hadn’t been for me, you would be out there, bleeding out of multiple gunshot wounds, thinking to yourself, ‘Oh, I wish Vigilante was here to come rescue me! He’s so handsome and I wish I could have sex with him just one more time and tell him how sorry I am for being a dick and ignoring him and pretending like it had never fucking happened!’”

You clenched your jaw, eye twitching. Sure, the two of you had slept together once—it was the heat of the moment and the adrenaline after a bloody fight, really—sodden clothes were hastily torn away or pulled to the side, bleeding lips were roughly slanted against each other, and he had fucked you on top of Chris’ messy desk with wild abandon. So fucking what?

“I was more than capable of handling the situation on my own.”

“Oh, were you, really?” Adrian rolled his eyes. “Don’t kid yourself. Honestly, sometimes it feels like you wouldn’t even care if you died—!”

With a growl rumbling within your throat, you wound your arm back, clenched your hand into a tight fist, and struck Adrian squarely in the face. A bilious crack echoed throughout the dingy room. He reared backwards, clutching his most-likely broken nose, groaning loudly. 

You were well aware of the fact that the rest of the team was awkwardly watching the two of you hash it out. Tentative, Adebayo started saying, “Guys, I think we—”

“No!” you cut her off. “Fuck you, Adrian.”

With that, you stormed out of the room, ripping off the rest of your tactical gear along the way and cold fury wrapping its dark hands around your neck. 

“Fuck,” Adrian said, all stuffy from his bleeding nose. “That made me so hard.”

Chris smacked him on the back of his head, which made him squawk with pain.

“I don’t know, man,” said Chris, sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on scribbling a dove of peace on another one of his weapons that Harcourt hadn’t bothered emblazing, despite his repeated insistence. “Maybe you should apologize to Y/N. They seemed really pissed.”

Blowing a raspberry, Adrian waved his most best friend’s advice away. “Pfft—no, if anything, they should be the one apologizing to me. Did you see how my nose was all bloody and crooked?”

Chris momentarily turned his attention away from the crude drawing of the dove of peace (which, unsurprisingly, looked like a ghost), and scowled at the spectacled, borderline psychotic man-child across from him. “Jeez, stop overreacting. Harcourt set your nose back right after, don’t be such a baby.”

“But it hurt!” Adrian whined. “You know that a person’s sense of smell is probably, like, the most important sense out of all the senses?”

“I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Uh huh—scented candle businesses would go bankrupt if none of us could smell!”

Narrowing his eyes, Chris replied, “Yeah, but how the fuck would that make it the most important—ugh, you know what? Just go apologize to them. We have another mission tomorrow morning and I don’t want their panties in a twist because of you.”

Adrian chortled. “Heh, wouldn’t be the first time I twisted their pa—” At Chris’ sharp glare, he immediately cut himself short. “Fine! I’ll go, I’ll go. If I die, please play an episode of Friends at my funeral—specifically the episode where they hire Danny Devito as a stripper. I really liked that episode. I liked it a lot. You got that?”

“Yeah, Danny Devito, stripper, funeral, got it!” retorted Chris, clearly not listening anymore as he waved Adrian away.

Squaring his shoulders, Adrian marched away from his trusted friend and headed to the room down the hall, pushing the door open and peeking his head through. He saw you buried behind a pile of paperwork on your desk, muttering incoherently beneath your breath. 

When you noticed him come in, he pursed his lips and waved awkwardly, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey,” he called out from the other side of the room, a bit too loudly. You winced at his volume, and he moved closer before parroting himself, this time much quieter. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” came your tentative, stiff reply. “What do you want?”

The man in front of your desk cleared his throat, rocking himself back onto his heels as he swung his arms awkwardly. “I, uh, just wanted to apologize.”

“Oh, yeah?” You crossed your arms, cocking one of your eyebrows expectantly. “Go on, then.”

“I’m…” Adrian doubled over groaning, stomping his feet like a petulant child, before righting himself and huffing in an overexaggerated manner. “Ugh, I hate this. Fuck—I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said those things to you. It was unprofessional.”

Humming, the beginnings of a smirk began to play with the corner of your lips. “Great, thanks. You can go now.”

Adrian stayed rooted to the spot, staring at you blankly. 

“What?” you asked him.

He scowled, gesturing to his slightly-crooked nose.

Rolling your eyes to the ceiling, you sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry for punching you. Happy?”

“Yeah, pfft, whatever—doesn’t even hurt,” he bluffed, leaning his weight onto your desk in an effort to appear nonchalant. 

You scoffed. “With how you were groaning, you made it sound like I nearly killed you.”

“You’ve got a strong punch, okay?” he heatedly rebutted, before haughtily sticking his sore chin up in the air. After another second of tense silence, he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his fucked-up nose. He coughed into his fist, before muttering, “Honestly, though… it was really fucking hot.”

The dull wooden edge of your desk dug into your lower back as Adrian leaned over you, mouth rough on yours, glasses knocked askew amidst his vigor. One of his hands were buried in your roots at the back of your head, anchoring you close to him, and the other pinned your thighs apart so he could slot between them. Your hands were tightly curled up in the gap between his sweltering skin and his suit’s dark armor, yanking him to bridge the gap between you. His nose brushed your cheekbone every time he surged forward to kiss you—and it sent a mild jolt of pain spidering down his spine, but he didn’t seem to mind it too much, rather preoccupied with other sensations.

Clothes were hastily pulled to the side, sweat beaded both of your foreheads, and strained gasps fell through your lips as he began to move against you.

Neither punching Adrian nor fucking him afterwards were on your agenda for today, but you certainly weren’t complaining. And judging by how loudly he was moaning into the brutal kiss, he wasn’t going to complain, either.

With one final roll of his hips into yours, he bucked forward with a strangled, choking noise as his climax washed over him just when you were pushed off the edge as well, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“God, you’re loud,” you panted, snaking your hands to his hair to gently pull him away from the crevice of your neck. 

He stared at you with full-blown pupils, delighting in the fact that you were quivering against him ever so slightly. “And you’re so fucking hot.”

“Alright, buddy, we’re done here,” you said, patting his chest, before pushing away and straightening out your wrinkled clothes. “This is the last time this is ever happening, by the way.”

Adrian scoffed, righting his glasses up his nose. “Uh huh, yeah right. Admit it, you just can’t resist me. I’m like the peanut butter to your jelly! The… the chocolate to your pizza!”

Nose wrinkling, you shook your head incredulously. “What? Who the fuck eats chocolate with pizza?”

“Uh, duh, I do,” he replied, as if it were obvious. “It’s amazing—you should really try it. I don’t know, maybe you could come over to my place one day and have some. Nothing beats the perfect ratio of greasy-crispy Hawaiian pizza and Nutella straight from the jar.”

Kiss-swollen lips parting, you leaned against your desk out of interest once again. Adrian was fidgeting with his hands awkwardly and began looking everywhere but you, like he hadn’t just fucked you silly literally a minute ago.

“Are you asking me out?”

“No!” he said. “Maybe.”

You regarded him with a strange look.

“Ugh, yes, fine, I’m asking you out. Well, technically in—I’m asking you into my house. Preferably into my bed—”

“Alright!” you interrupted, holding your hands out. “Fine. Only this one time. But just because you’ve come in me twice by now doesn’t mean you can go on falling in love with me, okay?”

Brightening, Adrian sidled closer to you, the green of his eyes glimmering beneath the flickering lights hanging over your desk. “Don’t worry, that won’t be a problem. If anything, you should watch out for falling in love with me. I’m quite the catch, you know?”

It was hard to suppress the growing grin forming over your lips. “You’ve got the Barbie Girl song as your ringtone.”

“Yeah, and? It’s a good song—super catchy. It’s practically a chick magnet,” he defended, beaming like an idiot. 

You rolled your eyes, patting his chest twice, before striding away from both him and your desk, off to go to the bathroom to clean up the sticky mess between your thighs. Adrian watched you go, before repeatedly punching the air with excitement and breaking out into a dance—not to music, but to the buzz of the office’s artificial lights, and the lethargic whir of the semi-broken air conditioner. 

 From outside, he could hear Chris greet you, and he momentarily paused in his little victory jig.

“Oh, hi, Y/N! Hah, your hair’s all messed up, why do you look like you just had your brains fucked—oh. Oh. God damn it, you guys better not have done it on my desk again!”

#adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #peacemaker fanfiction #adrian chase fanfiction #adrian chase smut #adrian chase fluff #adrian chase imagines #peacemaker x reader #adrian chase drabbles #adrian chase x you #vigilante x you #vigilante smut #vigilante peacemaker #vigilante fanfiction #vigilante imagines #vigilante drabbles #peacemaker fluff #peacemaker smut

[genshindreamer]

My child, the best?nurse ever!

Aka: They get injured and you "help".

Tw: Burning in Kaeyas, broken bones in Diluc's, Dottore being his own warning, prejudice in Itto's, infected wounds in Childe's, near death in Thoma's, Amputee! Gorou, OOC Dottore (I have no idea how it happened), mentions of reader having ears and tail on Gorou's, light Angst in Scaramocuhe's

Key: (m/n)= Mothers name, (y/n)= Your name

Translations: Baba=Father

I think reader is like 4-7, old enough to know they're hurt. But not old enough to really understand how to actually help yet.

Also thank you guys for almost 300 Followers! I was thinking of adding one these as a new dad for 300 followers. So please let me know who you'd like out of these on the straw poll Whoever gets the most votes gets added!

Voting is now over!

Kaeya

It had been a fairly simple thing, really. Dispatch some Abyss Mages, report back to Jean, coast clear, go back home.

Only these were the types of mages that were kind of annoying becusee they actually had some braincells to rub together.

So your father got a pretty nice burn on his torso.

They doctor figured he could be back out in a few weeks, but when he first got the burn, it hurt like hell!

Your mother was playing his sexy Beautiful Nurse.

Luckily you were there to be the most adorable little Assitant Nurse!

You came home from school and found your father relaxing in his chair after your mother so kindly changes the wraps around his torso.

"Daddy!" You grinned and ran to him.

He smiled and opened his arms.

You jumped into his arms, making him grunt.

"Careful, Snpwdrop, Daddy's still a little tender." He said, looking at you sweetly.

"Sorry..." you pouted and wrapped your arms around him.

Kaeya smiled and kissed the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you.

"Daddy feel better?" You looked up at him.

Kaeya chuckled softly. "Your hugs make it all better, (y/n)."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Diluc

Diluc got hurt quite a lot sadly, thanks to him being the hero after all.

Usually, they were just cuts or scrapes.

But everyone In a while, and he gets more seriously injured.

Like in this case, he broke his ankle.

Meaning he was in a cast for a while.

And your mother got the wonderful job of reminding Diluc that "no. You can't fight right now, you're just going to have to trust the KoF"

And you, were her backup.

"Come on Diluc, you can't go out. You're still in a cast." (M/n) said as she pushed him into bed. "Mondstat can survive a few months."

"You sure about that?" He half joked.

"I'm positive. Jean and the others are just as capable, as you." (M/n) said, sitting beside him and tracing patterns on his chest.

He rolled his eyes. "And the Tavern? Who's going to keep Kaeya and Venti from robbing the place?" At this point, he was just looking for an excuse. Grumpy man.

Your mother rolled her eyes and got up, walking away for a bit before returning with you. She gently threw you on the bed and crawled in bed too.

Diluc rolled his eyes but naturally wrapped his arms around you both. "My weakness..."He grumbled.

"I know." Your mother replied, laughing softly.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Zhongli

Again, Zhongli hasn't been hurt in some time, especially when he had his gnosis.

Even now, years after he gave it up, he sometimes forgets that fact and will overestimate his abilities.

And those Lawlachurls are usually when he overestimates his abilities.

Zhongli managed to escape, but not without breaking a couple ribs.

Luckily, he had a cure little nurse.

"Baba okay?" You asked as you walked in to his bedroom early one morning. Well....early for you, your father had been up for hours.

He looked up from his book and smiled a bit. "I am fine, little one."

You walked closer to the edge of the bed and Zhongli glanced over to his wife before back to you. He smiled a bit.

"Anything I can do to help?" You asked sweetly.

Zhongli hummed in thought. "Think you can make baba some tea?" He asked. He had shown you how not long ago, after all, it was a very important skill.

You wandered to the kitchen and, using the step stool, began to carefully make the tea your baba wanted. You knew he had a fondness for Honey in his tea so you guessed the amount he put in.

You then made yourself some too, and took a cautious sip. You made a face but took another sip, and another. You wanted to be just like your baba and that involved you liking tea.

Shrugging, you brought the tea back to your Baba and presented it to him.

Zhongli chuckled fondly and carefully leaned down to pick you up, grunting. You were almsot to big for such things.

He sipped his tea and red, and you tried to follow along with what he was reading, but you were still pretty young and the words flew over your head.

Zhongli smiled a bit. "Would you like me to read to you?"

You nodded and cuddled up, eventually falling asleep to his deep, soothing voice.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Xiao

This man is so stubborn when he's injured its not even funny.

He was stubborn before you came along, and after?

He never wanted you to see him be weak!

Which works great until you land on your back wrong. (Old man!)

So he was put out of commission for a few days.

Xiao groaned as he rose out of bed, cringing at the ache in his back. Was he getting out of shape? Or did he just get weak? Why did his back hurt so much? It's not like he hadn't landed on it before.

Granted, it usually wasn't on a very sharp rock that could have impaled him.

You panted out once he finally got sat up just hanging off the edge of the bed. Your mother had gone out to get more medicine for him from Baizhu.

You, being the curious 5 year old you were, opened the door and walked in.

"(Y/n)...you shouldn't be here..." Xiao grumbled but didn't....couldn't, do anything to stop you.

"Baba's hurt. I want to help." You said firmly. You walked further in the room and hopped on the bed.

"Hmg...careful." Xiao grunted out as you jostled the bed a bit too much. He took deep, controlling breaths.

You looked at the scars that littered your fathers presently bare torso, including the new one, located dangerously close to his spine.

You traced them all and Xiao turned to watch you, but didn't stop you.

Finally, you reached the new scar, and his back was all tense and hard where the rest of it was relatively soft.

Hesitantly, you applied pressure and watched your father groan. You remembered watching your mother do this for him yesterday so you began to mimic her motions. Of course, you didn't really help, but you also weren't not helping.

Xiao hissed in mild pain but looked at you fondly. He appreciated the gesture, even if it wasn't nearly as effective as your mother's.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Kazuha

Being a Samurai, or at least, an ex-Samurai, your father didn't usually get hurt.

But that didn't mean it was impossible.

And honestly, he probably deserved this one.

See....he was walking out on some ice and slipped in just the wrong way, fracturing his wrist.

Honestly his pride was hurt more than anything.

Kazuha was sat on the sofa writing poetry to pass the time. Your mother was out tending to her garden when his arm began acting up, causing him to make a face.

You looked up from where you were trying your hand at Poetry with your father (it wasn't going too well).

You got up, wordlessly, and wandered to the kitchen and carefully prepared some tea woth herbs you knew your mom used to help your father, and you brought it over carefully.

"Daddy, I made this for you." You said.

Kazuha turned away and smiled at you presenting a far too large cup of tea, but who was he to scold you for a gesture so sweet?

"Ah, thank you, Bug." He smiled, ruffling your hair affectionately. He sipped the tea. It was a little too strong for him, but it wasn't by any means something he'd reject. You made it after all!

You sat next to him and cuddled up to him. "Daddy feel better?"

"Much."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Venti

It's something that rarely happens. He prefers to do bard jobs, but sometimes he'll go with the traveller or the adventures guild.

And this can lead to him getting hurt. Usually though, the wounds fade.

But sometimes, he gets a little more injured.

It wasn't his week to have you, but your mother was out on a date (why did Venti feel jealous?) So he got you.

But he was also stabbed by a hillichurl so he had a nice limp.

"Daddy!" You grinned, running to him. He caught you in his arms and grunted a bit.

"Careful, Birdie. I hurt a little bit." He said, looking at you.

You tilted your head. "Hurt?"

"Yeah." He said, taking your hand and walking with you, trying to hide his limp.

You hummed and once you arrived at his apartment, you pushed him on the couch. "Sit." You ordered.

"Hm? (Y/n), what are you doing?" He asked.

"Daddy hurt and limping. So sit. I'm your nurse." You declared, and Venti let out his signature giggle.

"Alright, Birdie."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Albedo

Sometimes, Albedo has to protect his lab from hillichurls. Nothing unusual.

But he got outnumbered and ended up getting hurt pretty badly.

Your mother went to town to get him some medical supplies since they used what they had at the lab.

You stayed with your father

"You need anything?" You asked, looking at where your father was sat on the sofa, holding his side.

Albedo smiled as he looked at you. "I'll be fine, (y/n)." He said.

You frowned at him, seeing how he still clearly hurt. You gently pushed him to lay down and Albedo looked puzzled.

You walked over to the cabinet in the small shack and pulled out the bandaid usually reserved for you, given they had some cute design on them. You walked back over and lifted your fathers shirt up, exposing his abdomen.

Albedo held hurt shirt up and watched as you put your bandaid on his new scab from the sword the hillichurl wielded.

You put the bandaid over it and kissed it, like your father did for you when you got hurt.

"Thank you." Albedo said, laughing softly.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Itto

This man is clumsy as shit, tell me otherwise. I dare you.

So it's not too unusual to see him hurt

However, what is unusual is seeing his reaction to beans.

He was just midning his own business when some jerk decided to just throw beans at him. And then his buddies joined in.

And Itto ran to the safety of home, and his girlfriend.

"Itto! You okay?!" (M/n) said, running to him and pulling the normally big and strong Oni in her arms. She held his trembling form as the reaction worked its way through him.

"Just some beans. Nothing that...won't go away..." He mumbled.

Your mother frowned. Why couldn't people understand her Oni wasn't a bad guy? Sure, he was a little stupid, and maybe even dense, but he just...was so sweet and loving. Just loud, really.

You heard the commotion and wandered out from your room, holding your stuffed Ushi your mother had made.

"Oh no...Sweetie....you probably don't want to see this...." Itto said. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he got the beans fully off of him and he wasn't sure if you were as allergic to them as he was, and he didn't want to find out.

You however, didn't listen to him and made your way closer, seeing your father was lightly burned in some small spots.

You frowned and hugged him, making Itto tense, but he relaxed once he saw you weren't reacting to it. He held you in his strong bicep.

"Daddy okay?" You asked, looking up at him.

"Yeah. I'm much better now." He said. And it was true. You just had such magic little hugs!

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Ayato

Being a figure of nobility in Inazuma meant Ayato always had a target on his back, especially by organizations such as the Fatui.

He had been walking alo g the beach when he got ambushed by the Fatui.

Thankfully, he managed to take them out, but his usually white outfit was stained by red at his hip where he had been stabbed.

He sat on the bed while your mother, who thankfully had been a medic back in the day, was stitching him up.

He hissed a bit in pain, but watched as you made your way to him. "(Y/n)...you shouldn't have to see this." He said.

You shook your head and carefully climbed on the bed and hugged your father, laying on the bed with him as your mother kept working, a fond smile gracing her beautiful features.

Ayato smiled a bit but didn't squeeze you or anything through his stitching process. He instead ran his fingers through your hair and kissed your forehead.

Your mother smiled and cut the remaining thread and wrapped the wound. "There." She said.

Ayato carefully rolled over onto his back, holding you in one arm and opening the other. "You want to join?"

Your mother laughed softly and wrapped her arms around him, and Ayato held his small family in his arms and gazed at your mother with a loving look.

Hmm....maybe once he heals he should consider expanding the family?

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Childe

Being a Harbringer isn't exactly the safest job out there.

Especially for someone as battle hungry as Childe.

So it wasn't unusual for him to come woth a few new scars to add to thr collection.

That being said, it was unusual for him to faint at the door.

"Ajax!" Your mother yelled in surprise in caught her husband before he would have fell.

You watched, whimpering. Did your daddy die? Your little mind just could process.

"(Y/n), cam you grab the first aid kit under the sink in our bathroom?" She asked while she got your father on the bed.

You nodded and walked to your parents bedroom and them into the bathroom, opening the cabinet and grabbing the white box, and wandering back out. "Here mama!" You said.

Your mother smiled and looked over your fathers body for wounds and saw a pretty bay infected one.

"Stupid Harbringer..." She mumbled under her breath.

"What?" You tilted your head.

"Nothing! Nothing!" Your mother chuckled nervously.

She quickly cleaned the wound after draining the pus (ew). She stitched it closed, thankful she had gotten pretty good at patching your fathers wounds.

She threw away what she used and sighed, covering Ajax with a blanket.

You smiled and snuggled into him for warmth, manipulating him so his arm rested over you.

Your mother gave a soft look, watching the scene.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Thoma

He was doing some errands around Inazuma, as per usual

That was, until a group of Treasure Hoarders ambushed him. There was so many of them and Thoma was only one man

So for as good of a fighter he was, he got overwhelmed and defeated.

He was lucky that Yoimiya found him.

How long had it been? Was his first thought as he opened his eyes, finding himself in a hospital. He swallowed thickly and shakily tried to sit up, but he gave out, collapsing back on the bed.

"Be careful, Lovie." Your.mother sais, walking over to him. "You've been out for a couple of weeks...."

Thoma went pale. A couple weeks? How were you then? Did you know?

Your mother laughed softly. "They're fine." She assured. "I just didn't want them to see you like that. But since you're awake, I will bring them tomorrow." She assured.

Thoma relaxed slightly.

....

The next day, your mother brought you to your fathers hospital room, where he was shakily eating some Ramen.

He took one final mouthful and swallowed the noodles before setting the bowl aside. "Come here!"

You grin and ran to him, and he lifted you onto his he'd and kissed your cheek, and you giggled at the feel of his stubble.

"Daddy!" You grinned and Thoma nuzzled you. "Missed you!"

Thoma felt his heart burst with cuteness. "Missed you too." He replied and held you close, squeezing you gently.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Gorou

Since he wasn't a general anymore, he very rarely, if ever, battled anything anymore.

He just wasn't as limber as he used to be with two prosthetics.

But, sometimes, he'd get phantom pains.

Those days were rough on the poor doggy general.

Gorou hayes the mornings he woke up feeling like his stumps burned. Like he could feel them being sawed off.

They used to happen all the time, but hadn't had the phantom pains in a long while.

His ears flattened in pain, whimpering softly. Dammit. He was so weak...

(M/n) woke uo, and rolled over to look at him. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and Gorou turned to her.

"It's okay." She said softly. "You just relax today, you've earned it." She said, sitting up.

"I didn't mean to wake you..." He said softly.

She just kissed his cheek and got up to make breakfast.

You woke up to the smell of food and frowned seeing your father wasn't making breakfast like usual. "Daddy?"

Your mother looked up. "He's having a rough day. I was going to make his favorite breakfast today, want to help?"

You nodded and helped your mother make breakfast, and you carefully carried the wooden tray of food to their bedroom.

Gorou perked his ears up hearing his two favorite people enter the room, and he saw the breakfast. "Aww...you guys..."

You smiled, tail wagging, as you went to your father and presented the tray.

He smiled and took the tray on his lap and admired the sweet gesture before you and your mother joined him in bed, sandwhiching him in between you two, not that he minded.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Scaramouche

Scaramouche thought he knew pain.

But when he went to Sumeru and got his gnosis ripped out from him just after your 5th birthday?

He was lost. Utterly lost.

He returned home, defeated. Weak.

He lost his purpose.

He walked in the door, quietly. He didn't want to wake you guys. He clutched his chest, feeling how empty it was. It was like his heart was ripped from his chest.

Who was he anymore? He wasn't the sixth Fatui Harbringer anymore. He wasn't a puppet cast aside. And he sure as hell didn't deserve the title of 'dad'.

He felt as though he had been reset. Perhaps he had.

He heard footsteps and saw (m/n), the only person to never cast him aside when by all rights she should have.

She didn't say anything, just gave a face of pity and walked to him, wrapping her arms around him and cradling him, running her fingers through his hair.

Scaramouche broke down, crying. Finally letting his walls crumble to ruins.

(M/n) startled before tightening her grip on him and rubbing his back.

"Who am I?" He asked her, although muffled by her soft chest.

"Well, I'm not sure I'm the one who can answer that question, Scara, that something you'll have to figure out for yourself." She said softly.

He sighed softly and held her close before hearing you.

"Dad!" You greeted and ran to.him, and Scara felt his heart skip a beat. He didn't say anything when you approached and joined the hug. He didn't push you away, in fact, he held you close.

....

Months passed, and Scaramouche's mind was still a haze, but when he saw you wear his old fat, that was, far too big for your head, he gave a fond chuckle as you stumbled to.him, unable to see over the brim.

He gently lifted it up so he could see your face. You beamed at him and Scaramocuhe smiled. Maybe....maybe he did deserve one title.

Dad.

Next he knew, he felt a weight in his hand and looked to see an anemo vision, and you grinned.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Dotorre

He wasn't usually sent out in the field, despite being a harbringer. He was far better served in a Labratory.

If he was called out, he usually would send a clone.

But the Tsarista requested him personally to deal with the Traveller in Fontaine, to slow them down.

And he obliged.

Needless to say, the traveller defeated him, not without a few wounds themselves, but Dottore was simply no match anymore.

He managed to find his way back to his lab, thanks to a teleporter he had built in his lab.

You mother had been keeping an eye on his expiraments for him, mostly his test subjects. Series, when she was particularly impatient, she'd remind them that they were locked up with a mad scientist and his equally mad lab assistant. (You really think she'd get with Dottore with a completely sane mind?)

But she turned seeing Dottore appear, clutching his side. It was bleeding, and quite badly. His face was pale, and getting paler by the second.

"Dottore!" She said in surprise but caught him as he stumbled towards her as if drunk. He wasn't in good shape, that was for certain.

She carefully let him use her as a crutch as she got him to a more private part of thr lab. She began to get IV full of various medications attached to him. And one of spare blood.

She waited for the pain medication to kick in before she began to patch him up.

Luckily for her, Dottore made some strong ass medicine. Unfortunately, it made it's subjects higher than a kite.

He mumbled, mostly nonsense about the traveller and how annoying they were, before he finally turned to her. "I missed you." He said.

She looked up, startled. She smiled a bit. "I missed you too." She continued to stitch him up.

He watched her carefully, and sighed a bit.

He stayed silent until she finished. He could feel himself slipping away to unconscious, his body needing to heal.

"I...." His voice was slurring. "I love you...(m/n)"

Your mother paused, turning to him. She wanted to believe what he said, so badly. But...he wasn't in the right state of mind.

"Id love to hear all about it, when you're not hooked up to Morphine." Was her simple response.

.....

Dottore woke up the next day, seeing all the medications he no longer was hooked up too. His body hurt like he had been hit by a meteorite.

He rubbed his head, and the scene from last night popped into his mind. He pursed his lips, but he didn't push the idea out of his mind, either, like he usually did.

(M/n) was special to him, he knew that much. You think he would have had a child with her (or rather, give her a choice if she wanted to have the child?) If he didn't?. But love? A strong word. But the evidence was strong.

He sighed, confused, but looked up as you walked in.

He chuckled seeing you had what appeared to be homework in your hands.

"(Y/n)....what is that you got?" He asked, sitting up a bit.

"Science." You said, pouting. "The teacher explained it funny..."

"Is that so?" He mused. "Why don't you come up here, little one?" He pat the spot next to him and you beamed at the opportunity.

Usually, your father didn't let you get so close to him. Sure, a pat on the head here, maybe even a hug on your birthday, but outright inviting you close? You weren't going to waste the opportunity.

You climbed up next to him and kept a distance, but shyly scooted closer after a moment, shocked he didn't push you away.

"Now, what is it?" He looked at you and you showed him the paper. He read it over. The paper was simply on the science of the water cycle and nature.

Sure, not a field he was known for, but he was a smart man, and in all fairness, you were only 6 so this was basic stuff to him.

He wrapped an arm around you as he explained it to you.

Your mother walked in on the scene and she stopped, stunned.

Dottore looked at her as he watched you write the summery you two had worked on together for the paper. "What?"

"Nothing...it's just..." She stammered

"Not what you expected....?" He supplied.

She nodded, hesitant.

He chuckled. "I suppose that's to be expected. Being away...it made me raise a few things about myself I had been avoiding." He said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

He then turned to her. "Nothing I said last night was a lie."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────●

Omg how did Dottore's get so long? I was just vibing I guess lol? It's funny, I always swore I'd hate that man yet I think I actually fell in love with him instead.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #child! reader #kaeya #Kaeya x Child!Reader #Kaeya x Reader #Fluff #hurt/comfort #injury #childe x reader #childe #thoma #diluc #xiao #diluc x reader #dottore #Dottore x Reader #itto x reader #Ayato x Reader #Genshin Dads #Genshin Headcanons #gorou x reader #zhongli x reader #Venti x reader

[fairsexynasty]

—DIFFICULT THINGS

jamie tartt x lasso!reader

ONE. TOWNIE

summary: lucy moves to richmond with a memory that doesn’t quite forget what her dad did to her. however, ted is as happy as a goldfish.

warnings: cursing, unlikeable female protagonist, father issues, abandonment issues, resentment

a/n: welcome to this very new series i WILL finish. my love for this show has overtaken my time and i am very excited to be writing this. this chapter is set during “two aces.”

——————

Leonard Cohen once said, “There’s a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.” But my world has been infused with the darkest of shadows. Everywhere I search is covered by a dark spot. It seeps into my life from my dreams, nightmares, and memories. I don’t think I was delivered by the hand of God, nor will I be expecting any blessing in the near future. It’s the hope that kills you.

I had that epiphany when I turned seven. No one had ever seen a child so jaded, so self-aware. When I learned that the father I wished for wasn’t that interested in fully being in my life, I accepted it entirely, for what it was worth. He’s popped in and out, coming in as quickly as he leaves, only sticking around for moments he deemed essential to me.

And the worse part is that he’s a good man—a good man with a daughter who felt evil.

I used to wish something terrible would happen to me. A broken collarbone. A car accident. Cancer. If something like that happened to me, I thought he’d return and stay for good.

But those things never happened. I’ve never broken any bones. I’ve never crashed my car into a tree. I’m perfectly healthy. And after all this time, Dad has moved on.

I have a half-brother. Thirteen or fourteen years my junior, it’s disgusting how I’m not too sure about the gap. I’ve never met him, nor do I want to meet him. I envy a child who cannot understand the weight of the word ‘father’ because he’ll always take it for granted.

When I crawl through my memories, I can see Dad crystal clear. He showed up to every one of my birthdays until age sixteen. That’s probably because my brother was old enough to ask and understand why Dad was leaving him. Dad came to my first dance, a father-daughter dance. It was one of the nights I honestly felt pretty. He and I danced the night away, stuffing our faces with candy and desserts and drinking our weight’s worth of soda pop. Dad taught me how to ride a bike. Although it ended with scraping my knees, he helped me up, cleaned my knees, and kissed each one. Dad drove me to my first day of high school. The morning went by quickly, but I can still remember the smile on his face as I waved goodbye to him and walked through the school doors.

I want to be thankful for what I’ve gotten from my dad. But he could have done so much more. Am I not worth the effort?

And it hurts to hate my mother as much as I do.

She could clean up her act for Dad, but once he was on his way home, she’d finally ease into consciousness. We would fight. She’d accuse me of not appreciating her. She’d belittle me and never congratulated me on my accomplishments. She’s manipulative. Controlling. Narcissistic. Evil. I know I’m no good, either. But women like that love confrontation. And she got the best of me every single time.

But I’m a grown woman now. I’m twenty. I have a life. A freedom I’ve never known. I’m trying to be honest, to prove I am everything Mom never thought I’d be. I’m trying to make Dad proud of me. Because everyone else is sure as hell proud of him, he’s Ted Lasso: a simple man with a simple plan who was pulled to spread his kindness in Richmond, England, by coaching their god-awful team. I watched the news with a frown as soon as they announced his new endeavor. If he got a new beginning, why can’t I?

And that’s why I decided to pack up my things and move to England.

I’ve been here before. My mother and I moved around due to her line of work. Whether it was Shanghai, Princeton, Kuala Lumpur, or Rome, I could never call those places home. I feel like Richmond is going to be different. I’m not hopeful. Just curious.

——

The park seems comforting. There appears to be a rhythm that compliments the people. Kids playing soccer, and shops opening for the day.

I sit and watch the world awaken. People pass me by as I sit on the bench, not one of them stopping their routine for me, except one.

lHis greetings were met with responses of “Wanker,” a word I found oddly endearing. He continued down the park trail, saying ‘good morning’ to me mindlessly.

I replied with a deadpan “Wanker,” which surprised him, given my American accent. He turned back, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“Oh, my lordy-lord,” he muttered, smiling as he said my name, “Lucy.” He looks at me as if I’m a fucking unicorn. His eyes soften, and the smile that always reaches his eyes is suddenly on his face. “ Lucy !” he breathes out as if he’s too scared to say it louder like I’ll run away and leave.

“Hi, Dad.” He pulls me from my seat on the bench and envelops me into the biggest bear hug I’ve ever gotten from him. And those hugs are grizzly and unrelenting.

He lifts me off my feet and holds my head to his shoulder. “Oh, how I love you, Lucy girl. I can’t believe it!”

I groan, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Dad, please put me down. I'm not as tiny as Henry is," I say with a laugh. He puts me down with a smile, but there’s a flash of a solemn look on his face. I guess my mention of Henry has filled him with some semblance of guilt. I can’t tell if that satisfies me or not. "I think you're wondering why I'm here," I say, the false smile still on my face. "And the only reason is because I wanted to see you, Dad. I missed you," I add, trying to perfect the role of the doting daughter, even though it doesn't come naturally.

“Oh, I missed you too, Pumpkin. I’m glad you’re here.” He spots my luggage standing against the bench. “Looks like you’re gonna be visiting for a while, huh?”

I nod slowly, my gaze briefly shifting away. "Yeah, I am. Needed a change of scenery for a while," I admit, hoping he won't probe further into my true reasons for being here.

Dad nods, but I spot him scanning my face for any information I won’t outwardly tell him. Perhaps it’s a parently instinct, or maybe it’s just a Ted Lasso thing. The smile on my face doesn’t falter.

“So, how’s your mom?”

The question hangs in the air, and I can sense the curiosity in his eyes. I clench my jaw and roll my eyes in annoyance. "I really don't want to talk about her right now," I say firmly, hoping to steer the conversation away from a topic I'd rather avoid.

Dad gives me one of those fatherly smiles, understanding my need for privacy but also indicating he'll inquire about it later. "Alright then. How about we get you settled into my place? Don't care if you've found one already. I got you here with me, and you're not going anywhere, missy. I hope that's alright with you," he adds, his face hopeful as he waits for my response.

I acquiesce to his requests. It’s the least I can do. “Sure, Dad. I’d love to.”

He cheers with a fist pump, then wrangles me into yet another bear hug before I tell him he’s crushing my ribs, and he dramatically lets me go with a pout on his face.

I follow him down the streets to his apartment door. We enter, and it’s pretty lovely, yet it feels so hollow. There’s an opened jar of peanut butter on the island. I can tell he radiates joy as we unpack my things into an extra bedroom. I wonder how lonely he’s been without his son and wife.

Yeah. This is the least I can do.

——

After unpacking and settling in, Dad practically begs me to come to Nelson Road with him, and since I’m already feeling a bit guilty, I come along with him.

Upon entering, some guy with a full beard and eyebrows that make him look perpetually constipated looks at me. Well, it’s more of a glare. He walks up to Dad and me, not once taking his eyes off me. I narrow my eyes in response, shooting him a cold glare of my own. “Who the fuck is this? Don’t tell me Rebecca hired another fucking American.” His voice is deep and rumbling and full of snark.

"Seriously, do all British guys walk around with a stick up their ass?" I quip, but my remark falls on deaf ears. I catch the man clenching his jaw at my question. Ah, it seems he doesn't take kindly to being disrespected. One jab at his masculinity, and he's ready to go to war without a second thought.

"Roy Kent, meet my daughter, Lucille," Dad introduces, but I quickly interject, "Lucy to you." I emphasize my preference, not one to stand on formality. "Who the fuck are you, Roy Kent?" I ask, gauging his reaction as he looks between me and my dad, clearly trying to figure something out. I decide to clear the air, "Yeah, my mom isn't Michelle," I clarify, hoping to put any confusion to rest.

Roy's response is a simple "Oh," followed by a grunt as he exits the scene. My dad remains unfazed and carries on, guiding me towards the locker room with his arm casually draped around my shoulder.

"Coach Beard! We've got a new cast member!" Dad announces to the room as we walk out together, seemingly excited to introduce me to his colleagues.

A man with a book and a golf hat turns his chair around and observes us. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the fussbudget,” he says. “Hello, Lucy. I’m Coach Beard. I’ve heard all about you.”

I can't help but snort at the situation. "That's impossible," I retort with a snarky tone. Coach Beard finds my reaction amusing, letting out a chuckle, while my dad gives a slight frown, but I know a few jabs won't easily rattle him.

Suddenly, a strong voice breaks the chatter, announcing, "Ayo, the gaffer's got another kid!" The rest of the men turn their attention to me, their eyes filled with wonder and intrigue. They excitedly chat, asking if they saw what they think they did.

Exiting the office, we step into the open room where my dad proudly introduces me to the team. "Fellas, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter. This is Lucy, everyone."

The players greet me with waves and hellos, except for one guy sitting on the bench, engrossed in his phone, occasionally laughing. I point him out, asking, "Who's that?"

"Jamie Tartt. Hey, Beard, what's the deal with Jamie?" my dad inquires, and seemingly out of nowhere, Jamie appears beside us without making a sound.

Beard responds, "Says he can't practice today. Says he's hurt."

I observe my dad's face dropping with disappointment as he turns to walk out the door and over to Jamie, concern etched across his features.

The whole situation was intense, and I couldn't recall ever seeing my father this angry before. It seemed like there had never been an opportunity for him to get this worked up until now. Watching him unleash his frustration on Jamie reminded me of my mom, who had her share of heated moments. While my dad appeared to be justified in his outburst, Jamie's disrespectful behavior only reinforced my 'British men suck shit' theory.

Feeling overwhelmed, a tingling sensation crept into my head, and my heart raced with the familiar signs of an impending panic attack. I needed to escape, so I swiftly turned on my heel and walked out of the office, trying to distract myself by fiddling with the rings on my fingers.

Wandering aimlessly down the halls, I searched for a private space to catch my breath and calm down. Passing a laughing man, a short guy carrying a laundry bag, and a stunning blonde woman who seemed out of place here, I stopped in my tracks when I heard my dad's name mentioned in a hushed conversation.

"Rebecca, I don't think Coach Lasso will be too thrilled about you trading Jamie away.”

“Higgins, listen to me. I don't care if Lasso is trying to get through to Jamie or if he begs him to come back. Jamie is not returning, and that's precisely what I need," she asserts before abruptly changing the subject, "Now, let me go hunt down my biscuits. They're late."

Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Dad is being sabotaged. All this time, I believed he was here to make a positive impact on the team, but it turns out they see him as nothing more than a joke. Stepping away from the door, I attempt to make a quick exit, only to collide with a statuesque woman who towers over me.

She glances down at me, exuding power through her stature and fashion, but I'm not intimidated. "Why, hello there, whoever you are. Are you lost?" she inquires.

Ah, this must be Rebecca. The woman who plans to screw my father over. I can't help but roll my eyes at her. "No. Just looking for the bathroom," I retort.

Rebecca gestures towards the sign, displaying her passive-aggressiveness. "Well, it's just around the corner. Right where the 'bathroom' sign is," she points out.

"Cool," I respond nonchalantly, not letting her faze me. "Oh, and by the way, my name's Lucy. Thanks for hiring my dad to coach!"

I catch a flicker of terror in Rebecca's eyes before I walk away, grinning to myself. Drama seems to follow me wherever I go, even in Richmond. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

——

After my quick trip to the loo, I wander over to the dog track, where Dad and Beard stand, closely observing the team's training session. I can't help but chuckle at Jamie's predicament as he wears a penny and sets up cones.

Dad notices my arrival and playfully calls out, "Oh, there you are, Waldo! What were you doing?"

His attempts at humor fail to catch me off guard. While I understand his references, I refuse to engage in the corniness. "Nothing, just using the bathroom," I reply with a mischievous grin, not willing to spill the beans about Rebecca's scheming ways. "Oh, and I met Rebecca. She seems nice," I lie sarcastically, well aware of her conniving nature.

Before Dad can respond, a rather handsome player approaches us gracefully. "Hello there. Sorry, Coach Lasso, but I couldn't continue practice without introducing myself to our guest," he says with a charming smile. "My name is Sam Obisanya. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lucy. The other players and I were wondering if you'd care to join us on the field for a few minutes. We'd like to have some fun at Jamie's expense. Is that alright?"

I return Sam's smile and reply, "Uh, sure. But I haven't played in years, dude. Not sure I'll be any good among you professionals.”

Sam brushes off my concerns, reassuring me, "Oh, that's alright, Lucy. I'm sure Thierry will let you score a couple of goals. Come on!" With that, he guides me towards the field, announcing to the team, "She said yes, you guys!" Their enthusiastic cheers fill the air.

As we assemble for a quick game, a guy with a buzzed fade named Isaac addresses me, confirming my name, "Alright, Lucy, is it?" I nod, and he explains the teams, "We're gonna split into five and five, and you're gonna play with the lads who ain't got a kit on."

"Sounds good," I respond with enthusiasm. I turn to the guys without kits, and each extends a hand for a handshake. I go down the line, shaking hands with each one. There's a short man with curly hair, Bumbercatch, followed by a tall fellow with a broad smile, Jan Maas. Then, a highly energetic man named Dani Rojas greets me, not wasting any time to exclaim, "Football is life!" right in front of me. The last guy, a mousey brunette named Colin, completes the line-up.

Quickly getting into formation with my newfound teammates, they place me front and center for the play. I'm facing off with Sam, who gives me a friendly smile. At the sound of the whistle, we both dash for the ball, but I swiftly take control and dribble it down the field. Roy Kent charges towards me, determined to tackle the ball away, but I outmaneuver him with a quick juke, causing him to land on his ass. The guys react with astonishment, and suddenly, the game shifts from Sam's gentle start to full intensity.

Isaac rushes towards me, sporting a determined expression, but I pass the ball to Dani Rojas, who's open and ready. Dani drives it down the field, but as soon as he spots an opportunity, he passes it back to me. With precision, I shoot the ball into the goal, leaving the goalkeeper stunned as it whizzes past him.

The entire team stands in complete silence, including my dad and Coach Beard, who are both staring at me with their mouths agape. The momentary hush is broken by Jamie Tartt, who teasingly remarks, "Ay, wanker's kid just got you real good, lads." He winks at me, provoking a gag from me followed by a flip-off.

Isaac can't contain his excitement, exclaiming, "Shit, bruv! You just broke Roy Kent's ankles!"

Roy growls behind me, clearly not pleased with being outplayed. "You got fucking lucky, kid," he grumbles.

I don't back down, confidently replying, "Luck's got nothing to do with it. Either you're cursed or you just ate shit, Kent."

I have to admit, Richmond has exceeded my expectations thus far, but I won't let it get the best of me just yet.

#fairsexynasty #ted lasso x reader #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x ofc #ted lasso fanfiction

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Greetings dearest Mother, this child has gotten the big sad again. May i request for a hero with abandonment issues with their villain lover comforting them with cuddles and kisses. Thank you and have a great day.

“I’m so sorry, darling.” The villain rushed towards their lover and pulled them instantly close.

“Oh god,” the hero choked out. They couldn’t breathe, they couldn’t think. They were too shocked to even cry. Two days. For two days, they’d been gone. All the hero could do was fight for air and wonder if this pain, this fear would ever ease.

The villain loosened the grip on their hero to give them more space but it only made everything worse since the hero’s knees gave out under them.

“Darling—” The villain caught them right before their knees could hit the floor. They were gentle and sank onto the floor with their lover, their grip firm. Suddenly, the hero started crying, their fingers clawing the villain’s suit. “I am sorry, please forgive me.”

“Are you okay?” the hero asked between sobs. They felt themselves hyperventilating but tried to calm down. For the villain’s sake, for their own sake.

They went through the breathing patterns they’d established with the villain. Likewise, the villain helped them with the perfect hand placement and encouragement.

“I am, my love. I promise I am alright.” The hero’s hand skimmed over the villain’s suit and neither of them were surprised about what came next.

“You’re bleeding,” the hero gasped, weeping into their lover’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding again.”

“I am okay,” the villain promised, kissing the hero’s temple. “I am okay, darling.”

“No, you’re hurt, you’re—” The hero didn’t finish their sentence, instead they just let the villain’s suit soak up their tears.

“Darling, I am so fucking sorry. I never wanted to leave. I wish I could’ve told you but my boss…” The villain didn’t need to finish their sentence either. The hero understood, they truly did. The villain’s boss was a horrible monster. Someone who had blackmailed their lover countless times. Someone who thought people were replaceable.

Though the hero knew nothing but devotion from their lover, there were still doubts in their mind at times. Doubts which were stupid above all.

Being close to the villain solved almost all their problems but they couldn’t help but think about the injury. It always happened. The villain always came back battered. Blood, broken bones, bruises…every time, the hero would start crying when they stitched their wounds.

And the villain would take the needle. They would kiss their cheek. They would try to stitch the wound themselves. But in the end, the hero always finished the stitches.

Slowly, they parted from their lover, their eyes scanning the wound sadly.

They felt how their brain went numb, how they calculated everything for the coming wound treatment.

“It was a knife,” the hero said. They’d seen those wounds before. As always, their eyes felt swollen. Their voice was thick.

“It’s not very deep,” the villain whispered. However, when the hero brushed the pulsing flesh the villain winced harder than usual.

“I’ll get the kit.” The villain grabbed their wrist.

“I’m sorry,” they said again. It was soft. They kissed the hero’s nose. “I am sorry, my love. It breaks my heart to watch you go through this every time. I hope I’ll be able to stop.”

“Just waking up without you…I think that was the worst part. And then fearing you wouldn’t come back…that you would leave me,” the hero said. “That was my first fear. And then I remembered why you were gone. That was even worse. Not knowing when you come back, I mean.”

“Darling, I love you,” the villain said. “I will always come back home. I’ll always find a way, even if I have to crawl to you, I will be there.”

#hotd had me rewatch got and oh my god I am crying the first seasons are so great and knowing where it’s headed to breaks my heart #also the urge to continue a fluffy snippet of mine and kill the characters instantly is always present #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #h/c

[previousloversandmuses]

FREQUENCY: Episode 4 - A Solider Boy Story

FREQUENCY:  A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 4: “Virginia Woolf”

WORD COUNT: 4815

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader 

WARNINGS: (NSFW) Foul language. Mentions of, and graphic depictions of sex. TRIGGER WARNING: Offensive slurs. Violence, depression, and mentions of suicide. 

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments, or concerns. 

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No but seriously, if you're easily offended, this episode is not for you. Please remember that I am a writer, and the things my characters say are not my personal beliefs.

John was the closest thing I had to a romantic partner. We would have sex, he’d complain to me about something, and then I’d beg him to get revenge on Vought. We both understood each other well, and knew the other person's likes and dislikes. I knew what pissed him off more than anything, and he knew niche things like I didn’t like mustard. I knew he was unbeatable, and he knew that I was breakable. That was in comparison to Maeve, obviously. 

We would be fucking, his hot, suped up skin slapping into mine with unrelenting fervor. I wouldn't just feel him in my cervix, no; I’d feel my bones rub against each other, I’d hear my joints brace for impact as they tried desperately not to shatter. My fingers would grip whatever surface I was closest to. I’d hopelessly try and grasp for some sort of leverage, my knuckles popping, and turning a stark shade of white as I clenched tighter, and tighter as he pierced into me from behind. 

I’d be too overwhelmed to speak. Choking on screams, the breath being stolen from my lungs. He would get so into it, he’d forget how fragile I was in comparison to him. I’d try to pry myself out of his strong grasp, flopping myself down onto the mattress like a fish out of water. He’d pull away then, letting me go, and admiring his painting of broken capillaries on my asscheeks. I’d be bruised for weeks on end. One time I had to go to the hospital. A nurse asked what I did to myself, I told her I fucked The Homelander. She laughed, and said, “good one.” 

I remember he and I getting into a big fight because he used to follow me around town when I would’nt answer his phone calls. I told him he had no right to put a leash on me, and if he wanted to do that then he could just ask me to be his, and we’d call it a day. He never wanted that commitment though. And if I’m being honest with you, neither did I. To get back at me for ignoring him he started fucking Stormfront. The Nazi. Yeah, I saw that one coming. When she died he came crawling back. 

I stood by my open door on my balcony, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear. He knelt below me, his arms wrapped around my waist, resting on top of my ass like a shelf. He smashed his face into my lower stomach, placing gentle kisses, and speaking into me. He was begging me to forgive him. I gazed off into the distance, acting angry with my arms crossed over my chest, pouting. But if I’m being honest with you, I never felt more powerful than in that moment. The strongest man in the world begging for my forgiveness? I gave in very easily to that one.

I stayed up all night last night worrying about SB. Should I just tell Ama? Should I be honest, and let her know I’m housing an enemy of the state on her property? What if she didn’t buy the love story? What if she kicked us out, and I couldn’t get my revenge on Vought? What if John finds out, comes to find me, and kills everyone in his path, including my super weapon? There would be laser burns in the earth from here to timbuktu. 

See, in the beginning I was NOT planning on referring to SB as my boyfriend, or partner, or whatever. I didn’t even think that far ahead. In fact, I’m not even sure what I was going to refer to him as when the time came. But now that I’m here, and now that she has assumed that we’re an item, I guess there is nothing else I can do. He would be my fake boyfriend, and I would be the awkward girlfriend who didn’t like showing physical intimacy. I’m sure that wouldn’t be too hard to believe.

I mean, I could show physical intimacy with him, I could try, at least. But hell, I barely knew how to show it with someone like John, and he's been seeing me naked for almost four years now. 

I roll out of bed with a groan. I definitely didn’t get enough sleep. I open the blinds, and squint as the beaming morning shines in on me. High UV index, I think, or, I feel. Sunscreen is definitely a must. Looking out the window, I smile as a few of the res kids run around, spraying each other with a garden hose. That joy is short lived as I turn to see Soldier Boy SITTING NEXT TO FIVE OTHER UNASSUMING ADULTS, AND HAVING GOD KNOWS WHAT KIND OF CONVERSATION WITH THEM HOLY FUCK-

I scramble out of my bedroom, tripping over the pillows I piled onto the floor last night before I fell asleep. I rush over to the front door, only to catch myself in the reflection of the microwave. Yeah, let's not go outside in underwear and a skimpy tank top. I bactrack into the bedroom, sliding on a pair of jeans, and a bra. I trip over the pillows one more time on my way out.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Ama beams from a beach chair set up next to SB. He turns around to see me, as does everyone else in the area. 

Five different people come up to hug me, and say hello. I gracelessly return the gesture. Why does everyone here insist on touching me? I almost faint as a small toddler runs towards me with sticky fingers. Thank God someone lifts him up before he can get close. He smells like maple syrup. It makes me nauseous. I fucking hate kids. 

“I didn’t realize everyone woke up so early around here.” I mumble, moving over to an empty chair in the circle of adults. 

“I would've thought you’d be a light sleeper.”  Ama taunts.

“I usually am,” I respond. I turn to SB now, taking in his expression and overall vitals. He's calm, that's good, I think. “How did you sleep?” I ask him, squinting my eyes in his direction.

“Well, thanks. What about you?” He beams. Bastard.

Like shit, I think.

“Peachy.” I say, smiling back. I roll my eyes as I look off into the distance. This was going to be a long three months. 

Some of the other people begin to walk off back to their homes. Ama goes to wrangle her son and her boyfriend. I look up at her.

“Where is everyone going?” I ask.

“Most of us are going to get our day started. Feel free to tag along or chill out here, I don’t really care.”

“Awesome. I think we will probably get our bearings today. Maybe next time though.” I say stiffly, with a synthetic smile. 

She smiles back at me as she walks over to her trailer.

I sit uncomfortably, gripping the chair's armrests. He turns to me slowly with a raised eyebrow. 

“Are you always this awkward?” He asks.

I whip my head over to him, slightly offended.

“I’m not that awkward.” I defend.

“Right…” He drags. “And I’m twenty five.”

I scoff at him, standing up, and walking back over to our trailer. 

“Where are you going?” He asks.

“Getting my day going.” I respond curtly, leaving the door open for him to follow me.

I head inside, going into my room, and beginning to make my bed. He leans on the doorframe, and watches as I struggle to readjust the fitted sheet onto the mattress. 

“Back in my day you’d have that done before you even left the room.”

“Well, unfortunately, this isn’t 1940.” I sneer. 

“How old are you anyways?” He asks, his eyes burning a hole into my ass as I tuck in the top sheet under the mattress. 

“Twenty-two.” I say without turning around. 

I hear him whistle behind me, sighing. I move closer to where he is to grab the pillows off of the ground, putting them back onto the bed. 

“Not everyday you shack up with a dame eighty years younger than you, huh?” He jokes.

Looking at his face I can tell this bothers him. I decide not to poke fun at him about it.

“Well, you don't look a day past thirty-five.” I reassure. 

He smiles weakly at that. He moves back into the kitchen as I finish up on the bed. He pulls a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket, and goes over to the gas stove. Leaning down, he lights it on the burner. He lets out a few puffs before he takes a deep inhale, pulling it out from between his lips with his thumb and forefinger. He leans against the counter in the kitchen as he watches me make my way back out of the bedroom, and onto the couch. 

“So, do you have a plan?” He asks me. I look up at him.

“Oh, for the summer?” I question back.

I reach for the remote, turning the TV on. I leave it muted as I search for a news channel. Still no talk of his escape. 

“Yeah, do you have anything planned out?”

I sigh, thinking about all the fantasies I’ve had in the past.

“Well, for a long time I just hoped I could get them all in one room and then blow them up.”

“Ah,” He laughs. “Now I know what you need me for.”

“Well,” I start. “At first I just thought about using regular bombs, but no one was willing to help me do it. Then I realized they still had you alive somewhere, and thought to myself, he's a living bomb. Plus, you’re a tough man to kill. It’d be damn near impossible for these people to have any sort of defense against you when the time comes.”

He nods at me. “You do any combat?” 

I laugh a little at that.

“My abilities are strictly senses. I’m just as weak as a civilian, if not more.”

“If not more? What the fuck does that mean?”

I sigh, pulling my hands up to try and begin to explain to him. 

“Picture a thunderstorm,” I start. “You have a four year old kid who's deathly afraid of thunder. That fear isn’t going to physically stop him from getting to the storm cellar, is it?”

“No, guess not.” He says, watching me intently.

“Okay, then picture me. If there is a loud clap of thunder, and my hearing is the way that it is, a sound that intense will implode my eardrums. It will shake my body. The lightning will literally blind me. I remember I used to have to wear these noise canceling ear covers when I was a little girl. They worked, of course, but sometimes too well. I’d find myself being able to hear the blood pumping in and out of my heart. Then the neurons firing in my brain.”

“I guess you have a point,” He says, then realizes; “But your plan, with the bombs. That's loud. Wouldn’t that just be your worst nightmare?”

I take a deep breath.

“Well, I’ve never been around much of a sound like that before, I’ve only ever heard detonations from a great distance, like in Russia, and such,”

His eyes widen in awe as I continue to speak on my story. 

“But I’m assuming if I were in close proximity to something like that I’d surely just…die?”

“Ah, so it’ll be just me there then?” He inquires.

“No, I’d definitely be there,” I say, shaking my head. “Not to get dark, or ruin a nice moment, but…y’know…”

He looks around, confused. 

“No, I’m afraid I don’t know.”

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I would die happy? And I would be getting revenge on the people that ruined my life, and would hopefully go out quickly, without incident.”

“So this is a suicide mission?” He grills, moving in closer to me.

“I don’t think about it that way,” I say. “This is a childhood dream coming true.”

“Yeah, well, my childhood dream never involved sacrificing myself for the sake of revenge.”

“Well, to each their own.” I shrug, standing up, moving to put my shoes on. 

“What about my family? How will I end up finding them without your help?”

Oh yeah, I think. That. 

I look up into the ceiling for a second, rubbing my chin in thought.

“Ah,” I say, beginning to tie my shoes. “I’ll leave you a note.”

He watches as I stand up to leave the house. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, concerned. 

“A hike. It’s too nice of a day to stay inside, plus, I like to listen to the trees.” 

I go to grab the door latch, feeling his gaze burning a hole into my back. 

“You can come if you want,” I offer. 

He sighs in content as he follows me out of the house. 

When I was younger, when I lived in West Virginia, I used to hike all the time. I’d go out to the most remote point I could find off the beaten path, and sit with my hands cupped over my ears. If I quieted my mind enough, I could hear past the blood pumping in and out of a bucks heart half a mile away. I could hear past the thunderous flapping of a hawk's wings. I could hear past the cartilage rattling inside of a snake's tail. If I got quiet enough, I could hear the plants working. Living. Existing. I’d listen to them breathe carbon in, and exhale oxygen out. If I put my hands against the hard ground, I could feel their roots fill up with nutrients, and send the Earth's goodness back up into the trunk, and into the branches of the tree. I would completely envelop myself within the soil, becoming one with the flow of nature.

Life was simpler then, a time without distractions. A time without worries or a deathwish. A time without a prehistoric supe trailing behind me for an hour and a half not saying a single word.

I smell it as he pulls it out of his pocket and up to his mouth. 

“No.” I say simply.

He groans from behind me. I hear the flickering of a lighter anyway. I stop in my tracks, turning around to face him. He’s cupping a firm hand around a tiny joint. It's comical in comparison to him. As he exhales he looks up at me. I glare at him, my arms crossed over my chest.

“What, no hash either?”

I don’t say a word, just continuing to glare.

“I don't know what stick you have up your tight ass, but someone needs to pull it out.”

I roll my eyes, beginning to walk away from him. 

“Sometimes I swear you're mentally retarded by the way you act around other people.”

I stop again, turning around, and holding a finger up to him.

“Okay, first of all, no one says that word anymore. Second of all, I just want some peace and quiet. No distractions. But this entire walk you have been huffing and puffing, and now you decide to light one of the worst smelling things in the history of the planet, with a shitty, cheap gas station lighter from the middle of fucking nowhere that reeks of propane.”

He holds his hands up in defense, laughing at my irritation. 

“No reason for the hysterics, sweetheart.” 

“God, you’re a sleaze ball.” I groan, stomping off as far away from him as possible on the trail.

“Am I?” He asks.

“The quintessential sleaze ball, actually.” I gripe.

“Now doll, you’re just hurting my feelings.”

He catches up to me easily, trying to irritate me more. He walks right next to me now. I try to move faster, take bigger strides, but it’s no use. My sprint is his equivalent to a slow walk through the park. 

“I can always leave you alone and go fuck off to Costa Rica.” He beams.

I look at him from the corner of my eye, glaring.

“You say the word and I will happily let you exist without me. Doesn’t that sound nice, sweetheart?” 

“Fine,” I stop. “You can get the fuck out of here.”

He stops now too. Turning to face me, he holds his joint in one hand, and talks with the other.

“Hey nutcase, last time I checked you fuckin’ got me out! You really think I want to be spending my first taste of freedom arguing with a suped-up schizo-tard?”

I cross my arms, gritting my teeth.

“Then leave, I already told you once before.”

I pluck his joint out of his fingers and throw it onto the ground, smashing it into the dirt with my boot. He rubs his hands onto his face, growing angrier by the minute.

“You’re psychotic!” He yells.

“Okay! Leave then.” I begin to walk off, as fast as humanly possible without committing to a full run.

“I can’t leave!” He screams.

I stop and turn around to face him. He looks down at the ground in defeat.

“Look, wacko, I can’t go anywhere unless you give me information on my family. That’s the only reason I’m even considering helping you. You give me that, and I will gladly leave you alone.” 

Ugh, the fucking family, I think. God damnit. It was a good idea in the moment, but now it serves as a constant reminder for my immense guilt. I should've never, ever said that. I can’t stand to be around this guy, but I don’t want him to know I’m lying to him. He would be crushed to know.

“Look, I don't mind helping you,” He starts. “As long as I get what I need when the time comes. Just fuckin, chill out a little bit, please.” 

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. I clasp and unclasp my strained hands. 

“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay, you’re right.”

He sighs in relief, beginning to follow me again as we make our way back down the trail. 

“You owe me for that reefer by the way,” He adds. “And, if we could get some new clothes for me too, that would be nice. I’ve been wearing this for a few days now.”

I smile softly as he stomps behind me.

He didn’t understand why modern women were so whiny. So ridiculous and dramatic. He didn’t understand why they wore pants so tight you could see the outline of their G string through them-- not that he was complaining. He didn’t understand the point of platform heels outside of a strip club, or the fact that they had women with penises working inside of the strip club. 

As he walks up and down the aisles of the local consignment store, he can’t help but grab articles of women's clothing, and hold it up in awe. A black shirt without sleeves, small enough to be worn by a child, with the phrase “I’d do me” on the front of it in hot pink writing. He shakes his head, hanging it back onto the rack, and catching up to his brooding handler. 

She makes small talk with an elderly couple. The old woman holds up two shirts, putting each one up against her husband's skin, seeing which one looks best against his tone. Freak has her hand up to her chin in thought, squinting her eyes at the older man.

“See, I feel like the green is too harsh against his skin because he's so pink.” She states.

The old man groans, the older woman nodding along with her.

“See, I told you Steve, you don’t look good in this color.”

“I have to wear green, Marie. Everyone who's in the wedding party has to.”

“Well, I’m sure Junior will make an exception for his Papaw. And no one told me to wear green.”

“Cause you’re not in the damn party!”

“Well I should be, I'm only the groom's flesh and blood!”

Freak looks flustered, rubbing her hands down the front of her face. She can sense him behind her. Whipping around, she grabs him by the arm, presenting him to the old couple in front of her.

“I really wish I could stand here and help, but I have to go shop for my… husband.” She announces.

The couple turn to face him now. The old man stares at him with squinted eyes. The old woman takes off her glasses and gazes at him from top to bottom.

“Do I know you, son?” The old man questions.

Freak's face goes stark white.

“Oh, don’t be so senile,” Says the old woman. “These two just moved to town!”

The old woman turns to her now, leaning into her ear, whispering.

“I’ll tell you what though, he sure does look old enough to be your father.” 

SB rolls his eyes at that. The old woman's version of a whisper was just lowering her voice a few octaves. 

“Say, how old are you anyway?” The old woman asks. 

“Thirt-” Freak starts. He finishes for her though.

“A hundred and two.” He says with a smile.

The elderly couple look at him with their jaws dropped, then turn to each other and start laughing. The old man wipes under his eyes, pulling his own glasses off, beginning to clean them.

“You’re quick witted, son, I’ll give ‘ya that!” Says the old man.

As the older couple walks off, he pats SB on the back. They laugh their way into the tchotchke aisle. 

SB and Freak smile at the two of them as they walk out of sight. Freak turns to him, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Are you fucking crazy?” She asks in a hushed voice.

“They thought it was funny.” He shrugs.

She rolls her eyes as she pushes her cart into the mens denim section. 

“Not funny. Don't do that again,” She disciplines. “What’s your waist size, by the way?”

He makes a face, looking at different pairs of pants on the rack.

“I don’t know woman, that ain’t my job,” He states, leaning into her ear. “And I’m not a queer either.”

She turns to him, glaring. 

“You’re telling me you've never bought your own clothes?”

“Never been my job.” He states plainly.

She sighs, looking him up and down. He’s muscular, thick, manly. All things she can indeed admire, but tries not to for the sake of a professional partnership. She swallows those thoughts down before they can resurface again. 

“You’re probably a 38 or 40.” She states, her mouth going dry, grabbing a couple pairs of jeans.

He nods, whatever the fuck that means. 

They stay in the store a little while longer. He trails behind as he watches her pick up certain garments, and hold them up to his face. She never asks him for his opinion. He doesn’t care to give one anyway. Hell, what does he know about fashion? He was only thirty years out of date. She was much more tolerable when she wasn’t talking. Although he didn’t mind her being so headstrong. Different for a woman, indeed. Attractive? Most definitely. 

He was a lot more outgoing back in the day. More willing to have conversations with people he didn’t know. He knew what things were hip, and what to say to people as they passed him by on the street. But everything has changed now. You don’t smile at anyone as they walk past you. Apparently everything he says is far past expired, and comically vintage. Like a carton of sour milk. He's offensive, generally vile, and disrespectful to women, cripples, nutjobs, and other races besides his own. Yet, everything he does now was a social norm at some point. It was praised. It was normal. He was normal.

He follows her up to the cash register like a lost puppy. The person checking them out has downs. They really hire anyone these days, huh? He thinks to himself, rolling his eyes. It nauseates him to see. The woman at the other register has to be over a hundred. She moves like thick tar, and shakes like a withdrawing alcoholic. What has the world come to?

The two of them walk out to her shitty car. He offers to put everything in the trunk for her. She agrees, bringing the cart back over to the front of the store. So much for chivalry being dead, huh? They drive off without a word. She can tell he’s hungry, she's heard his stomach growling for over an hour. She stops to get him a cheeseburger, and suggests they run by the liquor store so she doesn't have to go back out later. 

She runs inside, walking back out with a twenty-five dollar bottle of jack, and a carton of marlboro reds. He remembers when whiskey was seven dollars even. The world has gone to shit. 

When the two of them finally arrive back home after a long day, the sun is just beginning to set on the horizon. She begins to unload the car, as he leans against it, lighting a cigarette. Before heading to the liquor store earlier they swung by the Dollar General for some groceries. She waltzes back and forth from the car, and back up to the house, stocking the cupboards more and more with each trip. 

In the distance, Ama walks towards their trailer, an elderly man by her side. He assumes they are here to greet the whackjob. He yells for her.

“Hey Virginia Woolf, looks like you got a visitor.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Tell them I’ll be out in a second.” She calls back, a hint of exhaustion in her voice. 

Her eyes grow tired and heavy as she puts everything away. She feels like her arms weigh a ton each. Sleep is always something she has needed to exist as a normal person. Although “normal” she's sure he'd disagree with. Virginia Woolf, she thinks. This guy must really think I’m nuts. 

“Ben!” Ama calls.

He turns around, puffing on his cigarette. He smiles at the two of them, reaching his hand out for a shake. The elderly man looks much older than Ben physically. He meets his hand firmly. The old man takes SB in for a second, looking him up and down curiously. 

“Nice to meet you, Sir. Thanks again for letting us stay on your land.”

The older man's eyes widen, holding his finger up to the sky as if he's gotten an idea.

“That’s it,” He beams. “Have you ever been told you look like Soldier Boy?”

A shatter comes from within the trailer. She had been eavesdropping on the conversation as she always does. So much for that new plate. She begins to pick up the mess quickly. Making sure to get all the glass pieces off the floor and into the trash can. Then she makes her way outside.

“Gee, I used to beg my parents for his action figures back in the day. Of course, we were never allowed to have them.” He continues.

Ben stammers on his words for a moment, trying to find the right way to de-escalate this situation. But she swoops in like his knight in shining armor.

“Goodness, I haven't seen you since I was what, sixteen?” She runs up to him, wrapping him in a big hug. 

She and the elderly man walk off into the distance, going to sit on the rickety front porch swing attached to the roof of their trailer.

Ben takes a big sigh of relief, going back in on his cigarette. He walks back over to the car, resting against it, and watching as the two of them catch up with each other. 

Behind him, Ama slips out her phone. She pulls up google, then proceeds to type in “Soldier Boy”. It’s pure curiosity. She’s just wondering if they really do look alike, or if she has to worry about Eduda's dementia. As she scrolls down the image search, she intakes a deep breath, accidentally dropping her phone on the ground. She feels sick as she squats down to pick it back up. He's the spitting image. 

Masterlist | Episode 5 | Taglist

Taglist: @Sl33pylilbunny @Lanassmarty @Sydneyyyya @1-800shootmeplease @muhahaha303 @nancymcl @speedyrebelfan @ghh05ttt @agentorange9595 @let-me-luve-you @peachytits @darkdahl @deans-spinster-witchs-favoritestch @soggybasementfries @ladysparkles788 @madamthemoo @lyarr244 @sadlittlecountessess @mickaelly007 @mrscountryclub @vtheoneandonly @decadentanchorwerewolf @wonderland2022

#the boys fanfic #soldier boy the boys #the boys #soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #homelander smut #homelander x reader #homelander #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut

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FEBUWHUMP DAY 1 | Helpless

Hi! I've written exactly nothing for several months but I'm here and I'm trying febuwhump. The keyword is trying. I am not confident in my perseverance skills. I'm doing it by splitting the prompts between three different sets of OCs who I have never introduced here before. Today's prompt's OCs are Artie and Arlowe, my most beloveds that I keep talking about and never writing for, so we're fixing that! Their story is a companion story to Collarbones, and I will write it without prompts at some point, I swear. For a shred of context, Arlowe does illegal street fighting for money. This is a scene of their first meeting, where Arlowe has gotten himself injured so badly he can barely move, and Artie finds him :)

Day 1 | Helpless | Artie and Arlowe

CWs for blood, injuries and mentions of fighting and broken bones.

Every breath made the pain worse.

It radiated out from his side, rolling over him in waves with each rise and fall of his chest, every twitch, every swallow.

He was…. somewhere. Where was he? Some staggered distance from the fight, collapsed against an alley wall in - he didn’t know where. Didn’t even know how he’d gotten here.

The ground swam when he opened his eyes, and he hissed his way through an exhale that burned. Fuck. Broken rib? His shoulder? He’d hit the ground too hard to know where the pain started, taken too many hits to know which one did the damage. He'd won the fight at the cost of his ribcage and he'd barely made it out of the ring, but at least his pockets weren't empty anymore. At least he'd given as much as he got.

He needed to get up. The sun dipped, night threatening to swallow him if he laid there any longer. Shadows were already crawling over the alley, and Arlowe had always liked the dark, but not when he was at risk of drowning in it. Not when he couldn’t swing blindly and win.

You’re getting weaker, he told himself, the voice in his head sounding far too much like someone else. He dismissed the thought. He’d dealt with far worse than this, and he was fine.

He needed to get up.

The ends of his hair stuck to his arms when he shifted, sticky with blood. His, or someone else’s, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both. Probably… fuck, probably both. The ache gnawed at the edge of his vision and he tried very hard not to breathe under the wave of it.

The day grew steadily darker around him, and Arlowe did not get up.

-

The long haired fighter was injured.

That’s how Artie referred to him, anyway. Long haired fighter. Like it was a name. Longhairedfighter, the mysterious newcomer who never hit first but never lost a fight.

… Maybe it was more like a brand.

Artie had seen him fight a few times. His name was never on the rosters, not after the time it had been smeared out with a scribbled ‘fuck you’ over the top - he was usually written down as ‘unnamed competitor’, now. Always at the top of the roster, the one everyone wanted to fight, the one everyone wanted to watch.

And he was slumped against a wall, looking very much like he couldn’t move for all the world, like he’d barely notice if someone came at him with a knife.

“… Hey.” Artie shuffled a little closer. Thick bruises painted the fighter’s chest, disappearing down under his shirt. How the hell had he gotten so far like that? “You good?”

The response was a slow thing, thick and slurred. “Fuck… off.”

“You need -” Artie shifted on his feet, made to step a little closer, but the look in the boy’s eye made him stop.

“Don’t touch me.” It was sharp, the words much clearer this time. Kind of frantic. Artie backed up, hands up placatingly.

“I won’t. I won’t. I’ll stay back here, yeah?” He took another step back for good measure, because he might look like he was an inch away from death’s door, but Artie had seen him break skulls. “… what happened?”

The same response again: a slow, slurred, ‘fuck off’. This time, he heaved a breath that looked like it hurt and forced out, “Don’t… need… help.”

“… Right.”

Normally, Artie might be inclined to believe him. He was a ferocious fighter, vicious and dangerous and quick. He didn’t hit first but he did hit back harder, and he’d never lost. Not that Artie had seen, anyway. 

But now, he didn’t so much as twitch as Artie stepped closer again. Closer, he could see the deep, sticky stains of the blood all over him. In his hair. The trembling of his hands, the way he had to drag his gaze across the floor before he could lift his head to glare weakly at Artie.

… Helpless. He was, wasn’t he? Not normally, but - now. He was hurt bad.

There was something in his eyes that screamed a pained, desperate sort of fury.

And - hell, Artie’s sisters had always told him not to go fucking around trying to rescue injured animals, but he could never leave well enough alone, and he had hands that were used to being bitten.

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday1 #writing: febuwhump (2024) #artie and arlowe #whump #whump writing #whump ocs #whump fic #i'm too tired to keep tagging this but #welcome to my boys i missed them so bad #and they are finally here on this blog

[kenobster]

I wrote this for @marvelstars who requested Palpakin after voting for Obikin in that poll five thousand years ago. XD It was meant to be 100-500 wordsish, but unfortunately my obsession with this ship squeezed one THOUSAND words out of me lmao. Anyway I'll eventually post this on AO3 (probably after a bit of editing, too). Until then, I hope you enjoy! ^_^

Also, to anyone who requested one, please note that I am still working on them! I haven't forgotten. I'm just slow. XD

Ships & Warnings: Palpatine/Anakin (CW dubcon); past referenced Miraj/Anakin (CW noncon); referenced Padmé/Anakin

~~~~~

After the mission, Padmé's hands became the raking claws of Zygerrian fingertips, and her mouth became the sweet-tasting lips of Queen Miraj Scintel. At a kiss, at a touch, at a look, Anakin’s limbs would go rigid and stiff, like a bloated corpse, and—no matter his disgust, no matter his shame—heat would vacate the rest of his body to stir just below his waist.

Sometimes, he could swear that the presence of his wife alone carried a distinctly identical scent.

"Purlieu élégante," said Chancellor Palpatine one evening. They were sitting in his office a little too late into the night because Anakin hadn’t yet decided—whether to grace Padmé's apartment with his presence or to simply text her another dubious excuse. 

"Excuse me?" Anakin asked. The comment had broken him out of a forlorn stare into his empty glass. 

As their gaze met, Chancellor Palpatine's eyes softened, and his thin lips spread into a sympathetic smile. "Lately, I've found its scent to be recognizable upon many of the female senators. Senator Amidala is no exception. Quite possibly, the Queen of Zygerria wore it, too."

Anakin was either far too drunk (or maybe not drunk enough) to be understanding. "Are you—are you talking about perfume, sir?"

In response, the Chancellor slowly drained the last of his wine. When he finished, he set the glass on his desk with a hearty thump, and rose from his chair. "Come here, Anakin."

As if in a trance, Anakin dragged himself to his feet and crept until he was standing before the Chancellor.

The Chancellor hummed. “Closer, dear.”

Holding his breath, Anakin shortened the sparse amount of inches separating them. At this distance, looking elsewhere was impossible. He bounced his gaze between the Chancellor's worry-wrinkled brow and the pattern of stitches on his velvet robe.

Gently, the Chancellor held the base of Anakin's elbow. "You blame yourself for what happened," he said, "because she was attractive to you."

A cold weight settled in the bottom of Anakin's stomach.

"But, you see, you cannot help the seduction of the body." As the Chancellor continued, he drew the pads of his fingers lightly down Anakin's flank until his palm rested low on his hip. "A beautiful woman with a pleasing scent will always catch the attention of a young man like yourself. It is only—"

"I wasn’t attracted to her," Anakin hissed. Panic lanced through his chest at the echo of his sharp tone, but the Chancellor did not seem bothered.

"Not mentally, no," the Chancellor agreed, "but in a physical sense. A primal sense. We may have evolved to be sentient—but we are also animals, my boy. Lust is carved into our very veins."

The Chancellor curled a second hand around Anakin's waist, freezing him—just as her touch had done, just as Padmé's did now—and Anakin already knew that no amount of fighting would allow an escape from his locked muscles and steel bones. 

"Sir," he gasped, breathy and hoarse.

The Chancellor's hand on his hip glided to the inside of his thigh—and began to crawl upward.

Anakin grit his teeth, clenched his eyes shut, and failed, repeatedly, to breathe. The distance between them closed, their legs tangled snugly, and the Chancellor's breath fluttered up the edge of Anakin's collarbone, just beneath his robes. The older man smelled of cherry, like the wine, and it wasn't Padmé, it wasn't her, but it was—it was—

The Chancellor's hand cupped the front of his pants.

Trembling, Anakin shrank into this cage of arms and hands and nightmares. The cold weight in his stomach had suddenly begun to boil.

"Are you attracted to me, Anakin?" the Chancellor asked.

No, Anakin wanted to shriek.

"Do you see your wife in me? Do you feel her? Do you smell her?"

Anakin's nostrils burned with a sharp inhale. "I'm," he murmured, "I'm not married."

In response, the Chancellor squeezed.

A keen devoured Anakin's throat. His knees buckled. As he caught himself on the flat of the Chancellor's desk, his hand knocked into the Chancellor's empty wine glass. Its edges thumped and rolled against the polished hardwood surface.

The Chancellor steadied him. "It is clear that you don't want this," he said, "so tell me to stop."

And all Anakin could manage was a broken, throaty please.

The palm at his back pushed him forward. Wine-rich lips latched onto his. A stale-tasting tongue lapped at the front of his teeth.

After a long moment, the Chancellor let him go.

Anakin stumbled backward and dragged knuckles over the residue of saliva on his mouth before he could remember not to be rude. He could not lift his head. He could not meet the Chancellor's stare. He could not expose the sting nipping at the corners of his eyes. Not after his weakness had been laid bare and helpless in the Chancellor's arms.

"Anakin," the Chancellor said. To Anakin's great relief, his voice had lost the charm of a would-be lover and had assumed the familiar stern patience of a mentor. "You must know that it was not your fault."

The threat of tears brimmed and spilled over. Anakin choked on the air—and hated how it sounded like a sob.

"Beauty makes it easy," the Chancellor continued, "but given an effort, anyone can achieve the same. I am not beautiful nor young, and still, your body betrayed you. And still, you could not say no."

Understanding finally dawned. Anakin's blurred gaze lurched toward the Chancellor, who was standing where he'd been left, his hands raised, his palms out, and his smile as kind and as weary as ever.

"Tell Padmé to change her perfume," the Chancellor said. "After your victory on Kadavo, it is the least she can do."

#palpakin #anakin skywalker #sheev palpatine #anakin #palpatine #anakin x palpatine #anakin x padme #anakin x miraj #CW noncon #mine #kenobster writing

[sukugo]

So as a fellow sukugo shrine sweeper, I feel like I have to share this with you first:

That's it. It was over. They all watched as Gojo fell to the rubble beneath his feet. Shallow, raspy breaths and the gurgling of blood would only be poetic in a moment such as this.

"You fought well, my sorcerer." Sukuna's words weren't a verbal sneer. He stated it as fact, therefore it was so. He walked to the highest pile of former buildings and sat down. "I will give you a choice, Satoru Gojo. You die here and now, or you can crawl to me. After all, it would be a shame to lose you. You've taught me something that no one else could."

Everything was shaking. It was too much but nothing at all. Gojo could only cling to the voice in front of him, to the eyes of the god before him. Crawl, Sukuna had said. What did he have to lose? The world was fucked either way, and he had caused so much destruction.

The refuge in his audacity had run out.

The refuge ahead was still here. Just a few steps away.

Stumbling was something he didn't think was possible when crawling. He never had to worry about it before.

A clawed hand raked through his blood crusted hair. If he wasn't using the king of curses as a bedrock for his sanity, he might have been startled.

"There we are, Satoru. I'm glad you made the right decision. Come here, and I will tell you what you taught me." He pulled Gojo between his legs and the sorcerer laid his head on the other's leg. He felt Sukuna healing his wounds right under his fingertips, and gasped as it overflowed into his bones.

Not quite healing, but more a brand. A mark of victory, pouring into his cracked cup of a body. He felt Sukuna filling every empty space, not just his mind, but his physical form as well.

He didn't know when his eyes had closed, but Malevolent Shrine was kinda hard to miss.

"Why so quiet all of a sudden?"

"It's not empty anymore. It's quiet." Was it always this dark?

"Your six eyes caused that void. I removed the problem. Made you whole. You were born rare, but also broken. Empty. I suspected that was what was wrong with you, but... you don't have to worry about that now."

"Explains why everything is so fucking dark."

A barking laugh came from above him.

"A small price for me filling your void."

"Careful now, I'm already on my knees." Gojo wise cracked. "But what did I teach you?"

"Love." That's... not what he was expecting. " You and I are very similar. That is the reason why our fight was as fulfilling as it was destructive. We fill and heal the void that makes us restless... but only you can give that to me. Just as I will be the only one for you."

The curse lifted him up onto his lap, and Gojo gently examined his remains of his eyes. Gone.

"When they regenerate, they will be no different than normal eyes, little sorcerer."

"When??"

"I would prefer if my love could see me." Gojo parted his lips to speak, but an insistent press of lips took the words from him.

When they parted, Gojo could only formulate one solid question:

"What would I see, Sukuna?"

The god holding him, his grin unseen, leaned back into his throne.

"That I alone...

...am the exalted one."

Sorry if this is really long or seem ooc, I was vibing to Neoni and things happened. I hope you enjoy though!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHFHJASHDKJASHJDSHGKLFHGLKSDHFKLDHGLKHGSDKLHFASKLJFKLHSKDFJAKLJASKLDJGLSHDLFJAJFASKFA

sorry i just. i need a fucking moment. IAUGHKDGAJFHKJLJASDLAJFKADKASÑ IM SCREAMING

THANK U SO SOSOSOOSOS MUCH FOR SHARING THIS IT'S SO GOOD AND IM NOT OKAY FUCK

#f.ask #jjk #sukugo #i cried. im crying right now. #how do i even. #im in love. im in love with them. #there's sososos many things. #SUKUNA SUKUNA SUKUNA. HE'S SO. #him referring to gojo as 'my sorcerer' and 'little sorcerer' OTL #'The refuge in his audacity had run out. The refuge ahead was still here' FUCK #just. the tenderness!!!! they're equals. they're meant for each other!!!!!!! no one else can give them that which they can give each other. #and the love that runs through them bc of this #felt through sukuna running his hands on gojo's hair. the laugh. the gently picking up satoru. the KISS. OUFGGHDHDGDJGA #'Not quite healing but more a brand. A mark of victory pouring into his cracked cup of a body. He felt Sukuna filling every empty space not #just his mind but his physical form as well.' oh FUCK im insane #'I would prefer if my love could see me.' SCREAMING CRYING #The god holding him his grin unseen leaned back into his throne. 'That I alone......am the exalted one.' FDHDJSHDHDBDHD SCREAAAAAMM #like. yeah. yeah. YEAH. #need to breathe. #and like. not to mention ur writing style is so lovelyyyyyyyyyyyy 💖💖💖💖 #OTL im cannot #like aaaaahhhhh this is such an amazing thing to get in ur askbox im so so so 🥰🥰🥰🥰😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 #like. fuck. fr overjoyed that u shared this with me thank u so MUCH!!!!!!! #i appreciate it a lot a lot. i enjoyed this immensel. it wasn't too long or ooc. ily. giving u a KISS <33333

[bonefall]

mr bones! what are your plans for Mousewhisker, Berrynose and Hazeltail in your AU, since they're some of the very few genetically pure lines in ThunderClan? I always thought it was such a waste to kill Hazeltail off and then to have Mousewhisker alive and kicking, but, like, never father kits or even take a mate?

If the Frostfour haunt my dreams (derogatory), the Daisychain haunts my dreams (affectionate)

They were done MEGA dirty by the narrative and I plan to shake them up massively, but because they have so many things going on, it's really hard to commit.

I'll go in order of MOST SOLID reworks, and finish off with the Daisykin I'm still waffling about

Berrynose

Virtually unchanged. He's great as-is. He will be the mate of Poppyfrost and have two kits with her; the only thing different about Berrynose is that he's getting a fiercer rivalry with Lionblaze.

I will tell you that I briefly considered having them be enemies-to-lovers because I have brainrot. But I ruled on the side of preserving canon and drawing out drama between Lion and Cinder, lmao

Mousewhisker

Is going to be a relatively tame background warrior like in canon, up to The Broken Code. We're following up on his secret relationship with Minnowtail, possibly even giving him RiverClan kits.

He gets targeted in the codebreaker saga, and is going to receive a punishment of some sort. He will probably take the place of Rosepetal in this arc, being Bristlefrost's mentor, and dying in that skirmish. Berrynose and Mousewhisker are both going to die in TBC; but when is undecided because of Cherryfall, see below

Hazeltail

I'm annoyed by her unceremonious greencough death, but I'm not completely against her dying in an epidemic. She may also die in the Great Battle.

If she lives, she will be taking the place of Mousewhisker after his death in TBC, ESPECIALLY if the Erins get some sense and give him a canon litter.

She is also a transwoman; an identical twin of Mousewhisker. Start praying that Mousewhisker gets that canonical litter because whoever the mate is WILL get lesbian'd by this.

Daisy

Daisy deserves a much better treatment from the narrative. She saves her kittens from being taken by a twoleg who took Floss' litter before they were old enough to open their eyes, helps to raise every litter post-TNP, and makes a statement that there's more to a clan than just fighting

She's staying in my arsenal as a level head who the more reactionary cats of the clan shout over when conflicts are spiralling out of control. A shorthand for "ThunderClan is no longer being rational."

She's also a really close ally of Squirrelflight, and becomes a very good builder along with Spiderleg and Jessy. If Squilf gets another mate, it'll be around the Daisy's Kin era, after they both help each other realize they don't need to keep crawling back to mates that aren't good for them

(It's still a maybe though! But it does parallel something I went through, so I would really want to get it right for them <3)

Also side note Smoky can go weave a basket, absolute loser

Rosepetal

I care immensely about Rosepetal.

She CANNOT have that unceremonious death in TBC it was an absolute waste. One of the worst in the series. I refuse.

I am considering giving her most of Cherryfall's screentime, since they both have overlap as a set of overlooked Daisykin twins with no offspring. Rose will be going on Alderpaw's journey, however it ends up being reworked.

Molewhisker & Cherryfall/Toadstep

I want to keep at least one of Berry/Poppyfrost's kids around, and I'm leaning towards Molewhisker. He's named after his uncle who didn't survive apprenticeship, and the 'competent respected warrior' role is already filled by Rosepetal.

So Cherryfall will probably get killed as background fodder (possibly in the imposter skirmish to infuriate Berrynose like in canon), and Toadstep is dying of greencough while Spiderleg/thorn survives. I want Spider to feel the pain of burying a child to regret his absence in his son's life.

It's a bit of a shame because I quite like Toadstep, and I love Cherryfall's name, but everything about them is covered better by their siblings. They're better off as kills.

#Daisykin #Daisychain #Toadstep #Cherryfall #Rosepetal #Daisy #Spiderleg #Hazeltail #Mousewhisker #Berrynose #Bonefall Rewrite

[soleilnomoon]

requesting off anon this time- really loved the one you did already ;w; peppermint, sorbet, pastelito de guayaba, marshmallow, & cake pops. i'd like to top them off with whipped cream & poppy seeds. side menu #1 ace with female or gn reader please! thank you in advance!

hi omg 💗 i am so sry this took forever; i'm glad you enjoyed the other one, i had a lot of fun writing and suffering 😊 i love ace and i love angst, so i took my time with this one; i'm terrible with fluff and comfort, but i def tried this time (it won't hurt that much, maybe...)

1k words, fem (or gn) reader, no pronouns; sfw, 18+, mdni; hurt/comfort, fluff, and angst bc i can't help myself i am so sry (i'm not); no real warnings, just some sad boy ace vibes & a lil suggestive maybe; reader said something hurtful, but it's vague (and up to your imagination tbh, on what was said)

“i hope someday to say out loud to anyone: you touched me & touched me & touched me & i was made better for it.” — erin slaughter

there’s an imposing wall that’s erected inside of him, constructed sloppily with hundreds of weathered bricks — crumbling from time and neglect, from broken promises and insomnia-induced outbursts — made purely from his unshed tears, obsessive thoughts, and years of him miserably combing through painful memories. there’s never been an appropriate time to say i told you so, but eventually those words flit about in the air, circulating late at night, stealthily crawling in between the floorboards, an unsettling feeling pulsing through his veins. it’s aggressive and perilous; an intricate web of complicated scenarios that refuse to leave him alone.

the words grow loud enough to gnaw at his mind, his chest an unwilling participant turned into a desolate a war zone rife with empty threats and childish wishes. the remnants of his battered heart, frayed at the edges, ribbons of silk spun from despair and solitude, wrap tightly around each one of his ribs. tight enough to constrict; bones that were once indestructible are ground into a fine powder.

penance, he reminds himself; a hefty, burdensome payment for the sin of his existence. but it’s simply not enough.

an inconsequential fight leaves him frustrated beyond reason; his inadequacies clomp around noisily, interrupting his sleep, making him pace down long, empty corridors while everyone else sleeps. more proof, he reasons— the thought remains unfinished, another discarded notion that will likely crop up again and again and again. he tugs at his hair in defeat, teeth clenched, tension shooting through his shoulders and neck.

your words play on a loop; the cadence of your voice a curse that traps him in a cowardly game of cat and mouse. if he repeats them to himself enough times, they might lose meaning, the sting will become less noticeable. tolerable. a scarlet letter that you callously brand on his heart.

it’s guilt that has your sheets tangled around your body, that plunges you into darkness — thick, unnavigable, a nightmare sitting heavily on your chest, clawing at your thoughts. when you try to scream, you’re unable to move; throat dry and scarred, the apology you’ve rehearsed for hours — words you’ve agonized over, handpicked with precision and affection — bubbling around, making it difficult to ignore your role in all of this.

is it sleep paralysis or cowardice that prevents you from fully waking up? you’re not sure. but something prompts you to get up as sweat glides down your face and onto your neck. the room is stifling, a prison of sorts, one that you intentionally sequestered yourself to for the duration of the night.

hindsight is unkind and unforgiving, your steps are hurried, bile clinging to the back of your throat; you nearly lose your nerve and slow down, breathing unevenly, hands clutching the hem of your shirt as you press your back against the wall. ace rounds the corner, sees you close your eyes and inhale deeply — it’s muscle memory, the way his legs carry him over to you, his strides swift and purposeful.

while he wants to shake you, to ask you why, why, why, he doesn’t. ace brushes his knuckles down your cheeks — round, soft, stained with dried tears — and you finally exhale.

behind the fading anger, behind the veneer of impassivity, a tenderness and adoration that you don’t deserve — his eyes hold a warmth that you will covet for the rest of your life. irony is the favorite cousin of misery, so it’s unsurprising that you both open your mouths and simultaneously say, i’m sorry.

you press your fingers against his lips, head shaking, curls frizzy, out of place — a storm, chaos, and beautiful to him all the same — you’re certain that if you let him continue, you’ll never say what you need to say.

“i…i shouldn’t have said that. it wasn’t right, and it’s not true, you know that right?”

silence is all he can offer you as he’s still reeling from your admission. the fault is not entirely yours, he knows, but he can’t seem to bring himself to stop your rambling. he used to think his feelings for you were too big, always expanding, shifting around, filling him unnecessarily — but now he knows that he’s had it all wrong. in your desperation to over-explain yourself, additional tears spill down — an overflowing well, heart swollen with vulnerability. he watches the way you cradle his hand in yours, thumbs gently kneading into his palms; a soothing massage of sorts, one that makes it difficult to stay upset.

you realize that, once again, you’ve let yourself get carried away. the sensible thing would be to properly talk things out, but you’re at your limit and can barely look him in the eyes. so you turn away and prepare to sprint back to your room; ace grabs onto your arm and holds you still.

“wait,” his voice is low, husky — a little hoarse from berating himself repeatedly — and he drops his hand so he can hold onto yours, “don’t leave.” in your haste to direct the flow of this theatrical affair, you forgot that his charm is the focal point of his magnetic persona. he kisses your palm once, twice; you start to lose count when he presses a lingering kiss on the inside of your wrist, and if he wasn’t already holding onto, your legs would’ve betrayed you terribly. still, you hardly feel any shame over it, instead allowing ace to bring you to his room.

under thick blankets, you curl into him. your fingers trace shapes on his broad chest, pausing when he inhales sharply — fingertips ghosting his skin as you craft another, more intimate, apology. your lips are soft against his — kisses even more so — and when fatigue makes its rounds again, you both struggle to stay awake. but it’s your hands rubbing small circles on his back that demolishes a significant portion of that wall, making it easier for him to breathe, sleep wrapping its long, spindly arms around him. it takes you a little longer, but you don’t mind it — not at all. you’re much too content enjoying this brief respite, hopeful that all of this might spill over into the morning.

#i rly do appreciate u for being patient with my pacing; i just like to take my time w. certain pieces #fic request #milestone event #500+ followers event #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭 #one piece imagine #one piece angst #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #portgas d. ace #portgas d. ace x reader #portgas d. ace x y/n #ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace fluff #ace angst #i feel a tiny bit bad 4 making ace sad #mnemosyneslunarian

[washa]

as @xanyiaz has posted, i am listening to Avior's playlist (finally) ‼️ So here are some of my favourite things i've said

spoilers ahead for videos 1 to 5 (It's not separated so. Can't tell you what belong to what video sorry 💔)

(i'll probably post a part 2 later)

I'm gonna fight him

he's talking abt closeknit isn't he???

im crying he rifted into hell?? 😭😭

BROS GOT SOME MENTAL WARFARE SO CREATED A HELL??

oh god just rift me back please

i might actually start sobbing if be keeps complimenting Aria

Did he just fall into the fucking circle or fire.???

HELP I CALLED IT LMFAOAOAO HE DID FALL

i imagined he just flopped onto the ground like a pancake

HELP AM I BAIT RN??? WDYM TOUCH IT ⁉️

Working conditions my ass you are just a walking OSHA violation

YOU CANT JUST SAY THAT AND GO "well it's your choice 😊"

and i wanna marry his vocabulary

ok i touched it now what?? do i start spouting shit

PROCREATE??? you wanna try or something??

Wait why are we talking about children???

also ur not imperfect doll just stubborn and slightly an ass

he's basically in quarantine rn

yeah starlight shut up i love dramatic pacing

he just sips on whatever feelings he wants like somebody coulda lost their dog and he just like "oh yummy sad nom nom"

HELP HE JUST FOUND A PERSON W MENTAL PROBLEMS AND GOES YUMMY FOOD

he just knocked you out and threw you in a meridian and waved you off w the same energy as "have a nice day of school kids 🤗"

dreamwalkers are basically jigglypuffs but with more pain then

its not everyday i get trapped in hell w a demon who got clickbaited by a cult member

again not really seeing why we cant just say fuck it and jump into said meridian (yes the foreshadowing is hilarious ik 😕)

why is he talking to me like im in labour "take a breath before you push again" my ass

HELLO AM I STUCK FINGERING THE DAMN MERIDIAN?? PULL ME OUT PLEASE??

wait if i die do i just respawn like a minecraft character?? do i just appear again at my set point or something 😭

HELP I JUST CATAPULTED BACK?? I just recoiled away from the merdian and ejected into the ring pits of hell??? Did my body make a boiing sound like those spring doorstops??

ofc i broke my damn leg. ofc i broke my damn leg 😮‍💨

ain't it hot rn? like fire is right below us 😭

What else is broken??? yk despite my fucking mental state probably

Ok ok Avior dearie, shit, is not what you say when treating a probably VERY broken arm. Like an arm whose bones would've probably put a bowl of mash potatoes to shame.

Wait was starlight like walking down the fucking street and a rift just appeared underneath them and they just fell down the damn thing???

Well ik why im here, because, perhaps, crazy idea, it was bc you rifted me here ‼️

guesses and theories?? what is this?? fucking blues clues???

by your sink hole logic, if we just lay here and wait for help it would be the best choice rn. bc like the more we crawl out, the more parts of the wall will fall in and trapping us more

NOT THE I JUST WANNA GO HOME PLEASE HES SO SWEET

the most cliche scratch on the cheek AND THE TOUCHING URGH😭

god he's like a shitty sour patch kid. Sour then salty, then sweet and hopefully not gone iygwim.

#redacted avior #redacted starlight #redacted audio #redacted asmr #washa rants!!

[jessource]

sentence starters: poetry edition.

❝what does it feel like to be lonely? it feels like being hungry; like being hungry when everyone around you is readying for a feast.❞ ❝it hurts, in the way that feelings do, and it also has physical consequences that take place invisibly, inside the closed compartments of the body.❞ ❝the pure and simple truth is rarely pure, and never simple.❞ ❝there were two reasons i was scared to let people in; the damage they could do, and the damage they could find.❞ ❝i often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship.❞ ❝it's all the love you want to give, but cannot. all that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. grief is just love with no place to go.❞ ❝i want to say something but shame prevents me.❞ ❝they say lavender softens anxiety and i wonder whether i can plant a garden so dense in your mind that the knots in your chest unravel and never tighten again.❞ ❝crawl inside this body. find me where i am most ruined, love me there.❞ ❝perhaps cherries look violent in the sunlight. perhaps you should let the moon be your couturier.❞ ❝i need some older, wiser being to cry to. i talk to god but the sky is empty.❞ ❝everybody's got a bone to pick. we arise from the dust already aching. when god made the dinosaurs he said, lets see what teeth can do—lets see what asteroids can undo.❞ ❝and all this is metaphor. an ordinary hand—just lonely for something to touch that touches back.❞ ❝but what you don’t realize is that tomorrow will never arrive. it will only ever be today, with tomorrow lingering just within your grasp. but by then it’s too late to reach out, because you've already left all your promises in a place that'll always be just out of reach.❞ ❝and i am beginning to feel like nothing more than an observer in my own life. always watching idly by, but never doing.❞ ❝you are darned between the cracks of my bones and sewn deep into my veins. you’ve built a home in my ribs and have taken up residence in the softest parts of my skin.❞ ❝we're empty boats, blown forward—like loose strands of hair—by a long and steady wind, living without knowing what we feel or want.❞ ❝when you return to something you love, it’s already beyond repair.❞ ❝and even though i know exactly how this will end. i can't help but imagine how drowning in you would be a tragically sweet way to end.❞ ❝blue is the typical heavenly colour. the ultimate feeling it creates is one of rest. when it sinks to almost black, it echoes grief that is hardly human.❞ ❝forgive me if i have come out of my battle hood, battered and unpretty and tiresome. for i am a victor nonetheless of the way i carry myself. and my worth, my suffering, my fight, will not be marred by how unwell i walk away from the trenches of war.❞ ❝and i wish i could tell you that the aching was a beautiful rebirth of some magnificent kind. but there is no beauty to be found in this kind of survival.❞ ❝i yearned desperately to disappear into a book of poetry or a textbook of spells, something enchanting and mysterious, instead of clumsily taking up residence in an awkward body that half felt right, half felt wrong.❞ ❝and i see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips.❞ ❝life gets hard sometimes. i know, darling. look at me. you are not broken beyond repair. you are always capable of mending.❞ ❝parallel lines have a lot in common, but they never meet. ever. you might think that's sad. but every other pair of lines meets once and then drifts apart forever. which is pretty sad too.❞ ❝i know i don’t make sense, (name). this is the problem. i’m a sick person, a crazy wishbone. i have razors under my tongue. i’m sorry i cut you, (name), i’m so—so sorry.❞ ❝you have haunted my thoughts and my dreams since the moment i laid eyes on you. i have memorised the slant of your brow and the wave in your hair, the sweep of your lashes and the rhythm of your steps.❞ ❝who are we at the end of the day? ourselves or the images of ourselves that we create? ragged lillies in march or lit molotov rags? boots pounding cobblestones or glass shards of broken storefront windows?❞ ❝what is victory but a song written to comfort the defeated? what is defeat but realising that you have been wrong every step of the way.❞ ❝in my dreams i am kissing your mouth and you're whispering, ‘where have you been?’ i say, ‘i've been lost but i'm here now. you're the only person who has ever been able to find me.’❞ ❝you must be someone special my dear, my darling, my love. because i thought of you for about the thousandth time today.❞ ❝from childhood's hour i have not been as others were. i have not seen—as others saw.❞ ❝here's a truth i've never told anyone else: in summer i ache more than in any other season. i wish i could say i'll be bright for you, but i worry about my tongue turning to ash at the first syllable—i'll be soft for you though, a nectarine under kitchen lights.❞ ❝the truth is this, every monster you have met or will ever meet, was once a human being with a soul that was as soft and light as silk. someone stole that silk from their soul and turned them into this. so when you see a monster next, always remember this—do not fear the thing before you. fear the thing that created it instead.❞ ❝i think i love the ocean because it's calm, beautiful, infinite. but also angry, harsh, and magnificent. and that intrigues me.❞ ❝i am always the wind, and never the bird. going, going where i am told to be, rather than free.❞ ❝and my worth, my suffering, my fight, will not be marred by how unwell i walk away from the trenches of war.❞ ❝the nights get heavy like they always do. i am older which means when i think of forests i get stuck not on the robin eggs but on the fox teeth. in my head i am hunting for myself, but i come up empty again.❞ ❝take this kiss upon the brow and, in parting from you now, this much let me avow—you are not wrong, who deem that my days have been a  dream.❞ ❝and i am tearing myself apart, piece by piece, losing the scattered remnants of what i once was, just trying to find where my shorelines begin and yours end.❞ ❝why does tragedy exist? because you are full of rage.❞ ❝where in the body is the soul located? i imagine it to be somewhere in the chest. some will say it rests in the pit of the stomach, but that is not where i feel my being resides. i want to know is that what this feeling inside my chest is? or is it something else unorthodox, yet homely?❞ ❝i wasn’t always a house on fire. but i’ve always been full of light.❞ ❝you are a church of broken glass and hallelujahs. you are haunted like every other holy thing.❞ ❝there is light in your eyes and dark in your soul, and i would not change a thing about you for all the treasures in the universe.❞ ❝from childhood i had never believed in permanence, and yet i had longed for it.❞ ❝why are you full of rage? because you are full of grief.❞ ❝for i have swallowed whole the demons of past, some yours, some mine, who have taken residence in between the crooks of my hollowed out bones, and haunted the only place i’ve ever been able to call home. they have burned themselves deep into memories of past, uninvited and unwelcome and have laid claim to the way my bones wrestle and rattle within my own skin. ❞

#rp meme #rp sentence starters #rp prompt #rp memes #ask prompt #sentence starters #poetry prompts #rp prompts #mymemes. #* #ok so not all are poems so sue me

[ivaspinoza]

My nothingness

When I lack posture, and my knees falter; when I don't appear as I should, as I'd like to come forth

Accept my discarded body at your feet like a rag, like the sea leans over the sand, crawling; daring in the departure and nostalgic in the return, leaning like a plea too grave to be spoken aloud, like the brief whisper of the waters

When I lack joy, or reverent contrite and contemplative sadness,

when I lack solidity in my feelings and they, like an uncontrolled zeppelin, circulate through the room's ceiling in whirls

Accept my honest despair

I have nothing more to offer and once you told me you wouldn't be offended because you're invincible

So accept my anguish and transform these ashes into pulsating fire, like the pain of the thorn that provoked passion to its limit, turn my pain into passion and passion into love, diamond-love

Transmute my gray-colored bones into gentle words, sick sighs into lively breath, and the thick saliva pouring into myrrh

When I have nothing to say, nor coherence in thought, nor alignment with anything or anyone, and free as the wind I wander through your halls, clumsily dodging through corridors and staircases,

When I am adrift in my own mind, shocked, and my image in the mirror makes me unbearable,

Accept my shyness and shame, my childishness, my feeble attempt to allow myself to be loved like a wild beast that discovered something beyond the whip of fear

Accept my acute desire to release myself into your too secure hands, so secure they could drive me mad, for they are the opposite of everything I learned about anything that seemed important

oh, to let myself go, to let myself go into a graceful wave that lifts me

to the clouds

The butterflies in my stomach are real when the tip of my tongue touches the stars, when tears spring from my belly and waterfalls are born in my crumbling walls, conquered ruins

Accept my inability and stubbornness, my resistance and defeat me again, as I seek to discern the ineffable

as a rare friend said the other day, that to fight against you, I must enjoy seeing myself lose

When I lack a gentle and harmless dance, but seem like a butterfly with broken wings whose flight is agony; when I lack a smile, but have a serious frown; when I lack eloquence

Accept my respectful, doubtful silence, my imperfection, accept the continuous cry of my heart screaming your name in the voiceless echo of the halls of eternity

during the day, the night, sleep, the dream — incessant

Accept my wildness, for your thoughts will always be even wilder still, and when I have nothing but anger,

anger that springs from sadness, from the weight of insufficiency, from the trampled grass turned to mud, from the last merciless glance, from the crushing of the innocent, the burnt flesh, the limit and the frontier of the senses, the cry no one heard and the longing that devours me

Hold me close to your heart, I will hear the sound that makes the walls of the cosmos tremble in each of its dimensions, as galaxies bow and waltz for you, without daring to glance at your face

Hold me with your hands that touch the grain of dust, that hold the dandelion in all its softness, that would bend the rings of Saturn and hurl the sun like a marble through space

Take me and hold me, don't let me escape, even if I struggle, for in a second my heart turns against me and tries to deceive me, but

When I am unsure of anything, accept my primal trust, like a blind animal trusts the hand of the one who feeds it, accept the delivery without luxury, without trickery; accept my shards, my pieces, like a child gives to the father a stone as a gift, a leaf, a handful of blown kisses, kept in cupped hands

Accept my innocent longing for your approval, which consumes me, accept all that I have to give you,

even if all I have is nothing -ivanna Meu Nada (original)

quando eu não tiver postura, nem joelhos; quando eu não aparecer da forma como eu deveria, como eu gostaria de vir

receba meu corpo largado aos seus pés como um trapo, como o mar se debruça sobre a areia, rastejante; ousado na ida e saudoso na volta, se debruça como um pedido grave demais para ser dito em voz alta, como o breve sussurro das águas

quando eu não tiver alegria, ou reverente tristeza contrita e contemplativa,

quando eu não tiver solidez alguma em meus sentimentos e eles, como um zeppelin desgovernado, circularem pelo teto do quarto em redemoinhos

receba meu desespero honesto

nada mais tenho a oferecer e uma vez você me disse que não ficaria ofendido porque é invencível

então receba minha angústia e transforme essas cinzas em fogo pulsante, como a dor do espinho que provocou a paixão ao limite, transforme minha dor em paixão e paixão em amor, amor-diamante

transmute meus ossos cor de gris em palavras dóceis, suspiros enfermos em fôlego vivo e a grossa saliva vertendo em mirra

quando eu não tiver o que dizer, nem coerência no pensar, nem alinhamento nenhum com nada nem ninguém, e solta como o vento eu vagar pelos seus saguões, me esquivando estupidamente pelos corredores e escadarias,

quando eu estiver à deriva na minha própria mente, chocada, insuportada com a minha imagem no espelho

receba minha timidez e vergonha, minha criancice, minha tentativa débil de me permitir ser amada como uma fera indomada que descobriu algo além do chicote do medo

receba meu desejo lancinante de me soltar em suas mãos seguras demais, tão seguras que poderiam me enlouquecer, por serem o contrário de tudo que eu aprendi sobre qualquer coisa que parecia importante

oh, de me soltar, de me soltar em uma onda graciosa que me eleva

até as nuvens

o frio na barriga é verdadeiro quando a ponta da minha língua toca as estrelas, quando as lágrimas brotam do meu ventre e cachoeiras nascem em minhas muralhas decadentes, ruínas vencidas

receba minha incapacidade e teimosia, minha resistência e me derrote outra vez, enquanto eu busco discernir o inefável

é como disse um raro amigo outro dia, que para lutar contra você, devo gostar de me ver perder

quando eu não tiver uma dança amena e inofensiva, mas parecer uma borboleta de asas quebradas cujo voo é agonia; quando eu não tiver um sorriso, mas uma séria carranca; quando eu não tiver eloquência

receba meu silêncio respeitoso, duvidoso, minha imperfeição, receba o clamor contínuo do meu coração que grita seu nome no eco sem voz dos halls da eternidade

durante o dia, a noite, o sono, o sonho — incessante

receba minha selvageria, porque seus pensamentos serão sempre muito mais selvagens ainda, e quando eu não tiver nada a não ser raiva,

raiva que brota da tristeza, do peso da insuficiência, da grama pisoteada que virou lama, do último olhar sem piedade, do esmagamento dos inocentes, da carne queimada, do limite e da fronteira dos sentidos, do choro que ninguém ouviu e da saudade que me devora

segure-me perto do seu coração, eu ouvirei o som que faz tremer as paredes do cosmos em cada uma de suas dimensões, enquanto as galáxias se curvam e valsam para ti, sem coragem de mirar tua face

segure-me com suas mãos que tocam no grão de poeira, que sustentam o dente-de-leão em toda sua suavidade, que entortariam os anéis de saturno e lançariam o sol como uma bola de gude pelo espaço

toma-me e segura-me, não me deixa fugir, ainda que eu lute, pois em um segundo meu coração se volta contra mim e tenta me enganar, mas

quando eu não tiver certeza de nada, receba a minha primitiva confiança, como um animal cego confia na mão daquele que o alimenta, receba a entrega sem luxo, sem artimanhas; receba meus estilhaços, meus pedaços, como uma criança entrega ao pai uma pedra de presente, uma folha, um punhado de beijos soprados, guardados nas miúdas mãos em concha

receba meu inocente anseio pelo teu agrado, que me consome, receba tudo que eu tenho para te dar,

ainda que tudo que eu tenho, seja nada

-ivanna

#ivawrites #ivawritesprosepoetry #sacred poetry #divine #lord #jesus christ #christian poetry #christian poems #christian art #devotional poetry #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #romantic #lovers #romantic poem #spilled poetry #spilled words #spilled thoughts #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #poetry #original poem #poems and poetry #poems on tumblr #spilled writing #writing #writer #creative writing #poema original #poemas

[boowhumps]

|WHUMPRIL 2023|

|Day 5 ~ Defiance|

(@whumpril)

⚠TW⚠

- Torture

- Broken Bone/s

- Swearing

----------------

Raw screams crawled up my throat as the whip came down on my back, barely missing my wings.

My eyes were shut tightly, yet small tears still managed to escape and fall down my face.

The whip came down again.

And again.

And again.

What was I doing? Was I really going to take this?

I can't- no, I won't take this.

I held my breath as the whip came down once again. As soon as I felt the whip off my back, I used every bit of strength to flip around and I somehow managed to catch the whip before it hit me.

Once it was in my shakey grip I yanked and threw it far behind me. I scrambled up and backed up away from her.

Those green eyes stared at me, craving nothing but my pain. My suffering.

I gasped for air as she only stared at me. I now only realized how powerless I was against her. I had nothing to protect myself with.

Her stare only proved my point as she raised her arm up.

In the blink of an eye she threw me against the wall. The air was knocked out of me and I crumples to the floor.

I had no strength to get up, even as I heard her footsteps approaching. My body shook as it tried to get up but her boot on my back forced me back down.

"Fighting back? Hm.. That was your first mistake." She hummed.

She grabbed ahold of my hair and yanked my head up so it was no longer pressed into the floor.

I struggled in her grip, trying desperately to escape. I could only imagine how pathetic I looked.

"Clearly the whip hasn't taught you anything. Maybe.. This will get my message across that you do not disobey me." She said as she took ahold of one of my wings.

My heart stopped as I struggled even more. Small pleas left my throat as more tears fell down my face.

The grip on my wing tightened and I braced myself.

Both her hands gripped my wing, and I hear a crack and pain erupts through my wing.

A horrible scream leaves my throat as she lets go of my damaged wing, letting it drop to the ground.

She leaves me a sobbing, crumbled mess on the floor.

"Remember your place, VEA."

----------------

I shoot up, my eyes wide as I gasp for air. A sharp pain goes through my back, which forces me back down.

I stare up at the dark ceiling of my room. It reminds me that I'm here now, not there.

My head turns to the side as I see my bandaged wing laying limply off the side of the bed.

I sigh, just a nightmare.

I turn myself to the side so my injured wing is now laying across the top of my body, and my uninjured wing under me.

My wings automatically wrap around myself as I close my eyes and try to fall asleep again.

Luckily it doesn't take long considering how tired I am.

Before I fall asleep my mind reminds me of what I have to do

'Find her.'

'Make her pay for what she's done.'

'Kill Silva'

#whump #whumpril #whump writing #day 5 done!!! #I FORGOT TO POST THIS YESTERDAY IM SO SORRY #i was so busy yesterday so i apologize 😭 #day 6 will be posted today as well so be on the lookout <3

[jegulusofwesper]

my favourite quotes from the books i read so far this year

“Good of you to join us, Ash.” Aiden grins as sadism sparks in his eyes. “Now look away from my wife before I create a diplomatic problem between England and the US.” ~ Twisted Kingdom - Rina Kent (dark romance, enemies to lovers)

Reading is one of my defence mechanisms to not get caught up in the world. The world makes me think of worldly things, like that night, I hate that night. ~ Ruthless Empire - Rina Kent

She must be going for intimidation, but all I see is a yapping chihuahua. ~ His Revelry - Bailey Nicole (LGBT, friends to enemies to lovers, knife play)

“Can I pick the music?” He narrows his eyes at me. “No, I know Joe your mind works. I’m not grinding on you to ‘is this the way to Amarillo’, or any song from six: the musical” ~ Nannying For The Neighbors - Lily Gold (RH, single dad, strippers, Harry Potter references)

“I doubt she even knows how to walk in heels.” “Then you’ll teach her,” my mother says. “I don’t know how to walk in heels, either,” I say sarcastically. // “If you ever talk to my wife like that again, I’ll empty that clip in your chest.” ~ Brutal Prince - Sophie Lark (ENEMIES to lovers - I’m pretty sure this is the one where he’s allergic to strawberries and she eats some before she kisses him and he goes into anaphylactic shock then tried to drown her in the pool so she “knows how it feels to not be able to breathe”, mafia romance)

Good luck? Have a lovely time, Mal. Hope you find a pretty Grisha, fall deeply in love, and make lots of gorgeous, disgustingly talented babies together. Oh well maybe he’ll fall in a ditch on his way there. ~ Shadow and Bone - Leigh Bardugo (fantasy, romance, YA, adventure)

Sturmhond twisted, and in a flash, he’d slipped Mal’s grip. A knife was in his hand, pulled from somewhere up his sleeve. “Step back, Orestrev. I’m keeping my temper for her sake, but I’d just as soon gut you like a carp.” ~ Siege and Storm - Leigh Bardugo (fantasy, romance, YA, adventure)

Kaz knew death. He could feel it’s presence on the ship now, looming over them, ready to take his wraith. // “You, Inej, you.” // Kaz bit him. // I’m going to get my money, Kaz vowed. And I’m going to get my girl. ~ Six of Crows - Leigh Bardugo

Kanej version. “I would have come for you. I would have come for you. And if I could walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together. Knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do we never stop fighting.” ~ Crooked Kingdom - Leigh Bardugo

Wesper version. Kuwei turned to Jesper. “You should visit me in Ravka. We could learn to use our powers together.” “How about I push you in the canal and we see if you know how to swim.” Wylan said with a very passable imitation of Kaz’s glare. Jesper shrugged. “I’ve heard he’s one of the richest men in Ketterdam. I couldn’t cross him.” ~ Crooked Kingdom - Leigh Bardugo

Helnik version. “I have been made to protect you. Even in death, I will find a way. Bury me so I can go to Djel. Bury me so I can take root and follow the water north.” “I promise, Matthias. I’ll take you home.” “Nina, I am already home.” ~ Crooked Kingdom - Leigh Bardugo

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pull your lungs out through your mouth” ~ The Duke and I - Julia Quinn (tw: rape)

“You know what, Harry? You’re a pathetic, homophobic, self obsessed DICK and I really dislike you. Happy fucking birthday.” ~ Heartstopper 1 - Alice Oseman (LGBT, YA)

“Wait why are you crying?” “I just… seeing you sad makes me sad.” // “Why are straight people like this?” ~ Heartstopper 2 - Alice Oseman (LGBT, YA)

“I know but - it’s annoying when people think we’re just…” “Best platonic bros?” “…Oh my god” ~ Heartstopper 3 - Alice Oseman (LGBT, YA, tw: self harm, ED)

“You are a pathetic little man. Talk about my brother like that again and I’ll end you.” (You have no clue how much I love Tori for this ❤️)~ Heartstopper 4 - Alice Oseman (LGBT, YA, tw: self harm, ED)

My worst fear has gone from “grandma’s rag doll” to “being spiritually double penetrated by an ancient ghost” in the space of two days. // “Aside from the trauma, I’m great.” ~ The Fell of Dark - Caleb Roehig

#twisted kingdom #rina kent #royal elite #ruthless empire #aiden king #cole nash #his revelry #bailey nicole #nannying for the neighbors #lily gold #brutal prince #sophie lark #shadow and bone #seige and storm #six of crows #crooked kingdom #leigh bardugo #the duke and i #bridgerton #julia quinn #heartstopper #alice oseman #the fell of dark #caleb roehig