#they were created last summer :D

[love-that-we-were-in]

indelible scars, pivotal marks

pairing: luke castellan x implied apollo!reader

summary: you might be the only person who actually knows luke castellan. you don't think anyone else is willing to try.

a/n: what if i told you i got yelled at a lot after writing this. enjoy! oh this is also my first x reader in the 5 years i've been writing who cheered. have fun !

Luke is fourteen the first time he can remember sleeping through the night. He’s barely been at Camp Half-Blood for three hours, skin still splotched purple and blue, Thalia’s yells echoing in his skull. There’s no silence, a steady hum of nature that’s leveled by the voices of people he doesn’t know, and he knows he shouldn’t sleep. They’ve lost Thalia, left her just beyond the borders of an unknown place, and it’s a risk to welcome the flimsy pillow they gave him. He does it anyway, eyes closing to the sound of Annabeth’s soft breaths. 

The respite lasts one night.

By morning, he’s recounted the last five years more than he ever wanted to. Annabeth clings to him then, a known comfort. She knows the broad strokes of the story, could recount them herself, but there’s gaps from before her time, and there’s things Thalia made him swear not to tell. If she notices, she doesn’t comment, just keeps her fingers close to her side. He knows that’s where she keeps her dagger - he wonders if Chiron can tell as well.

Chiron brings them to Thalia, explains what happened and how lucky it is. Luke looks at the tree, the first time Thalia has stood taller than him since they met - something she always swore she would do one day - and leans back against it as Annabeth sobs into his shoulder. 

Mr D sends Annabeth to the Athena cabin before lunch. Luke doesn’t need to be told to make his way to Cabin 11. He knows who his father is. His backpack is left at the base of a bed in the far corner of the room, a group of boys gathered around the area turning to watch him the second he walks in. They move away but they don’t stop their stares.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily to him that night.

*

You meet Luke Castellan when you’re fifteen, standing on the edge of the lake as a golden sun rises in the horizon. It’s your first morning at camp, your first morning admiring the sunrise in months, and you think you could find a home here. Within the hour, you’re sure the calm won’t be the same – too many kids in the same space, swords and satyrs and strawberries guiding the day along – but for now there’s sunlight. 

“Breakfast isn’t for two more hours,” someone says from behind you. It should be scarier than it is, put you on high alert with the way he creeps into the space without a sound. “Just in case someone forgot to mention that.”

He’s pretty. Strong chin, dark eyes. On most people you’ve met, that’s where pretty ends. Not him. There’s this way he stands in your periphery; comfortable in his worn camp t-shirt, like he was made to live in it, to have it define him for an eternity. Very few people are pretty in a way that speaks of forever.

“I like to watch the sunrise.” 

He hums. “I’m Luke.”

He waits, steps away, until you offer him a seat beside you on the grass. It was something you were told once, an eclectic art teacher draped in shawls and chunky jewelry, how the sun is only as beautiful as it is when shared with another. As Luke sits next to you, you enjoy the quiet you’re positive isn’t built to last.

*

Luke becomes a counselor that summer. Everyone saw it coming, the way he’s known to everyone and not just the Hermes kids. Whispers of a legacy, of a potential legend in the making, followed him already, two years at camp creating grand ideas for his future – counselor status just helps to further them. It’s not that big of a deal normally. It’s potentially defining when you’re the best swordsman in almost three hundred years.

You find him on his way back from the Big House that evening, heading in no particular direction but with a clear idea of where he doesn’t want to be. It’s something you’ve learnt to read in the last few weeks, the way Luke fluctuates. How he dips in and out of personas as if it’s possible to switch them out. It comes with renown, you suppose. 

“Counselor Castellan, is it?” 

He smiles something bitter. “So they tell me.”

Without hesitation, you take hold of his hand. It’s warmer than yours and you feel the difference in your bloodstream. Luke doesn’t look at you, doesn’t comment, and you lead him away from the cabins and down to the lake. 

There’s maybe an hour until sunset. You’re almost attuned to it now, mornings spent watching it with rapt attention. Luke normally joins you, sword dropped between you. Some mornings, the thud of metal onto stone is the only reason you know he’s arrived, still so silent in his arrival that you wonder if it’s on purpose. 

“Does it make you anxious?” You ask when the silence stretches on for too long, when Luke stares unblinkingly at the horizon for longer than he should. He blinks, irises shifting from a glassy bronze and back to muted brown as the film clears. “Did they even ask if it was something you wanted?” 

He scoffs and you wonder if this is where everything changes. Luke always has things he wants to say, balancing on the tip of his tongue until he figures out how to swallow them down and burn them. It’s like you can see it play out in real time, his jaw shifting, arm tensing.

“Mr D told me it was a great honor. Chiron told me it was long overdue.” 

“You weren’t given a chance to say no.”

It’s a pattern you’ve noticed, not just within camp but with all the Gods. Clarisse was sent a spear with no note, but everyone knew who had sent it. Annabeth’s hat was exactly the same. Gifts. All gifts. No receipts or return addresses provided. Life at camp was something to be grateful for, always, considering the alternative most of you had already been forced to live. To comment on it would make you an enemy of those too powerful to consider.

Looking at the tense set of Luke’s shoulders, you kind of want to say it anyway.

“I’m about to have all the glory Camp Half-Blood could offer me,” Luke says and the sun begins to dip below the surface of the lake. His palm is warm in yours again. “Why would I complain?”

*

There’s a flurry of new arrivals no one anticipated the next summer They come in pairs, mostly, with the odd trio. Always one unclaimed within the group. Always one who gets marched to Cabin 11 in the middle of the night, sometimes after hours of questioning.

You know the nights that it’s happened, taking in the way Luke’s movements are less sharp, the way he breathes more shallowly. A conservation of energy. It doesn’t affect you much until it does, the sharp sting of Luke’s sword on your arm as he loses his footing, turns too suddenly at the sound of your footsteps. 

“This is insane,” you say as you press your shirt into the cut. It’s not bad, something that will heal quickly and fade into nothingness, but Luke locks his gaze on the red dotting your skin as if he doesn’t understand how it got there. “They can’t keep waking you up in the middle of the night for this.”

“The only other place they can go is the med bay and none of them have been beaten up badly enough to be worth waking an Apollo kid.”

“I’ve seen some of the kids when they’ve gotten here, Luke,” you mutter, shirt hem dropping as the wound stops bleeding. You glance up at him. “They could do with being patched up.” 

He sinks down to the floor. You stay on your feet. “This is what I signed up for when I took the position.”

There’s this way Luke’s voice gets sometimes, sharp and low and just a little spiteful. A build-up of years with little mercy granted. That’s how it is now, speaking through clenched teeth, completely biting back the vitriol and pretending there’s no heat to his words. 

He’s always been pretty in the sunrise, from the day you met, but you think he might be prettiest right now – lying to himself more than he can lie to you in the moments before there’s any sunlight at all. When you would let darkness spill into itself, Luke forces light to filter in. If you caught him at the darkest hour, you wonder if that would remain.

Taking in the way he digs his nail into the fabric of his pants, you doubt even he would know how to stop himself then. 

*

You aren’t chosen for Luke’s quest. He finds you after the ceremony, face pulled taut and bag thrown over his shoulder already. There’s no regret in his eyes, no determination either. You stand straighter when you hear him approach, grateful that he cared enough not to take you by surprise for once. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” 

“Why would I be mad?” You say. It’s disingenuous to your own ears, the way it pitches, so you fold your arms across your chest. “Chris and Ethan will be great questmates. A band of brothers.”

Luke swallows. “Is that really what you think this is? That I wanted to make my quest a guys trip?”

“I don’t think anything of it, Luke.” 

In the middle of the day, you can see him clearest. See the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood the way everyone else does. In broad daylight, there’s few things more noticeable on Luke Castellan. The slope of his nose, the straightness of his back, the comfortable weight of his sword on his hip – almost a tether to who he proclaims himself to be. It’s your least favorite version of him.

“I would’ve chosen you. In a heartbeat, I would’ve chosen you,” he says, brown eyes shifting from dim to desperate in moments. A plea to be heard. You know you’re the only one to ever truly listen when he speaks.

“Doesn’t really seem that way.”

“I just needed a reason to come back when it’s over.”

It stills the air around you. The words tangle themselves together in your brain, drown out the archers in the distance, the birds overhead. They echo and twist and they maintain their tone, the low pitch Luke uses when he’s decided to say something he doesn’t want to be heard. They bury themselves in the corner with the other times he’s used it, forever ingrained, and you don’t know what to make of them. How to define them at all.

He waits, gaze firm, until you nod slightly. You keep your chin low, determined to give little satisfaction to the situation. To Hermes giving Luke a reused quest, to the possibility of losing him because you aren’t there. It curdles deep in your gut, refusing to remain unknown.

There’s a moment where Luke hesitates, his hand twitching slightly, arm moving minutely higher from where it hangs down by his waist. Instead, his fist clenches and he exhales long and low. 

“Promise to be here when I get back?” 

“I’ll be really annoyed if you’re not the one knocking on my cabin door.”

He turns back to face you after he joins Chris and Ethan at the border. They’re all capable, with a history of working together. They’ll succeed, return to praise and glory and everything they deserve to have. The sun beats down on Luke as he nods goodbye and you wonder if it shines on anyone else at all.

*

The scar becomes a part of him. 

It fades into his skin with time, going from raised and rotten to a streak of pale across his cheek. You overhear some of the Ares kids praising it as symbolic of his win, a prize of sorts, and some of the Aphrodite kids saying it makes him more appealing, makes him look stronger. You’re not sure what you think of it, tracing it with gentle fingers as it heals. 

It becomes a habit, running a knuckle down Luke’s cheek each morning. Feeling where the skin tied itself back together. He never comments. You want to ask if he minds, that you’ll stop if it’s too much. The first few times you did it, in the days right after his return, he had flinched, features pinching together. Your hand had dropped, all too aware of the matted skin, how it probably still ached but Luke had taken your hand and placed it back where it had been. 

His scar becomes a statement, a badge of skill that everyone at camp can recognise. There had been little debate on the truth of his swordsmanship before but now it hardly existed, undeniable proof the first thing people noticed when introduced to him. 

Most people don’t bother to ask Luke about it. Percy Jackson isn’t most people.

“You got attacked by a dragon?” 

It’s the first time in years that anyone has joined you and Luke at the lake this early. Annabeth used to, on the rare occasions the worst of her nightmares returned. It’s different with Percy, like being close to the water rewires him completely. It makes sense days later when you watch him push open the door to the empty Cabin 3.

“Last year,” Luke hums, one hand resting softly in yours and the other keeping a loose grip on the sword handle in his lap. Percy had wanted to see him in action after hearing the stories, so you’d both obliged. “I made a wrong call and I paid for it.”

“At least it looks pretty cool.” 

The way Percy says it is different to everyone else. It’s not ingrained with this odd lust, whether for adventure or the story or Luke himself. It’s more muted, a fact of life. He’s not saying it to make anyone feel better – he’s saying it to disregard. A scar is just a scar to Percy Jackson, as if he’s known too many to care.

“I guess it kind of is,” Luke says and the three of you listen to the morning begin.

#🖋️ abi writes… #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan x you

[isimchi]

‣Download Novel Defaults | Posters (MF)

‣Alt download: Novel Defaults | Posters (SFS)

Before my diary defaults, I was in the process of creating book defaults to match my game! I wanted some to match the funky, nostalgic, and silly Maxis Match-ish style that I enjoy!

I also decided to make recolors of the FT Artig poster with these novel covers for a future build, I included those as a separate download in case anyone else is interested.

If you are using any other mod that replaces the novel cover icons in the write a novel screen, make sure ziSimChi_Default_NovelCoverIcons loads after it.

Each novel is based off of existing media: ◦ Reference - the one that started it all, is now Skilling for Simmies, inspired by the For D*mmies series (feat. a new mascot). ◦ Romance - The Rogue's Groom, inspired by the many romance novel covers starring Fabio. This one features a cameo by the beautiful Carlos Suarez, from @eulaliasims's amazing Middleground! ◦ Children - Gooseflesh: Night of the Living Bunnies, inspired by the Goosebumps series. ◦ Cooking - The Complete Gelatin Cookbook, inspired by the horrifying mid century Jello creations. ◦ Drama - Running with Scissors, cover art inspired by Kubric's A Clockwork Orange. ◦ Mystery - Everyone Nose What You Did Last Summer, inspired by Louis Duncan's I Know What You Did Last Summer. ◦ Sci-Fi - Plantimorphs, inspired by the Animorphs series.

Credits: • @episims for their original textures, which I used as a base to build my textures around. • @eulaliasims for Carlos Suarez, a fine romance novel cover model! • @franzillasims for the many similish fonts used. • For D*mmies and Goosebumps for their cover templates, which I traced before editing. All other illustrations were freehanded.

Posters swatch under the cut:

#sims 2 cc #s2cc #ts2 download #sims 2 default replacement #sims 2 download #sims 2 custom content #ts2cc #ts2 cc #ts2 custom content #ts2 defaults #mycc

[risuola]

Please hear me out!

i’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I wanted to write it myself but I can’t write for shit 😭 Here’s my idea, reader (she/her) is close friends with Satoru and Suguru. She takes Suguru’s place instead, and Suguru ends up not going insane, and decides to stick around in Jujutsu High. But because the reader takes his place in this story, she spirals and abandons the idea of being morally good. (She’s a sensitive softie at heart 🥹 the cruel reality of being a sorcerer really took a toll on her). She commits so many crimes that the higher ups urge the strongest duo to finally execute her after dismissing her for nearly a decade. She dies in their hands, and doesn’t get a proper burial. Kenjaku takes her body and uses it as vessel. When Shibuya arc finally unfolds, she shows up right in front of Satoru and Suguru, alive and well. Soon reveals that it’s Kenjaku who has full control of her body. Of course their guilts eats them alive, and the reader (more like kenjaku) rubs salt on their wounds by taunting them about how she’s a great vessel and also a waste that she had to die so soon.

LOST CAUSE — F. READER x GOJO SATORU + GETO SUGURU, but there’s no romance whatsoever, guest appearance of Kenjaku

cw: an au where SatoSugu have another close friend; spoilers for Hidden Inventory/Premature Death arc and the very beginning of Shibuya arc, so much angst and the usual that comes with JJK – blood, hurt, tears and depression : D also, possibly inaccurate references to the original plot, reader's death — 5,5k words

a/n: I’m hearing you out dear! Thank you for the conception, it certainly fulfilled my need to write long and angsty <3

It was stupid. All of it was stupid. Why? Which decisions led you to where you now stood, all of your mind and body filled with devastation as you stilled in time – above the piles of little corpses, disfigured and permanently contorted in a grimace of dread and suffering. A stench of blood and burned bodies irritated your nostrils, your eyes were teary from all the smoke that still was filling the air and as you looked down at your hands, they were covered in blood and purple goo. Sticky. Repulsive. And the screams. In the dead silence of your surroundings, your head was still filled with an echo of those, who were now dead at your feet. Those, who you were unable to save. The imagery of them running, begging, dying carved itself into your mind. Why were you here, again?

* * *

“Hey, y/n, you’ve lost some weight. Are you alright?”, Satoru asked, playing with pencil that just a moment ago he asked you to throw at him. A showcase of his new skills, the techniques he’s been perfecting for the last year after encountering Toji Fushiguro. You forced a smile, squinting from the blinding sun of the summer at its peak.

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, patting Suguru’s shoulder, because his attentive eyes were scanning you already for any sign of disorder; you could hear his analytic brain cranking up, his golden pupils drilling holes in your head. “I’m good, it’s just too hot you know?”

“Wanna go grab some ice cream later?”

“Always.” No, you didn’t wanna go grab ice cream with them. You didn’t wanna grab anything with anyone for that matter and already you had come up with some half-baked excuse to sell later to your two best friends.

You, Shoko, Gojo and Geto were all in the same year in Jujutsu high. You joined them a little late, but quickly found yourself inside the love triangle with the two boys. You called it love, but it truly was nothing more than just a bonding friendship that you wished will last forever; a really close one and you couldn’t imagine your world without their chaos. They were like brothers to you, the ones you’ve never had and Ieiri was like a sister, but she was smart enough to keep her distance from the mess of SatoSugu. You were not as bright in that matter, but for two years, you couldn’t appreciate enough the yin and yang that they created, the casual bickers and deep talks late at night, the cuddles and pinches, the pats and smacks, the tears and laughs, sleepovers, sleepless nights and everything between. You loved them, you couldn’t think of your future without them.

That’s until not that long ago. Few months, maybe. You felt like you’ve been spiraling slowly into something that could only be named depression, because if not that, then what else? Why would you randomly tear up nowadays, zoning out completely in the midst of sentences. Why would you spend nights, blankly staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, isolating yourself from your friends more and more? And why would you still hear that? The screams, the pleads of hysteric, the soul-tearing sounds of pain and frighten that you’ve been carrying inside your brain since that one mission.

Everything went wrong then, and you were alone. Shoko stayed at the campus, working her way towards becoming a doctor and you, Satoru and Suguru were assigned only to solo missions since the plasma vessel failure. You were strong, it was stated that your year was exceptional, that all of you have a chance to become special grades soon, but you hated that. Being strong came with a burden that you were not ready to take, and when you realized that, most of it was already heaving on your shoulders.

When you got to that school, it was already too late and it wasn’t your fault. You rushed there as soon as you were assigned with the job, but when you dropped the curtain and looked at the building, there was already smoke coming from the window holes, that some time earlier had glass in them. And when you kicked your way inside the little indoor sports arena, the view struck you in ways you couldn’t possibly prepare yourself for and certainly, you couldn’t process it as well. The school was primary, those people were just kids, but the curses pay no mind to age of their victims. This one was particularly playful – or rather, eagerly violent – spreading hellfire around, burning these children alive one by one, causing chaos, suffering and bloodshed. When you finished exorcising it, it was over. For the curse, for your job and for the lives of all of those children. None survived. Not even one.

Not always we can save everyone, Suguru always told you, rationalizing the sacrifices sorcerers have to make and you tried to repeat that in your head when you got out. You tried to play it over the screams, but eventually, the soft tone of your friend’s voice got lost in the catastrophic cacophony of sorrow, sizzling skin and burning death. And that, maybe wouldn’t be enough for you to lose your mind. Maybe you could recover from that, but soon after the incident you witnessed the group of people that stood behind the assault. A band of grown humans, men and women, who were convinced some of those children were possessed by devils or some other shit, so in all hypocrisy known to race, they hired a curse user to fight fire with fire. Quite literally. Those people were so blinded by their fear of unknown that they sacrificed lives of dozens of little children, they shattered so many innocent lives only because they believed in something absurd. And then, they tried to push the blame on you, on sorcerers despite the fact they hired one to do the dirty job. And then, they killed the user, fearing him too. When you’ve got to see the body of a sorcerer that you’ve never got to meet, or at least you thought so, you realized that probably, you wouldn’t recognize him anyway. You’ve seen corpses barely reminiscing of humans, twisted and broken as curses often chose the most petrifying, violent ways of killing, but this? This was something you’ve never seen before – a cruel, ruthless exhibition of pure hate, evidence of deliberate torture, the picture painted in stabs, burns and bruises. All of which, caused by people, who frankly, showed no remorse nor regret as their faces were painted in pride, origin of which you failed to notice.

Those humans. Used jujutsu to commit mass murder only to blame it on your people and kill them. Animals. No. Worse. Much worse.

“Y/n, please, let’s talk it through,” Suguru tried to reason, as you stood up against the two of your friends, in the middle of Shibuya’s scramble crossing. People were passing next to the three of you, unbothered by the way your worlds were colliding right here, in the busiest part of Tokyo. People didn’t care of others, they wouldn’t react if someone next to them would get stabbed to death, only caring about their own shoes to not get them stained in the dirt of blood.

“Don’t be stupid, it’s not who you are,” Satoru raised his tone, but all you felt was nothing. The emotions you’ve seen on his face were real, you knew it. Satoru wears his heart on his shoulder, he pours everything he feels into the words he aims at people that are close to his soul, and you were no exception, but at this moment, you felt nothing. “I know you couldn’t do that.”

“Couldn’t I?”, you asked, thinking back on the last Friday, during which you executed those same people that used jujutsu sorcerers to wipe the floors of that primary school. To wipe the blood and burned bodies. You remember how they knelt before you, how the women cried begging for their lives, yelping that they have children, families and yet, those same children and families were nowhere in their mind when they ordered a mass murder in the primary school. “And why would that be exactly? Because you two think so?”

“Y/n, I get it,” Geto stepped forward, but stopped as you glanced at him. “I really do. You know me, we talked about it. It was hard for me too after Riko, I know what you’re going through.”

“I know Suguru.”

“I thought you keep his side, y/n,” Gojo threw his hands in the air, helplessly trying to find the words to dress his mind with. “I thought you believe in doing good with your powers. That people won’t understand so we shouldn’t look at them and just do what we do. Wasn’t that what you’ve told me?”

“I did, yes,” you gave it a nod and exhaled. “But it changed. Yes, they won’t understand. Anything that they can’t comprehend is pure evil for them and yet they believe in such absurd like gods. They will use us to do their dirty works and then blame us for it, because they cannot understand a single thing. And then, they will kill us, one by one and we, the strongest, cannot do nothing about it. We’ll have to go through life through the corpses of our friends. People don’t deserve what we do for them.”

“Y/n, please, let’s talk about it. Let’s get back to school-“ Geto tried, but you cut him off.

“You two, get back to school. I know I have a sentence already, there’s no point for me to get back there only to get executed. And frankly, I don’t want to get back there, to take part in what they teach us is right when we die for those people. We give our lives for them and they have no idea,” you said, taking a step back. You could tell the lights will soon switch. “Look around, Satoru, Suguru. They crawl around us unaware of our sacrifice and yet, even if they are so fragile a single blow can kill them, they think we deserve to be killed. I’m not gonna take part in this anymore. I’m sorry.”

“We can’t let you go, you know that, we-“

“Then attack me. I’m sure any of you can take me down. I’d rather die by your hands, than on a job of protecting them.”

You turned your back on them, and Satoru raised his hand, pointing at your silhouette, blue already on his mind as his cursed energy gathered in front of his fingers. Suguru’s curses sprawled out of their dimension, but none of them pursued with the attack, unable to do that. They couldn’t kill you. You were too dear to them. They loved you too much to take your life like this. So they let you go, and soon enough, they lost the sight of you in the crowd.

* * *

Nine years. It's been almost a decade and many things changed. You changed your ways completely, making a point of protecting sorcerers from people, even if that meant killing them, but care for humans was something you’ve lost many years ago, having it slowly replaced by disgust. Your once soft heart turned hard and dark and all the good in you vanished as you time after time solidified your beliefs that humans are simply not worth saving, therefore there was no need to keep them alive the moment they became useless. Over those years, you used those people to your benefit, raising money and gathering intel and then, the second their use to you has become nonexistent, so were them. Blood burned permanent stains on your hands but screams of hurt didn’t phase you at all. Have you become a monster? You might have. But for the lives of sorcerers, it was worth it.

It’s been almost a decade since you’ve been dismissed from jujutsu community for crimes, that over those years piled up rapidly and during this time, both Satoru and Suguru tried to stay out of this, whilst Yaga turned a blind eye to the corrupted path one of his students went down by. The now principal felt responsible for not doing enough, for not saying enough, for not noticing soon enough and though the rest of his students, now teachers in Jujutsu high told him that some things were inevitable, it wasn’t that easy to switch off the thinking. Same went for both the strongest, but for years, they waited in hopes for something to change.

That was until you killed someone seemingly important. A politician of sorts, high government pawn that you learned was funding a unit of so-called sorcerer killers, ones that modelled after Toji Fushiguro in cold blood were meant to take down a menace that jujutsu users were, as if it was them who were the ones to fear. Opposite to little no-one’s deaths, this one was loud, this one was medial and this one, Yaga couldn’t let slip. So, an order was given.

Kill on sight.

Almost ten years, and yet Satoru still couldn’t believe what happened. Whilst young, the three of you were almost inseparable and you, out of the whole group, were the most sensitive person he knew. You were soft and full of smiles, kind above all else and yet, you were strong enough to hold back the tears he knew were threatening to roll down your cheeks on many occasions. You were soothing, an oasis that was easily able to turn any darkness into light, and what Satoru couldn’t forgive himself was that once that same darkness started devouring you, he didn’t notice. Too focused on his own missions, on lighthearted shenanigans, on perfecting his usage of limitless and six eyes, he had no idea about your state of mind and when he realized, you have already been sentenced. Suguru didn’t notice either. Or maybe didn’t want to notice, because you talked through many nights about the doubts you both had. He knew about the utter devastation that was slowly consuming your soul but hoped you’ll overcome it, because you always were a sunshine, and a sunshine couldn’t die down to shadows. Turned out, this shadow was pitch black and no light made its way through it.

“Y/n,” they called you and the beautiful music that their voices created brought back memories of your youth. Ten years, almost, had passed since you’ve seen your best friends the last time, and with curiosity sparkling through your system, you turned to face them.

“Satoru, Suguru,” addressing them, your lips curved up slightly in a manner of soft joy. Your heart fluttered at the sight; your pulse raised just as it would for person who’s just seen the love of their life. “Long time no see.”

“It’s not as pleasurable as we would like it to be, y/n,” Suguru sighed and you took a moment to absorb the view.

Both of them changed. Suguru, still tall and broad, seemingly even buffier than he was before stood there with his hair now longer and partially knotted and partially left loose on his back. His facial features sharpened, jaw got more edge to it, eyes turned more narrow and focused, but still, some softness remained from what you remembered and probably he would seem even more familiar if not for the tough expression he had going on. Satoru, right next to him, became even taller. His white hair was now pointing up, kept by a white wrap that completely covered his eyes – something that he probably adapted during the time of usage of his six eyes. Not much of his face you could see, but with ease you noticed his features matured. Both were dressed in uniforms that you could only tie to their unbreakable bond with Jujutsu high.

“You’re now teachers, the two of you, huh?”, you asked, smiling softly, but keeping their moves in mind. “I’ve heard this year’s students are exceptional, now it makes sense. Good they have such amazing senseis.”

“You could have been one of the teachers too,” Gojo snapped.

“How could I teach anyone something I don’t believe in?” a chuckle rumbled deep in your chest as you thought of the image. Abstraction of it made you amused. “How’s Shoko? Is she a doctor now?

“She is,” Geto muttered, unsure why is he answering your questions. “Yaga is the principal.”

“Oh, is he? Look at him, climbing up that ladder,” you laughed, “so, it’s on his orders that you two are here?”

“You killed a fucking politician, y/n,” Satoru spoke, sounding calm but you could tell his blood was boiling. Both of his hands hidden in his pockets were visibly clenched in fists and even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew his brows were furrowed. “Almost a decade we allowed you to do whatever you tried to do, but this time, higher ups stepped in. The sentence is decided, we cannot let you pursue your goals further.”

“And why are you both here? I’m sure just one amazing special grade would be enough,” there was a certain amount of poison in your words, though it wasn’t directed at your friends and both of them knew it. “Are the higher ups so desperate to get me off the board because it’s them who give green lights to those assholes that kill us? Did you know that that pathetic politician I’ve killed was in midst of creating an army of little Toji Fushiguros? How do you think he even knew about the dude, huh?”

“An army of Toji?”

“Yeah, remember that guy, that cut both of you into slices? Yea, that one. And who’s giving away the cursed tools to said army? Well, it’s not me and I assume not any of you as well.”

 “Y/n,” Suguru made his way to the side in what seemed like an attempt on surrounding you, because in that same moment, Satoru began shifting to the other side. “I agree with you. People don’t deserve what we do. But no one else can do it. You’re killing those whom we swore to protect.”

“Tell me, Suguru… how many bodies of our friends did Shoko cut open?” you asked and the question made the dark-haired man tsk. It was the truth that hurt the most, he hated how precisely it hit the spot. “How many of our allies were spread across her metal table after Haibara was there? Well, half of Haibara?”

“That’s not the point,” Satoru scoffed and with an exhale, he raised his hand up to loosen up the bandages around his eyes. “We die just as people die. Sorcerers are not above death. You know that, right?”

“We’re not above that, but we are above people and we risk our lives, which we just like them have only one of, for them. And they fuckingstep on it. If I have to pick who’s gonna die from a curse, why would I pick a sorcerer, when a loss of a mere human will be much less tangible than the loss of one of us?”

“Because they cannot protect themselves from curses, and we can.” Geto replied and in a whiff, you felt the appearance of his curses around him. Both him and Gojo were getting ready for a fight, so you had to get ready as well.

“But can we really protect ourselves from them?”, you glared back at him; your tone calm but laced with icicles that pierced through Suguru’s mind as he struggled to see you inside of you.

All of the softness he had always equated you with dissolved into something he couldn’t quite place. Image of you killing someone just for the sake of killing somehow couldn’t materialize inside his mind and it pained him, breaking his heart to think that he will be the reason of your death. And it’s true that probably, just one of them would be enough for that fight, but there was no way they would be able to chose and no one else could do it. You were the strongest, you grew into a special grade quickly after leaving and your technique proved to have no flaws or holes. You were a threat above abilities of others, stepping down only to the two of your friends, if not being equal to them.

“Let’s do it quickly, Suguru,” Satoru sighed, tucking his wraps into one of his pockets.

“Oh, where’s your playful attitude, Satoru?”, you teased, but somehow it hurt you as well. It was your friend you were talking to. Both of them, that came here to kill you and only way for you to get out of it was to kill them.

And killing them, turned out, you couldn’t do. Even hurting them came with difficulty not physically, but mentally. But you fought them both at the same time, keeping a defensive stance, searching for an opening to vanish. From them, you wished to run away, to not make them take the burden of your death because you could see it in their eyes, you were just as dear to them still, as they were to you. But they left you no opening to run away, so you fought. Using everything you’ve got to immobilize them, because instead of taking their lives, that would give you more time.

The way you stood against them, with your cursed technique of energy manipulation, it gave them the hardest time since Toji, and considering they were both taking part in the fight now, ten years after and significantly stronger, just showed how much work you’ve put into your own development. And with pride you noticed, how strong both of your friends became as well. You countered all of their attacks, slashed away the curses and blocked the blues and reds, albeit it really was a matter of time and you knew that. And so, you pushed through, materializing in your hands weapons made from pure, solidified cursed energy, using swords and needles and creating armor around your body that effectively, shielded you from any attack. Your weapon was different from cursed tools. It was made only from energy, strong and unbendable, changing shapes and forms as you deemed it necessary, allowing you to use it in close combat and on long distances. Any curses Suguru summoned stood no chance against what you wielded, but the sheer amount of them was just short of overwhelming you. On top of that, Satoru’s constant offensive, his fists saturated in limitless abilities, the sheer strength of both bodies that were attacking you, slowly rendered you weaker. And it didn’t surprise you.

The end has come when one of the curses stopped you mid-way, engaging in a fight that distracted you enough for a hollow purple to reach your body. The blast threw you away as your body pierced through three buildings straight, through thick concrete bocks and hard steel reinforcements like it was tearing through wet paper and it’s only thanks to the full body coverage of your cursed technique, that it didn’t kill you on the spot. But it hurt. All of your body felt broken once you finally stopped, back pressed against the wall that still cracked underneath the impact of your frame hitting it. Blood covered your vision and a cough shook your body with painful wave overtaking your entire nervous system.

“So that’s the infamous hollow purple, huh?”, you muttered, leaning your head back against the cold solid behind you. There wasn’t much in your body that wouldn’t be fractured at least, you could tell without a mistake that your heart was still beating only because of the cursed energy that still circled throughout your frame.

Both men appeared in front of you, jumping from above – Suguru coming from one of his flying curses and Satoru, probably just teleported here.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” Gojo whispered, squatting in front of you and Geto followed his motion to level his vision with yours.

“’ts alright, ‘toru,” you muttered, feeling the dizziness taking the best of you. After the hit you took, you were certain not even a genius like Shoko could save you. “Sugu… both so strong.”

Exchanging a quick glance, both sorcerers sat down, on your sides, paying no mind to the puddle of blood underneath you. They took your hands, so small in comparison to theirs, now red and wounded severely, but the pain you couldn’t feel much of anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take this mission for you. Back in our days. It was meant to be mine, but I was training,” Satoru confessed, squeezing lightly the fractured bones in your palm, reminiscing of the day that was the beginning of your end. The elementary. That day engraved itself in his memory as one of many days that seemingly mattered nothing. Yaga told him about the issue, the curse and fire in school for the youngest, but he brushed it off, focusing all of his mind on perfecting the last touches of his technique. He still remembers how sensei was mumbling profanities, but couldn’t care less because he was that close from teleporting.

“’ts okay, ‘toru.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there either,” Suguru added, his voice barely a whisper as you leaned your head against his shoulder, desperate to ease the heaviness. What Geto remembered from the day in question was that he had an issue with his own technique. Little difficulty, as he was absorbing one of the special grade curses he just caught. It wasn’t severe, it wasn’t even that important, he could have fix this on another time and take the god damn mission, but instead, he declined. “I thought if I don’t take the job, Satoru will, but turned out, it got to you.”

“Sugu, ‘ts ok.”

“Remember how we used to sneak out the dorms to get ice cream in the middle of the night?”, Satoru changed the topic completely – a defensive mechanism to lighten up the mood, to prevent him from crying. And you hummed in response, lowering your heavy lids.

“And how Satoru got drunk after three sips of a beer? That’s when we all knew he’s the lightest head in the history,” Suguru added and faded images of how Gojo discovered that he cannot drink to save his life rushed to the front of your mind.

You had no idea how long it took, was it few minutes or merely few seconds, but you listened to both men rambling above your head, reminiscing of your school days and everything that you did together. Of every prank you witnessed that they took on poor first years, of every little mischief and menace they performed, following Satoru’s lead, because it’s always him who stood tall in the name of chaos. You were humming softer and softer, quieter and quieter.

Until you were not.

“And then we put those cupcakes in Nanami’s bed and-“

“Satoru,” Geto cut him softly, looking down at your stilled frame. At your frozen chest and softened features, sensing no more heartbeat. And Gojo turned his eyes towards you as well, taking in the last picture of you, who he loved as his little sister, even though there was no age gap between you and him. And then they both cried in silence, spending another hour with your dead body before gathering you and taking home.

* * *

October 31, 2018

21:18

Only word that could describe what was happening in Shibuya at this moment would be chaos. Pure disorder, people frightened and running, some unconscious on the ground and some other hiding from what was happening in the Shibuya station. Most of them couldn’t see it but felt the terror, saw the blood, smelled the death in the middle of which, two men were standing.

Both Satoru and Suguru, when they came down here to fight whatever the hell was attacking people, couldn’t move; their heads void of any logical thoughts as memories rushed to the fronts of their minds. Stunned to the core and frozen, they looked into the eyes of the person in front of them, distrusting their own vision. The person that wore the familiar look of you, the energy of you and what seemed like – the same cursed technique, and voice, and face, and hair, and everything. Not one thing betrayed trickery or deception as there you stood, facing them both with a smile on your face – one of those soft ones that had melted their hearts on the spot a decade before. Your features relaxed, genuine, borderline joyous as you breathed the air around them once again.

“What…?”, Suguru snapped first, forcing his own body to move and smacking his friend’s shoulder. “How?”

“Who the hell are you…?”, Satoru whispered, voice stuck in his throat as all of the information that his senses were receiving contradicted with what his soul was telling him.

“Aah? It’s been few months, but do you not recognize me anymore?”, your voice flew through your mouth, the very same gentle and bright tone they used to fall asleep to. “It’s hurting my feelings.”

“Cut it,” Gojo snapped, now putting more pressure on his vocal cords, a groan escaping his throat in effect. “Cut the bullshit, you’re not her. You cannot be her. Y/n is-“

“Dead? Yeah, that purple really messed me up,” you chuckled, shrugging your shoulders slightly and stepping forward. “I have to admit, restoring the body wasn’t the easiest of all.”

“Reveal yourself,” Geto took the defensive stance, ready to pursue with attack if needed and his curses floating behind him on standby. “You’re not fooling us.”

“Ah, how stubborn,” another laugh brightened your face, only now more menacing, more teasing as your dainty fingers reached up to gather the lose hair out of your forehead, revealing a line of thin stitches across your skin there. “See, you really did me a favor by burying her body oh-so traditionally. Isn’t that the procedure to burn every deceased sorcerer?” your mouth was moving, spilling the words interlaced with taunt as the, what looked like, thread was pulled out of the horizontal line above your eyebrows and soon after, grabbed by the hair, the top of your head was lifted, revealing the terrifying image of a brain. With mouth of its own.

“What did you do to her?!”

“Oh, I just took what you two threw away,” you replied, slowly putting the upper skull part down on its place, matching the lines as the thread went through the holes by itself, securing the head together. “And I have to thank you for your little sentiment. If not for that, I wouldn’t have my perfect vessel. Ah, but it’s sad, isn’t it? Such a young, pretty girl had to die so early, and more so, killed by her own best friends. What a waste to jujutsu community, don’t you think?”

Both the boys stood there in shock, guilt eating them alive as the salt and acid was being rubbed into the wounds that just opened. The scabs of the past were ripped away, revealing the gushing pain and Satoru growled in anger, realizing that once again, he might have been responsible for what happened to you. This time, Suguru kept up with him in terms of fury, feeling his own blood boiling in his veins, unable to watch your body being possessed like this, used like a toy.

“Y/n, I know you’re there-“ Gojo called, but got stopped quickly by another pilfering laugh.

“Oh, but she’s not. Her soul is long gone and dead. You made sure to have her soul dead, and you have to know I nearly teared up reviewing her memories when I took the body. Such a poignant story, oh, so heartbreaking.” The teasing had no end as more and more poisonous venom spilled through your mouth, contradicting the carefree and joyful tone of your voice.

“What makes you believe that even if you take her body, you can win here? We’ve defeated her already,” Suguru narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, you’ve won but that’s because she let you two won. Wasn’t that surprising how easily you finished her? A special grade? How she didn’t even try to dodge the hollow purple, like the little curse that she was fighting with was really that much of a struggle? Oh, don’t be silly, you two. It wouldn’t be that easy if she tried.”

“We won’t let you-“

“You must understand your situation. What you’re standing in is a special grade cursed object. A prison realm, and to say it simply, you’ve already lost,” you pointed at the floor, from where the four corners of a cube stretched into a mass of flesh, with an eye – giant and bleeding, staring at its target, as the next stage of sealing began before either of sorcerers reacted. “And what’s more interesting, the prison realm can seal only one person at the time, but with the incredible technique of my current host, I was able to fuel its capacity to two occupants, by manipulating the cursed energy it used. Marvelous!”

The cursed object began enveloping both men, rendering them helpless and immobile, as their cursed energy became unavailable for their use.

“We’ll save you, y/n, you hear me?”, Satoru yelled in unison with his friend and the lone tear rolled down your face, before your hand reached up wiping it in amusement.

“Gate close.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #satoru #satoru gojo #satoru angst #gojo angst #satoru gojo angst #suguru #suguru geto #suguru angst #suguru geto angst #gojo imagines #gojo fanfiction #gojo x you #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x reader #geto imagines #geto x you #geto x reader #geto fanfiction #jjk fanfiction

[fullyinconsequential]

Here’s a 3am Steddie rant I think every Steddie lover (and possibly hater) should hear. I have no goal to convert anyone—just to say that the ship did not actually “come from nothing.” Here’s why:

I don’t understand how there wasn’t Steddie foresight in the writer’s room.

So they play it up in season 3 like Steve just can’t get the girl and when he does she’s not the right girl and yada yada yada—cool beans. I love his character arc with Robin, their friendship, her queerness. I love their entire bathroom interaction.

Specifically: “It’s somebody that I didn’t even talk to in school. Maybe cuz Tommy H. would’ve made fun of me, or I wouldn’t be prom king…. First of all, she’s hilarious. So funny. I feel like this summer I have laughed harder than I have laughed in a really long time. And she’s smart—way smarter than me…. She’s honestly unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.”

Traits Robin Also Has that Eddie Shares:

Outcast

Band Kid

The Witty Banter

Eddie’s personality is VERY Robin. Not perfectly so, but maddeningly close.

Another point:

This is just the same person in different gender specific fonts, A.K.A. Steve’s “love interest” versus a guy who called him “big boy” completely unprompted and interrupted a tender moment between him and his “love interest” and complimented him for an entire scene while Steve wore his clothes.

So, really, one of them’s Steve’s love interest and the other is Nancy Wheeler /hj.

I write a lot, and as someone who both writes and consumes an abhorrent amount of media, whoever wrote this down, casted and costumed this way, and allowed for the interactions between Steve and Eddie to be as nuanced as they were (EX: the scene in which Eddie steps forward like he has more to say to Steve before he goes off and kills himself) had to have known what was going to happen. There is simply no way of not seeing it.

And if they didn’t want people shipping Steddie at the scale which they do, here’s what went wrong:

First: defaulting to Steve wanting his ex back is just plain shitty writing. It means you don’t know where to go with the character anymore, and since you’re certain he’s done all the growing he can do, he’s just gonna double back to the conflict he was in in the FIRST SEASON.

Are you serious right now, bro?

Steve’s arc as a character has been absolutely heartwarming to watch. If anything, he’d have been better off given the “I need to figure out how to be happy on my own” narrative. Throwing him back at Nancy is a cop out, a big one.

Second: Eddie. Throwing Eddie in the mix was absolutely a WILD decision, because he looks like Nancy, he banters like Robin, and GENDER IS NO LONGER A PLAUSIBLE REASON FOR AN AUDIENCE TO DENY CHEMISTRY, OR EXPLAIN IT AWAY. Not in the year of our lord 2023, no sir. Not unless you’re going to explicitly state in some way to an audience that these characters are DEFINITIVELY STRAIGHT. And with Eddie, they went as far off that course as possible.

The outcast stuff. The D&D stuff. The hatred of the system. The mysteriously living with his uncle and not his parents. THE HANKERCHIEF IN HIS BACK POCKET.

So essentially, this is what they did:

They took a beloved character, flubbed over his character arc because they weren’t sure what to do with it.

Then, they created a SECOND beloved character, made him likable, lovable, even, and relatable. Then they gave him half and half personality and looks of Steve’s last two love interests. Then they gave us scenes of them together where they showed chemistry, genuineness, and playfulness.

Then they EXPECTED that we as an audience had enough heteronormativity left as a society to say—oh, those two guys aren’t flirting with each other even a little bit because they’re two guys and obviously that doesn’t happen.

WHEN IN THE SAME SEASON WE WATCHED WILL AND ROBIN GO GAY PANIC AND DESPAIR LIKE?????

Pick a side pick a side, are your characters fucking gay or is your audience fucking blind?

Point being, I have some friends IRL who don’t really get this. They think Steve and Eddie hardly interacted enough for there to be romance at all, but I think it’s less about how much they interacted and more about the (unintentional) set up they were given by the writers.

Steve’s a truly beloved character and I don’t know on ST fan that wants to see him just end up back with Nancy Wheeler like his entire character arc was just to “get the girl” and “have six kids.” Which he already has by the way.

Anyway, that’s just my two cents. I’m not advocating for anyone to ship them, I’m just saying it’s honestly a perfectly logical conclusion to make, especially if you CARE about Steve as a character, you know? We want him to be with someone genuine, someone who challenges him to be better, to be different than he was. Nancy couldn’t handle doing that. Robin could, but they’re platonic af.

So why wouldn’t it be Eddie?

Rest in peace, by the way. You would’ve loved this text post.

#stranger things #steddie #writers #eddie munson #steve harrington #bisexual #gay #lgbtq #stranger things 4 #ultimately I’m just very confused by the writers #their choices seem so deliberate but they can’t possibly be #who instructed Joe to take that step forward? #what was the point of ‘for your modesty dude’ #why make Steve’s only character trait needing a girlfriend? #why not make Eddie’s character a girl? #the Lance mcclainification of Steve harrington

[thatdammchickennugget]

2023 Wrapped Tag Game

To celebrate 2023 coming to an end, create a moodboard inspired by your favourite memories of the year and answer any (or all) of the questions below <3

1. Top 3 songs of 2023 2. Top 3 artists of 2023 3. Top 3 albums of 2023 4. Top 3 movies of 2023 5. Top 3 tv shows of 2023 6. Top 3 books of 2023 7. Top 3 youtubers of 2023 8. Top 3 podcasts of 2023 9. Top 3 videogames of 2023 10. Top 3 celebrity crushes of 2023 11. Top 3 fictional crushes of 2023 12. Top 3 places you visited in 2023 13. Top 3 new things you tried in 2023 14. Top 3 things you were grateful for in 2023 15. Top 3 things you are looking forward to in 2024

1. Top 3 songs of 2023 Daylight by David Kushner, Grüne Augen Lügen Nicht by JEREMIAS, Tommy by AnnenMayKantereit

2. Top 3 artists of 2023 David Kushner, Hozier, Noah Kahan

3. Top 3 albums of 2023 Unreal Earth by Hozier, Wallsocket by underscores and Rush! by Måneskin

4. Top 3 movies of 2023 Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes, The Boy And The Heron

5. Top 3 tv shows of 2023 Avatar the last airbender, the summer I turned pretty, Julie and the Phantoms

6. Top 3 books of 2023 All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr, The Isles Of The Gods by Amie Kaufman, Five Survive by Holly Jackson

7. Top 3 youtubers of 2023 Rezo, Wendigoon, BooksandLala

8. Top 3 podcasts of 2023 Hobbylos, Not Another D&D Podcast, Creep Cast

9. Top 3 videogames of 2023 Baldur's Gate 3, Hogwarts Legacy, What Remains Of Edith Finch

10. Top 3 celebrity crushes of 2023 Florence Pugh, Pedro Pascal, Josh Hutcherson

11. Top 3 fictional crushes of 2023 Enzo Berkshire, Fred Weasley, Bradley Bradshaw

12. Top 3 places you visited in 2023 Austria, Köln (favourite german city and Joshua Bassett concert <3), the Netherlands

13. Top 3 new things you tried in 2023 started writing fanfiction again, learned to crochet, got into poetry

14. Top 3 things you were grateful for in 2023 my friends, books, music

15. Top 3 things you are looking forward to in 2024 new book releases, going to more concerts, going to the netherland with friends again

No pressure tags: @pizzaapeteer @slytherinslut0 @finalgirllx @ashisgreedy @jayybugg @theeslutintheroom @suugarbabe @heirofs1ytherin @dramaticals @theostrophywife @berryzxx @ahead-fullofdreams @once-upon-an-imagine @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @cyrygher @njutul @halucynator

+ anyone else who would like to do this just feel tagged by me <3

#2023 wrapped tag game #tag game #tagging game #moodboard #mutuals #2023

[meowzilla93]

thanks to @riding-the-sunset-bird i got a touch of creativity due to a non-romance kiss you can have with Baxter that just brought me SO MUCH ANGST TO PLAY WITH

ahem

also @differenteagletragedy for feeding my obsession and letting me rant and eventually create part one of this story

so without further ado, please enjoy :D

************************************************************************

Many people under-estimate how difficult wedding planning can be; In saying that, they typically realize it quickly and either gain the help of friends and family to plan the day, or they reach out for a wedding planner to handle the worst of the planning stress.

Baxter knew this all too well, and as he waited for his clients to arrive with the rest of the party at the restaurant, he pondered their situation with a wry grin. For reasons unbeknownst to even himself, he decided to agree to help his new clients plan a wedding that is meant to happen in just under a week. This was going to be a challenge all on its own, but Baxter enjoyed a good challenge now and again, and right now, this wasn’t phasing him.

He hears the party approach the table and turns away from the window he was staring through and looks at the happy couple in front of him and two additional new faces. As the couple introduced the new attendees, Baxter immediately recognized Miranda from his time in Sunset Bird, all those years ago. What a touch of irony that it’s another Eckert that’s got him planning a function in the last minutes leading up to it.

“Of course you are the charming brother of Mirandas', I should’ve expected as much” with a wry smile he looks across Miranda, the couple Jude and Scott before resting is sight on Terry, slowly coming to recognize the fourth person at the table.

“Randy, do you recognize this guy?” Terry is bewildered as he asks, unable to recognize Baxter, not that he is at all surprised. He did lose his ostentatious monochrome style and went back to dyeing his hair in full black again; It would take someone who truly knew him to be able to recognize him, and that is a someone he didn’t have in his life. At least he thought so.

As he sat there, with a pondering look on his face, amiable smile still firmly in place, he hears a voice he dared never to hear again.

“Baxter…”

Keeping up appearances mattered little right now, he needed to know that he wasn’t hearing things. Quickly, he stood up, almost knocking the chair aside as he reached his full height and looked past the four people in front of him, searching for the one person he thought he would never have the luck to see again.

And there you are. His eyes land on you and its as if time stopped right there and then; And as he stared at you, memories from five years ago coming flooding back into his head. That summer in 2016, where you met by some luck once again after that Soiree from fives years prior to that! Where you both reconnected and spent time and adventures together, though only as friends; He wished for a small summer romance with you but you declined him at the time, and as much as it did pain him he understood, he just wanted to keep being friends with you.

As those memories flooded his mind, there was the one that stuck out the most, the one that was burned into his mind, one he both regretted and cherished with all his might. The night you were up, deep into the night making cupcakes for Miranda, and you kissed him. His affection for you had only grown over the time he spent with you, and there you were, sweet and darling as you could be, gently pressing a kiss to his lips in the dead of the night.

He knew he shouldn’t entertain it. He knew that if he did, he would come to regret it later because he was going to hurt you when he eventually left with nothing more to say, but he couldn’t resist. He wanted to be selfish, to truly let himself go and just be with you in that moment. And so, as you look into his eyes waiting for his response, he brings his free hand up to the base of your head and pulls you in deep; Mouths moving in rhythm with each other as he deepens the kiss further, trying to drink you in, to try and memorize how you feel, taste and smell in this moment, as he wont ever be able to have this again. But as soon as he could feel himself sink into the kiss, that bitter voice in the back of his mind reminded him of what he was about to do, and he pulls away.

He remembers how you looked in that moment, flushed as he knew he was as well, before you both went back to work on the cupcakes, without a further comment on what had happened. He remembers it as clearly as the day he walked away from you, leaving you in the middle of your street with the look of disbelief on your face when he told you that he would never contact you again, nor would he see you again. With haunting clarity, he remembers as he turns away, the shine that had collected over your eyes spill down your cheeks, and you stood there, not saying another word as he walked out of your life, for good.

At least, that is what he anticipated; Never seeing you again. Yet there you are, shining like a daydream he never allows himself to have, with an identical look on your face of when he left you on that street five years ago. This is why he couldn’t think of you over those years, why he didn’t deserve to remember your beautiful smile and kind words. Because all he can do is bring you pain and put that hurt look on your face, and he knows that he is going to deserve every piece of karma coming his way over the course of this wedding.

#our life beginnings and always #baxter ward #olba #our life #olba baxter #baxter x mc #olba mc #meow fic!

[ladylooch]

Drunk Me with Mat Barzal 

A/N: The people wanted angsty and fluffy. So, here is is :D 

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Drunk, Swearing, Angst, smidge of smut but I’m not gonna slap a warning on it cause I kept it PG13 (you’re welcome or I’m sorry?).

All the promises I made to myself before I got to the bar tonight have been broken.

Don’t think about Mat.

Don’t mix your alcohols.

Don’t cry in the bathroom.

Each one of them is smashed to smithereens on the wet, worn floor of the bar in our hometown of Coquitlam, BC.

At that realization, I suck up the last of my “I swear this is my last” vodka soda. 

I look to my left where my best friend, Maggie, is laughing with her new boyfriend. I scoff bitterly. We were supposed to be hot messes together this summer coming off long-term relationship break ups. Now, she’s moving on with the new love of her life, while I’m left to wallow about Mat being back in town.

Mat and I broke up months ago. Nothing crazy even happened between us. It was just the reality that we were at a pivotal relationship moment and I couldn’t do it. Mat said we are both on different paths, growing in different directions, but I don’t see it. Things were good how they were. He ruined it. Maybe on purpose. Maybe it was all just an excuse for him. Maybe Mat wants to fuck puck bunnies. I don’t know. All I do know is there is a gaping hole in my chest where my heart is supposed to be.

My chest is now heavy with grief and I consider going to the bar to get another vodka soda. But the neon signs are already spinning and another sip of alcohol will have me back in the bathroom, clutching a public toilet. A heat wave surges through my body and agitation crawls on my skin as I look at Maggie again. So much for girls’ night. Her new boyfriend showed up with a group of his friends and it became clear why we came here when I wanted to go somewhere else. Anywhere else. I hate this bar. Mat and I used to sit in that corner booth, disappearing from our friend group to touch each other and whisper the hot things we would do later.

It hurts to be here. 

“I need some air.” I announce to the bar, lifting my long hair off my neck as a wave of nausea rolls through me.

Mat was wrong. We haven’t grown apart. We just… grew up, together, and yeah, I didn’t want to move to New York, but what was wrong with what we had? I flew out there regularly. I stayed for weeks until I had to leave the country again. It wasn’t my fault the U.S. government is so strict. Mat did bring up getting me a special visa that the other Islander’s girls utilized. But it felt too… daunting. After I said no, he started creating distance, then he came home just to leave me.

I should have said yes. I know that now. And I’ve gone back to that moment weekly since he’s been gone. Every time, I say the right thing.

I let my hair fall back onto my neck once I’m outside. Anger burns in my rib cage, fueling an unreasonable reaction. I decide, drunkenly and months later, that he had no right to ask me to move to New York. He put me on the spot. It’s my life and I get to choose for me. But he made it an ultimatum without even telling me. If he would have said move here or break up, I would have at least known what I was up against!

And I’m going to tell him that.

Before my rational brain can catch up, my phone is out of my pocket and in my hand. I pound at his name, once, twice, three times until I actually get the call to go through with my swirling vision.

“Hello?” He’s groggy and my stomach lurches out of my abdomen at the thought of him in bed.

“You know, I have something to say to you.” I slur at him. I ignore the way my throat tightens at the sound of his sigh.

“Y/N?” I can practically hear him rubbing his eyes sleepily on the other line. It is getting close to bar close and he sounds like he’s been asleep. I hear rustling on the other end.

“Are you with someone?” I whisper before I can stop it.

“No?” I suck in a breath at his sharp tone. “Where are you?”

“At Pete’s.” I say, making my way over to the wall and leaning against it.

“Are you with someone?”

“I was with Maggie, but she’s sucking some guy’s face right now. I just want to go home.” I kick at a pebble with my boot, not even registering the whining and desperation in my voice.

“Is that what you called to tell me?”

“I… guess.” I squish my eyes together. Mat is quiet on the other end. The silence in the air is filled with tension as I watch people leave the entertainment district, catching rides and heading to their beds, most of them not alone unlike me. It makes my skin crawl, thinking of my empty bed where he should be, holding me and stroking my bare skin after a night of loving each other. I purse my lips. “Will you come get me?” I beg quietly, tears filling my voice.

More silence.

“I’ll be there in five.” He finally says as I hear him walking through his bedroom to get dressed again.

“Okay.” I click end, then lean back against the brick wall to wait.

His expensive black car rolls up, dark tinted windows making it difficult to see inside. He comes to a stop in front of me as people on the sidewalk stretch their necks to get a peek of who it might be. I suck my cheeks in, watching as his driver’s side door opens. He stands, turning to look at me still leaning against the wall. His black Adidas shirt is stretched wide across his chest. His arms rest against the door and the top of his car as he takes me in. My make up has long since peaked, so black mascara smudges around my eyes along with smeared pink lipstick.

“Let’s get you home.” He finally calls to me. I push off from the wall, glancing at the passerby’s who study us curiously. Everyone in this town knows Mat. They know me too, but mostly as his ex-girlfriend. They wonder what we are doing together now. I reach the passenger side door, popping it open after stealing one last glance at his face. He looks so good, nothing like he was just fast asleep until a pathetic girl called him into the nightlife.

“Are you okay?” He asks, the clicking of his blinker filling the car. I nod my head. “Do you still live in the same place?” I wince, hating the reality that he hasn’t been over since the Islanders were in town in January.

“Yeah.” I finally respond. I pull my phone out, texting Maggie that I went home so she doesn’t worry about me. I don’t bother telling her with whom.

I thought I missed Mat earlier tonight, but being in this car, feeling his heat and smelling his body wash is a whole new level of ache. I shouldn’t have called him. I should have Lyfted home and deleted his number. 

“This is nice.” I motion to the vehicle.

“Thanks. I wanted an upgrade from last year.” I think of the instagram stories he shared from New York with his big breasted rebound.

“In many areas.” I snort, my drunkenness becoming obvious to him with my loose tongue. Thankfully, Mat lets that comment slide off into the darkness, never to be mentioned again.

“How’s your mom doing?” He asks, switching to a seemingly safety subject.

“She’s good. She has this huge collection of jewelry she’s been making for the county fair. Tons and tons of really great pieces. She’s proud of how it’s all coming together. My brother is even building these cool floating-” I stop abruptly. The county fair I’m talking about is the place Mat and I had our first kiss six years ago. I don’t want to remember that night right now. Mat turns, expecting me to continue. “Yeah, she’s good.” I finish, looking out the windshield as he slows to a red light.

“That’s cool. Maybe I’ll stop by the fair to see her this year. It’s been awhile since I’ve been…” He trails off like he’s getting lost in a memory. I’m not self-centered enough to believe it’s about us. An uncomfortable silence descends that makes Mat cough before attempting small talk again.

“Um, how are you?” He wonders, thumb stroking against the leather of his steering wheel. The air conditioning blows heavily on my arms, making goosebumps tighten my skin. I push the vents to face away. Mat reaches for the air control, mumbling an apology.

“I’m… fine.” I finally settle on. “You?”

“Can’t complain.” He shrugs, turning onto my street.

“Thanks for coming to get me.” I tell him as he pulls to a stop in front of my building. He puts the car in park, but keeps the car running. I undo my seatbelt, slowly letting it fall back into the door. I turn to look at him, dying inside at his beautiful gaze looking back at me.

“You’re welcome. Glad you’re safe… and okay.” His eyebrows are furrowed as he stares down at the stereo rather than back at me.

I wait for another moment. I’m not sure what more I am expecting from this. Unfortunately, my drunken mind fills in the silence with more thoughts of us and New York. I can still see the devastated look on his face when I said no to moving. I hate how things ended with us. I hate my contribution to it and I hate that it’s so damn awkward being with him now. I purse my lips together, feeling emotion clog the back of my throat. I reach for the handle, pushing the door open and stepping out. I toss my purse back onto my shoulder, then lean down to meet his gaze again.

“I’m sorry.” I say to him, poking my head back into the car. I can’t let him leave without him knowing that.

“For what?” He asks, hand gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

“For not moving to New York.” I shut the door, expecting to hear his car peel off into the street. Instead, the purr behind me ceases. The pop of his door follows.

“You can’t just say that to me and walk away. I know you’re drunk, but that is not fair.”

“I’m just being honest.” I shrug, reaching for my keys in my purse, thankful they are still there. His footsteps get closer until his fingers reach around to grab my keys from my hand. He touches the fob to the door and holds it open for me to walk through. I pause, studying him. His long black hair flows against his forehead in a large curl that adds to his sexy agitation. 

“Go, please. I can’t not walk you up. It doesn’t feel right.” He waves me in.

“You don’t need to do me anymore favors.”

“It’s not for you.” He shakes his head, following me into the building. I press the up button on the elevator, then select 4 for my floor.

Mat and I look at each other. I’ve made something shifted between us. I wonder if he feels it too. The depth of his eyes makes me think he does, but the truth is, I don’t know Mat as well as I used to. He’s changed in the last six months. Yet, my feelings for him are just as consuming. All the things I want to say to him are pressing into my tongue until it feels like I’m choking on the words. I’m too drunk and lonely and I miss the way it feels when he hugs me. I drop my gaze from his, lips twisting into a grimace.

Mat opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but in the end he doesn’t. We walk silently down to my apartment. Mat still has my keys in his hand. Slowly, he brings them between us for me to grab. Now, our transaction is done. He’s walked me to the door. I have my keys. How do we say goodbye?

“Thank you.” I finally say, turning to put the key in the door and flipping the lock.

“Call anytime. I’ll always be here for you.” Mat says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Goodnight.” He gradually turns to walk back to the elevator.

“Mat.” I hear myself sputter.

Uh oh.

“Yeah?” He asks, turning around, eyebrows furrowed like he’s struggling internally.

“Will you stay? I don’t think I can be alone.”

Unexpectedly, Mat agrees then walks back to me. Once I push the door open, he goes casually towards my bedroom like he has hundreds of times before, pulling his shirt over his head as he goes. The defined muscles of his back make my mouth go dry. 

Our bodies go into autopilot, getting undressed and ready for bed in the way we always used to. It isn’t long before we are both under the blankets, firmly on our own sides of the mattress. Timidly, I feel Mat reach for me. I take his hand, letting him roll me onto my side so we are looking at each other, legs touching. The darkness masks our faces in shadows.

“Mat?”

“Hm?” His breathy grunt is warm against my forehead.

“Do you think of me when you’re in New York?”

“Of course I do. Why else would I be here?” I contemplate that for a moment, then continue.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?”

“Only if you do.”

- - - 

The next morning, I awaken to sunlight rudely brightening my room. I groan into my pillow, feeling around for the spare pillow on the other side of the bed to bring back darkness. Instead of cotton, I come in contact with a face. Everything in my stills. I don’t remember much from last night, except a faint memory of fingers stroking my back. Did we…?

“It’s me and no we didn’t do anything.” I hear Mat say. His voice is deep and rich from sleep. It puts me at ease. Until he reaches across the bed, pulling me into his body. It’s so intimate as he seals my butt to his lap, back to his chest. His hand snakes around my stomach, holding me in place.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to tell you something, but I want to feel you in my arms while I do.” I still, barely breathing as I feel his calm heartbeat against my back. “I shouldn’t have asked you to move to New York. It was too much. I didn’t think you were going to say no, and I still don’t quite understand why you did, but I respect your choice.” My eyes close and I settle myself deeper into his body. He responds with a tighter grip on me, nose pressing to my shoulder until he speaks again. “I’ve been missing you… and us… When you called last night, and asked me to stay, I felt happy for the first time in awhile. I fucked everything up.” I put my hand on his over my stomach, interlocking our fingers together.

“Mat, I ruined this. I should have said yes. I was just really scared. What if I moved there and it didn’t work out? How was I going to come back here after that? I never let myself consider how much better it could have been. And I should have."

“You know, there is still time for you to change your mind. We could start slow. You move into my place here. Then, you move one suitcase at a time to New York until somehow all your stuff is there?” I smile, turning to press my lips into his forearm beneath my head. I want that. Desperately.

“On one condition.”

“Anything. Probably.” His lips brush against my neck as he speaks, practically kissing me. Each brush has lightning bolting through my veins. He gathers the courage to fully press his lips on my neck. I bring my hand around, holding his face to my skin, savoring his sweet touch.

“Tell me you’re still in love with me.” I whisper.

“Of course I am.” He murmurs. “How could I stop?”

“You’re the love of my life, Mat Barzal.” I turn awkwardly in his arms so our lips can connect. We make out. Every month, week and day we have spent apart has us greedily sucking each other. His hands run down my body, gripping my ass in his palms as I hook a leg over him.

“Somethings never change.” He says against my mouth, teeth connecting with my lips as he laughs. “Your nights at Pete’s still ends with mornings like this.” Mat ruts our hips together, building our excitement.

I think back to the promises I made in this bed last night before I went out, laughing at how each one of those broken agreements lead me to exactly where I wanted to be anyway.

Thank you, drunk me.

#Mat Barzal #Mat Barzal fic #New York Islanders #hockey writing #NHL writing #NHL fan fiction #writing request #my writing

[rel124c41]

NOW PLAYING ‘I CAN’T STOP THE LONELINESS’ BY NIGHT TEMPO. jade leech

Good old Jaido is being ironic, acting happy on the worst day of his life. Why would an artist create happy music to pair it with such sad lyrics?

tags: unrequited love, angst and tragedy, hurt no comfort, complicated relationship, regrets & sorrows, friendships, bro doomed by the narrative, happy birthday to me fuckers

word count: 2,087

The first dance goes to Floyd, his brother.

This is only natural because, of course, the bride dances with the groom on their wedding day.

At his seat at the family table, Jade rolls a glass of celebratory champagne in his gloved hand. Freshly poured, it still bubbles with some last desperation. Champagne is a sipping wine but – carbonation burns the bridge of his nose with white pain as he gulps it down. Each organ in Jade stirs like kicked sediment, bubbling over. 

Floyd’s side of the table is weighed down by their father, mother, himself, and grandmother; yours is weighed down by Grim, who is trying to steal extra food off his father’s plate. The reservation hall is drowned in people though, all coming together to support your unity. 

The only one who fails to uphold this support wholeheartedly is one-drink-down-ten-more-to-go Jade Leech, the pillar of brotherhood crumbled and eroded. 

It is my own fault. Jade thinks as his mother pours him another drink. All my fault.

You and Floyd dance to ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’. Sung by Frankie Valli, each lyric and note match up with each other perfectly. There is no juxtaposition between melody and meaning. With you cradled in his arms, Floyd looks down, softly mouthing each word to you. By doing so, he expresses that each word is genuine, engraved in his soul. 

To Floyd, he truly cannot take his eyes off of you, magnetized in. When there is a break in lyrics, he steals June coded kisses – warm like the beginning of summer. You two nuzzle cheek to cheek, amorous. 

As expected, Floyd cannot stay slow-dancing for longer than a minute. Melody starts to change. From sweet, it goes to this jumping excitement as the baritone horn and baritone saxophone intensify. You two start to pull away, independent in your motions. 

Besides the tight hold both your right hands have … refusing to let go … tying the knot.

The music goes: can’t take my eyes off of you, bum bum, whump whump, bam-d bam-d, bum bum, whump whump. You shimmy your shoulders back and forth, a smile eclipsing your face. Floyd throws you a wink, hips swaying side to side. Despite the ridiculousness … no, because of your joint ridiculousness, it amplifies that sentiment of nuptial bliss: you two were destined and designed for each other.  

Moved by music, you even hop in platform heels. Then, blindsided and unexpecting Jade watches, as the beat reaches its peak. You two shout, both of you jumping, but making certain your eyes connect when you shout the lyrics: “I love you, baby!!” The crowd goes wild with cheers, clapping along to the music. 

And if it’s quite alright, I need you baby to warm a lonely night! You and Floyd throw away coordination lessons as the song continues, already the perfect dance partner for each other. 

This entire wedding feels like one big, ironic joke being played on him. 

Jade looks up from his happy, bubbling champagne when Floyd dips you so low that your spine is parallel and supine to the ground, floating only four inches or so. Both of you laugh louder than the music and cheers. A polite smile is still glued to Jade’s face. 

He says words that only the watery ear of his champagne hears, “I should have never introduced them.” Unsaid because he is swallowing his alcohol-scented sorrow: It is all my fault.

The second dance goes to their father.

You seem to remember those coordinated dance lessons afterall. Especially graceful in his father’s imposing arms. Though, you keep your stance far away from his father’s shoes. Trembling at the mere notion of just touching the side of one. Burnished elkan leather that probably costs equivalent to your engagement ring. 

Your engagement ring – ah, what a cursed, loathed object it is in Jade's world. 

He was there when Floyd bought the ring. Do you know this? Jade thinks you probably do not. The proposal spot was all Floyd’s plan while the engagement ring was Jade’s. 

“Get her this one.” Jade had pointed towards an engagement ring with a criss-crossing design on the band and a diamond the size of a dime. “Diamonds are known for their durability.”

Diamonds would be able to sustain through a wild lifetime with Floyd. 

Washing dishes and spreading cream cheese on bagels in the blissful morning light, typing on computers and holding a phone up to your ear to talk in the middle of noon, brushing teeth and reaching under the sheets to stroke teasingly at his navel, moving further down and down, in the blanket of night light. Living a domestic life until you were dissolved into seafoam. All the remains of your love. A single diamond ring on a skeleton finger. Resilient.

Even though one should be the main player in their own life, it seems Jade is destined and designed for the background. 

When Floyd told Jade where he would propose, it kicked his ribs and stomach harder than any alcohol could. ‘I’m already down, why push me further’ is what Jade’s half-a-second wrinkling expression spoke. With the news broken, Jade smiled with hidden rage, “I’m sure she will love that.”

The place Floyd proposed? It was the place Jade introduced you to his twin. 

Isn’t it ironic? Jade knew you first but he will never know you the best. You will reveal your pink love and black secrets to Floyd yet never Jade. Jade: your first friend in Twisted Wonderland, now your brother-in-law. 

The third dance goes to their mother.

You are truly more beautiful than any diamond. You are something that gleams brighter than all the jewelry on the ocean floor or in sunken shipwrecks. When Jade and Floyd were little, they used to steal stuff from each other all the time. Noses would be broken because hey, that shell you found is prettier than mine! It only makes sense that they would find themselves attracted once again to the same, shining allurement. 

They learned to share as all children do. They broke off pieces of a sturgeon’s scales together and shared that. The diamond that is you though? Jade means a lot to you, he knows it; he knows it does not go beyond friendship. 

When you are dancing with his mother, you shine. Laughter pianos out of your mouth in a genuinely happy melody. Unlike him, you do not have to force this mirth. Acrylic nails grab your wrist and twirl you so fast you could puke. Giggles are a kinder substitute. Despite your early anxiety, all is alright now. 

Jade reflects upon that. The only moment you were frowning at that wedding.

He was speaking to Trey Clover when you appeared out of nowhere, platforms clicking. The visage of you stole his breath away; then, you stole him away from his conversation with Clover, apologizing. Jade let himself be dragged by your firm hand. As the tendrils of your hair and wedding veil bounced with your pace, Jade watched the dorsal side of his diamond gleam and raced down to a secluded hallway. 

You turn on Jade, blindly bright. Sevens, you look gorgeous. Even with that frown on your face – how can he help, he wants to soothe it away immediately – you are a sight he will never tire off. 

“Am I doing the right thing?”

For a second, Jade’s world stops. 

He thinks for a second, perhaps he could be the main character. For second, the diamond on your ring finger is not so loathsome to him. Instead of it representing infinity, it turns finite. It is a piece of jewelry you can take off. It takes only a second before you speak again:

“I mean, Floyd has been so great through all this. Super understanding, super wonderful. I mean he’s put up with all my little whims. And he was so excited about seeing the dress! I mean, the tradition of not seeing the bride before the ceremony is boring and super outdated –”

Ah, he is back in the secondary character position. You were only talking about the tradition you brought over from your world. It had a little bit of your culture that you wanted to keep with you – not seeing Floyd until you walked down the aisle. 

Jade is incredibly stupid to think you were talking about the wedding. You do not seem the type to call off a wedding. He smiles and asks, “That eager?”

“Well, I,” you fluster and look away. ‘No. I’m not, but it was the only thing Floyd and I really fought on. I’m starting to realize that it is a bit silly.”

“Keeping tradition is often how we show love for the generations before us.”

You weigh Jade’s words carefully on the scale of your consciousness. He wonders if he spoke his heart if you would take that into consideration or ignore it. After a pregnant silence, you say, “But I don’t really have a family history anymore.”

Jade blinks, surprised, as you continue, “Today, Floyd is going to become my family. Or, well, I’m going to become part of his. I have nothing of myself to offer in terms of tradition anymore.”

“You will just choose to assimilate to the circumstances?”

“Wouldn’t anyone do so for love?”

Those words fall like an anvil on Jade’s heart. “Yes. I fear they might.”

“Fear is such a drastic word!”

Jade laughs as you say, “Ah but I suppose it is true. I’m actually terrified right now.” Your hands fall down to play with the hem of your gown. You run your thumb over the outfit you will only wear once. Such a monumental, life-changing piece of fabric. 

The diamond catches a flicker of light, reflective. Jade asks, “Are you having regrets?” He waits with bated breath. 

“About Floyd? No. Never.” Your expression only solidifies the truth of your words. 

“Then my advice?” You look on with eager eyes. Jade smiles through the pain. “I say you should keep with the tradition. Weddings are a merge of the very notion. When you become a Leech, you still have your identity to care for.” That is not the real reason though. Because, this. This Jade gets to steal: the first sight of you in your wedding dress.

“Thanks, Jade. You’re the best friend – the best brother that a bride could ask for.”

Hand over his heart, concealing everything, “It is my pleasure.”

The final and fourth dance goes to Jade.

Carried by a crowd that rushes, you two dance a mad dance, hands welded together. In your gown, you move like Jade imagines all those sneaky princesses that defied and tricked the Seven must have – well, six princesses. Like an oscillating dream, you lean back, arms out. Laughing, you swing right back into Jade, chest to chest and arms out to the side instead.

When your hearts connect in the dance, Jade thinks he could be foolish enough to steal a kiss. Just one to be a solution to all his troublesome pining. A shade of Venus pink, shining and alluring him into a dumb mistake. 

I had you first but I will not have you last. Or in any ways that matter to your heart. 

The song that plays is a melody that demands dancing. It is a force that moves your hips to sway side to side. Puppets you jump around, platforms banging along with the lyrics. And what tragic lyrics they are. The smile on your face would make him think he was listening to a love song. 

Fluent in quite a few languages, Jade knows better. Though, Jade is unsure why the song is structured like this. Why would an artist create happy music to pair it with such sad lyrics? It is such a cruel juxtaposition. Jade smiles when you twirl yourself so your dorsal side lies against his front, snug in his arms as he dances with you. Those Venus-hued lips pull up in a diamond grin.

Why would an artist create happy music to pair it with such sad lyrics? There is only one answer. Irony. 

Jade laughs and helps you back to your feet when your platforms catch on the bottom of your wedding gown. You thank him so genuinely. Jade never wants this particular melody to end.

Then, it does.

“Can I steal my Shrimpy back,” Floyd jokes, when the song ends. You happily launch yourself into his arms, ready to dance until your feet are sore. Stolen successfully. 

#jade leech x reader #jade leech #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland

[leafofkudzu]

Slightly delayed posting this, but hello again! The first Saturday of a new month fast approaches, which means it’s soon time for yet another community art party hosted by [VS] Verdant Shield! Last week I ran our first ever location-selection poll, and the winner by just a teensy margin was The Grove, so let’s try out a new location in the same map!

For those not in the loop about what an art party is, they’re an idea carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - big (or small!) get-togethers for artists/writers/creatives of all kinds to hang out, chat, and create together! Get your most eye-catching outfit together, find someone else who strikes your fancy, and create! Afterwards, everyone shares their creations on social media (mostly here on Tumblr for us) using a party-specific tag (ours is #VSArtParty) so others can see and spread the love around via reblogs! The tl;dr is the same thing I’ve been saying every time I make these posts, and will continue to say ad infinitum: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

General party details are in the image above, but a text version with some additional details such as /squadjoin information is under the cut!

Location Details:

The last time we were in the Grove we tried Dawngleam Pergola as a location, but it very quickly overflowed during the NA party and has as such been disqualified from future large-scale events (sorry!). The Omphalos Chamber (aka the place where you go to visit the Avatar of the Pale Tree) is also limited in size, but is easily spilled out of onto the main floor immediately below it should the need arise (which it very well may). The closest waypoint is Upper Commons Waypoint, and the easiest way up to the uninstanced Chamber would be via a mount such as a springer or skyscale, but you can also use a teleport-to-friend or just kinda yell in an upwards direction to summon a helpful portal-bearer should the need arise. The map looks a little weird when viewed from Chamber-level, but here’s a screenshot just in case you aren’t familiar. If you still aren’t sure, just go the middle of the top floor and look up!

Time & Squad Details:

As always, the party will consist of two separate events, with an hour break in between (though technically people jump from one to the other immediately anyway so weee).

The first party will be on EU servers and begin at 9pm Central European Summer Time (aka 3pm Eastern Daylight Time or 5 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting on my EU alt account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Aemryn of Dusk for an invite.

The second party will be on NA servers and begin at 7pm Eastern Daylight Time (aka 1am Central European Summer Time or 1 hour before in-game reset). This one I’ll be hosting on my main account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Kirslyn for an invite.

IMPORTANT NOTE (mostly for the NA party): If you join and the squad is at or above 45 members, please just taxi into the right map and then hop out of squad to allow others to do the same! Essentially all conversation now happens in say chat so you won’t miss out on anything by being outside of squad!

Closing Words:

For those who missed it, a week ago I posted a poll in the party tag where people could vote on one of the five main cities as a party location, with the promise that I’d select a location different from the previous party held in that map for whichever won. Going forward this will be the general format, with the poll going up 2 weeks before and the announcement 1 week before (yes I know this one is delayed I’m sorry D:). If you have suggestions for locations outside of the racial cities that are low/no combat and wouldn’t interfere with events/metas, feel free to DM me and I’ll scope them out for possible inclusion in future polls!

Anyway, that’s all for now! Sorry if I worried anyone by not having this posted back on Saturday - I had some irl stuff going on that delayed me a bit. Thank you so much to everyone who comes out to these and helps make them so memorable and fun, I can’t wait to see you all again soon! ♥

#i've been eyeballing the area trying to figure out if everyone would fit and tbh i fully expect it to spill out onto the main level hdkgfd #ANYWAY that's it that's all sorry this is late aaaAAA #gw2 #guild wars 2 #obnoxious tourist simulator #vsartparty #📢🎨

[tkachuktkaching]

Matthew and Brady on @ The Rink Podcast

Most of what they said bits of it has already come out in previous articles a few weeks back

Brady discussed his summer wedding, his excitement going into the season, the growth of his team and what he learned watching Matthew and the Panthers go on their run to the Stanley Cup Final last season.

Brady : "Just to see the every-day grind of taking care of himself, making sure he's ready for the game, and just as a leader too, taking care of yourself so you're able to demand from the rest because you're doing it right," he said. "I'm definitely ready and hopefully it'll be me in the playoffs soon.

"Seeing what he did created a lot of motivation for me over the summer."

Matthew discussed the broken sternum he sustained during the Stanley Cup Final and the pain he was in, the help he got from his brother at that time, Brady's bachelor party in Miami, and feeling a different vibe in the South Florida market after last season.

"Very different," Matthew said. "A lot more buzz. There's a lot of buzz around every sports team. It's turning into a sports crazy town and that makes it fun. [Soccer star Lionel] Messi coming in makes that much more buzz. The past few years the Dolphins have been great. What us and the Heat did last year really gave a lot of traction for us as a hockey team. So it's pretty cool." via NHL.COM

Listen to Brady from 16.04 Matthew from 40.30

______________________________________________________________

A few added things from Matthew's interview on the podcast some of which we've already heard & posted previously but included here for anyone that missed it first time round.

His injury allowed him to work on his strength & conditioning.

He wishes there was no social media after all the wedding stuff posted online, his family like to have a good time at weddings and doesn't know where people get this stuff (footage that goes viral).

Things Brady is better at than him: a better shot, video games & being a all round better human being than him (but he'll work on that!), Matthew says he himself is a ball buster, Matthew takes the bragging rights when it comes to Golf though he says his Dad is better at chirping and more witty & more funny than him & thinks his dad's game was underappreciated & underrated at the time he played, people realise from Matthew & Brady's game style how good & valuable he was and his dad gets belated recognition which he appreciates.

Says Brady's bachelor party in Miami took a few years off his life!

His summer consisted of the trip to Nashville for the player Awards, laying around in the hotel doing nothing, Bachelor parties, four weddings, and a trip to Montana in August, though he hasn't really done much of anything over the last month.

The Blood vessels and stuff were the the scary part of his injury at the time and half his body felt like it was out here, he knew something wasn't right, he didn't know what it was at the time, until they did his tests the next day. He was in the most pain after winning game three the overtime win. But now he's all good.

It was doctors who gave him the go ahead to do what he could to play just one last game. Despite the serious nature of his injury he would do it all over again if he had the chance.

He's excited to get going for camp & the new season though mentions the missing guys until around Christmas will be a tough ask (Montour & Ekblad) he feels The Panthers have more depth especially with the D this year.

Calls Alex Lyon The Lyon King & Big praise for his (Lyon) & Bob's heroics. How they had to play with only six D & two Goalies with Knight's absence last year.

The goal is to again make the playoffs, and be in the mix he wants to get of to a good start and how it sucks to have to chase for a spot like they had last year.

The Allstar was a good jump start because the Panthers weren't doing well as a team at that point which created a buzz that carried on leading on the cup run.

#matthew tkachuk #brady tkachuk #nhl #podcast recap #florida panthers #ottawa senators #tkachuks #Spotify

[thatbanditqueen]

Basic Training Ch 2

This is a new Elvis Fan Fic set during his basic training at Fort Hood WIP I am playing around with for the summer. Comment, reblog , tag and let me know what you think or if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Thanks to my ever alpha @whositmcwhatsit who read the rough draft and made it so much better. Thanks Jader Gator. I love you and I think you know that I go between being so in awe of your writing that it is paralyzing to being inspired to write just to get close to what you create.

There are so many good writers in our fandom, and I am lucky to be friends with a little group of horny elvis witches who put up with me, answer my random questions and help me figure out narrative roadblocks, so thanks, as ever, to my sister wives @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @powerofelvis for helping me write. You guys are so talented I feel lucky to breathe your air, you teach me everything.

Summary: Elvis surprises Bess at her office to thank her and gets to know some of the other women on post.

Word Count: 4.9 K

Warnings: None. Swear words? Handsy charming naughty Elvis?

I have formulas, tropes, motifs that I always go back to consciously or unconsciously.... whatever... as I was naming this chapter I realized how chapter two is always about the nicknames..... Here we go...

If you need to catch up, read Chapter 1: I Don't Date Soldiers here

Basic Training Chapter 2: Lil Moo Moo & Tupelo

Wednesday, April 2, 1958

1715 Hours (5:15 p.m.)

Fort Hood Front Office

“Oh, give me Burt Lancaster any day over Elvis Presley.”

Mabel’s eyes didn’t leave her work as she said this, not even when she placed her cigarette in the ashtray on her desk, the keys on her typewriter plunking up and down in her glasses’ reflection as she typed. Unflappable and wry, Mabel was a career civil servant with the commemorative lapel pins to match each milestone from her twenty six years and counting career at Fort Hood. Her light green metal desk was set in the center of the large outer room in the base’s front office, right in front of the CO’s door. Bess’s desk was to the right, across from the XO’s secretary Rose, who left everyday right at five o’clock on the dot. 

The other two women Bess shared an office with were almost polar opposites. Rose worked punctually from eight to five every day, while Mabel was always the first to arrive between 6:45 and 7, and often the last to leave, determined to stay on post until the CO left. 

Bess fell somewhere in-between, arriving most days with her father at 8 a.m. and then pushing him to leave as early as possible. But with her father out of town, Bess was mistress of her own destiny; a mistress who apparently couldn’t bear to leave until the final details for an awards ceremony tomorrow afternoon were hammered out. 

Which is why she was perched on the corner of Mabel’s desk at 5:15, or at least it had been before Dori arrived. Waiting for her father, the CO, to return from inspections, Dori had turned the conversation to her favorite topic of late: her quest to meet Elvis Presley. Tonight she was specifically wondering if he would come to the MWR dance that weekend. This had prompted Mabel's unsolicited preference for the tall, athletic physique of Burt Lancaster.

Dori giggled. “How many times did you see From Here to Eternity when it was in theaters, huh Mabel?”

“More than I’d care to admit, Ms. Crenshaw.” Mabel lowered her bifocals as she hit her typewriter keys slowly, looking down every few seconds at some hand written notes. “And every time they play it on TV or show it here.”

“And how many times did you see Jailhouse Rock, huh, Bess?” Dori teased.

Bess blushed. “Only once.”

Mabel paused her typing and picked up her cigarette again. “I have the feeling Bess has turned sour on those Presley pictures. You should have seen her last week, damn near punched a dent in her desk after a reporter ran her off the road.”

“Ah, no, Bess loves Elvis.” Dori checked her lipstick before putting her compact back into her purse. “She’s lying too. I remember seeing Jailhouse Rock with you and the soldier on duty said you’d been to our sweet 'lil ol base theater every night that week.”

Bess fixed Dori with a grimace, mumbling defensively. “That was Loving You, and I only saw it three times. People were talking through it the first two times.” She shifted, rolling her thigh over Mabel’s desk as she balanced herself. “I didn’t care for Jailhouse Rock, though, kinda thought the main character was a jerk.“

“Oh honey, that’s what made it so good.” Dori’s high voice vaulted up the ceiling “Don’t you just find him scrum-diddly-umptious actin’ all tough and mean, but then being hung up on his lil ole manager the whole time?”

Bess straightened the stack of files on her lap.

“No, Dori, I don’t care for quiet, mean, brooding types who can’t just be a man and tell me how they feel, playin' mind games instead. And, as for Elvis, honestly I can take him or leave him. There are twenty thousand men on this base.” Bess straightened her ponytail, balancing her files on her lap as she spoke. “Why, I could find you ten Mississippi tall boys who can play gee- tar and yodel at you before mail call is done…”

Bess’ voice trailed off when she noticed Dori gasp and cover her mouth with her hand, eyes wide with shock as she smacked Bess’ knee. Mabel whistled low, her eyes quickly fixing on her typewriter as Bess shifted around on the big desk.

“What? What is it….” Bess’ jaw fell open and dropped her files to the ground. She felt them slip over her skirt on their way, unable to stop them, it was as if she had forgotten how to use her hands. No, all she could do was cringe with embarrassment at Elvis’ downward smirk as his eyes flitted up to look at her.

“Oh cluck a fuck, I mean fuck a duck - I mean, oh cluck!” Bess heard herself cry out reflexively, then remembering how to move, she scrambled to pick up her papers. She was grateful for Dori’s unflappable poise as the blonde hopped over Bess’ hunched body on the ground and introduced herself to Elvis, adding:

“Please excuse my friend there, she flunked outta finishin’ school.”

Bess watched Elvis kiss Dori’s extended hand with mild amusement as she squealed and smiled and unleashed her excitement onto him, her hand already on his chest.

“I been prayin’ every day to run into you, Elvis - Oh, may I call you Elvis?”

“Yessum, I -”

“Oh good! See, I knew we’d be great friends, I just knew we would! I have been all over this base hopin’ to run into you. Why, we’re all just pleased as punch ta have ya round here, aren’t we?”

She turned to see Bess still on all fours, curly brown hair half loose from her ponytail, while behind her Mabel looked up and grunted softly in salutation before continuing to type. 

Mabel’s cranky glare and Bess’ antics on the floor did not create the mood Dori had envisioned for her first meeting with Elvis Presley. She looked down and her broad smile wavered for a moment as she realized the top button of Bess’ shirt was undone, revealing her bra completely. Dori’s painted pink lips popped as she nudged Bess with the tip of her heel and whispered through her teeth.

“Stand up, Bess honey, fo-ar gawd’s sake, ya shirt!”

Bess jumped up, fixing herself as a big red blush grew over her face, made worse as Elvis caught her eye with a wink. Mabel stopped typing for a moment and motioned for Bess to come and look at something while Dori kept right on talking to Elvis with her hand now firmly around his bicep.

“Now, don’t pay no mind to Bessie’s talk about you and your pictures, why, we’re all big Elvis fans round here, the biggest fans ya ever met.”

Elvis cocked his eyebrows up at Bess’ simmering glare from where she now stood behind Mabel’s chair.

“Huh, yeah, that’s sweet of ya, ma’am -”

Dori put her finger to Elvis' lip. “Dori, honey, puhleeze!”

“ - Uh, Dori.” Elvis’ spoke carefully, as if forming every word in the back of his throat before speaking out, his voice was soft and shy. “I don't s’pect everyone to like all my pictures. After all, I didn’t write them, it’s just a job to me.” He winked again at Bess. “S’pose I mind even less if they like some of my other movies. Like ‘em enough to see ‘em every night a tha week.”

Bess felt her cheeks redden even more, but before she could think of a clever reply, Mabel elbowed her and pointed at the XO’s handwriting.

“Can you read that? It looks like repercussion, but it could be reprimand as well.”

Bess picked up the legal pad for closer inspection and turned to the others, motioning for Dori to come take a look. She hadn’t expected Elvis to follow, but he did, making himself right at home and angling his tall body behind the women. 

He snuck his hand around Bess’ waist as he looked at the writing Dori held up for him, eyes forward and completely detached from the movements of his fingers rubbing along the waistband of Bess’ skirt until she pulled them off. This made her stumble to the side and gave Elvis an excuse to openly grab her waist and steady her, She frowned, flustered by the way his long fingers navigated the crease right where her waist met her ribs, his thumbs squeezing tightly and then rubbing gently over her as he asked if she was ok. 

Pushing Elvis’ hands away, Bess whispered that she was fine, trying to slow her pulse and still the shivers that ran up her spine. Her whole body trembled, aware of his proximity to her, and she refused to meet Dori’s now extremely curious eyes over Elvis’ shoulder. Nodding, he turned back to the others and helped himself to the paper, declaring that it was repercussion as he introduced himself to Mabel, kissing her hand, and asking her about the tiny, porcelain figurines on her desk as she giggled.

“That’s Lady and Lola, my brother brought them back to me from Japan. Are you a dog person, Private?”

Bess made her way back to her desk, taking in the youthful bloom of Mabel’s beaming face and girlish laughter. She had never seen her co-worker this cheerful and open before. Dori’s face was aghast as Elvis ignored her and made himself comfortable on Mabel’s desk, asking her for a cigarette and then turning with a conspiratorial whisper as he asked them not to tell anyone. 

Dori began tapping her fingers along her crossed arms harder as she watched Elvis put his hand on Mabel’s shoulder, while the older woman batted his thigh and chuckled at his jokes about dogs. Bess smiled to herself at the way Dori tried to wrest the conversation back by talking about how she used to have the sweetest lil ol’ poodle in the world when she was a girl. But it was an uphill battle, because now Mabel was pulling out her secret tin of homemade shortbread and asking Elvis what he thought. He had to try five pieces before he could adequately decide his verdict, and he moaned as if he had never had shortbread before. His voice was low as he stuttered “Mmm hmmm mmm hmm mmm” in a hum, and Bess dropped her pen when he caught her eye and licked his lips, proclaiming through crumbly mouthfuls that it was “the best doggone cookie he’d had in a long while.”

Bess shook her head at Elvis’ transformation from the shy soldier who had walked into the office to the confident, cocky rascal he was now, only minutes later. Elvis was masterful, she mused, and it was down to the attentive way he looked at each person he spoke with, talking to you as if you were the most important person in the world and responding to everything you said and did with his eyes. No, with his whole body really, she thought. He had a magnetic energy that had drawn her in the moment they met Friday. Now that same magnetic energy was doing its work on Dori and Mabel before her very eyes, as he engaged with them in a way that was humble, considerate and disarming. Some soldiers were stiff and uncomfortable here in the front office where there were often three to five women bustling about. Elvis on the other hand, seemed to be in his element amidst a group of women vying for his attention.

Bess found, to her own chagrin, that this included herself and was disappointed by her own desire to get his attention. She held out until she could no longer help it and interrupted their conversation with a loud, authoritative cough.

“I’m sure you didn’t come to our building to talk about puppy dogs and shortbread, Private, we don’t want to keep you from your tasks or the mess hall.”

Elvis turned to look at her from where he sat on Mabel’s desk and began throwing his olive patrol cap from hand to hand as he gulped.

“Uh, well ma’am, actually, I came up here hoping to get a word with you, Bessie. Uh, I mean Miss Schwartz.”

Now it was Bess’ turn to swallow and once again avoid Dori’s questioning eyes. Mabel’s eyes snapped down to her typing, her face back to being an expressionless stone wall.

“Sure thing, um, walk me to my car? I just, I was just about to leave, I just, uh, need to put these in the Commander’s office.”

As she walked back to her father’s desk, she heard Dori’s voice ring out behind her.

“I didn’t know you were acquaintances with Bessie. That busy bee, she really gets around this base, huh? I reckon she knows more soldiers than the rest of us combined.” Bess smiled to herself at Dori’s insinuation. “ Are you here to ask her to the dance?”

“Uh, no ma’am, Dori, Miss. I, uh, reckon it's better for me to keep a low profile this weekend, let the boys enjoy their night.”

“Well, you know, that attitude might give our boys the wrong impression, like. Make the guys think you fancy yourself too good for our simple, lil ole MWR dance.”

“Uh - well- “ Elvis’ face lit up when Bess rejoined them and they shared a lingering smile that Dori vowed to interrogate Bess about later.

“Oh let him be, Doreen,” Bess murmured, her voice breathy as her heart fluttered once more at the depth of Elvis’ knowing, penetrative gaze. “Uh, he, uh, the boy, man, the man clearly doesn’t want to go. And he already knows that I don’t go on dates with soldiers.”

Mabel had stopped working again and was now chewing the edge of her glasses, leaning forward on her chin as if she was watching a soap opera unfold in front of her desk.

Dori pursed her lips and placed her right hand on her hip energetically. “Oh he does now?” She said playfully, flouncing up the bottom of her blonde bob. ”Well, Private, you’re in luck, because I do date soldiers. I’ll pick you up at 8.”

Elvis looked to Dori, then back at Bess, his confused expression transforming into a smirking wide smile as he registered Bess’ frown. Bess looked down, picking at a chipped piece of her thumb nail until it came off, as if it was the most important thing in the world and needed her attention immediately.

“Huh, well, whoo boy.” Elvis eyed Bess again, then his lips screwed up into a wider grin as he chuckled mischievously. “I don’t hardly know ya, but I can’t say as that’s ever stopped me before.”

Bess’ heart did a series of flip flops as she watched Elvis laugh with Dori. She wasn’t sure what she disliked more, the fact that her friend had just maneuvered herself into a date with Elvis, or that she was jealous. Bess decided it was the later and that she would will herself not to care. 

Elvis' eyes flickered over her for a second and Bess suddenly had a sense that he could tell exactly what she was thinking and feeling in that moment, and she returned to picking at her thumb nail. She was vaguely paying attention as she heard Dori tell Elvis that she’d meet him up at his barracks Saturday night, but she thought Elvis smirked wider as he took in the smile that she forced her lips into.

“You’ll be there, won’t you, Bess. Even though you don’t date soldiers?” Dori looked at her, adding another few fluffs to her hair for absolutely no good reason.

“Hmmmm. Well, I usually do, since the CO encourages all the single female employees to go, but I did have some research st—”

“Don’t be silly, of course you’ll come, it’s gonna be so much fun. I can already tell. There’s gonna be a live rhythm and blues band we hired in from Houston. They are just the bee’s knees, and I’m on the MWR committee. My theme for this dance is Spring Fling, cuz it’s spring! The decorations we got are so adorable, floral Chinese lanterns y’all. I cannot wait.” Dori squeezed her hands into fists and did a little dance in place.

Elvis turned back to Mabel. “You comin’ Saturday night, Miss Maybelline?”

Mabel giggled like a school girl instead of the fifty year old woman she was.

“Every one I can make it to, CO’s memo encourages all single women on base to attend.”

Elvis took Mabel’s hand in his, softly trailing over the top as he kissed her knuckles and smiled devilishly as she giggled again.

“Well, be sure ta save a few dances for me, mmkay, honey?”

Mabel nodded with a giggle and a wink. 

Elvis’ cocky smiled followed Bess' curt nod out of the office and into the back stairs of the building where her voice echoed down the concrete stairwell.

“You know Private, I really wish you wouldn’t come to my office unannounced.” She paused two steps below him and turned around so he had to stop himself from slamming into her finger as it pointed back at him.

“Hold on a minute there, baby, now, what’s wrong with being friendly?” He grabbed her finger. “Careful where you point that thing, woman. First lesson of basic training is safety. Thought you’d a know by now.” He grasped her hand and softened it into his fist. She seemed to lose her train of thought looking up into his eyes. “What’s got your panties in a twist, Bessie Boo, you ain’t jealous, are you?”

Elvis was decidedly less polite when they were alone, Bess realized. She wasn’t sure she liked it, or the way it made her feel as she pulled her finger away and kept descending down the stairs in front of him, her voice a little shaky.

“Of Dori? No, no, not at all. In fact, that all seems to have worked out the way it should.” She shoved the door at the bottom open and headed toward her car as Elvis’ long legs made easy work of striding next to her.

“Why’s that?”

Bess turned as she got to her car.

“Cuz, well, you seem like a good match.” She smiled, trying to really mean it, trying to keep her voice cool and nonchalant. “Dori, is, well, she seems to have the sort of, um. Well, that is, she’s very glamorous. And popular. And attractive. She’s a lot like the girls you’re always with in the fan magazines. I think you’ll have a lot of fun.”

Elvis stepped closer, fixing his work cap back on his head. “So you read the fan magazines, huh? Thought you could take or leave Elvis Presley.”

Bess didn’t know if her cheeks could take the constant flushing she was experiencing. She leaned into the hood of her car, changing the topic as she spoke to the blue paint.

“Look, why did you come by my office?”

Bess leaned her back into the car, and he reached out for her waist, rubbing his hands along the sides for a moment, before taking the handle next to it and pulling it open, tilting his head to get in.

“I uh, I came by because I wanted to thank you. Think we could just talk for a spell?"

Bess swallowed and nodded. After a few moments searching, she discovered her tongue where she had left it on the roof of her mouth and did her best to eke out intelligible words. They scooted along the white vinyl car bench until Elvis got to the other side and leaned back, stretching out his arms and looking at her.

“I know'd it was you that talked to Sergeant Norwood.”

Bess looked down. “I, ugh, actually. That would be highly inappropriate of me to talk to a senior instructor in your company and ask for any special treatment.” She looked back up at him. “But, um, how’s it going?”

Elvis grinned wide. “He’s, uh, well, he’s instruction’ alright,  instructed me to come over to his house here on post after dinner most nights. He, uh, well, I uh, he lets me use his phone to call home and get a few hours of shut eye at their place. Though I preferred the bed at your house, Bessie bug. Cushioning there was better.”

Bess let out a snort as Elvis slid down to put his head in her lap, just as it had been that first night in her guest room. He pulled her right hand in his over her chest, threading his fingers through hers as he looked up into her face with apt admiration.

“Ya are the first real friend I’ve made here.”

“Hmmm. Seemed like you were doing all right making new friends upstairs.”

Elvis smirked, his squeezed his fingers between hers.

“You are jealous a Dori. Jus say tha word and I’ll take you to the dance too, baby. I could take both of you as my dates, ya know, nuff a me ta go ‘round.”

Bess tried to take her fingers back, but it was a half-hearted attempt and his hand was so much bigger than hers. Resigned, she squeezed back and sighed, looking out the window.

“Ha, I’m sure. But, no, I’m not jealous, I’m just giving you a hard time, Presley. You sure seem like a fast operator.” Bess felt an aching warmth blossom in her belly as his thumb rubbed the inside of her palm.

“Honey, I didn’t operate nothing, I’m just an innocent bystander caught in the eye of Hurricane Dori. If anyone is operatin’ fast, it’s your friend back there.”

“Yeah, well, you have to forgive her, she had a lot more going on in Savannah than she does here. We are sorely lacking in ladies’ charities and fancy galas for her to host. So Dori gets all pent up, all that energy and nothing to do with it. Maybe you can help wear her out. " Bess arched her eyebrows suggestively, her voice was light and teasing. "By dancing, I mean, of course.”

“Huh, sure. How ‘bout you? Will you have any pent up energy ya wanna dance off with an ol’ friend?”

“Ha, I’m about as old a friend to you as Dori is.”

“Nah, honey, you’re different, we go way back now. I don’t know anyone who’d risk their job to take a po’ boy like me home an feed me an’ take care a me so good.”

Elvis' eyes welled up and Bess softened, thinking he might cry. She found herself soothing the top of his forehead with her left knuckles.

“Hey, ssshhh, hey. You would have done the same for me, right? If our roles were reversed and I was a new recruit being trained for combat?”

The left side of Elvis’ face lifted into a crooked grin. Bess was transfixed watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Course, course I would. You know, I’ve spent the last two years running from women chasing me, I reckon the Army’d be in better shape if they’d put ya girls into combat. Ain’t nothing more terrifying than a hoard of twenty thousand screaming girls coming for ya.”

“Ha, yeah, probably makes basic training seem like a breeze.”

Bess smiled down at Elvis, and made her fist into a fake microphone, affecting a serious, transatlantic accent like the reporters at his press conference last week.

“So, Private Presley, what do you think, is basic training harder or easier than running from women for a living?”

Elvis chuckled. His right hand let go of Bess’ fingers and snaked around her waist. “Well, ain’t nothing like getting clobbered by a swarm of women. I s’pose the main difference between those girls and the Russians is, they don’t mean to hurtcha. They’re just tryin’ to get themselves a piece of ya for a souvenir.”

Bess’ raised one eyebrow, her reporter microphone hand still at attention.

“Oh? Please tell us, the American people want to know, which piece of you are these girls trying to get their hands on?”

Elvis burst out laughing. “Uh, no comment, though I could show you later if you want.”

Bess blushed at the glint in his eyes, and kept talking. “Hmm, fresh. Next question, how devastating was it to get your haircut?”

“Well, now, that didn’t bother me none at all. You know what they say, hair today, gone tomarra."

He paused, grinning at her tepid "Ha. ha. ha."

"But no, I ain't sore. Now, if it weren’t never gonna grow back, yeah, sure, maybe I’d be sore, but I don’t mind following the rules and cutting my hair like all the other boys here. I’m actually starting to like it.”

Bess combed her fingers through his crew cut.

“MMhmmm. I liked it better long, but you know me, I hate soldiers.”

“Picked a weird place to work then, Bessie, ain’t nothing but soldiers here.”

“This is just temporary, till I figure out what’s next for me.”

Elvis looked down towards his knees, speaking softly. “Yeah, jus temporary. That’s what my manager keeps sayin’, but man oh man, I think it’s all over for me. Ain’t no one gonna remember me in two years.”

“That’s not true. Trust me, it just feels that way. How many records you sold?”

Elvis leaned his face into her fingers as they cupped his cheek, he could feel Bess’ thighs tremble slightly underneath her skirt and it made him smile. He looked up at her big brown eyes sheepishly.

“Oh, I don’t know, ‘bout 25 million I s’pose.” His voice was casual and aloof til he cried out at the smack of Bess’ hand hitting his shoulder.

“Ha, I would have guessed 4 or 5 million. 25? I can’t even picture a stack that high. It would go all the way to the moon, probably. You’re thick, you know that? Like we could forget you with all those records out there, spinning 'round in people’s homes, on the radio. No, I think the Russians would have to bomb us to kingdom come before we forget about you, what with 25 million records playing all over. ”

“You’re sweet, Bess, you know that? My uncle used to have a cow named Bess.” He grinned up at her and made a moo sound. “Lil' Bessie Moo Moo, she was sweet, just like you… Moo Moo.” His voice tapered off as Elvis' hand began to trail up the side of Bess’ body. His voice became low and earnest. “She had the sweetest milk.”

Bess shivered at the touch of his fingers before pulling her head toward him. Just as she was an inch away from his lips, she stopped him, and tilted back up, fake microphone fist in her hand again between their faces.

“And, I know our listeners will want to know this important detail, where exactly was this cow, Private, Memphis?” She was the reporter again, and her heart thumped with a beat of regret as she took in the split second of disparagement that played across his face as she lifted her lips away from his. But then it was gone and he was back to playing cool with a grin. 

“Nah, back in Tupelo where I was borned and raised.”

“Tupelo, huh? Well, tell us Presley, why does all the good rock and roll music come from that part of the country, places like  Mississippi, Tennessee?”

Elvis nestled his head back into Bess’ thighs, scrunching up his lips as he thought.

“Don’t know, I guess we jus have a history of it, it's a place where ya got Black rhythm and blues and country and western, spiritual music. It's in the air we breathe down there, I guess, gets all jumbled up and out comes rock ‘n’ roll.”

“Well, Private, is rock n’ roll the secret weapon we’ve all been waiting for to take down communism and restore civilization to Eastern Europe and Russia? And if so, when are you being sent over enemy lines?”

“Now, maybe you’re on ta something there, pretty sure it’s already destroyed civilization state side.”

“Oh, definitely, the very fabric of our society is crumbling, just ask any parent and they’ll tell you that their teenager hates school and wants to have sex, all because of rock ’n’ roll. No teenager ever felt that way before they heard your music.”

“Huh, you’re a smart ass, you know that?”

“I’ve been a smart ass since you met me. Try to keep up, Tupelo.”

“Huh, yeah, ya a piece of work, lil' Moo Moo. And ya asking for it talkin’ to a man like that.”

Elvis pinched her soft, springy sides as he chuckled. Anyone walking by the blue Ford would have only seen Bess’ silhouette sitting up, head tilted back in a deep, guttural laugh for the first time in almost a year, as Elvis lay back in her lap, tickling and pinching her. They sat in her car for another hour, as Bess fussed over a cluster of razor burn below his ear, and he asked her about her life, getting to know as much about her as she was willing to reveal until she had to push him off her lap to go meet Sargeant Norwood, dismissing his offer to come back to her house and show her that souvenir all the gals were chasing after

************************************************************************

Read Chapter Three Here

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thank you to @lamonnaie @lost-my-sanity1 and @distant-screaming for the tags!! (Check out their posts here, here, and here)

To play: - Decorate the tree in the post you were tagged in (and you can leave a little message in there for the OP, that will be opened on Christmas Day); 🎄 - Create your own tree, post it and tag others; 🎄 - Tell us how you'll be spending the holidays (or don't tell us, also fine 😉); - Link to the post(s) that tagged you so that others can decorate their trees too! 😍

my tree:

(I couldn’t resist making it rainbow)

happy holidays guys!!! The holiday break here is a LOT longer than a lot of other places because it’s summer rn, so I’ve already been spending the last week kinda just chilling (the air con has been a life-saver, we’re in a heat wave right now) and watching YouTube and various BLs, and on Christmas Day my siblings and I are heading to my grandparents’ house to hang out with our cousins which will be fun! Our cousins live at the top of the country, so we don’t get to see them very often :)

(fun fact: I joined the bl fandom about this time last year! I first watched bad buddy in June, but I didn’t join the fandom spaces until msp, which was an entire year ago and that’s crazy to think about but I’m so glad I’m here, I like you guys ^D^)

tagging pretty much all my mutuals because I think this is cute so hold onto your pants guys this is gonna take a while (apologies to those who have already been tagged in this):

@ashedddaisy @lb-desserts @sparklyeyedhimbo @birkemakesart @fangirlmedstudentblog @soundwin @mommyzhilla @gennianydots @tiistirtipii @alan-apologist @celestial-sapphicss @thegayneurodivergentagenda @loveable-sea-lemon @firstyok @leofiat-bunny @nihilisticcondensedmilk @callipigio @rroextra @desi-yearning @dejundary @absolutebl @the-one-who-died-at-the-end @non-binarypal7 @justsaucynotdelightful @randomjreader @janeveda

@ssszlami @judebilation @thubriishempoiah @n0t-yrav3rageh0m0 @scorittanius @taketwoinink @chilikit @noodle-the-queen @pillbug-in-a-jar @bananafishdepression @wren-kitchens

holy shit that’s a lot of people I’m so sorry if I’ve missed anyone

i love you guys, happy holidays and happy new year!!!

#tag game #this is so cute I love it

[park-jimin-isnt-real]

𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵

♡ pairing: yoongi x reader (established relationship) ♡ rating: G ♡ genre: domestic fluff ♡ au: summer job ♡ tw: n/a ♡ wc: ~0.8k ♡ track: Miss Right ~ BTS: “I told you many qualifications about my Miss Right, but why you’re my Miss Right is… you are… just you.”

♡ summary: Yoongi specifically took this day off of work because he knew you needed to take a day off. So let him take care of you, goddammit.

♡ an: thanks to @daydreamer-writing for creating this prompt for me. i love you!! this is also going to be a kind of sequel to sugarplum sweetheart, but you don't need to have read that one first. 14 Valen-tans Days masterlist ♡♡ main masterlist

Yoongi woke up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee brewing from the kitchen. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he blindly reached for his phone to check the time. He wasn't even fully awake and the sun hadn't even fully risen yet, and there were already at least two things wrong with the day: coffee was brewing, and the bed was empty.

Yoongi loved you. Yoongi loved you so much that sometimes he didn't know what to do with himself. He forever owed Jimin and his girlfriend for introducing the two of you. You fit together like puzzle pieces or movies and popcorn or a thousand other things he could compare you to.

Right now, however, he was comparing you to an alarm that he thought he turned off but it somehow was still ringing.

You worked as a daycare teacher throughout the year, but you picked up a second job during the summer to make some extra money in the flourishing tourist scene. The problem is that Yoongi would describe you as a workaholic who didn't stop until someone forced you to.

Sighing, tossed his phone to the side and sat up. Today was supposed to be your day off. Yoongi had taken this day off specifically to make sure that you didn't do anything too strenuous. You were right on the verge of working yourself to sickness, and he told you last night that you couldn't get out of bed until after he did.

He knew you felt guilty when you spent time resting, but that was why he was here.

Yoongi walked quietly to the kitchen and took a moment just to watch you. The coffee was done and you were sipping at it slowly while you were dancing around preparing breakfast. You looked like a mess, but you were a hot mess and you were all his.

You needed to go back to bed and get some more sleep.

He padded across the floor and draped himself across your back as you mixed the pancake batter. You let out a quiet giggle. "You're not usually up this early."

"And I told you not to be up this early and that I would take care of things today." He didn't have to be looking at you to know you were rolling your eyes.

"I'm fine, Yoonie," you insisted, trying to hide a sniff. "It's just breakfast."

It was Yoongi's turn to roll his eyes at you. He reached around you to gently pull the whisk from your hand. "And I will finish this while you go back to sleep."

You turned around in his arms and wrapped yours around his shoulders. Yoongi could so clearly see the dark circles beneath your eyes. You needed rest, why were you being so stubborn?

(If the tables were turned, you'd be thinking the same things about him. You had pulled Yoongi from his studio after not seeing him for four days straight, usually with Hobi or Namjoon for backup).

"Yoonie~~" you drew out, "I'm fine, I promise. I'm capable of making breakfast."

"That's not what I said." He kissed the tip of your nose. "Jagiya, this is your first day off in months. Please let me take care of you this time."

He wasn't playing fair. Yoongi knew how hard it was for you to accept help from others, but he also knew you had a hard time telling him no when he so gently begged.

You sighed and laid your head on his shoulders. "I'll go back to bed after breakfast." Yoongi let out a small chuckle. That was fair. The batter was already made, and he didn't want the coffee to go cold. Although, between the two of you, even if it did it wouldn't go to waste.

"Alright, but no more coffee for you."

"Fine." You made no effort to move, content to be leaning against your boyfriend, and said boyfriend normally wouldn't mind, but—

"Jagiya, I need to move so I can make you breakfast." You groaned, but let him go, going to sit down at the table. "I'll be fast, okay? And then I'll wrap myself around you like a koala and we'll take an amazing morning nap together." You let out a sound of agreement and rested your head on your arms.

Yoongi worked quickly, whipping up and cooking the pancakes, even adding some scrambled eggs and bacon. He wasn't going to just let you have some basic-ass breakfast, he was going to go all out for you. You more than deserved it.

Right as he started plating the food to deliver to you, he heard a small snore behind him. Yoongi turned, and you were fast asleep, hunched over on the table. He let out a breathy laugh and set the plate down on the counter.

He gently shook you just awake enough to help you walk back to the bedroom and climb into bed. Hurrying back to the kitchen, he wrapped everything up and stored it in the fridge. Breakfast for lunch sounded just as good.

Then Yoongi went back to join you in bed, wrapping himself around you like a koala, and decided he could use a nap today too.

thanks for reading!!

#bts #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts valentines event #writing event #14 valen tans days #yoongi x reader #yoongi drabble #yoongi fluff #domestic yoongi #monfics

[jokeroutsubs]

ART BOX portal interview with Joker Out’s Bojan Cvjetićanin and Kris Guštin

“NEW WAVE: JOKER OUT – A NEW GENERATION OF THE OLD SOUND”

Interviewed by: Sara Stojev

The Slovenian band Joker Out performed for the first time in Belgrade, at this year's Beer Fest. Joker Out was formed in 2016 and has been present on the Slovenian and Balkan scene for seven years. They have two successful albums Umazane misli and Demoni. At this year's Eurovision Song Contest, the band represented Slovenia with the song Carpe Diem. They took 21st place in the final, but the band achieved significant success after the Eurovision. In addition to the previously planned Balkan tour, Joker Out is performing throughout Europe this summer. While they performed in Ireland in June, they have a scheduled Great Britain tour in July, and in September they are expected to tour the countries of Scandinavia: Finland, Sweden, and Norway (T/N: Finland is not a part of Scandinavia).

Joker Out. Photo: Ursa Premik

Joker Out attracted a lot of public attention in Serbia as well. At the Beer Fest, they performed in front of a large audience and created a phenomenal atmosphere. This band is proof that Slovenia has a music scene that can conquer the Balkans and achieve the success that the Serbian, Croatian and Bosnian music scenes achieved. The band consists of singer Bojan Cvjetićanin, guitarist Kris Guštin, guitarist Jan Peteh, drummer Jure Maček and bassist Nace Jordan.

We spoke with frontman Bojan and guitarist Kris ahead of their performance at Beer Fest.

Your music is a fusion of different genres. You stated that you do not define the band through one specific genre. How would you describe that fusion?

Bojan: All the members of the band listened to different music while growing up, but we all met in some English indie rock. Each instrumentalist expresses his own musical taste. For example, Jan prefers a mix of metal and hip-hop, while Kris is a big fan of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac and Dire Straits, i.e. classic rock. I grew up with ex-YU rock. We all listened to some Slovenian bands such as Siddhartha, Big Foot Mama, and Dan D.

Kris: We actually have a definition of our sound, which is Shagadelic Rock n' Roll. We took Shagadelic from Austin Powers, and we think that phrase describes us the best.

Music is a broad concept in itself. We can conditionally divide it into pop music and the cultural-artistic scene. Your music certainly belongs to the cultural-artistic scene. How do you perceive such scene in Slovenia and in the Balkans in general? How does Joker Out fit into it?

Bojan: After talking with colleagues from Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia, we can conclude that the Slovenian rock and roll scene is currently the most active and receives the most attention. There are many bands in Slovenia that perform at gigs and festivals and also have the possibility of doing independent concerts. Those bands cover a wide range of generations who are fans of such music. In this spirit, a large number of fashion designers and graphic designers, for example, have appeared in the last five to seven years. Slovenia currently has a very positive view of the music scene and culture in general.

Kris: At the same time, we don't have a pop scene like there is in Serbia.

Bojan: That kind of music and the raft and club culture does not exist in Slovenia in the same way. Folk music is certainly played, but it often happens that these performers perform in the same place where some rock and roll bands perform, for example.

Joker Out, Belgrade. Photo: Vida Orahek

The band was formed in your teenage years. What were those beginnings like?

Bojan: We formed the band in high school. Joker Out was the product of a larger goal. Before Joker Out, I founded the band Apokalipsa in 2012. Kris and Jan formed their band Buržuazija a little later. We achieved minimal but significant success with Apokalipsa in a smaller circle in Ljubljana. Kids used to come to our gigs. Kris and Jan used to come, too. Everything was at the beginner level. Our wish was to raise it to a higher level. I went to a concert where I heard Kris and Jan play, I liked it and that's why I invited them to form a new band. Thus, in 2016, Joker Out was born.

What moment do you consider crucial for the transition from an amateur band to the successful band that you are today?

Kris: There are a few moments like that. The first is when we won the Špil League in 2017, the biggest band competition in Slovenia. Our second single Omamljeno telo was released after that, which achieved the first major success. We released the single Gola in 2019. The song was quickly picked up by major and commercial radio stations. We already knew then that we are going to do something big. I think that our decision to perform at Eurovision was also crucial because it happened at the right moment.

You have two albums behind you, Umazane misli and Demoni. How are they different and how are they similar? What is authentically Joker Out about them?

Bojan: We see more similarities than differences. We wanted them to be different, but it didn't happen to the extent we expected. Both albums are quite melodic. I think the first album had a slightly lighter tone, both thematically and sonically, and I would say a little less experimentation. The first album was the result of two years of making music, some singles developed into an album, so I wouldn't say it has a thread. Demoni had that, it was made as an album and we worked on it actively for five months. We stepped out of our comfort zone for the first time and went to other studios where we had not played before. I would say the second album is more coherent.

What will you change on the next album compared to the previous two?

Kris: We don't have any plans for the third album yet, but we want it to be a bit more thick, like the songs A Sem Ti Povedal on the first and Katrina on the second album. Also, we want it to have songs in other languages as well. In addition to Slovenian, we hope that there will be songs in Serbian, Croatian, English, Spanish and French.

Joker Out, Belgrade. Photo: Vida Orahek

This year you represented Slovenia at the Eurovision Song Contest. What was the experience like for you? How do you explain the success you achieved after Eurovision?

Bojan: Eurovision was a very positive experience for us. Everything we hoped for in our careers has happened after Eurovision. Our goal at the Eurovision itself was to remember the year 2023 as a year where the Slovenian national team was good, as well as to see if we could gain fans outside of Slovenia, which turned out to be possible. Eurovision is one of the biggest spectacles in the world. There certainly are big and powerful players there, it was the same this year. Although we didn't get the best place, we think we did a great job. The success we achieved is much more important to us than winning without anything happening in our career after the competition.

You are now doing a summer tour that will last until the end of September. What can we expect after the tour?

Kris: There will be new music for sure. We are planning a new single at the end of summer. The tour covers Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia and Bosnia and Herzegovina in our area. In addition, we will be touring the UK and Scandinavia. After the tour, we will hold our biggest concert to date at Arena Stožice in Slovenia on October 6th, which is already sold out. We will have two performances in Zagreb in November. We are performing in Novi Sad in October. We are planning more European and Balkan tours after all these events, as well as new music.

Collaborator of the Art Box portal with the band Joker Out in Belgrade. Photo: from a private archive

As Kris and Bojan mentioned, Joker Out returns to Serbia on June 28, with a performance at Arsenal Fest in Kragujevac. The band announced this week they will also be performing at SKCNS, at Fabrika.

Article translation by: Teo @/yiboego on Twitter DO NOT REPOST!

#joker out #bojan cvjeticanin #bojan cvjetićanin #kris guštin #kris gustin #jan peteh #nace jordan #jure macek #jure maček

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 150

 Reverse age robins/batfam, but Bruce is also included in this age-shift. 

Damian is in fact the oldest, how was he created? Well that’s a wonderful question, one he didn’t have until he found what looks like a bit of a cloning lab while sneaking where he should definitely not be and well, he was going to have a mission anyway so. The Waynes find a drenched at-the-time six year old out in the rain and with several knives. 

 It’s like coaxing a half feral cat, but they do manage to get him inside even if they can’t get answers out of him. But they do get him to relax and get him some legal papers since he apparently doesn’t exist. And it’s… different then what he’s used to. Calmer. More peaceful. 

 When the two die he nearly snaps, they were the closest things he had to proper parents, people who were kind to him and taught him kindness. He was out of practice, rusty in skills he could have used to save them. Something he’ll never let happen again. 

 Which, hm. He didn’t mean to become a vigilante. He really didn’t, but he has to make sure the city is safe. He has the training, he knows how to go unseen, even if he hesitates with some deaths. Thomas would be disappointed. So he stays his hand if he can help it. 

 Now if only the tiny meta child would stop following him. What was their name… D… D something Thomas. The world must be playing some sort of sick joke on him. A horrible sick joke. It doesn't matter if it's been years now. It still hurts. 

 So maybe he investigates things, if only because this child is an idiot, and- Ugh, this is all the Waynes’ fault for giving him things like empathy, how disgusting. Fine, fine, he’ll train you, if only so you stop jumping off of bridges with no equipment or anything. 

 Duke is honestly relieved to get training, even if it’s exhausting. And he doesn’t have to return to the orphanage or anything, his teacher doesn’t seem to care! Which means he’s slightly betrayed when he finds out Damian has in fact applied him to homeschool. The kid is nine, as the Waynes would say, and needed to continue his education. 

So Signal joins Ghoul in mostly-nightly patrols. 

 And then apparently their neighbor discovers them. Damian is so annoyed at himself. A twelve year old. A twelve year old discovered their identities, which means more contingencies and preventative measures are needed. This one’s last name isn’t so painful- Drake- but the kid reminds him of a bedraggled kitten that he begrudgingly invites him into the manor. 

 Which ugh, he’s going to get attached, the kid is already feeding the ducks with Duke and is trying to coax his dog over for pets. And also wants training- even though his espionage is actually surprisingly decent for a civilian and a literal child. Dammit he’s getting soft. 

And so Wren joins them as well, freeing the children up to continue their civilian education. Even if he’s also doubling it as undercover training. 

 So why is Drake smiling nervously up at him with another costumed child squinting up at him. Oh the costume is definitely homemade, barely any protection save for a way to hide her identity, but still. It’s rather obvious what she’s up to. 

 And he can protest, he can, but she does complete the training gauntlet so fine. Fine. That doesn’t mean he’s going to take it easy on any of them, even if he gently dumps several kittens into their laps if he’s feeling affectionate enough. Stupid wide-eyes like stray dogs. 

Spoiler joins them by the summer. 

 Which, honestly, he’s slightly resigned when they bring home another child. A literal street urchin who tries to bite him like some sort of kitten, so he scruffs him like one. This is karma for his own violence as a child, isn’t it? 

 Though perhaps not, seeing as Todd was the most interested in schooling. Maybe he could get him interested in something else as well, some other weapon that the others had yet to prefer. And perhaps convince him that armor was in fact not a negotiation. 

Cardinal is quite relieved for that armor when there’s a bit of ricochet one night. 

 Picking up another assassin child was not in his plans either, he’d like to say. In fact, said child tried to break into his home on a rainy night not unlike how he came into the Waynes’ custody in the first place. So perhaps it really is karma, but nope. Can’t be since Cass is a sweetheart and latches onto Todd, who insists that it’s his job as her big brother to help her learn to read. 

 So another child joins in running across the rooftops each night, their little Shadow following them all. 

That has to be it, right? No more small children insisting on wanting training or trying to bite his ankles or just going vigilante on their own? No such luck and he might let himself scream into his demon-bat’s fur for a few moments because honestly, what is wrong with Gotham?! This kid isn’t even from Gotham- just watched his parents die, in fact they all saw it because the children insisted he try to have fun that wasn’t art or animal care and fuck. The police want to send the small child to juvie, and the kids who are definitely-not-his are all demanding he do something, and ergh. Fine. But that is the last child, he swears. 

 Y’know what, fine Dick, join the nightly runs too he supposes. But he’s cutting back on some of those colors to be safer, little Robin. 

 He said he wasn’t taking in more children, so why are there two very small children at the front door?!

#batman au #batman #dc #dcu #prompts #batfamily #batfam #Reverse Robins Au #But make it Reverse Batfam #Damian may in fact be a test-tube baby of Thomas’ #Not that he was aware of that before his death #Bruce is a newer one who escaped with his half-sister Kate #Or something go wild #They’re very small & Bruce is still terrified of bats #Damian promises he’s not going to be attached but he does #And then he does the blood test and Oop behold ur new baby siblings #All the others are already attached the moment they saw the smaller children #Alfred is already setting up a room #I want to say Damian’s vigilante name is Shrike or Ghoul or Af’aa #Since in some cases snakes were seen as symbols of rebirth & life #But once more go wild #I just realized this is more of a story outline than a prompt lmao

[azurelyy]

Hey! How are you doing? I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if you'd be willing to write something smutty for Jiraiya? Maybe he comes home to his girlfriend and they've been missing each other so much? Thank you so much ❤

Hi, Nonnie! I am okay. Got COVID over the weekend and despite being triple-vaxxed, it totally kicked my ass. Am slowly getting over it. I hope you're doing good! <3.

Not gonna lie, I saw Jiraiya's name and blacked out. This was the result. Hope you enjoy! (I am tagging @sneetsnoot because we share this Jiraiya obsession lol)

Title: Eight Hours & Sixty Days 🍋

Pairing: Jiraiya x f!reader

Warnings: Size kink, "Daddy" kink, age gap, praise, orgasm denial, dumbification, female masturbation, unprotected sex, cookie monster!Jiraiya, soft dom!Jiraiya, slight infantilization, aftercare

Word Count: 4.5k

Eight hours and sixty days. Eight hours and sixty days since Jaraiya the Gallant last kissed you, last touched you, last talked to you; but to you - as you watched the sixtieth sun disappear behind the horizon, as the sky faded from navy to black, as the snow turned blue from the absence of the warm glow of the brightest star - it may as well have been a lifetime. You sighed, releasing the heavy ball and chain that tugged at your heart, as you stood from the chair on your balcony and entered into your little apartment. 

“I love you, kid.” His last words were stuck inside the IMAX of your mind, his burly body tightly wrapped around yours forever haunted your senses, his sad smile before he turned away looped in your brain like a videotape. You washed your mug, leaving it out to dry, as you slinked away to your bathroom to get ready to go to bed. 

The winter nights were the worst without him. Long missions in summer provided you ample hours of light, allowing you to distract yourself from him with late night drinks with friends, or sunset walks around the village, or beach days that exhausted you to the bone, causing you to instantly fall asleep the moment your head hit the pillow; they made ninety days feel like thirty. Winter days were frigid and empty; your friends were out of town, the air froze you to your core, making going outside an impossible feat, and the days were short, the sun dropping beyond the horizon earlier and earlier, leaving you to deal with the lonely nights all on your own.

You splashed the cold water over your face, the sensation electrifying your cells and igniting your reflexes; it was a good way of reminding yourself that you were still able to feel anything at all. You stripped your clothes and toppled lazily into your bed, glancing at the clock. 6:12pm. You sighed, rolling onto your side and staring longingly at your nightstand drawer. Ever since meeting Jiraiya, the man had cast a terrible spell upon you: a spell that made every orgasm you had that wasn’t created by him lifeless and unappealing. Yet on nights like these, when flashes of him deluge over you like a solar eclipse does the sun: his jasmine-scented shampoo, his childlike giggle, his booming voice, even the most pitiful of orgasms can help soothe your raging hurricane of Jiraiya-desire. 

You huffed in annoyance and pulled your drawer open, grabbing hold of your vibrator with vigor and laying it on the nightstand, sucking on your two fingers before maneuvering them inside your slit. You had found a nice routine during your times spent away from your boyfriend, one that took months of practice and dedication, but you were finally able to find something that was able to make you feel ¼ as good as what he could do to you: and you could do it all on your own! Progress was slow, but you were hopeful with more studying you could get up to ⅓ of the way Jiraiya felt in the next couple of… years. 

Thoughts of him to floated around in the galaxy of your mind as you slowly circled around yourself, teasing yourself the way he did, prodding at your core nimbly with one hand while you fondled your chest with the other. You didn’t allow yourself to fully rub your clit, not yet. Jiraiya would be so proud of you, sitting here thinking about him while your nose scrunched up, his favorite little line forming on your forehead between your eyebrows.

“Jiraiya…” You allowed the moan to escape as you flicked your finger around your clit, teasingly, gently stroking circles around your nub as you hissed in a breath through your gritted teeth. Your fantasies were overwhelming tonight, the smell of his sage and cardamom cologne lifting your body away to a sensual fall flowerfield, the sweet and spicy aromas melding perfectly together. You could vividly hear his little giggle surrounding you like a magical Jiraiya-tornado, sucking you deeper into your fantasyland as the bed slowly dipped and you imagined him laying down next to you.

Hot breath tickled the skin of your shoulder as you felt a familiar, large hand grip your hip and pull you against his broad chest, soft hair tickling your face, as ecstasy coursed its way through your body and into your heart. You opened your eyes and glanced up through your hair, immediately connecting onto his dark liquid pools that sunk into your soul, drowning you. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as he smirked down at you and moved his hand to grip onto your now-stilled wrist, your pulse pounding and breathing heavy.

“Don’t stop,” Jiraiya commanded, forcing your hand back onto your throbbing nub, adjusting so your finger was swirling over it at a steady pace. “Yeah, just like that.” 

He maneuvered his free arm underneath your body, his fingernails raking against your thigh, gripping you in place, a strong hold over you as he threw out the key and locked you to him, pulling you onto his lap. He wrapped his leg around yours, your back now laying against his strong chest as he leaned against the headboard, his softer-than-expected lips grazing over your sweat-beaded temple, your body so hot to the touch that his mouth felt cool against your skin.

 “What a lovely thing to come home to,” He whispered. You felt his arousal rub against your ass through the fabric of his pants as he moved his free hand up and over your chest, playing with your hard nipple, twisting it painfully between his thumb and forefinger. “Sweet little nymph touching herself and thinking of me. You missed your old man, did ya?”

You mewled out a raspy sound as he continued to guide your pace against your clit, sweet nectar coating your now thoroughly drenched pussy, as you reached your free hand up to grip onto his white hair. He trailed his lips to the top of your earlobe and bit down as he moved his hand from yours and pushed two fingers into your sopping core, cool teeth sinking into your sensitive skin as he giggled, the trill akin to a clarinet on your ear.

“Kid, you’re really this wet already?” He continued matching his thick fingers to the pace he set yours to, steady as a beating drum, as he thrust himself deeper inside your walls. “Missed me that much?”

You opened your mouth to say something as your body shivered with anticipation; the relief from the pent up pressure beneath your skin bubbling its way to the surface, a low groan of his name escaping your lips as he pulled your hand away from your quivering clit, his big hands wrapping around your body and rolling you onto your back, straddling himself overtop of you, knees next to your hips, strong hands gripping your hair and your waist as he licked the shell of your ear. 

“I missed you too, kid,” He murmured against your neck, his hot mouth sucking on your sweet spot, vibrations tingling up your spine. “So beautiful.”

You twisted your hands into his soft hair, tugging his head up, desperate for his mouth on yours, causing him to bite your neck. You cried out as he blew on the small mark, the air crisp against the aching bruise, and he tightened his grip on your hair. 

“Feisty tonight, I see.” He gripped your cheeks with one hand, pursing your lips. “You want a kiss?”

You gulped and he let you nod. “You have to say please.” He smirked down at you. In the bedroom, you allowed him to have complete control over you, becoming a shiny toy. He enjoyed playing with you, how you became nothing more than putty in his palms with every little touch. He would fuck you forever if you let him. 

“Please kiss me, Daddy.” Your words came out jumbled as he pinched your checks together. You looked so adorable, all needy and glassy-eyed as he reduced you to this infantile state. Jiraiya grinned down at you and ghosted his lips over yours, an aggravated whine escaping your lips. 

“Oh,” He clicked his tongue and pulled his face back. “Don’t be a brat. Daddy missed you too, you know. I want to kiss your pretty little mouth. But you have to be nice first.” His grip on your cheeks tightened as he shook your head up and down, forcing a nod, and he spoke for you, pitching his voice up. “Yes, Daddy.” 

He waited. You slid one hand down the front of his chest and gripped it onto his mesh undershirt, pulling him closer to you. “Yes, Daddy,” you mumbled. 

“Good girl.” He captured your mouth on his; soft lips rolling over yours as he released your cheeks and cupped your entire face with one hand, leaning his head to the side to deepen the kiss. He was breathing heavily, his hot breath sweet against your mouth as he caressed your hip and adjusted your leg to snake around his waist. He thrust his hips into you, his fully erect dick now bumping against your pussy, shockwaves electrifying you from the inside out.

He massaged his tongue against yours as you moved your hand from his hair to his taut shoulder muscles, digging your nails into his skin, your other hand moving down his stomach and clinging onto the waistband of his pants. You tried to pull him closer to you, to erase the damnable gap of space he left between you, but he overpowered you and hovered his body over yours like a phantom. You moaned in annoyance as Jiraiya pulled away from you and slowly kissed his way along your jawline, static tingling on every part of you that he touched.

“Daddy-” You moaned as he moved his hot mouth down your neck towards your fully exposed chest. “Missed you.”

He dug his nails into your shoulder as he trailed his tongue over your perky nipple and stared up into your eyes, pools of black liquid glinting in the light of the moon that shrouded your bedroom, his free hand utilizing his thick finger to ghost around your clit. You kept your eyes steady on his as he sucked your nipple, his starry eyes bewitching you into the heavens above as he nipped at you with his teeth, the pleasure and the panic brewing beneath the surface of your skin as you felt molten hot liquid pool inside your core. 

Your head fell back to the pillow, eyes shutting tightly, as he swirled his thick finger expertly over your clit. Tiny pants of fuck, please, Jiraiya - I- Missed you danced around the shadows of your bedroom as you felt his lips trail down your body and kiss your hips as you bucked beneath his touch, blood rushing to your face and ears, making you feel as though you were underneath the pressure of the ocean as he finger-fucked you into oblivion. 

He pulled away, your body suddenly freezing from the absence of him, the jingling of his belt buckle reminiscent of beautiful windchimes. You bit your lip and glanced up as he kicked his pants off the side of the bed, a dull thud echoing off the walls from your heightened senses due to your overstimulation. You watched as the mountain of a man removed his mesh undershirt, exposing his scarred and sun-kissed body to you. Arousal streaked onto the sheets as your eyes wandered over his strong chest, his slightly overgrown happy trail that lead down to his massive cock was extra tantalizing after he denied your release twice, a tiny whimper passing through your lips as he kept his eyes fixed on you, his devil-smirk highlighted in the glow from the moon, evil eyes glowing in the dark.

“What?” He asked playfully, drawing out the vowel like a madman. “You didn’t expect me to let you come onto my fingers after I’ve been away so long, did you? You know me better than that. Such a waste.”

 Jiraiya loved nothing more than drawing out the ethereal delight of a woman’s orgasm for as long as humanly possible. Why other men wanted to get straight to the punch always saddened and confused him. Why deliberately miss out on such divine pleasure? There was nothing better than a woman thrashing around his tongue - or his hands, or his cock, any part of him actually - flailing like a fish out of water as he numbed her mind and overwhelmed her with thoughts of only him. He had pleased many women throughout his life, but never had he found a woman like you. The moment he laid his eyes on you, he knew he had to have you, and not just in the bedroom.

He had to have you for life: always holding onto him like he was your anchor, always willing to give yourself to him, always begging for him to fuck you until dawn. He loved your facial expressions; loved your melodic moans; loved the way you transformed into a puddle beneath him, begging him to go slow at the end; loved the way your essence tasted on his tongue, sweet and needy. He loved everything about you, and he worshiped coaxing ecstasy out of you as slowly as possible. He didn’t want to miss even the slightest twitch, the quietest noise; he wanted to bathe in your love until the end of time.

You threw your arm over your forehead, glistening with sweat, your heart thundering for Jiraiya as he moved his head over your soaking pussy, hot breath skating across your swollen lips. “Please,” You croaked, a desperately pleading sound. He moved your legs over his shoulders, one hand digging into your thighs, pushing you towards him.

“So helpless,” He murmured as he thrust two fingers into your aching core, arching them upwards and hitting your G-spot. You gripped the bedsheets with your free hand, burnt-orange fabric twisting between your fingers as you moaned out an animalistic noise. Jiraiya giggled his school-boy giggle as he ghosted his lips over your clit, haunting over every inch of your body. He was beneath and above you; he was inside and outside; he was light and he was dark. You wanted to kick your legs, to scream at him to just get it over with already. 

The Sannin had experienced many angry women in his life, so when he felt your body heat up like a powder keg about to explode, he dived his tongue into his favorite lake and he swam. He was Zeus-incarnate - a God against your clit - as he sucked your soul from your body and into the next life. You cried out an endless string of curses, your head falling deeper onto the pillow, your body rippling, your hips trying to writhe beneath his giant hand holding you back, but he was too powerful. Missed this taste - missed you - so lovely - Don’t try and run - Eyes on me, only on me - are all words you hear muffled between his slurps and moans of delight as he maneuvered his neck up and down, side to side, his tongue firmly planted on your clit as he soaked himself with you. 

Your eyes fixated on his as he watched your glassy gaze, your eyes hazy with lust for him. It drives him mad as your fingers tug at his hair, your tiny hands helplessly clawing at his skull - a futile effort at bringing the infamous Pervy Sage closer to you  - your hips bending and pleading for him to allow you to hump his face even deeper into your cunt, but Jiraiya is the one in control here and you both know it. It makes his heart flip upside down in his chest as you obey him, your eyelids fluttering open and shut through the pleasure he inflicts on you with his mouth as your wild eyes stay locked on him as he requested.

“C’mon, kid,” He chants into you as your eyebrows knit together and your thighs tighten against his cheeks, his words muffled. “So close.” He squeals in delight as your leg tightens around his shoulder, your little claws sinking into his skull, as you squeak out a mouse of a sound and squirt all over his chin and nose. He laps you up, his tongue flipping over your clit continuously as he drinks you in. Your hips stay suspended in the air, your breathing and chest heavy, as you feel Jiraiya climb over you and place his wet mouth against yours, covered in your juices. He glides his tongue into your mouth and you taste every drop you spilled onto him, the blood in your body fully replaced with fire coursing through your veins. 

He pulls away and gives you a beaming grin, white teeth glowing in the cool moonlight, the Cheshire Cat above you. He wraps a muscular arm around your waist, removing the gap of space between you as he pulls your limp body to his strong chest, sitting you on his lap, your delicate hand resting on his shoulder and trying to bring him closer, legs locking around his middle. He has demolished you, and now it's his job to build you back up. 

“C’mere,” He whispers. “I’ve got you.” 

He holds you with one hand, resting your face into the crook of his neck with his chin, your warm breath tickling his skin as he pushes you onto him, your walls stretching as his tip enters your core. You let out a muffled moan into his neck as he kisses your forehead. He was massive. You squeeze your eyes shut as he gently thrusts himself into you, opening you up slowly and carefully like a beautifully wrapped present. He rests his free hand on the base of your neck to support you as he lowers you onto another inch of him, his slow pace maddening. 

He feels you nosing at his jaw and chuckles, twisting your head with his hand to allow you to look at him. You smile, a little dribble of drool slinking out the side of your mouth. Jiraiya kisses you slowly, your mouths melding together like hot iron in a forge. You bite his lower lip and he growls into you as he finally pushes his full length into your core, burning desire blazing through your body. 

He pulls you up and lays you down on your back, a quick kiss to your mouth as his dick exits your core swiftly. You cry in frustration, hands grasping at the air in front of you as you desperately try to grab into him and pull him back into you. The emptiness inside your core is almost painful as he grabs you by your ankles and drags you down the bed. You squeal as he places your legs onto his shoulders and towers over you. Even leaning down slightly, he absolutely dwarfs you. You wanted him to snap you in half. He gripped your hands with one of his and pinned them above your head, his other hand slinking beneath your waist to angle you into him, your neck comfortable resting against the soft mattress, his nails raking against your hip. 

You felt your thighs burn from the pull of your muscles at the new position, but every shroud of doubt vanished as he swirls his tip onto your clit, dark eyes burned into yours as he lowers himself down the length of your walls and pumps into you again. You twisted your wrists in his strong hold, biting your lip.

“What do you say if I get too rough?” His voice dropped an octave lower, the rumble of his chest nearly vibrating throughout the room.

“F-Frogs,” You groan, pressing your legs firmly down onto his shoulders, desperate to have him ram into you. You watched as his mouth curved into a dangerous smirk, his nails digging into your silky skin, as he thrust into you, the angle allowing the curve of his dick to hit your sweet spot perfectly.

Your vocabulary turned into only “fuck” as he pounded into you like a hammer to a nail, his dick so deep in you it felt like he was in your stomach. You closed your eyes tightly, stars floating in your vision, your breath hot and heavy as he kept growling praises into the kingdom of your bedroom. He was the King and you were his servant, or his Queen, or whatever the fuck he wanted you to be - you didn’t care - so long as it meant he’d keep fucking you.

“Such a good girl,” He cooed, his white hair sticking against his sweat-covered forehead. “You like when Daddy’s rough, don’t you?” Your tongue was peeking out from your lips as you allowed him to ravish every inch of your pretty pussy, your boobs bouncing with each pump. He made a strangled noise as he removed his massive hand from your wrists and maneuvered your legs to be around his waist, the new position allowing him to get close and ghost his lips over yours as he gripped onto your shoulders.

You whined as you pushed him into you, using every muscle in your legs to get this walking Mt. Everest to sink into you deeper, to get closer than gravity would allow, as he clenched his hands around your shoulders tighter, his muscles stiffening. 

You incoherently mumbled something - probably fuck, maybe his name - as he tenderly kissed you, his tongue circling over yours, crimson red pain on your lips. You felt one hand move onto your ass and lift you up slightly, your back arching like a lovely bridge connecting him to you, as he grunted a sacred sound into your mouth. 

The smell of sex lingered in the air as Jiraiya fucked into you. Your mind became only him; his lips on yours; his hair curtaining around your face; his hands roaming over you body. He is a drug and you are addicted. You had toyed with many older men in your life, a secret of yours. You enjoyed the way they doted on you, buying you whatever you wanted, waiting on you hand and foot. In exchange, you would let them call you “baby” and ride them into the late hours of the night as they broke underneath you. But not Jiraiya. Jiraiya dominated you, he overwhelmed you; he was the best high of your life, no amount of rehab would ever save you from him.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He husked as he nibbled your lower lip, drool sliding down your jawline. You felt words sticking in the back of your throat as his thrusts become your lifeline, the only thing linking your body to the Earth being his dick. You feel hot liquid ensnare around him as you climaxed, his wicked words dancing around in the moonlight of the dark paradise of your bedroom.

Pretty girl - that’s it - f-fuck - feels good - you can make a mess on me, it’s okay. He praises you between each thrust as your cunt tightly squeezes around him, your essence leaking onto the sheets below as you whimper and coo beneath him. He slows his pace and moves his hand from your ass, rubbing his way up your body and onto your cheek, kissing you tenderly as his dick shudders inside you. 

The Sage is a patient man. He spent a majority of his long life traveling around the world, experiencing every luxury life could offer to someone as powerful and well-renowned as he was. He soaked in the praises, the affections of younger women, the money and the glory; he used every moment of his life to the absolute fullest. He always took his time, never rushed. But on nights like these, when it was just the two of you, you under him whining and pleading, him slowly thrusting into you after taking you apart piece by piece, this was his idea of luxury, and on nights like these, his patience sometimes wore thin. 

You breathe his name into his mouth, so quietly he almost misses it, as he loses control and spills himself inside of you. He bucks his hips and keeps his mouth on yours as he touches your back wall, hot liquid swirling around in your core and mixing with your essence as Jiraiya takes shuddering breaths, his forehead resting in the crook of your neck. The grunt he makes as he fills you up is your favorite sound. If he asked you to get on your knees and beg him to fuck you, that sound alone would be your downfall; the mixture of deep grumbles, vibrations through his chest as he claimed you, and small praises always sent you to heaven. 

Your soul lifted from your body as he moaned your favorite sound into your ear, drawing out a final climax, your legs limply falling from around his waist as he peppers your neck with kisses and the two of you slowly come down from the heavens. He sings adorations of you, letting you know how pretty you are, how much he missed you, how much he loves you between each peck. You tangle your fingers into his thick hair as your pulse returns to normal and he hums into your neck, the vibrato tingling down your spine.

“This was great inspiration for my next novel,” He laughed, pulling back to look at your face. You gave him a bewildered expression as he smiled down at you. “What? I’ve written about a lot of our encounters, you know.” 

“Jiraiya!” You wanted to smack him but you were too exhausted so you blew at his face instead.

“No one knows they’re about you, kid,” He assured as he finally pulled out of you, his dick still, noticeably and unsurprisingly, slightly hard and big. “Anyway, we have to get you and these sheets cleaned up.” He picked you up as though you were nothing more than a small child and carried you into the bathroom, your legs wrapped around his middle, as he held you with one arm against his chest and turned on the shower. 

“Daddy,” You moaned into his chest. “Can’t… stand.”

His whole body rumbled as a volcano of laughter erupted from deep within him. “Oh, that’s right.” He switched the shower off and started to fill up the bathtub instead. He kneeled down to check the temperature and then hoisted you into the tub delicately, leaning down and placing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Alright, so we have,” He opened up the cabinet and put his thumb and index finger to his chin in a thoughtful position. “Lavender, coconut, or something called ‘Snow Fairy’ - Which do you want?” He looked over at you, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Personally, I would go with Snow Fairy, because you really are such a sweet little sugarplum, but it’s up to you.”

“That’s fine,” You whispered, your eyes slowly shutting as you sunk deeper into the tub. 

“Whoa,” Jiraiya said, placing the bath bomb underneath the rushing water, light pink liquid slowly melding into the entirety of the bath as a sickly sweet aroma washed over you. “Watch it, kid, I don’t need you drowning on me. We still need Round Two, you know. I’ll sit in here with you and keep you awake, alright?” He put his index finger under your chin and moved your head to look at him. You gave him a small smile and nodded your head. 

“Okay,” You said. “Tell me about your trip.”

And so, the rest of your sixtieth night away from your boyfriend turned into your first night having him back as he told you another tale of Jiraiya the Gallant. This one involved the title character traveling far away from his home, thoughts of his cute girlfriend keeping him afloat during his lonely days and even lonelier nights - thoughts of what she would look like when he walked through the door, of how she would throw herself at him and shower him with kisses as she wrapped her legs around him, of how her eyes would brighten and the delightful squeals she would make when he returned to her. 

“Of course,” He gave you a half smirk as he leaned over and turned the bath water off, warm steam rising and heating up the small bathroom like a sauna. “None of his wildest fantasies could have possibly matched what really happened when he got home.”

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