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gloryofroses19 · 1 month

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The Force of a Curl

Major John ‘Bucky’ Egan was hungover, wet and missing a shoe. Hungover because those boys in the 389th challenged him to a drinking contest, wet because his mother stopped pestering him to take umbrellas when he was twelve years old and missing a shoe because of that damned English mud.

If the boys could see him now, Bucky thought, shaking his head. He could practically hear Curt and Buck’s laugh all the way from the US.

Sighing loudly as the storm increased, the pilot moved to pick up his shoe. But as his fingers brushed the shoe, the Major was shocked to find that the rain had stopped. No, not stopped he amended noticing the umbrella extended above his head.

“Are you alright, Major?” Asked a feminine voice conveying a mixture of concern and thinly veiled amusement.

While he had only been at Thorpe Abbots for two days, John Egan recognized the woman before him. Lieutenant [last name] was a notable figure to many. To most on the base, she was the pretty faced WAC lieutenant included in the upper brass briefings. To Bucky Egan, she was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Though their interactions had been limited to a short introduction and shared proximity during meetings, he already knew she was beautiful, smart, calm and confident. Even when facing the asinine questioning of Colonel Huglin. However, this interaction was offering something entirely new…

Standing to his full height, John ran a hand through his hair. Whether it was because of the rain or self consciousness of being caught in this position by her was something he’d never tell.

“Oh, I’m doing great, Lieutenant. Just enjoying the feeling of the ground.” Shooting her a confident smile despite his sorry state.

“Just with one foot?” Raising an eyebrow, [y/n] struggled to keep the laugh from escaping. “Guess you pilots really do forget what it’s like to be on solid ground. Bit of advice then, try to avoid the puddles. They’re deeper than they seem.” [y/n] teased as the Major moved to rescue his shoe from the mud.

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” He responded airly feeling his grasp on the situation slip. With no teasing retort brewing on his mind, the pilot was left feeling mollified by the teasing glint in her gaze.

Raising the umbrella to adjust for the height difference, [y/n] watched transfixed as a stray curl fell in front of his eye. He really was a handsome sight to behold [y/n] mused as his hand brushed hers to take the umbrella from her grasp.

If anyone were to pass by them, the pair offered the illusion of intimacy and familiarity through their shared laughter and proximity. However, an illusion was just an illusion unless perceptions were altered.

“You been here long?” Like in any small town, she had heard of the new Major before she met. His singing alone had reached her ears before she entered the pub two nights prior. Though his voice was loud and brash when singing, the deep Midwestern baritone during conversation was far more pleasing. “I hope you’ve fared better with the mud than I have, Lieutenant ''.

“5 months and yes I have,” [y/n] began before pausing to giggle at a memory, “but two weeks in being here I…” Looking up into those inquisitive cerulean eyes, [y/n] stopped herself from continuing. Clearing her throat, she reminded herself that he wasn’t just any handsome man, he was a Major. And therefore, it was probably best to not inform her superior of some slight trouble that happened to find her. “Nevermind, sir”.

Noticing the tone of professionalism that blended into her dulcet tones, John frowned. He had heard this tone before, it was how she responded to him when he introduced himself and when she spoke during the Brass meetings.

“No, don't give me sir, I don’t want sir. I’m soaked and missing a shoe, rank’s off. Call me Bucky or I’ll even take John.” He liked this version more, because there’s nothing he loved more than someone he could laugh with. Even if it was at his own expense as Bucky Egan wasn’t a man who took himself too seriously.

“Come on, can’t leave me hanging like that. You’ve seen me at my lowest, it’s only fair that you share as well.” He countered, his determination to get her to smile at him again unwavering. To further emphasize his point, he wiggled his sock clad foot hoping to get another laugh.

She could see why many were transfixed by the new Major on the base, he carried himself with a genial ease that was both disarming and charming.

Deciding she might as well dig her own grave, she relented with a sigh. “Two weeks in I got locked in the enlisted men’s mess hall on an unnecessary errand for Colonel Huglin.”

Eyes crinkling in delight, John took in her deadpan delivery that was obviously a pass fake to her underlying embarrassment. “How’d you get out?” John asked in response, knowing it would be a worthwhile story.

“As the metaphor goes, when one door closes another one opens. Namely a window in the back of the kitchen.” She remarked casually as if any rational person’s first idea would be to climb through a window.

Laughing in warm boisterous bursts, Bucky’s gaze was unwavering and full of affection and intrigue.

The implication of his gaze was enough to make any girl flustered, [y/n] included. Deciding to busy herself with pointing in the opposite direction, she hoped to quell the butterflies. “Can I walk you somewhere, Major?”

“How chivalrous of you.” He responded softly, with a matching grin. Watching the rain drops land on her otherwise pristine uniform, he stepped forward. Leaning closer, he was captivated by the teasing curl of her lips.

“Well if being one shoe down and soaked doesn’t make you a damsel in distress then I’m not sure what else would.”

With the way she was smiling at him, he wouldn’t mind being saved by her again, John thought. “Well you got me there. Walk me to my billet kind knight?”

Up until this point in the war, her mindset had firmly been 'loose lips sink ships’. No unnecessary comments or connections or else her heart would be broken. However, watching that damn curl fall across his face, [y/n] knew she had lost this battle. And if she was so easily defeated by Major John Egan then she feared for the poor unsuspecting Germans.

“Lead the way, Fly Boy.”

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #major john egan x reader #john egan imagine #mota x reader #mota fanfic #john egan x female reader #masters of the air imagine #masters of the air x reader

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exrellian · 2 months

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Replaced MC AU

Authors Note: the amount of support I’m getting is insane and I am so thankful! I didn’t expect my first series to blow up like this! Comment if you would like to be added to the tag list (which is something I never expected to have) and of course, enjoy part four!!

TW: none really except MC and ??? Shit talking the brothers and royals

Part 1-Part 2-Part 3-Part 4(you are here)

Someone who feels the same way

??? POV

“Chef! There is someone sleeping in the alleyway next to the restaurant!” A demon said, “if you let homeless people just sleep outside people are going to stop eating here. This is a prestigious restaurant, not a homeless shelter.” The noble demon scoffed at the other

“I will go take care of it.” The chef sighed, grabbing his coat and umbrella from his office before exiting the restaurant and checking the alley beside it. Sure enough, there lays a boy, looking to be physically around the same age as the chef, and he looks like shit

“How long do you plan on sitting in the alley? Humans get sick easily.” The demon spoke, moving his umbrella to cover the soaked boy

“You gonna eat me?” the human asked, not even moving his head up to look at the demon

“Eat you? Ew.”

“Don’t mess with me, I know how demons are.” The chef shook his head, leaning against the wall across from MC

“If I was going to eat you I would have done so already. Aren’t you the precious little exchange student? Weird to see you without one of your guard dogs.” He scoffs as he mentions the seven lords

“Please don’t bring me back there. Who knows what they will do if they found out I was causing a noble demon trouble” MC sputtered, still not making eye contact with the mystery demon

“Ew.”

“Ew?”

“Those lords are as incompetent as the young prince who rules them.” The demon replied with a roll of his eyes “I’m Lawrence by the way. Why don’t you come into the restaurant and get cleaned up, the back room should have some spare clothes since yours are… gross”

“Are you sure your boss would be okay with that?”

“My boss? No, he won’t mind” Lawrence tosses his jacket at MC, still covering both of them with the umbrella

“If you’re sheltering me with an umbrella why do I need a jacket?”

“Put the hood up, hide your face and, since I wear this jacket often it should mask your scent as a human. A lot of noble demons are dining here, if you don’t want the lords knowing you’re here you best hide.” Lawrence explains, helping MC up off the ground

“Why are you helping me? You could have killed me at least five different times now”

“Because you looked pathetic. And I can’t have homeless people outside the restaurant, it will make it look… poor”

Small time skip

MCs POV, first person

I finished getting changed after successfully sneaking in… but now what? Sure I’m all cleaned up but was it all just to go out onto the streets again? Sure I could go to Purgatory Hall but who knows if they have been manipulated by Amelia too. I need to get a job and find a place to stay, even if I just hotel jump until the end of my time here…

“The uniform looks good on you.” A voice spoke from the door behind me “ready to get working?”

“What? Your… offering me a job here? But how will I go unnoticed!? And I’m a human, so won’t the demons be inclined to avoid this place with me working here!?” I ask, shocked at the sudden declaration that he was giving me a job

“An illusion spell, I put it in the uniform before you get changed. To me and any other demon you look and smell like a demon. No one will recognize you like this.” Lawrence explained, it’s as if he was prepared for this

“Oh… well I guess that makes sense, but why offer me a job? This just doesn’t seem right, you are a demon correct? Why help a useless human this much?” I asked, not fully trusting in this random demons intentions

“You ask so many questions, it’s annoying. I just felt like it, that’s all. This is my restaurant so I can give anyone I please a job.”

“Your restaurant!? You own this place!? The lords came to eat here many times, saying this was the fanciest restaurant in the Devildom!”

“If I could ban them from coming here I would. I had to work overtime any night you all came. That gluttony demon is a real problem for any restaurant he comes to. And don’t get me started on that prideful fuck, he can rot for all I care, he had the gall to tell me I was being too conservative with the serving sizes, at my own damn restaurant” Lawrence rants on and on, it was almost comforting to find someone who hates them as much as I do now “the only tolerable one is the young lords butler, at least he seems to have a shred of respect, unlike the other eight. Not even the prince can respect other people enough to not shout everything he says like he is the most important being in the three worlds”

“You seem to really hate them, don’t you?” I chuckle a bit at his tangent, not expecting someone who looks and acts like he does to go on such a heated rant

“Hate is such a… gentle word. I loathe them, they think they are the best demons ever because one of them was born into power and the other seven used to be angels. Well that doesn’t mean shit in the long run, and they will learn that sooner or later when their little exchange program backfires and the Celestial Realm fucks over both the Devildom and the human realm by extension. If there is one thing I loathe more than the nobles here in the Devildom, it’s the celestial realm” he sighs “we have gotten off topic, do you want the job or not? I live in a two bedroom apartment above the restaurant that you may stay in until you have made enough money to get your own place out until the exchange year comes to an end. Truthfully it would be foolish of you to refuse” he was right, it would be incredibly stupid to turn down this offer.

Tag list; @t-misaki @melpomenelurks @gallantys @skei2p @terodactu @atomsminecraft @cutest-tenshi

#obey me #obey me angst #replaced mc #obey me replaced au #obey me oc #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

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Old dog, new tricks - Kaz Brekker x Reader

SUMMARY: Looking for someone to give you a quote on a stolen painting, you find yourself reaching out to a middle-man called Dirtyhands or the Bastard of the Barrel. Little do you know, you've met him before. A long, long time ago...

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.7k

It's pouring in Ketterdam. Black clouds cover the sky, hanging so low it looks like the bell towers scrape them. Thunder rolls in the distance. Some say that rain is refreshing, that it cleanses body, mind and soul. Perhaps it does but not in Ketterdam - the rainwater only leaves pedestrians feeling dirtier as though the coal-coloured clouds tainted it. The air begins to smell in an odd way as if the water washes something foul before falling to the cobbled streets; something not quite alive that can’t seem to die. But perhaps those somber words are true and thunderstorms truly do cleanse. In that case, it isn’t some largely unknown flesh rotting away but the sins of the city and its people washing the streets before falling down the drain like many things do in Ketterdam.

Those who can, flee the streets into the warm confines of their homes. Hats, umbrellas, even newspapers - anything just to keep the dirty water out of their faces. Some of them would mutter a swear word between pants and grunts as they made haste to the nearest shelter. Those who can’t, however, do not seem any grumpier than they usually do. For them, it’s just another day of soaking in the black rainwater stained with the unspoken secrets of the citizens. Wrapping worn-out coats tighter around their famished bodies, they cuddle the cold, stone walls a little closer before letting out a tired sigh.

On days like this, bars and pubs earn their most delicious coin. If someone’s home is too far, a brewery is a great place to be with a good drink, a good game and tolerable food. Among the rather large group of workers, traders and unfortunate pedestrians is the most curious stranger. She stops for a moment to look above the heads, at the crow cast from iron hanging above the entrance. Dressed in a foundry worker's clothes and a patchy coat, she fits the landscape of Ketterdam like a glove. Soon, the stranger followers the other patrons inside.

Thunderstorm or not, the bar looks rather cosy and fashionable, considering its location and clientele. The standard was high enough to make the working class feel good about themselves instead of inadequate.

You squeeze through invigorated, already quite drunk, groups of people who have become friends the moment they accidentally sat at the same table. Some bump into you but they never apologize - hard to say where they can’t or won’t. Others, the sober and brighter ones, notice their pouches gone after some time when they go to make another bet. Furious, they throw their hands at the first miser their accusatory finger points to. Despite that, they do not see you, even if they do look. To all those poor bastards gambling and drinking their life away, you're nothing beyond a mirage dancing in the corner of their eye; a fleeting thought that you saw something but can't quite articulate the nature of the illusion. And just like the bar patrons, you, too, quickly dismiss the mare as a trick of the imagination. Just as soon as the thought of the phantom disappears, its place is taken by severely mundane things: a pint of beer, a frivolous smile of a scam artist, a suspiciously good streak of a cocky man.

By the bar sits a man with a top hat at his side. While all the other workers are busy losing their money, that one simply sits there with his back turned to the rest of the room. A bottom-up, empty glass is placed beside his hand. The man is waiting.

Sitting down on the stool next to him, you don’t let your eyes leave the prize. "You look like you've been around, good sir.” The stranger turns to look at you. A spark of amusement glistens in his eyes. His brow lifts ever so slightly, beckoning you to continue. “Tell me, where can I find a man called Bastard of the Barrel?"

He turns his whole body towards you, leaning his arm on the bar counter. "Boss is pretty busy these days, you know? Might not have the time or desire to see you."

You give him a flustered smile, trying to appear a little too stupid to be cunning. "I won't take too much of his time,” you reassure him quickly. “If you could please pass the message to him that I have a painting from the Greaves' collection. I'm looking for someone who can give me a quote."

"That Greaves' collection?” he repeats. His face momentarily lights up as he surely sees right through your facade. “I thought it was impenetrable."

"They say that about every prison, don't they? And yet the world is as it is."

The man stares at you for a moment, his fingers frantically tapping the counter. Clearly, you’ve got someone’s interest. But will it be enough?

"Quote or not, I think he'll be interested in this. Come on."

Without waiting for your response, he takes his top hat and leaves, walking past you towards a small staircase in the corner of the bar. You quickly follow in his footsteps, never getting too far from the man - you’re to appear as nothing more but his shadow.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a streak of darkness move like a plant’s leaf swaying gently when there is no breeze. Curious, you follow the disturbance to what seems to be its source - a young woman dressed in dark robes. Leaning against a wall, in the corner where the yellow light doesn’t quite reach where it should, she’s impossible to notice to anyone who doesn’t know what to look for. In that spare moment, she notices you too.

Having walked up the stairs, your guide knocks thrice on the door but doesn’t wait for an answer before opening them. There, in the small office littered with papers, you notice a face so familiar and yet strange you begin to question your own sanity. Could it be…?

It’s like staring at a winter landscape during a toasty, summer day - you know the fields in front of you are the same but at the same time, they will never be more different. His face is more serious than you remembered. Strong, sharp features accompany his light eyes to create a truly chilling demeanour of a seasoned man. Despite undoubtedly looking like a handsome, young man, a spectre of a boy he used to be lingers beneath his skin.

Feeling lost and shocked, you frantically tear the hood off your head. "Kaz?” you’re not sure whether you’re asking him or yourself. “Kaz Brekker?!"

His eyes widen momentarily. Before he knows it, Kaz jumps to his feet, having to lean against the desk because of his leg. He doesn’t seem any less surprised, although he does appear to be better at hiding it - at least on his face. "You sly old fox,” he says in a low voice. Something akin to a smirk curved a corner of his lips upwards. “You just won't die, will you?"

You can’t help but scoff. After all those years of wondering whether he’s even alive, you find him in a complete accident. "As much as I'd love to see you crying over me, I like being a nuisance a bit more."

"You know each other?" the man, whose name you still do not know, vaguely points between you and Kaz.

To your mutual, utmost surprise, the two of you answer simultaneously: "We used to." The shock seems to drown out the hint of nostalgia and regret in your voices.

“Right…” he nods slowly. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

And before you know it, the door shuts and it’s just you and him. On one hand, again, but on the other - for the very first time. The words used to dance in a merry-go-round inside your head. Painful, yet truthful. Yes, you used to know Kaz like no one else. It sounds, you realize, as though the last time you had met, it was a different world, a different lifetime. To some degree, it’s true.

“What are you doing in here?” Kaz asks curtly. You can’t help but find his tone angry, almost accusatory. A strand of his hair falls on his face.

Unwilling to face the responsibility of years of silence, you settle for half-hearted jokes. “Your office or Ketterdam in general?”

“Both, preferably.”

Has he always been this incandescent or has longing simply white-washed him in your memories?

“Same as you it seems - work,” you say with a shrug. For a moment, the two of you stare at each other, unsure what to make of this unforeseen reunion. Then, you let out a tired sigh. If you have changed as little as you think so, he can definitely see right through you. “I won’t lie to you, Kaz, this isn’t a social call. I come here in business. I stole a canvas from Jurgen Greaves’ private collection and I’m looking for someone who can give me a quote.”

Kaz clenches his jaw. His blue eyes stare into you, maybe through you, as he clearly ponders something. Before continuing, he sits down. “I know an art dealer who might be interested. But first, you’re going to tell me everything.” Do not be mistaken - it’s an order, not a request. Truthfully, he got out of the habit of asking and pleading.

"It's a long story and a lot less interesting than I'd like to admit."

"We've all night,” he states. Not letting his gaze falter, Kaz gestures to the chair across from him. He still doesn’t take no for an answer.

He’s absolutely furious but only partially at you. It’s mostly his lack of understanding that gets on his nerves - the girl he remembered, a skilled and beautiful woman now, could have anything she wanted if she only asked. So why would you choose this path? With pearls and servants within arms reach, what are you doing in the Barrel, among murderers and liars? The surname of Greaves' resounds in his head, only fuelling his frustration: not only did Ketterdam dare to taint you, but you've also made good friends with that black stain of filth.

His chest clenches and Kaz feels disgusted for a moment. The parasite of corruption has nested under your skin, spewing its venom into your veins.

“Oh, don’t make me blush.” Although your dismissal is nothing beyond a jest, you still sit in the appointed chair. Maybe you want answers too, after all.

Still staring at you with that stern, cold gaze of his, Kaz sits back in his chair, clearly unwilling to end this conversation anytime soon.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfiction #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker fanfic #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone fanfiction #six of crows #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows imagine #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you

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merakiui · 1 year

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We love teacher!character/Teacher's Assistant!character x reader, so let's hear your thoughts on teacher!reader/TA!reader x student!character

(cw: yandere, slight nsfw, forced pregnancy/baby-trapping, pregnancy, stalking, one-sided teacher-student relationship)

Azul who knocks up his professor during one of the times he’s visiting for office hours. It’s something regarding a scholarship opportunity or maybe he’s talking to you about a career path he’s thinking of pursuing. Whatever the case, he’s so infatuated with you. He’s at the top of your class, always excelling in everything he does. He’s a model student, so intelligent and on top of his academics. He’s always bringing you coffee each morning. Some say it’s to get within your good graces. When you take the coffee from him, you think nothing of it. But then you’re losing the feeling in your limbs and you feel so sleepy and weak and so strangely insatiable… Azul smiles at you, asks, “Is everything all right, Professor?” You can’t even answer, but maybe you don’t have to when he’s unbuckling his belt, the door now shut and locked tight. He has you right where he wants you. :)

Or the twins tormenting you beyond the campus. You’ve always been so good to them, their cute, diligent professor. Floyd didn’t mean to scare you when he broke into your home late at night, and Jade only wishes to cook you a nice dinner. After all, they have to return the favor for when you brought them meals when they were “struggling” to get by (or so you thought; they’re liars, those eels…).

Riddle who’s taken to stalking his professor. He’s not sure what compels him to do it. He finds a certain intimacy in knowing you beyond the classroom. He’s bad at taking covert photos of you because his hands are always shaking, but even if he’s managed to get one clear photo of your face that’s all that matters. He looks up your professor profile on his university’s website and masturbates to the profile picture of you in professional wear and smiling so kindly. He’s down so bad. >_< he signs up for all of your classes even if they have nothing to do with his major.

Idia who’s hacked into your phone and laptop to watch you from the comfort of his room. He’s seen you at your most intimate, and he always makes sure to take plenty of video and audio recordings for his own enjoyment. He may or may not occasionally make lewd sketches of you just to fulfill his own fantasies. He might even look for hentai characters that remind him of you so he can pretend it’s you getting railed by tentacles or a monster-sized sex toy. If he catches you with a partner while stalking you, the illusion of fantasy shatters and he becomes quite upset. How dare you like someone else?

Silver is such a sweet, honest student, so it’s quite shocking to think he could ever harbor such an intense obsession. Even Silver doesn’t realize just how badly he loves you until he’s following you from a distance just to make sure you make it home safely. He does everything for the sake of your well-being, even if it falls under a rather dubious umbrella. Silver dreams of you often, and every time he wakes from such good dreams he’s disheartened to find it isn’t reality. Oh, how he wishes he could fuck you and fall asleep with his dick still inside you, keeping you plugged full of his cum… :( one day it’ll be a reality. Hopefully. Until then, he’ll watch you from afar.

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst #tw: forced pregnancy #tw: pregnancy #n/sfw #tw: teacher student relationship

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pherelesytsia · 2 years

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Who did this to you? - 6

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/Reader

Summary: Bruised and broken, Y/N, trapped in a loveless marriage, arrives at her best friend's house, desperately hoping someone will help her, aware she cannot return to the estate of her husband.

Warning: fear, anxiety, Angst, swearing, Fluff

Word Count: 2.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

Puddles gathered beneath his shoes freckled by mud. Light flickered. The man was broken, frail, weakened by the weight resting on his shoulders. Thomas had imagined hundreds, thousands of scenarios, had expected the worst, but the sight of his wife beaten and bloody evoked tears and the desire to kill.

Alfie slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, did not dignify the Shelby with a single glance, and walked without swearing towards the uninvited guest standing in the pool of dirt, in the remains, the debris of his marriage.

The men exchanged words, quietly, barely audibly, and Y/N tried to read the lips shaping into hush words, but she failed. The pain gnawing at her bones faded away. Her breath quickened. Her fingers curled into the dark leather of the sofa and the healing wounds running wild across her arms tore open. In the shadows, she sought refuge. Blood gushed in narrow lines along her skin. Believing she was trapped in the claws of a nightmare, she fought, opened and closed her eyes, attempted to awaken, and discovered the truth.

Desperately, Y/N searched for a way out. Her clouded gaze darted from corner to corner, but there was no door or open window through which she could escape into the depths of the starless night. Y/N guessed what had happened, cursed herself for her good nature, for trusting the man, fulfilling almost every tale she had heard about him.

Thomas stayed cloaked in silence, listening to the fading noise echoing throughout the endless hallways of the mansion. The yellowish light dimmed by the umbrella kissed his features. Y/N blamed the blood loss, thought the illusion of her husband with reddened eyes was watching over her, a guardian angel of the grey heavens pitying the suffering soul walking on earth. His face was pale, ghastly. The circles under his eyes had darkened. He shivered; the flames could not warm him. The robust fabric of tweed pants clung to his legs and the white button-down was translucent. Y/N´s heart ached at the sight of his eyes bearing the purest form of pain, an untold tale of anguish, a tragedy so terrible that even the most vigorous drowned in a sea of tears.

The Shelby cursed, whispered a bloody murder, hated himself for what he had not done, for not standing by her side to protect her from the unspeakable. Thomas noticed he was drawing closer to the sofa when the loose boards creaked beneath his feet. Wounds of different sizes emerged. The bruises, blue and purple, grew in size. He gulped, imagined, guessed what his wife was hiding under the slightly soiled bandages around her arms and legs. The water in the white porcelain bowl was murky, a pond in the uncharted forest cursed by witches.

Redness painted her cheeks. His eyes were fixed on hers, realised she was undressed, aware Alfie had removed her clothes and had touched her body as sensually and delicately as only a husband was supposed to do. The soaked rag rested on the edge of the table next to the unlabelled bottle and the open box filled with bandages was on the floor.

Hesitantly, Thomas approached his wife, fearing she would flee like a deer from the rays of the car driving past the fields. Wounds and unhealed scratches marked her flesh. He tried to count them but failed miserably. Thomas swallowed, knew she had tried to flee and the imprint around her neck, a noose made him gasp. Thoughts were racing through his mind, plotted plans, desperate to find those who had harmed his wife. He planned to kill and torture, to drive a knife through their skin, to make the worst dreams come true, to tear limbs from the torso, and even if they begged for mercy, longing for death, and prayed to him like to a good he would not stop.

Rising flames banished the dampness from his clothes but not the tears wandering across his cheeks. Thomas didn't dare take another step, rooted into the ground. Say something, he commanded, but he did not listen. The parched lips did not touch. The questions were unnecessary, knew why Y/N hadn't come home, why she hadn't called him and he feared the answer, the harsh unsweetened truth.

"I'm sorry." was the only thing the man with a silver tongue whispered.

The wind whizzed through the chimney and fed the fire.

"For everything," Thomas added.

Wet strands stuck to his face and Y/N wished to hate him, to drive a dagger into his heart, to make him feel the pain rooting deep in hers, but she couldn't, heard the words were not spoken to lure her into his arms only to drop her like a stone into the raging ocean.

"Say something." Thomas breathed, could not bear the painful silence.

"What do you want to hear?" Y/N spoke in a flat voice.

His gaze slipped to her lips, thought it couldn't be Y/N who was speaking in a voice mirroring the harsh northern wind, but no other person was standing in the richly furnished room.

"You can see the answers to all your questions, Thomas. I suspect Peggy visited you. At least she wasn't home when I woke up and her shoes weren't there.” she answered.

She smiled weakly, lowered her gaze, did not want to show weakness, to reveal the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Why does everyone I know break their promises?" Y/N wondered.

"Alfie has taken care of your wounds. I would have taken care of you. I would have done it. I would have helped you. I'm your husband." Thomas said.

She tried, attempted to believe him but the wounds his coldness, and the constant absence had left on her heart were too deep to be forgotten, torn open and fresh, oozing with crimson and his apologies failed to heal the scars and carry the pain away.

"Alfie called you?" Y/N asked, ignoring the words sounding too delicate, too wonderful and poetic to be true.

Thomas nodded. His heart ached at the cold, lifeless tone of her voice, emotionless as the steel face of the mountain, not fitting the delicate woman with the features of a fallen goddess.

"I was looking for you. My men searched the streets, but you were gone with the wind. Everybody was up. We were all worried about you. And suddenly Alfie called and said he has something I am missing, but it's still a mystery why you're here." Thomas repeated a second time.

The fingernails drove deeper into the flesh. Gashes, profound and agonising, sent a tremor up his spine. The words he had spoken left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. A response was on his lips, could answer his question, but he needed confirmation, needed to hear it.

"Thomas, I wish I could believe you. And Alfie more or less forced me to come with him. I wanted to run away. Solomons promised he wouldn't call you and he kept his promise. He called you long before, promising he wouldn't contact you." Y/N commented.

"Y/N/N, I would have taken care of you. I am your husband," he spoke, repeating what Y/N had ignored.

Moaning, Y/N sat back, holding her aching side, reminiscing, and chuckling, failing to recall the last occasion when Thomas had called her by her nickname. No warmth seeped through her fingers and coloured the sofa in darker colours.

"My husband who forgot to pick me up, who wasn't there to protect me. You are many things, Thomas, but not a loving husband. A man who prefers to spend his evenings drinking with his family, forgetting about his wife sleeping in the bedroom and laughing at the jokes directed at my inabilities. You can spend time with your family, but at least you could spare a few minutes of your day and be with me." Y/N said, saw clearly, not blinded by fear.

"I love you," Thomas interjected.

The laughter sent a shiver down his spine. He wished to embrace her, tell her how deeply he loved her, devoted to her heart and soul, how he could not imagine a world without her, but he was far from the greatest husband under the firmament kissed by the sun after a bleak night.

"If you love me, then you have an uncommon way of showing it, Thomas Shelby." Y/N said.

"I'm wearing the ring." Thomas reasoned.

"It would be enough if you held my hand during long rides. I do not demand a lot. Let me fucking know that you love me. Don't bring me roses, bring me the flower I love the most or tea. Don't buy me jewellery, diamonds and gems, I don't need it, I don't long for these riches. I long for your love and affection. Embrace me, hold me in your arms, don't come to the bedroom to satisfy your desire for flesh, to fulfil the duty of a man. A child will never find its way to us, for a child cannot be born into a non-existent family, into a loveless marriage. That's what our marriage is. Loveless, if you can even call what we have a marriage." her voice broke, shaking, but the weight fell from her chest, voiced all she had never dared to say.

Arrows rained on the weakling, bearing no shield nor armour.

"And despite everything you have done, even though you haven't done anything, I still love you. You ignored me. You and your family treated me like a piece of rubbish and I haven't done anything to receive such treatment and if yes, I apologise." she continued without mercy.

Y/N found too many stories, greyed and cobwebbed, memories of lonely nights, of mornings at the dining table when nobody spoke to her, pretending she was not among them, a ghost, a lost soul caught in the walls of the mansion.

"On the contrary, when a child was sick, I took care of them. When Arthur had problems, I offered him help, but your brother ignored me. John is quite nice." Y/N sarcastically remarked.

She chuckled and shook her head.

"And before I forget. I brought my husband tea every night for the past weeks and sometimes even liquor, his favourite, and when he was sick, I was up all night looking after him as he refused to see a doctor. Once, last week to be accurate, I baked a cake and my husband didn't arrive from work so I delivered the cake to his factory but what do you think, he told his secretary that he doesn't have time to greet his wife standing at the door. For a moment, I was convinced he was playing with a skirt, entertained by the beauty of the night." Y/N uttered.

Thomas froze. His arms hung lifelessly beside his body as if they did not belong to him. The words awakened horrid memories, remembered what he had forgotten, realised what he had done, all the mistakes, how he had behaved.

"My husband is a very busy man, but it would have taken five minutes to take the cake, hug me, maybe even kiss me, but no, he had other far more important things to do than waste his precious time with me." Y/N breathed as softly as the fresh spring breeze.

His mouth opened a crack but not a word, not a sound, not even a letter did he utter in shock and he realised all the things he had done wrong, all the times he had come home late and sent her away to work in peace.

"Don't apologise." she silenced the Shelby harshly, guessing what he was about to say.

Tears clouded his vision.

"Please, don't promise anything you can't keep, Thomas. Don't promise you'll do better, that you will love me differently, come home early, eat dinner by my side and go on dates twice a week. You should have changed a long time ago, and you have promised me all of these things. Do you remember? It was sealed by a kiss. You promised me on our wedding day that you would respect, honour, and protect me." she screamed, crying a river.

"I beg your forgiveness, forgive me. Please," he begged.

Bones threatened to pierce his skin. Tears flowed in torrents. He collapsed like a house of cards under the pressure of the words in front of the sofa. The material sagged under his touch. Carefully he placed his hands on her body, didn't wish to inflict any more harm, had wounded her too severely, pressed her carefully towards him and Y/N did not resist. He buried his head in the nape of her neck. Warmth travelled down her chest and in shock she realised he was crying.

Thomas breathed words into her ear, soft promises, telling her how much he loved and adored her, sorry for everything he had done, knew how foolish he was, promised things Y/N had not said, mentioning her beloved flower, sang a poem about the beauty of her eyes, how much he needed her. The last wall of defence crumbled and turned to ashes. Ice melted away, and Y/N lowered her hands on his back, felt the burden resting on his frame, and brushed it away as if it weighed nothing.

Thomas prayed to the deity and cupped her cheeks with his sweaty hands. His fingers were shaking. Y/N returned the gesture and laid her palm on his cheek. Thomas smiled weakly, his gaze fell on her hand, felt a pleasant coolness, did not lose the last spark of hope, noticed she was wearing the ring mirroring his. Hearts collided, skimming waves, clashing torrents playing with the lost sailor, but the full moon summoning the horrific swells bit farewell.

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si1verghosts · 12 days

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you and me found love (lost under the shade)

re4r leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.3k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking, smoking, sex | tw: illusions to suicidal thoughts; author's general preoccupation with death and dying

read on ao3

title: falling asleep on a stranger by pierce the veil | art: taft bridge under the rain [#127] by carmonamedina

a/n: i honestly don't know if i am doing this whole tagging thing right idk how to tag on here so sorry if i missed anything.... anyways, this is the first thing i've managed to finish in months - i did not imagine the first leon fic i'd actually post would be reader insert but here we are!! i hope u enjoy :D

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

i do not own leon, yadda yadda, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chat bot and/or writing generator.

-----

"I can't be what you want," Leon had said, voice even. "Maybe you should try to find someone else; someone who can… be around."

Someone who can give you a straight answer. Someone who doesn't come home bloodied and bruised and can't tell you why. Someone who doesn't make you feel like it's all just a lie.

You had never heeded any of Leon's suggestions before - "You should go," he had whispered after that first night, and the second, and the third - but you wish you had; so you give it a shot now.

You let your friend set you up with the guy in accounting at her job she had been telling you about for months. "And get this - he always wears a tie bar! He just seems so put together," she had raved to you over drinks the weekend prior.

Accounting, tie bar, put together. Nice, neat, safe.

You had shrugged, "give him my number."

He's waiting for you outside the bar when you arrive, jogs over when he notices you approaching, holding his umbrella out over you. It's unnecessary - the cold precipitation is hardly a mist, barely coating the strands of your hair. "You look beautiful," he smiles. It feels rehearsed, platitudinous. You thank him, letting him guide you inside.

His hand brushes your arm as he helps you out of your jacket, skin soft. You pull away with the shock of it, covering with a small wave of beckoning. He falls in behind you as you traverse the familiar path through the room to your usual spot, settling in before he can manage to make a show out of pulling out your chair.

Same table, different seat; back against the wall - it's a whole new perspective. No longer focused solely on the person across from you, it's as if the whole world falls into your line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why you always found it so difficult to hold on to Leon's attention.

He slinks away to acquire your requested vodka soda from the bar. You pick at your nails until your fingers shake, shifting to look out the windows. The rain has picked up, pelting the glass and obscuring the view. You long for your car and the pack of menthols tucked away in the glove box, nobody to quit for now.

He returns with your drinks, water for himself - "trying to cut back on carbs, you know? I've been making real progress with my lifts lately."

"That's great," you smile.

He leans in, beginning to chatter away excitedly about weights and protein and bicycles and Wall Street. His cologne reeks of business school, of polo shirts and white picket fences and 2.5 kids. You hope you are nodding at all the right moments. His tie bar catches the light of the Budweiser sign hanging behind you, silver glinting red, as if informing you you aren't.

It's hard, much harder than it reasonably should be but you've forgotten how to do this. Leon and you hardly spoke; the silence was easier - until it grew violent from your overreliance.

You catch the ring of the doorbell over the drone of his voice, a familiar shape of blonde hair and brown leather entering your peripheral vision. You turn, a sick sense of satisfaction slithering up your spine.

Shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he shakes off the water droplets clinging to his hair like a dog. He picks his head up, blue eyes and dark circles meet your gaze almost immediately.

You raise a brow, I took your advice; happy?

He spins around, setting the bell off again as he slips out the door.

"I'm sorry," you interrupt your date, who had been entertaining himself, seemingly never even recognizing your shift in attention. "I'll be right back."

You are out the door a second later, shoving your arms back into the coat you thankfully remembered to grab, shielding your skin from the rain clouding your vision. Blinking away the droplets from your lashes, you spot Leon making his way down the sidewalk and take off after him, catching up as he nears the corner.

You call to him, voice near enough to stop him, but only for a moment. "Go back inside," he throws over his shoulder, continuing forward.

You want to reach out and grab him, make him turn to look at you, but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Your touch is sure to set him off like a slingshot.

Steeling yourself, you dart around him, blocking his path. You find yourself in front of him without any idea of what to say. You gape at him stupidly, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing him down; maybe you should've asked what's-his-name for a good gym recommendation before you ran off.

Leon entertains you for a moment before he huffs, eyes narrowing, "what are you doing?"

It's an excellent question - one you had never bothered to stop and ask yourself.

What are you doing?

Why did you agree to go for drinks? Why had you put on the dress Leon had carefully unzipped and let pool around your ankles just a few weeks ago? Why had you asked Mr. Tie Bar to meet you at the bar you knew Leon always popped into after work?

Fuck.

You swallow harshly, "trying."

"Trying?" Leon reiterates, almost laughing. "And what is it that you are trying?"

Normal. To get over you. To make you mad. Honesty. To make you look at me. To make you want me like I want you. Safety. To hurt you. To get you to say something, anything. Trust. To get you to make me stay. To get you to stay.

You feel yourself frown, the familiar pressure of tears building behind your nose. You try to swallow the feeling but it just mixes with the venom stuck in your throat, bubbling back up after mutating into a bitter twinge of anger. "What the hell does it look like, Leon? You told me to try to find someone else - that's what I'm trying."

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, it doesn't really seem to be working out, does it?"

"It was going great, actually." You smile, hoping it's not as hollow as you feel.

"Oh, yeah?" He cocks a brow, lips pulling into a sly smirk. "Then why are you out here with me?

"You," you huff, at a loss. His words seem to be coming easier than ever while you choke on every one. You shrug, "You looked upset when you left."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted, right?" His smirk stretches into an acetous grin. "Came to relish in the tears, huh? Sorry to disappoint." He moves to brush by you, but you plant yourself in his path once again.

"I can't believe-" you start, but stop short. Because you can believe he'd think of you that way - you'd never given him a reason to think otherwise.

You think back to the silence that had made its home between the two of you, realizing you had used it as a confidant, letting it absorb everything you should've given to Leon instead.

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing." Your voice comes out as small as you feel under the weight of Leon's gaze. It's ironic - all this time you just wanted him to look at you, and now you wish he'd turn his eyes anywhere else.

He snorts, short and irascibly, "I don't need you worrying about me."

"I know you don't, Leon," you throw your hands out, rainwater flicking off your skin with your exasperation. "You've made that very clear. But I can't help it - I'm going to anyways."

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?" You half-yell, half-whine. You cringe at the sound, feeling slightly delirious; freezing cold and nearly begging him to let you care.

"Because you can do better." His voice is even once again, feelings stacked neatly away and locked up tight.

"You don't get to decide that for me," you spit, ears ringing with the echo of your too-loud voice.

"Yeah," he nods. "I do."

He steps around you again, intending to disappear down the side street. But this time you grab him, fingers latching onto the slippery leather of his jacket, his arm as tense as a bowstring under your grip.

"Let me go," he requests without turning to look at you, voice still even, even, even. It's a courtesy, he could easily pull free - but you are sick of his kindness, his courtesies; that's how you ended up here. You don't want them anymore.

"Make me."

"Let me go," he repeats, slower and thicker.

"No." If you want me gone, you'll have to force me. You don't say it, but you know he got the message when his shoulders slump, fight draining out of him all at once.

With the thrill of victory that ripples through you, you make the mistake of loosening your hold on his jacket. He seizes the opportunity, twisting your arm and grabbing you by the bicep, pulling you close. He is running hot despite the chill of the rain, you have to force yourself not to relax into his heat.

A moment passes, and then another. Neither of you move. The precipitation falls in sheets around you. You can't bring yourself to care.

Your gaze slides from his chest to his neck to his jaw, backtracking the path of a stray raindrop. You chance a glance at his eyes, finding they are already on you, steely blue shimmering with the light of the streetlamp behind you.

You love him.

You wish the ground would crack open, allowing you to freefall straight down to hell. You imagine that would feel better - less painful - than this.

You love him, and your skin burns with the feeling of it. You want to throw up. You want to kiss him. You want to pound your fists against his chest, curse him for doing this to you.

You settle for allowing a sob to escape your throat.

He releases you from his hold instantly at the sound. You scramble to grip his jacket to keep yourself upright - it's pitiful, the teeth of the zipper biting into the skin of your hands. The sharp pain comes as a tether, gifting you the space to ground yourself, to shove the tears back down.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tight and clipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," you cut him off, voice rough, grating. "It wasn't. You didn't hurt me."

"Okay," he mutters.

You laugh. You love him and you can't help but laugh, sinking into the insanity of it.

You feel him start to stiffen again, unsure. The feeling of his discomfort building under your fingers forces you back into yourself, realizing where you are, that you've been causing a scene on the corner down the block from his apartment.

You release him, but you don't step away, tilting your head just enough to take in the sight of him - parted lips and a handful of freckles, blonde hair tinted green by the neon sign over the entrance of the convenience store a few feet away.

"I'm sorry," you croak out, drifting back; wishing the rain would melt you down, suck you into the storm drain. That's the only thing that could pull you from him, you think; swirling down the gutters with the cigarette butts and the fallen cherry blossoms until you're laid to rest at the bottom of the Potomac.

His nose twitches. "For what?"

That I can't find someone else, can't force myself away from you.

That I love you, but can't tell you.

"For," you throw your hands out, weaker than before. "All of it."

He nods, "It's okay."

You don't want it to be, but you suddenly feel exhausted. Too tired to fight, to pull any more truths from him.

"Take me home?" You request, you plead.

He nods again, holding his hand out to you. "Yeah."

You intertwine your fingers with his own, the roughness of his callouses and scars soothing in their familiarity.

The walk to his place is short. You don't bother trying to shake off the water before entering, leaving a trail of raindrops up the stairwell, down the hall, through his front door, across his apartment to the tiled floor of his bathroom.

He reaches into the shower, cranking the hot water, allowing the stream to heat up as he helps you out of your wet clothes. He removes the drenched fabric piece by piece - jacket first, then your dress, unzipping it with even more care than the previous time. It doesn't slip off with the same ease, but his gentle fingers pull it from your skin until it falls away. He crouches to undo your shoes, allowing you to step out of them before reaching up and rolling your nylons, guiding them down your legs.

He moves to do the same with your underwear, fingers resting on the waistband as he glances up to you, silently asking your permission even though he already has it, always will. There's no heat behind his actions, but the tenderness sears your skin all the same. You nod, a low ache settling into the center of your chest as he slides them off you before standing. You unclasp your bra; he doesn't comment on the matching set.

The steam of the boiling shower envelops you as you undress him in turn. You struggle with his belt buckle, stiff fingers uncooperative. He takes over and you drop to your knees to untie the laces of his boots, finding them mercifully secured with single-knots. You make quick work of them and he reaches down to help you up, moving you out of the way before he kicks them off.

You assist him in pulling his shirt over his head, peeling the cotton away from his skin. You unbutton his jeans as he removes the clips from your hair, wet strands falling limply in front of your eyes.

"Go ahead and get in, I'll go throw this stuff in the wash." His voice is mellifluous, sickeningly soft.

It makes you feel like a kid, incompetent and helpless. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for twisting his kindness into something dark and disgusting.

"I can help," you offer, because that's all you can do; already leaning down to collect your things. "You have to hang the jacket, it's-"

"Wool. I know," his hand brushes your back lightly, "it's okay. I'll be right back."

You straighten up, allowing him to guide you across the bathroom and help you into the tub. You slowly ease your way under the hot stream as he slides the shower curtain closed.

You watch the shape of him through the cloudy plastic, shucking off his jeans and pulling off his socks. The sobs you had just barely choked down twice before make another escape attempt, clawing at your throat as you watch his shadow collect your clothes and move down the hall.

You shut your eyes against the sudden emptiness of the room, against the tears and the silence and the panic; against the loathing and inferiority. You take the coward's way out, turning away from it all to hold your face up to the showerhead.

He returns quickly, rustling around for a moment before slipping into the tub behind you. His presence awards you the bravery you needed to crack open your eyes, to clear your throat. "You're wrong, you know."

Exhaustion overshadows his amusement as he hums in question, "about what?"

Picking your hand up, you reach out slowly to slide your fingers along his collarbone, circle the puckered scar on his shoulder. "That I can find someone better."

He scoffs, dropping his head, hair fluttering down to obscure his face.

You move your hand to his neck, thumbing his jaw. "If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you, Leon."

He shakes his head, but you ignore the action, continuing before he can protest. "Nobody can take care of me like you do - not even myself. I'm sorry" - for needing you, for burdening you; for loving you even though I'm unworthy of it - "for pushing you. I understand there are things you can't share, but I want whatever you can."

You sigh, shifting your hand at his neck to pull him to you; he follows you easily, achingly. "Even if it's just this."

He nods minutely, hooking his arms over your hips and resting his forehead on yours. Answer delivered on a breath that floats across your lips, "alright."

You remain in his arms, his agreement echoing in your mind in time with the beat of your heart in your chest. Seconds morph into minutes, only moving when the water begins to grow cold.

You wash first, your shampoo and conditioner still on the rack next to his own. Leaving him under the stream, you make your way to his room after wrapping yourself in one of the towels he'd brought into the bathroom.

Home. You had asked him to take you home and he brought you here, despite your own place being just a few blocks further in the opposite direction of his from the corner you had been on. But his assumption was right; this - he - was home to you.

The emptiness of his apartment was unsettling at first, but it quickly grew comforting - no regrets staining the carpet; no photos on the dresser of you as a girl you don't remember being. Here you could be untethered from the past you didn't want; white walls graciously offering a clean slate, even if you didn't deserve it, didn't earn it.

There is a shirt of his waiting on the bed for you, a pair of your pajama pants in the drawer next to his. Your stomach turns at the sight - no wonder he had tried to push you away; you had subconsciously settled into his space, his closet and his bed.

Your mug in the sink, your pills behind the mirror - the reckless domesticity of it all is startling, terrifying. He had given you an inch and you had taken a mile, too eager for the chance to be something new.

You pull on the clothes, making your way towards the balcony, a wave of nausea rolling through you under the soft cotton. Outside, it's still raining, translucent ropes sluicing off the overhang of the roof.

You almost immediately regret stepping outside, feeling as if it's a betrayal of the care Leon took to get you warm; but you needed it. The chill of the air forces your thoughts to line up, to wait to be addressed one by one.

His hand leading you home, your wool coat hung to dry, his shirt waiting on the bed for you to occupy - each act a silent invitation; the realization stirs inside you, grips your collarbones from the inside.

Could it be…?

You should ask him, but you've asked for more than enough tonight.

He slides open the glass door, sweatpants low on his hips; the lamp on his nightstand illuminates him from behind, feathering out all his sharp edges. Maybe it's not love; maybe it's just lust, desire - a need so great it's all-consuming. You have no point of comparison to use as a frame of reference, to assist in finding the distinction.

"I was away for a few days, there's not much in the fridge. Is ramen alright or do you want to order something?" He asks and it's love, you are suddenly sure of it.

You turn; the sight of Leon in the buttery glow of the bedroom acting as a beacon, guiding you through the terror. "Ramen is fine."

#(writing)#leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy #resident evil 4 #leon resident evil #resident evil 4 remake #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x you #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #geez how many variations of the leon x reader tag is there...#i do not think i got them all but this is More than enough

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phneltwrites · 3 months

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Got some comments a while back asking me about how I do research for fic, so here are my two tips of dubious quality based on my own experience.

become an observer of habitual things

a bad detail is worse than no detail, take things out

I think stories feel well-researched or lived in when there's details that feel true and real to what those characters would be experiencing. But it can be hard to figure out what to include. That's usually when the research rabbit hole kicks in. Researching everything, trying to figure everything out but not knowing what to look for and ending up overwhelmed. And then! still not knowing what to include.

The counteragent to that is to look up the things that character would be eating, touching, using, travelling through as they are going about their life. And then including those things.

But figuring out those things is the hard part!!!

That's where I recommend really pausing and noticing mundane things. For example: Character A is walking down the street, finishing up a snack and then throws the wrapper into a garbage can.

If we break that down, there's a lot implied there, but I'll talk about one thing: the garbage can.

Streetside public garbage cans imply that there is a central authority responsible for garbage that will come and collect it and take it away. That's a monumental amount of civic infrastructure! So streetside public garbage is not a thing that exists most places in the world.

If you notice the things you do and then stop and ask yourself what systems need to be in place to make that thing happen, that can help point to where something might be different for your character. Those differences are opportunities to include small details that will make the work feel more lived in.

Become a person who pauses and notices. It'll make your research more targeted and manageable.

The more repeated an action is in your own life, the more invisible it becomes to you, and the more rich and depth you can give your writing if you challenge its normalcy.

Sometimes, though, you figure out something is probably a point of different but are like fuck me if I know what they do about garbage. So my other tip for writing things that feel well-researched is: omit details.

Character A doesn't have to do anything with that wrapper. They finish their snack and continue on towards the train.

I wrote a fic once that many lovely people said felt very true to the 90s and I was like heck yeah!!! I spent all my research points on 90s vibe research so that felt good. And then the second most common thing people said in the comments was that people in Seattle don't use umbrellas. It was a throwaway line that if I'd focused on being a noticer of habitual things, I might have thought about. But I'd been cocky about my knowledge of Seattle, a place that I've visited, and didn't pause. And that line threw a bunch of people out of the cocoon of 90s popcorn ceilings and screaming modems that I'd been weaving. It didn't need to be there and without it I could have kept up the illusion that I knew what I was talking about.

This doesn't just go for writing about places. For example, RICH PEOPLE DON'T BUY THEIR OWN GROCERIES. That man is NOT in a grocery store looking at basil he has people for that. What is the point of a dubious billionaire fantasy if he's acting like a middle manager i ask u.

So to sum up: pause before including any everyday actions and consider their implications. Find out if that character would do it differently.

And if you can't find out, then skip it.

#writing #research

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koolades-world · 20 days

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wow it's almost been a year since i wrote the original and figured it was about time that i finally made part two. plus I've been trying to clear out my drafts lol

part one can be found here if you're interested in that! part one is it's own complete piece and this is just follow up!

enjoy <3

just like lilith (part two!)

It was a beautiful day in the human world. The sun, while admittedly rather intense, shone down on the beach where two chairs sat underneath a large umbrella. A green towel was strew over of the chairs. A small cooler filled with ice and various snacks acted as a table between them for a couple books and two waters. Nearby the chair was a few small sand sculptures, if they could be called that. They were more like sad, vaguely castle shaped piles. The two occupants of the chairs were nowhere in sight, but they could be assumed to be in the small, nearby cabin that sat tucked back from the shore.

A lone figure was walking the beach, and set their eyes on the house. Grimacing at the sand, they set off towards it. Inside, it was a little cramped, but there was just enough space for two people to be comfortable. The kitchen didn't have a real table, and instead had two stools butted up against a counter. The kitchen itself was small and had the basics. The living room was also small, consisting of just a loveseat, coffee table, and a wall mounted TV. Against a wall sat a ladder, leading up to a small hall with two connecting doors. One was shut, and water could be heard running behind it. The other door was wide open, however, and someone could be heard walking upstairs. A curtain was pulled over the doorway to give the illusion of privacy. With a deep sigh, the person started up the ladder, but was stopped by whoever was in the room with the open door coming out and yanking back the curtain.

"Lucifer." The voice that greeted him was one that he knew well. He sounded oddly calm. Lucifer looked up, knowing exactly who was speaking to him.

"Satan." Lucifer back up a little to get a better look at the demon he though he knew well. He was in swim trunks with a floral print and had a matching flower tucked behind his ear.

"What do you want?" Satan stared down at Lucifer with a silent, burning fury. They hadn't come face to face since the night he and Mc escaped to the human world, and while he'd had to to let the rage dissipate, his festering indignation to how his brother treated both himself and Mc lingered.

"You know why I'm here." Lucifer watched as Satan balled him his fists, and with a deep breath, relaxed them again. He'd been getting much better recently with controlling his anger, and he only had Mc to thank for that.

"The thing is, I don't. You never apologize, and even if you did, it wouldn't even begin to start to repent for what you've done. You don't ever stop to consider how your actions affect others. Your selfish desires always seem to take preference over those around you, even if that person is someone who did nothing but make our lives better. We don't want to talk to you right now." He took another deep breath, and turned his back. "See yourself out and close the door behind you." Satan attempted to yank the curtain shut again, and it remained half open as he went back down the hall. Lucifer knew following him would only escalate the situation more. The way sharp way Satan referred to "we" stung, but this was simply the results of his own actions. Satan was right. Lucifer had simply been cut by the shards of the window he'd broken.

He took a seat in the tiny living room, looking around the the signs of it being lived in. Several more books sat stacked on the coffee table, and a blanket he knew was Mc's was folded on one of the arms of the loveseat. Two mugs of old coffee sat side by side, one half drank and one almost empty. He could easily tell which belonged to who even though the mugs were identical. Mc was a slow coffee drinker but Satan always drank his quickly, since he always did it while reading. Mc also preferred their coffee with more creamer than Satan did, as one mug was lighter than the other. He knew them well, well enough to know that what he did would hurt them even before he went through with it. Yet, he did it anyways.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there waiting. He heard the water shut off and through the half shut curtains, he saw Mc open the shut door, and glance around anxiously. They met his eyes, and he saw them visibly stiffen. They retreated back into the room Satan had went into. He heard their hushed whispering. Eventually, they emerged together again, moving the curtain back over. Satan had one of his arms around their middle, holding them close. Mc's hands were constantly moving. They cracked their fingers one by one and flexed them, studying them. They didn't look up at him.

"Hello, Lucifer." They greeted him, still looking down.

"Hello." He paused again. Satan was looking directly at him, staring into his eyes. "We looked for you for a while." That statement wasn't untrue. The night everything went down had been hectic, and Lucifer doesn't remember resting once.

After Mc ran off crying, the remaining six brothers stood motionless in the dining room. Lucifer was horrified with what he'd done, and his brothers seemed equally as guilty looking. Even if they hadn't actually done anything, they were complicit, and they knew they'd all royally messed up. Beel had been the one to break the silence, with a "now what?" and looked almost as upset as Mc had been. For once, nobody knew what to do. They knew that Satan and Mc always had the answers to these kinds of things, but they were the victims in this situation. Eventually, they resolved as a group to just leave them be until morning. Lucifer couldn't sleep, and spent the night tossing and turning. When he resolved to go apologize and had formulated a response he deemed good, he set off to Mc's room, because they were much less likely to react violently. That's when he realized they were missing. Upon this realization, he checked Satan's room too, and their favorite spots to hang out, but found nothing. He alerted his brothers, and they spend a while searching tirelessly. That's how he eventually ended up where he was now. He wanted to tell them the whole story, but he knew it would just sound like an excuse, or beating around the bush.

Satan and Mc made no move to speak. He tried to continue, but the words died in this throat. "If that's all, you can go now." Mc said. Satan moved to close the curtains again, looking at him with a gaze that told him to actually leave this time.

"No. I'm... no, we're sorry. I know my words aren't enough. Lilith is dead, like you said and pretending you're her is unhealthy and unfair to you. Both of you. My inability to move on should not have to become your problem." Lucifer's rather sudden apology caused Mc to finally look up at him. Their eyes were red, and Satan tightened his grip on them. "Neither of you asked to be part of this dysfunctional family. For that, I'm sorry. You don't deserve this." He looked between the two of them.

"Took you long enough." Satan seemed less angry than he had been before.

"I'll be going now. I just wanted to make sure you were safe." He got up from their sofa, and made his way to the front door.

"Lucifer, wait a moment." Mc was behind him when he turned around. They seemed hesitant, and he saw the remainders of the injuries he'd given them. He felt like a major dick. But, despite that, they hugged him. Not for long, but enough to to function as a thank you, or something along the lines of affection. Satan was quick to take them back once they let go of Lucifer, but the softer look in his eyes let him know that Satan, while had not forgiven him, was grateful.

"Take your time out here. Return when you are ready." With that, he set off, shutting the door behind him, leaving just Satan and Mc alone again.

"He must've felt really guilty to go that far, huh." Mc said quietly.

"It's unlike him." Satan locked the door and peaked out the window for his older brother. He was already gone. "Looks like our plan worked then." He turned back to Mc, who'd sat in the spot Lucifer was just in.

"It's alright to be honest with yourself, you know. He was concerned about us. He was probably searching the entire time we were gone. You hate him, and right now, I kinda do too, but I can't deny he seemed genuinely sorry." Satan took the seat next to Mc. They began to mess with the flower in his hair, readjusting it.

Satan didn't respond, but leant into the touch. While what Lucifer and his brothers did hurt, he felt warmed by how much they seemed to care. "Ready to head back out? I can help you make a sand castle this time, if you want." He smiled at you.

"Yeah, that sounds nice. You're much better at that than I am. While we're out there, we can talk about our plans." Mc didn't stand up just yet. "Thank you, Satan. For everything." They hugged him. It was longer and more amiable than the one they'd given Lucifer.

"Thank you too." Satan felt lost most of the time when it came to matters such as these, but he was eternally grateful to have someone who understood, even a little, about how he felt. He gave them a kiss on the top of the head, causing them to giggle and return the favor.

Despite everything, he had you, and that's all he could ask for.

thanks for waiting!!! here are those who asked to be tagged <33

@eccedentesiast-sapphic @sammywo

#obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me belphie

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pokemoncenter · 2 months

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On Disability in Pokemon

In humans, there are myriad ways one can be disabled. There are physical disabilities- Missing limbs, paralysis, overgrowth of some organs, and the like. There are mental disabilities- learning disabilities, inability to regulate one's words, or impaired cognition of others.

And Pokemon, having infinitely more variety than humans, can have infinitely more ways of being disabled, as well. There are the physical- There is a shelter in Kanto which specializes in caring for "tripod" Growlithe, as an example. There are mental- Pokemon can have learning disabilities as well, or an inability to regulate their emotions.

But Pokemon and their special abilities lead to further ways they can be impaired. I have spoken before about Beans, my Zorua who cannot use illusions. I also remember, when I was a child, there was a Ditto who made the news for not being able to transform its face. There are examples such as a Drifloon who cannot fully inflate.

Pokemon and their biology are so complex and so malleable that it can be difficult to pin down what is a disability and what is not. For a time, there was an umbrella term called Quercus' Disease, when a Pokemon could not emit its elemental powers. However, in 1993, Quercus' Disease was officially removed from all the books, and is no longer a diagnosis, due to the term being so broad as to be functionally useless. It made no distinction between Pokemon who could not generate their elemental power, and those who generated and stored but could not emit them. There have been several attempts to fill the hole left by the lack of this diagnosis, but none have passed muster.

Let us use Cyndaquil as an example. Why might a Cyndaquil be unable to emit flames from its back? It might not be generating the proper chemicals to catch fire, or it might not have the spark generation to light the fire. It might also have the burning oils on its back dry out. It might overproduce, and thus the fire would be dangerous even to itself. The oils generated might be in the body, but not make it to the surface of the back. It might simply even just be clogged and clumped up. All of these things would be very different disabilities, with very different treatments. Yet, they all have the same appearance, and so they would all be lumped under a single umbrella term of Quercus' for a long time. And all of this is for one type of disability from one type of Pokemon.

There are so many others. Some Pokemon simply cannot evolve- Their bodies will either never trigger the correct hormonal surge, or the threshold is simply different, or any other number of things. Some Pokemon can experience gigantism or loss of cartilage upon evolution. Some Pokemon will only 'half-' evolve, and those are usually (but not always) left in... very poor quality of life. Sometimes, a Pokemon simply cannot handle its own needs, and... I digress.

Injury can also lead to disability. When a Pokemon is 'paralyzed' in battle, that is not true paralysis- In fact, there are two different things that are both called 'paralysis'. I would personally think they should be referred to as 'stunned'. An Electric attack may stop a Pokemon by causing the muscles to contract irregularly for a bit, or a heavy physical blow may stun by disrupting a Pokemon's balance for a bit.

True paralysis can occur in battles, though, as a result of spinal injuries. Pokemon have a recovery ability far greater than that of humans, so it is possible they can recover from even a broken spine that would otherwise cause permanent paralysis, but... not always.

A puncture to a Pokemon's flame sacs can also become a crippling disability. A cut to Pikachu's electric sacs that goes too deep may cause their electricity to interact with their bloodstream in... unpleasant ways.

And then there are some who simply cannot control their abilities. A Charmeleon who exhales flame whenever it breathes, regardless of its will. Slowpokes who cannot stop causing rain. Munna emitting a full fog of dream mist.

A veterinarian's job involves being able to handle most things for most Pokemon that will come to them. I very, very rarely practiced for anything outside of Unovan Pokemon, but now I am learning much of Johtonian Pokemon as well. But a veterinarian by necessity must be flexible, and able to handle any kind of Pokemon, even those they have never seen before.

#pokeblogging #pkmn irl #unreality #science with sophora

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therrerium-valkryonia · 2 months

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A woman is a perfectionist and wants everything to be perfect for her home birth by herself. She’s nowhere near prepared at home when she goes out while overdue. Her water breaks as she has to get home on the bus, walk home, prepare everything in time to deliver in her living room and deal with a poorly timed delivery boy from who she has to hide her labour while getting a package. The twist? For a good part of this story, she’s constantly having to push the head back inside herself to avoid giving birth. If even one thing in her plan is wrong, even if she’s one push away from giving birth, she’ll push it back and start over to fix it.

Ooh, good one I like it. I will make it as best as I can for you thank you so much for resending

Hey, I have been away for my own time, I've not been mentally healthy and I can't say I am better but I am back with a lot but i'll try.

The Perfection Effect

Tw: 18+, Minors DNI.

In the eyes of perfectionism, all must go their way and no other, this would be their greatest and most vunerable weakness as in the ways, actions of the real nothing goes your way and with this case it wouldn't end easily.

Vivian was a young woman, amidst her later twenties and still in great shape as part the pregnancy made her shape volumptious as naturally it would through her body's change trying to ready for newborn child.

On the contrary, she was very infuriated in amidst the result when she grew overdue a childish reaction over outcomes, so in three weeks over her due date she felt her bump tighten up to a overinflated basketball.

Impacting her back heavily, even on an jog towards the market the woman was waiting whenever her baby would be born at times growing restless and impatient, as much as people would a lot more exaggerated.

On her way to the market in a damp rain, holding up her umbrella wearing a sleeved turtleneck and a tight pencil skirt, as per progress of her widened hips and suppled breasts as the rain hardened and splashes entirely over her thighigh socks.

Lately she'd been intensely overrun with growing pains and cramping around her abdomen and inbetween her thighs and uncomfortably tight yet wide hips, she'd physically grown to waddle after a week.

Her stance resembled a model in a walk, presenting herself on a stage in a fashion competition though it made walking feel intensive on her lower back and her heel.

As she placed her palm under her bump, massaging the uneasing pressure with a relieving release, relieving the pressures unknowingly progressing her quiet labor.

Progressing the newborn further before purchasing her groceries list, she felt at comforting ease for it being an illusion.

(----------------------------------

After moments around she'd found what she needed and headed to the checkout counter, small line and handed her groceries paid the amount and headed out into the rain.

She sought after the bus stop within the rain and kept on a decent jog on towards the stop, exerting onto her bodies limit and exshauting herself in short notice and felt a heavy toll on her womb within, writhing in the exshaustion.

Bent over, she pressed her palm ontop the round bump as she grunted loudly with no witnesses around in the rain, she regained herself and trotted forward into the pour a distant bluish glow of light on the sidewalk.

Headed towards it as she reaches over the otherside of the road, crossing the road as cautiously she looked around before going towards the stop, sitting down once near.

Leaning into the bench as she felt a hurdle running down her canal burning enraged in pounding stings and stabbing, painful hard tightness around her back worsening more.

Withstanding the pain rushing over, fists clenched having a palm pressed into her hardened bumps side, tightening on it's squezzes onto her taut skin.

Her jaw tight and brows furrowed, a sigh exhaled through teeth with sweat rolling downward her face, a loud gasp of pain.

The bus came near and stopped by, it's passenger a near-laboring mother with orange-ish hair, contracting and with a extremely stanced and a weird waddle, waddling over to the backseat with six passengers in the rest of the bus.

As she sat down, the intense pressure consumed her canal and instinctually abandoning all concious thought had unconciously began to bear down and squeezing into her belly twisting in an all-consuming and lasting pain.

Engulfing in air with sharp breaths, an expanding mass growing larger in size inbetween her thighs, her head reversed backwards into the seat cushions, slowly slouching as the mass popped open into closed-fitted cloth and budged no further.

Since it restrained from going any further causing vile pains, she cupped above the massive crown and began bringing it back halfway through her canal though it began progressing with movement forward.

With her remaining might she held it back, strained back with an ever weakening self.

(------------------------------

In just the moment as the bus stopped near the road where she lives, she got to her feet and had her right hand on the underside of her belly with the mass pounding it's way out of her labia.

Once she waddled to the bus stop, she held her posture up and walked through the quieter road trying her best to get home quickly with the low hanging mass beginning to pop into her skirt.

The contraction slowed her walk down, she got near a mailbox and leaned by the support with her massaging her underside as she squats it down sublty before regaining her stature and going down the road afar into the corner.

Reaching her house at the edge of the town, she frantically reached for her keys with a rising pain as she opens the door and drops everything and gets onto her knees, she grunts while slamming the door shut keeping her out of view.

As the mass grew into her underwear, the arms burst out and stretch the fabric by it's seams an excruciating pain spread around her abdomen.

She needed just a bit more time to prepare, the birth needed to be the way she wanted it to be and thinking she had time headed to the room to her right with her thighs lightly constricting.

Once she reached the cabinets, grabbing the bowl, towel, scissors, clips and all important supplies her body crashes again to it's knees beginning to feel her baby nearing it's exit an immediate response to try and postpone it a little longer but she was too weak.

Her grunts were raging, throat strained her figure completely doused in sweat and fluid covering her thighs and legs as she screams with the baby rushing forth the nightmare finally ends, she's exshausted and falls over.

With her faint breaths, she apologizes to her newborn under her skirt and flooded with a small bout of sorrow, weary and breathless scurrying into her underwear and carried out her future into her arms before she faints.

Only hearing a loud wail before the darkness surrounds her eyes and blankets her over in deep sleep and dreams of the mistakes done.

This is the final cause of The Perfection Effect another normal accident then made extreme.

#birth kink #painful birth #labor #labor kink #pregnant #pregnant kink #pregnancy #pregnancy kink #birth fic #labor and delivery #long labor #labor fic #pushing #pushingbabybackin

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