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growup-thatbeautiful · 1 year

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hellooo, hi, im not sick anymore (more or less) and in surprisingly great spirits! i was thinking, if you wanted to write more Zeffirelli and absolutely and i mean ABSOLUTELY no pressure maybe we could have some sort of university themed kinda fic? not an AU just kind of widening the lens of The French dispatch to see Zeffirelli as a students not just his after school activities. im thinking like a philosophy student poet boyfriend x art and film theory painter reader kinda situation. studying and going to interesting lectures and to cinema in the evenings..idk it would be lovely to have some nice uni vibes to motivate me. also if you don't feel Zeffirelli now Timothee himself would be very much okay too i feel like. it is all up to you. sending you great energy, love you, message me if you want to brainstorm this story or want to talk literally about anything xx

omg hiiii!!! it’s fall now!! zeffirelli would be living his best life. i was really missing zeffirelli and timmy. timothee always renters my brain this time of year so be prepared. it’s movie szn brainrot time, my friends.

coincidentally enough, this happens to be my 700th follower celebration as well! yay!

uhhh so usually i write the translations at the bottom but i didn’t keep up this time i’m so sorry 😭😭

zeffirelli masterlist

ensoleillement (sunshine)

“You’re late,” you say, looking at the clock in the corner of your living room.

“I brought compensation.” Zeffirelli holds up a brown paper bag from the pastry shop down the street as an apology. “There's a pain au chocolat in there for you. I also got you a coffee.”

“I hope it’s not in the bag,” you respond drily, but take the bag nonetheless and rifle around for your breakfast. “Where’s the coffee?”

“Here,” he says absently, placing it on the kitchen counter.

“Dieu merci,” you sigh, taking a sip and shouldering your bag. The leather strap digs into your shoulder through the fabric of your coat.

“Thank me, not God,” Zeffirelli complains, ushering you out the door.

“You’re still the reason I’m late.” There’s a warning in your voice, but you can’t put any real venom behind your words. You never can, with him.

“Oui, but you’re not going to any important classes right now.”

“I’m going to math,” you protest. He reaches across you and takes your coffee, sipping it and grimacing. You slap his hand away and retake the coffee. “No matter how much you try, you aren’t going to like the way I have my coffee.”

“That’s because you have terrible taste,” he complains. “Why are still taking those bullshit classes? There are so many better classes to take.” It’s a conversation you’ve had many times, mostly out of jest, but there is some seriousness behind it.

“You mean math?”

Zeffirelli hums. “That’s the one. Why would you waste your time with math when you could be going to philosophy at noon?”

“Because I’m not some poet revolutionary, Zef,” you laugh, bumping your shoulder with his. “Not everyone is as successful as you.”

“Nonsense. You just haven’t shared any of your ideas with other people. Come on, amor, let me know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“Right now there are a few things, but I don’t think you want to hear them,” you deadpan, gathering your books in your arms.

“Don’t get shy on me now, ensoleillement.” The endearment falls easily from his lips, his favorite term for you, meaning, quite literally, sunshine.

Ironically, you got the nickname on a rainy day when you had been giving him a hard time about his tendency to walk in the rain.

“I have nothing to say to you,” you reply, knocking your shoulder against his as you both try to go out the same door to the street below your apartment.

“All that math is filling your brain with nonsense,” he complains, his shoes scraping against the worn hardwoods. “I can’t have a good philosophical conversation with a mathematician.”

“Just because I’m taking the class doesn’t make me good at it,” you correct absentmindedly. He huffs and steps into pace beside you, his hand brushing against yours. The autumn leaves crunch under your feet, warm red and orange bleeding past as you make your way to class, the air crisp and the sun slinking behind the clouds. You really should be trying to make it to class on time, but you know you’ll regret it if you leave Zeffirelli out here alone with that rosy color on his cheeks from the cool air. Fall suits him well, and he wears the chill running through your fingers well.

It’s better to be here, your hands skimming against his, knuckles red and electric when he touches them than it is to be sitting in a class. Especially because he isn’t in the class.

The walk to your school isn’t much further. Just through the town sits a two-storied brick building where you’ve devoted hours to studying, crying, and trying to get Zeffirelli to take breaks unsuccessfully.

The cobblestones underneath your feet are consistently unsteady, and you find yourself, as usual, looking in awe at the quaint town that wakes up as you walk through.

There’s the flower shop on the corner with the green and white striped awning that gives out free roses on holidays. Next to it, stands a stationary store where you go more days than not to get a hand-pressed piece of paper to write home on. Across the street is a cafè where you and Zeffirelli have spent countless sleepless nights discussing movies and poetry when you should be studying,

This isn’t your hometown, and it isn’t his either, but you both know it more than you ever could know any other place on Earth. Zeffirelli’s American rouge, prophetic attitude couldn’t come from a town this small, but that doesn’t stop it from thriving. Here, nothing can stop him. Not living with his parents, which he does on purpose, or not knowing how to start a manifesto. Those things are trivial and unimportant because this place reveres every waking and sleeping moment it has with him. You and

You, well, you can’t claim this place as your home, but you’ve fallen in love with its poetically simple lifestyle. The two years you’ve been here as an exchange student has been the best you can remember, and you aren’t sure how much of that is related to the boy next to you.

A gut instinct tells you that he might have something to do with it, but you would be drawn into the charm of this town anyway, probably. He’s just an added bonus.

Zeffirelli takes the cup of coffee out of your hand and tosses it into the trashcan before you enter the towering, gray stone building that is your school.

“I’ll see you at lunch?” he asks, walking backward down the opposite hall that you’re traveling. “My mom packed cookies.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat and you can tell you’re grinning like a fool. You genuinely don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you don’t doubt the truth of his words. “I can’t even make fun of you because your mom’s cookies are so good.”

“That’s the sweet spot.” His arms are outstretched wildly as he turns back to go to his class. “I’ll see you later, amor. Don’t have too much fun in math without me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Zef.” There’s still a grin on your face when you walk into class, and you take your seat next to your’s and Zeffirelli’s friend, Mitch Mitch.

Mitch is radically passionate like Zeffirelli, but, as obvious by his presence in a math class, he’s less utterly devoted to the revolution. Which is to say that he’s still deeply invested.

“Did l'auteur make you late again?” Mitch reaches over you and slides today’s work to you. “I swear, you need to stop waiting for him in the mornings.”

“He did indeed.” You lean back in your chair and try to listen to the lecture, and you think you retain about half of the information.

The teacher at the front of the room drones on for half an hour about something you don’t understand, not that you care enough to pay attention. Despite the nature of his ideas, Zefrilli is correct about the fact that math isn’t your thing, nor is it going to help you at all. Especially not when you don’t have a clue what’s going on. Based on the look on Mitch’s face, he understands even less than you do, which is comforting and terrifying at the same time.

“Why did you convince me to take this class?” Mitch groans, flopping onto the desk and banging his head on the wood. “I’m too pretty for math.”

“I don’t think that has anything to do with it.” You pat him on the shoulder consolingly and gather your things together.

“Peut être pas, but it makes me feel better about myself.” You walk side-by-side to the next class. You have film studies with Zefirelli and Mitch has some economic class.

Zefirelli is waiting by the door for you, and, when he sees you, he pushes himself off the frame and asks, “How was the waste of time?”

“It was a waste of time,” Mitch confirms, bumping shoulders with Zefirelli, who looks at you for confirmation, which you readily give.

“Let’s do something worthwhile then, mon chéri.” Zefirelli holds out his arm for you, and you take it easily. “To the magical world of film we go.”

“Onwards we go.”

Lunch doesn’t come soon enough, but, slowly, it comes. Mitch, Zefirelli, and you usually eat together, but today Mitch is going to the cafe down the street with a girl in your class named Layla. She’s sweet, and you hope she’s enough for Mitch.

You and Zefirelli find your normal spot in the corner of a courtyard hidden away in the twisted cobblestone streets. It’s nothing special, just a park bench pretty much, but you wouldn’t eat anywhere else. Not when Zefirelli is sitting close to you.

“What are you writing about?” he asks, leaning over your shoulder to try and read the words in your journal.

“How much I hate math,” you deflect, shutting the small spiral and stuffing it into your backpack.

“That’s not what looks like when you write about something as trivial as math. I’ve seen your math face, and it is much more détestable.”

“You’re telling me that you don’t write enthusiastically about math?” you joke, hoping to deflect the attention.

“Only about my manifesto.”

“Yeah, well you have your manifesto, and I have my movie.” It slips out easily like things usually do around him. You’re so used to telling him everything, so it comes as no school that you’re unable to keep this from him.

The thing is, he isn’t supposed to know about the movie you’re writing. Not because he wouldn't support it, which you’re sure he would, but because there’s no doubt in your mind that he wouldn’t let you hear the end of it. You try to backtrack. “I mean, I have the movie that I’m studying for class-“

“-You’re writing a movie?” he interrupts, his hand frozen where it’s reaching for his food. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m not writing a movie,” you attempt. “It was a slip of the tongue. Fourchement de langue.”

“No it wasn’t,” he denies easily. “You’re writing a movie.” This time he doesn’t ask, but he does return to his previous action, splitting the pink-colored cookie in half. He offers one half to you and you take it. You decide not to respond and focus on the cookie instead.

“So, what is this secretive movie about? Hopefully something dashingly bohemian and revolutionary.” You know he’s tuning down his excitement for you, which is nice. At least he’s trying. Hopefully, he knows that you would never keep something like this from him if you weren’t embarrassed.

“Those are your interests, not mine,” you sigh, despite the deception behind your words. Truly, you do care about those things, maybe only because he cares so much about them.

“Yeah? Then why do you work with me on my manifesto so much?” he prods, a grin on his face. Everything about him screams “got you” and you have no choice but to accept his meaning.

“Maybe I like being around you, connasse.”

“That could not possibly be it,” he dismisses easily. His cookie gets placed on the floor beside him and he leans into you, his head coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re much too talented to be hanging around me all the time.”

“You can’t be serious,” you chastise, your hand running through his hair. “Zef, you’re the most talented person I know. Not only are you some sort of chess wizard, but you also have such a passion for life that I don’t see anyone else. I’m lucky to be around you as much as I am, honestly.”

“You’re just saying that,” he sighs, but there’s a blush rising to his cheeks that fits him so beautifully.

“We’re poets, Zefirell, we only say things that we mean.” He leans heavier into your side and you relax against him, taking his weight happily. The rest of the world passes by, and time passes by, but you don’t care. This is where you want to be, by his side.

You would lift the sky for him, but right now all he needs is a shoulder to lean on. It’s something you’re ready and willing to give.

“You know,” Zefirelli starts, “there are stories about people like us. You know, people that want to change the world. Usually, they have someone by their side, a second-in-command. Napoleon had Josephine, Pierre Curry had Marrie, Sintra had Garder.”

“I think it be more reasonable to say that Marrie had Pierre, given that she was the one who did most of the research. And you’re forgetting that Sinatra and Gardner broke up after 12 years.”

“But she was the only woman he ever loved. Come on, amore, you know that. Anyway, what I was trying to say-” he looks up at you, smiling softly- “before I was so rudely interrupted, is that most people have someone beside them when they start their journey sur le chemin de la révolution. The road to revolution can be lonely.”

“Everything must start in love,” you agree. “Nothing comes out of nothing.”

“Précisément. Would- would you like to be my second-in-command? We have a long way ahead of us, and I think it would be easier if we stuck together.”

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” you breathe, laying your head on top of his and reaching for his hand. “Promise you won’t leave me for someone more antagonistic?”

“You’re enough of an antagonist for me,” he responds in an overly-sweet voice. “Not sure I could handle much more.”

“Good. I prefer you waking me up in the middle of the night rather than anyone else.” You also prefer his head on your shoulder, his hand in your hand, and his figure in your bed, but those are things you keep to yourself for now.

You’ve already got enough of a win for today.

A banging on your door is an unfortunately common event to wake you up. Without checking, you know who’s on the other side of the door. That messy black hair and those piercing eyes are waiting impatiently for you to make your way across your cramped apartment, you’re positive of it.

The floor is cold underneath your socked feet as you make your way over the piles of books, papers, and clothes strewn everywhere across your room. While the trek is short, to your sleep-addled brain it feels like it lasts forever, with you in a dreamlike state of confusion and agitation. You can hear the sound of rain pounding against your apartment roof, a steady rhythm in time with your slow breathing.

With a deep breath, you open your door and you’re met with the familiar, tall form of Zeffirelli. “I have an idea for the revolution,” he says, out of breath, soaked from the rain. “And I need your cinematic expertise.”

“So that’s why you’re at my apartment at three in the morning?” you ask, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Yes. And it’s only two,” he says as he brushes past you and goes straight to your tiny kitchen. Absentmindedly, he rifles through your counters and grabs the first food he finds; some untrustworthy brown biscuits. You don’t take any when he offers. “I needed to talk to you. Son affaire sérieuse.”

“Right, I’m sure it is. Tell me, what exactly do you need my help with? I’m not sure I can be of much help.” You shuffle into the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove, accepting the fact that you’re probably not going to get any sleep tonight.

“Absurdité. Who else is going to shut down my best ideas ruthlessly?”

“I would do that in daylight too,” you accuse. He fits beside you at your counter and reaches across you for the sugar bowl, taking a sugar cube and putting it in your cup. Two more are added to the cup that he’s claimed as his own from your array of delicately painted teacups.

“But you admit to having shut down good ideas?” A twinkle in his eyes tells you to give up now and accept your defeat.

“Sure.” It’s worth it to see the victory smile break across his face, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. “I am obviously the bane of your existence. Je suis ta couverture mouillée.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” His consolidation is quick and filled with a teasing lightness that you’ve long since accepted as his trademark. A lot of people would look past him for it, and call it arrogance, but you know it comes from a loving place.

“Don’t make me send you to Mitch Mitch’s apartment instead,” you warn, waving a spoon in his direction. “I would do it in a heartbeat.” It’s not true, you would much rather he be here with you, instead of at Mitch’s. Despite the entertainment that comes with Zefirelli and Mitch’s back and forth, you’re feeling selfish tonight.

“Empty threats.” he tisks. The kettle whistles from its spot on the stove and you both reach for it at the same time, your fingers brushing against his. It’s terrifyingly electric, but you push past the feeling. Zefirelli withdraws his hand hesitantly and you busy yourself with pouring the tea.

He’s come over in the middle of the night enough for you to know how he takes his tea by heart. Two heaping spoonfuls of sugar, no more, no less. He claims that you make it better than he does, which you choke up to him being unable to boil water without making a mess.

Clearing your throat, you ask, “So, what’s this big idea? Care to fill me in on why I’m awake at this time of the night.”

“What’s your movie about?” he fires back immediately, settling into your beaten blue couch.

“Did you come here to pester me about my future?” you ask, eyes narrowed. “Because I will kick you to the curb.”

“No, no,” he laughs, “you wouldn’t do that to me. You have no resistance to my pretty face.”

“Ah, yes, you’ve figured out my one weakness. It seems as though you’ll be taking advantage of it forever.”

“Of course, ensoleillement. What would I do if I didn’t have you to manipulate?” He sits across from you on the couch and grabs one of the blankets you have thrown around. It goes over his shoulders and he huddles into its warmth.

“So what did you come here to talk about?” you ask, taking a sip from your tea and placing it on the side table.

“Oh, right!” His eyes light up as he sits up straighter, splashing tea all over himself. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to care very much. “I thought that I would have my mother’s friend, some writer, is coming into town soon. I was thinking that I should ask her to help me. At the least, she can write about us, no? What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea. What does she write for?”

“The French Dispatch. You know, the one with all the stories they put out once a month or so. I hear that she’s looking for something out here in our petite ville.”

The conversation shifts and he talks about his big ideas and how he’s going to get them done. You could listen to him talk for hours, and, by the time he’s finished, you have, not that you have anything better to do. Not even dreams of him are this real. You could never make up in your mind the way his eyes sparkle and his hands flutter with excitement, or the way his hair falls in front of his face when he’s moving too fast.

Eventually, sleep takes him over, comically mid-sentence. He’s propped up against the side of the couch in a very uncomfortable looking way, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’ve known him to fall asleep in worse situations,

When his breathing stills and his eyes close, you allow yourself to look at him as he is without fluttering hands and excited eyes. He’s calm and motionless, except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Everything about him is usually coiled for action, an easy tension running through his hands and his eyes, but now, now he’s undistributed and serene, laying with his hair splayed like a dark halo around his head.

Before you close your eyes, you tuck yourself close to him, fitting against his warmth like you’ve done so many times in the past, just like this, on deep-silence-ridden nights.

“You’re my movie,” you whisper into the dark, towards his sleeping figure. “You’re the one I write about.”

But of course, he doesn’t hear.

“Medre,” Zeffirelli swears, hopping around and trying to get his shoes on. “I have a test today.”

“You should have thought of that before you came over that early,” you admonish, watching him with amusement. “Why you didn’t think you would oversleep, I have no clue.”

“We’re in this class together, ensoleillement. You’re going to burn with me,” he warns, rushing a hand through his hair carelessly. It sticks up widely in every direction, but you know better than to try to fix it. Nothing can convince his hair to do anything except chaos.

“Yeah, but it’s so much more fun not to think about that.” Begrudgingly, you start to get ready as well. The floors creak under your feet as you shuffle to your bedroom, where a clean outfit is nowhere to be found.

For a moment, you let yourself think of the wild-haired, cigarette-smoking, arrogant person in the room next to you. His infuriating charm and charismatic persuasion captured you years ago, and you haven’t been able to get out of his orbit since then.

You may be his sunshine, but he’s your gravity, keeping you centered but tipping you over and surprising you at times.

“Dépêchez-vous,” Zeffirelli calls, rapping his knuckles against the wall. “Hurry up.” You know he doesn’t really care about making it to class on time, despite the panic, but you also know that he understands you well enough to know that you want to make it on time.

The film class you have this morning is one of your favorites, and you try and avoid missing it as much as you can. While your film studies class is more focused on the aspects of film, this class advises it’s students on the writing and cinematography that you need to make something truly special.

To make something worthy of a manifesto.

“Mon chéri, we have to go,” Zefirelli warns one last time before giving up and aimlessly wondering around your room.

“Don’t touch that,” you sigh, not having to look at Zeffirelli to know that he’s touching something he shouldn’t be touching. When you do look over, you see him flipping through your journal.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Zeffirelli defends, hiding something behind his back. You send a glare in his direction and lean back in the chair by your mirror. The wood creaks underneath you and you stretch out your back, satisfying pops cascading up your spine.

“You have some deep dark secrets written in here?” His tone is joking, and he waves the journal in the air, taunting you.

“Grocery lists and middle-of-the-night thoughts,” you dismiss. “If you want to know when I forgot to pay the electricity bill, look on the fifth page.” You hope with everything you have that he’s going to let it go, but you have no such luck. He’s nothing if not absurdly relentless.

“I know for a fact that you don’t write anything like that down, it’s not worth the time. You just forget things like the rest of us.”

“Peut être. Still, put it down.” He doesn’t. Instead, he keeps reading with a grin on his face that slowly falls as he makes his way through the rest of the book.

“Is this- is this written about me?” he asks, disbelief written on his face. “Is this your movie?”

“I asked you to stop reading,” you defend miserably, hiding your head in your hands. “I know it’s strange, and I know I shouldn’t be writing about you like that. You don’t want to be heroic or some great leader, above everyone else, but I cannot help it if that’s who you are. Please understand, I only wrote what I saw.”

“I’m your movie? I’m what you have been furiously scribbling away at, working on late at night?”

“You’re my everything,” you admit honestly, softly, “How could you not be the plot of my movie too?” Zeffirelli walks slowly towards you and drops the journal on the floor. “I’m sorry, Zeffirelli.”

“Why?” he asks breathlessly, standing in between your legs and settling his hands on your shoulders. “What have you to be sorry for? You have immortalized be forever with your words. How can I be anything but grateful. If- if I ever gave you the idea that I do not burn for you- that I do not turn towards you in every room like you are the sun and I am a flower, then I can do nothing but apologize profusely. There is more than one reason that you are my ensoleillement. You are grumpy and rude and you give me shit for everything I do, but you also light up my days and nights. You are warmth and home. You are everything.” Zeffirelli’s voice is breathless and rushed, his hands coming up to cup your face. They’re shaky and the calluses on his fingertips are rough against your cheekbones, but you lean into them anyway.

“Zef,” you whisper, like it’s the only word you know. Just as soft as his words, his lips come down to yours, hesitantly at first, but more sure as you don’t protest.

He truly is your everything. That’s the only thing running through your mind as he kisses you with everything he has.

“We’re going to be late to your favorite class,” he gasps in between frantic kisses. “Don’t be angry at me when you have extra homework.”

“I make no promises,” you laugh, pulling him back into you. “But I’ll try my best.” For him, you’ll do anything.

He’s your ensoleillement, your sunshine, just as you’re his.

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christinebloodwrittings · 2 years

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Hello my mutual 💜💜 May I ask of you a Jotun Loki x 20 something female reader who has trauma and how he'd help her with it? It'd be angsty with some fluff I guess like him being very understanding and gentle and tender with her.

You ask, I write! Thank you so much for your request darling 💖💖💖💖

*My requests are open*

Pairing: Jotun Loki x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a very horrifying incident, you are very insecure of your scars and having sex with someone. But maybe a party can change that?

Warnings: Smut, PTSD, angst, aftercare, fluff.

Loki taglist: @lokisprettygirl22 @novenaproxy @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @high-functioning-lokipath @thereadinggeek @el-zef @lulubelle814 @beakami @lokiprompts @ddeadlystbbxx @ilovefanfictions @laurenandloki

Ghost

Vines, your marks reminded you of the grape vines that grew on the side of your window. You had no idea how grapes appeared, you never planted a seed, and yet there they were, crawling up the walls of your house to your window.

It was like you were trapped inside your body, alone with your thought and the memories from those months. You could still feel the burning sensation of the first time. They heated up chains until they were glowing red, then drop them on top of women's bodies.

All for some sick form of pleasure.

A few years ago, a group of girls were missing, it turned into a big piece of news once they were saved. The Avengers sent the kidnappers to jail, and claimed they made justice.

Sadly, the headline for that night's story was "Avengers rescue 12 girls from basement in Columbus, Ohio", wrong, because they were 13.

You got into therapy as soon as you went back to your family, burnt and forgotten. How you escaped was sent to oblivion. It was better that way. Being broken was the thing that matter least to you. It was laughable, you were marked for life, they used you and those girls in horrible acts of service, like crawling around naked, feed them, and all kinds of things that ended up with you and the others getting hurt.

“The Avengers made justice” if you had powers or some level of intellect beyond ordinary, that would have been your origin story to become a villain, but you could not care less about revenge, and you had no powers.

Years passed slowly, but it all got a little better. Your body changed, the scars faded, at least they weren't all red and green as before, and your heart was healing too.

"Y/n! There's this big ass party in Las Vegas, we must go!" Your friend Nancy came kicking your door down. She got you in a sparkly silver dress and inside her car in less than an hour, much to your persistent disagreement.

"This is going to be so fun!!" You nodded, pretending excitement. Parties weren't your thing, but you needed a change of air, to loosen up and relax. Maybe even forget yourself for a minute or two.

Las Vegas was full of aliens! That was all the ruckus was about, aliens, and Thor was the one that organized it, you noticed because he was in the middle of it talking to everyone as if he owned earth. That was one of the reasons why you hated heroes.

A sudden heavy noise made you turn around, it was a big blue foot coming to step on you, until it, well he, halted, acknowledging your presence. "Oh, pardon darling" he was as big as a statue, with a voice as smooth as lace, "Don't worry" yours in comparison was small and week.

“Wow! Did you saw him? He’s Huge!” Nancy pointed out the obvious, you weren’t on the mood, so you just nodded and watched her be all excited. Why couldn’t you be like her? Carefree, relaxed, joyful, happy? You couldn’t blame the incident anymore, that happened five years ago, if anything the only one keeping you from your own happiness…is you.

"Are you having fun?" you looked up, it was that blue guy again. He knelt down next to you in hopes to hear your response, "Parties aren't my thing, I'm just here with a friend, she's...oh" you turned to look around you, and when you did saw her, Nancy was walking away with some green guys.

"She left you behind?" He sadly asked, "Seems so" you sighed and nodded to him politely, then moved away to leave, since your friend wasn't going to spend time with you, but his light tapping on your shoulder made you stop.

"Would you like to dance? There's this place with loud music playing, we could go there together" you nervously laughed, "I don't dance, much! I mean I do, but I don't do it so well, and you..." your mumbling was adorable, at least he thought so, but suddenly you pointed him whole.

"Me?" You didn't wanted him to be hurt "Will you fit in the club?" He chuckled at your innocence as he opened his hand to you, "Come with me". Was he encouraging you to jump on his hand? "Are you sure?" He nodded, so you did, one leg at a time, but since you were struggling, he lowered it to the ground, with a shy giggle you sat on his palm.

"I'm Loki, of Jotunheim, what's your name little darling?" The wink at the end made you blush, "I'm Y/n, nice to meet you Loki" the shy tone in which you said his name, made his heart sing.

"The pleasure is all mine little one" he smiled. Gosh he's pretty! His skin all cold blue; his eyes gentle yet powerful; his hands, soft hands. He was a vision.

When you two made it to the club, you were worried about how low the ceiling was, he was never going to fit in, but he had an idea. He placed you on the roof of the building and asked you to open the hatches to let the sound out, you did it and the music surrounded you, as well as the cheers of the people dancing inside.

“May I have this dance?” he offered you his index finger in a polite way, it was so cute. He was so gentle when he squished your hand between his thumb and his index, the same when he twirled you around. “You alright love?” you were far too stressed trying not allowing your very short dress to become even shorter, and the breeze was getting colder by the minute.

He seemed to pick on what was going on, so he used his seiðr to conjure you a long dress, with a lovely skirt that twirled around you, long puffy sleeves hugged your arms and also warmed them up. It was so pretty, you felt like a...

“Better, my petite princess?” yeah that was it, a princess.

“Much, thank you Loki” seeing you happy made him feel warm, he wanted to see you smile like that all the time. You two kept dancing until the song ended, which is when he went away for a second and came back with food and alcohol, “I toast to tonight my darling. I was reluctant to come, but I'm glad I did” he got closer to caress your cheek with his index, ever so smooth and gentle, it made your skin tingle. “I was literally dragged here against my will, but I’m also glad my friend did it, tonight was really the best” he really loved that you spoke up to talk to him, but it was mostly the alcohol doing its work.

At some point, you became a bit tired; reason why he scooped you up from the rooftop and started walking away. “Wait, where are we going?” at that height you weren’t crazy enough to jump off his hand. He smiled, “You seem tired love, I... well if you don’t mind, I would like to take you back to my hotel room, so you could rest” you didn’t believed shit.

You squirmed and tried to get down on your own, but he stopped you, “Hey! If you do that, you’ll hurt yourself!” he quickly caught you before you could slip off his hand, “What are you trying to do?” you looked up to him with tears in your eyes, “You’re going to...do to me...the same they did!” you tried to yell the last part, but it came out as a whimper rather than an angry yell.

“Whatever do you mean darling? Do what?” he tried to approach you with his other hand, but you started crying and you hit his finger away, “Am I gonna come back? I had to crawl through a sewer to escape, it hurt so much!” you showed him your hands, he realized someone had hurt you, given that your hands were covered in old scars, scratches and mysterious dark spots.

“I’m not going to do anything, love, rest assure, I am a man of my word” you closed your eyes, the warmth of his fingers kind of forced you into slumber, not that you were very awake to begin with.

The next morning you woke up in a gigantic bed, like a vast meadow of sheets and comfort. Alone, until those familiar heavy steps made you look down to your body panicking. You still had your dress, that made you let out a big sigh of relief.

“Good morning little darling” he came through the door, holding a paper bag on his left hand. “Did you slept alright?” he sat on the edge of the bed, right next to you. “I can’t remember if I slept at all” you laughed, “You passed out crying, I would’ve loved to take you back to your place, but since I lack the information” you nodded, his explanation made sense and, for the looks of it, he didn´t slept beside you.

“Where did you sleep?” you wondered, pointing the perfectly smooth sheets on the left side of the bed. “There’s a couch in the living room, surprisingly comfortable” he smiled, placing the paper bag on your lap, “I don’t need it, but I bought you a little something, I hope you like chocolate” you nodded, taking out the pastries.

“You don’t eat?” he shook his head, “I don’t precisely need it, I’m…built different”, but you wouldn’t have that explanation, instead you offered him one of the chocolate pastries. “Here” he seemed reluctant to take it, but then you affirmed, “I have a bird’s stomach; it means I don’t eat much”, and he saw himself unable to resist you.

“I’ll accept your kindness, only if you allow me to take you to dinner, a proper one” his proposal made you feel warm, “Where?”, Loki leaned down to take your hand and plant a kiss on your knuckles, “Jotunheim” then your smile dropped.

He noticed your sudden shift, so he tried to ease your anxiety, “I know it’s another planet, but I would like…I would love to cook, for you” your heart moved for his shyness, it took a lot of courage but, “I would love that too” you ended up accepting his proposal.

After many dates like that one, that unusual pang in your stomach, that often alerted you of a dangerous person, went quiet all of a sudden. It lingered, the feeling of his hands around you, his warmth, the taste of his lips, even how his skin felt.

You never daydreamed before, but you started when you met him, because you desired him, in all ways possible. You wanted to be consumed by him, to be one with him, to fuse with his skin. But as much as you tried to imagine a nice scenery when it came to it, the basement seized your mind, the scorching feeling of the chains came back, and you cried yourself to sleep as your only consolation in your lonely home.

Calling him was an option, always, but you never called him to talk about your problem, you didn’t wanted to bother him, but perhaps, if you wanted to do it with him, you should. That’s how you ended up back on the same hotel he took you the first time, over a year ago.

“This place brings me so many memories, princess. May I ask what’s the occasion?” you exhaled sharply, facing the window. “I…It’s not easy to say, so I’m asking you to listen” he didn’t moved from his spot, he stayed looking at you as you turned to face him.

“Six years ago, there was this incident. I was kidnapped and brought to a very bad place, along with other girls my age. We were…hurt, I was the last to escape, but apart from that, they burnt us with chains, that’s why we haven’t…you know” when you looked up to his face, tears rolled down off his eyes, he knelt to be at your level and brought his finger to touch your hand.

“Darling, I am so sorry you went though such a nightmare, but the fact that you are here, talking to me about it, shows great strength, I’m proud of you princess, I’m here if you need me, keep talking if it makes you feel better or not at all, I’m here” he spoke ever so softly, “Actually, I told you this because…because I want you, I trust you” Loki’s eyes lighten up as he heard you, not because of lust, he had your trust in something that burdened you for so long, if anything he felt honored.

“Then I shall make love to you, my love. Pick a word, any word, it will be your sign for me to stop, if you ever feel overwhelmed” You sighed at his hand caressing your head, “Purple” he nodded and signaled you to jump to his palm, “Now, do not feel as if you need to continue because you have to please me, if you feel uncomfortable, say the word and we’ll cuddle, as simple as that my love”.

You nodded. Earlier he had asked why you wore a raincoat in a clear sky night, when you buttoned off and slid it pass your shoulders, he saw why. It was a lace full body lingerie, with green and blue patterns of different flowers and butterflies hugging your every curve.

His sinful thoughts stopped when he saw the mark that the chain had left on your torso. It snaked its way through your hip and all the way to your neck, like it trapped you.

“You are a rare beauty my love, like a unique diamond. Unbreakable and beautiful” his words made your heart flutter, it moved you almost to tears, “How we’ll, uhm…you know” given his size you had serious doubts about your survivance if he penetrated you. He read through your nervousness, then said, “Don’t worry about me, your satisfaction is my pleasure, I’ll cum whenever you do” again, his words were the very cause of your arousal. “Is it okay if I want to discard the bodice? I’d like to see you” you were scared, he saw it in your slopy hands and wobbly legs, “I’ll do it first, if that’s alright” after you allowed him, he set you on the bed and stripped off his armor and undergarments in a funny fashion, to help ease the moment.

“Like what you see?” he caught you staring, “You’re astounding, marvelous” his heart pounded so hard in his chest, he heard it in his head. “Come here darling, leave the lace, I would hate to mess it up” care, he cared, or he probably saw how confident and sexy you felt in it.

“We’ll do something okay? I’ll use my hands and my tongue only. You tell me if you don’t like it. Don’t forget you are the one in control, I won’t cross the line if you don’t tell me to” he assured, part of the whole meaning of the situation was to make you feel heard, loved, respected and sexy.

So far he was nailing it.

He asked you to lay on your back, flat on his palm, then he begin to draw you closer to his face. A few kisses on your tummy, to start slow, then up to your face and neck, his hot minted breath making your nerves tingle. He tried not to mind the scar, but it was part of who you are, so instead of avoiding it he licked the whole red road up to your neck, making you squirm and whimper.

He tried looking into your eyes, but they were covered by your hands, “It's ok darling, you can let out whatever sounds you want. Mewl, whimper, whine, moan, whatever feels most natural” you slowly revealed your face to him, “There’s my little love” he smiled, his voice holding so much adoration it felt unreal.

“Y/n” he took one of your breasts in his mouth and began to suck gently, “Loki!” his eyes shot to your face, to make sure he didn’t hurt you, and it made his cock leak out that you shouted his name because of pleasure.

He continued on the other breast, flicking his tongue on your nipples from time to time, only to hear you moan. Then, what made him grin like the happiest man in the universe, he felt something wet on his skin, “My love, do you need my assistance elsewhere?” he eyed your dripping core with affection, feeling fascinated on the effect he had in you, even more when you shyly nodded.

“I need you to say it, my petite princess” he caressed your face tenderly.

“I need your mouth on my pussy, okay?!” you shouted, quickly slapping your hands over your mouth, “No need to be nervous love, I got you, I made the room soundproof, only I can hear you, and I would never laugh or judge you” he lowered his mouth to the main point, leaving a trail of kisses as he did.

Closing your eyes, you prepared yourself to the feeling of his tongue on your skin, but a blow of hot air met your sensitive skin instead, “Don’t tease me” you cried out, before gasping as he pressed his tongue up your slick folds.

"You’re doing so well sweetheart" he purred looking up at you with lust. He saw you struggling to process what was happening, so he helped you clear your mind a little, to make you concentrate only in the moment, "Good girl, that's it, just let me support you" you arched your back, pressing your pelvis against his lips, “I’m…Loki, I’m close!” he smiled, your increasing moans encouraged him to suck harder on your clit, making your orgasm hit you like a lightning blast. “You did so well sweetheart" he took all your juices in a long lick before he spoke. Just when he was savoring your orgasm, he moved his hand away to take a look at you, all sweaty and whimpering, flushed, gasping for air.

You were a true sight to admire.

He lay you down on the bed, being careful of your limping body. “You’re so soft, I love your warmth” he sighed, softly smushing your body against his face. “Uhm, Loki?” he lifted his face to look at you, thinking he had hurt you, but you pointed to his still erected cock, to which he let out a chuckle, "It's sweet of you to care about my happiness my love, but I'll quite enjoy holding you, tasting you and hearing all the lovely sounds you'll make".

He pumped his dick a few times, lowered his face back to your breasts, and while he sucked and bit gently your skin, making you moan, his tongue found your entrance in no time, the slimy muscle entering you rapidly. Your reactions and your tugs at his hair exited him to the very climax. His skin was on fire, his voice ran free, so not only you were enjoying the attention back to your core, but his moans also made your walls clench around his tongue.

“Loki, I can’t anymore” you gasped, arching your back almost standing up if it wasn’t for his face holding you down. “Yes, you can, my princess. Just let go, let me drink you dry” he shoved his tongue back inside you, the chock hit you hard, it made your legs tremble, and your walls trap his tongue.

He came just a few seconds after you, making a mess on his chest and his own hand. “You did amazingly my love” he kissed you lightly on your face. You made grabby hands at him, he supposed that you wanted to be held, but he was tired, and you had no strength left, so he scooped you up.

He let you sleep on top of him, halfway covered with the sheets of the bed, “I’m so proud of you Y/n”, you murmured something he couldn’t understand, but you smiled, “You did so good, perfect my love” you hugged his smooth chest, it was so soft and warm.

“I love you” he whispered, “I love you too” even in your drunken-sex state, you could hear his heart accelerating at your words. You're everything to him, and he’s everything to you. He chased your ghosts away, and you will be forever grateful for that.

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voldkat · 1 month

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thinking about iterators ( again )

i have so many thoughts about iterators every day it's actually insane . i'm going to be dumping today's thoughts here

do you think the iterators do anything other than iterate ? i feel like some of them , after being abandoned by the ancients , would have hobbies of some sort . it seems hard to have hobbies when you're a stationary supercomputer megastructure though

does rain world technology work similarly to ours ? could an iterator string data together in specific ways to create things ? could they draw like that ? could they make music like that ? could iterators be capable of art , and would they be able to share it ?

they're able to create purposed organisms , and we know of at least one iterator who doesn't take their intended job very seriously ( nsh ) , so iterators coming together to make art is not too farfetched . it'd shouldn't be hard for them to compose songs , write literature , make drawings , etc. and it's kind of beautiful in a way

if they could draw , do you think they'd make pixel art ? art with equations like pieces made using desmos graphing calculator ? vector graphics ? it doesn't seem likely that they'd draw like we do , unless they somehow manage to code up an art program for themselves ( if that's even possible )

here comes the self indulgent bit . and the original thought that sprouted this train of thinking . if they could make music , do you think it'd be chiptune-esque ? 8-bit ? maybe something like gameboy music . maybe something like chipzel , danimal cannon , zef , fearofdark ... theoretically they should be able to produce any kind of music they want , but i wanna lean towards this just because

if you can't tell i'm listening to that kind of music right now . specifically this cover of rolling down the street in my katamari . i don't know the proper terminology for this kind of stuff , but seeing the waves on the side ... watching the notes flow on the midi display thing ... it's so mesmerizing . i can't help but think iterators would make stuff like this if they could

my brain's empty now but i might reblog with more if i think of it . feel free to add onto this with literally anything i'd LOVE to hear people's thoughts on this

#🌟 // brainrots #🌧 // rain world #rain world #rain world iterator #rw iterator #this ramble was brought to you by #drumroll please #a nsh kinnie who draws and kinda wants to be an indie musician #this entire post is so self indulgent actually #☄️ :: carnage

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mlwritingprompts · 2 years

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Submitted prompt: Bunny Redesign

Whenever the bunny miraculous changes ownership, or just generally exists, there's the "Just use the Bunny miraculous and you'll win." And they're right. At least now without any obvious restriction, time travel is OP. In every show that's not about Time travel, time travel without obvious restrictions or dangers will always be OP.

So my prompt is for you to redesign the concept of a time traveling Miraculous. Add restrictions so that it's not the "do all end all" it currently is.

And maybe restrictions do exist. Marinette did say time travel never works well and I don't think she got that just by watching movies. She trains [speech to text error I assume: of the body] Miraculous maybe she knows what the consequences of misusing it are and follows them strictly.

In general, I would only use Strike Back as a good place to draw about the ability of the bunny Miraculous. Time Tagger is a little weird because different ways of time travel can interact and change each other. And Chat Blanc is just in a completely different timeline than our show timeline.

I already have my own ideas of restrictions and consequences but I want to hear other opinions.

Those restrictions do not have to apply when Fluff is using Zef powers. Only when a holder does.

Also. Write about Gabriel going back in time not being aware of the restrictions. And than suffering great consequences.

Some neopronouns Fluff can use are: Zy/Zev/Zef/Zife/Zevself

Original tags are left here:

#I super casually gave fluff the same neopronouns I gave Rikki #Ml #Miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #ml season 4 spoilers #ml season 4 #strike back #Strike Back spoilers #Marinette dupain Cheng #Gabriel agreste #ML writing prompts #Miraculous Ladybug #Bunny Miraculous #Rabbit Miraculous #ML writers salt #because it is. they suck at this. so much.#Show!Miraculous #Show!Marinette #Show!Adrien

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animaniacsshitlist · 3 years

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ANIMANIACS SHITLIST: VERSION 1

TW// mentions of in*est, r*pe, NSFW content for underage characters, p*edophilia. These words will not be censored after this

ACTIVE USERS

UnknownWarner [ao3, fanfiction.net] (doesn't write but does read and support warnercest, rape/noncon, and underage)

CanIPayYouInGay [ao3] (doesn't write but does read and support warnercest, rape/noncon, and underage)

jadencross/A Single Piece Of Cilantro#9368 [ao3, discord] (negatively talked about the fic The Tallest Tower by ao3 user SallyLovette, a fic in which includes a paedophilc relationship, rape, and implied future incestuous sexual assault, and despite jadencross seemingly condemning the fic, they have given it kudos, which to me is enough evidence they should be avoided)

SallyLovette [ao3] (author of The Tallest Tower, details above in previous person)

ToonAuthor [ao3] (writes warnercest (and honestly one of their fics seem really racist too))

yakyak7621 [ao3] (writes warnercest)

Kyuuchan [ao3] (writes warnercest and underage fics)

peachyysweetz [ao3] (writes warnercest and underage fics)

Childishtoon [ao3] (writes warnercest)

benwapiro [ao3] (writes underage fics)

KouUsagi/KouUsagiAO3/KouUsagi2[ao3, fanfiction.net, Twitter] (wrote warnercest and rape/noncon fics)

toonphile [ao3] (writes warnercest and underage)

Honeydark [ao3] (writes warnercest, rape/noncon, and underage)

coinyfucker [ao3] (writes warnercest)

yakmyheadoff (Toon_Sluts) [ao3] (writes underage and warnercest)

ShtankyBoi4Lyfe [ao3] (writes warnercest, rape/noncon and underage)

PrincessFreak [ao3] (writes warnercest, rape/noncon, and underage)

ShotaInjection [ao3] (writes warnercest and underage)

asexuelf [Tumblr, ao3] (ships warnercest, is a pro shipper)

horribleart789 [Tumblr] (ships warnercest)

maxgoof-theproshipper [Tumblr] (ships warnercest, is a pro shipper)

loudhousecomicsandtales [Tumblr] (doesn't ship warnercest, but publicly supports it and incest)

god-of-magic [Tumblr] (ships warnercest)

marie-zef [Tumblr] (seems to be okay with the sexualisation of minors, not sure if warnercest shipper)

theangeliacuteyone [Tumblr] (warnercest shipper, also used the r slur)

toontownwarner/Brainsister [Tumblr, Twitter, ao3] (ships/draws warnercest)

toonsandtunes [Tumblr] (proshipper and self proclaimed Yakko simp, also just an asshole who probably thought I wouldn't see their post about me)

brainsister [Twitter] (draws NSFW of the Warners)

sidewalkzoot [ao3] (writes underage fics)

horribleart789 [Tumblr] (ships warnercest)

anniemae04 [Twitter] (interacts with (maybe also creates) NSFW of the Warners, also seems to interact with a lot of people from this list)

drawbauchery/shadowpiratemonkey7 [Tumblr] (proshipper)

wakkotrash [Twitter] (ships warnercest)

DanTheToonMan (suspected predator, also just a Blue Lives Matter trumpie so a racist too)

warner-squick (obviously a proshipper, like I just found them cause they mentioned me in a post like y'all its not my fault your parents don't love you and you're fucking gross god get a life that doesn't have paedophilic shit in it)

INACTIVE USERS

headcanon.master [fanfiction.net] (wrote warnercest)

shad0w0lf [fanfiction.net] (wrote underage rape/noncon)

L1za4d12 [fanfiction.net] (wrote a NSFW Wakko fic, not sure if he was left underage or not)

Wikitiki [ao3] (wrote warnercest)

Nonya B. Swackz [fanfiction.net] (wrote warnercest and underage)

PsychoticFanBitch [fanfiction.net] (wrote warnercest)

King_Wakko0 [Twitter] (groomed people, ships warnercest, is a paedophile, will likely come back)

#animaniacs shitlist #animaniacs #tw paedophilia #tw rape #tw incest #tw warnercest #warnercest #you sick fucks drived me to make this blog so I will in fact use your sick fucking tag so you will see this

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rinnysega · 4 years

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New Years Party: A Simpsona Fic

Just a little warm up this morning featuring some Simpsonas and OCs!

Here’s the story of how my sona Erin meets Irene (c) @purplepolarbear Zef and Jaap (c) @purplepolarbear Jane (c) @mimifoxarts It’s my first time writing for this group, so consider it one of many!

Attending a New Years Party wasn’t exactly something Erin wanted to do that year. She already had a busy holiday season as it was with the arrival of the twins earlier that year, and her house was still a mess with the new baby toys, Christmas decorations and other clutter still hanging about. She swore to herself she’d get to it before the new year, but between the exhaustion of two newborns, a six-year old, and Agnes Skinner’s constant nagging criticizing of how she was raising her grandkids, everything just sort of fell to the wayside. She had too much to do, but she couldn’t exactly turn down the invitation from Fat Tony to attend a celebration at his mansion - especially since he wanted her to come back as one of his nighttime entertainers. For old times sake, he kept repeating in the card.

These days, her singing was more lullabies in a rocking chair than ballads on a speakeasy mic, but Seymour kept insisting she go and take a break from everything if she wanted to let her hair down for a night. She was hesitant about it, but between his assurance that he could handle the kids on his own, and the fact she was getting paid quite a hefty lot to go back and sing for Fat Tony and his associates, well, she felt she didn’t have much choice.

Although her old dresses were certainly snug now, so that was great.

It was almost midnight now, and so the jazz band replaced her on stage to finish out the last of the year. She sat alone at the open bar, a long coat covering her dress while she scrolled through her phone for any text messages from Seymour. All she received was a picture of Scottie eating leftovers in her new unicorn pajamas and a picture of both babies asleep in bed with Seymour reaching out to give a thumbs up in the photo. While she typed back to him, the seat next to her was taken by a young woman Erin hadn’t seen before - not around this group anyway. She arrived with two older men, both with graying hair but with vigorous youth in their steps. They left pretty quickly though after getting their drinks - back to mingling with the crowd where one of them put an arm around the shoulders of a young, blue-haired woman Erin knew to be Jane. Legs often talked about her when they ran into each other and caught up.

Erin went back to her phone, but she caught sight of the woman looking over at her, and she turned her head. “Hey!” her voice was loud for it to be just her she was talking to, but then again the band was getting into full swing. “You were real good tonight.”

“Oh, thank you,” Erin said, raising her voice a bit over the instruments.

“Are you new?” she shouted.

“What?” she shouted back. The woman leaned in further.

“I said are you new here?”

“Oh! No!...Well, kind of!” Thank God, the band was transitioning to a new song with less trumpets. She lowered her voice. “I used to sing like...seven or eight years ago I think. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around most of these people.”

“I get that. I know maybe a dozen of them too.” The drink she ordered arrived, and she plucked out the cherry to take a full swing before popping it in her mouth.

“Do you know Jane?”

“Yeah, I know her. Why?”

“No reason. I just saw the guys you were with going to talk to her, so I figured you knew each other. I don’t know her myself, but I know of her.” That seemed to be the only connection she had to go on to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, she’s with that guy Zef who’s brothers with my guy, Jaap” She motioned over to them with her glass to give Erin the clear picture. “I’m Irene by the way.” She held out her hand.

“Erin.” She reached over and shook hands, delighted to meet someone so friendly. Not the usual kind of person she was used to meeting at these kinds of soirees.

“Are you here with anyone?” she asked.

“Nah, strictly business tonight, but I do have a boyfriend back home.” She opened up the photos again on her phone and scrolled for the most recent one with Seymour. One of him on the floor while the twins crawled all over him. “And we just had these two little bugs.” She held her phone out to show her.

“How cute!” She leaned in to get a better look. “I see you two have an age gap too.”

“Oh yeah.” She rolled her eyes and put her phone down. “I’m sure you know exactly what I go through.”

“With his sister.” She was giggling about it, but that could just be the alcohol setting in. Erin had no idea how much she had to drink before she joined her. “She’s always bringing it up that he’s going to all of a sudden get too old and die and leave me a widow for thirty years.”

“That’s me with his mother.” She too was giggling about it as she took another drink.

“Eh, to hell with it.” She waved her hand in the air as if to brush aside the topic. “To silver foxes.” She raised her glass up and Erin clinked hers against it.

As if that were a summoning, Jaap appeared again beside Irene and whispered something in her ear. Erin checked her phone and it was already 11:58.

Irene got up from her seat, and turned back to her. “Countdown, do you wanna come?”

“Sure!” Erin finished her drink and set it back on the bar before grabbing her phone and walking over with the two of them toward the large crowd of people.

New friends were always a great way to ring in a new year.

#simpsons fic #erin simpsona #irene oc #purplepolarbear

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i-am-a-fan-of-empty-spaces · 4 years

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the visual novel will be called Worlds and it’ll be about all these worlds where the cat and the ferret travel down highways, and through fields at dawn, sleep in boxcars going through mountain forests, wander into empty museums at night, pack at 5 a.m. in hotels ov erlooking eastern european technoccult refinery cities on nights before they split up, and always they find themselves in these liminal moments in their lives when they suddenly become acutely aware--and grateful--of the suffocating deadness and singular momentum of their worlds that makes them feel so safe, makes them feel like they never really left god's womb, no matter how tragic and doomed their fates are. they wonder in these moments about what a world might be like without this quality, maybe a world that god gave birth to and left, an island in the darkness, where there is a complete lack of momentum, a complete freedom to every movement so you would never know where to put your hands. right now zef 28 years old is exhausted and gross, alone in his parent's house in such a world, unable to move from his bed, teeth clenched, nails dug into skin, and htere is nothing romantic about this, there is no story, just a blind animal desire to yell about it very loud and annoying at anyone who will listen, about how unending these flashbacks are about everything bad he has ever done, and in a few hours it will go away anyway, and he will fall asleep, and in a day it will come back after he forgets to eat. and zef wishes for his feelings and life to be made beautiful even as he understands that only dead things can be beautiful; he longs for that tomblike warmth the ferret and cat exist in. it is so fucking hard to write this. it is so fucking hard to write. i am so itchy and tired. my entire body is itchy with humidity, my mind filled with static electricity i cannot think. the ferret and cat, in any case, still, wonder if it wouldn't be disrespectful to envy that world a little, if there might be something so grave and real and unmoored in a world like that, something so exciting. they imagine those moments of unexpected intensity their selves must experience in those worlds, like a boxer catching one punch after another, in pitch darkness, joy, loneliness, love, boredom, boredom, boredom, hunger, at the end of which they punchdrunk might feel a sense of having lived through something so--chaotic, leading up to an indescribable gestalt of nothing, a "hell of a ride". in this world god forgot, every moment is unjustified, stands for exactly what it is, and they think this might be something very impressive in its own way. so the ferret and cat talk about this all morning in a sunny bus station in southern taiwan, surrounded by their luggage, over a brekfast of carrot cakes. as the bus pulls into the station, they think, probably this would be too terrifying for either of them, but they wish they could in some way cheer those selves stuck in those worlds on. then there is a scene where i am yelling at my parents and daring them to kick me out and my mom is crying, and then i am apologizing.

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nicmusing · 2 years

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might fuck around and write some sad solo shit tonight and/or tomorrow. could not be in a better mood to further indulge myself in pain. maybe some taka or zef loneliness while they on drugs.

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feywildatheart · 6 years

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Nenîth,

We’ve had a fairly quiet week — well, a mostly quiet week — and I was hoping that having this time might help me get my head around things better, but honestly I think it’s just made it worse.

After that terrible conversation about Mezeru, the topic thankfully turned to other things, and Elyn suggested we might want to stop holding our cards quite so close to our chest and think about trusting someone with the information of what we’ve been doing here and what we hope to do still, and we agreed that Tirine Larchbright was a good choice, and so Pika led us to his home without even stopping to send him a message to see if he was home, or if he was open to unexpected visitors.

Thankfully, he was — the first, at least, and if not the second, then he covered it well. We asked if he might have access to court records, so we could try to prove that Dehi had been falsifying them. He said he could try, though he seemed to be trying to make sure we didn’t get our hopes too high about that, so I’m not sure if anything will come of it. But he also said that he and Thistle and Hagi had noticed a pattern in the papers we’d given them, that we’d stolen from Paha Qasri’s warehouse. It was just a pattern, a suggestion, not proof and he said that if he had more documents it might help him fill the picture in better, and we discussed the possibility of trying to get back into the warehouse but I think we were all understandably nervous about that prospect. Paha Qasri may have been hopelessly inept about security, but even he couldn’t possibly fail to tighten it up after a break-in like ours, right? And it’s been a few days anyway, surely he would have moved anything incriminating by now. Right?

We went back to the Court of Flowers to talk through our options, and to fret if I’m honest, because we didn’t really have much in the way of good ones. And then we got a message from Snapdragon that Pika’s son’s nursemaid would speak with us, which derailed us from that line of consideration quite neatly, and threw us right onto a new one. And so we arranged that, with Pika’s consent if not quite blessing, and while we waited for the agreed-upon day and time, I took myself off to see Daisy and ask if she might direct me towards the sort of craftsmen who might work in such fine fabrics, and who might be commissioned to make goods for such aristocratic households. She requested a moment and conferred with a friend of hers named Petunia, who made an introduction and gave her the name and address of a weaver that does business with the wealthy and elite, and so we went there and met a very kind Gnomish woman named Ah’siya who showed me about her shop and asked what I was looking for, and when I explained that I was interested in purchasing a loom, she contacted her brother-in-law, who’d made the looms that she uses there, and he came to meet with me.

They were both very kind and very patient with me, in explaining both the art and the technology so I might better understand and articulate what I was looking for. And in the end, Zef agreed to bring some looms by the Court that he thought matched what I was seeking, and named a price that would’ve made me deflate a few months ago, but we can afford it easily now, especially after the generosity of the Fesdis.

We agreed that he would bring them by in a few days’ time, and I purchased a few yards of a lovely light sunrise-colored fabric from Ah’siya to thank her for her time, and then returned to the Court to confer with the others and make sure they wouldn’t mind such a purchase. And lest you start to think that a few weeks in fancy society has completely changed me, let me reassure you that the loom isn’t meant for me. You may recall, perhaps, me writing you when we were back on Nosirion-1, about Niko, the paladin we met (the one who nearly struck me with a halberd to the face, I’m sure you remember that part) who was a weaver back on her home plane, but who’d had to flee with only a backstrap loom to continue to practice her art. She was quite innovative with the art back on her own plane too, it sounded like, and so I saw those lovely sheer curtains and remembered the incredibly scarf that she’d showed us, that she’d made herself, and thought that while it couldn’t replace her own looms that she’d left behind, perhaps it might give her a start here, or at least something bigger and with more utility than a backstrap loom to resume practicing her art. I made sure to explain to Zef, when he was asking what I was looking for, that I wanted something that had the ability to be customized, so she might continue her innovations if she wished it, and sent a letter off to Alorvin too, to make sure that such a gift wouldn’t be taken amiss.

With that done, and with Elyn and Pika in agreement that it was a fine way to spend some of this gold we’ve earned (though Elyn quite sensibly cautioned that we’d want to make sure we were able to ship it anonymously), we didn’t have too much longer to wait before we met with the nursemaid who’s been caring for Pika’s child while she’s been unable and Dehi’s been unwilling.

She clearly loves him, which I think was a relief to all of us, and says that he’s a bright and clever child but a lonely one. She said he cares for his father the way that children do for a distant parent, which made Pika tense up as though the woman had drawn a weapon on her, but without the history and betrayal that Pika has suffered clouding my eyes, I think I can see that. Children want to love their parents, and be loved, and I could see how a distant but not outright abusive one might just make that yearning stronger. Of course we all understand that neglecting him is just as damaging an abuse as if Dehi had raised a hand to him, maybe more so, but he’s a child, and he lost his mother. Of course he wants his father’s love.

The nursemaid also said that she’s told the boy, when he’s asked, that she’s looking over him until his mother can return to him, which I think made us all have to take a moment to wipe a tear from our eyes. She’s also concerned about what we intend to do with him once Pika’s regained custody, and I’d say she’s well within her rights to. We’ve certainly done little to demonstrate any sort of stability for a growing child, what with our running around trying to destabilize corrupt judicial systems and everything. But Pika said that her mother would care for him, and Elyn seemed to mull the question over long after we left, and the fact that we didn’t immediately dismiss her concern seemed to mostly satisfy her that we were taking it seriously and not planning to just set the boy up in a room on a ship and go galavanting about the universe with him in tow.

All in all, I’d say it was a very beneficial meeting, if an emotionally wrought one, and it left us all rather drained by the time we returned to our rooms at the Court. None of us seemed to feel up to doing much of anything more than we already had, and so it wasn’t until the next day that we went to see Thistle and Hagi again, and see if they’d learned anything more from those documents.

They gave us a few names that they said were implicated by the contents of the boxes, including Paha Qasri’s cousin — a different cousin than the one who’s the head of the family — and a member of the Dehi family, though not Alban, as well as a few others. They said, too, that more files would be helpful to them in helping to get a better sense of what’s been happening and who’s involved, and so with some trepidation, we decided to disguise ourselves again — differently, and including me, this time — and go have lunch in the industrial district where we might once again spy on the warehouse unnoticed and see if we could determine if Paha Qasri had increased the security, or abandoned it, or what.

I started to smell smoke on the air as we neared the industrial district, and at first thought little of it. People make fires for warmth or cooking all the time, after all. But it got stronger as we got closer, and the dread sitting in my stomach got heavier, until we turned onto the street where the warehouse and the pub both were — or had been, because we found ourselves staring at only a smoldering pile of burnt-down rubble where the warehouse had been.

We stood as a unit and stared at it in shock for a moment, and I’m sure I muttered some sort of oath, before Pika gave both Elyn and I sharp looks and we remembered where we were, and we made a bit of a show of lamenting the fact that we weren’t going to be able to get lunch at our favorite pub after all, and oh well, since we’re here we might as well find someplace else close by, hadn’t we. And so we found such a place and got food and ate and tried not to show what a blow we’d just been struck, and despite our disguises on our way out we were stopped by a red-haired dwarven man who introduced himself as Dune, and said he works for Lady Qasri, and that she wanted to speak with us, which I’m sure you can imagine had all of us startled and nervous and on-edge.

We warily questioned him a bit more, and relaxed a little (though not entirely) when he said that Lord Fesdi had suggested that she have a conversation with us. Elyn suggested we find somewhere semi-public to meet, and Dune gave her a card with contact information and some sort of tamper-evident security that marked us as invited guests (I don’t quite understand how that all worked, but Elyn seemed fairly impressed by it all), and said that we could meet with her at her residence or at the Court of Flowers, at our preference. Elyn refrained from committing one way or another and said that we’d be in touch, and so Dune took his leave, and left us more than a little rattled by the whole exchange.

We went back to the Court of Flowers to discuss our options. Pika seemed reassured by the business card, but Elyn seemed as nervous as I about the whole prospect. Dinain Heru had said that she didn’t think it likely that Lady Qasri had been involved in the theft of the Fesdi’s necklace, but I don’t think either of us were entirely comfortable gambling our lives on that.

We decided to meet with Lady Qasri at her compound, just in case there was going to be trouble, since we didn’t want to bring any of it to the Court of Flowers. Or, any more of it than we already have. And we also took some precautions, just in case this all went terribly wrong. Elyn made sure that people knew where we were going and who we were meeting with and when we ought to return, and I wrote up everything we’d learned so far and set it on a delay to send to Athan, so that if the worst happened and we didn’t come back, not only would someone know where we’d been but someone would know what we’ve spent all this time and effort learning, too. And someone off-planet, to boot, because after all the intrigue and subterfuge we’ve discovered running through the city, I didn’t trust just sending it to one of our friends here in Mashoy. If harm were to befall us because of all this, what was to stop the person responsible for it from doing the same to whoever we told? So I set my LICD to send what we’d learned to the other side of the galaxy if I didn’t return in time to cancel it, and I made sure to leave my LICD behind and tuck it somewhere hidden in my room, just in case someone came looking for it. And just for good measure, I strapped my dagger to my thigh as well, since we were dressing up as nice as we were able to meet with nobility, and Elyn and I both made a point of wearing our scarves with the embroidery that marked us as under the protection of the Court of Flowers, and we left to go meet with Fusaha Qasri.

It was as lovely a compound as the Fesdis had been, and as impressive, and we were led into a receiving room where Lady Qasri was waiting for us. I let Elyn do most of the talking for us, since she’s far better at it than I am and far more willing to do it than Pika. Fusaha asked us — asked Elyn, really — a little about breaking into Paha Qasri’s warehouse, and said that she wanted to hire us to find out exactly what her cousin was up to, and who might have been behind it. She said what we’ve already pretty well figured out for ourselves, that Paha isn’t exactly the sharpest arrow in the quiver, and that she doubted he’d been the one to make the plan, even if he’d been the one to carry out the theft. Elyn said that, with the warehouse and no doubt its contents burned down, we’d lost our best chance of learning more, but that we’d tell her more if we learned anything. She also said that while the matter of the necklace and the theft was entirely the business of her family and the Fesdi’s, that the matter of the documents was going to come to light eventually, and we couldn’t make any promises about what would be found there. She seemed to understand and accept that, though when Elyn mentioned that her other cousin also seemed to be implicated along with Paha, she was understandably incensed, and seemed to intend to follow up on that once she’d finished speaking with us.

She also said that when she’d learned of what Paha had done, she’d had him confined on the family estate and his rooms searched, and that sh’d turned up a few more boxes of documents that he’d had stored there, which she was willing to give to us to help us prove that she’d had no part in her cousins’ plotting. Elyn very diplomatically told her that we couldn’t make any promises about what sort of information we’d turn up in the documents but that we’d speak on her behalf that she’d handed the documents over to us freely and willingly. She seemed to accept that, so I put the boxes into my bag of holding, and we were dismissed shortly after that and returned to the Court of Flowers, where we handed the boxes off to Thistle and Hagi, and went back to our rooms, to reassure people that we had returned and to cancel certain messages that had been scheduled to send, and to discuss our next steps, because while we’d been with Thistle and Hagi, they’d mentioned a party coming up in the next week, where some of the people implicated in the documents might be, and where we might be able to hopefully gain a little bit more information or insight into what’s going on, as members of the Court of Flowers (or visiting bards, in Elyn’s case) who are strangers to the city and aren’t known to have any sort of political leanings one way or another.

It seems we managed to garner the invitation to this party because Bird-of-Paradise will be escorting an invited guest there, and mentioned that Lady Daffodil was in town, with an apprentice, and also mentioned Elyn as an adventuring bard who might surely be an entertaining guest, and apparently Surya Fesdi put in a good word that greased the wheels as well. And so, we had a week to prepare for the rather terrifying prospect of this party, and Elyn decided rather quickly that she would be bringing her gloves, ostensibly so she could perform should any of the other guests ask her to, but also so she can conveniently forget to turn the recording off and document anything we overhear that might be incriminating.

Elyn told me I should just dance and smile and let my dance partners talk while I keep quiet, which I think sounds fine in theory but, if that last party was any indication, is going to prove a lot more challenging in practice. She also said that I was a good dancer but didn’t seem to consider the fact that the only dances she’s seen me do were Feywild dances, and I can’t imagine they’re going to do many of those in a fancy aristocratic Mashoy party. And so I took off to Daisy to ask her for instruction on Mashoy dances, and Elyn came with me to learn as well, and Daisy recruited Petunia for assistance, and also Mezeru, because of course she did. I almost have to wonder if Elyn or Pika put her up to it, just to prove their point.

It was excruciating, and not just because Elyn immediately claimed Petunia for her dance partner and left me with Mezeru, trying to figure out how to dance with him without swallowing my tongue or tripping over my feet — or his! — or blushing so furiously that I just combusted from it all.

I didn’t actually manage to not trip. I was concentrating very hard, but the steps are so complex, and I went left when I should have gone right and crashed into Mezeru and the two of us collided with Elyn and Petunia and we all went down in the most graceless tangle of limbs that I think the Court of Flowers has probably ever seen. We only injured our dignity, between the four of us, but even so. We spent the rest of the afternoon practicing, and eventually I think we managed at least one passable set, or maybe Daisy just took pity on us and declared it good enough. But in any case, by then it seemed like all of our feet were aching and I just wanted to go lie down for a few minutes or maybe soak my feet in a nice warm bath, but as we were starting to limp off Mezeru asked if he could speak with me, and Elyn, the traitor, promptly whisked everyone else out of the room so I was left alone with him, wishing the desert would just open up beneath my feet and swallow me whole.

He said he hoped he hadn’t done or said something to make me uncomfortable, which was, honestly, terrible, because he wasn’t the one who said it, but it seemed pretty obvious that I had upset him, or at least worried him, even though I’ve been trying so hard to pretend that Elyn and Pika never had that conversation with me and it’s all still been just the same as it was before.

And then he said, oh, he said so many things. That he thought maybe the reason for my being at the Court of Flowers was very different from his, which made me fear for an awful few minutes that I’d managed to blow our cover here, and that he liked me but that didn’t have to mean anything and we could just be friends, and all I could do at that was stare at him and wail, “You mean they were right?” which, well, he took pretty admirably in stride, all things considered. He’s going to be a great courtesan someday.

And then we had the worst conversation of my entire life, because all I could really do was flail about how do you know if you like a person, and he seemed at a loss about that and said that he just looked at a person and thought ‘well, I wouldn’t mind kissing them’, but honestly, isn’t that a pretty low bar? Shouldn’t there be at least a little more enthusiasm for the prospect? I mean, obviously he can kiss whoever he wants for whatever reasons please him, but I’d hope that if someone were going to kiss me, they’d feel a little more enthusiasm for the prospect than just not minding it.

None of which really helps me figure out how to know if I might like a person. Mezeru’s head sounds like a very nice place to inhabit, like his heart just steps up to him and politely clears its throat and says, “Yes, good morning. Just wanted to let you know, we like this person,” and it’s all nice and neat and obvious. Sometimes trying to know what’s in my heart feels the way I did back before you both sat me down and made me study Sylvan properly, like my heart just runs up and chatters at me with these strange syllables I can’t even manage to shape my tongue around and I have no idea what it’s trying to tell me even though it seems like it’s important, and all I can do is try to make out the gist of it but in all honestly I’m probably dead wrong, and the whole exchange is bewildering and terrifying and makes me want to go running back to hide in the safety and comfort of your arms, darna.

I don’t know how anybody does this. How did you know you liked each other? That you loved each other? Were you both like Mezeru, and knew your own hearts and minds easily? Elyn and Pika both seem to think it should be easy, too. Maybe I’m just the strange one (it’s not like it would be the first time), but I just can’t comprehend how it comes so easily to so many people.

Anyway, the conversation was the most painful, difficult, awkward thing I’ve ever experienced, and only made all the worse because halfway through it Pika dropped down out of the room’s air vents where she’d clearly been listening in on us, right in between Mezeru and me, and I’m just resigned to it at this point but obviously he’s not, and she startled him so badly that he toppled backwards in his chair (he was being very conscientious about making sure he sat while we talked so he wasn’t looming over me, he really is going to be a great courtesan; at this point I’m amazed that I didn’t give us all away the minute I strode through the doors of the Court). I helped him get back to his feet and apologized for her, and he said she was terrifying, which rather made me want to hug him, because oh gods, do I know that feeling well.

We commiserated over how terrifying she is for a short while and didn’t resolve anything, really, but Mezeru said we were friends and I agreed, because we are, and maybe at least now he won’t think that he did something wrong, at least. And the minute we were done I went back to our rooms and grabbed Squirt and we went out for a very, very long walk through the city, because I was starting to feel the way cylla does when it rains for too many days in a row, like my skin was too tight and I was just going to have to crawl my way right out of it if I didn’t find some way of expending all the restless energy pent up inside me.

So we walked and walked and walked, and I cast speak with animals so that I could talk to him while we did so, because he’s always the best company, and I’ve yet to encounter anything that he couldn’t cheer me up from. By the time we got back, Pika and Elyn both seemed to have gone to bed, which was all for the best. I think if I’d had to talk to even one more person that day (other than Squirt, obviously), I probably would have just sat down and started screaming, or maybe crying.

The next day neither Pika or Elyn asked me about it, which was an unexpected blessing, and Elyn and I went off to commission some nice dresses, since our wardrobes are rather thin on fancy party gowns. I also took along the fabric that I’d bought at Ah’siya’s and worked with her on designing a long vest-like layering piece out of it that I think would pair as well with my armor as it would with Court attire, and then at Elyn’s request I showed her the way back to Ah’siya’s so that she could buy some fabric to send home to her parents.

I also met with Zef, the loom-maker, to look over the example looms he’d brought and decide on one that will, I hope, provide Niko with a good starting point if she wants to continue her weaving innovations here like she had been doing back home. He talked a lot about dents and heddles and all sorts of other things that make as much sense to me as Orcish might, even though I’m sure he was speaking Common. But I’d explained to him what I could of Niko’s art, and how she’d been innovating it, and how I wanted her to be able to continue to do that with this loom, and he seemed to understand what I was saying and seemed to feel that the loom I chose would do right by her, and so I paid him for it, and to ship it to her as well, and so someday, I suppose, that will reach her, though I haven’t the faintest idea how long it’s going to take, considering how far we’ve traveled from Nosirion-1.

We also learned, just today, that a diplomat that Itamu Nadit had mentioned was coming to Mashoy during our tour was publicly humiliated, presumably, according to our friends, by someone working for a noble house. I don’t know why anyone would care so much about making improvements to the city when it seems like most, if not all, would benefit, but I don’t understand half the things these nobles do or care about. But somebody must feel strongly, because we also learned that Itamu Nadit was nearly assassinated just yesterday, and I truly can’t fathom why someone would want to kill an engineer, but he did say during our tour that the current ruler of Mashoy had previously held the position that Itamu holds now, so perhaps it’s someone trying to clear the way for themselves as they climb up the ranks?

There’s a lot we don’t know, and that doesn’t make the prospect of tomorrow’s party sit any easier. But at least I can take comfort in the knowledge that, whatever happens, it can’t possibly be as excruciating as my conversation with Mezeru was.

I’ll write to you soon, and let you know how the party goes, and how many toes I manage to step on, and whether I manage to bowl the whole dance floor over the way I did the four of us during practice.

I’d like to see them try their hands at Feywild dances, just once. It’d serve them right if I snickered, too.

I love you both, and I hope the Feywild is being kind to you, or as kind as it can be.

All my love,

Maliah

#dnd #in character: letters #in character

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moonset13 · 2 years

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ok but a modern au where fenn and the vestige are in the car at sunset, and the radio is playing, and the song suddenly switches to “can you hold me” and then the vestige says that fenn can change it if he likes, but there is a moment’s pause and then fenn says that it’s fine, and they keep driving in silence because both the vestige and fenn think that they aren’t good enough for the other, and anyways now i might write something

#zef writes (maybe)#eso #elder scrolls online #fennorian #vestige #because why not™️#modern au #please i think i would simply die

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heavenbat · 6 years

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Hey so there’s a project I’ve been working on--or, really, a novel lol. Working on writing my own sci-fi book lmao. And because I need a visual for my characters (both for myself and so maybe I can eventually get commissions done of my nerds) I’ve been slowly working on refs for the main bunch of characters.

SO HERE THEY ARE LOL.

The ref of Zef is pretty rough, and needs to be updated (she needs new clothes too.......) but I need to finish other things first before I go back and re-do hers.

the Slahn (aka the species that Zef and Teivol are) are my own original alien species, while talirians (Donthar) are created jointly by me and @fouquesartcorner, and vitrians (Croi) are created solely by @fouquesartcorner. The characters, though, are solely mine :P

Maybe someday I’ll toss out more info about them, but for now I’m still mildly paranoid about people stealin my stuff so I’ll leave it at that for the time being. :P

#Bat Draws #aliens #ocs #man getting these done has been a Struggle #my wrist does not want me to draw

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absolutely-wretched · 6 years

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tagged by @motherofkittens94 thank you!!

10 song challenge

rules: write the first 10 songs that come up on shuffle (no skipping) and quote your favorite lyrics from each song, then tag 10 people.

1. Lazarus - David Bowie

This way or no way You know, I'll be free Just like that bluebird Now, ain't that just like me?

2. Under Pressure - David Bowie/Queen

Turned away from it all like a blind man Sat on a fence but it don't work Keep coming up with love but it's so slashed and torn Why - why - why?

3. No Rain - Blind Melon

And I don't understand why sleep all day And I start to complain that there's no rain And all I can do is read a book to stay awake And it rips my life away but it's a great escape

4. I Fink U Freeky - Die Antwoord

When I get home I lounge on my Zef throne Make my mummy happy cause I get so paid Making my money rapping over techno rave I can take you 'round the world, let's go babe

5. Moonlight Drive - The Doors

Let's swim to the moon, uh huh Let's climb through the tide Surrender to the waiting worlds That lap against our side

6. Something in the Way - Nirvana

And the animals I've trapped Have all become my pets And I'm living off of grass And the drippings from the ceiling But it's okay to eat fish 'Cause they don't have any feelings

7. Queen Bitch - David Bowie So I lay down a while and I gaze at my hotel wall Oh, the cot is so cold it don't feel like no bed at all Yeah, I lay down a while and I look at my hotel wall And he's down on the street, so I throw both his bags down the hall And I'm phoning a cab 'cause my stomach feels small There's a taste in my mouth and it's no taste at all It could have been me, oh yeah it could have been me Why didn't I say, why didn't I say, no, no, no

8. Can’t Stop - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Your image in the dictionary This life is more than ordinary Can I get two, maybe even three of these? Coming from space To teach you of the Pleiades Can't stop the spirits when they need you This life is more than just a read through

9. Changes - David Bowie

So I turned myself to face me But I've never caught a glimpse Of how the others must see the faker I'm much too fast to take that test

10. I wanna be the Boy to Warm Your Mother’s Heart - The White Stripes

Because I really don't want her to judge me I want her to really know who I am And then, and only then will she love me Well, at least that was the plan

i tag

@proskenion04 , @kimmycat14-blog , @themanwithakeyisking , @bluetheon , @blueagia , @robb-greyjoy , @himydepression , @waytoomuchhh

if you want :)

#jayy's shit #tag meme #music #same

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christinebloodwrittings · 2 years

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Hi there my mutual 💜💗 May I request of you a story where a female y/n gets hit with something during a fight that makes her just absolutely terrified of the people around her, the Avengers + Loki. She's whimper, cower, run away ect. And they have to chase her around the tower + try to convince her they aren't a threat to her.

You ask, I write! Thank you so much 💚💚💚

This one was a little tough to write tho jsjs.

*My requests are open*

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Summary: Loki usually doesn't like to have blood on his hands, but when it comes to you, he throws his rational thinking overboard.

Warnings: Blood, panic, injuries. Fluff.

Loki taglist: @lokisprettygirl22 @lucky-foxface @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @high-functioning-lokipath @thereadinggeek @el-zef @apine7 @beakami @lokiprompts @llaufeysondggerxx @ilovefanfictions

(Ignore Sylvie please)

Warming Embrace

For someone whose main skill was espionage, you had been very careless. A bad jump put you on the edge of a building and unfortunately the continuous hail of bullets shattered the sill, causing you to free fall onto the street. But you didn't feel the blow, so you assumed that your body protected you from the shock thanks to the adrenaline, in addition that you would notice the blood running down the back of your neck after the effect runs off.

Maybe that's how you managed to get back to the tower at all, seeing nothing but shapes and faint lights.

“Y/N?” a voice called you, have you heard it before? You saw a tall frame in front of you, so you backed up defensively, “Get away from me!” whoever it was tried to reach out for you, “Y/n please, what happened?” another voice called your name, “Get help she’s bleeding” there was far too many people n the room, well, shapes, out of instinct you dodged every single one of their attempts and succeeded to make your way into what you remembered to be a hallway, but to where?

The damn corridor seemed endless, but even disoriented, dizzy and very nervous, you kept running to hide behind the third door at the end of the corridor, the one that actually opened when you touched it. You closed the door hardly breathing, although feeling how your heart was perfectly out of control. Your hand placed on your chest wasn't exactly an improvement or even a temporary solution, but when your knees gave way the cold floor aroused your sensory nerves, at least you were aware of a familiar sensation, but the pain in your head was strongly present.

Not a few Avengers witnessed the screams and terror that Tony had the misfortune to see in you. Natasha was able to more or less identify the cause, or at least inferred it, she was the first to call the paramedics, however she stopped when Banner warned Loki of your condition, he ran down the hall as if the devil was chasing him.

He came raising smoke to your room but you were not there, a shrill cry gave him your location, the mere sight broke his heart in a thousand pieces.

Panic had taken over your body, you cried for not knowing what to do with yourself. because of this you touched the wound constantly, increasing the pain and your sobbing, in addition you vision was still blurred.

“Hey, hey, It’s ok, I’m Loki” You felt less threatened by the new presence, so much so that your voice immediately died down, still whimpering, “That’s it, let me help you love, I’m going to move your hand away from your wound” he gently lowered your hands off your head and motioned you forward into him, so your forehead would fall onto his shoulder gently.

One hand worked magically stitching up your wound, while the other rubbed your back, absorbing most of the pain.

“Must have been a hard blow, there’s things out of order here, allow me" his magic connected nerve after nerve, until everything clicked back to normal. “Loki?” you almost couldn’t believe it, your sense of smell came back, his cologne hit your brain like a spring breeze, refreshing and comfortable.

“Yes it’s me, don’t worry I won’t hurt you, but I need you to relax” his magic emitted cold waves that soothed the pulses that were hurting your head, his other hand still going up and down your back, “Loki, it…Hurts!” his heart shattered when your voice broke, “I know love, I’m trying to close it as fast as I can” you nuzzled your face into his neck further, your hands gripping the sides of his dress shirt.

“Shh, it’s okay, not much time now, it’s closing, hang on a little longer” he cooed, hearing a couple more whimpers before he closed the wound successfully. When the pressure of his magic was gone your body relaxed violently onto Loki, you were at the verge of passing out of relief, he noticed, acknowledging your state he took you off from the ground and into his arms, “Rest, just let go Y/n, you’re alright now” you drifted off on him, tightly hugging his neck, reason why he had you seated across his lap while he rested on the bed, his back leaning against the wall.

He didn’t minded the back pain, for as long as he had your body close, and he can hear your soft breathing, caress your hair, he memorized your perfume like the lyrics of his favorite song. You stirred on him, letting go of his neck to hug close his chest to your face, you were awake and craving physical love, that sleepy loving smile you gave him was clue enough.

He accommodated himself on the bed, pulling you to his chest on the way, “Thank you Lokes” you whispered, sneaking your hands around his waist, “My pleasure, my love” he kissed your forehead earning a happy giggle and three-hundred kitten kisses to his face, “No, seriously, thank you so much” you chirped, how happy he made you feel, your vision returned so you saw his grin grow and lighten up his face, “Funny you could reach my chambers before your own” what? You looked up and it indeed was his room, you ran blind there, must have been instinctive?

“I was out of my senses, maybe I tried every door and yours opened, coincidence only” fun fact, his doorknob was magically made, if you could open it, it was because he wanted to. “Were you looking for me, darling?” Were you? “Maybe? I don’t know, I’m glad you helped me though, it was really scary” with two fingers he brought your face closer to him and planted a kiss on your temple.

“What happened?” you nuzzled against his neck again, you remembered falling and half the trip back to the tower, so there was not much you could work with. “I hit my head on a mission, I fell” he tightening his grip on your waist, smiling in delight, on it he let a scoff slip, “What’s so funny?” you wondered a bit offended, “No, no” he alarmingly held you closer – if that was possible- trying to fix his mistake, “Sorry, the fact that you came back without your wires connected is not a matter of laugh, it’s true, but it gave me the opportunity to be like this with you” it was impossible not to smile at his charm.

His eyes wandered to his artwork with the stitching, and he started to question himself of how long would it hold, then his mind betrayed him with images of another hysteric panic attack, your blood staining the floor under you, and then… “How are you feeling, love?” his hands started trembling, you noticed, but made him believe you didn’t, “Much better, why? You gonna kick me out?” you sassed, drawing a smile on his face, “You’ll beg me to let you go” suppressed the thought of tickling you, but all he wanted was to keep seeing you smile.

“Dream on, you’re comfortable” he scoffed dramatically, “From prince, to king, to god, only to be used as a pillow” you giggled in response, “My best pillow”. You had missed his forest scent, as if he were a pine tree being embraced by a lavender vine. You had never seen him washing clothes, but his shirts were always clean, soft and aromatic, could it be a detergent? he is so warm, you knew his nature Jotnar, which surprised you, since he should be cold, but he is so warm and welcoming.

“Oh really?” he flipped you over, gently laying your head on the pillow, “Then, you’re mine too” he made sure you were okay, studying your face and body language, but as soon as you laughed and threw your arms around his neck, he relaxed.

“Whatever you say mischief” you taunted.

“Say it” he whispered with a smile, teasing eyes.

“I’m yours lokes” after a few laughs you admitted it, but you felt something off, he was constantly tensed, you noticed it in his jaw and the vein on his neck.

“You’re worried” his eyes wandered off yours, busted. “I’m here Loki, nothing happened to me thanks to you. Here, hear it” you sat up, pushed him backwards gently so you could sit on his lap, towering him a little, the extra height allowed you to pull his head gently against your chest, your heartbeat hammering against his ear.

Relief, that's what he felt in simple words. Being so close to your breasts, it seemed incredible to him that the last thing he thought was indecencies, he was going to fall asleep in fact, his eyes felt heavy, just knowing that you were fine and happy with him, took away all the anxiety on his body.

“See? I’m alive, I’m here, happily in your warming embrace” If it wasn't for your voice he would’ve drifted off, he only murmured against your neck an affirmative response, taking in your smell and how you reacted to him, goosebumps grew under his chin.

“I was scared, it won’t leave my head…the way you looked” you were scared yourself, but you couldn´t imagine how distressing it must have been for him.

“Loki” he looked up to you, his chin pressing against your breasts, “How about I ditch all my missions for this season? We go somewhere, anywhere, just you and me” he opened his eyes wide, as if he had heard you wrong, “What’s that about?” it was impossible for him to hold back his smile, even giggled a little.

“I’ve been away from you too long, and I feel…like I had enough of…” you pointed at your suit, “this” he understood, you weren’t exactly a couple, but you enjoyed each other, took care of each other, you were an unspoken relationship.

You weren't sure what you wanted from him... Until he was the first thing you saw when you came to your senses. “I want us…you and me…this” you pointed him and you, making allusion to your point, “First stop, Asgard, I want you to meet my mother” he was serious, so you knew he understood.

“Great! I would love to thank her... for you. Maybe after that, London?” he kissed you, his hands grasping your shoulder blades, “I will take you to the lakes of Vanaheim. Crystal clear waters and endless green forests, like something out of a fairy tale” he knew you liked them, so you planted a kiss on his lips, gently tugging at his raven locks.

After a while you broke the kiss, but you didn't take your forehead off hers, in fact, you gently held your head so it wouldn't move. Still with your eyes closed you murmured "Just you and me", your heart wanted to jump out of your chest when you heard him smile, his arms pressing your stomach to your chest.

“You and me, beautiful” he was truly happy.

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