#<- what all the first letters of every line spell out

[twospiritstooprideful]

Tricked I was tricked by you Tricked into loving you Tricked by your selfishness veiled as selflessness I wasted my effort Wasted my love On someone as selfish and stupid as you Tricked into caring about you Tricked by your unthought and uncare Tricked by the warmness you gave me I knew the risks You told me yourself And yet I wasted it all All on you.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Just Like Dad (1 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff, some humor, brief mention of pregnancy, canon-typical swearing, Simon is a girl dad

Word Count: 890

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Filling out a parent questionnaire leads to Simon having to answer a hard question.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad

“Daddy.”

 A small fist curls around the bottom of Simon’s shirt, tugging. He glances down, finding his daughter there holding out a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Simon takes it from her, his gaze shifting to the black ink.

“It’s for school.”

It’s a questionnaire. Simons scans over the questions quickly before returning his gaze to his daughter. “Give me a second, love.”

Simon packs up the files he brought home from work. Grabbing a pencil, he strolls out to the living room, his daughter on his heels. Simon takes a seat in the middle of the sofa, placing the paper and pencil on the coffee table. His daughter snags a pillow off the couch, dropping it on the floor next to his legs. Sitting, she stares at him expectantly.

Simon nods toward the paper. “You need to practice your letters.”

She groans. “But it’s about you!”

Simon slowly slides the paper and pencil over to her. She pouts but takes up the pencil, the graphite tip poised above the first line.

“Name,” she says, glancing up at him.

“You know my name.”

She squints at him and looks back at the paper, taking her time to write each letter. She holds it up and Simon smiles. It’s stilted and a bit sideways, but it’s there. She asks several more questions like favorite food and color. Simon doesn’t understand the point to it but they’re likely doing a project on a parent.

“Job,” she says, expectant.

Job. His occupation. That’s a fucking complicated question.

“Military,” he answers.

She frowns. “How do you spell that?”

“Sound it out.”

She does so slowly, elongating each letter as she writes.

Simon glances over her shoulder and chuckles. “That’s an ‘i,’ darling.” He points and she aggressively erases her mistake.

When she finishes, she looks up at him. “Explain.”

Explain. Explain.

Explain…what?

That he kills people? That he negotiates the release of hostages? That he faces violence every day he’s on the job? That he sees some of the worst in people?

How the bloody hell does he explain all that to a six-year-old girl? How does he summarize the violence into a watered-down version that’s digestible enough for her, her teacher, the other students, and her school.

Simon swallows. “I stop bad people from doing bad things.”

She blinks. “Do I have to write all that?”

Simon barks a laugh. “It’s one sentence.”

She silently mimics him, shaking her little body in annoyance as she begins to write. Simon has no idea where the attitude comes from, but it’s likely from Johnny.

“Next question,” prompts Simon once the sentence is written down.

She hesitates and then turns in his direction. “Can I be like you when I grow up?”

Could she? Yes. But the very idea of her in the line of danger frightens him. It twists his stomach, knowing all the things that could befall her if she were to follow in his footsteps. Simon’s gut-instinct is to tell her “No.”

“Why do you want to be like me?” he asks.

She shrugs. “You’re strong. I want to be strong like you.”

“You don’t need to do what I do to be strong.”

“Uh, no,” she says, matter-of-fact, peering at the next question.

Fucking hell, she’s going to be an absolute hellion when she hits puberty. Sighing, Simon rubs at his temple. For some reason, he glances away from his daughter, his gaze landing on you in the hallway. With your hand cradling your slightly swollen belly, you watch on with an amused expression.

Number two. Will this one be like her? Wanting to do what he does?

“Daddy.”

Simon turns back to his daughter. She points at the paper with the tip of her pencil, head tilted slightly to the side.

He leans forward. “What’s the next question?”

“What does your day look like?” She grins up at him, ready for his answer.

Simon hears your soft laugh from the hall, and then your footsteps across the carpet. Your hand reaches out to cradle the back of Simon’s neck. On instinct, he lifts his arm, resting his hand on the small of your back.

“Go on, Simon. Tell her,” you tease, knowing that he’s struggling to form an answer.

“Do you put your mask on first?” The question is innocent but Simon laughs anyway.

“No,” he chuckles, gently taking the paper and pencil from her. “I kiss your mother first.”

Simon drags you in for a kiss.

“Ugh. Gross.” She makes a face, tiny nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Still want my job?” Simon presents the paper and she snatches up in her little fist.

“No thanks,” she sing-songs, stuffing the paper in her backpack, crinkling it up.

You hide your grin in Simon’s shoulder, and Simon tugs you closer. “Good save,” you murmur.

Simon presses his lips to the top of your head. “She has one of my masks.”

“I know,” you giggle. “Found it under her pillow this morning. I put it in your bag.”

“Was it covered in your makeup this time?”

“Had to wash it.”

Simon shakes his head in exasperation. He’s not annoyed. Just perplexed. He doesn’t understand why his daughter wants to be just like him.

It’s because she doesn’t know.

No. She doesn’t know. But one day she will. She might even change her mind.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

[radio-fmm]

Dear Luffy

Luffy x fem!reader

2k words, sfw

Sanji finds out about your crush on Luffy, would he be able to keep the secret?

Masterlist | Pt. 2

Sanji’s heart dropped to the depths of his stomach as he stood still in the middle of your room, a piece of paper in his hands

Truth was he didn’t wanted to be in this position, as incriminating as it looked

You had lost your glasses that morning. You had been looking everywhere but to no avail, the task becoming quite difficult without them too. Of course Sanji being the gentleman he is, offered to help you look starting with your bedroom

Big mistake

His eyes bore at the letter in his hands that had wrinkled under his unrelenting hold. Luffy’s name spelled at the top with dear attached to it with your handwriting makes his eyes drop out of his skull

You like Luffy?

Of course you do, Sanji then recalls all those times you decided to stay up later to accompany him on his night watches so he ‘wouldn’t fall asleep’ face beaming. How you were always, without a doubt, the first to jump on his crazy ideas and adventures. All of the times he had catch you sneaking around the kitchen late at night, only to then find out that Luffy send you for snacks for him to eat knowing he wasn’t allowed. That look of adoration he’ll catch in your eyes when looking up at your Captain

It was unmistakable

“Sanji! I found them!” - Your voice echoed trough the hallway and the cook curses, without missing any more seconds he hides the letter on its rightful place under your pillow and drops to his knees, hopefully he’ll look as if he was innocently searching under your bed he didn’t

The sound of the doorknob followed by his name makes the blood rush to his ears, heart thrumming in his chest as he prays he can meet your eyes like a normal person, trying not to think about the huge secret he just read about

“Thank god my darling!” He gets up at the speed of light, he’s surprised he didn’t passed out from the harsh movement

Immediately you feel something is wrong

Sanji stands in the middle of your room, eyes darting in every direction, clammy hands fiddling with his cigarette, a nervous smile on his features

“Are you ok San-“

“Fantastic! Why wouldn’t I be?-“ Slowly and desperately, the blonde makes his way out of your room, fumbling every step and almost falling along with your dresser that was tucked on the corner of the place -“Anyway, I gotta go back to the kitchen, dinner won’t cook itself!”

Finally he reaches the handle and disappears, his heart pounding and mouth dry

“Nami was right, he’s kinda weird…”

Shit shit shit, he feelt dirty, invading a ladys privacy like that? Unforgivable. What panicked him the most tho, was not what he knew or how he found out, no no no

It was the fact that he knows he won’t be able to shut his mouth about it. Sanji is a bad liar, specially lying to beautiful ladies, and as it turns, there’s 2 very much noisy ladies aboard The Sunny

Shit

His mind in a reverie, shaky slender fingers scavenging for another cigarette as he made a bee-line to the kitchen

“Mr. cook” Robins calls, echoing trough Sanji’s head, a shiver running down his spine as he looks up to her, head resting on her palm, prying eyes examining his every move

“Oh! Tigress, didn’t see you there” he fakes a smile as better as he can, hoping she wouldn’t ask any questions

“Did y/n find her glasses?” There’s a squint, very small and almost undetectable when she mentions you, waiting for a reaction from the poor blonde cook

He sweats, heavily “Ah yes! She did” a painfully fake giggle scapes his mouth along with the smoke he was keeping in. They both stare at each other, as if waiting for someone to do or say anything… after a while Sanji excuses himself to the kitchen, knowing he’ll be safe once he steps in

Very loud, very incorrect buzzer

His relief is short lived as he enters the kitchen and he catches a glimpse of Nami. She was working on some maps, ponytail and glasses on sketching the day away. Sanji’s blood runs cold

You see, there’s a difference between being questioned by Robin and being questioned by Nami, the latter lacking as certain touch when it comes to her words… and being the queen of noisy

“Nami swan” he drags the last word as in disbelief, she has never in the time they had sailed, worked on her maps in any other place that isn’t her office

The navigator’s head snaps. Completely unaware of the panic petrifying him at the entrance “Oh hey Sanji! The sun hits the kitchen at this hour, better light” she points to her work before getting back to it

Surely he could make it right? Cook for the whole crew without spilling a syllable of what he had read, sounds easy enough

Again, very loud incorrect buzzer

“LUFFY?” Nami’s voice echoes trough the walls, her maps long forgotten as the poor poor cook stood mortified in front of the half cubed vegetables for the soup he was planning to do

Turns out the navigator was far more preceptive than he thought. Sanji was reciting every single detail of what happened within 30 minutes of him just smoking like a psycho and cutting vegetables in terrible cubes

“You can’t tell anyone! She would never forgive me for accidentally snooping around” he begs, resuming his meal prep

“Whatever, that’s not the important part! We have to do something with this” she presses the matter with wide eyes

“No”

“Yes!”

“Darling we-“

“We should what?” Both of the very loud crewmates remain frozen, eyes wide and mouth agape as the Captain himself stands at the door, nostrils open as he takes in the aroma of the soon to be dinner, behind him walks Robin, a sly smile on her lips

Silence, deafening silence

“What were you talking about?” Of course the archeologists pushes the matter, already knowing something was stewing between the two

“Nothing” both culprits answer as they resume their individual tasks that had been forgotten

Robin is no fool, she notices how both steal panicked glances at her Captain who is just completely lost on the dinner cooking up in front of him to notice. How Sanji, the best cook she had ever had the chance to encounter is messing up steps as he fights to make the soup. How Nami kept re drawing the same set of mountains on the map

The tension was no joke

“Captain, did Mr. Shooter showed you the impressive fish he caught this morning?” Luffy brightens at Robins words

“WHAT? I have to see it! Bet it would taste delicious!” In a blink, Luffy has left the kitchen enticing a relieved sigh from the cook that does not go amiss for anyone

“You two are going to tell me what’s going on”

That damn soup was taking way too long, Luffy was bouncing up and down impatiently, stomach loud with hunger. You being the good friend that you are decided to try and get a snack, maybe a little flutter from your eyelashes would get Sanji to budge and let you take something before dinner. The Sunny was rarely quiet, the sound of the oceans waves crashing on the ship a sweet melody that had you skipping happily. As you neared the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks as a set of voices reached your ears, was there a meeting or something? Weird, Sanji doesn’t like a lot of people around when he’s cooking

Curiosity got the cat, you rest your ear flat against the door trying to make out the conversation behind it

“… a letter… it was an accident… she really likes him… he has no idea… you know how Luffy is…”

Oh

A surprised gasp leaves your mouth before you can catch it, hands run to your mouth as you stay put before the door, brain scrambled as it glues the pieces together

Someone found your love letter

The sound of heavy heels approaching the door takes you out of your daze as you scurry away like a cat, running away from the inevitable. You hear Nami call your name but the embarrassment doesn’t allow you to turn as you scape to your room

Closing the door behind you with a loud tud, you run to your bed and find the letter under your silky pillow, your face turning red as you imagine one of your crewmates reading your words. You can hear your heart in your ears before you reap the letter, the sound deafening on your quiet bedroom. How pathetic you felt, like a spec of dust on a shelve with your feelings in your throat

Of course you were a no show for dinner, worried faces on Sanji, Nami and Robin who decided to leave you alone, the damage already done they didn’t wanted to pester you any more than they already had

You were a very shy person when it came to this kind of things, which was funny considering you were usually a very confident and outspoken person, but feelings? they were too much for you, opting by writing them down which you now see as probably a bad habit. You curse for the millionth time staring up at the ceiling in hopes the ocean would leak in and take you away, spitting you on the other side of the world. A couple of nocks on your door stop your train of thought, you don’t answer making the person on the other side impatient, so they opt to just open your door

Luffy stares at you for a moment as so do you, he didn’t know what was happening thank god

“Are you ok? You didn’t came down for dinner” something Luffy didn’t joked about was food that’s for sure

“Yeah I’m… just a little tired”

He grimaces, a rare look on the strawhat boy it makes you wince

“But you need to eat” he retorts

“I’ll eat later Luf, don’t worry”

He stares again, big chocolate eyes looking you up and down, a contemplative hmm vibrating from his chest. You remain frozen, still too embarrassed to even meet his eyes for more than 5 seconds

“You know you can tell me anything right?” Luffy had this amazing ability of always finding the correct words, your face falls and you swear your pulse had accelerated enough to be audible. You sit with his statement, and you feel troubled. Of course he’s right as he always is, it makes you feel stupid to even think about being embarrassed about having feelings, but you steal a glance at his face and the red in your cheeks remind you why are you feeling so mortified

Remind you how dear he is to you

You would hate yourself forever if you were to ever ruin this, this friendship and trust with your Captain. You value that above all else even if it means hiding during meals

“Yes, of course Luf” you smile, a hurtful kind of smile that makes the rubber boy grimace even more

“I can eat with you if you want”

“I said I am tired”

“Yeah but like, if you are up for it later” his genuine concern bends your will, not being honest to him burns like acid

“I’ll let you know if I go to the kitchen”

Finally Luffy gives you the most beautiful bright honest smile, then he just disappears

This whole situation was so stupid, why were you embarrassed about feeling feelings? How dumb. If someone would’ve told you how difficult it would be to deal with love at sea, maybe you would’ve thought a little more about becoming a full time pirate

Of course you went down to eat your dinner later that day, of course Sanji happily warmed it up fro you and of course Luffy joined you

And of course he ate half of it

Pt.2

[bambi-slxt]

🤍𝐈 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠🤍

𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕨 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕠

word count: 1.5k

genres: n/a

warnings: mentions of depression medication and mental health, male masturbation

notes from bambi: here you go!

Matt did see everything. He liked to lurk in the triplet’s fandom spaces, and when his mental health was good, he even found it kinda fun, though he would never reveal this aloud. He definitely enjoyed watching those same spaces work themselves into a tizzy at his knowledge admittance–these kids were so funny. So it came as no surprise to him when the Tumblr TikTok video showed up on his feed.

Matt hadn’t had a good night. He’d tried to jerk off earlier, all to no avail. His antidepressants were helpful for his mood and overall outlook on life but goddamn did they make it hard to masturbate. With a snarl, he had pulled up his boxers and opened TikTok. That was over an hour ago, and now Matt scrolled aimlessly on his private account. He was quite proud of it actually. He disguised it as some random fanpage and had made it a personal mission that week to reblog a few videos about himself. No one would know, and he was nothing if not a Matt girl. 

The video on his Following page was formatted simply–a girl in her room, as most of them were, and he saw it was one of his favorite fan accounts. She always had good takes and the drama in her comment section kept him incredibly entertained. She was expressing her fear at his now-infamous “I see everything” line, and with a chuckle, he pressed the heart icon, preparing to scroll away. In his sleepy haze, he missed, hitting the comment bubble instead. What he saw made his head tilt.

user

   oh ik the tumblr girlies shakin rn

      user

         LMAOOOO REAL

      user

         i’m so lost 😭😭😭

      user

         tumblr can’t be worse than here

      user

         wait what’s on tumbler?

           see all 63 replies៴

user

   bro does NOT see everything, he’d be traumatized

     see all 12 replies៴

user

   @ user WHEN I SAW THAT I SCREAMED

user

   you guys are gonna make them quit if you keep doing ts

     see all 241 replies៴

Matt rolled his eyes at that one. He knew it was a valid concern, but he also knew that there were prices to be paid for being famous, and he would take a few weird stories in exchange for the life of his literal dreams. And besides, he reasoned to himself, they were always so off-the-mark anyway that it didn’t even feel like he was reading about himself.

But back to the matter at hand. Matt had never even heard of Tumblr, so there couldn’t be that many triplet fan accounts on there, and he figured that after everything he’d seen on Twitter, he was ready for anything.

“Well this is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbled to himself, scrolling to the end of the “headcanon”, as it was called. Matt read the name of the “blogger” (he was learning so many new terms tonight) that posted it - some strange amalgamation of letters and numbers, with, of course, “sturniolo” tacked on to the end. Matt elected to keep his thoughts on the spelling to himself. “You’re weird for that. All of it.” He swiped out of the app, fully prepared to roll over, go to sleep, and forget all about it.

…

But what else did they get wrong about him? What did the rest of them think he did when he had sex? Matt figured he should check that “sturniolo triplet” hashtag one more time. 

He sat up properly for this, sighing as he flicked on his bedside lamp. It illuminated his room, its soft light showcasing the woodsy decorations he’d furnished months ago. With a grimace, he opened the accursed app once more and began a deep dive.

It seemed the entire community centered around “smut” of him and Chris. He saw a few for Nick, a handful for Nate, all of which he scrolled past quickly, blinking them away. He wasn’t trying to dive that deep.

The first thing Matt noticed was that almost every story had a line of photos at the top, like a faux header. None of the images contained anything amiss–all were photos posted by him and his brothers throughout the years, pictures taken by fans at shows, and the like. No, the real stuff lay in the words. This was a community–he could tell that much from the amount of reposting–of very good writers. Many of their stories spanned thousands of words with multiple parts and real plots woven throughout. And there were a lot. It was dizzying. He adjusted himself. 

There were stories for almost every situation, some even making him a drug dealer (though most writers seemed to think that out of anyone, it would be Chris, which he found hilarious due to the fact that Chris couldn’t tell a convincing lie if his life depended on it), a mafia boss, a father, a mechanic, or simply just a doting boyfriend. Some wrote him as a harsh, domineering man, quick to take his bratty girlfriend to task. Some wrote him as a needy submissive individual, and the words they used made his head spin. Matt adjusted himself again. His dick didn’t normally bother him this much. Maybe he needed new boxers. 

Matt himself only had a bit of experience in the wide world of sex. He knew there were some wild kinks out there, but he found he was never much interested in watching that kind of porn, and he’d only been with a few girls his entire life, none of whom had ever asked him to perform such tasks on them, so he really didn’t know what he liked and didn’t like. As he lay in his bed, his lamp casting fuzzy shadows over his room, Matt couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen.

They think I’m capable of actually…spanking someone? Am I? If she wanted it, I guess…Apparently I’m some sort of sex god, super posessive, I have a breeding kink, whatever the fuck that means, and Chris and I fight over girls a lot. To him, that was the most unrealistic–he and Chris had wildly different types. 

The sheer amount of stories depicting him absolutely rearranging the guts of the reader or y/n (he still had no idea what that meant) made his brain short-circuit, and he tried to tap out of the one currently pulled up. But alas, Matt still had no idea how Tumblr worked–the images below every story just took him deeper, and it was one of those images that he misguidedly clicked on, an innocuous lilac purple, covered in sparkles. Seems harmless enough.

As Matt tapped around, trying to get back, he found himself on another account and thoroughly lost. An underlined word in the first post caught his attention–concepts. Subtitled below were the words, “short headcanons about the triplets! both sfw and nsfw”. He tilted his head. ‘Sfw’? What does that mean? A quick Google search quieted his questioning. Surely a “safe-for-work” headcanon would be fine to read. He tapped the link, and it directed him to a simpler page, one organized using just his name and Chris’s, each one with links below them. His thumb hovered over one near the top, its title mildly intriguing–“soft!dom!matt”.

Then he paused. Was he really doing this? His dick began to throb. He should have just left the whole thing alone, but now…well, now he had to know. 

Five words in and he was pumping his rock-hard cock in his hand. Matt’s neck strained, his left thumb shaking as he tried to scroll to read more. Such a short piece of fiction and yet…

His stomach began to tie itself into knots. The more he read, the more he panted. His whole pelvic region felt tingly and his cock was so warm in his hand, and getting warmer by the second. This was different than anything he’d ever jerked off to before–this wasn’t a video, or even a naughty selfie from a girlfriend. This was pure porn, about him bringing some unnamed girl to completion over and over again. Matt didn’t even know that was possible. The unnamed girl couldn’t even handle his cock, that’s how tight she was-

The moment he realized this fact, his nuts clenched and he spurted cum all the way up to his chest. Pumping furiously, even raising his hips into his hand, he continued his explosive orgasm, letting out breathy groans as he did so. His chest heaved with heavy breath, and Matt felt the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes from how hard he’d just finished. He collapsed on his bed, sheets askew, pillows rearranged, staring blankly at the ceiling.

And then Matt realized which head had been doing all his thinking for him this entire time. Letting his now-limp dick flop to the side, he let out one more gasp of air. “That was weird,” he said aloud into the empty room. “Never doing that again.”

notes from bambi: i referenced my own work because it didn’t feel right to use anyone else’s without their consent, and i wanted to put this out today, not because i think my writing is better than anyone else's or because i think matt would prefer mine over yours. remember that it’s all just fiction and we write for fun. i hope you all enjoyed!

request to be on the taglist under this post right here

tags: @pinksturniolo @malirosee @st7rnioioss @nonat-111 @cindylcuwho @evie-sturns @h3arts4harry @fanficsbymia @dazednmatthews @sturniolo-rat @mattsmad @sturniolo04 @bellasturn @blahbel668 @yomamaslays4lyfe @stasiesturn @pleasantlycrazyworld @ariqolyx @wh0resstuff @krissy4gov @coochiedestroyer1 @madisturn @mattspolitank @sturnsxplr-25 @xtravrgnoliveoil @raysmayhem-72 @sturnpooks @certifiedstarrr @melanch0lybby @freshloveforthefit @xoxo4chrisss @stunza @meerkatzthings @zivall @sturniolopepsi @that1fangirll @wh0schl0 @sharksworldd @mattscoquette @chrisslutx @sturnzsblog @solarsturniolo

[sweetlyvibe]

𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗕𝗘𝗧𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗡

PAIRING : Osamu Miya x F!Reader ,

GENRE : angst/comfort

WC: 2.5k

SUMMARY : Osamu Miya always felt second to his brother, Atsumu, especially in love. But when you confess your feelings to Osamu, he’s shocked—especially when he discovers Atsumu likes you too.

CONTENT/WARNINGS : Insecurity, love triangle, jealousy, emotional conflict, unrequited love, use of y/n, Imk if i missed anything!

Osamu Miya wasn’t one to get hung up on things. Life was simple for him—school, volleyball, helping at the family restaurant. He wasn’t chasing after big dreams like his twin brother, Atsumu, who wanted to be the best setter in Japan. No, Osamu was content with keeping things balanced. It was probably why everyone gravitated toward Atsumu more than him, and he was fine with that. At least, he used to be.

But it started to sting a little when it came to you.

Every time he saw you laughing at one of Atsumu’s jokes, or worse, when he caught his brother bragging about how you looked at him during practice, it was like a knot in his stomach that wouldn’t loosen. Osamu knew Atsumu had charm, that magnetic pull that brought people in effortlessly. Atsumu would get confessions left and right, girls practically fawning over him, while Osamu stayed on the sidelines. Not that it bothered him most of the time—those girls didn’t even bother to learn the difference between the two.

But you weren’t like most girls. That’s what made it harder for him. And maybe that’s why Osamu was convinced you’d never look at him the way you looked at Atsumu.

Because who would?

Osamu couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he realized he liked you more than he wanted to admit. It was probably one of those quiet moments after practice, when you smiled at him like he was the only one in the room. But then, without fail, Atsumu would butt in with his usual confidence, and you’d shift your attention back to his brother. Osamu would shrug it off, pretending like it didn’t matter, like he didn’t notice the way Atsumu’s eyes lit up whenever he saw you.

As much as it bothered him, Osamu didn’t hate his brother for it. Atsumu was his twin, after all. They didn’t talk much about feelings, but Osamu could tell that Atsumu liked you too. That should’ve been enough to stop him from getting his hopes up. Atsumu was always the one people chose—why would this time be any different?

Osamu tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter. He was fine just being your friend, having quiet conversations with you when Atsumu wasn’t around to steal the spotlight. But the more he thought about it, the more it felt like he was stuck in his brother’s shadow, unable to step out and tell you how he really felt.

He wasn’t flashy like Atsumu. He didn’t have the same loud confidence, the same need to be seen by everyone. And maybe that’s why he believed he didn’t stand a chance with you. You were friendly with him, sure, but so was everyone else. To Osamu, he was just the other Miya twin—the quieter one, the one you probably didn’t see in the same way.

The day everything turned upside down started off like any other. It was a slow morning after practice, and Osamu was heading to the lockers to grab his things. His mind was still on the game—what they could’ve done better, how Atsumu had nagged at him for missing a spike, the usual banter. He didn’t even notice the small piece of paper sticking out of his locker until he was pulling out his shoes.

At first, Osamu thought it was some leftover flyer from the school festival or something, but when he opened it, his stomach dropped.

It was a letter.

A love letter.

Osamu stared at it, his mind struggling to catch up. The neat handwriting spelled out his name, and a few lines below, a simple but direct confession. His heart started beating faster than he wanted to admit, and for a second, he wondered if this was some kind of joke. Him? Getting a love letter?

But then, he saw the name at the bottom.

Your name.

Osamu blinked, rereading it, making sure he wasn’t hallucinating. But there it was, in your handwriting, as clear as day. You liked him?

He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to think. All this time, Osamu had convinced himself that you were like everyone else, that you probably had a crush on Atsumu like most people did. But this letter—it was real. You liked him, not his brother. It was like the ground had shifted beneath him, leaving him standing on unsteady footing.

A part of Osamu felt guilty. He knew Atsumu liked you—he could see it in the way his brother tried to impress you, how he talked about you after practice like you were someone special. And here Osamu was, holding the proof that you liked him instead.

Later that day, when Osamu saw you, his heart did this strange thing, like it couldn’t decide whether to race or stop entirely. You didn’t seem different, didn’t act any different. You were just you, smiling at him like you always did when you passed by.

Osamu thought about how easy it would be to just pretend he never saw the letter. Maybe it would be better for everyone. He could ignore it, let you and Atsumu have a shot at each other. Atsumu was better at this sort of thing—more confident, more open. He wouldn’t hesitate like Osamu was doing now. Maybe it was selfish for Osamu to think he deserved your attention.

But then he remembered the way your handwriting had spelled out his name, how you’d written that you liked him, not Atsumu. And that was enough to push him to act.

Osamu found himself waiting for you after class. His nerves twisted in his stomach the whole time, but when you finally came out, you looked surprised to see him standing there.

“Hey,” Osamu said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can we talk for a second?”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Sure, what’s up?”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the folded letter. “I found this… in my locker.”

Your eyes widened when you saw the letter, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. Osamu couldn’t read your expression, and he didn’t know what to expect. Did you regret it? Was it a joke? Had you written it by mistake?

“I… I didn’t know if I should bring it up,” Osamu admitted, unsure of how to navigate the situation. “But… is it real? Like, do you really…?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, nodding. “Yeah, it’s real. I wasn’t sure if you’d see it, or if you’d even want to talk about it, but… yeah.”

Osamu’s heart was pounding. This was real. You really liked him. After all the doubts, after convincing himself that you were just like everyone else, you had chosen him.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t think you’d feel that way about me.”

You smiled, a small, gentle smile that made Osamu’s heart race all over again. “Why wouldn’t I? I like you because you’re you, Osamu. You’re thoughtful, calm, and funny in a way that doesn’t need attention. You don’t try to be anyone else. I like that. I like you.”

Osamu could hardly believe what he was hearing. The words didn’t feel real, like they belonged in someone else’s life. Yet here you were, standing in front of him, looking at him with eyes that said you meant every word.

“I like you too,” Osamu finally managed to say, the words clumsy but honest. “I just didn’t think I had a chance.”

You stepped a little closer, your voice soft but clear. “Well, now you know. You do.”

The next few days passed in a blur, Osamu floating through them with a mixture of disbelief and happiness. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, about the fact that you had chosen him. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he was just the other Miya twin. He was someone you saw, someone you liked.

But there was something nagging at the back of his mind. Atsumu. He hadn’t told him yet, and he wasn’t sure how to. Osamu knew his brother better than anyone. He knew that Atsumu didn’t take rejection well, especially when it came to something he cared about. And even though you hadn’t outright rejected Atsumu, Osamu knew that his brother liked you. A lot.

The storm was coming, and Osamu couldn’t avoid it forever.

It came sooner than he expected. A few days later, after practice, Atsumu cornered him in the locker room, his signature smirk plastered on his face.

“Oi, Osamu,” Atsumu called out, leaning against the lockers. “Guess what? I think Y/N’s about to confess to me.”

Osamu froze, pretending to busy himself with his things. “Oh yeah?” he muttered, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” Atsumu went on, oblivious to the tension building. “She’s been hangin’ around me a lot more lately. It’s only a matter of time, I can feel it.”

Osamu’s stomach twisted. He knew this moment was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Atsumu continued talking, his voice filled with excitement. “I’ve been waitin’ for this. I think she’s finally gonna make a move.”

Osamu clenched his fists, his heart pounding. He couldn’t avoid it any longer. “Atsumu… about that.”

Atsumu frowned, his smirk faltering as he noticed the serious tone in Osamu’s voice. “What? You jealous or somethin’?”

Osamu shook his head. “No. It’s just… she already confessed.”

Atsumu blinked in confusion. “She already confessed to me?”

“No,” Osamu said quietly, feeling the weight of his words. “She confessed to me.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Atsumu stared at him, processing what Osamu had just said. Then his confusion shifted into disbelief, followed by a slow dawning of understanding.

“Wait… what?” Atsumu’s voice was quieter now, almost cautious. “You’re tellin’ me… she chose you?”

Osamu nodded, his chest tightening. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, but there was no way around it. “Yeah. She left a letter in my locker. She told me she likes me.”

Atsumu’s face was unreadable for a few seconds, the smirk completely gone now. The playful, teasing edge that usually colored his voice was nowhere to be found.

“So, she… likes you?” Atsumu asked again, his tone flat, like he was still trying to wrap his head around it.

Osamu felt a surge of guilt. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I didn’t plan this, Atsumu. I didn’t think she’d—”

“It’s fine,” Atsumu cut him off, his voice sharp. “You don’t need to explain.”

The air between them grew tense, and Osamu could see the hurt flicker across Atsumu’s face, even though his brother was doing his best to hide it. Atsumu had never been good at dealing with rejection—he thrived on being wanted, on being the center of attention. And now, for the first time, someone had chosen Osamu over him.

Atsumu let out a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, ain’t that somethin’. Guess I’m not as irresistible as I thought.”

Osamu winced at the sarcastic tone, wishing there was a way to make this easier. He knew Atsumu’s pride was bruised, and no amount of explanation would change that.

“Look, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Osamu started, but Atsumu held up a hand, cutting him off again.

“It’s fine, Osamu,” Atsumu repeated, though his voice was tight with frustration. “You don’t have to explain.”

The silence that followed was heavy, both brothers unsure of what to say next. Atsumu ran a hand through his hair, glancing away as if trying to process everything.

“Guess you finally one-upped me, huh?” Atsumu said with a forced smirk, though the bitterness in his voice was hard to miss.

Osamu wanted to say something, anything to make this less painful, but before he could, Atsumu turned on his heel and headed toward the door. “Don’t worry about it, ‘Samu. I’ll be fine.”

And with that, Atsumu walked out of the locker room, leaving Osamu standing there alone, a mix of relief and guilt swirling in his chest.

The days after that conversation were strange. Atsumu wasn’t the type to stay upset for long, and soon enough, he was back to his usual self, at least on the surface. He still joked around, still bragged and teased, but there was something different in the way he interacted with Osamu. It wasn’t obvious to most people, but Osamu could tell. There was a slight distance between them, an unspoken tension that neither of them wanted to address directly.

But despite the guilt Osamu felt, there was something else too—something warm and undeniable that came from knowing you had chosen him. Whenever he saw you, his heart would race in that unfamiliar, but welcome way. You were still you, kind and thoughtful, treating him the same way you always had, but now there was something more between the two of you. Something real.

Osamu still wasn’t used to it, the idea that you liked him, but he was trying to get there. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be the one in this position—that Atsumu was supposed to be the one who got your attention, not him. But every time you smiled at him or laughed at one of his dry comments, those insecurities faded a little more.

One afternoon, a few weeks after the confession, Osamu found himself sitting next to you outside the school, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the courtyard. You were talking about something—Osamu wasn’t really paying attention, his mind too busy replaying everything that had happened over the past few weeks.

“Osamu?” you said, nudging him gently. “You’re spacing out.”

He blinked, realizing he hadn’t been listening. “Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just thinkin’.”

You tilted your head, giving him a curious look. “About what?”

Osamu hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should bring it up. But something about the way you were looking at him made him feel like he could be honest. “I still don’t get why you chose me,” he admitted quietly. “I just… I didn’t think I was the type of guy someone would go for. Especially when Atsumu’s right there.”

You frowned slightly, shifting closer to him. “Osamu, I already told you. I chose you because you’re you. Atsumu’s great, but… he’s not you.”

Osamu looked at you, a mixture of surprise and warmth filling his chest. He’d heard you say it before, but each time, it felt like he was hearing it for the first time.

You reached out, gently resting your hand on his. “You don’t have to compare yourself to him. I don’t. I like you for who you are, Osamu. And nothing’s going to change that.”

For the first time in a long while, Osamu felt like he didn’t have to live in his brother’s shadow. You saw him, just as he was, and that was enough.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he looked at you. “Thanks,” he said softly. “That… means a lot.”

You smiled back, squeezing his hand gently. “Anytime.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Osamu Miya felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

. 🏐 〃 ⋯ TAGGING : : @0samuslove @yoghurtsan @lxdymoon0357 @achy-boo

[fanboyoff1]

Landoscar- Losing your bags at the airport (1.7k words)

Hello all! This is based off that one tweet about Lando losing his bags at the airport and Oscar staying with him. Disclaimer- I know nothing about airports, all of this was google searched stuff, so go easy on me. (I made it an American airport because dealing with a language barrier was too complicated lol) It's mostly fluff, but I suppose a bit of angst?

Also, this is my first fic I'm posting online, so please be kind ❤️

Lando sighed loudly, blowing hair out of his face as he exhaled. He wasn’t the biggest fan of airports by principle. They’re boring, the lines are long, and the whole thing seems so much bigger than it needs to be. But it’s kind of a necessary part of his job, so he’d mostly gotten used to waiting for stupid amounts of time at airports.

But this is just kinda ridiculous. He and Oscar had been waiting for Lando’s suitcase to show up at baggage claim for… well he didn’t know how long it had been, but it was longer than he’d ever had to wait before. Even worse, Oscar’s bag had practically been the first to get dumped out onto the carousel, because of course it had. They were going to the hotel together, so Oscar was staying with him. The Aussie was on his phone, sitting on his suitcase and texting someone. Lando hated the silence, so he tore his eyes away from Oscar’s gorgeous side profile and yawned.

“This is taking foreverrr,” he said, stretching from his place crouched on the floor.

“It’s been ten minutes,” Oscar corrected, not once looking up from his phone.

“Screen-ager,” Lando decided to retaliate. Oscar looked up now, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment clear on his face. Lando looked back to the baggage carousel, satisfied by getting a reaction out of the younger man.

Oscar cleared his throat. “How about we just wait a few more minutes and then go to the baggage desk.”

“Huh?”

“The baggage desk. Where you go if you lose your luggage. It’s right there.” He pointed, and sure enough, back against the wall and a few carousels down was a little front desk-looking thing, with neon letters spelling out ‘Baggage Desk’ above it.

“Oh,” Lando mumbled, adjusting his hat. 

“I’ll just tell Zak we’ll be a bit later than expected,” Oscar said, giving Lando a blinding smile that made his stomach twist with that complicated more-than-just-a-crush feeling he preferred not to think about. He hummed in response, fiddling with his hoodie strings.

After a few more minutes, everyone that had been on their flight (aka about half the Mclaren crew, including Zak and Andrea who had ditched them first chance they got) had left, and Lando was getting more and more stressed out. He was biting his lip and running his hands through his hair repeatedly, imagining practically every worse-case scenario. What if his suitcase got on the wrong flight? What if there was something bad in there he didn’t realize and they wouldn’t let him get his stuff? What if some rando took his stuff?

He didn’t realize Oscar was talking to him until a hand waved in front of his face. He looked to his teammate who was already staring at him worriedly.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, resting his hand on Lando’s arm. Lando managed a small, likely unconvincing nod. 

Oscar let go of his upper arm with a gentle squeeze, and Lando might just melt away at the spot. “Well, I was asking you if you wanted to go to the baggage desk and ask about your suitcase?”

Lando nodded again and stood, walking away before even giving Oscar a chance to do so as well. He felt a bit bad as he heard Oscar scramble upright and start pulling his suitcase behind him, but it had been a long day and he really just needed to collapse into his hotel room now.

He reached the desk and made eye contact with a short woman, her long brown hair tied up in a low ponytail and wearing official looking clothes, who was standing near the back of the small room. She rushed forward and sat down in a swivel chair, pushing her glasses up.

“What’s your issue, dearie?” she said in a strong Southern accent, only slightly muffled by the thick glass separating them.

“Uh, can’t find my bag. Didn't show up,” he said with a guilty smile. He tried to turn on his charm as much as possible, his train of thought being, Maybe if I’m nice she’ll be nice back and then I can go to bed quicker. 

“Alright love. Name?”

“Lando Norris,” he said. Oscar had reached him by now, standing so close to his side that their shoulders were almost brushing against each other.

The lady did some typing on her computer, then let out a little tsk sound in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry, it seems like your luggage got sent to the wrong place. We’re trying to get it here as we speak.”

Lando shot a glance back to Oscar, who raised his eyebrows. “Do you know what happened?” he asked the lady. He looked at the pin on her shirt, which said her name was Charlotte. Huh, she didn’t look like a Charlotte.

Charlotte gave a shrug in response. “Could’ve been anything. My guess, there wasn’t enough space in the cargo hold on your plane. It got placed on the wrong extra-storage space, and got sent somewhere else. You’ll have to wait until it gets here. That might take a while.”

Lando worked hard to suppress a groan. “Okay. Thanks.” He tried for a smile that ended up more like a grimace.

“You two can sit in one of those chairs on the right while you wait,” Charlotte said with a sympathetic smile. Lando turned to his right and flopped into a chair. At least they were cushioned. 

This night was turning shitty fast. He just wanted to sleep, was that too much to ask? And what was even more awful about this was that Oscar had to stay with him.

“Sorry about this,” he told his friend, who looked at him confused.

“Why? It’s nothing you could control.”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s just…” he trailed off, not sure how to explain that somehow he was blaming himself for this. No, he’d never tell Oscar that, he’d think he was weird. The edge of Lando’s eyes were starting to water with tears, and he wanted to scream. You’re such a baby. What’s your problem? Bury it, you can’t do this right now. Crybaby.

“Hey, Lando, it’s okay,” Oscar said, reaching out with one hand. He touched Lando’s shoulder tenderly. “I don’t mind.”

Lando hugged his legs to his chest and buried his head in his knees. “I’m just having a bad day,” he mumbled, and for a second he wasn’t sure if Oscar heard him.

“That’s alright,” Oscar said, and he let go of Lando’s arm. Lando didn’t even get a chance to mourn the loss of contact though, because then Oscar’s arm was wrapping around his shoulders and gently tugging him closer. Lando practically fell onto his chest, and could feel his cheeks reddening.

“This okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You can rest. You know, if you want. I know you’re tired.”

“Will you wake me up when my suitcase shows up?”

“Mm-hmm,” Oscar hummed, and Lando let himself sink into his embrace, their breaths and heartbeats syncing. Oscar was really cuddly, he thought as he drifted off.

# # #

“Hey, Lando, wake up.”

Osc, Lando thought and smiled. “Wake up, Lando.” Then someone was gently pushing his shoulder, and he blearily opened his eyes.

He took in his surroundings with a moment of slight confusion before remembering. The airport. His bags. Crying. Oscar.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” the man in question said, and Lando swore he felt his fingers brushing through his curls. “C’mon, your stuff got here.”

A part of Lando wanted to jump up and start doing a victory dance on the spot. The annoyance of getting up overruled it though. He was so comfy.

Wait, where exactly was he? He knew he was at the airport, but this was way too comfy for a chair. His eyes flickered around trying to figure it out, and oh God he was in Oscar’s lap. He quickly sat up, using his hands to push himself upright. However, he didn’t account for where he was putting his hands, and ended up putting half of his weight on Oscar’s thigh. Oscar let out a little grunt of pain, wincing.

“Oh shit, sorry sorry sorry,” Lando hurriedly apologized, backing up.

“No no, you’re fine,” Oscar reassured him, but his voice was strained. He looked at Lando with a smirk. “Are you trying to sabotage me, Lando Norris?”

“I’m sorry!”

Oscar just giggled and stood. He reached a hand out to Lando, who took it. He used his free hand to grab his suitcase and took off confidently to the left, not releasing his tight grasp on Lando’s hand.

“Uh, where are we going?” Lando asked, desperately trying to stop the stupid butterflies rising in his stomach. God he was so childish, they were literally just holding hands. But they were holding hands. 

“To get your bag. Obviously.”

With no further explanation, he proceeded to get dragged through what felt like half the airport. Not that he minded. Every once in a while Oscar would look back and give him a trademark Osc Smile that made his insides turn to mush, so that made up for the mystery part pretty well.

Finally they reached their destination, some obscure part of the airport. A few official people gave him his suitcase along with many apologies and a crap ton of airline points (not that those were especially helpful to him, Mclaren paid for most of his flights anyways. It was a nice gesture though.) He accepted the apologies quickly, not wanting to drag out this process any longer than necessary.

 Then they were in a taxi headed to their hotel, and the exhaustion was coming back ten-fold.

“Tired?” Oscar asked once Lando had yawned for the fifth time.

“Just a bit,” Lando quipped.

“Want to sleep again?”

“You’re fine with it?”

“Of course.”

Lando hesitantly let his head fall on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar’s arm found its way around his shoulders again.

Just before Lando fell asleep again, he felt a feather-light kiss pressing against his head, and he scooted closer to Oscar with a sigh.

Here are some people who said they were interested: @slugesh, @peppysinc, @sunnykasarova, @alto-the-avocado, @lailau7904, @standgrand, @chamberkat

[nariism]

something borrowed, something blue

pair. itoshi sae x gn!reader

content: childhood sweethearts, angst, angst, angst, NO COMFORT no happy ending i'm warning you, sae leaves for spain much later here, use of y/n once (1), not proofread

synopsis. it's his wedding day.

wc. 2.1k

everything you know about weddings comes from fairytale books.

you have fond memories of the days spent curled up in the lap of a woman whose name brings you to tears with nostalgia, kind and warm as she read to you.

the itoshi brothers' mother was good at painting pictures with words; animating true love's kiss, soulmates, princesses turning into frogs and back again.

even as a tiny child you knew they all ended the same way: wedding bells and happily ever after.

she was a poet in her own right, spelling out for you what love could possibly be. as a naive child, you believed her — put blind faith in the fact that love was always perfection, that it was something easy. it was something that fills you to the brim until you're overpouring, fantastical and rare and beautiful.

she sweet talked you into believing true love is something all people find one day.

it wasn't as simple as the stories she told you made it out to be. ironically, the person who taught you so always sat to her left at the dinner table.

itoshi sae was your first. he was your only. it wasn't a foreign or unknown emotion pounding at the confines of your ribcage every time he would take your hand and drag you along with him and rin to get ice cream.

it was cruelly familiar. an ode to their mother who was waiting on the front porch for them to return home to her. love.

you grew up next door to the itoshis. your most distant memories replay with the sounds of rin's laughter in the background. they were happy kids. happier than they ever would be again.

the window of your bedroom was directly across from sae's. it was there that secrets were whispered, falling on deaf ears to the sleeping world. things that only you and him would ever know. you spent seventeen summers sitting at your windowsill under starry night skies talking about menial things.

you planned your whole lives together at that conjunction of your homes; wooden furnishings in the kitchen with green accents, a garden full of hydrangeas, lanterns strung up amongst the trees. and he promised he would buy you anything and everything you wanted, lavish or not, "just because".

you spent your entire life in love with itoshi sae. with the idea of giving your heart and soul to him. that maybe he would do the same for you if given the chance.

when sae turned eighteen, he received a very, very important letter.

the paper was thick and fancy and lined with gold. there was an official seal at the bottom of it along with a signature he couldn't read.

you remember that day vividly. you'd relived his birthday for as many years as you were alive, after all.

he was sitting in front of his birthday cake with the candles blown out as he read it aloud. champagne popped, balloons flew, people clapped, the whole shebang. you made eye contact with him from where you were sat, directly across the table in your usual seat.

it was then that reality came crashing down on you.

you were always staring at his big back, and not once had he ever turned around. not once had he ever deemed you more important than his dreams. not once did he prove to you that he loved you like you loved him.

you fought that night. he broke your heart over a leftover slice of chocolate cake.

life goes on, as they say. every part of you yearned for sae like flowers wishing for rain. you left a piece of yourself in his bedroom all those years ago, half of your soul that you hoped would always haunt him.

(it did.)

it's a mundane tuesday afternoon when you get the text.

the number was saved on your phone from many years ago, but it's been so long since the chat was active that your previous messages have been automatically deleted.

rin: are you going?

your answer is instantaneous.

y/n: no. why?

it’s a long while before rin texts you back.

rin: mom wants you there

it's all the convincing you need. you would just have to grit your teeth and sit through it, no matter how painful. you don't blame their mother in the slightest; your relationship with sae was your best kept secret, after all. it would have created a mess if you dragged their mom into your fighting.

how could she have known that she was marrying off your one and only love to a complete stranger?

everything about him is beautiful today. he's rented out the biggest venue in the city, strung up with crystal chandeliers and fancy clothed tables. it's uptight and luxurious.

you can't help but realize that it looks absolutely nothing like what you used to talk about as kids.

"the colour scheme clashes with your eyes, you know."

you watch as he tenses up at your voice, eyes drifting from his suit to you in the reflection of the mirror.

"wasn't my choice," he tells you casually, as if nearly two decades of history doesn't exist between you.

"your tie is all messed up."

"it's good to see you, too."

you're quiet in response, sauntering over to him and reaching out to fix the knot in his tie. he allows you to touch him, for old time's sake. your fingers brush against his throat and he swallows.

sae knows everything about you. almost 90% of his childhood was spent by your side. he knows what colours you like, which ones you would have chosen for your own wedding theme. he knows what kind of cake you would have wanted, too.

he did his best to persuade his bride into choosing things that wouldn't remind him of you.

it was a futile attempt.

fate works in funny ways. no matter where he looks he sees you, and his shitty plan to make this wedding the complete opposite of what you would have wanted only made him miss you more.

what do you do with memories of someone who isn't yours anymore? he doesn’t know how to handle memorizing every part of you and not using it.

you were his biggest regret, without a doubt. if he hadn't accepted that team drafting, would you still be together? would you be laughing over chocolate cake and telling your friends how you and him are childhood sweethearts? soulmates?

sae has never been impulsive. he doesn't like to be. there's nothing beneficial about being reckless.

but then he sees you, and it feels like you were never apart. he's afraid he'll wake up only to find out you were just a dream built on distant memories. or maybe he'll wake up in your arms, seventeen again, as if the world never caught up to him.

he loves you and the gravity of that makes him weak in the knees.

his whole life has been carefully constructed, at least that's what most people think. the reality is that it's all a lie; carefully constructed doesn't matter if the house is made of wet paper.

there's something nostalgic about letting you fix his tie. it reminds him of when you were both ten and looked up online how to do a windsor knot, just for the fun of it.

silence fills the room as you fix his outfit, sloppily thrown together because he couldn't care less about how he looks when marrying someone he doesn't want. then he stupidly opens his mouth in a last ditch attempt to make you his, blaming this familiar feeling raging inside of him on the nostalgia you bring with you.

“can we talk?” he pleads quietly.

“what is there to talk about?”

“about us.”

“there is no us.” not anymore. he abandoned that notion many years ago on his eighteenth birthday.

he contemplates you for a moment, just staring at you with a finality in his eyes that you wish was there the night he broke your heart. if it was, maybe the story would have ended differently.

"run away with me. let's go somewhere far from here. i don't care what anyone else thinks anymore. i just need you. i need you."

he never stopped needing you, even when thousands of miles separated you.

you blink at him in surprise. there's consideration in your face as you look at him, completely dumbfounded by his sudden confession.

it's the first time you've spoken in years. in fact, it's the first time you've laid eyes on him since that night. 

he's throwing everything away to be with you. your heart breaks because half of you knows you shouldn’t, and the other half of you screams to take his hand and start new again.

"sae..." there it is. a fondness sweet as honey clinging to your throat when you speak his name for the first time in years. there's an expression cast on his face when you call for him, as if he's been put under a spell, bewitched by your voice. 

for a moment he genuinely believes you'll actually agree to do something so stupid and reckless. just once, pretending like your whole world isn't falling apart around you. hope glimmers in his eyes. but then:

"we can't." he’s too late.

"please," he begs, forehead knocking into yours. you recoil from him so fast that you take his breath and a piece of his soul away with you.

it's been years, yet here he stands with your heart clutched in his palms; greedy fingers digging into the rotten core of fruit. you belong to him — you always will, as sure as the sun rises every morning, as sure as the sky is blue.

he knows it, too. it only makes it hurt all the more.

there isn't a doubt in your mind that you love him still, utterly and all-consuming and never-ending. the very idea of being in love with itoshi sae after all this time makes you feel so sick you might keel over and throw up.

he's just a stranger standing in front of you. your heart shouldn't tug at the sight of his watering eyes.

"shut up and go get married, sae."

you leave him standing alone in that room. he lets you go.

it's not until he's standing at the altar that it dawns on him: sae doesn't know very much about weddings.

the more accurate truth would be that he doesn't know a lot of things outside of football. but he does know one thing: your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

so why does he feel like throwing up?

his bride-to-be doesn’t look at him. doesn’t speak to him. their relationship is obligatory and nothing else. a union rooted in their mothers’ old friendship. sae didn’t put up a fight when his mom called him over to introduce them. he didn’t say a word until they got up to leave.

(if he did open his mouth, he would have choked on his own vomit.

in all honesty he should have, because maybe he would have scared away his bride and this whole headache never would have happened.)

she’s pretty enough. but he doesn’t like her.

there are no feelings of love in his heart, no care for what his soon-to-be wife says or does. he’s surprised she hasn’t left him at the alter yet, considering how little they even acknowledge each other.

it’s a good enough reason to explain the emptiness inside of him; that he’s entering a loveless marriage because of his mom’s social networking. he has other reasons, but none of them mattered until you showed up at the door.

loneliness is a part of sae. something he grew familiar with, something that slept in the same empty bed as he did while he tripped over his own tongue learning how to speak spanish.

he never realized how disgustingly lonely he felt in his own relationship until he saw you again.

he's supposed to be happy. he's supposed to fall in love. but he can't. not when you're sitting ten feet away from him with your fingers clinging tightly to his mother's.

sae meets your eyes only for a moment. eighteen years of his life spent by your side rings in his ears; your laughter, your tears, every part of you painfully ripping through him.

you're his soulmate. it's always been you. there was only ever you. how could it be anyone else?

he swallows and it feels like a thousand nails dragging down his throat. regret melts his brain into mush. he wants to object his own marriage and you seem to sense that, because you give him the tiniest, most subtle shake of the head.

don’t, please. 

sae’s stomach sinks. there’s only one acceptable answer he can give the officiant right now:

"i do."

maybe in the next lifetime.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Maryë (Astarion x GN! AFAB Reader) MDNI 18 +

Synopsis: Astarion left to explore the world and himself following the death of the Netherbrain. You remain in Baldur’s Gate with your brother, Gale, resigning yourself to your fate as Astarion’s friend until you die. Until one day, you and Astarion begin to write letters back and forth. Except there is one letter in particular that you suspect isn’t from Astarion…

CW: minimal mentions of violence, smut, Oral (Female Receiving), PIV, Tav’s also just an oblivious idiot who apparently doesn’t think very hard about words (it’s me, I’m Tav the idiot and this is like my Fiancé and I’s friendship prior to ya know, dating lmfao)

Author note- I might also write this in AMAB! Format, but I need to do some… research first for accuracy. This is lightly edited and just some silly little thought I had. I wanted to write something not so detailed for once while I work on my drafts for Lethal Woman and She’s Not Acid Nor Alkaline. Also def stole a line from Tolkien and added to it at the end (this is me crediting).

You’ll either love this or hate this idk.

The title literally translates to Home in Elvish.

Photo belongs to idk who so please reach out if it’s yours!

As always- likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, I am just terrible at responding.

Tav,

As much as I enjoy our current form of communication- I was wondering if I could come to see you in person.

I have so much I need to say to you and I want to be able to do it in person- the proper way.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours,

Astarion

You sit and stare at the letter like you have been doing for the last week since you received it. Unlike your half-brother, Gale, you are not one for words. It was hard to respond to Astarion’s letters initially until Gale “doctored” your responses- often putting whatever silly accomplishment you have achieved lately or stories Gale found interesting from your recent solo adventures.

“Are you going to write the letter or are you hoping it’s going to write itself?” Gale teases.

You scowl at him and shake your head.

“I don’t know what to write back.”

“I could come up with a couple things!” Gale clears his throat, “‘ Oh Astarion- I’ve missed you terribly this whole time! I regret telling you that we should be friends until you figure things out! Despite my VERY WISE BROTHER’S ADVICE TO NOT DO THAT! I wait like a lovesick puppy at the mailbox every week hoping a letter may arrive!’”

You roll your eyes at him and throw one of his many decorative couch pillows at his head. He certainly has your mother’s flair for the dramatic. However, you can’t necessarily say he’s wrong- you have been nothing less than a smitten school girl waiting for letters non-stop.

Astarion had gone back to the Underdark after the last battle with the Netherbrain. He told you that he wanted to go and explore who he is- the world too.

You had been as enthusiastic as you could about the decision considering you had come up to him at the party with a letter in your hands asking if he would like to continue traveling with you after this- you had been too scared to say it outloud. A part of you hoped it may allow your romance to blossom without the impending threat of death at every corner. Well, if he still harbored any feelings for you at all.

You had merely smiled and told him how excited you are for him. It answered the silent question that had been there- was there still room in Astarion’s heart for you after you said you should just be friends and try again later?

The answer was ‘no’, despite Gale’s perplexed face and lecture when he found out you gave the spawn a send off with a ‘long’ hug (he made you describe it in detail). You refuse to give yourself any hope- you will remain a dutiful friend since you resigned yourself to this fate.

Then you received a Sending spell with him requesting your address and the letters began. You squealed like a schoolgirl when the first one came in and ripped it open enthusiastically. You didn’t realize Gale was home, otherwise you wouldn’t have read it out in the open- Tara snitched on you!

You had only truly met Gale around a couple months prior to your mutual abduction. Your mother had asked you to assist a brother you never knew about in finding magical artifacts- you quickly learned it was because the man was becoming a damn recluse.

You had worried he’d slam the door in your face or turn you into a sheep for all of eternity- the minute you told him your name was Tav Dekarios, he pulled you in for a hug and told you he had been awaiting your arrival. Gale was thrilled to know that, like him, you were also a prodigy in your craft.

You are a virtuoso master with any instrument you touch and you cast spells that are almost far too good to be true. You became Oghma’s Chosen in your teen years after spending many years practicing under his mentorship (which is why you and Gale had a very weird, serious talk one night about how Mystra is kind of a fucking pedophile) and that allowed you to do incredible things.

Your notes could create shimmery images and tell stories- Arabella and the other tiefling children (even the very tough Mol) enjoy coming over and watching war tales be told with nothing but a drum and a rain stick. Sometimes you let them tell tales and you come up with a tune to match it- eventually finding a rhythm to put your mind into and create the picture.

It was one of the many things Astarion mentioned in his note- he stated that none of the other Bards even begin to hold a candle to your talent. You blushed deeply when you read the line.

He told you about everything he had seen, everyone he had met, what he’s found out about himself, and shockingly enough- how much he misses you. It had taken you by total surprise, but you responded saying you missed him too.

Pet names began to flow easily into inked lines and it felt like you had a tiny part of him back in your life- your friendship is still as strong as it was before he left.

The letters have quickly become the best part of your week and occasionally you’ll read them with Arabella. She ooos and awwws, then attempts to bully you into tell Astarion your feelings. You cast a mini rain shower over her head with a few poetic words for the suggestion. You don’t want to ruin what you have and there is always the possibility that he found someone else.

However, you weren’t unsure of this particular note because you didn’t want to see Astarion- you would love that. The issue is that it doesn’t look like his handwriting, it isn’t the paper he uses (he’s ridiculously particular), and it doesn’t flow. Gale thinks you are over analyzing it, but you are pretty sure that this isn’t Astarion’s writing. He also addresses you as “Darling” not Tav and signs the letter of with “‘Órenya ná órelya” (my heart is your heart) not “Yours”.

You’ve waited for another note to come in since, but nothing has. You are beginning to wonder if Gale is right and you really are just being paranoid.

“I already told you, Gale,” you say with annoyance, “something isn’t right about this note. I don’t think this is from him which is worrisome because that means I haven’t heard from him in two weeks WHICH could MEAN-“

“For the love of Gods- TAV,” Gale yells, effectively shutting you up, “my young, oblivious little sibling. Just say yes and let him come visit.”

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

It had been two days since you sent the sending stone and there was no response. Not that it would have mattered anyway considering you are somewhere in the Underdark in a very beautifully lit cave. Neon, blue veins of magic run through the rock. The pathway is lit with glowing flowers and…. Benches?

It had all happened so fast. One moment you were walking home from the market and the next- Astarion had come up to you from an alleyway and said he needed help. He had told you that he would love to catch up, but there is an injured child around the corner and since he can only stay in the shadows, he needs you to help them. Before you knew it- someone hit you with a sleep spell and the last thing you remember seeing is stars as your head slammed into the pavement. Oh and a, “oooooffff my bad” before you blacked out.

You blink your eyes a few more times, trying to figure out what in the wretched hells is going on.

“Oh for the love of- I told you to talk to Oghma’s Chosen! Not kidnap her and give her a serious concussion!”

A hazy, short figure comes into your vision. Is that…. a Deep Gnome?

“You told us it was imperative for the wedding! We intercepted the real letter and wrote this one,” another Gnome says, “and it worked! They showed up and everything! We’ve been watching since you told us to talk to her two weeks ago! We were running out of time for talking and bargaining so we just-“

“Kidnapped them!” the man yells, “you kidnapped them!? You- you imbeciles! They are supposed to want to perform for the wedding- you had at least six more hours! AND I GAVE YOU TWO WEEKS!”

“But Walby-“

Walby.

You know Walby! He and Barcus have been dating for a while now and the two are over the moon smitten. You are very happy for Barcus- this man is everything Wulbern could never be.

“No! I have had enough of your silliness! Leave me at once!”

You hear the three Gnomes that supposedly ambushed you walk off in angry huffs. A flash of healing magic fills the air and your head is finally clear- your ears no longer ringing like a triangle.

“My apologies, Ms.Dekarios,” Walby, says, “I wanted them to give you an invitation to come to Barcus’ and I’s wedding this afternoon, but as you heard, they are not the brightest bunch.

“It’s a very last minute ceremony- my mother is ill and she wants to see her ‘baby’ get married before she goes. We wanted to wait another year to plan, but oh you know how it goes!”

Walby looks at you sheepishly as you blink a few more times and let his words sink in. You look at the man and try not to throw up from sitting upright. You must have been out for a while, but not in a “oh that was a wonderful beauty nap” kind of way. You are pretty sure you have a decent amount of blood caked to the side of your head and neck right now.

“Oh, well in that case,” you offer a good natured smile, “I’ll consider this the most unique wedding invitation I’ve ever received and one I may not even have the privilege of remembering.”

The man laughs heartily as you stand up and brush your clothing off. You’re glad you wore a nicer outfit today and decided to bring your violin along- Oghma must have wanted to make sure you were prepared.

“I also wanted to ask a favor,” he says meekly, “if I haven’t fallen out of your good graces before I even stepped foot in them- that is.”

You smile and just roll your eyes.

“Consider it water under the bridge. How can I be of service?”

“Well, you see- we had asked an acquaintance of ours to play music and uh. There’s no easy way to put this, but he was run over by a herd of Deep Rothé.”

“Hmm,” you say with a snort, “tough crowd- Deep Rothés.”

Ultimately, you agreed to perform for the ceremony and the little dinner party afterwards. Your music decorated the air with golds and silvers. Barcus was thrilled to have you there and thanked you immensely for allowing his mother-in-law to “witness true magic” before she leaves this plane.

By the time you were finally leaving- you hear two very familiar voices scream your name and come barreling towards you.

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

Astarion and Gale are practically sprinting as they try to track your location through the streets of Baldur’s Gate. They had just found a large spot of your blood sticking to the cobblestone and leading to the sewer. Astarion feels sick when he notices the path leads back into the Crimson Palace. Thankfully it was through the sewer and straight to the tunnel of the Underdark.

He had sent you a letter a few days ago and he had confessed his feelings. Instead of waiting for you to respond like a sane person, Astarion got the hell out of the inn he was staying at and began the four day trek to Baldur’s Gate. The nice part about traveling alone and not needing to breath is that Astarion could run from place to place if he was in a hurry or was just fed up with traveling already.

Astarion quickly learned that it was boring to be alone and it’s far more fun to share adventures with you. He also learned that he might be a semi-decent person on his own because, in spite of being without your physical presence, he continues to fucking help people. Astarion is really over this whole moral compass thing (it only extends so far though, he’s still a proud Bastard at heart).

When he arrived at your home about an hour and a half ago, Gale had informed him that you had gone out to the Market and was confused when Astarion said his letter shouldn’t have arrived yet. It took longer than usual to write for… reasons.

Gale showed him the note you received and the two of them pieced together that someone had definitely set up a trap- just not a very good one. Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose when Gale told him that you definitely figured out the letter wasn’t from him, but Gale encouraged you to respond anyway.

A part of him is incredibly worried that some of the remaining Bhaal cultists have taken you since they are the only people he could think of that would be able to mimic his form. His stomach still turns when he thinks about the time they realized Orin had taken you. This is giving him the same queasy feeling.

So imagine his and Gale’s surprise when you are walking away from some random spot seemingly unscathed. Except Astarion won’t believe that until he has inspected you for injuries himself.

You look positively shell-shocked to see him and even more surprised when he’s taking your face gently in his hands and begins to check for injuries.

“Are you alright, Darling?” He says in a far more panicked voice than he means to, “we found blood- I thought the worst and your idiot brother! Of course that letter wasn’t from me! I have class, my Dear! I would never use that paper and WHY IN THE HELLS WOULD YOU FOLLOW ME OF ALL PEOPLE!?”

He knows his ‘rage’ doesn’t sound like rage- it sounds like a man who thought his only love had been on the brink of death only moments ago. Astarion is trying to keep a serious face, but the adoration and love in your eyes when you look at him is making him want to dissolve. He’s thrilled to see that after a whole year of not being together that your feelings haven’t waivered. Neither have his, obviously, but that’s why he’s here.

“I will say, Tav,” Gale says with exasperation, “you even gave Tara a fright- you should be expecting a very long lecture when we get home.”

“Oh I’m sure I will,” you say with a beaming smile, your eyes never leaving Astarion’s, “but I do have quite the story if you would like to hear it?”

Astarion’s grin stretches across his entire face.

“I think a good story, better company, and some wine would make for a fine evening, my Dear.”

“Gross!” Gale says, “but I’ll tag along for some wine.”

Oh dammit.

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

If Astarion wasn’t so busy feasting upon you- then he probably would have already hunted down those stupid Gnomes that gave him a fright and found a windmill to fling them from. Gale had left only 15 minutes ago, but Astarion had made quick work in getting you up to his room and having his way with you.

The minute Gale left, the conversation became flirty and teasing- all the want that has been pooling in his body is finally getting the release it needs. You, like always, are a sight to behold.

Your back arches when his tongue drags along your clit and Astarion pushes your hips down into the mattress as your arousal paints his lips. Your moans and desperate cries of pleasure are so delicious and his cock is painfully hard, straining against his leather pants.. He is fighting between taking his time and being selfish- chasing his own pleasure inside of you.

The moment you clench around his fingers is the same moment he unlaces his own pants and begins to remove them. You keen and whine underneath him- Astarion’s name sounds the best coming from you in this state.

Astarion should be a gentleman, hypothetically, and maybe give you a half a second to be a little less dazed from your orgasm. Except Astarion isn’t a gentleman and he isn’t patient- at all.

Astarion lifts your hips up to his until the head of his cock is aligned with your entrance and he thrusts himself inside of you. You immediately wrap your legs around his hips with a yelp of pleasure and your eyes flutter wildly as you take his whole length. Astarion smiles down at you as he slowly rocks in and out of you.

Your fingers find their way to his hair and you pull Astarion’s face down to yours- stunning him with a mind numbing kiss. He snaps his hips at the sensation and the moan you let out causes whatever resolve he had to break. Astarion releases the hold you have on his lips and kisses along your jaw up to your ear.

“Did you like that, my Love?”

You hum in approval and try to pull his mouth back to yours. He interrupts you by thrusting into you two more times with more power than the first one.

“Asta-,,” you attempt to say his name between thrusts, “Astarion please.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Pet,” he teases, “I don’t even know if I know what you like anymore- maybe you don’t even like thi-“

Your legs tighten around his hips as he goes to pull completely out of you. Astarion quirks his eyebrow at you with a smirk as you look at him with desperation.

“I more than liked it- I loved it,” you whisper with your cheeks burning from your shyness.

Oh and how Astarion loves your shyness. His hands fist the sheets as he starts his agonizingly slow rhythm inside of you again- whimpers falling from deep within your chest.

“See, Darling,” Astarion says as his face falls into the crook of your neck, “that wasn’t so difficult, now was it?”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before Astarion’s hips begin to pick up speed and his mouth covers yours. As much as he loves to hear you moan- he doesn’t care to share that experience with any of the patrons that had been obviously checking you out while you were catching up.

Astarion groans against your lips as he continues to fuck you relentlessly- his fangs nip at your lower lip and lap at the tiny droplets of blood that seep from the punctures.

You are a mess underneath him and you feel incredible in every way possible. Astarion never wanted this to stop in the first place- back when he had told you his feelings and you said it would be best to be friends for the time being.

Perhaps that’s what causes him to slow down and kiss you deeply- making up for the lack of speed with more force. One of his hands trails along your chest and begins to tease your sensitive nipples- your walls clench around him hard when he begins to pinch and roll the right one and your orgasm coats him as he moves to play with the left.

You kiss him sloppily and he’s lazily thrusting into you- his own Little Death following yours within seconds. Astarion collapses on top of you as he begins to soften inside of you. The smell of you and him mixed together is intoxicating and your heartbeat is hammering from the pleasure- your eyes glassy and tired with bliss. He laughs breathily before placing a kiss on your swollen lips.

Astarion lifts you up ever so slightly so that he can pull the blanket down and over you, then he adjusts himself and you so that you are curled up with your ear pressed against his chest. He strokes your hair absentmindedly and you lightly draw shapes on his chest.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” you say sleepily, “I’ve missed you so much.”

I’ve missed you too, Darling,” Astarion says while pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m happy to be home.”

“Oh I’m sure Baldur’s Gate is-“

“You are my home,” Astarion interrupts you, “I’ve come to realize that wherever you are is where I want to be.”

You look up at him with tears in your eyes and happiness in your heart.

“But what about exploring your new life and all of that jazz?”

“Darling, I wouldn’t have a life if it weren’t for you,” Astarion states, “you helped me kill Cazador and break the cycle of ongoing abuse. You gave me life so I could live it and I want to live it with you. I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with just being friends and holding back my feelings. I want to share my life with you.

“I know this may all seem very fast, but” Astarion grabs his pants off the ground and he feels his stomach turn as he pulls the box out of his pocket, “I know I love you- that’s probably the only thing I’ve ever been sure of in my entire 239 years of existence. I- I wanted to know if you would… marry me?”

Your lips are on his within seconds and the two of you become entangled in soft kisses until you have to pull back for air. You lean your forehead against his and meet his gaze.

“I love you so much, Astarion. Yes- yes I will marry you,” you say tearfully, “I want to share my life with you too.”

[astraysimp]

𓆩⟡𓆪Hello hello! It’s 9mitm Friday! It’s our dumpling boy’s turn and man…..this one challenged me. My brain was working hard trying to figure out and plan this fic. LMAO, I enjoyed the challenge and hope you guys enjoy this chapter! XOXO

𓆩⟡𓆪Summary: For as long as you could remember–once your cousins and siblings had found partners, got married and had kids- your family always asked when it was going to be your turn. You hated it, seeing as it got brought up at every family function, but when you and Hyunjin announced your ‘relationship’ last year they shut up….but they still asked about kids…..until you and Hyune showed up with your baby in tow

𓆩⟡𓆪Warnings: fake dating(to real dating) trope, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, reader’s family is kinda annoying, you and Hyun have kept your baby a secret(no ill intentions), fem!reader, petnames, if my math of baby’s age doesn’t line actually make sense please pretend it does :D

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Ah, Christmas dinner with your family. You loved it….but you also dreaded it. Aunts, uncles, cousins, your siblings, your parents, grandparents all asked when you were going to find a boyfriend, when you were going to get married, when you were going to have kids. It annoyed you to no end. That was until last year when Hyunjin had suggested that you two ‘date’ to shut them up. So, you did, appearing at your family’s Christmas dinner hand in hand.

“Wah, our y/n finally got herself a boyfriend!”

“Finally! She’s not single anymore!”

“A boyfriend?! Oh my god, you brought your boyfriend?!”

“When did you meet?!”

“How long have you been together?!”

“He’s so handsome! Where did you meet him?!”

That was all you heard, until you heard the “so, when are you having kids?” You and Hyunjin hadn’t known what to say, heck your ‘relationship’ was only a show, to shut them up. So, you didn’t answer, telling them, “oh, it���ll be a while.”

It ,in fact, was not a little while. You and Hyunjin had baby Iseul only 9 months later. But, opted not to tell your family, due to wanting to soak up and bask in your new lives as parents.

That brought you to now.

Currently, it was Christmas day and you were getting Iseul ready to go to your family’s Christmas dinner. You were already dressed, wearing a red dress, the skirt sparsely covered in gold sequins, a pair of nylon tights on your legs, a pair of delicate black heels on your feet. You curled your hair, tying half of it up with a bow, your makeup already done– brown and gold eyeshadow accentuated your eyes, blank eyeliner elongating them and ruby red lipstick gracing your plump lips.

Tonight, you and Hyunjin were going to introduce Iseul to your family.

A lot in both yours and Hyunjin’s lives had changed. Your( what started as a fake) relationship had blossomed into a real relationship, you had Iseul 5 months ago, you lived together, he gave you a promise ring, you met his family. Oh, did I mention, you had a baby 5 months ago? Because you did, and her name is Iseul. She is a dream, not fussy, has Hyunjin’s pouty lips, and doesn't cry a lot. You and Hyunjin love her, actually love is too weak a word.

Smiling, you looked down to see Iseul trying to put her foot in her mouth. Laughing, you gently held her legs in your hands, sliding a pair of tights onto her chubby legs. “Hi, my dewdrop. Are you so excited? You get to meet your grandma and grandpa, and your aunts and uncles?” You giggled, as Iseul held her arms and legs up. She giggled as you tickled her belly, high pitched squeals and giggles erupting through the room. Her laugh was one of your favorite things about her, the way she so effortlessly lit up your life with her giggle. Grabbing the dress from beside you, you carefully slid it over her head and put her arms through the sleeves.

My first Christmas

The dress read, across its velvet red fabric, white letters spelling out the words.There was soft fur, along the hem, neckline and sleeves. She looked too cute. Sliding a pair of matching socks over her feet, you smiled and tied her soft baby hair in a ponytail and added a bow. “Oh look at my baby girl! My baby girl is so cute! Should we show appa how cute you are?” You smiled, and gently picked her up, holding her on your hip, as you pointed in the mirror. “There she is! There’s my dewdrop!” You smiled, bouncing her on your hip as she giggled. “Let’s show appa, yeah?!”

Speaking of her appa– Hyunjin– where is he?

You,nor Hyunjin, could exactly remember when your ‘fake’ relationship turned into you actually dating. Was it when the two of you were relaxing on the couch of your shared apartment, his arms around your shoulders and your head on his chest? “We have to make our relationship look real, honey love.” He would tell you.

Maybe

Was it when he made you heart shaped chocolate chip pancakes, for Valentine’s Day? “Happy Valentine’s Day, mumma,” he whispered in your ear. His soft yet calloused hands cradling your cheek, trying to wake you peacefully, where you laid in bed. “Morning, honey oat,” you sleepily grumbled. Your eyes slowly fluttering open to see a tray of breakfast— those exact heart shaped chocolate chip pancakes, strawberries cut into hearts, a glass of orange juice and a croissant— percheched on your bed, with Hyune sitting against the headrest. “Made you breakfast, for you and the baby.” He blushed, smiling down at your half awake form.

Perhaps

Was it when you were at your 20 week ultrasound, finding out that you would be having a baby girl and the nurse beamed at you, congratulating you with a “congratulations Mr and Mrs Hwang”

Mr and Mrs.Hwang

You couldn’t remember. Your lives bled into one another seamlessly, the line between real dating and your fake show relationship seeming to disappear. It was easy. Easy as breathing. Sure, ever since you had become friends with the tall boy, you had pictured and thought of dating him. Wondered how his pillow soft and ever so plush lips would feel against your own; how it would feel to be held against his chest as he sang you to sleep at night. The thoughts always lingered in your brain, somewhere in the back. But, you never would have imagined for him to suggest putting on a show relationship to quiet your family’s ever persistent questioning.

Sure, you had also seen Hyunjin interact with babies, over your times as friends. And did it make you wonder about what it would be like to have a child with him? Yes, you weren’t going to deny it. Again, you never would have guessed it to become a reality. But, it was your reality. You and Hyunjin… sharing an apartment, welcome home kisses, having a baby shower, him healing you through. Your pregnancy.

He was there through it all, every step, milestone, doctor’s appointment. He was there. He had even picked out her name, Iseul. “I like Iseul, love. It means dewdrop. Our own little dewdrop,” He muttered, his large hand rubbing against your bump, as you two were laying in bed, one night.

Her nursery theme was his idea, as well. Themes of soft powder blue and a crème color flourishing against the walls. Hyunjin picked out each piece of furniture, as long as you approved of it, assembled them and built the nursery, filling it with his love. One of his, and your, favorite things was the mural that Hyunjin has painted. It was a picture of the sky, clouds gracing the ceiling with rain falling down, but in the spaces between the raindrops, was her name…

Iseul

Grabbing Iseul’s shoes and snow suit(one of those full body padded baby onesies) you headed towards your and Hyunjin’s shared bedroom? “Where’s appa, Iseul? Hm, where did appa go?” You pondered, seeing as he wasn’t in your bedroom, and the master bathroom light was off.

Where could he have gone? You thought to yourself, as you made your way downstairs, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor. “Hyune? Hyunnie? Babe, where’d you go,are you ready?” You called out, entering the living room.

Then, you saw him– and damn, did he look good. His ebony hair was slicked back, a tailored Versace pair of slacks along his legs, a festive yet classy Versace crewneck on his torso, paired with a gold watch and shiny, black sleek dress shoes on his feet.

Damn, I’m lucky

He was preparing Iseul’s stroller, making sure a blanket was safely tucked in it, to make sure she was warm and had the baby bag sitting on the floor nearby. “Look, dew drop, there’s appa!” You smiled, as she giggled and kicked her feet in your hold.

“Oh! There my girls are! Hi my loves, don’t you two look so pretty?” Hyunjin smiled, turning around at your voice and seeing you standing there. Making his way over to you, he planted a kiss on your lips and Isuel’s forehead, before taking her into his arms. “My baby’s first Christmas! Are you excited, pumpkin!?” He smiled, as Iseul squished her small chubby hands on his cheeks, happy squeals and giggles leaving her mouth. “I think she is, huh dewdrop?” You smiled, adjusting her dress, before you adjusted the red bow in her hair.

Turning to you, Hyunjin smiled and kissed the crown of your head. “ I need to load the gifts and stroller into the car. Think you’ll be okay getting her ready while I do that, hon?” He asked, as you smiled with a nod. “I got it, babe. Go get everything settled,” you patted his butt lightly, taking Iseul back into your arms. With a nod of his head, Hyunjin put his long trench coat on, and grabbed the stroller and baby bag, slinging it over his stroller, “I’ll warm up the car, while I’m out there, honey!” He called, making his way into the cold night air, popping the trunk open and setting the stroller and baby bag inside.

Meanwhile, in the house, you had slid your own matching trench coat on and fastened its buttons, before setting Iseul on the couch, humming as you laid the opened baby snow suit on the cushions. “Let’s get my dew drop bundled up,” you cooed, gently booping her nose. Carefully, you laid her against the back portion of the jacket, settling her legs and arms in their respective sleeves. “One foot, and another foot and you’re all in!” You giggled, zipping up the zipper. Hyunjin had since reentered, to grab your load of presents, before leaning down to plant a kiss to yours and Iseul’s heads. “Look at my little dewdrop! You look so warm, did mommy dress you up?” He smiled as she kicked her feet, before he went to load the presents into the car.

Taking one of her shoes into your hands, you gently slid it on her foot, clasping the buckle shut. “One foot,” You smiled as she waved her arms around, looking up at you. “And one more foot,” you giggled, repeating the process with her other shoe. Picking her up, you grabbed your keys, phone and bag and made your way to the door. Turning the lights off, Hyunjin took Iseul to buckle her into her carseat. “Ready to go, my loves?”

The drive was about an hour and a half , to your parents’ house. Iseul had managed to fall asleep, and you couldn’t blame her, traffic causing a 30 minute delay. Cars bumping back to back, you had barely moved an inch. You weren’t shocked when you turned from your spot in the passenger seat, to see a sleeping Iseul on her car seat.

Driving during the holidays sucked.

But, you managed to make it, and once you pulled into the familiar driveway of your parents’ home, you smiled. Unbuckling your seat belt, you went to the trunk, grabbing the gift bags. You, carefully, made your way into the house, to be greeted by smiles and warm hugs. But, outside, Hyunjin was grabbing the stroller, setting a still sleeping baby Iseul in it, and the rest of the gifts.

“Hi,everyone! We’re here!”

Your parents rushed over to you, pulling you into their warm embrace. “Hi, love, so nice to see you! Where is that lovely boyfriend of yours?” Your mom asked, noticing Hyunjin wasn’t by your side. “He’s out bringing the rest of the gifts(and our baby) in,” You laughed, turning to hug your dad. “Hi sweetheart, how are you?” Your dad asked, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m good, how are you, dad?” You smiled, walking to the living room, after shrugging your jacket and shoes off, exchanging them for house slippers.

“Hi, yn!”

“Hey, where’s Hyunjin?!”

“Ynnie! So good to see you!”

Everyone called out their greetings and you smiled, giving them all a hug after you placed the presents under the, already full, tree. “He’s on his way in, we have a lot of presents to bring!” You laughed out.

You heard him before you saw him. Smiling, you could hear the wheels locking on the stroller as he was taking his jacket and shoes off. Any minute now and everyone would be in for a big surprise.

“Hello, hello! I’m here!”

And there he was. But, not only him, he came pushing the stroller in, Iseul still asleep, the soft blanket laid over her body. “And, we have a guest!”

“Is that a-”

“A stroller….a baby?!”

“When did you two have a baby?!”

“A grandbaby, oh my gosh!”

Needless to say, everyone was surprised, shocked, taken aback, confused. You laughed, as Hyunjin took Iseul out of her stroller and sat next to you. “Yep, a baby. Baby Iseul,” you smiled, seeing her stir awake. Gently, you tucked the soft fleece blanket around her body, ensuring her pacifier was shut in her mouth. But, they could also see a ring on your finger.

“What-“

“When?!”

“How old is she?!”

“What’s her name?!”

“Is that a ring?!”

Laughing, you looked over at Hyunjin, seeing him rocking Iseul in his arms. “Wow, lots of questions. But! I have answers!” You giggled, settling yourself against Hyunjin’s side, as he placed a kiss on your temple. “So, to start, her name is Iseul and she’s 5 months old. Uh, we found out we were having her after last Christmas,” You breathed out, as Hyunjin nodded. Clearing his throat, he looked toward you. “We weren’t expecting or planning on having her. She was like our own Christmas present, he laughed, “but, we really love being parents.”

“Why haven’t we met or seen her yet?” Your mom asked, curious as to what took you and Hyunjin so long to bring your baby around. Nodding your head, you smiled as Iseul was slowly stirring from her sleep. “Honestly, we just wanted to bask in having her to herself, for a while, before we brought her around everyone. Becoming parents was a change, a big one, so we wanted to soak it i, have our own memories built and just get to love on her.” You breathed out, hearing a soft whimper coming from Iseul. Hyunjin smiled and nodded, “there is absolutely no ill intentions. We just wanted to be able to soak in the new parenthood love and enjoy her to ourselves.” You both smiled, before Isuel’s whimpers turned into cries, she was hungry. “Excuse me, I think we have a hungry baby on our hands,”Hyunjin smiled, rising from his seat on the couch to grab a premade bottle from the baby bag and go to the kitchen to warm it.

It was true and you and Hyunjin loved the 5 months you had Iseul to yourselves. From the moment she was born, she had her appa wrapped around her finger. Iseul was born early in the morning,2:23 to be exact. You remember Hyunjin crying, as she was placed on your chest, her head covered in soft black hair. She has his lips, and nose but your eyes. She was—and still is— his greatest accomplishment.

Month 1 brought a lot of changes. A new sleep —if you can even call it that— schedule for you and Hyunjin, lots of waking up at the break of dawn for nightly feeds, lots of diapers and dirty clothes. But, also lots of smiles, smiles shared with each other and smiles shared with Iseul. Lots of baby giggles, gummy smiles and big brown eyes.

With each month, your hearts only grew, watching as her personality developed. She was a daddy’s girl, through and through. Loving to be held and sang to by Hyunjin. He loved to hold her small body to his bare chest. Looking up at him, her big brown eyes blinking, easily growing tired throughout the day. “It must be tiring being so cute,” he cooed to her, kissing her small forehead. Hyunjin had fallen asleep in the rocking chair by the crib many times. “Want to make sure she’s okay, honey love,” he’d tell you, a tired yawn falling from his lips. She was, and always will be safe, but he needed to be sure. But, luckily Iseul always slept through the night, easily.

By month 5, Iseul learned to hold a crayon. Thanks to Hyunjin. You would come home to see them in the kitchen seated at the dining table, coloring. But, your favorite sights were seeing them cuddling. It warmed your heart. You also loved watching Hyunjin feed her. It was such a mundane task, but it was the cutest thing to see. Iseul would be seated in her high chair, Hyunjin sat in front of her, and he’d swirl the spoon in front of her. “Here comes the plane,” he would say with a sing-songy lilt in his voice. Her small pouty lips would enclose the spoon and her face would scrunch up, mimicking the way Hyunjin’s own face would pout when he ate. “She definitely is your daughter, honey bear.” You would giggle out, as he used the spoon to wipe the baby food from around her mouth.

Returning from the kitchen, Hyunjin sat on the couch, a warm bottle of breastmilk nustled between Iseul’s mouth, as she fed. “I’m back, and she is less fussy,” he chuckled, knowing a full tummy would calm her down. It was true. Iseul only became fussy when hungry or tired.But, the drive from your apartment to your parents’s house had her well rested. Your cousin had peeped up. “So, there’s a ring on yn’s finger. When did that happen?” She smiled, pointing to the delicate stoned balanced between prongs and snugly set on a delicate band. “Oh that?” Hyunjin laughed, carefully handing you a now empty bottle, before softly patting Iseul’s back. “It’s a promise ring, a promise to never give up on yn or Iseul, and to always be here, no matter how hard it gets…..It’s also a promise to make her my wife,one day. Almost like a placeholder ring until then.” He smiled, as you carefully took Iseul into your arms.

Cradling her to your chest, you and Hyunjin exchanged soft eyes and loving smiles. “Well, we’re really happy for the both of you.” Your dad chimed in, patting Hyunjin on the shoulder. “Thank you. We’re really happy,too.” Hyunjin smiled, his eyes watching as you rocked your baby in your arms, looking down to her with matching eyes. The world around you,Hyunjin and Iseul, seemed to disappear. It was only the three of you. Looking back up , you saw Hyunjin watching you. Smiling, you gently blew him a kiss. Which he gladly caught and pressed to his heart, before sending two— one for you and one for the baby— your way.

“Time to eat! Dinner is ready!”

Maybe, family Christmas dinners weren’t so bad after all. But maybe that's because you had Hyunjin and Iseul. Or, maybe because you wouldn’t be questioned anymore. Standing up, you hold Iseul in your arms, walking to the dining room, Hyunjin following you.

Dinner time

ೃ⁀➷Please do not steal,translate,repost(on any platform), modify, paraphrase or in any way claim my worksೃ⁀➷AStraySimp 2023ೃ⁀➷

🏷️ @mellhwang ; @autumn583 ; @hyunsvngs ; @hotchnrz ; @galamxy ; @ebbaskz ; @turtledove824 ; @galaxycatdrawz ; @fawnpeaks ; @bigsobs4skz ; @143lix ; @bangchans-babygirlgirl ; @aaasia1111 ; @reid-deiri ; @tenshimara ; @dancerachaslut ; @peachygirlsthings ; @saturnandgold ; @justscrollinthrough ; @jesuisstay ; @shinywolfbears ; @lewoh-ot8-wh0re ; @alnex05 ; @mixtape-racha ; @shujohajohaminnie ; @heartheartisa ; @skzstaykatsy ; @manuosorioh ; @whosanaanyway ; @cvntywonyo ; ♡

Reblog to show us support xoxo 💕💕

[sordidmusings]

Sweetly Scented Secrets - Intro (Reader x CYOE Various)

Summary: On a stop to a new island, you managed to find yourself at a witch's stall. Despite yourself, you actually bought some things. The purchase that vexes you is a perfume that could supposedly urge confessions out of those it targets.

Word Count: ~1.8k

A/N: this is some good ol’ Nonsense that came from this ridiculous video of a man spraying himself with perfume then seemingly being unable to keep divulging So Much so suddenly 💀 I have been told that he frequently dissociates into a state of info dumping. I will choose to believe the perfume compelled him. And thus it will compel the blorbos. Some will be sfw and some nsfw (and tagged accordingly of course). All will likely be goofy. I will play with which is which and who happens based on my fancy unless requested! This gets out first cuz it was p much done Forever Ago so all I had to do was fill it out and edit it and make a mood board then set it to come out on a Monday cuz Fuck Em

Warnings: gn! reader (I tend to write from afab perspective since that’s what I am so if something slips please let me know 🤍 this goes for all my gn!), a wild OC appears! Take her in all her cringy glory 👌🏻, I just always wanna write witches man, can’t decide if magic (largely in the modern western esoterica sense) being legitimate counts as canon divergence, if so then this is canon adjacent 🤷🏼‍♀️

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

A spiritual crisis was not how you wanted to start your morning.

You were stuck between the deep-rooted desire to believe in magic and every skeptic you’ve ever known talking down their nose at you. It felt like a very unbalanced war between the two. The weight of scorn had tamped down your wish for magic to be fact for years, but a wanting pit in your chest still clung to “what if”. That pit had begun to grow roots and stems as the Grand Line showed you places and life beyond the scope of your imagination. What explanation was there for Devil Fruits besides magic? Though, magic, it seems, was only for Gods to deal out. Earthly life must keep trying to use science to catch up or fight for what scraps the Gods toss their way.

You continued to stare dubiously at the carved stone bottle in your hand. Delicate, swooping letters decorated its soft pink label, spelling out “Affection’s Confession” in deep violet. Gold accents brought out their curves and matched the shimmering golden wax that sealed the bottle’s cork and dripped down to crawl on the translucent fluorite vessel. It sat heavy in your hand, each second passing with it in your palm adding another gram to it then another and another. You sighed and placed it back on your dresser to stare some more. The light dancing through the sloshing clear liquid, bouncing and glimmering through lines of blue and green and purple, only made it more enticing to you.

Your hesitation was exacerbated by the perfume’s seller. Well, maybe potion was a better word? Saying “potion” made you feel silly though, even if it was given to you by a witch. And that brings you back to the whole problem.

The last island you’d visited was known for its strange customs and belief in the arcane. Most weren’t living by the practice; just knew of its validity as yet another mundane fact of life. Finding the actual practitioners was much harder, or it was supposed to be.

You would’ve had to have been blind or willfully, stubbornly ignorant to see that woman and think anything other than “witch”. Feathers and beads were tied in her dark hair, swaying in time with her vertebrae earrings on each turn of her head to watch passersby. You kept your eyes to them as you approached her, feeling unsettled and intrigued by the strange decorations. Shortly after you began heading towards her, her face snapped to you and she zeroed in, making you feel like a rabbit stalled before a fox. When she stood from her seat and sashayed over to greet you in front of her stall, you realized she was barefoot, sporting wood and leather anklets instead of shoes. The music they beat with each of her steps and the open smile that warmed her face eased you just a bit.

“Hello, sweet thing,” she greeted, the cheery tone of her voice ringing out the pet name. “I can help you find just what you need. The coven and I have built a stock to aid any situation, including yours.”

As she leaned forward in a semblance of a bow, you noticed her large necklace of braided bramble (Thorns still on? you noticed incredulously) hung low, holding dried roses in front of her cleavage. The languid way it followed her matched the nature of the scant drapings of deep red and dirty beige fabric, which hung on her in the vague shape of a summer dress. She held out her suntanned arms, palms up to ask for your hands. Having her this close nearly made you step back; something unnatural lived in the air around her and her tawny eyes saw right through doors and walls and words and skin. Feeling hesitant, you continued to meet her gaze and only offered a mumbled greeting.

“Come now, let me have your hands,” she encouraged gently. “They’ll tell me what you need.”

“How are they supposed to do that?” you asked curtly. “And I usually like knowing someone’s name before hand-holding.”

“Call me Pythia,” she chimed immediately, still holding her bent posture and asking hands. “I don’t have the time to explain the hands. I promise I won’t keep them though.” She giggled at her own… joke? You were hoping that was a joke. You eyed the peeks of death behind her (articulated bugs here, bones there, jarred creatures, hides, blood-) that made all the pretty wares around them seem tainted.

Watching her laugh was the first time you noticed the knack her loving smile had for curling into something more impish, cluing you in that she knew something you didn’t. Despite this making her feel even more dangerous to interact with, you put your hands in hers.

“Thank you, lovely,” Pythia said, voice heavy with a gratefulness that didn’t seem to fit the moment to you. While she cradled your hands, you took in the many carved rings and bangles of stone, leather, metal, and bone cautiously.

That caution had rooted itself to you and was very stubbornly sticking to your feelings about her wares. Besides the perfume, you had purchased an herbal pouch to hang over your bed, meant to aid with ease and depth of sleep. The first night, you noticed your mind was much calmer than its usual anxious whirring before bed. The second night, you listened to the first of her instructions and took ten deep breaths through your nose against the sigil-embroidered pouch. Your sleep came mere minutes after taking in the floral and earthy scent. It had you decide to try out the full instructions, adding on asking the herbs for good rest, placing a gentle kiss to the sigil, and sealing it with a long press of your forehead to the marking. You slept like the dead.

The success had you brainstorming on how to make it back to her in a few months, as she had warned you that the effects will fade with use. It has only been three weeks since your first full ritual with the pouch and you can already feel it start to wane just a bit. You mourned this morning when the sun through your window had actually managed to rouse you from sleep. When you were grumpily blinking at the bright light, you had noticed the perfume bottle still sitting untouched next to the beaming light.

If the pouch worked then shouldn’t this?

That hope was what led you to stare over the bottle as you were now, and try to convince yourself that it wouldn’t be so ridiculous to try out. After all, you had felt quite stupid speaking to your herb pouch and that feeling paled in comparison to the benefits it brought you. You took another minute to mull it over then steeled yourself with a deep breath to go through opening up the bottle.

You found and flipped open your pocket knife before settling on your bed with the bottle. As Pythia had instructed, you placed a kiss on each flat side of the blade before cutting around the rim of the bottle, right where the cork met glass. You thanked the blade and flipped it back closed. You twisted the cork out, took a deep breath filled with curiosity, and smelt… nothing?

Pulling the opening of the bottle to press on your upper lip, you took another long sniff. Yep. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You frowned at the bottle, wondering if the witch had actually managed to sell you snake oil. You sent your narrowed gaze to the herb pouch above your bed then back to the bottle in your grip, mulling over your trust in the liquid. Eventually, a mix of previous success and your burning curiosity got you to continue trying the perfume out. You were also pretty sure you saw actual snake oil in her shop, so that handed the witch a point for gumption and a deduction from trickery.

Her instructions were quite detailed for the perfume to be at its most potent. Things about the meanings associated with fingers and the places on the body and the importance of the order and all of it seemed to jumble together. When you asked if she had anything to write it down, she shrugged and told you what you remembered of the instructions was the act meant for you to take. Maddeningly unhelpful. So you sat on your bed and ran them through your memory until you were sure you recalled everything as clearly as possible. After a good while meditating on it, you were surprised by the detail that your mind let you recall of it. You were ready.

Blocking the small opening with your right ring finger, you overturned the bottle and flipped it back, leaving a drop of the substance on your fingertip. After repeating the process on the other side, you took to dabbing the prescribed spots with those fingers, making sure your right hand touched your left side and your left hand touched your right. You focused on following the list exactly - a dot on the front of each ankle, a dab on the center of the top of the thighs, one on each hip bone, a small swipe along each bottom rib. Each application was made with a whisper of “I can receive”.

Refreshing the liquid on your fingers, this time your pinky fingers, you continued to the next section. You placed a dab at the center of each clavicle, a swipe on the back ends of the jaw, and a circle on each temple, this time muttering “I can hear” with each touch. The liquid placed on each middle finger was rubbed into the opposite wrist to the words “I can unlock”. Lastly, you used your index fingers to draw a star on your third eye. This time right stayed with right and left with left when you flicked the bottom points to aim at your irises (“I can see”) and the side points to follow your brow (“I can know“). Your fingers joined together to draw the final point directly towards the crown of your head. With finality, you voiced a solid and steady “I can understand”.

Once you had finished applying, you noticed a sweet smell start to emanate from your skin. It was quite delicate at first, luring you to lean closer and seek it out. That pull only increased as you also sought more of the pleasant sensation warming your mind with each lungful of the scent. After a good thirty seconds, it leveled out, leaving you feeling boneless and content like you’d woken from a nap basking in the sun. The face of your love smiling down on you during a lazy summer afternoon flashed in your mind with the feeling.

Okay, maybe this will make them confess to me.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Whose confession do you seek?

(list of who I have ideas for in no particular order) Law, Ace, Sanji, Nami, Robin, Koby, Luffy, Buggy, Mihawk

Other names are not unwelcome, just the juices weren't flowing for others vibing immediately with the energy of this prompt but tbh sometimes the challenge of that makes better fics. If you do want to request, please include sfw or nsfw and whether you want gn, afab, amab, fem, or masc. If you don't then my personal default is afab (female physiology, avoided or they/them pronouns for gender). I'm a bit nervous about writing transfem and transmasc properly, but so long as you're okay giving it a once over and pointing if I've made mistakes so I can correct them then I'm happy to try!

Also I had to fight the urge to start this with a dumbass joke hard lol the other first lines were "There are two wolves within you. Both of them are telling you this is likely a crock of shit."

[ravenna-reid]

Admirer from the past... (Pt. 2)

TW: blood, mention of dead bodies & birds and stalking/obsessive behaviour

Part One Here

No matter how hard you tried to distract yourself. How many times you re-read over the plethora of files on your dozens of clients. How many times you made yourself yet another cup of tea. How many times you re-organised your desk, you couldn't tear your mind away from the memory.

The lines of police tape and sirens. The black petals dusting the dirty, wet ground. The stench of the strangers blood smeared across the pavement to spell your name. The horrified faces all snapping up to catch your reaction. The Red Robin's eyes glued onto you.

Fuck, you knew that guy was really bad news when he first walked in.

Although you were a registered and respected forensic psychologist, you were also working at your own psychology clinic, handling patients that displayed erratic or criminal behaviour. And did you still remembered him like it was yesterday.

He'd been sent to you for his odd behaviour, psychopathic tendencies, signs of selective mutism as well as obsessive behaviour.

Extremely obsessive behaviour.

Harry tells you you were being naive for thinking he'd never become obsessed with you, but you just never imagined it. You had, maybe seven sessions in total with him? And soon enough, a dark figure watched you leave and return to the office every day. He sent copious amounts of dying flowers and disturbing letters, and it only grew worse.

Banging on your car window and begging to be with you. Bloodshot eyes and a spine chilling grin wherever you went. And soon after, once you realised you had to move out of your apartment, he was sent to the police. Banned from your clinic and from you.

And now look at what he was doing. Taking innocent peoples lives-

Your soul leapt through your chest when you heard the gentle tap on the window. You snapped your attention outside to see Red Robin there, sheepish smile across his face as he waved.

Surprised. You were genuinely surprised.

Subtly regathering yourself, you closed your laptop and walked towards the window. The cool chill from outside took its chance to creep into your office once you opened the window. Tim's eyes glanced over you. Your hair was thrown into a french twist again, a little messy this time with strands of hair escaping here and there. A long, checkered coat hugged snuggly around your body, a black turtle neck peeping through the top. Your hooped earrings dangled as you tilted your head to the side.

He could practically feel the blush creeping up on him.

"Red Robin. How did you find me?"

Red Robin. He liked how you said that.

He ignored your question and gestured to your office, "May I?"

You nodded.

Tim slipped through the window, but stayed close beside it as though he was unsure about stepping further into the room.

He awkwardly nodded, "Y/n."

You gave an amused smile in return. How odd was this.

"I uh, I did a little research. Your clinic is pretty well-known." He finally responded.

Pride flushed through your cheeks. "I would hope so. It took me almost a decade to get this far." You sat back down at your desk and crossed your legs. "Do you need something from me?"

"Well, I was sent here by-"

"Harry?" You finished with a light laugh and the shake of your head.

Tim's brow furrowed. "That predictable huh?"

"Yes," you held up one of your spare coffee mugs and raised a brow. Tim swallowed before shaking his head. "It's alright."

You placed it back on your shelf. "Very predictable. Especially given the circumstances. Harry has known about this bastard for a while now."

"Yeah, about that. I was pretty eager to check up on you too after that."

Your heart beat a little faster. Tim moved closer to your desk, his eyes trailing over all of the files. The many degrees, masters and awards hanging above it. He snickered.

"How humble."

You shrugged. "'Humility is the solid foundation of all virtues.'"

With a genuine smile on his face, he leant against your desk and crossed his arms. "I need whatever you have on this guy so I can get him. Put him away before he does any more damage."

"I agree," You said before pulling a folder out of the nearest filing cabinet. "Here. This has everything. Criminal records, psychoanalysis, extra notes and information."

Tim flipped it open and immediately became immersed in it.

Jacob Harrington was his name, which Tim - of course - already knew, but he was still surprised that this guy was actually younger than both of you.

Tim's dark hair fell before his eyes as he read, and you couldn't help but watch on and admire him.

He was definitely handsome, and therefore probably taken.

"What a fucking creep." He murmured, reading over the counts of crimes he committed towards you prior to this incident. Mainly all of the stalking.

"Tell me about it." You sighed. "I'll help you in any way you need. I can predict his behaviour, and I have some friends in high places."

Tim smiled, until his thoughts went to one of your little friends. "Like Harry?"

"A bit higher up than Harry."

Tim hummed. Then berated himself for thinking such a thing.

No Tim. Don't ask her, don't ask her, don't ask her-

"Are you too close?" The words were out before he could stop himself. He gave you a side glance and didn't miss the expression that melted onto your face.

"I suppose," You teased out. "Harry has always been a family friend."

"A very protective one." Tim pointed out. Rightfully so he guessed, but he still wanted to test the waters.

"Yeah, I guess he feels he kinda owes it to me to be so protective."

"Owes it to you?"

"Harry was the detective signed onto my parents case. But he never found the guy that killed them." You gave a sad shrug, your eyes still trained on the rug.

Something tugged at Tim's heart, and suddenly his determination to find this asshole who was stalking you became even more fervent. Intense. He would keep you safe, if it was the last thing he'd do.

"I'm so sorry y/n."

You took a sharp breath in and masked it all with a smile. "It's alright Wonder Boy." But he didn't believe you. Instead, there was this sweet, sympathetic glint in his eyes. This was the guys that plummeted bad guys?

Suddenly, your phone buzzed on the table. "Ha, speak of the devil." You gave a light laugh before answering. "Yes, he is here. Yes, we are fine."

Tim watched you, tried to read the conversation by reading your expressions. And obviously, Harry had just said something that terrified you.

"What? My apartment? But..."

Tim put the folder back on your desk and frowned. "What is it?"

You stayed silent though, listening intensely to what Harry had to say. And every second was agonising for Tim until you finally hung up.

"What's wrong y/n? Is it that guy?"

Your face grew pale as you tried to find the words. "He.."

Tim stepped closer. "Yeah?" He ushered gently.

"That fucker wrecked my apartment."

Part 3

[cvlutos]

hey there! I just commented on one of your posts and as I was reading it, I had an idea and was wondering if I could brainstorm w you cause I wanna fan girl w someone

Imagine if Reader always tries to escape the Neighborhood. Every time they get past the Neighborhood, they only ever manage reach the edge of the woods. And then everything goes white.

And they wake up as a different person in the show. A newly introduced character and every time, they have to fight to escape again.

When R first wakes up in the neighborhood, they retain all their memories of their past life for only a minute and then they disappear completely.

pls lemme know if you have any thoughts on this!!

No cause this would be so interesting! Was supposed to write a drabble and instead wrote a whole thing. Oops

HIS GAME!!

✦ | Apr.08th.2023 | —K |

✦ | Wally Darling | Gn!Reader

✦ | Chasing | Your Trapped | Yandere | No Chance of Escape |

✦ | Synopsis: How many times must we do this, neighbor? |

"Stop it!"

Your voice is hoarse, panicked, angry, frightened. Once pristine black shiny shoes covered in dirt and mud, your clothing rip and torn, as your nails claw and push against the tall, almost fake pine trees. Desperate to get away, needing to get out.

Trees bend and sway, shivering and jumping as the ground begins to change, turning soft and grabbing the soles of your shoes, the edge of your clothing, pulling you—yanking you—tugging you into the ground that swallowed you. You scream, cry out in utter pain, hands clawing at the gooey surface, your body frantically fighting. Ink-like hands grab at your face, pulling your cheeks and dragging you downward, muffling your screams, digging into your eyes. Your vision blurs into pure white.

'How many times must we do this, neighbor?'

You awake with a jolt, you don't have time, tumbling out of your bed with shaky steps, nearly throwing aside your large night stand as you fumbled for a heavy sharp piece of wood, drawing a shaky tally into the wall, your breathing is erratic as the door to your home opens and footsteps near closer to your bedroom.

You don't have time.

Your vision is spotty, salvia slipping past your lips desperate, exhaustion filling your bones as you slump to the floor. A soft sigh drawing your attention as he stands in your doorway, you can make out the smallest smile and wave, before sleep overtakes you.

'WELCOME HOME'

The note is written with a red crayon, spelled out with a multiple different signatures. Julie, Barnaby, Frank, Poppy, Sally, Eddie, Howdy, & Wally. You can't help but smile at the kind letter, each of your new neighbors taking time to greet you, even though they've never met you. You dust off your colorful clothing, tightening the straps of your red shoes, and fixing your hair as you make your way towards the front door, taking time to inspect your familiar forever home, everything was perfect.

Perfect, Perfect, Perfect.

With familiar perfect colored walls and perfect sized windows. Yet before you can do much more, someone knocks. Once, then twice, before a final three times. Each knock following a musical pattern, that makes you bound happily on each step as you open the door. The sun is bright and shining, the birds always singing as you come face to face with someone you immediately know.

"Hi Neighbor!"

"Wally Darling!" You call his name, like you would an old friend, since that's what he is! Your best friend, your closest friend in the whole wide world. He matches your happiness, tipping his head to you as he elegantly bows, "the one and only."

You smile widens at his antics, watching him stand again and straighten out his blue cardigan, fixing the yellow buttons to all line orderly. "Welcome Home, Neighbor! Now, let us not dilly dally, the others are excited to finally meet you!" He gives you no other second, taking your arm in his as he ushers you out of the house. He walks you down the familiar roads, pointing out all of your neighbor houses, and all the interesting things to do throughout the day.

Things you're familiar with, things you've done before.

"Wally! And Neighbor!" Before you can react, a big ball of blue takes over your vision, lifting out off your feet and hugging you, voices all shouting in chorus, one you've heard before.

"Welcome go the Neighborhood!!"

Time and Time again.

There's a certain unease that follows. Another tally. That lingers behind you like a shadow after every step you take in your ruby red shoes. Another tally. A feeling that tells you over and over and over and over, that something isn't right. Another tally. He isn't right.

You aren't right.

These blue shiny shoes aren't yours. Another tally.

These glittery hair pens don't belong to you. Another tally.

These eyes. This hair. These clothes. This isn't you. This isn't you. This isn't you. This isn't you. This isn't you. This isn't you. This isn't you. This isn't you. This isn't you. This isn't you. This isn't you. This isn't you. This is you. This is you. This is you. This is you. This is you.

'How many more times must we do this, neighbor?'

It was a mere accident, ripping up the wall paper behind your night stand, revealing the large wall filled tally marks. Each line ffranti, hazardously marked as if whoever wrote them was doing so quickly, with escape written in messy letters.

This is how it always begins. Every time you find this wall, every time you see the tally marks, a tally mark you once drew, you remember. You're trapped and must escape.

"No matter how many times we do this, you always remember... I don't understand why you want to leave, Neighbor."

Wally stands in your bedroom doorway, shoulders slack, as he lets out a sigh, his smile returning. "But it's okay Neighbor! You must really love this game. And I'll keep playing until your absolutely satisfied!"

He steps to the side, waving out his arm to you, motioning towards the open door, to the open exit.

And you run.

Another tally.

ⓒ 2023 cvlutos — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[heartfullofleeches]

Cholly and Jessica rabbit darling 🙏🙏 maybe a blurb?

Toon Yan + G.N "Jessica Rabbit" Singer Darling Blurb

-

There's a certain bar in town.

The walls haven't received a fresh coat of paint since opening day and the drinks are piss poor at best yet lines wrapped around the block on slow days and patrons regularly fought for their spot below the already crowded stage. The old girl had a trick up its sleeve - a star act who stole bated breathes with once glance and captured lonely hearts with first hymn. A singer with the grace of an angel plucked from the heavens above and the lure of those below. How such a place came to employ a prized gem like them was a mystery, but so long as they were under their roof - seats were packed and business was booming.

With their charm, it was only a matter of time before suitors came rolling in. The love letters and gifts were sweet for a time, but a silent rejection just wasn't enough for those trapped under their spell. Fans threw themselves at the poor thing every chance they received - ambushing them outside their dressing room or on walks home and even climbing on stage in the middle of their performance on a few occasions. The singer was a professional in letting down their admirers gently, but everyone has their limits and when someone couldn't take the hint-

"I'm flattered, truly, but I already have someone waiting for me at home. They get terribly worried if I'm not home soon at this hour."

Their claims were true - in a way. In the past, all that waited for them was an empty bed and a tv, but through countless hours of watching old cartoons - it seemed there was always someone watching them back. It'd definitely put a dent in their tips if word spread far, but they had to get it out the new out their at some point. Besides, if anybody knew, they certainly kept their mouths shut to the press. In reality, their relationship wasn't as hidden as they portrayed. If one paid close attention to the loudest cheers in the crowd, they might piece two and two together with the voice that follows them home.

"Another amazing performance, Doll. I don't know how you manage to do it, but it's like a breath of fresh air everytime you get up on that stage."

"Oh, stop. You know I wouldn't be anywhere without the support of my fans and a certain little troublemaker."

"Well, I'd say that someone is a pretty lucky person. Would'a brought a fruit basket to go with those flowers I left in your dressing room, but honestly all the ones I've eaten recently have tasted a little bitter - cause I've got the sweetest peach on my arm right now."

"You're terrible!"

Many questioned why the singer choose who they did. Nobody ever got a good look at them upfront, but even from afar the difference were stark. The singer was taller than their partner even without heels, not to mention their strange tone of voice and need to throw a joke into almost every conversation. What on earth would someone as elegant as them want with a creature like that. The answer was quite simple.

"They make me laugh."

The answer might seem a little lackluster, but in a time and city like this, you'll fine a big of laughter does the soul good. There was more to it than that. Their partner made them feel safe and secure. They knew when to cut the theatrics and truly care for their love in moments of need. On top of that, the singer hadn't ran into any issues with crazy fans since their relationship began. They assumed they were deterred by the fact of them having a lover and while some were - majority weren't. They poured all their time and money into getting their attention, and they chose some random person for what - a laugh? There must be more- More than the laughter or cheap comfort. They could provide all that and then some. If anyone decided to let their anger get the better of them and confronted the singer's lover they'd gladly tell them.

"You wanna know why they choose me over you and the rest of the chumps that fawn over a taken person? You reeeeeally wanna know why Y/n picked me? Haha!... - that's easy. You can beat me, shoot me, stab me and I'll be just fine, but all it takes for you is one little cut and you're gone for good. And you'll never guess what I have in my other hand...just like all the others... If ya do - might even give you a five seconds head start."

[kishdoodles]

Treebark Week 2024 - A Post-Mortem

Hi! If you haven’t seen, I have released seven (7!) videos for Treebark Week 2024! This wall of text is my behind the scenes and also post-mortem thoughts on the project, which I found worth documenting.

Even if you don’t end up reading the text, I appreciate every comment, tag, and view my videos get. I did it for the fun of it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do it for the attention. I did, because I think these videos are the funniest things I’ve ever released. Shoutout to @thefluxqueen for being my partner in crime and confidant for these. You saw my vision.

I wanted to do something for Treebark week but admittedly I had noooo idea. So this whole gimmick was a fun set up for me to stretch my creativity in. What started as “I’m just going to do everything in mspaint with a mouse” spiraled to “I think it’s going to get boring if everything’s in the same style, so I’m going to have to do something different everyday.”

The important factor to me throughout all of this is earnesty.

Even if its life started as a joke, this project is a love letter in every respect. This is what I grew up on, this is the YouTube that is precious to me. Capturing this era of time in 7 videos is all at once easy, yet surprisingly laborious.

First I planned the songs. Fitting the songs with the prompts was a brain scratcher, but once we (me and Spain) had a few in the rest slotted in pretty easily. Common thread was, of course, any popular song from the mid-late 2000s.

The first confirmed song was Sugar, Sugar for Sweet (Day 2) courtesy of Spain, given the Eddsworld video. We had a few songs for Burn (Day 3) or Infernal (Day 4) which we threw out (Elli Goulding’s Burn, 2NE1’s Fire, Steam Powered Giraffe’s Fire Fire, etc.) I ended up digging through my old playlist and listened to 20% Cooler, which after a realization I immediately slotted it for Frost (Day 1). Spain brought up the Heat Waves parody (Cold Spells) for Frost too, to which I realized I could just do regular Heat Waves, so that became what I did for Burn.

Bring Me To Life was brought to my attention (I forgot how, maybe Youtube recommendations?) and with the lyrics, it became the song for Blood (Day 7). The all time classic, Angel with a Shotgun, fit in nicely with the prompt of Divine (Day 4), so there was no contest. Another classic, Everytime We Touch, was harder to fit but I eventually reasoned through the prompts enough to fit it with Lips (Day 5) (the everytime we kiss part).

At this point, nothing I’ve found fit Day 6 (picnic/garden/strawberry) at ALL. So I decided the only way I knew how. RANDOM CHOICE!

Mad World won but that was a trap, for I have biased myself toward Animal I’ve Become at that point and it almost won, so I went with that instead. This is a lawless land. 

-

The actual video ideas really came to me in piecemeal, so I’ll explain how I got each idea as I cover each day in order of when I completed them. 

20% Cooler (Day 1) was the most straightforward of the days. It was done in 1 hour and 30 minutes and I was purposefully being extremely literal about the lyrics. I already had the vision for what I want, and I didn’t want to care about quality all that much, so it came together really fast. 

For my process, I lined with mspaint brush and then bucket tooled with default colours. I took advantage of the new layer system mspaint added for some scenes, but otherwise it was as simple as just drawing. (Pictured, 3 layers for 2 scenes.)

It was really easy to just quickly edit in Windows Movie Maker 6 too, I just dragged the pictures in, slapped effects, roughly timed everything and it’s done.

Programs used: mspaint, Windows Movie Maker 6

-

Sugar, Sugar (Day 2) was an honest effort at avoiding any complicated animations. I initially thought of doing an animation similar to the original video that inspired the song choice, but eventually scaled back because. I don’t want to animate. 

Thus came the decision of subject matter. I ended up settling on the demon roleplay because I thought it was the campiest thing in the world. And it was a sweet reunion, no? The lyrics just fit the vibe, and in a moment of brilliance (hitting the showers) I thought to make a visual novel. One reflective of old flash games and like the visual novels of cultural zeitgeist at the time.

I’ve known about Ren’py for quite some time now, but I’ve never properly learned how to use it. For this my task was simple. Find out how to change sprites, backgrounds, and move people into the scene.

Sprites and backgrounds were easy, so those were the first things I did. Ren’s sprites were inspired in design by Demon Hunters in the Warcraft world, mostly because I was playing a lot of Hearthstone and liked the idea. Martyn’s sprite style was inspired by early 2000s anime visual novels, like Higurashi (though I’ve personally never consumed it nor do I actually recommend consuming this piece of media (neutral) its ripple throughout the anime community was felt. Notably, parodies of the anime’s opening were very popular.) I toned back the stylizations, but trust me when I say that Martyn’s hands were purposefully big to be yaoi hands. It didn’t end up that big, and I did not give him the dorito chin here so, immense self control on my part (or cowardice?). False and Joel were just my regular style. For all this I used my tablet instead of my mouse.

The programming part was a little troublesome, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t google, so it got done pretty fast. There’s other small bits, like how I mismatched the background sizes, the sprite sizes (with each other)(minorly) but for the most part it came together pretty quick. Once the VN was done, it was just about recording it. So I put on the song, and danced along.

[You can download the VN here]

Programs used: Ren’Py, OBS, mspaint, After Effects (just to move the scene over at the beginning)

-

So I knew I wanted a classic style AMV, so that eventually became Everytime We Touch (Day 5). 

The pictures mostly come from a discord server I’m in (hi [redacted]!!!!) and I thought of it like a nice homage to the insanity we had in there. Bless all of you guys, you guys were the ones I wanted this series to be made for the most.

Not much to say beyond that, besides me just editing it all on movie maker as usual.

Programs used: Windows Movie Maker 6

-

Angel With a Shotgun (Day 4) was the last to be planned for. I predicted it was going to be the easiest to make on the fly (it was) and just kind of winged it. I wanted a unique style still for it though, and the idea of drawing their cubitos came pretty late. 

I was not exempt from this trend in my youth (my art in mspaint, age 11, me and my sister)

The rest was history. Just kidding, I really wanted something to do with the shotgun thing so I literally searched “shotgun” in Curseforge and got MrCrayfish’s gun mod just for the shotgun. I loaded up the 3rd Life world I had from my Broken Lives animatic (it’s a custom made world using the seed) and just got to work with FreeCam and OBS (it’s my first time with FreeCam too!)

A rejected clip I didn’t use because of skin consistency / continuity.

Programs used: Minecraft, mspaint, Windows Movie Maker 6

-

Heat Waves (Day 3) acquired a pixel art style as an homage to its original lyric video. People have said it reminded them of Homestuck, which I honestly don’t mind. It fits the era and I did grow up with it. It kinda looped back in on itself that way.

I blame this frame, here's it as a gif which lies unused.

For the video, the more I rewatched bits of Last Life for it (it’s been a while!) I realized it had a lot more potential than I initially thought. Though I doubt most of it didn’t come through in the final product (I limit these videos to a minute or less, if possible, excepting credits and allowing few more seconds over the minute mark so long as it felt warranted), I tried to cram in what I thought fitting to the prompt the whole time.

The watch tower burning was an easy pick, a classic Treebark moment you might say. For the rest of it, the nuance laid a lot in how Martyn presented the Shadow Alliance. “The Dog, The Shadow, The Roots. We make this place burn.” Under the eyes of the moon, it witnessed this pact form, and its resolution for the server. The moon is included in multiple frames because of this, as a stand-in for the eye of the Watcher(s) I included at the start, watching Martyn through the series.

In a lot of ways, how Lizzie and BigB turned red I also found fascinating. Lava and explosions you could argue are an extension of burning and fire, and an explosion was also how Martyn left the series. Ren, from the start of this alliance, inexplicably committed to and saw through what ultimately rips the people he was loyal to away from him. 

Martyn on the other hand, I drew in the later portions quite aware of the position he’s in, hence only his eye in the frame with the last 4 folks. This to me starts a path for him toward where he goes in the later serieses (notably in Limited Life). This is all very “vibes” and instinctual kind of “trust me on this” sort of read on c!Martyn honestly.

On missed opportunities, I’m almost upset at how I never brought up the moment Martyn buys a love crystal from Scar (never used, it got blown up) which I (and a lot of other) may have delusionally thought it was for Ren. Besides that, I never had a chance to desaturate the colours in the video leaving only red (which Ren did upon the encounter of the establishment of the Moon Cult)(it really emphasized Martyn’s lips!), I tried just plain desaturating, but ended up ditching it since it never felt like it jived well with the rest of the video.

All that aside, I finished this one really late (for me, which was past midnight on the day it was going to be posted), so I’m glad it was out on time. It’s the one I put in the most effort for, and I’m glad to see people enjoy it.

The eye on its own, which reveals the Watcher symbol I accidentally did in the wrong orientation. Oops!

Programs used: Aseprite, After Effects

-

Animal I Have Become (Day 6) was thought on for a while. Eventually I have my eureka moment and I thought it was a nice shout out to the Bannedstory community who I’ve followed in my early days, where I’d watch animations of people’s custom OCs (original characters) made with Maplestory sprites animated to audio clips that I really wasn’t supposed to be listening to at the time lol. That, and all the online games and the like I grew up with on the early internet. I personally didn’t partake in it, but roleplaying on those was a common sight, and I found it endearing. 

My partner in crime for this day in particular was @thefluxqueen, because I really can’t be bothered with character customization for a lot of these games (I respect the craft but I lack the patience), but I knew who LOVED doing that. He really knocked it out of the park, helping me do the Gachalife, Club Penguin, and the characters for Animal Jam and Ponytown. For the latter, they handed me the account information and we just went to town.

A Treebark stream in a just world.

I can’t tell you exactly how I assigned the lyrics, but I definitely assigned the animal sections during the chorus so it was a surprise (and so it also fit the lyrics). I did have fun recording and we had a fun time in Ponytown. We were shown where other mcyt fans are by a Grian pony (Hermit Hill) and then we hung out there sitting down while we workshopped the Bannedstory segments with both our sonas together. All in all a great time.

It took a few takes.

Programs used: Bannedstory 3 (I would’ve loved to use 4, I grew up with that!), Gachalife, Club Penguin, Animal Jam, Ponytown, Windows Movie Maker 6, OBS

-

For Bring Me to Life (Day 7)... I ended up getting more attached to the thought of it the longer this project went on. 

I wanted it to be the end all be all, go out with a bang and everything. I kept thinking and thinking, how do I end Treebark week? After a week of homages, how do I make the last one?

What’s beyond my childhood? It was just growing up. But it’s not like I had to let anything go. My artistic endeavors are influenced by all of my experiences. I saw good reason to bring it all home, do a callback to the styles of the entire week, it’s my victory lap.

And why not call back every instance of Treebark through the entire series then? This evolved into me learning more about Martyn’s lore because I want to be informed! I want to make this as someone who earnestly loves the narrative of these characters, and the stories they’ve told.

From a story perspective, it felt like Martyn was always doomed to tragedy. Suppose the life series always does end tragically, but Martyn’s Vtuber in relation to all this has its own inherent tragedy to it. In my eyes, this roamer of cyberspace constantly has to live through different lives with familiar people. The people he loved and cared for in one world will always be ripped from him, and he knows that.

Amongst everything the Unguided Hand gets me the most. In the video I drew the Ren he chases as a shadow. He’ll never get the Ren he knew then, back. Even if he meets another Ren in another world, it's never going to be The Red King. To me, Limited Life is the snapping point, a point of selfishness above all else in the comfortable knowledge that he wins, without ever needing to experience the same closeness and loyalty he had in lives past. The realization that this is what the game was about. Winning at all costs. I wanted the progression to reflect that.

Deep down, maybe he yearns to be saved from all that. The song echoes that sentiment. I tried to match the lyrics to how I saw the timeline of events as close as possible for that to hit. In this, Ren is his anchor, someone that he gets drawn to no matter the incarnation. The tragedy is that Ren, even if he knows about what Martyn’s going through, can’t join him in this journey. Martyn will always be alone in this experience, and Ren can only be a short comfort before the cycle starts anew. 

I quite liked the pixel art I did for LimLife!Martyn

From a meta perspective, this video (and by extension, the whole series) is about art and creating. I have been obsessed with art for 14 years now, and as time goes on I’ve grown fond of every way that we, as people, have evolved our storytelling. The multitudes of mediums that we have developed to express ourselves and share narratives will continue to fascinate me endlessly. Cringe be damned, there is a universal desire to create and enjoy stories of all folds. From the smallest story told from painstakingly typing chat boxes for little custom-made characters to say, to the highest production play put on for multiple hours in a game of Minecraft. 

And at the beginning of my journey lay paper and pencil. Bring Me To Life is an elaborate pun on my end, yes, but also a reflection of my roots. I started my journey as an artist endlessly doodling the adventures of tiny magical girls fighting demons, drawing fanart of costumes in MMO games I found cool, and sharing them with my friends at school. I find myself still drawing, still creating, for hundreds, if not thousands of eyes to see. Still I get inspired by the stories others tell, and I create in turn. In appreciation, in love. 

Bring Me To Life as a song, is a slate that, to me, reflected what I saw in the relationship of Treebark. Bring Me To Life is also a demand, of a piece of art that I had a vision for, that I wanted to bring to life. I struggled at how to end it for a while. Closing the book became very straightforward. It’s the end of this video, this saga, and another way that me, as a Watcher myself (as what they’re originally meant to represent) exercises control over stories in my own unique way. Creation is never limited to a select few. I think everyone should keep getting inspired by the things around them, and keep making art in turn.

To the people who’ve made it til the end here, make art, keep creating. Do shitty doodles, write whatever you want, make sounds and crafts and keep living. That’s all I really want, and this was what this whole series was about.

Programs used: mspaint, Aseprite, Blockbench, Bannedstory 3, Pencil and paper, After Effects

[sweetbrier2908]

satan's random headcanons

• gives you kisses on knuckles and forehead because he's a charming prince who normally only exists in fantasy. but your fantasy turns out to be real life and now he's your prince charming.

• the most decent one in the family. the first time you realize he's actually a demon is when he talked about how he was going to tortune a lower demon.

• cat café date at least once a week. if there's a new cat? he goes there everyday for a week. friend with all the cat café owners in devildom, he also has share of some cat café since lucifer doesn't allow him to have his own cat.

• always says that he's gonna snitch to lucifer if his brothers do something wrong so he can trick them to tell him their secrets then blackmails them later. succeeds every time for 5000 years straight.

• actually the best cook in the house. from desserts to main courses. there is nothing that he can't cook, as long as he has his cook book with him. he learns recipes from every restaurant he goes, takes note of them, remembers what dish his brothers like and cook them later when he's on cooking duty (also remembers what dish lucifer dislikes and cook them later). if someone in the family says the dish he cooks today good, prepare to eat it for the rest of the year everytime satan's on cooking duty. yes, he LOVES to take care for his brothers though he never admits it.

• never organize his room unless lucifer angrily and strictly asks him to (which happened a very very long time ago since he casted a spell on his door to stop lucifer from entering his room). always says "it's messy in my own way", that's true, he knows where exactly to find this things. you need to borrow some books about devildom's history? shelf 1, row 2, number two from the right side. need some spicy romance book? on the floor, the whole stack at the left side of his armchair.

• knows some very good if not the best pick-up lines. first of all, he's closest with asmo. second, he reads romance books more than anyone in the three realms. always give you the most poetic love letters you've ever received.

• acquainted with all the high-status people in devildom. some random nobel? oh, he met they once in a art exhibition 1500 years ago, just grabbed a cup of coffee with them last month. some of the most famous corps in devildom or maybe human world? he's one of the shareholders. a businessman. literally a businessman. remember the chat where he said he introduced mammon to some perfume company so he could get 80% of the profit? yes, that's the businesman of the family.

• always befriends with people who benefit him and his family. mammon needs money? he can give his older brothers some modeling gigs. levi wants some limited merch? he knows someone in the company? beel wants to go to some restaurants? he can ask the chef to come to their house. no one knows how he expand his social network this much.

• loves to give you gifts. everything. from the most expensive scarf you can find in the whole world to a cat-shaped stone that he finds on the way home from RAD. gives you everything reminds him of you.

• always loves to try new thing with you. today you two goes to the drive-in cimema, the next day he will bring you to the ocean to go fishing. but if you want to go to the bookstore and then the cat café, he's happy to go with you, it's his most ideal date too! and if you don't want to go outside? he has some very interesting book you can try to read. he.will.never.bored.you.

• so insecure, always thinks of himself as the most avarage guy compared to his brothers, and compared to every guy you know. lucifer is always at the top, diavolo's right hand man and stuff; mammon is one of the most famous model in the three realms and known for his infamous reputation; levi is so passionate about his hobby; asmo is super popular and pretty and always the trend-setter; beel is the athlete, always loved by everyone; belphie is effortlessly smart, he's just straight-up the genius of the family and also a spoiled brat. and he, the middle child of the family, an avarage guy who will never be unique enough.

[lewkwoodnco]

tis the damn season - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: estranged best friends to lovers trope my beloved!!! 😍 AHHH this is one of my fav fics I've written in a while. Poem below is Golden Boy by Cecil Miller, and the Spanish line is taken from a streetcar named desire by tennessee (idk how 2 spell) williams! this might be less proofread than normal + includes a few of my pre-infection hallucinations? lottt of angst, wc 5.1k!!

P.S. I think I'll be doing a part 2 to buy me presents! but not until a little later ahah and also the 12 days of fics are totally going to spill over hahah

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Lockwood stares out the kitchen window. Both inside and outside, there is a bleak stillness in the air that sinks in his bones like a plague. It's too cold and too early in the morning for anyone to be properly out and about. But the season always messed up his sleep schedule more than usual, and now that they had taken a break from their cases for the holidays, there was nothing to occupy his treacherous mind, and its return to taut requirings of Christmases past.

Slowly, the other residents of Portland Row start to stir. George grumbles about their spluttering heating system and having to plod through the snow to get the mail, and Lucy promptly falls asleep in the cup of tea she's just brewed for herself. They were all exhausted, and rightfully so, given that the holidays was prime time for people to start looking into properly clearing out ghosts to keep their homes warm and cheery.

He slips out just as George's complaints about the heater start ramping up, and his mind is so scattered that he forgets to put his coat on. It's a little more brisk than what was completely tolerable, strictly speaking, but it was only just for a minute. When he reaches the mailbox, he runs into Mr. and Mrs. L/N, old family friends who had helped him more than he deserved over the years. They made some polite conversation while he rifled through the bills and letters.

"Oh, Anthony, we wanted to invite you over to tea sometime this week. Y/N's home for the holidays."

His hand slips and an envelope slices his finger open. It was bound to happen, given his glum and careless mood, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint to suppress his cry of pain in front of them.

"Home...as in here? London?"

Ever since she had left for boarding school, there would always be some talk of her dropping by for Christmas every year. But the plans would never be fully solid, or some other pre-existing commitment would prevent her from making the trip. He was suddenly feeling oddly claustrophobic. He glanced up and down the street, as if expecting her to be hiding in some bushes.

Mrs. L/N seemed to pick up on his distraction, and her brow furrowed with concern.

"Of course London. Where's your coat, dearie? Aren't you feeling chilly?"

"...yes. Now that you mention it...perhaps it's best I head back inside."

He gave a stiff sort of wave and walked back, mind reeling. Eight years. Eight years since he last saw her. What the hell was he supposed to do if he saw her now? How was he supposed to feel?

Luckily, he doesn't get much time to panic because as soon as he walks in, he narrowly dodges a wrench being lobbed at his head. Apparently, eleven freezing days with improper heating was more than what George could bear. It's usually a rather quick fix, but maybe the comparatively more extreme frost this year had corrupted the system beyond Lockwood's capabilities, because two hours later he was still no closer to getting it fixed.

Some time later, there's a knock on the door. He yells for someone to get the door, but he's buried too deeply in the house for anyone to hear him. Grumbling, he dusts himself off and walks to the door himself, head buzzing with frustration. He's so preoccupied with what more he could possibly do to get the heating working again that he doesn't think to check the peephole first. So when he opens the door, he gets the wind knocked out of him.

"Anthony."

It was her; rosy-cheeked yet looking effortlessly warm. Her facial features had lengthened and rearranged themselves as compared to when he last saw her, but there was still something expensive to the twist of her mouth and the crinkles near her eyes.

"It's been so long."

Even her voice was rich, like honey. Now that she was standing in front of him, the stitch in his chest from the morning seemed much more familiar. It had been some seasonally grievious paste that had coated his lungs and stoppered his mouth that made him feel eerily weightless if he dwelled on it too much.

He didn't know what to do. Exchange pleasantries, or skip to the part where he slams the door in her face? Before he could decide, he hears some shuffling behind him, and almost instinctively opens the door wider.

"Y/N. These are my associates. George Karim, Lucy Carlyle...Y/N L/N."

"Right. Lockwood and Co., was it?"

The four of them glance at each other, exchanging fleeting smiles for a good half-minute, before George has the sense to usher everyone inside for a cup of tea.

The kettle's already on, and George hands out the cups of tea waring mittens, his glasses barely visible behind the scarf mummifying the lower half of his head. If she notices the cold in the house, she doesn't comment on it.

They make some polite small talk. She's pleasantly amiable and a perfectly gracious guest, and talks about her Christmas dinner plans. Lockwood is disinterested and surly and wants to talk about his fragmented sense of self. At one point, his responses start to become so clipped that he earns a poorly concealed kick from Lucy, accompanied by a stern look. Luckily, it doesn't seem as if she's noticed. She was looking at the white blanket of snow over their garden carefully, as if dismissing their presence.

"Your garden looks beautiful. I'd love to have a look around."

George and Lockwood exchanged a look. It was freezing outside, and the harsh temperatures were clearly not worth braving for the little of the flowerbeds they could see. George opened his mouth to tell her as much, in his own snide way, but he hesitated. Lockwood felt his heart sink.

The thing was, she had had a magnetic effect on most people ever since they were kids, a quality that made it difficult for any grown adult to refuse her or for any child to oppose her. It was the same reason why she was sitting in his house, drinking out of his teacups, eating his share of biscuits (George and Lucy had clearly conspired as soon as they picked up on her staying for tea). But he had been sure that if there was anyone who could pull away from this siren call of hers, it would be George. The very boy who was meaningfully looking at him, trying to express some uncommunicable panic.

"Er...Lockwood?"

And so, he ended up taking her out for a brief and awkwardly quiet stroll in their garden once she was done with her tea. They meandered through the garden path stiltedly, and every snow-dusted weed and sapling seemed to astound her. Still, she divided her attention sufficiently to continue the ocnversation.

"Homeowner and agency head at fifteen. Impressive."

"Thank you."

"I bet you're the media's darling."

He shrugs.

She turns to him, eyes generously pooling with faux concern.

"It can't have been easy."

It wasn't easy, not that she would know anything about it. He wants to be spiteful towards her, lash out at her. God knows she deserved it. But something holds him back.

"So...that was George. And Luce."

She jerked her head back in acknowledgement, but he could see the slight smile playing at her lips as she did so. He had forgotten how terribly exasperating she could be.

"What?"

She shook her head, but that only made her smile grow wider, and so she finally relented. There's a vulpine twist to her lips that Lockwood has no patience for. "Nothing. I'm sure they're lovely people, of course. But if I wanted to know who you were hanging with while I was gone, I would have asked you."

He shrugged. "I wanted to share a bit of my life now. They're just about all of it."

She hums pleasantly, stopping short in front of one of the flower beds. She bends down and picks up a freshly fallen violet, its deep indigo harsh and unrelenting against the fresh, pure snow, against the season of vacancy and death. She holds it up in front of Lockwood.

"Viola Odarata. Symbolises humility. Flores; flores para los muertos. Flores."

A part of him wants to sneer at her in painful irony. How arrogant of her to think she could waltz back into his life as she pleased.

"That what they teach you in your boarding school? Useless facts about violets?"

She shivers, even though the air is completely still with no breeze, and her lips part. Too late, he realises he's gone too far. Her smile slips a fraction, and she takes on an air that makes him feel obliged to apologise. He resists it, and for a moment he sees something flash in her eyes, but it's gone before he can place it.

"Forgive me, but you don't seem terribly happy."

"The Problem's raging worse than ever. Happy things don't come by easy these days."

"...I suppose. It wouldn't -" For the first time, Lockwood thinks she might be feeling nervous. Her humanity, manufactured or otherwise, draws him in despite himself. "It wouldn't have anything to do with me...would it?"

He takes in her carefully manicured appearance, her intentionally pieced together life made up of the dreams she worked towards and achieved. And all he had was a house that was more of a burden than a blessing on some days and this inchoate dread over a Problem whose end was nowhere in sight. But he doesn't know how to express this resentment, this jealousy.

"I'm alright if you're alright."

Sad, dispirited eyes look into each other, searching for the fulfilment they're sure the other has found. She speaks in a tight voice.

"It's okay with the both of us, then."

She suddenly reaches out, and gently holds his finger with the papercut with a firm but comforting pressure. His first instinct is to pull his hand back, but he doesn't, and as the long seconds pass, he feels increasingly vulnerable. The cut was no longer bleeding, and was even well on its way to healing over just fine, but it was irritated from where he had relentlessly picked at it.

"Looks fresh."

She traces the cut with her other hand, violet folded in her palm, with a feather-light touch. The surreality of the moment - of her standing inches from her, her breath tickling his fingertips, her warmth spreading through him - catches up to him and makes his breath hitch. It was unbearably intimate and made him feel like the exposed, raw wound he had been nursing for the eight years she had been gone. And how like her to return with pockets full of unfounded promise to stitch the tears in his skin.

And just as quickly, she lets go of his hand and steps back, and Lockwood feels as though cold air has been forced into his airways. She tucks the violet behind her ear, and drifts back inside. The tilt of her joints is so familiar that it stirs something in him. Something long gone, something he was gripping like a fist.

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

When they return, Lockwood excuses himself to his room for a bit of air, ignoring how closely George is watching him. He sits on his bed and takes a deep breath. His nightstand has a few miniature picture frames on it, and in one of them the picture's been flipped around. It's a picture of him and her, taken a few months before she left. It's how he remembered her before seeing her today. Sometimes, when the urge grew too great, he would tilt the frame under his nightlight, and make out the barest outline of their figures looped together on the other side of photograph.

He didn't know what to make of her departure, all those years ago. One day, they were swinging on tyres in her parents' garden, and the next day, she wasn't at school. But as the years churned on, the string tying his heart to hers stretched and tore a slow and painful death from him, out of the cavity she left, and he never felt quite the same again. And as they continued to age, the wound became old news and scabbed over what was once raw and paralysing, but a part of him always wanted to know why she did it, to be angry with her for being so callous.

And now she was back, pulling him under by the ankles, ripping the gash open viciously.

He didn't know how exactly to deal with it, after years of thinking of her adjacently, daring only to keep her in his peripheral vision, where he was kept safe. Maybe it was all part of a larger problem; the twitch in his hand and his recurring nightmare.

He's ten years old again, at a train station he's never been to, and likely one that doesn't exist. It's hard to see just about any discerning features, except for the massive train peeking through the fog in front of him. He looks to the right, and sees her strong fingers wrapped around a railing, her standing in the door of the train. He can't be sure of much, but he's certain she's looking at him. He stretches the moment as long as it will last, because it's all downhill from there.

There's a terrible groaning sound, and the train reluctantly starts to chug along, steadily gathering speed. He walks alongside it, gradually picking up his own pace, until he's nearly sprinting. All the while, she watches him with amused eyes, secure in her place on the train. He's panting, choking on the fog, eyes streaming. But if he can just reach her scarf whipping in the wind, the train will stop, and she'll step out, cool and gleaming and impervious to the cloud of dust surrounding her and-

He wakes with a start. He knows how it ends.

She slips through his fingers every time.

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

She stays for the rest of the day, and the four of them spend a cosy afternoon decorating their Christmas tree, carefully dodging the random mugs of hot chocolate littered across the room. While they were digging out the ornaments from the attic, she finds a box that he, evidently, had not tucked away deep enough.

"Remember these?" She holds up a flimsy, crumbling Santa Claus ornament made of construction paper. "We had so much fun making them."

He nods stiffly, subtly shifting the box towards a corner in the living room. It smarts his eyes to look at the hideous thing, as if its very sight was corrosive.

"Took me a while to find them, though. It must be a pain to dig them out every year."

He puts down the bauble he's hanging, and sighs. "I haven't...brought these out in a while."

Even her look of perplexity looks artificial. "Why not? Aren't there so many happy memories attached to these?" Her face falls ever so slightly. "Do memories of me not make you happy?"

Luckily, they're interrupted by Lucy placing a handful of miniature marshmallows into their hot chocolate. When she moves over to George, Lockwood wordlessly starts hanging their crafted ornaments, and she doesn't press him for an answer. When they're done, the tree looks a lot more crowded and chaotic than it normally does, similar to how Lockwood was feeling with her around. He looks at her, and isn't sure how he feels about the asymmetry of having her here.

Later, when she's about to leave, it starts snowing heavily, too heavily for her to walk home. So after a phone call with her parents, she decides to spend the night. Lockwood's in his bedroom when he hears a knock on his door. It's her, dressed in a spare set of Lucy's pajamas.

"I thought you'd be awake."

She wanted to know what he was doing, and what he was doing was wrapping some Christmas presents. Immediately, she obligingly offered to help, and she was too eager for him to outright refuse. Of course, he might have thought differently if he had known how abysmally little she knew about wrapping gifts. And so they stay up till the early hours of the morning, both of them trying equally hard to teach her the most basic of gift wrapping skills. As the night wore on, they got increasingly drunk on laughter over her heinously criminal attempts and Lockwood's limbs started to loosen up. At one point, he had given up entirely and placed his hands over hers, puppeteering the night's only decent gift wrapping while she smothered her laughter.

He doesn't remember much after that. When he next regains his consciousness, he's lying curled up next to her, with the late morning sun streaming through his windows. He watches her breathe, slow and steady, with a face so relaxed, amiable and familiar.

As her eyes start to flutter open, he panics and tries to look anywhere else, which isn't easy given how she's only inches away from him. They glance at each other, silently acknowledging their positions, and the silence hangs heavy in the air. He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to put as much space between them as he can with his arm wrapped under her. "When do you leave?"

She scrunches her forehead as she thinks. It's one of the few parts of her he instantly recognises and he gets caught off guard by a rush of affection, and a flash of an impulse to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Monday."

He pulls a face.

"We'd have the weekend together. Isn't that enough?"

They stay quiet, watching specks of dust float through the sunlight filtering through his partially drawn curtains. With how close they are to each other, they're not looking at each other's face, and it's unclear if she's asking him, or herself, or the dust they're watching. Was it enough?

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

Later that evening, Lucy wants to take a walk along some of the emptier roads in the snow. She takes their trip as her cue to leave but Lucy insists she come along, so she does. The four of them had cycled as far as they could, and when they reached the too-slippery parts of the road, they had dismounted and left their bicycles in a corner. Lucy and George were wandering around a bit ahead of them, while they slowly shuffled through the snow. She had picked up some newspapers on their way there, and was looking through them as they walked, taking particular interest in the odd article on Lockwood & Co.

"You've certainly had your fair share of media coverage."

"Along with a decent helping of frenzied media sensationalism, I suppose."

"My apologies. I forgot I was talking to the Anthony J. Lockwood of Lockwood & Co. Now, is the arson bit complimentary, or would I have to pay extra?"

She was teasing him, and it was irritating. There was a reticent air about him and after some politely delicate probing, which he had been too preoccupied to entertain, she had resorted to amusing herself. Toying with him like a figurine, the way she did all those years ago.

"You wear your grief so beautifully, Lockwood. Like...like jewels between your teeth..."

She pauses, flipping through the newspapers interestedly with inky fingertips, which flickered like shadows next to the soft white snow.

"...and you have such a winning smile. Golden boy." She laughs, and the sound feels like icicles pressing into his skull. "Golden boy," she trills, "you were a bit of a child. The world was having its way with you. You tried to...er, something...golden boy!"

She smiles at him lazily, expectantly, as if anticipating some kind of applause. But Lockwood is in no mood for her childish whimsies.

"I'm fine. I don't have any grief."

She frowns exaggeratedly. "'Course you do."

"I don't."

She mumbles, turning back to her newspaper. "Fine, then. Not like I'm the one holding onto...some kind of...ache."

He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. How could anyone be this self-aware and yet completely oblivious? The strain on his self-restraint peaks and he buckles within himself.

"Why are you here, Y/N?"

She looks away from the snow. "Lucy said it'd be nice out here."

"No. I mean why are you here, in London? Here, at Portland Row?"

Her lips are pressed together, and there's something guarded in her eyes.

"I just...wanted to see how you were doing."

"Liar."

The word drops from his tongue in such an aggrieved manner with such vehemence that it makes her choke.

"How could you say something like that?"

He scoffs. "Please, let's not pretend you weren't dying to leave at the first chance. Not that you had the decency to tell me-"

"-I was ten!-"

"- having me go through the humiliating process of finding out on my own-"

"What do you want me to say, Lockwood? I'm sorry I left? I'm sorry you were alone? I'm sorry I was too selfish to give a damn about you?"

"-and you'll come back, choking on your silver spoon only to leave again and again and again until you're all alone-"

"You never wrote!"

"I didn't think you'd want me to!"

"I didn't know what I wanted!"

"Then what do you want?"

"YOU, you idiot!"

He stares at her, speechless.

"I was ten. And I was so foolish. How could I have thought of anything but you?"

With that, the last of her rosy, polished, alluring boarding-school airs fell apart. He looks at her and sees his own anger and yearning reflected back at him; anger and yearning he's hardly ready to face. Despite all their efforts to get away from the other, to move on, something between them held fast. Or perhaps it was that they were hopelessly, irrevocably intertwined.

"Of all the roads I could have travelled, you are at the end of every single one of them. Every single one of them, except the road I did travel. I'm here, Lockwood, because I thought I might have...I might have chosen wrong."

"So you think you can just stroll back now that it's convenient for you? I didn't know if I'd ever see you again, do you realise that?"

"What do you want me to do, Lockwood? You keep pushing me away. I feel like part of a past you're forever trying to run away from. So fine! I'll leave, then. I'll go back to the sorry hole I crawled out of, back to friends I don't care about, back to dreaming of the only person who's ever truly cared about me. Is that what you want?"

She doesn't wait for a response, and turns around and walks away from him.

"Y/N, come back."

She silently picks her bicycle out of the snow, dusting it off.

"You can't cycle in this."

Still ignoring his words ringing through the dead winter silence, she steadies herself and cautiously swings a leg over her bicycle. Lockwood starts to walk towards her.

"You'll fall. You'll hurt yourself. Y/N. Y/N!"

But she's already off, gliding soundlessly like a ghost through frigid air on icy roads.

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

He's already regretting his words by the time he reaches 35 Portland Row. When he first walks in, the house is so deathly quiet that he's convinced she's left. But her bicycle is thrown down in the garden and he knows she's too averse to the cold to walk home in the snow.

He walks slowly, his measure footsteps echoing on the wooden floors of the house, and he eventually finds her in the living room, sitting with her back to the door, staring at the drawn curtains. The fading evening glow spilling through the edges is streaked across her face and there's a soft crunching sound. As he comes closer, he sees the bowl of ice glinting in her lap, like fractured light, with her face as blank as a canvas.

"Have you gone completely mad? You'll fall sick."

She doesn't even flinch, as if she hadn't heard him. When she speaks, there's a dreamy quality to her typically strong and clear voice.

"I didn't want to come back. This city is nothing I want. I was always going to escape some day. And yet..." she trails off with glazed eyes, as if trying to look through some distant fog. "...and yet."

"You were right." The run back had left him mildly breathless, but was also exactly what he needed to get rid of the buzz in his head, giving way to some much-needed clarity. "About the...heartache. I was just sick of it. You're miles away. I love you in your sleep. I still reach the end of road alone. But I loved you all the while and...somehow that made the pain of leaving you worth it."

"I'm restless. I'm lost. I'm selfish." She swivels her head with an unnerving smoothness, grin wide and grotesque, ice glinting between her perfect teeth. "I'm so alone, Lockwood. Just like you said."

He doesn't know what to say. He walks towards her and picks up her bowl but her fingers close around his wrist like a vice. The gleam in her eye makes him want to pull his hand back. He's too old to play her games and lose.

"That's a bad habit."

"I'm a bad habit. One you can't seem to kick even after all these years: tell me, Anthony, why is that?"

"Y/N, stop. You'll spoil your teeth."

It only makes her grind her teeth even more tauntingly. It's an awful sound. "Good. Let them fall out, one by one. It's what I deserve. Maybe I'll finally learn my lesson."

Her grip on his sleeve lessens, but she doesn't let go. She grips the bowl with her other hand even tighter, as if suddenly terrified.

"Leave me be, Anthony. Leave me...to my vices...and violets and...violence."

He reads her face. He tries to figure her out, to read her like the open book she once was to him. When he doesn't leave, she shovels more ice into her mouth, uncomfortably clacking with her teeth, and continues.

"I was racing ahead...into some glorious sunset, towards some fantastic rainbow, at the end of which was some miraculous snowdrop and a wish to soothe my nomadic soul. I didn't have time for the boy with the sad eyes two streets down from me."

"I convinced myself that you resented my escape from the Problem. I was 15 with the bitter taste of lemongrass in my mouth and a stitch in my chest when I realised I spent all those years missing you. I couldn't run away from it, not truly. So I pretend. I pretend you don't hate me and I pretend I'm not an awful person and I pretend there's a chance you'd want me as much as I want you. I came home to tell you how terribly fond I was of you. It was only at your doorstep that I realised I had run out of places to hide."

"I don't have time for love. Nor the capacity for it. But I am tired of trying to outrun it."

She closed her eyes. Her voice was barely a croak. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving. If I could...I'd wish away the past eight years of misery." She opened her eyes. "Some nights, I can pretend they never existed. But I can't wish your happiness into existence."

Lockwood somehow finds his voice. "I thought this was the life you wanted."

"It is Christmas, once again, and my heart is lonely as an island...once again. What part of this could I possibly want?"

He lets go of the bowl of ice and covers her limp, frozen hand with his own. She speaks in a low voice, barely stirring the dust in the room.

"I'll never forgive myself."

He sits down next to her, his feather-light lips pressed to her temple. She feels drained, and exhausted, as if the spirit that had driven her for so long was finally fatigued. Her breathing was uneven and her lungs felt lopsided. But what a blessing it was to finally fall in the one place she knew her landing would be soft.

"One day. One day, I'll..."

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

He pulls out a fresh violet from his coat, still damp from the morning dew.

"Call it even?"

She accepts the flower and gives him a sweet smile. He revels in this smallest of victories.

Their peaceful moment gets shattered by the deafening train horn, which unpleasantly reminds Lockwood of where they are.

She hesitates for a moment, but then extends her arm and holds his face. There's a troubled look on her face, like there's something indescribable she wished to communicate just at the tip of her tongue. But the compulsion passes, and she settles for a trembling brush of his cheekbone with her thumb.

"You're such a darling, Anthony. I don't care what any newspaper or lawsuit has to say about you. You'll always be a darling to me."

"Good, because soon enough you might just be the only one."

She grins, widely at first, but then it chips, and for once he can admit that the sight breaks his heart. She gives him a hug, and he holds her like she's one of the precious metals that adorn her jewellery.

"You'll come back, won't you?"

"Perhaps. See you another weekend."

When they break apart, she swiftly picks up her suitcase with white knuckles and marches to the carriage without looking back. The train horn blares for a final time. The doors shut, and the wheels groan to life. He searches for her face, and finds it, but the reflection of the train station lights hides her eyes. It's at this moment that a disconnected part of him realises he doesn't want to wait for another weekend. He wants her here, and he wants her now.

The train picks up speed, and Lockwood tries to match it. But he's not trying to run. He knows that won't work, it never does.

"Y/N!"

That gets the attention of most passengers, including her. This train accelerates much faster than in his dream, and he's got an awful stitch running down the side of his torso by now, but he's beyond caring at this point. When she sees that it's him yelling like a maniac, she presses her flushed face to the window, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Would you stay?"

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits @ahead-fullofdreams