#DRUNKEN ASHE CANNOT BE STOPPED | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

8-rae-rae-8 · 21 days ago

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[AgeRe] - 2.7k words (whoops)

Simon Riley isn't supposed to need. His hands are coated in death, the ashes surround his person after the flames had finally died out. He's not supposed to need, and yet he clutches his pillow every night because there has to be something to hold in his hands that will stifle the urge to wail.

The child that once cried out for his mum to save him is long gone, but the concrete foundation that little boy was built on will never burn like the wood and plaster the house was built with. It's still all there, under the mask, beneath Ghost, and buried deep within Simon Riley's ribcage, as if the bone could ever protect such a delicate thing.

The most gentle hands could crack the porcelain the little one was made out of. Simon barely mended him enough to keep the shape of the once delicately held child, markings of previous fractures cover him. Every drop, every bruise, every fight left its own mark on wounded skin.

Simon Riley could cover the very same marks on his own body, but it would never ease the wailing deep in his chest. Something so very small begging to come out, to feel the warmth he knows surrounds him, but the need to protect keeps that possibility out of reach.

He couldn't protect himself then; when he was merely a child trying to tug his brother to safety before pulling his drunken father off his crying mother. That little child took the hits simply in the name of protecting what was closest to him, and what he inevitably lost for the very same reason. It's his job, now, to protect and serve.

That can't happen if his heart squeezes in his chest each time he sees his captain hold his regressed teammate. It's jealousy, or maybe envy, but it burns all the same. Down to his finger tips, throughout his chest. There's never been a safer place than nestled up on the couch with a warm drink, he knows that's why he'll find both Kyle and Johnny cuddled up to their Captain's side with their respective soothers, yet Ghost can't shake the simmering anger that came with the sight.

They got what he could never have. And maybe it's his fault too. He can't let himself have it, in fear of what might happen if he did. Who will he lose in trade for his vulnerability? Simply wanting—needing—brought him here. Like all things, it will always come down to a failure, something promising to take, and take from him until there's nothing left. He won't let it take, and he refuses to take in fear of it being slipped from his grasp.

He holds that fragile creation somewhere it cannot be hurt. Year after year, Simon keeps it deep within his chest. Despite the cries and pleas to feel something other than the cold of a lonely mattress in a silent room. The option is right there, waiting so very gladly for the words to come out for Simon's mouth, but they never will.

Simon Riley can only do what's necessary. His job keeps him on his feet. If it all were to stop, he knows the rug would be pulled from beneath him within a second. He'd crash, and it would bring those broken cries to the surface. It would break the delicate little one all over again. Would he be able to put the pieces back together? He already lost chips of the porcelain. How much more can he lose before there's nothing left to fix?

Is it selfish or selfless to refuse help until there's nothing left to give?

Ghost's hands beat roughly into the tattered material of a punching bag, a wrap graced his knuckles, catching the blood as it's pulled from his flesh at each hit. Under the mask, he weathers his lip between his teeth, bitten raw and red. There's nothing to cry for, despite the tears in his eyes that he acts like can be taken away with the simplest bit of pain.

He's had the privileges stripped from him in the same way one could so easily take a dog's shelter and food as a punishment. His back is littered in the marks, a brand on his lower back, tally marks too painfully close—He never built up the courage to scratch at the flesh until those markings were nothing more. The pain of removing something he's grown so used to seeing is far different than the pain of beating his knuckles bloody. If he breaks a finger like this, at least he'll have an excuse.

Training could mean picking each piece of himself apart and reassembling, it could mean letting another soldier into the ring with him until one of them tapped out, it could mean deconstructing a weapon and timing how long it takes to put back together. All necessary for the job, in his eyes. He needs to evaluate himself, to stare in the mirror until he stops seeing a man, and sees a monster instead. It'll keep him in check. Ghost only does what's necessary.

The tears in his eyes could quickly be disregarded as something small and unimportant, yet something screams that he, himself, is that small and unimportant thing. Sometimes useless, far too small to be of any good.

It weighs on him. Every day crushing him further and further underneath the pressure he forces on himself. If there's no one else to harm him like that, what is the supposed to do? Breaking away from familiarity would only worsen the state he's in. He's cracking under his own demands.

His hands can only punch and hit for so long before he can't press on anymore. The punches grow weaker and weaker until he's leaning forward against the bag, a hand on the bag while the other rests over his forehead. He's weak, all over again. He's small, like he begged to never be again.

There's only so much a child can do when screaming comes from each corner of the house and there's no one to save him from the sound reverberating through his head. Earbuds could never drown out the sound. Not when it was his own crying he hears, cries he barely stifles in the silence of the gym.

He's weak. Pieces of glue flake off slowly from the reinforced shell he's made himself. There's nowhere to go. Tears paint themselves in his eyeblack. There's nothing to say. He can hardly pull himself from the punching bag to assess the damages. How can he though, really, when his head spins and he can't form a full thought without feeling his throat squeeze with the mere effort of breathing?

Every single thing that made up what he called himself can so easily be taken apart to lead back to that little boy, crying under his blankets as a skull taunted him through his bedroom door. Something so small as the sight of himself can bring him right back to one thing that scared him so deeply—he made himself that thing, the skull he was frightened to see his father pull from a drawer—It couldn't hurt him if he turned himself into it, a walking metaphor of death and pain. God, he wished it couldn't hurt him.

Running only got him so far, he'll always come back, reveling in this same exact feeling for years to come.

Any chance of an excuse is sorely ripped away just as the mask falls onto the back of a piece of equipment, thrown carelessly as his own eyes meet him in the mirror. How long can he stare before he has to move? How long can he stare before someone sees him?

Will someone save him? Will they pull him out of the broken glass he finds will always surround him? One misstep and he'll find every demon he's ever run from as it crackles under his weight.

Simon Riley never believed in a god, but silent pleas still fall from his lips as he unsteadily brings himself to the gym's floor. Another step towards a mirror lining one of the walls, and he would've fallen into it. He would've added to the glass that already surrounds him, every little thing that was his fault.

His legs shook underneath him, like if it wasn't his hands that just got a beating. It's weak, uncoordinated, clumsy. Things Simon cannot afford to be. Then again, he also shouldn't be gnawing his lip as he stares at the painful reflection of himself in an otherwise dead silent gym.

He's weak.

How long can he hold out before he truly does break?

The clock on it seems to have drastically less time with each time he dares to show the struggle beyond an odd comment, or angry beating at the very same punching bag that wrecked his knuckles.

He can feel the taunting tick, tick, tick... It counts down in his head, just as his heart speeds well past what it should. He's weak.

He's small.

Bloodied hands go to shakily unwrap the bandaging that separated his skin from the unforgiving material of the punching bag. What more can he do, when he's met with his own teary face in the mirror? It's worse than seeing a monster, it shows every little thing he can't stand to see. Ghost doesn't have time to be weak.

But it doesn't seem to be much of a choice anymore.

His hands are red beneath that bandaging, sore and throbbing where he dares to smear the blood. He doesn't think to clean it before his hands go to support his own head. He's not supposed to feel like this. He isn't supposed to have to bite back desperate sobs. But crying like that isn't something he can let himself do, not here.

His options and choices dwindle by the second. The longer he stays here, the more intense everything grows, while he just gets smaller and smaller.

Clouds swallow his conscious thoughts, enveloping him in a blanket of fuzziness he can't quite kick off. It's not safe, it's anything but safe. He just can't get it off. It's not safe.

He can't bring himself to move, his gaze caught in the scratchy fabric of the carpet below him, vision blurred by tears. The tick, tick, tick keeps playing in his head, counting down his time. He can't pull himself off the ground to race back to his room, somewhere he can hide any evidence of small.

It's useless. His legs don't cooperate, his hands shake too much to get a grip on anything, and his mind races with too many possibilities. He can't make out where his mask had fallen, and with tears pouring down his cheeks, it's a death sentence. Would they silence him for his failure? Would he get hurt for his useless efforts? What would they think of him for crying, here, of all places?

Small.

Terror spreads through his body the more he stares and watches each tear drip onto the carpet below him. He can do nothing but breath heavily in an effort to mask the sounds he buried in his throat. He won't sob, he won't wail.

The smallest steps creak against the laminated flooring outside the gyms walls, and yet, Simon doesn't move from his frozen position.

How long can his mind spiral until he gets pulled under? How long does it take the average man to drown?

Fight, flight, fawn and freeze.

His body chooses the last option as the door clicks open. The lieutenant's lips purse as his eyes squeeze shut. He can only hold his breath for so long. His lungs burn with the effort, his mind screams just as he holds back any broken sobs from breaking through his chest.

Tick, tick, tick.

The step pattern is painfully familiar. Simon's hands go to cover his face in fear of just being seen. He's scared to simply just exist.

He watched, over and over again, the way his sergeants crowded themselves around his captain and got held, and loved, while he had stood several feet to the side. Why does his chest brim with hope as those familiar steps approach him?

It's not Johnny, it's not Kyle, but the confident, albeit worried, steps of their captain.

He won't be saved, but can he just be held? For one night, can someone wash away the blood on his hands, and let him sleep?

"Simon..." The words are gentle on his ears, tuning out the violent screaming that he can't find the source of. It's his own head, it always is.

Tick, tick..

Shatter.

The act is up—Ghost can't hold the broken pieces that just seem to keep breaking in his hands. Glass and porcelain, the two mix in an impossible puzzle. He can't put himself back together again.

Cries attempt to worm their way out of his mouth, and Simon is all too weak, all too small, to stop them. It's quiet, near silent, mumbles and cries.

"Oh, Simon..." Is all John whispers at his side. It doesn't matter if he's covered in sweat, his own blood and tears, the captain gently pulls his soldier into his arms.

Whatever is left of Simon's resolve is quickly chipped away in the sudden warmth of touch that doesn't hurt.

Does he get time to not just hurt?

He hopes he does, no matter how pointless that hope is.

"I know, I know..." Words so softly spoken to him, as if he deserves the kindness of the gentle touch. If he looked up, he'd see a monster and the man he looked up to for years—the monster doesn't deserve this warmth.

But, that doesn't stop him from following the caregiver's guidance. Two warm hands pulling him from the floor once his cries finally eased. He's weak, he knows that. He's weak, and so very small.

John knows that, too. It's so clear when all Simon can do is cry and babble at him with each quiet question.

There's no other option but for him to follow when two arms somehow lift him from the ground, and instead tuck him gently on his hip, as if he belonged there. As if he deserved the same spot Kyle and Johnny got each time they were small, just the same as him.

It's so effortless to allow himself to cry, to sob, into his captain's neck. There's nothing to stop him anymore, the fuzziness in his head only growing with each little action John makes. How can he be so easily carried? Adrenaline?

"Let me fix it, hm, love?" He murmurs against Simon's sweaty forehead, where the little one slouches into him in a way that hurts his back.

How much can John possibly fix when the pieces are scattered over multiple countries and continents?

And why isn't he against him trying?

It starts with trust. Cleaning up the tears, eyeblack and blood. It's not just a one night thing. It's weeks, months, of work on both of their parts. Price's most.

Like Ghost did with himself, he took himself apart and let John see every ugly truth. Every burn, every brand, every mark on his body. He let John hold him and kiss away the pain.

He already trusted John with his life, and through the months, he trusted him with the most broken sobs in the middle of the night. He trusted Price to put him back together, and clean away the tears, and blood.

Simon Riley understands. He sits on a comfortable bed, many miles from base, and he understands.

Here, tucked gently into his captain's side, chewing on the silicone of a pacifier, he understands why Johnny and Kyle came to Price. And he finally understands why the jealousy hurt so bad. He needed it.

Much more than he could ever want something.

This was the something necessary that needed doing—he needed to be safe. And John Price invited him into his home, small and terrified, and made him safe.

Simon Riley gets to be safe.

He gets to fall asleep in someone's arms.

He gets to be warm.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod agere #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty agere #john price #cw blood #cw self harm #tw self harm #tw self h4rm #tw self destruction

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shivunin · 1 year ago

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Collected DA2 Ficlets

Below are links to all of my Dragon Age 2 ficlets on tumblr. They are organized by type/chronological order per the headings. Pretty much exclusively Fenhawke c: (Longer works posted here on AO3 and cross-posted here where noted. Shorter stories are being gathered into one fic here on AO3).

(If you're looking for more of my fic on Tumblr, here are links to my Origins, Inquisition, and Veilguard ficlets)

Please let me know if any links are broken!

Maria Hawke/Fenris:

Lend a Hand: (965 Words, T) When Hawke struggles with an injury, Fenris offers some assistance with the pain

A Friend in Need: (1,376 Words) When Fenris falls ill, Hawke comes to the rescue

A Fond Farewell: (2,548 Words) Hawke is fond of casual touches and long goodbyes; Fenris struggles to understand why he likes this about her

The Small Hours: (1,496 Words, Fluff) Fenris comes to Hawke's manor to read, but he stays because he doesn’t want to stop listening to her voice.

As Two Reflected Stars: (12,438 Words, Hurt/Comfort/ T) (AO3 Link) No matter how close Fenris and Hawke come to each other, they never quite seem to connect—unless one of them is already hurt or bleeding. (An exploration of healing as a proxy for affection/touch)

The Punchline: (1,459 Words, Angst) Fenris helps a drunken Hawke home shortly after her mother’s death. Hawke tries to prove that she isn’t still in love with him.

Grief and Memory: (1,493 Words, Angst) Hawke is stricken by a memory of her mother during a night at the Hanged Man; Fenris cannot offer her comfort.

To Languish in Repose: (1,257 Words) Hawke wakes for the first time after the fight with the Arishok; Fenris grapples with having seen her die

An Interview for Posterity: (449 Words) Kirkwall's chronicler tries to make sense of the events surrounding the Viscount's death

To the Last Drop: (1,682 Words, this one is all yearning) Fenris observes Hawke closely on an excursion to the coast

A Fool and His Gold: (1,932 Words, Fluff/more yearning) Hawke throws Fenris a surprise party

When to Fold: (1,519 Words, Fluff) At the same party, Hawke reflects on the changes in Fenris's manner since Danarius's death.

Between Strokes of Night: (2,601 Words, fluff) The second night together; full version (explicit) on AO3 here

Poppy Red: (1,273 Words, Fluff) Hawke and Fenris finally have a first date

At the Dead Drop: (624 Words, epistolary) A series of letters between Hawke, Carver, and Fenris regarding Hawke’s relationship with Fenris

Know When to Hold ‘Em: (792 Words, Fluff) The first night of cards after Fenris and Hawke decide to be together

Flow Gently: (1,036 Words, Fluff) Fenris talks Hawke to sleep

Nooks and Crannies: (1,164 Words, Fluff) Hawke shows Fenris where she's hidden the weapons in her home

Sportsmanship: (585 Words, Fluff) Fenris and Hawke say goodnight before her door while she bemoans that evening's card game

Stack the Deck: (1,310 Words, Fluff) Hawke bolts after a card game and a puzzled Fenris follows her back to the manor

'Til Evening's End: (1,895 Words, Fluff) Hawke throws a party at the manor. When Fenris unexpectedly comes to visit, they steal a moment in the snow outside.

Corpus Animaque: (1,138 Words, Fluff) After Hawke falls asleep, Fenris continues to speak to her in Tevene, knowing that she could not understand him even if she could hear him.

Wake Easy: (555 Words, Fluff) Fenris feigns sleep so Hawke can kiss him awake.

Winter's Grasp: (4,834 Words, Hurt/comfort) (AO3 link) Hawke takes an unnecessary risk in Lowtown; after they return to her manor, Fenris tries to discern why

Pour Forth: (3,830 Words) (AO3 link) Hawke makes the same misplaced joke across the span of her relationship with Fenris. He does not, in fact, cry about it. (Or, five times Hawke tells Fenris it's okay to cry and one time she doesn't.)

Ebb and Flow: (705 Words, Hurt/comfort) Hawke is having trouble resting; Fenris helps her to bed

Set Post-Game:

Ash and Salt: (798 Words, hurt/comfort) After the destruction of Kirkwall, Fenris finds Hawke and offers what comfort he can.

Low Tide: (1,637 Words) When Hawke has to say goodbye to Carver after she flees Kirkwall, Fenris and her friends offer comfort.

A Letter From Home: (403 Words) Letter resting on a counter in a cottage near Amaranthine, as yet unopened, dated nearly six months ago

If Sorrow I Let In: (1,344 Words, Hurt/Comfort) Hawke has a nightmare about almost dying in the Fade. Fenris is there when she wakes

No End: (998 Words) Varric and Hawke discuss endings on the porch of her house

AUs

The Last Gambit: (2,063 Words) Fenris is dying in a Kirkwall alleyway on the night he first meets Death (Hawke as Death AU)

*Sleight of Hand: (7,734 Words) (AO3 Link) Magician AU: Hawke is a stage magician who's never asked much about her grumpy assistant. When Fenris spots his pursuers during a show, it may be time for the two of them to face the likelihood that this may be his very last performance.

Misc:

A Letter from Carver: (189 Words) Note found in Hawke's pocket

Miscellaneous mini-fics: Starry, Chains, Ripple/Chain, Tired, Stars, Kingcup (Youth and Innocence)

#maria hawke #custom hawke #fenhawke #da2 #shivunin scrivening #there are. so many more of these than i thought o.o #i really do need to make some sort of anthology thing on ao3

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ash-and-books · 7 months ago

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Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb:

I, Everly Townstead, need to stop fantasizing about my brother’s billionaire best friend.

Should I have accidentally married the notorious charmer in Vegas? No, because he’s trying to buy my family’s company.

Nothing says trust and unity between two businesses like an (accidental) marriage of convenience, right?

3 reasons why I absolutely cannot fall for my fake husband:

1. My brother would be furious

2. I can’t risk my heart getting broken again

3. Cash Stafford doesn’t do serious–ever

Smart girls like me don’t end up with men who flirt with easy smiles.

Men like Cash Stafford don’t ask for forever.

Except I’ll never forget he’s the boy I made a wedding pact with when I was eighteen.

One drunken mistake later – I, Everly Townstead, am completely hitched.

Review:

Childhood best friends meets brother's best friend in this billionaire marriage of convenience story (that is so cute). Everly Townstead and Cash Stafford knew each other as teens, Cash was Everly's brother's best friend. Cash has had a crush on Everly for as long as he's known but has had to keep it tucked away after her brother expressly noted that she is off limits. They make a pack to get married if they ever found themselves in their 30s and single.... and now 14 years later they've run into each other again. Cash is now a billionaire who is a bit of a player, someone who doesn't do relationships and is more of a one night no strings attached kind of guy... except he is still pinning after Everly. Everly has had to deal with one bad relationship from the next and after witnessing her parents failed marriage and walking in on her fiancee cheating on her, she really does not believe in love. Yet when Everly and Cash run into each other at a bar in Las Vegas... one drink turns into two and Cash brings up their pack... and the next morning they both wake up married. Everly is determined to get it annulled... but Cash would rather use this opportunity to finally get the girl he's been in love with for over 14 years to finally take a chance on him. It also helps that Cash's family is buying out Everly's company family and are in negotiations... so if it got out that both Cash and Everly got drunkenly married and divorced it could impact the deal... so Everly agrees to pretend to be married until the deal is closed, giving Cash just enough time to try and get his wife to fall for him. This was such a cute read and I completely devoured it in one sitting. This had all the tropes I love and the dynamic between Cash and Everly was so cute. Cash was down so bad for Everly and him pinning for her for years was adorable. I love how supportive they both are to one another and their love is just so clear. This book was just such a sweet read and one I would absolutely recommend!!!

Release Date: July 19,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Ann Einerson for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

#book review #bookish #book #romance book #if you give a billionaire a bride

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steed-of-waloed · 2 years ago

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"Hmm, then why do you keep them as guard dogs about Ash? Surely if you felt so, they needn't be under your employment." Slep teased only to quietly gasp as his hand was caught in a firm hold and subsequently tugged flush against his Master.

The young Lord Commander blushed a gentle red. Pale grey eyes meeting the dark storms which were his liege's own as he stayed there against him, his own hand subconsciously laying over the scar upon his chest, his palm feeling the thunderous beat of an idle heart. Only his liege could make his cocky persona falter as it did now.

"I will be concerned, your highness. This you cannot stop. Ever busy with the end, but it won't matter if you cannot make it to your proper staging ground, exhausted as you are." His loyal hand would whisper, gently drawing over the man's chest. "You need rest. Odin you may be, but a man too all the same. I forbid you from your duties until you at least lay for forty winks. I beg you, your Grace..."

Sighing he'd shake his head and roll his eyes. "All is going according to plan. The oaf Kupka stumbles about like a drunken ward in search of his manhood. He will break in due time, this you can be assured."

♞— " As if a Behemoth could ever best me. You know I find that rather dull for sport." Nary a smile upon a grim and hansom face but, those burdened shoulders do visibly ease once the manifestation of his will was at his side. But lo, the cusp of sleep would indeed evade our king when his trusty steed was away on dirty business and would not be there to keep one's bed warm.

His thoughts of recent burden him with glorious purpose and he grows weary and impatient to the slow and steady march of the inevitable. Still all pieces must be put in its place in due time. The King catches the equine wrist to pull him ever closer.

" Spare me your dotting and worries. " he would chide, gloved knuckle brushing upon a cheek, " What news do you bring ? "

#waloedrex

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thunderheadfred · 4 years ago

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💥Bakugou HC's💥

Aged-up pro hero Katsuki for all of these. Some NSFW beneath the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

He’s scary good at everything he tries. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing. It’s infuriating. Has zero patience when other people can’t immediately master a skill. Never let him teach you anything. Not that he’d offer, nerd.

He WILL offer, though. A lot. He can’t believe you still can’t Do That Thing. Tsh. Like THIS. You're gonna hurt yourself, Dummy.

But hold on. Of course you have unique skills of your own. You work hard to improve yourself. Trust me, he's the first person to notice. He doesn't praise anyone lightly, so when he raises his eyebrows and whispers he's impressed, your heart will go thermonuclear.

Perfect spelling and fully punctuated texts. Never uses abbreviations. Employs a grand total of four emojis, all of them angry faces. Constantly leaves you on read. He's busy, dammit.

Doesn’t smile or laugh in public (except sarcastically). His real smile is a crooked, fragile thing. Never make him feel self-conscious about it, or you might not see it again for weeks.

He does not talk about his private life to the press. Ever. Will K.O. rookie reporters who can't keep their big mouths shut.

HOweVER: he's intensely kind to his fans. There is a whole photographic sub-genre of little girls in cosplay hugging Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight like he's a Disney Princess.

Too smart for his own good. Emotionally hyper-vigilant. Overthinks every interaction to hell and back. Will act like he's not listening but actually hears every single word in a ten-block radius.

INSECURE AF. 110% convinced he will never be good enough. Terrified of his loved ones leaving him behind. Does he do anything to assuage his fears? Like... talk to anyone about it? Hell no. That would require admitting he has fears to begin with.

Seeing people upset makes him upset, especially if he doesn't know how to fix it.

The epitome of being mean because he cares. He genuinely does not seem to comprehend that monosyllabic grunts and lopsided shrugs are not actually that comforting.

Because he was such a brat growing up, he wants to make up for it now. Sort of. In his own way. Look, he's trying, okay?

He smells - so - good. Obscenely good. He doesn't wear cologne; are you joking? There's the burnt-sugar caramel candy smell of his quirk, for starters. And since he sweats deadly ammunition, he showers and wipes himself down almost constantly. He always smells clean. Like a fucking meadow.

Never got that growth spurt he was hoping for. He’s a short man - not even THAT short - but he has a Napoleon complex anyway. If you’re taller than him, the collars of your shirts will all be stretched out. He’s constantly dragging you down to his level. He will assert himself all the fucking time; the pissing contest is never-ending. Don’t wear tall shoes unless you want him to drag you around on a leash. If you’re shorter than him, that’s good. That’s very good. He likes that.

He’s an incredible cook, but everything he makes is a nuclear fire challenge. Adapt or starve.

- - - - -

Dating

Makes artisanal, nutritionally flawless bento lunches for both of you. When people assume his S.O. makes them, he gets fucking pissed. Damn right your co-workers are jealous of my cooking.

Your pet name is Dummy. Don’t like it? Fine. You can be dumbass.

There will be zero PDA in this relationship. His hands are shoved so deep in his pockets you can’t even try.

Intensely private with the press. But with his friends, he will brag about you nonstop. Bakugou Katsuki has the most talented and attractive and intelligent S.O., and anyone who doesn't recognize that is blind. Were you assholes even listening?

A mutual buddy definitely recorded one of these drunken brag-rants and sent it to you for safekeeping. Do not let Katsuki find out about it, unless you enjoy having an ash pile for a phone.

Gets jealous about everything, at least at the start. He calms down eventually. Kinda. He stops saying shit to you about it, anyway, because he learns to trust you. But anyone who so much as looks at you in a too-friendly manner will get the death stare of a lifetime.

He’ll throw all kinds of temper tantrums and the two of you will argue about every tiny fucking thing. He’ll scream out car windows, he’ll ball up his shirt and gnash on it. But he will never raise his voice at you. He’d rather die than make you feel unsafe.

Honestly, the constant bickering is really just... uhh... passionate communication. Eventually you both hash out the important things. You'll learn how to step around his landmines and actually make your points, and he'll learn to open up. A little.

Once you meet his mom, Katsuki starts to make a lot more sense. His family just... emotes like that. Eventually, you and his dad form a spousal support group consisting of exactly two lifetime members. He teaches you the Bakugou family semaphore you need to survive a long-term relationship.

Katsuki can dish it out but absolutely cannot take it. The only person who can level with him about serious issues without explosive fallout is his dad. Or, on a lucky day, Kirishima.

If you give him a legitimate criticism (even gently!) he will take it about as gracefully as a knife to the gut, because it confirms everything he hates about himself.

To your never-ending shock, you’ve made him cry. Yes, CRY! You monster! More than once! His lip gets all *trembly* and his eyes get all *watery* and all you want to do is hug him, but. No. He’ll storm out and wander around for a few hours before coming back with the problem perfectly solved.

He always takes your advice to heart. No, he will NOT talk about it, stop asking.

Gets mad if you don’t snuggle him on the regular. Will drag you into his lap with a pissy little grunt. There might be two seats on this couch but you will not be needing both of them.

Takes pictures of you while you sleep.

Takes even more pictures of you when you're awake but think he's out of the room.

He looks at all these pictures when he's away on high-stakes jobs. He gets all bleary eyed and sleeps in a salty puddle without you. NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW.

You don’t have to meet him at the door or anything, but when he says “I’m home,” you’d better answer fast. If he doesn’t know your precise location in 0.05 seconds, he will assume you’ve been kidnapped. He never checks the fridge for notes. Never assumes you've gone down to the konbini for a snack. No, it’s kidnapping every time.

A terrrrrrible bed partner. He goes to bed at senior citizen hours and will never fuck you after sundown. He snores SO loud. Runs hot and sweats through the sheets. Slaps and elbows you in his sleep and aggressively spoons you with his loud, sweaty body. You WILL want to suffocate him. Separate bedrooms aren’t such a horrible idea......

BUT HANG ON, because in the morning he transforms into an honest-to-god angel. He's half awake, his guard is non-existent. Morning Katsuki is a doting kissy-faced marshmallow man.

If you can wake up before the ass-crack of dawn, he will pamper the fuck out of you. You are royalty for one (1) hour only, and he is your bleary-eyed slave. You want a cuddlefuck? You got it. Hugs? Kisses? Take as many as you need. You want a perfect, fluffy, NON-SPICY omelette with a heart drawn in ketchup? Here it is, gorgeous.

Then he gets in the shower and the spell is broken.

- - - - -

💥bang BANG💥

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: this here is an ASS. MAN. He'll spank you with his quirk; doesn’t matter if you’ve been good or bad. Wants to see you wince when you sit down later.

Likes pounding you face down with a vice grip on your waist.

Unfortunately, even with all that said... he doesn't exactly have the feral beast sex drive you were expecting. He’s married to his work and has the fuddy-duddy habits of a once and future valedictorian. Only fucks you when he has the time and energy to fully dedicate himself to it.

But ohhhh. Shit. When it's time? It's TIME. The man will rush for nothing. Stamina for days. Making you cum as many times as possible is a point of pride. Yeah, you passed out once.

You’re gonna need those days off when he’s done with you.

That dick THICC.

Sends unsolicited dick pics. Only after you’ve been dating a good long while - he doesn't show that shit to just anyone. But yeah, don’t check your phone at work. He won't cum without you; those pictures and videos are time bombs. You better get home. Now.

Physically dominant as FUCK, but won’t verbally degrade you unless you ask. Well, let’s be honest. Unless you beg.

Praise him and reap the rewards. A long hard ego stroking will get him off more than touching his cock ever will.

Will grab your hair and fuck your throat. Will also stop immediately if you need him to.

The two of you have safe words and gestures. Even for vanilla stuff. He’s paranoid about scaring or hurting you. He insisted you both sign a color-coded ‘love contract’ that he meticulously formatted in a word processor. When you gave him guff about it, his blush was the darkest crimson you’d ever seen.

Coin-flip: he will sometimes be unbelievably gentle in bed. Doting and affectionate, taking perfect care of you. Like, it’s baffling. There’s no warning, the switch just flips. When you want him to be extra-rough and mean, he’ll sweetly worship you instead. For hours.

Bonus: he likes being penetrated. But of course he’s got a complex about that too. Super intense power bottom. You will never fuck him hard enough. He’d like to see you try. Hit his prostate just right and he might literally explode.

You'll live happily ever after but he will say he loves you out loud exactly once. Maybe. If you're lucky. And you're both about to die.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #gender neutral #mha #bnha #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #fred writes

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

Text

Wanderlust. Yan Diluc x Reader

Warnings: Typical unhealthy yandere behavior. Word count: 1.2k.

For such an expansive land, you’ve come to know every nook and cranny in Mondstadt.

The best shortcuts to take to avoid hilichurl camps, which time of year the local produce gives a bountiful yield, even the names of traveling merchants that come and go. This intimate knowledge is a testament to years spent in this nation. What bloomed as pride in your heart warped into prickly thorn-covered vines, that chain you down in place. Familiarity became mediocrity.

Each day blended with the last like watercolors, an amalgamation of harmless shades, as inoffensive as the last. This discontentment with life had you lamenting to the Knight’s of Favonius’ Kaeya. Somehow piecing together your troubles through drunken ramblings, he had offered you advice.

“Why not travel?”

It was a simple suggestion, said half-jokingly, that resonated with you the rest of the night. After feeling his words follow you a week, you relented. Bag in hand and ready to see the world. Goodbyes were temporary, you know you’ll be back, it’s a matter of when. Excitement flutters in your heart -- excitement that you haven’t felt in years -- at what is to come. The limitless possibilities, memories to be made, and possible experiences aplenty. Friends old and new alike had wished you well on your journey.

Now all that’s left is to take it.

You hadn’t even made far in the path to Liyue when he showed up.

Blocking the sun from your view, Diluc stands tall, his face is relaxed, unlike his rigid posture. He looks down at you through thick eyelashes, adjusting his gloves. You don’t move, confusion clouding your senses. Why is Diluc here? Where your other companions had sent you off in kind, Diluc did no such thing. Not that you had expected sugary words from the notoriously impassive man, but having known him a majority of your life, came an expectation of getting something. Even a lackluster “Good luck”, would’ve sufficed.

Did a guilty consciousness bring him here? For some reason, you doubt it.

He jumps down from the hill on which he stood, landing softly on the grass in front of you. The air feels tense with unspoken emotions. Your heart leaps into your stomach, hammering without relenting. Diluc’s stare is smoldering. Deep, vermillion hues never depart from your own gaze. Taking a deep breath, you decide to break the silence.

“Is there something you need? I don’t think I left an unpaid tab at the tavern.”

Diluc doesn’t acknowledge your lighthearted comment. “You truly intend to leave?”

The question, though inoffensive on a surface level, is a trembling lid over boiling water that threatens to overflow.

“Not permanently. I just want to explore.” You respond, shifting your weight from one foot to another. Why do you feel like a child being scolded by their mother? Diluc takes a step closer to you, presence imposing.

“Explore, huh,” he says more so to himself than you. Another step. “I was hoping you’d abandon this troublesome idea.”

You don’t want to hear anymore. If he came here only to belittle your ambitions, then you’ll leave, simple as that. There’s no reason for you to stand here and deal with this on what is meant to be your eventful day. Dealing with Diluc’s protectiveness is a thing of the past. He grabs your wrist when you go to walk past him, your Vision subconsciously activating at the unwarranted touch. Gust swirls around you both until you calm your emotions.

“You’ll be endangering yourself for no reason.”

A noise of frustration leaves your lips, eyebrows knitting together in displeasure. “I can handle myself. Listen, I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, but you have no right to boss me around.”

His grip tightens when you try to tug yourself free.

“I’ve seen it all myself,” Diluc’s voice is dignified and unwavering, in contrast to your disgruntled tone. “You don’t know how dangerous the world is. How much evil there is. Stay, it’s far safer here.”

You want to be understanding of his sentiment. Diluc might not be open in his feelings for others, but you’ve come to learn he expresses his care in more subtle ways. He’s lost a lot -- you remind yourself -- but hasn’t everyone? It doesn’t give permission to enforce your views and desires on others. It’s like he hasn’t learned anything.

“I’m not a naïve, defenseless child. I’d appreciate it if you stopped treating me like one.” You wish you didn’t have to be harsh. Diluc’s stubborn as his adopted brother, even if he’s better at hiding it. With a final pull, you manage to free your hand. It’s unfortunate that you’re leaving on tense terms, but it’s his own doing, you reason. There are better ways to express concern over someone’s safety than to make unreasonable demands. He’s always failed to recognize this.

You fool yourself into believing he’ll let you leave until hearing the sound of metal cutting through the air. Cold, hard steel presses again your neck, and you freeze in your tracks. What is he--

“If I had wanted it, you’d be dead by now,” Diluc is impossibly calm, walking in front of you while maintaining his claymore against your neck. You shiver at the sharp blade hovering above your skin. “You’re not weak, no, but you’re not strong either. This foolishness will be your grave.”

No longer will you withstand this insult, having had enough of this back and forth. Any self-restraint you had remaining snaps, as do you. “How can you be so oblivious…? Is this not the exact reason why I couldn’t be with you anymore!?”

His grip around the hilt of his blade tightens. That struck close to the heart. You still feel vindicated in your actions, having been pushed to this point due to his actions. Chest heaving, you test the waters by moving forward, only for him to remain unwavering in his stance. The blade stops just shy of piercing your flesh, your resolve as firm as his.

Diluc doesn’t respond to your enraged exclamation. Whether it’s because words escape him, or the ones he has to say are too hurtful, you’re uncertain. His eyes narrow when you move again, lips contorting into a deep grimace at your challenge. Craning your neck in the same direction as his blade, he moves it just far away as not to puncture skin. Despite Diluc’s harsh words, he’s still soft on you, it appears.

He clicks his tongue. “Stubborn as you’ve always been.”

“I’m leaving whether you like it or not, so stop making this so difficult.”

“So I’m the difficult one?” Diluc tilts his head, finally lowering his blade. “Maybe so. But if being difficult is what keeps you alive, then so be it.”

You’ve seen him in action before. His swift, agile movements followed up by roaring flames have always been a breathtaking sight, making you question if he’s even human. The air smells of burnt ash as he springs forward. Everything is dark and you feel far too light, your brain not even registering his movements before it’s too late. At his movements, you fall unconscious, only to be caught in his arms before reaching the ground. You feel like you’re floating as Diluc secures you firmly against his chest.

“Hold it against me if you must. But… I cannot let you part from me yet.”

The wind that was meant to extinguish his flames had only served to fan them.

#diluc #diluc x reader #yandere diluc x reader #diluc genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc headcanons #genshin headcanons #my stuff

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salsdemise · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request a Sally face x reader fic? Possibly a confession and first kiss an da party or something like that, thank you!

Hey anon, sorry if this is bad, I'm assuming you meant sal, and if not just lmk and I'll re-write this for another character if you want.

Warnings: Underage drinking, underaged smoking, parties, y/n used in place of your name, really awkward with the confession part? idk how to write those

word count: 1479

other: gender neutral terms used, sal's speech is in blue bc sometimes its unclear whos talking bc i didn't know what to put between the words spoken lol playlist listened to while writing: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SMv6Go27KIcbfL07wkQ4m

This party wasn’t where you wanted to be right now. Hell, you’d rather be at school, getting pushed around by the kids in the hall right now. Anywhere was better than this loud, flashy,party filled with the smell of cigs, weed, alcohol and sex wafting off of every teen you passed.

Why you had come to this party in the first place had slipped your mind, as now you were more focused on not getting backed into a corner with a potted plant by a group of your peers. Maybe it was because your friend Larry wouldn’t shut up about how fun it was going to be, maybe it was because you would have felt bad saying no, or maybe it was because you certainly weren’t going to pass up on an opportunity to potentially hang out with Sal Fisher, your long time crush and close friend.

Holding your now empty red cup, you navigated your way through the crowd of drunken and dancing teens, most who were nice and giggly as you passed, slurring apologies at you if they bumped you.

While you weren’t all sober yourself, you had enough remaining cognitive ability to form full thoughts, and the only one on your mind was finding one of two people; Sal or Larry. You had no doubt Larry was off smoking with gods know who, so that left one option, and if your brain wasn’t mistaking you, you had seen the electric-bluenette near the door to the backyard in the kitchen not too long ago. So that’s where you set your sights.

When you arrived at the kitchen, you were happy to know that you were indeed correct on where you had last seen Sal, just outside on the patio, sitting hunched over a cup, the bottom straps of his prosthetic undone and dangling. Murmuring a few ‘excuse me’s at the teens you passed on the way, you made your way out to the back, opening and exiting the door and catching the bluenette’s attention. Seating yourself next to him, you said nothing, not sure of what to say.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show. Lar said you were coming, but I thought he was bluffing again,” Sal spoke, sipping on his drink.

You laughed at this, “yea, no, he actually convinced me to come. Not sure how, but he did. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d see you here either. You always talk about how much you hate parties, especially ones that have inebriating drinks,” you set your cup down next to you, and a small breeze knocked it over as soon as your hand left it.

“I don’t, hate em. Managed to get someone to get me something non-alcoholic, though. What have you had to drink?” He motioned to your, now rolling, red cup to emphasize.

“Oh, nothing too strong. They had a punch bowl in there so I took some of that,” thinking back to it as you spoke, it was odd the hosts of this party put a punch bowl out at a party with no need for it. However, you and Sal both seemingly shrugged it off and continued talking.

Conversation between the two of you had always come so naturally, switching between topics and tones, talking about people, your home state, his home state, and the likes.

“Man, I cannot believe he did that! It was like, super awkward between us for a week,“ you laughed, finishing a story about how Larry had tried to ask you out when high. Luckily the guy wasn’t too upset and took no for an answer.

“Hey, y/n, about asking people out...have you ever done it?” Sal questioned, messing with his sweater sleeves now that his drink was gone and his cup had also flown off.

“Oh, uh, not like, here at Nockfell, but in the past I asked a guy in my grade to go to a valentine’s day dance with me. Why?” you responded, tilting your head at him.

“I want to ask this person out, but I’m not sure how.”

“Oh. Well, what do they like? How long have you known them? And how close are you two? You can’t just ask out a random person you barely know, it won’t go well.”

“Well, they like a lot so it’s...kinda hard to put into words. I’ve known them for years now, and I’d like to say we’re pretty close.”

Thinking, you went quiet. As much as it hurt you to know your crush liked someone else, you were going to help him as best you could.

“Well, I’d give them a note, personally. I’d probably piss myself if I tried to tell them upfront. But it depends on how you wanna do it.”

Sal quietly thinks for a few seconds before standing up and fixing his mask, “Thanks for your help dude. We should get going, I’ll go find Larry and we can get out of here.”

You nod, standing and following Sal back into the house, heading for the front door while Sal went off to find Larry. With your mutual friend acquired, you all left for home, depositing Larry at his place and heading to your own beds, tired now that the social buzz had worn off.

Over the next week, you and Sal talked less and less, notes popped up in your locker, and small things like patches, stickers, pins and snacks appeared with them. You were confused to say the least. You loved everything this admirer gave you, and the notes were adorable, even if they were typed and printed rather than hand written, but you wondered why Sal had stopped talking to you as often as he did.

As the weeks progressed, you had started to like the secret admirer that was leaving you small gifts and notes reminding you how much they liked you. But the most recent note, which you had gotten on a sunny and warm Wednesday, really caught your attention. This time, it was handwritten in blue pen ink, the handwriting surprisingly neat, completely eliminating who you thought it was.

The note read: “y/n, meet me in the courtyard during lunch/break time. -<3”, and not wanting to disappoint, you waited with an uneasy shake until lunch came around where you went straight to the courtyard. Seeing no one, you sat on the ground by a tree to wait until your secret admirer got there.

10 minutes later, the heavy doors opened and closed with a thud, catching your attention and causing you to look up where you saw Sal, mask in hands, and looking down.

“Sal? Are you the one that wanted to meet me here?” You were..puzzled to say the least. Sal had hardly talked to you in weeks, and you thought he liked someone else like Ash, but it seems you were mistaken.

“Uh, yea, I am. I know you’re..probably upset at me for not talking to you in the past few weeks, but I didn’t want to say something stupid too soon. I hope you’re not too mad..”

“Sal, I’m not mad. I thought you were busy trying to get your mystery person to like you..and I guess I was right, but I didn’t think it’d be me..”

“Who else would it have been? You and I are as close as Larry and I are, we like the same things and I’ve known you since you got here. Hell, I’ve been pining over you for years now, but last year when Lar told me he was gonna try and shoot his shot, I tried to get myself to like Ash so I wouldn’t feel like shit if you said yes.”

“Oh, Sal. I thought it was Ash, you talk so much about her sometimes, I thought you actually liked her.”

“Oh, no, I don’t. She helped me with this, actually. Which reminds me, if its not obvious already, I really fucking like you. Like, you make me feel happy and just thinking about you makes me feel like I’m on cloud nine.”

Smiling at his words you stood to go over to him, putting your hands on his shoulders so he would look up at you, “I like you too, Sal. Like, a lot. I have for a while, and when you asked how to ask someone out,I..it hurt a little bit.”

Saying nothing at your words, Sal moved forward and wrapped you in a hug, his mask landing in the grass behind you two. Before you could return the hug, Sal backed up and his hands grabbed your face pulling you in for a kiss. Giving you time to react this time, you kissed back, your hands placing themselves over his.

Now, sitting at a college party with your boyfriend, you think to yourself, ‘Maybe parties aren’t so bad after all.’

#sally face #sal fisher #sally face x reader #sally face game #sal fisher x y/n #gn!reader

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exiled-eyes · 2 years ago

Text

Never Task : 0 0 2 Nightmares

{ TW: Body horror, eye gore, mouth horror }

it isn't uncommon for Cecco to suffer from nightmares. Regardless of what they do before laying down, nothing prevents the nightmare from creeping into their skull. Warm tea? Nothing, but it is nice for their throat when they can get their hands on it.

The smell of burning oak and ignited ale fills their lungs, as though they were back on the cursed ship that they had lost so many loved ones to, are the first things to greet them. When their eyes open, the skies, which should be decorated with the silver glisten of the stars against the otherwise blackness of the night, was instead flickering with a radiant orange hue. Their stomach drops, faster than a corpse with cannonballs tied to their ankles. No. Not here. Not again. A tightness forms in their throat as the hand of fear crawls up their spine before firmly grasping the back of their neck. Just like that, it is in control, once again. In their nightmares, no matter how hard they try or how much they desperately attempts to sober up their comrades, even just a little bit, the drunken hold is never loosened.

Shaking, slapping and doing everything short of physically harming their comrades, the same response greets them. Cecco is either ignored, or scorched by the flaming mugs of grog that are raised towards them. Their throat tightens, stinging as the fumes of burning leather and paper begin to rise from below decks. Like a fireplace, cracking in a pub, inviting those from the outside to step in, the sound of splintering and cracking wood grows ever louder as more and more of the deck is engulfed in flames. Unable to get their comrades to acknowledge the danger surrounding them, Cecco pushes past the crew in hopes of finding something to use, anything that would help save their lives. They call out to those who are nearby, to any who can hear their voice, their call to arms, praying, damn near begging for someone to join them in their attempts to extinguish the fire that threatened to consume the ship. Bucket after bucket, they rush around the burning deck in an attempt to douse the hungry flames.

A hiss dissipates in to the air as they dump the water on to a trail that is leading to a barrel of grog. It is a fruitless task as the water simply evaporates as soon as it leaves the pail. A plume of smoke that disappears in to the air, not even a drop will ever reach the ground. No matter how much they try, there is nothing they can do to even dim a small fire. Trying to spit on it only shows that they cannot produce any saliva from their dried mouth. No one seems to even notice them, or their efforts, for the crew is too caught up in the moment, cheering and drinking from mugs that burn no sooner than the grog leaves the charred cask. To watch their friends drinking from burning mugs, seeing the skin of their lips boil and melt, dripping into the fiery drinks, it is enough to make their stomach twist. Brothers and sisters in arms, attempting to then smile at them, with chunks of their noses caved in, entirely hanging off, or missing. Their words turning in to garbled murmurs of what cannot be deciphered, what should not be heard by mortal ears.

As they search for any sane person, praying to Neptune that someone is capable of helping, they discover that Anna is plagued by the same affliction. Cecco's heart stops for a moment. She sways alongside their Captain, Bowen the Bloody, as the sails overhead begin to rain down blackened ash. What was once a symbol of their joy, now aglow with hellfire. They celebrate their bounty, oblivious to the searing heat that begins to surround them. It is always them, that go first. To watch the flames take hold of both Anna and the Captains pants before they are engulfed by the blaze that rapidly crawls up their bodies. Their silhouettes revealing through the bright fire, how quickly it will consume them all. For it takes very few moments before the two are nothing more than skeletal remains, the skin that is home to their numerous scars, each one a thrilling tale, melts away. Falling in thick clumps that mix with hair, and the smell . . god the smell. Bowen's face begins to slide, as though he were made of nothing more than pig fat. Anna is disfigured by the intense heat. It leaves unnatural dips in her arms and figure, as though something had taken large bites out of her. In their last moments, they are waving their arms in glee before collapsing onto the deck. The two turn to look directly at Cecco. It is the first time anyone really notices them, the only moment where it not longer feels like a nightmare, but as though life before this had been a dream they were just awaking from.

Cecco's tortured screams are drowned out by the rest of the crew beginning to sing or laugh jauntily. The quartermaster falls to their knees, surrounded by their peers as tears attempt to fall from their features. Nothing comes, however. The heat that is circling them immediately dries out their eyes, forcing them to hold their eyes tightly shut. The sounds that fill their head however, are much different than what they have seen. They can hear desperate calls for help, pleas, crying from their brothers in arms. A horrific reality where the illusion before them holds no power. Bartering with what possessions they had, crew members begged for the gods to spare their lives. People called out for Cecco, and yet, when they open their eyes, returning to their feet . . . the noise is replaced by the facade of singing and cheers. A reminder of how little, how insignificant, they really were, no matter how hard they tried. In this hellscape, they are the only one who can see the destruction of the ship.

A snow storm of ash and soot falls down from above. Burning pieces of the crows nest begin to fall towards the deck. Some pieces will fall on top of oblivious crew. If they are lucky, it will knock them out, otherwise, it will lodge itself in to their melting scalps. Shielding their face, Cecco listens to the laughs of the crew and clanking of metal mugs. For those who are drinking, their mugs are char, faintly glowing red as they embed into the palms that should only know the feeling of swords and pistols. They are rendered helpless to watch the skin of their crewmates slosh off, chunks landing on the caving deck with a sickening wet sound followed by harsh crackling. Stairs collapse, causing those who were leaned against the rails, to fall below deck, some pieces of them remaining on the upper deck or on the railing. A loud creaking grabs Ceccos attention, causing them to look up, only to discover that one of the mast has snapped, weakened by the raging inferno. As it falls, towards them, a slightly familiar figure steps in front of them. Someone who once brought them such delight, made them feel as though they were able to have a home regardless of where they were, now brought nothing but fear and a desperate desire to flee. The sight is grotesque. Danik attempts to smile at his friend. Heat radiates off of his burning body, causing Cecco’s nostrils to flare as they struggled to breathe. Their friends hair has become tattered, singed and choppy. Pieces of his scalp having melted in to his neck, the long hair now decorates various parts of his body, like a monster. The brown eyes Cecco had always found warmth in were deflated, for they had burst and left mangled shreds of the vitreous body, dangling from the sockets. His jaw was hanging loosely, as though it were barely holding on.

No matter how hard Cecco tries, they cannot form a word. Each attempt to speak just fills their lungs with more smoke, and the desire to cough in an attempt to expunge it arises. Flames lick at Cecco's legs, the pain ricocheting up through their gut as Danik steps closer. The heat radiating off of their friend burns, causing their body to beg them to step back, to retreat in hopes of finding a cool breeze. But their body won't move. For they are paralyzed. Danik places a burning, mangled hand on the quartermasters shoulder. Warmth grazes Cecco's cheek as their friends hand melds with their own skin. As the burning mast prepares to collapse on top of them, a woman's voice calls their name. It is barely above a whisper, but it echoes as though the owner was surrounding Cecco on all sides. When they turn to look, piercing eyes are gazing from just over the railing of the ship. It is the blonde woman from the shores water. Locking with her gaze, their chest tightens, breathing becomes harder. Between wheezes for air, Cecco watches the woman disappear from sight, sinking back down in to the glowing waters below. The feeling of heat grows intensely, their eyes shut tightly, preparing for the crushing impact, and then- and then, nothing. Shortly after, they will awake in a cold sweat, breathing hard and gripping at their pained shoulder.

#nrpgtask #tw body horror #tw eye gore #tw eye horror #tw mouth horror #headcanons #It's all fun and games now- but just you wait { Headcanons }#A new nightmare- but the faces are always the same { Musings }

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americxn · 4 years ago

Text

Explore me

credits for the idea to this girl, @cleanup-aisle5, you basically run my account now <3

word count - 1300

"Darling, I wish you wouldn’t do that.” James frowned, his body shifting beneath you. “Sorry. I find them...intriguing.” You confessed, lifting your head off his bare chest to look at him, his chin dipping down to look at you. “They’re pretty.” A little smile curved his lips upwards. “Well, pretty is not a word that I am usually associated with.” “Of course not,” you said with a playful roll of your eyes. “Big, strong James Patrick March could never be considered as pretty.” He huffed a laugh as you rested your head back down on his warm chest, his breath ruffling some stray hairs a top your head. “Seriously though,” you continued, your finger tracing the thick, shiny scar on his collarbone for the tenth time, “how did you get this one?” James’ skin with littered with scars, big and small. It was just a part of him and something that had made you fall ever harder for the man for whatever reason.

“I was attacked?” He muttered, an eyebrow raising. “Well yeh, I gathered that.” You huffed, “how?” James laughed softly at your persistance, pulling your hips to him so that your naked bodies were pressed even closer together in your post-sex tangle. “I don’t like to talk about my killings before you, dearest, you know that.” “I would like to hear about them though.” “You’ll think me cruel.” You smiled softly at his whispered confession. “If I thought, you cruel, I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you now, would I?” The weight of the diamond atop your ring finger grew heavy, a constant reminder of James’ undying love to you. “Alright. This one,” he began, jerking his head to the thick, white scar that stretched across the length of his collarbone, “was given to me by one of my earlier kills.” You settled yourself further against James’ warm torso as he continued. “She was a fiery woman, you see, much like yourself...though I would never kill you.” You snorted, waiting for him to continue. “I had broken both of her legs and yet she still managed to find her way out of the room I had her in when I left her alone. I found her on the second floor and jumped upon her before seeing the knife she had managed to steal from me. Luckily, she had terrible aim, otherwise she would’ve slit my throat.” You grimaced, pushing yourself up and lifting a bare leg over his waist so that you were straddled on top of him. “And, what about this one?” You asked, reaching down to brush another of the larger scars on his navel. You had secretly always loved this one. “Same sort of premise. I think it was a man who gave this one to me actually. A final act of defiance before I took his life. I made sure to make him suffer for longer after that.” ”You’re right.” You whispered, James frowning slightly as he waited for you to go on. “You are cruel.” Leaning in, you pressed a kiss to his lips before adding softly, “it’s hot.” James grinned up at you as you pulled away and reached over to your nightstand, pulling open the top drawer and rummaging through it briefly, pulling out a nearly empty box of cigarettes and an old lighter. You usually preferred to roll your own, something that James stubbornly disagreed with you against, but these would do. Taking the cigarette between your lips, you lit it and took a long drag before holding it to James’ lips. The smoke lingered as you both exhaled, your breath mingling together. “And what about this one?” You pointed to the little white mark on the underside of James’ jaw. Running a finger over the tiny slice, he frowned. “I cannot remember. Maybe I cut myself whilst shaving.” You giggled at the stark contrast in conversation, allowing James to take the cigarette from you and bring it up to his own lips. “I have a question,” he murmured, his thumb coming up to rub idle circles over you left hip. “How did you get this?” You glanced down at the thin, curving scar marring the skin over your hip bone. You frowned in thought, casting your memory back to when you had got the scar. “I was running and someone pushed my into a wall. There must’ve been a really sharp rock or something coming out of the wall, I remember it took ages to stop bleeding.” James’ eyebrow raised at your vague story, making you sigh. “I was twelve, don’t give me that look.” He shrugged as you took the cigarette from him, purposefully blowing the smoke down at his face, watching in adoration as his nose scrunched up adorably. You reached to push the hair back from his face, your palm coming to his cheek momentarily before you made to clamber off your man. James’ hands came down onto your thighs as you began to move, making you look at him questionably. “Don’t move, I’m enjoying this view.” His eyes dipped briefly to your bare breasts, nipples peaked in the chill air, and a hungry look filled his dark eyes. You planted yourself back down onto him, leaning over to snub the little remains of the cigarette in James’ ash tray before folding yourself down onto him, so that you were pressed chest-to-chest, your thighs still straddling his hips. His hands found you head, playing with your hair fondly. You sighed contentedly, your breath warm and soft on James’ skin. “I like your scars.” You said quietly. “They remind me of sharks.” James barked a laugh in your ear and you smiled against him. “Or of the night sky, all the stars and constellations.” You mused quietly, smiling softly at the comparison. James’ arms came to rest around your waist, squeezing you closer to him. “I much prefer that.” He hummed, breathing in the scent of you, now permanently intertwined with his own. You lay in companionable silence for several minutes, simply enjoying each others presence, before James shifted beneath you, causing you to drawing your chin up to peer at him through your lashes. “Do you remember how I got this one?” He asked, laughter in his eyes as he held his forearm to your face. Your cheeks flushed as you pushed yourself back up, surveying the little scar running along his arm. “Yes.” That scar had been bestowed upon James several months ago. You had been at the bar, drinking heavily with Liz and Sally when James had wordlessly appeared behind you. In your drunken stupor, this had startled you, causing you to swing your full glass at James, cutting him as it shattered. You had apologised profusely and bawled drunkenly for hours when it had happened but James had just laughed at the blood and taken you to bed. The next day’s hangover was made worse by the waves of guilt you felt whenever you had looked at James’ arm. But thankfully, because James was dead, the slice had healed quickly and neatly, leaving him with just a short, thin scar that he was rather fond of. “Don’t make me feel guilty about it now.” You pouted, pressing a soft kiss to the scar before pushing him arm down. He laughed, pulling your face to his and kissing your forehead. “You know how much I like it.” He reassured you sincerely as you pushed yourself away from him, turning to reach for the glass of wine on the bedside table on your side of the bed. You realised your mistake too late, by which point James had already pounced on your vulnerability as you placed the glass of wine back down on the table, on your hands and knees with your bare ass exposed to James, the scent of your sex wafting towards. In less than a second you had been flipped onto your back, James hovering above you, a smile of his face. “Now, let me get back to exploring you.”

#american horror story #ahs #james patrick march #james march #reader #fluff #oneshot #ahs hotel #hotel cortez #hotel

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nevertheless-moving · 4 years ago

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Suicidal Misunderstanding AU Part V (SW Time Travel AU #27)

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV

After a meandering walk through what felt like every path the hanging gardens and marsh pools had to offer, Obi-Wan stopped to lean against a stone wall.

“Obi-Wan? Are you ready to stop and eat something? As nice as this has been, I’m getting hungry and I’m guessing you are too.”

Anakin was only being a little sarcastic. It had genuinely been nice to peacefully spend the day with Obi-Wan like this- they hadn’t been to the marsh habitats since the war started. He had resigned himself to watching Obi-Wan enthusiastically greet every wandering knight, master, and elder who they passed.

It was actually starting to become impressive- Anakin never realized how many members of the Order his Master was friendly with- no wonder he was given a seat on the high council! But after the last heartfelt clasping of hands with a completely unfamiliar Bothan (thankfully for Anakin’s petty jealousy, Obi-Wan wasn’t hugging everyone), Anakin had asked who the knight was.

Obi Wan frowned. “No idea. But I suppose I must have seen him somewhere.”

Anakin was no longer feeling impressed.

When a group of crechelings wandered by, Obi-Wan appeared briefly overwhelmed with emotion. His shields (apparently even better drunken than sober) didn’t let anything specific slip. But he knew Obi-Wan was feeling something intensely. Bizarrely, instead of saying hello, Obi-Wan hurried out and away with Anakin dragged behind, bringing them back to the stone wall and their skipped breakfast.

“Not yet.” Obi-Wan responded hoarsely. “I want to visit the Room of A Thousand Fountains first, and say a few more goodbyes.”

“Goodbyes?” Anakin asked, a slight chill running down his back. “We’re not shipping back out until the end of the week. Do you always say goodbye to everyone this thoroughly before redeployment?”

“No. Do you think I should have?” Obi-Wan frowned. “I feel like that would have been more upsetting than anything else.”

“Ok then, why are you saying goodbye now? To the whole order?”

Obi-Wan didn’t reply, he just pushed off the wall to continue on his quest to apparently visit every corner of the temple.

“Master, please, you’re worrying me. If you won’t eat, then let me take you to the Healing Halls so they can check you over for drugs. We can visit the fountains after.”

Obi-Wan finally paused, thinking that over. “I would like to see Bant. She should be there, right?”

Bant did end up being there, and was more touched than disturbed by Obi-Wan’s sincere joy to see her. While Obi-Wan wandered the halls greeting injured Knights, she ran several tests.

“As far as I can tell, all you had last night was human-appropriate alcohol. No force-user specific drug interactions, and no traces of Spice. It’s possible there’s something I missed, but your force presence doesn’t feel off balance in the manner I specifically associate with drug-induced altered perception. Your blood sugar is a little low and you’re somewhat dehydrated, especially considering you’re in the temple, not out on a mission.”

“I’ll take care of my physical needs after I visit the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Just because a vision isn’t purely induced by the force doesn’t mean I can’t draw meaning from it. I do appreciate how you always looked out for me though, Bant. I’ve missed your fussing.” Obi-Wan smiled, clasping one of her hands in his.

Bant sighed, “If Master Yoda wasn’t off world I’d urge you to talk to him. I haven’t seen you this shaken by a vision since we were younglings. Even if you do seem to be handling it fairly... calmly.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I’ll tell him you said that someday. I might be wrong, but I think he’ll be happy to learn about-” Obi-Wan gestured around vaguely, “all this. I’ll talk to him at some point. I’m sure of it.”

She glanced over at Anakin, who had been a quietly looming shadow the whole visit. He seemed both relieved by the diagnosis as well as bewildered. “Can I speak to you privately?”

Obi-Wan nodded and Anakin stalked out of the test room.

She scrutinized him, worry more obvious now, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you slipping tenses this whole time. You’re still not sure where your vision ends and reality begins, are you? Do you even know when you are?”

Obi-Wan looked down. “I know what’s real and what’s not. I’m just...enjoying not fully living in the moment. I have every intention of waking up.”

“Yeah, that’s a BIG red flag, Obi-Wan. Force.” She tilted her head back and forth, examining him with obvious concern. “I am scheduling an appointment for a soul healer and you are going to go, understand?” She demanded.

Obi-Wan agreed far too easily. She reluctantly let him leave with an earnest promise to eat something real.

Obi-Wan came outside to find Anakin pacing.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” he told his former Padawan, ignoring the ache in his chest.

“Of course Ori’vod,” Anakin said, ducking his head with a shy smile. “What did Bant say?”

“She wants me to eat something real and visit a soul healer.” Obi-Wan sighed. “Well, I can do at least one of those things.”

“A soul healer! She thinks you’re crazy?” Anakin asked offended.

“First of all, you don’t have to be unstable to visit a soul healer. I’ve seen them in the past, when there wasn’t as much wrong with me. I’m sorry if I led you to believe you couldn’t seek out help for your problems.” Obi-Wan said. Another mistake.

“I-I know that. I just thought, you know, Jedi can be judgmental of that sort of thing. A good Jedi is supposed to be able to just, meditate stuff away.” Anakin said bitterly.

Obi-Wan thought furiously. Was this why he had been so blindsided by Anakin’s fall? Had his padawan been so afraid of judgement that he hid all of the warning sides of his struggles with darkness? Maybe he could ask Owen for some sort of petty assistance when he brought over bantha milk next time, to demonstrate to young Luke that it was ok to ask for help. No, he was probably still too young for those sorts of lessons to have much meaning. The insight would require meditation, when he was more sober.

Unsure how ‘Anakin’ would respond, Obi-Wan tentatively said, “You’re right, that some Jedi might judge for seeking such aid. But I think in the last years of the war, that sort of opinion became less and less common. After all, an ideal Jedi shouldn’t be leading an army. I don’t know if anyone can be perfect during war, let alone a peacekeeper.”

When that failed to garner positive or negative reply, Obi-Wan let out a breath. “It hardly matters, since I can’t exactly visit a therapist, let alone a soul healer, given my present living conditions.”

Anakin seemed to process that, giving Obi-Wan a long, searching look. “What’s your next point?”

“Hmm?”

“You said first of all, and I think that was all one thing, so what’s your second point?”

“Not exactly being able to visit a soul healer regularly doesn’t count as a separate retort?”

“I guess? I’m just trying to understand what you’re trying to tell me” A twinge of frustration crept into Anakin’s otherwise level tone.

"I appreciate that, truly, and I regret the number of hurtful miscommunications that sprung up from me failing to do just that. Well, I suppose, by most reasonable standards, I am ‘crazy.’ Getting some help with unraveling my mind would probably be best, if it were an option, but it isn’t so...” Obi-Wan shrugged.

Before any followup questions could be asked, they finally arrived at the main entrance to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The archway was stunning, water flowing upwards along the stone in intricate, shifting tessellations. When they stepped through, Obi-Wan was delighted to see Mace Windu sitting on a bench by the entrance.

“Mace! I was hoping to see you.”

Mace looked at him. He seemed at first, to be utterly unsurprised by the duo’s arrival. But the longer he stared, the more visible shock overtook his features. “Master Koon recommended I look for you...force what happened.”

Obi-Wan just chuckled. “Oh you know. What didn’t happen.”

“What’s wrong?” Anakin asked urgently. “What do you see, Master Windu?”

Obi-Wan tried to wave them both off, laugh a little more forced. “Please, I came here to relax. I’m sure it would be easier to say what’s not wrong with-”

“Kark it, Obi-Wan this isn’t a joking matter.” Master Windu’s voice was calm, but insistent. He slowly started approaching Obi-Wan as though the fellow council member were a feral loth-cat.

“You look as if...nearly every shatter point around you has broken open. Force, I think you’ve been carrying some of these with you since you were a child. Usually when things that deep break...And some of these- some of these are too big to have just affected you.” Mace hesitantly reached forward, brushing against something invisible.

A chill ran down Anakin’s spine, again. What the kriff did Obi-Wan see in his vision? Last night he mentioned the temple burning, their rooms turned to ash, and Anakin had just...let that go in favor of greedily spending time with this addictively affectionate version of Obi-Wan.

“Mace...” Obi-Wan groaned. “I had been wondering what you might say to me but this is...please, can’t you just give me a hug and let me enjoy the peace for one more hour.”

“Master Kenobi,” Mace said, seeming to revert to an even more serious version of himself. “What I see cracked open around you is bigger than the reemergence of the Sith on Naboo, bigger than the first battle of Genosis. Whatever has happened, you cannot possibly keep it to yourself, practically or morally.”

To the shock of both Windu and Skywalker, Obi-Wan actually rolled his eyes at that. “Mace. You are not telling me anything I do not already know. And I am choosing to spend a little longer enjoying the unique joys of the Temple before dealing with the harshness of reality. Haven’t I earned a small break? I’m not abandoning my duty, but if I don’t take care of myself where I can I’ll go madder than I already have.”

At no point did Obi-Wan’s voice get whiny or upset, he just calmly dropped a series of bombshells like he was repeating an argument.

Mace and Anakin exchanged glances, but if Mace was trying to communicate something, it was utterly lost on Anakin.

“Alright, Master Kenobi. I trust your judgement.”

And, to Anakin’s shock, Mace pulled Obi-Wan for a tight hug. “And I care about you, Obi-Wan.”

For a brief, hysterical moment, Anakin Skywalker wondered if he was about to witness his Master break down crying on the shoulder of Mace Windu the Master of the Jedi Order.

But Obi-Wan just let out a slow breath and returned the embrace before bowing deeply in Respect. Windu returned the bow with a placid expression.

“If you’ll excuse me...I think I’d like to stand by the waterfall alone for a moment.” He paused, turning to address Anakin. “If you’re willing to wait for me, I’ll happily rejoin you by the glowing mushrooms.” Anakin nodded silently and Obi-Wan beamed before leaving the two alone together.

Mace turned to the young knight in a silent demand for answers, and, for once, Anakin was eager to share what he was dealing with. “He came back drunk last night, talking about the temple burning down, and being well-”

“Unusually emotionally expressive?” Mace offered.

Anakin nodded. “Took a blood sample to analyze in the morning. He woke determined to hug every sentient being in the temple. I actually managed to get him to the halls just before we came here; Master Eerin said there was nothing in his system and...I just don’t know. He’s been off today, but not in a bad way, exactly. Could a vision have caused the shattering you saw?

Mace furrowed his brow. “Not any vision like I’ve ever seen but...these are dark times. And Master Kenobi has had historically bad luck. If some new cataclysm is coming for us- I absolutely believe he’d be the first of us to stumble into it. Something terrible and extraordinary must have happened in the 24 hours since I last saw him in person.”

A beat passed.

“I should go to the mushrooms before I lose track of him,” Anakin said quietly.

Mace nodded. “Skywalker, if you need assistance dragging him back to the healers for whatever reason, comm me, understood?”

“Understood. Master Koon said the same.” the Knight replied, heart pounding.

The Windu clasped him on the shoulder firmly, "I’m going to check in with Master Eerin. It’s possible she has some suspicions that my observations will help her confirm. Until then...”

“I’ll look out for him.” Anakin promised.

Part VI

#star wars #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #my au #sw #time travel #obi wan kenobi needs a hug #oh boy we are BUILDING towards the #angst #it 1am #lol im supposed to work tomorrow but ive said that before #thank you everyone for being supportive im glad youre all hyperventilating with me over this sad boy

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senor-plume · 2 years ago

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Trapped Drunkard

like Shackleton’s boat trapped in the ice I am stuck in the chair drunk drunk and unable to move from the dizziness

my kitty senses something and does not leave my side I can feel her walking around my ankle and it feels cozy but I cannot reciprocate due to a six pack down and the bottle of white wine is nearly empty

before the spins came and attacked my sloppy noggin I was quite happy… a beautiful Sunday here in my little New York town and I had no errands to run so I cracked open a bottle and then another and before I knew it I got jammed here at the desk

trapped like Shackelton I hope I won’t have to eat my cat

An hour later I wake up with my forehead resting on the edge of the desk here and I bring my fingers up to rub it I can feel the long line that was indented on my head and I bet…hell, I know I must look ridiculous

I am still woozy but able to stand up and stretch my drunken bones letting out a moan that would make a graveyard hound jealous

the record album has long stopped playing and I can hear the neighbors downstairs fighting as usual

So, I curse them…and my bad drinking decision and reach for the pack of Pall-Malls and light one up with the strike of a match

but I could only smoke half of it as it was making me more miserable so I stub it out in the ashtray and rise from this antique desk to see if I can’t find my bathroom

which I do only to find (for the 50th time this month) that my cat has pissed outside of her litter box and so the bathroom floor is deep with a rancid liquid and I know that I’ll have to bust out the piss mop…again

but first I take a rewarding pee

after shaking and flushing I do what I was taught to do and wash my hands in the filthy bathroom sink which is the home of many a fruit fly who must be attracted to the smell that my cat leaves behind every time she takes a leak

Stumbling with class I walk by the nearly empty bottle on the kitchen table and pour the remaining wine into a paper cup and kill it as I make my way back to this desk

sipping at it responsibly now I think of simply going to bed and calling it a night but instead I make it back to the desk and decide to lose myself in some YouTube videos

this kills an hour or so this also kills the wine so I crushed the paper cup and chucked it in the trash …shooting it there like a flu ravaged Michael Jordan at the free throw line

it bounced off the rim… hit the wall and then gravity took over and sucked it to the floor among:

a banana peel past calendar pages dust bunnies cigarette ash and butts a flyer from a Chinese Restaurant popcorn kernels and crumbs of every shape

I’m no Sloppy Sammy but also I am no Clean Kevin

I am somewhere in the middle when it comes to tidying up but I digress…

now, with the booze all gone I remove my glasses and rub my tired eyes with my knuckles gently and Molly the Cat meows softly near my feet asking me how I am doing

so I tell her I am drunk but fine and she meows again reminding me to fill up her water bowl

laying in bed with the television off it is 8:28PM and it is getting dark outside

my favorite time of day but it looks as if I will have to miss the cool night as I am falling asleep quickly

to quickly actually and before I can count those dumb jumping sheep I am out

one more day passes one more night lost and all the empty beer bottles will greet me in the morning piled up sloppily and we will see if I have a hangover when that bastard sun comes out and shines on my bearded face

I am out I am out

goodnight moon best wishes to you and I shall see you tomorrow night when the cigarettes burn again and I will stay in all day recovering from getting my ship trapped in the ice

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what-a-flammable-heart · 4 years ago

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MASTER LIST

My fics are strictly 18+ reading, and are all housed on AO3. Not all fics contain smut, but for the safety of everyone, please be aware.

Fics with smut in 1 or more chapters will be marked with a (*).

If you’re interested in being tagged on any/all fics, please send me a message and let me know!

I typically write for Tom Hiddleston and characters he’s played, as well as Chris Evan, Seb Stan and associated characters. I dabble in Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington things as well.

If you send in requests I might just write them, but please give me time to do them justice.

💜

TOM HIDDLESTON

The Only Heaven I’ll Be Sent To Is When I’m Alone With You*—Updates Sundays

(TOM HIDDLESTON X READER) Father Thomas Hiddleston is a good priest, satisfied with the life he'd chosen more than ten years ago. His faith wavers but there's little else in his life to keep him from God's work. Until his childhood sweetheart walks back into his church after more than ten years of staying away. You're engaged to be married, unaware that Tom is now a priest at the church you intend to be married in. When you realize, it's a struggle to keep all of your long held feelings for him at bay. Will you go through with your plans to marry your fiancé, or will you give in to the longing you've felt for Tom all these years? And in doing so, will you pull Tom down into sin with you? Chapters: (Ch. 1) (Ch. 2) ) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 4) Playlist & Moodboard

Drunk & In Love*—One Shot

(TOM HIDDLESTON X READER) Your friends convince you to stay for one drink after work, and when you see actor Tom Hiddleston looking uncomfortable with another woman, you think saving him will be the perfect exit strategy. Instead, you end up helping him escape a blind date.

B R E A T H E—One Shot

(TOM HIDDLESTON X READER)

Tom hates the dentist, so when he breaks a tooth and needs to visit the oral surgeon, it's terrifying. But as his nurse, you attend to him surprisingly gently.

LOKI

Careful Creatures

(LOKI X MATT MURDOCK) A confused Loki seeks out his friend Matt for some comfortable silence. He gets slightly more than he bargained for.

Technicolor Dreams

(LOKI X READER) The reader invades Loki's dreams literally and figuratively.

Cities to Ash*—One Shot

(LOKI X PREGNANT READER)

You’re in the last few months of your pregnancy, and doubt fills your mind—how could Loki want someone so big, who’s constantly worn out just from living? Canceled dinner plans spur a conversation about these feelings, where Loki makes it clear that nothing could ever make him stop wanting you.

Your Heart Is Like Glass*—Coming Soon

(LOKI X READER) You are a whore, bound to the Shining Pearl since the time of your birth. But a year ago a strangely handsome man with money to spare started seeking your attentions. You cannot seem to shake your affections for him, though you know his presence is always temporary. It's temporary because he’s a prince, and when he marries he’ll no longer be able to dabble with his favorite whore. But his favorite whore has become more than that to him, and Loki desperately seeks a solution to both of your supposed prisons. Chapters: Playlist & Moodboard

ADAM (OLLA)

What You Could Have Meant To Me*—Coming Soon

(ADAM X READER) 500 years and life has not lost its light, though it dims from time to time. Vampires as a touchy breed and you avoid them for the most part, save for your old friend Adam. You meet from time to time in foreign cities, but when an exhibit at the Met reveals old letters written but never sent, you’re both drawn together again. You’ve kept your feelings for him secret for a long time. Will he be able to draw them out, or will you spend the rest of your lives never knowing the truth? Chapters: Playlist & Moodboard

Your House, My House*—In Progress Series

(ADAM X READER) It’s been six months since you and your boyfriend Adam broke up, but you’ve moved into his house after your roommates decided to move home. It’s an awkward situation, at least that's what everyone on the outside sees. But despite being broken up, Adam is still your best friend and the one person who knows you well enough to push you when you need it most. Can you two cohabitate as friends, or will the pressure of being so close change things forever?

Parts: (1)

Playlist & Moodboard

TOM HIDDLESTON CROSSOVERS

I’ll Love You In Every Life We Live*—In Progress

(CAIUS MARTIUS CORIOLANUS, ADAM, PRINCE HAL/KING HENRY V, WILLIAM BUXTON, JAMES NICHOLLS, JAMES CONRAD, JONATHAN PINE & LOKI X READER) Soulmates who meet in every life they live, they know without really knowing, that they belong together. Whether in the heat of battle or kneeling before the king; separated by time and death and other people, they always find one another. Love is the one thing they know for certain, even if they cannot be together, even if they are only together for the briefest moment. There will always be another life in which they will meet. Chapters: (Ch. 1) Playlist & Moodboard

BILLY HARGROVE

‘Cause In The Dark There Are No Strangers*—In Progress

(BILLY HARGROVE X STEVE HARRINGTON) Steve and Billy like to fight—they hate each other, except they don't, not really. A chance encounter one rainy night could change everything, but that doesn't mean they're not still the same people. Love can lift you up, but it can also tear you apart. Chapters: (Ch. 1) (Ch. 2) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 4) (Ch. 5) (Ch. 6) Playlist & Moodboard

There’s Something Inside You; It’s Hard To Explain*—In Progress

(BILLY HARGROVE X READER) Billy is a broken boy, all sharp edges and bloody knuckles. You are a quiet girl, too soft for your own good. You hate each other. (They don't hate each other.) He's so soft for her, has been since high school and after a slightly drunken night reveals some secrets neither one of them ever thought would see the light of day, they have to deal with what comes next. Chapters: (Ch. 1) (Ch. 2) Playlist & Moodboard

STEVE ROGERS

& At Once I Knew, I Was Not Magnificent*—Coming Soon

(STEVE ROGERS X JAMES BUCHANAN (BUCKY) BARNES) Gurnsey is a German occupied British isle, one that hides a dark secret. After crashing his plane and losing his copilot, James Barnes is captured and forced into labor; the same can be said for Steve Rogers, a lost British naval lieutenant. They find themselves in dire straights, the only thing holding them together—each other. Can they survive, escape even? Or will they die at the hands of their enemies? Chapters: Playlist & Moodboard

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shivunin · 2 years ago

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Ficlets Masterlist

A list of all my various fic etc. on tumblr, organized by pairing and internal chronological order. I've named ask memes by the general topic of the prompt and the others by title, if they have them.

(Edit: If there is an issue with a link, please let me know--I've gone through and fixed the ones I've found with issues, but they might always break again)

Arianwen Tabris/Zevran:

Only a Kiss: (1215 Words, T) Arianwen has never been kissed; Zevran offers to correct this

Without a Name: (857 Words, T) In the aftermath of their kiss, Zevran watches Tabris and considers what comes next

Liar, Liar: (459 Words, Hurt/Comfort, T) Zevran is feverish and Arianwen offers care

Hart of Hearts: (535 Words, Fluff, T); A moment in the Brecilian Forest, briefly before they decide to be together

Saccharine: The night Zevran and Tabris decide to be together; full AO3 fic here (explicit)

And Eat It, Too: (1,257 Words, T)Arianwen admires cakes in the city; Zevran makes sure she gets what she wants

Scars: (539 Words, M) Wen notices a scar that Zevran will not discuss.

Look At Me: (this and The Last Thread are collected into one fic on AO3 here) (973 Words, Hurt/Comfort, M) Wen leaves the Deep Roads with a bad infection, haunted by the ghosts of all who’ve died along the way.

The Last Thread and the Long Drop: (3.171 Words, Hurt/comfort, M); Arianwen is wounded. Zevran can only watch as she is sewn back together.

From the Depths: (1,321 Words, T) Zevran delivers a piece of good news after Arianwen spends a week recuperating in Orzammar

Rest Now: (1,631 Words, Hurt/Comfort, M) Post-return to the alienage, Zevran urges Tabris to put down her blades and let herself rest

Fang and Thorn: (883 Words, T) Arianwen decides what to do with her mother’s dagger

Breath of Life: (3,658 Words, M) Zevran confronts Taliesen and nearly loses his life in the process; Arianwen grapples with the idea of losing him forever; explicit version on AO3 here

Have This Dance: (928 Words, Fluff, T) Zevran and Wen find a moment of respite on the palace rooftop in Denerim

Vincit Omnes: (1,049 Words, T) Arianwen and Zevran finally admit they love each other.

Breaking News: (297 Words) A reporter attempts to discuss the Temple of Sacred Ashes with the Warden-Commander and the researcher who located the place

The Heart Grown Fonder: (1,133 Words, T) Letters between Arianwen and Zevran about how they’re doing apart.

Regarding Spiders and Caves: (403 Words) A letter from Arianwen to Zevran regarding current events at the keep

Reunion: (1,528 Words, M) Zevran comes back from his travels; Arianwen plays a game

A Letter from Kirkwall: (506 Words, T) Zevran re: his absence from Amaranthine, set immediately after his role in Act Three of DA2

Lock and Key: (2,298 Words, Hurt/comfort, M); Zevran is captured by the Crows and tortured. Arianwen frees him.

A Red, Red Rose: (1,952 Words, Fluff, T) A wedding scene

Dawn and Gold: (905 Words, Fluff, T) Tabris helps Zevran get ready for the day

Maria Hawke/Fenris:

Lend a Hand: (965 Words, T) When Hawke is struggling with an injury, Fenris offers some assistance with the pain

A Fond Farewell: (2,548 Words) Hawke is fond of casual touches and long goodbyes; Fenris tries to understand why he likes this about her

The Small Hours: (1,496 Words, Fluff) Fenris comes to Hawke's manor to read, but he stays because he doesn’t want to stop listening to her.

Do You Want to Hear a Joke?: (1,459 Words, Angst) Fenris helps a drunken Hawke home shortly after her mother’s death. Hawke tries to prove that she isn’t in love with him.

Grief and Memory: (1,493 Words, Angst) Hawke is stricken by a memory of her mother during a night at the Hanged Man; Fenris cannot offer her comfort.

An Interview for Posterity: (449 Words) Kirkwall's chronicler tries to make sense of the events surrounding the Viscount's death

To the Last Drop: (1,682 Words, this one is all yearning) Fenris observes Hawke closely on an excursion to the coast

A Fool and His Gold: (1,932 Words, Fluff/more yearning) Hawke throws Fenris a surprise party

Between Strokes of Night: (2,601 Words, fluff) The second night together; full version (explicit) on AO3 here

Poppy Red: (1,273 Words, Fluff) Hawke and Fenris experience their first date