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starleska · 2 years ago

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The Nightmare Picnic - Wally Darling x Reader

You're a brand new resident in the wonderful Welcome Home Neighbourhood, and it's the perfect day for the picnic! But your dear friend Wally Darling doesn't seem to be enjoying the fun. What will happen when you decide to try and cheer him up?

content warnings for: eye imagery, scopophobia, hypnosis, impossible physics, Eldritch, and unreality. go in assuming that Wally is a weird little guy, and you’re both terrified of and kind of enjoy that fact! 😉 you can also find this fic on my AO3. i hope you enjoy!!

The day you learn how to love Wally Darling begins like any other.

It is a balmy day, the air soft and thick and dizzy with butterflies. The sun shines with relentless cheer, and nary a cloud can be seen in the sky. Such a day in the Neighbourhood cannot be spent languishing inside, and all your new neighbours think the same way. So, which lovely activity did they decide upon? Why, a picnic on the grass, of course!

The organisation of the event is efficient and cheerful. In no time, the lush meadow surrounding the outskirts of the Neighbourhood is replete with cosy blankets to lie on, fun games to play, and a plethora of delicious foods contributed by each neighbour. Luckily, you’d baked a whole tray of cupcakes the previous day, with the intent of handing them out when bumping into your neighbours going about their daily business. The cupcakes were a huge success; even the ever-curmudgeonly Frank, who always has something to complain about, graces you with a begrudging, “It’s good, I suppose,” when you hand him a vanilla cupcake topped with a green-icing butterfly.

'I needed this,’ you think as you look around at your new friends. You’ve only been a resident of the Neighbourhood for a few months, but in that time you’ve grown so close to its colourful cast of neighbours as if you’d known each other your whole lives. Right now, they’re dotted across the meadow, smiling and laughing without a care in the world: Howdy’s busy putting together an impossibly long string of daisy chains; Eddie and Sally peer into an origami fortune-teller and giggle at the results; Frank leans over a bush, studying a caterpillar, and Julie and Poppy clap and cheer whilst Barnaby entertains them with a juggling act.

It’s a gorgeous scene. Today, your heart is warm.

A small flash of yellow catches your eye. Of course, it’s an incomplete picture. You take in Wally, who sits cross-legged under the shade of a verdant apple tree. He’s holding an apple between both hands and staring at it intently, as if willing the fruit to communicate with him. It’s an odd expression - you aren’t used to seeing Wally in a state of concentration.

“Hey, Wally!” you call.

Wally looks up at you and smiles. He beckons you over.

“Hello,” says Wally, in his simple way. “I’m happy to see you.”

Oh, what a beautiful voice. Every time you hear Wally speak, it’s like the gentle lapping of his syllables sweep away your worries in a single wave.

As you get closer to Wally, you notice a few strands of his deep blue hair turning flyaway and giving in to the heat, curling away from the otherwise-immaculate pompadour and escaping the death-grip of his hairspray. He’s a little dishevelled elsewhere, too; Wally’s neckerchief is coming loose, and though he’s long since abandoned his cardigan, a stray button on his shirt remains stubbornly popped. You find yourself grinning. Wally takes such pride in his appearance that you never get to see him a little less than perfect.

“Same to you!” you say. “Aren’t you hungry? All the food’s down with the others.”

That unusually pensive look on Wally’s face deepens. He turns his eyes back to his apple. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” You rummage in your backpack and pull out a chocolate bar. “You’ve got to eat, bud. You not feeling so good?”

Wally takes the treat from you and examines it for a moment, as if the bar is a scientific curiosity. “That’s very nice of you…but this doesn’t work for me. You should keep it.”

When Wally hands the bar back, your fingers touch for the briefest moment, and a shiver works its way up your spine.

You don’t know when this… thing you have for Wally Darling began. Despite the countless nights you’ve spent desperately trying to focus on something, anything else, your thoughts inevitably return to the little yellow puppet-man and his catlike smile. There’s a strange magnetism to Wally which befits his profession as a television host; everything from the delicate way he handles his paintbrush, to his ridiculous affinity for apples, leaves you with a little more fondness than before. Wally has so much affection stored in one small body, and when you first met, you wondered how any person could love so much all at once.

But now, when you look at Wally, you understand.

“If you’re sure.” You pop the bar back into your bag and sit on the ground in front of Wally, mirroring his cross-legged pose. “The offer’s still there.”

“It’s tempting,” says Wally, now turning his apple over and over in his hands. “I’d like to know what would happen, if I tried. But Barnaby told me it isn’t worth the risk. I trust him to know.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, but the look on Wally’s face is so uncharacteristically brooding that you don’t feel it’s polite to pry. Wally’s always been the drifting sort: those large, dewy eyes of his are perpetually lidded, and always seem to be gazing at something no one else can see. But Wally’s inattentiveness is usually matched with an infectious, excited kind of energy, bursting with nonsense and love.

Today, he almost looks sad. The idea makes you feel sick.

It occurs to you that this may be a personal issue, and Wally doesn’t know you well enough to discuss it. So you ask, “Do you want me to look away?”

Wally’s fingers still. To your surprise, the apple actually drops from his hands and rolls into the grass. You’ve never seen Wally mistreat an apple before - there must be something seriously wrong.

“Actually,” says Wally, now looking at you properly, “I’d like to try something.”

He gestures for you to shuffle closer. When you do, Wally reaches forward and takes hold of your forearms. You make a surprised noise, but Wally squeezes you, and fixes you with a smile full of reassurance and warmth. A rush of heat leaps into your cheeks, and you’re suddenly reminded of an interaction you had with another neighbour not too long ago.

It was only a week after you arrived in the Neighbourhood, and you were finally moving the last of your belongings into your home. All of your new neighbours had graciously donated their time to help you in some fashion, and you were overcome with gratitude. On that final day you were more than capable of doing the rest of the moving yourself, but your closest neighbour - the excitable Julie Joyful - volunteered to help with the last handful of delicate items. At first, you were unsure - Julie is a lovely girl and incredibly fun to be around, but so spirited that you feared for the safety of your items. But a good twenty minutes of allowing her to help with the least fragile of your boxes allayed all your fears: Julie moves with the grace of a ballerina, and the two of you soon had all your boxes stacked in your living room.

Burnt orange sunlight poured through the window, streaming soon-to-be-dusk and casting the wooden floorboards with a vibrant glow. You take a moment from the heavy lifting to look out the window. Across the lawn, you can make out a couple of your neighbours engaging in some game. Upon closer inspection, you realise it’s Wally and Barnaby, the former laughing and tossing a series of colourful balls for Barnaby to catch.

You watched as Wally swung his arm and threw a few of the balls a surprising distance, letting the large, spotted dog race off to retrieve them. Wally put his hands on his hips, as if exhausted by the exertion. He turned - and locked eyes with you. Wally’s face broke out into a huge grin, and he gave you a hearty wave. Feeling horribly embarrassed, you waved back, trying to ignore the painful squeezing of your heart. You’ve only known Wally a week, and yet you’re utterly charmed by everything he does.

A tug on your arm brought you back to the present: it’s Julie. She bats her long eyelashes at you, a knowing smile on her face.

“You like hiiiiim, ” she teased, her voice all sing-song.

“What?!”

You grabbed Julie by the shoulders and yanked her away from the window, as if Wally could somehow hear you both through sight. “No! I don’t know where you got an idea like that-”

“It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t need to pretend.”

Your face felt like it was on fire. You’d always been the careful type, ensuring your innermost thoughts and feelings stayed stuffed as far down as possible to keep you safe. But the Neighbourhood bred a kind of emotional honesty with which you were totally unfamiliar. Everyone is so exuberant, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves - some of them even literally, as plenty of your new neighbours wore outfits stitched with cute little hearts! Keeping a secret in the Neighbourhood felt wrong…even a secret crush on the silly little artist whose smile lit up your insides.

So, you give in. “How did you know?”

Julie giggles. She fishes in the pocket of her dress, and pulls out a daisy.

“I know a lot about flowers,” she explained, as she twirled the stem between her fingers. “What kinds grow in different meadows. How much sun and water and love they need to grow. They show it in their petals, and how they lean. People are a lot like that too.

“When you arrived, you looked…wilted. Like you’d been kept out of the sun for too long. I could see it, but didn’t want to ask why. I think everyone else could, too…and we all wanted to help a new friend who lost their colour.”

“You’ve all been so lovely to me,” you said, by way of thanks.

Julie nodded. “Sure we have! And it worked, for a little bit. But for a flower at the end of its days, even fresh soil, plenty of sun and lots of water can only do so much. Your petals seemed faded for good. And that’s okay. I just wanted you to be happy - whatever that looks like for you.”

You swallowed. “You see a lot, for a gardener.”

Julie smiled. “When you care for flowers, you learn to listen to their needs. Sometimes, you’ll have a flower who has everything in the world…but they’re still curling up, and shying away from the light.”

She pressed the daisy into your palm.

“Wally brings the colour back to your petals,” said Julie. “Do yourself a favour. Don’t hide from your sun.”

Another squeeze from Wally brings you out of your recollection. You suck in a deep breath, facing this new reality of Wally holding you, his fingers pleasantly warm and fuzzy.

“Close your eyes,” says Wally gently.

For anyone else, you would’ve paused - but for Wally, you comply immediately.

Slowly, you feel Wally’s hands slide down your arms to your hands. He threads his fingers through yours and holds them firm, so tight that you start to feel your blood thrumming from the pressure. Your hearing, sensitive now your sight is compromised, picks up the distant chatter of your neighbours, as well as the friendly sounds of nature at play. Your skin tingles, sweat-slicked from the heat and the nerves.

“I have a question,” says Wally, his voice wonderfully calm and soft.

“Yes?”

“Why do you eat?”

“Uh…” What kind of question was that? Wally is admittedly prone to posing questions that only a truly strange mind would think up, but this one is so baffling, you’re thrown entirely for a loop. “...So I don’t die, I guess?”

“Ha ha ha ha!” Wally’s unique, halting laugh almost startles you into opening your eyes. “You’re so funny. Okay. Do you know why I eat?”

This time, it takes you a little longer to answer. A simple enough question, surely with the exact same answer? But Wally’s voice has taken on a teasing, knowing edge - a sound you recognise from when he’s setting up a punchline. The question must be a trick. So you rack your brains, trying to think of all the times you’d seen Wally eat: where he was, what he was eating.

With your eyes still closed, you reach a strange realisation.

“I…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat.”

A soft chuckle from Wally. “That’s right. You haven’t.”

Wally’s grip on your hand tightens. Strangely, a weak, static noise buzzes to life, seemingly from inside your skull. You shift, trying to locate the source, but Wally holds you in place. As the noise grows, the sounds of your friends fizzle out and die. It’s as if you’ve been placed on an invisible train and are moving steadily down the track, away from all the familiar sounds of your Neighbourhood - but you can’t feel the rumbling of the track, or hear the whistle of the wind.

“But…maybe you should.”

With Wally’s words the temperature noticeably drops, and gooseflesh breaks out on your arms. You shudder, wanting to open your eyes but finding that you can’t: your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. You’re stuck in place, pinioned to the grass (which you can no longer feel) as that buzzing sound inches up by the decibel, a nasty, steady crawl which leaves your brain awash in a sea of noise.

“Open your eyes.”

You do so.

And you can’t make sense of what you see.

The sky is gone. The tree is gone. The meadow is gone. Every detail from the Neighbourhood’s comforting landscape has evaporated, leaving nothing behind but a grayscale emptiness which fuzzes in and out like television static. Even the awful buzzing sound abruptly falls away, leaving your ears with nothing but the distant sound of an unseen tide.

Wally still sits in front of you, his hands grasping yours, but it’s like he’s sitting on nothing at all: somehow supported by a cushion of emptiness. It’s like the texture of the world has fallen out of reality.

Seized by vertigo, you tighten your grip on Wally’s hands. “What’s happening?!”

“Don’t worry,” says Wally. “You’re safe.”

“There’s nothing here,” you whisper. “Where is everyone?”

“Back Home,” says Wally. “They can’t see us right now. They’re not ready.” His smile turns coy. “But I think you are. Watch this.”

Wally reaches over and rustles in your backpack. Your heart crawls into your mouth; although you can see Wally’s hands in front of you, you can somehow still feel his hands holding both of yours, keeping you locked in place. You try to look down and make sense of this impossibility, but your eyes are stuck, glued to Wally’s face. You can only watch, terrified, as he takes out your chocolate bar and locks in his gaze.

Without warning, Wally’s eyes flare open, heavy lids drawing back and revealing the full size of his large, black pupils. Wally’s stare travels steadily down the chocolate bar, a focused intensity searing from his eyes like a laser. Somehow as he stares, bite marks are chunked out of the chocolate, as if some great invisible person is taking enormous chomps out of both the bar and wrapper. In seconds, the chocolate is gone.

Panic grips your chest, and you start to hyperventilate. The world tilts, and you’re scared you might actually puke. Wally blinks, his eyelids half-blanketing those pupils once more, and he looks at you with concern. When his eyes connect, your chest convulses with panic: a type of terror you’ve never experienced before threatening to claw its way out of your body and devour you whole.

“What happened?!”

“Oh, don’t be scared,” says Wally, his voice floating and cloudlike. “This is just how I eat.”

“How - did you - do - that?” you gasp.

“I’m not sure. I’ve always eaten this way.” Wally inclines his head in sympathy. “I am sorry if I’ve made you afraid. I usually only eat when others are blinking. That way, I don’t interrupt them. I don’t want to be rude."

You suck in a huge gulp of breath. “Wally, this is…impossible,” you manage. “I want to leave - I want to go Home-”

“You can’t.”

Wally shakes his head mildly from side to side, but his eyes seem to stay still, locked into the centre of his face. No matter how much you strain to move, those incredible eyes remain right in front of you, always at the same distance, never looking away - and never blinking. In your peripheral vision, you see Wally’s hand reach up towards your face. He cups your cheek. The sensation of feeling three arms belonging to a two-armed person on your body sends a rush of nausea through your throat. Wally strokes your skin with his thumb.

“You understand me so well,” says Wally. “You see me, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand.” Another wave of dizziness rises up, pushing behind your eyeballs. The sensation is the same as the pressure of allergies arising on a high pollen day - yet you can no longer smell the flowers of the meadow. You try again in vain to rip your gaze away from Wally’s, but you can’t - and you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

Wally’s thumb stops, resting in the dip of your cheek. “I love my friends, but they only see one part of me. The part they want to see. But you…”

His thumb trails to the edge of your lip.

“...you see all of me.”

You’re split in two. Your brain, the logical part of your thinking, is screaming at you to do anything - to move, to scream, to run as fast as you can into the nightmare emptiness and beg for help. But the other part of you - your traitorous, emotional heart - douses the runaway fire of your fear with the intoxication of Wally’s touch. You find yourself leaning into his hand, savouring how perfectly his cheek cups your palm, and the slight fuzz of his thumb teasing your lip.

“I do,” you whisper. Suddenly, your body relaxes, and you slump forward. You feel very tired. The panic which gripped your body only moments ago is now quashed, flattened into a fine layer of dust by the weight of Wally’s impossibly black eyes. Now your nervous system is nothing but the aftermath: the feeling of fight-or-flight chemicals settling into your bloodstream, leaving you weak and sluggish.

Now, Wally’s eyes are not a source of terror. They’re a blanket you wish to curl up beneath, and never wake up.

“I think you’re special, you know,” says Wally. “The way I feel when I’m around you is…different, than with the others. You’re the absolute most.”

Wally’s words settle over your brain like a dream. You watch, your eyes heavy and drained, as Wally brings his hands up to his chest and forms the shape of his heart with his fingers. You’re no longer scared of the physical contradictions of Wally holding your hands whilst signing his affection. It seems in this reality, Wally can have as many hands as he wants.

This is why Wally’s next question confuses you so:

“Do you think if our friends saw me like this…they’d run away?”

Wally’s words are becoming harder to process. The world around him tunnels. Even though you’re sure that you’re fixed in place, sitting on some immovable, textureless cushion, Wally’s eyes grow larger, encroaching evermore on your limiting field of vision. The longer you look, the more of Wally’s scleras are swallowed by his expanding pupils. Those blown, void-black pools seem to come with their own gravity, and you’re slipping into their inconceivable pull, ready to be strewn and stretched and ripped apart by their physics.

“Oh, Wally,” you try to say, but your tongue slackens, and his name comes out as, ‘Waaalllllyyyy.’ “We love you so much. You can’t make us run away.”

Wally smiles, and you think it’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen.

“How I wish that were true.”

Suddenly, Wally’s eyes shift just the slightest bit to the left. The effect is like unsealing a pressure chamber. For a moment you are released from his eyes, and your brain and body scramble as one, free-falling and bracing to break against the ground with a hypnic jerk. However, Wally realises his mistake and grabs you by the shoulder - another impossible arm - and forces you to look back into his eyes.

“Shh. Don’t strain yourself. The more you resist, the worse you’ll feel.”

You blink rapidly, trying to reorient yourself in space. Wally’s touch grounds you again, holding you steady in this non-existent space. You try to reply, but your mouth now hangs open, jaw useless. Saliva collects in a pool under your tongue, but Wally still keeps his thumb at the edge of your lip, now rubbing soothing circles against your flesh.

“We don’t have much time,” says Wally. “But…thank you for this. You can’t know how much I appreciate you.”

The warm flush of his approval works its way through your unresponsive body. Your muscles contract, dopamine and serotonin coating your insides and bringing your fingers - still interlocked with Wally’s - into a sudden contraction. You force your mouth into a speech-ready shape, fuelled by his words and his touch and the sheer paradox of his being, and you try so desperately to say, ‘Wally, I love you- ’

But then he looks away.

The spell is broken. Like flipping to another television channel, the world around you snaps back into place in one vivid bound. All the colour, sounds and scents of the Neighbourhood re-enter your senses in one huge burst, and the force of it almost knocks you over. Wally - who is still holding your hands, just like before - keeps you steady, crushing your hands together like he would rather die than let go.

“Hey, you two!”

Looking away from Wally feels like ripping off a plaster. Your eyes alight on Julie trotting up the meadow’s slight incline, clutching a hotdog in one hand and a cooler in the other.

“Eddie wanted me to tell you we’re packing up,” Julie chirps. “Looks like a thunderstorm is coming.” She looks down at your hands, still intertwined with Wally’s, and grins. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just some good old-fashioned fun,” says Wally, his voice impassive and gentle.

The ability for words has deserted you. You stare back at Wally, searching desperately for something supernatural in the darks of his eyes. Wally looks normal - as normal as a small, yellow puppet can - and his eyes are back to their half-lidded, sleepy-looking state. It takes a couple of nudges with his foot for Wally to bring you back to earth.

Wally lets go of your hands, and you can feel the blood pumping in the spaces between your fingers. You try standing up, but your legs are weak and wobbly, as if you’d just run a marathon while sitting in one spot. They would’ve collapsed beneath you, but Wally catches you before you slip. He hauls you up and loops his arm around yours.

“Just hungry,” Wally says with a smile. “Let’s get you Home."

Julie leads the way down the small embankment, with Wally supporting your timid, uneasy steps. You soon reach your neighbours, now busying themselves in tidying up the remnants of your picnic. Upon seeing you, they all crowd around, asking if you’re okay. Barnaby remarks that you look terribly pale, and Sally offers to bring you a drink. However, Wally shoos them off, admonishing them in a familial sort of way. He reassures them that you’ve just had a small fainting spell, and need to get some rest.

Now free of the others, Julie, Wally and yourself make the way home - and you’re thankful it’s only a short distance. When you finally reach your porch you want to fall over onto the steps, but Wally keeps you held upright: a firm, reassuring presence at your side.

“You need to tell us if you get this again, okay?” says Julie, looking at you with worry in her eyes.

“Okay,” you say, giving a weak nod.

“Thank you. Feel better soon, okay?”

Julie gives you and Wally a final glance over. Having determined you’ll be more than fine in Wally’s care, she bids her goodbyes and skips off to help the rest of your neighbours.

“Ha ha ha,” laughs Wally. “Julie is a good friend. I’m lucky to have her in my life.”

You look sideways at Wally. He catches your eye, and dips his head in a nod. “I feel the same way about you,” he says.

The question is implied in his voice - a little waver at the edge of his words.

“Wally…I don’t really understand what happened today,” you say. “But…I know it doesn’t change how much I like you."

The beam that dawns on Wally’s face is so wide, it almost cracks in two. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You can’t help but return the grin. “Thank you for being vulnerable with me.”

Wally lets go of your arm, and turns to face you properly. He reaches up one hand, and then hesitates, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours as if pondering a question.

Finally, Wally leans in and gives you a small, gentle kiss on the cheek. You inhale sharply, your arms hanging limply by your side and your fingers curling into questioning shapes. His mouth is plush and downy, and the impression of his lips sends a toasty-sweet feeling rocketing through your body.

When Wally pulls back, his yellow skin is dusted pink about his cheeks.

“Always know,” he says softly, “that I love you very much.”

Then, he’s leaving. You watch in stunned silence as Wally’s back retreats into the distance, making his way to join the throng of your neighbours. A slight rumble in the distance makes you look up: a cluster of thunderclouds gather at the edge of the Neighbourhood, fat with the promise of rain.

You touch your lips gently, and smile. Then, you retreat inside the safety of your home…with the warm memory of Wally’s kiss playing in your mind, and static still buzzing in your fingers.

#wally darling x reader #wally darling x you #wally darling #welcome home #welcome home arg #julie joyful #frank frankly #eddie dear #poppy partridge #barnaby b. beagle #sally starlet #howdy pillar #starleskawrites #welcome home fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

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The Depths 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: fisherman!Geralt of Rivia x artist!reader

Summary: your sleepy existence is thrown into chaos by a mysterious man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The water crashes onto the coast. The sound is dulled by the distance of your perch. The sky melds into the lake's surface as the sun hides behind a swathe of clouds.

You lean in to squint at the strokes on the canvas, sweeping your brush in repetition of the rippled horizon. You use the wnd of the brush to scratch your cheek.

Almost...

You peek above the easel and watch the small speck growing larger as it moves across the water. The fishing boat is there so often that you've added its silhouette to the acrylic tides. A stalwart to your early mornings and listless afternoons.

Day after day is layered before you in shades of cerulean, slate, and lavender. The grey sky with a tinge of golden sunlight, the waters stirring in sparkling shades of aquamarine and pearl, the coast rippled in fawn and umber. Another eye might see it and deem it finished but not you.

You step back to let the paint dry and rinse your brushes in the jar. Hmm. You're out of clean water.

You close up the easel and hook the canvas on the backside, carrying it like a briefcase as you pick up your canvas bag with your roll of brushes and pots of paint, your palette around your index finger.

You make a slow descent down the cliffside and curl around towards the shore. You veer away from the dock and head down into the silt. You put your stuff on a flat rock. You take the used brushes and palette to rinse in the shallows.

The water laps over your sandals as you linger in the soothing cool foam. The approach of evening skews the water with emerald and jade. You shake it all off and step back to dry it with a paint-blotted cloth.

You rearrange the bag so it all fits and hook it over your shoulder. You look down at the your linen apron. You can recall where every splotch and streak came from.

You take your easel and canvas and head back up along the dock. As you reach the post, the fishing boat knocks against the other end. You peer over at the man that lays a board across the spanse between.

You see him every night. You couldn't forget a man with snow white hair and golden eyes. His age is less than his locks might suggest and his eyes seem to look through you, not at you.

You smile, like you do every night. He doesn't react. Just like every other time.

The smell of fish wafts in the boat as he drags his net across the wooden ramp. You turn and press on. He's much to busy for you. It doesn't bother you. You came out here to get away from people.

Your feet leave divets in the dirt as the rock of the boat knocks in a rhythm against the dock. The man's toil adds to thunks and thuds and they fade behind you. The peace here is immaculate, you wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone else.

Past the seaside houses left vacant in the colder seasons and the smaller basins of the lake, between the rocky ridges and grassy knolls, you return to your little house.The cornflower paint chips from the wooden siding and the stairs are worn in the middle from the tramp of feet. A bench stands on the other side of the white railing between a plinthed flowerpot and folding table with a book forgotten on its slats. Home.

The spindly wreath on the front door rattles as you push through and the screen door snaps behind you. The evening breezs drifts in through the mesh as you set your easel down and rest the canvas on crate just beside the mat. You put your bag in front of the wooden stand and bask in the calm.

You hang your wicker hat and untie your apron. Your hands are covered in paint. You'll wash them before you eat. You leave your wet sandals at the door.

You pull out the pot of chowder you made two nights past from the fridge. You put it over a burner and wait for it to warm. The fare lasts you near a week when you take the time to put it together. Every ingredient must be used to its last, especially when it is so far to market. And expensive.

You scoop out a bowl and eat it on the front porch. Your eyes are too tired to read. When you finish, you recline on the bench and yawn. You lay in the dimming hue of the evening as the stars wink down at you.

A whistle carries on the wind. You sit up and look for the culprit. They are close enough to hear but that could still be far. It could even be a bird.

You take the empty bowl inside and rinse it. You retreat to the bedroom and change

You open the window to let the night in. Around here, you can do that. Not like the city and its grated windows.

You laze in the dusk shade and drift slowly into yourself. Sleep enshrines you atop the cushy bed, the water stirring from afar, the loons calling into the dark. Tomorrow you'll figure out the exact right colour for the undertow.

You're more than due to sell a new piece. You need to if you want to stay in paradise.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt of rivia #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #au #series #drabble #the depths

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dilatorywriting · 1 year ago

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Oh, 4k? Hold up then, looks like you dropped this 👑👑👑

CONGRATS TO YOU, ONE OF THE BEST WRITERS HERE!! If I could partake in the event, I'd love something with Riddle and prompt 17; love my short red angry king and alice in wonderland in its entirety tbh. If the Reader could be a bit of a rule breaker too and have known Riddle since childhood that'd be awesome as well. Again tho CONGRATULATIONS!! HOPE NOTHING BUT THE GOOD STUFF FOR YOU!

Gender Neutral Reader x Riddle Rosehearts Word Count: 2.3k

Prompt 17: "I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

You were annoying.

At least, that was the kindest way his mother described it. And Riddle would have to agree. Always hanging over his shoulder like some overeager parrot and rattling off nonsense into his ear just as loudly. He was hardly allowed out to the park—mother said his studies were far too important, and even as a child Riddle certainly agreed. Mostly, at least. Enough to never argue—but when he did get time to sit out in the sun under the shade of the grand, painted trees, you were always there.

A bother, a nuisance. Sticky fingered with the remnants of swiped tarts and chattering on, and on, and on.

“I tried to follow a rabbit,” you said, rolling around in the dirt like a heathen. Weren’t you worried your parents would scold you for mucking up the smooth, blue fabric of your jacket? “But it ran too fast and I fell. Do you think I could catch it with a net, maybe?”

“Hopped,” Riddle correctly, stiffly. “Rabbits hop.”

“Well this one ran,” you argued back. “Faster than a car. Faster than a cheetah.”

“Cars are faster than cheetahs,” he said, turning to the next page of his book. “So grammatically you should have put that part second.”

You flopped back onto your stomach and pulled yourself to your knees, before scuttling behind his back and peering over his shoulder.

“How can you pay attention to a book with no pictures in it?”

He hunched up his shoulders and you dropped your chin down with a bonk. Refusing to budge.

“Some of us don’t have the attention span of goldfish,” he sneered, turning his nose up at you.

“Well, if I could only think as much as a goldfish, I wouldn’t want to waste it on that,” you snipped back. “Doing homework in a park. What are you, a robot?”

“I’m efficient!” he snapped. “Mother says I shouldn’t waste time on frivolities.” On things like you, he doesn’t say. A part of him wants to. The part that sounds like biting words and a sharp, firm voice demanding he get to bed by 7pm unless he wants to rot his brain. Another part is… is worried that you might not like that. And then you’d just get even more annoying.

You reached around and snagged the textbook out of his hands with an audible ‘yoink!’ and immediately ran off at full speed. Which is never fair! Because you’re used to climbing up trees, and sprinting through mud, and scaling boulders like a wild beast. And Riddle is—Riddle isn’t! He would never! So it takes him an age to catch up to you. By the time he does, he’s huffing, and puffing, and as red as his hair.

“Don’t do that!” he snapped, livid. “Ever again!”

“Alright,” you shrugged, a loose grin on your mouth as you returned your pilfered treasure. You’ve barely even broken a sweat. “I won’t bother you during homework, Riddle.”

Which is… That’s certainly what he wanted Of course it was. But it made something in his stomach drop nonetheless. Probably because you’d just find new ways to be irritating. Yes. That’s certainly why.

The first time he felt it was on his twelfth birthday.

He’d tried so hard. And he’d done so well. His exams had all come back with perfect scores, his projects and papers immaculately graded. He’d been going to bed on time every night, combing his hair exactly how his mother liked, even folding his clothes into perfectly pressed little squares. She’d seen it in one of her cleanliness magazines and had lamented how nice the style looked for something so tedious. But Riddle had learned. And now his closet looked as tidy as a militia.

“Can I go? Trey’s whole family will be there. And it’s just dinner. Fully monitored!” he reassured, fighting the urge to twist his hands behind his back. “Please?”

“Of course not,” his mother droned, not even looking up from her laptop. “You’ve been doing well, but we don’t want you slipping up, now do we?”

“But—” he started, and her eyes cut up to him like daggers. A warning. “…of course, mother.”

“Good boy,” she smiled, with that smile that was never really a smile. “Now go up to your room. You can have an extra half hour of free time today,” she said, like it was something worth celebrating. “For my special birthday boy.”

Riddle had sat in his bed wishing he’d never known what a birthday was at all. And then there was a tapping at his window.

He opened it in shock, to see you hanging off the edge like a particularly determined cockroach. Which was—! No! It wasn’t safe! And you were going to get him in trouble, and—

But instead of opening that stupid, fat mouth of yours and letting of your siren call of a laugh—summoning every sensible adult in a five-mile radius to come checking for delinquents—you simply swung around a bit to reach back into your jacket pocket. Riddle almost lurched forward when he saw your fingers scrabble a bit along the ledge. Ready to fall. But then you righted yourself and gently deposited a little, paper-wrapped parcel atop of the smooth surface.

And then you shot him a wink and disappeared from view, no doubt scuttling back down the siding like the demon you were.

He approached it hesitantly, like one would an active bomb. He carefully peeled back the sticky tape and smoothed out the edges of the sloppily wrapped package. Inside was a small, round strawberry tart. Freshly baked, by the smell of it. And the waft of warm, soft steam curling up from the flaking crust. With a little note tucked beside it in your chicken scratch. A lopsided smiley face doodled at the corner, beaming up at a hastily scrawled ‘Happy Birthday, Riddle!’

He took a small bite of the little, perfect treat and his eyes burned. Something in his chest gave a worrying thump-thump.

‘Oh my god,’ he thought in a panic. ‘The idiot poisoned me.’

But aside from the horribly loud ticking of his heart, nothing else seemed to go awry. He ate the rest of the tart in silence, feeling lightheaded and far too warm. He wondered if maybe his mother was right about sugar and myocardial infarction after all.

Riddle didn’t see much of you the next few years. His mother doubled down on his study times, and he wasn’t even allowed to spend time with someone as responsible as Trey anymore. Let alone the person his parent had deemed ‘a menace upon polite society.’ The next time he saw you—really saw you. Not just your hurried waves from across the street or the trace ends of your bubbling laugh from around a corner—was when the Royal Sword Academy’s students had descended upon Night Raven for the VDC.

You were chattering away with Che’nya, the pair of you looking equally as mused and ridiculous. All splashes of raucous color and uniforms so out of place that one would hardly be able tell what institution you were meant to be a part of at all. For a moment he thought you’d walk right past. It’d been years, after all. And certainly you’d moved on to bothering some new stick in the mud.

But then you saw him and your eyes lit up. His chest gave another of those terrible thump-thumps.

“Riddle!” you all but screamed. And launched yourself at him like a feral cat. “How are you! Your hair is so neat! Did you grow out your bangs? Oh! Look at your cape! So cool! Did you know that we don’t get capes? I think that’s a crime. Especially with how yours looks,” you rambled on. And despite that lingering thread of him that demanded that you must be annoying, because that’s what you were. Loud, and uncouth, and everything he’d been raised to not be. The rest of him was… Warm. And happy, to hear the familiar chatter back in his ear.

He scoffed, hoping it would cover the noise of his pounding heart. “No one in their right mind would trust you with a cape. You’d get caught on every door in existence.”

“Oh, that’s fair,” you agreed on a nod. “But surely a top hat, at least?”

And then you were back in his life like you’d never left to begin with. Or, well, like he’d never left you.

Showing up at Unbirthday Parties with the tackiest serving plates and even worse outfits. Telling him all about the rabbit you finally managed to catch, and how it does run, Riddle. I swear. Bringing him trinkets you’d found in small shops that had no practical purpose to speak of. Breaking every rule in the Queen’s Book and smacking yourself on the forehead each time he shouted a stern reminder. You even bought a little notepad to jot down his instructions. But all it ended up being good for was an ever growing pile of doodles and little, folded, origami animals that he’d find tucked all around his room like secrets.

And amidst all of this, that thumping, bumping pressure in his chest just kept getting worse.

It was a warm day, not unlike the one all those years ago where you’d plunked yourself on his shoulder and stolen the textbook right out of his hands. Now you had your own book to read, some monstrosity on analyzing ravens and writing desks, with your head precariously close to his lap but not there. He didn’t even know why that bothered him.

“This book is too complicated,” you complained. And Riddle fought the urge to point out you were holding it upside down. “Both have quills. Is that so hard to understand?”

“That makes no sense,” he argued back.

“Of course it does,” you said, perfectly pleasant and sure of yourself. “But you know everything, so you really ought to know that too.”

He snorted. “I do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“What’s fifteen times thirty-four.”

“That’s not knowing. That’s just math,” he argued. “And it’s five-hundred and ten.”

“See,” you poked. “I knew you’d know it.” You rolled over to stretch out on your stomach—reaching forward to twist a long blade of grass between your fingers. “You always know what to do.”

Something in his stomach turned unpleasantly at that. Had he known what to do when he’d cowed to his mother’s commands and cut you from his life? Had he known best when he’d turned away from your warm greetings and friendly overtures to hide away behind the unsurmountable walls of expectation? Worse over, did you think that he thought all those things were… for the best? That he’d wanted to push you aside like all your cheerful banter and sweet attempts to brighten his dull, miserable life had been worth nothing.

“That’s not true,” he finally said, stilted and near whisper quiet.

You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at him with a curious tilt of the head.

“Of course it is,” you blinked, guileless and genuine. Smiling up at him from your place in the grass with that familiar, twisty little grin on your mouth and a brightness in your eyes that never seemed to dim.

“It’s not,” he said, a bit firmer. And his gaze flickered off away from yours. “I think I’m in love with you, and I don’t know what to do about it at all.”

Riddle wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Silence, maybe. The horrible, awkward, biting sort that ate away at his soul like a rat gnawing through his bones. Maybe you’d laugh at him, in that bubbling, carefree way of yours, and tell him that you thought one of those rules of his was never to lie on a Thursday afternoon. That would hurt worse than the silence, he thought.

But instead you just rolled back over with a flick of your wrist, like you were gossiping about the weather.

“Then love me,” you said, simple. “I love you. It only seems fair.”

“…oh,” he spluttered, face lighting up crimson and warm.

You hummed, as if in agreement. But to what he wasn’t sure. You looked him over for a minute, like you were searching for something. And then you reached for his sweaty hand with your own and twined your fingers there in the grass.

“If everything always made sense, nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't,” you said, like that was supposed to make any sense at all. “And contrariwise, what it is, it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"

“What on earth are you on about?” he gaped.

You burst into delighted giggles and tucked your nose against his hip. “Silly, silly. Stop trying to analyze everything, yes? It will only make things more confusing.”

You sighed and stretched, a contented smile on your lips. You reached up to tap a finger against his nose.

“Things don’t always have to make sense. That’s what makes it fun. And, well, if you’re really that determined to be able to figure out how things are supposed to go, we can do that later, yes?”

“…Right,” he managed to eek out after a long moment. Feeling far too light and far too… too something. “Later. There will be a later.”

And as much as that would have felt like a lie all those years ago—had been a lie even—when he said it now you looked up at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky. And he couldn’t help but hope for all the tomorrows in the world.

#4k Event #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #Riddle Rosehearts x Reader #Riddle x Reader #Riddle Rosehearts #My Writing #Writing Prompts

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tleeaves · 3 months ago

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Rule(heart)breaker

Tokyo Debunker | Ritsu Shinjo x reader/MC Warnings: none Description: the girls (business partners) are fightingggg, minor angst if you tilt your head to the side, potentially ooc maybe idk Author's note: this is my first TDB fic so, um, try not to judge me too harshly maybe if it's totally crap. This is sort of just a snippet of an idea I've been having around a potentially longer/multi-chapter Ritsu fic? Tbh I don't even like this guy that much but something about his character compels me, so, here we are. - T. Lee 🍃

Ritsu Shinjo prided himself on being perfect; efficient and effective in every way humanly possible until he reached ghoul status and could pursue levels beyond any human alive or dead. So, imagine his surprise when his morning cup of coffee—black, no milk or sugar to ruin the raw taste—went flying out of his hand and spilling over his shirtfront and lap, immediately painting his immaculate uniform shades of brown before he could even utter acimo.

Swiftly, one of six handkerchiefs on his person found itself in his hand and dabbing at the hot mess. If he were anything less than a ghoul and if the cup had not already been cooling for four minutes and twenty seconds, this would probably be hurting a great deal more than it already was.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” a voice squeaked, sounding mortified.

Face as blank as ever, Ritsu glanced up with only the slightest hint of distaste in his tone when he said, “You are late. And I will be charging you for the time wasted and now for my uniform’s dry-cleaning.”

“Are you okay?” the Darkwick inspector asked him, hands hovering awkwardly as he continued pressing the handkerchief against his clothes, attempt to draw out what he could. The handkerchief, he realised dismally, would need cleaning too.

“Wet,” he commented tersely, “And now behind schedule, but fine. Where were you that your time was so occupied at nine AM? The very time, incidentally, I informed you our meeting was to occur here at the Mystery Diner. Twenty minutes ago. You confirmed yesterday during business hours that you would attend this meeting.”

Ritsu watched as your eye twitched. Intriguing… and worrisome. You were his business partner; clumsiness could be forgiven through the correct procedure of reparations, but if you were tired and no longer at your sharpest, that would be a problem for him too. How could he rely on a sleep deprived partner to bring Sinostra enough prestige to win the laurel crown at the Gala?

His gaze never left you as you tentatively sat down across the table from him. An opponent’s position. A business partner would typically sit next to him. He took mental note of that to add in with his voice recordings later when he was transcribing.

As you tugged on your sleeves, Ritsu noticed that your attire was in disarray. Buttons missing, small tears, untucked, upturned collar on one side, and a loose tie that appeared suspiciously like it was cut in half—and not intentionally for style. He started listing these items aloud into his recording, completely missing the flush on your face and the odd glint in your eyes where you usually looked so vacant.

“A mission,” you declared suddenly.

Ritsu paused. Gathered his thoughts and offered the recorder out. “Can you elaborate? You were on a mission?”

“I have been on a mission since the closing of business hours yesterday,” you drawled. Ritsu blinked, a dozen thoughts on workers’ rights, Darkwick policies and rules, and legal procedure running through his mind before anything could leave his mouth. He did not get the chance though, as you continued. “I have been on a mission since yesterday and I just got back from being off campus this morning. I have not slept a goddamn wink, I have not changed, I have not showered, and I have not eaten. Another anomaly was killed instead of being caught for study. So, thank you for waiting patiently for me.”

Ritsu was indignant. “You should not have accepted the mission, you have every right to refuse according to—”

“You don’t get it,” you snapped. He watched as the flush on your face deepened, not with shame but anger. “Nearly four months have passed since I was cursed. I don’t care about being overworked; I care about finding the fucker that’s turning me into its clone. So, I accept every mission Darkwick puts my way and I’ll keep doing it until I find a cure. Yes, that might mean I’m not on time to meetings. But don’t pretend like you aren’t just using me the same way Darkwick and all the other ghouls do.”

Ritsu remained silent, the recording still rolling. You took that as an opportunity to stand from the booth’s table and plant a hand on its surface. His empty coffee cup rattled.

“Or do you deny it? We’re spending more time elevating Sinostra so you can continue your little glory quest than we are investigating anything related to my curse.” Your eyes were steely and a small part of Ritsu wavered under that stare. It seemed ridiculous because he was not one to be intimidated, ever. So, what else was the feeling?

Ritsu took a breath, readjusting his blazer, though he stayed seated. “You have adequately addressed your concerns. I make no such admissions or denials at this time on the matter.” He sighed shortly. “We are business partners. It is natural we should not get along and agree on everything, but there is no matter I cannot resolve with enough time.” He checked his gleaming watch. “We should resume this matter at four—”

“Hell no.” Moving around the table to loom beside him, you said, “Let it go on record that Darkwick’s inspector resigns from the business partnership with Ritsu Shinjo, starting now. We have different priorities.”

Ritsu stood. “Sinostra has missions.”

“Sinostra can barely go a week without any warnings from the academy,” you seethed.

“That is why we are working together to preserve its reputation,” he argued.

You gave him a cool smile. “Exactly. Different priorities.” Striding past a bored-looking Ren Shiranami, you said, “Nice knowing you, Thesaurus.” The door shut heavily behind you.

Ritsu watched your retreating figure out the diner’s windows before you disappeared from view around the corner. He sighed through his nose. This was not good. One way or another, he needed to get his business partner back, or better yet, find a suitable replacement.

#ritsu shinjo #ritsu shinjo x reader #ritsu shinjo x mc #ritsu shinjo tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker #sinostra #our favourite (and only) paralegal #shinjo ritsu #ritsu tokyo debunker

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jhuzen · 1 year ago

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old and new [gn/m.reader]

good lord i have been gone for a long time. i am so sorry, i am recovering from bloccus writicus. also i may have been… getting in touch with my thirst for strong women. women are so beautiful. i love them. to all my requesters (? how to english), please excuse my tardiness. allow me to rev my engine before delivering them once again. i’m gonna warm up with a few posts (including this). ALSO THIS STORY IS JDIADMC IDK.

𖦹 big on genshin lore because i am nerding out, creator reader but not sagau reader, like i’m talking you are a character in the story, ooh look at me diverting from my agenda of overseer reader (i blame skirk’s master).

The mere ability to create is something so vast and so elaborate, placed upon the pedestal for all to see. If one is gifted with the passion and talent to create, they are the envy of all — to craft the most divine pieces, create something so intricate that it is nothing short of impressive.

And through it all, an artist hones one’s skills until they have reached the peak — until they’ve viewed every perspective, until they’ve used every shade, until they’ve done every stroke, all of it comes down to their prized creation;

Their Magnum Opus.

That… was Teyvat to you.

It was your pièce de résistance. If the myriad of heavenly bodies that lay before your trail were thought-provoking and terrifyingly beautiful to a fault, then Teyvat was your inexplicable masterpiece, one that took trial and error as your gentle hands shaped and carved every landscape, as your breath that blew into it became the protecting breeze, and as the tears that you wept from joy became the primordial seas of the world that birthed new life forms that you managed to call a mere happy accident.

It was yours. Many worlds before it were mere prototypes, but something you’ve cherished nonetheless. To you, Teyvat was the product that will possibly never get any better and a creation that will never be bested by anything else.

You granted it laws that were akin to the past worlds you’ve crafted with your own hands, you gave it life through the creatures that crawled around the earth. It thrived and you gave it autonomy once you thought it could work on its own course with your given gifts to let it thrive.

Teyvat was your cherished creation.

And the same rings true until now upon your quiet descent. Your immaculate robes that were woven with stardusts suddenly turning into a soft silk. You walked the earth in your bare feet, the blades of grass a mere tickle underneath you as you journeyed through the world.

The breeze blew by your hair and you felt the sheer invigoration, forcing a tiny titter out of you. You embraced the fruits of your hard labor, recalling the eons you nearly wept in agony as you continued to sculpt everything down to its tiniest detail.

And out of all of that, you birthed your pride and joy, this world that could never measure up to anything else.

Your eyes which held the countless stars and worlds you’ve created soon found itself gazing across the vast lands of this realm of light you’ve created, finding the realm of void opposing the one you were on.

Countless times you’ve heard your fellow artisans question you for creating such an unconventional place to be. But you sought balance in this perfect world of yours, where every creature can walk on their own respective realms. And if you can create pure beings of light, who’s to say that you can’t create the creatures that lurk within the void?

Your feet pattered against the grass that rustled as you hoped to approach and visit the opposing realm when you felt the ground beneath your rumble and shake. You stilled yourself with ease as you looked over your shoulder.

And your eyes had never known such beauty until now.

For the first time, a creature of divinity such as yourself was gobsmacked at the sight of a huge Vishap that stood before you.

It was a beautiful one — its blue scales that blended with the water from your tears of joy that you’ve shed upon your creation, its eyes holding the purest intentions that matched its pure being. You can feel the waters surge within its very form, like a fresh cold spring on a hot summer day.

Your eyes suddenly filled with tears as you felt your heart constrict with so much love as you watched it approach you. You have never seen such beauty that it truly nearly knocked you off your feet. Your chest ached with so much want as you continued to marvel the creature that you only hoped of succeeding in creating several eons ago.

“Oh… look at you…”

Your voice, honeyed and smooth as a silk, tinkled across the lands — waking up the creations that you gave life to upon your very own creation of Teyvat. Your voice, filled with so much love and tenderness, directed to the Vishap that towered over your tiny mortal form with ease, rang out, as if to call for it to come closer.

And it does.

The earth shakes with every weighted step that it took and you followed, contrasting the loudness with the silence of your own steps. You met it halfway until the very concept of distance no longer exists between you and the Vishap.

“…Such a beautiful one you are,” you whispered, your voice emitting a lilt of care and intense joy that you managed to suppress for a good measure before it overwhelmed you.

You lent a hand and its gaze directs towards it.

The Vishap leans into your touch and you can feel the waves of the primordial sea flow through you. With it, you can feel the joy you’ve felt once you’ve reached the end of your creation. You’ve felt the nostalgic satisfaction that kept you fulfilled even until now. You’ve felt the overwhelming love and excitement that you had when you took a step back and got a good look on Teyvat’s finality.

“You, who cradled our lives in your hands,” it spoke with a bellowing voice, making it seem like your own was but a mere squeak. “…Why do you pursue a creation as grand as this?”

You took a second as you pondered its question.

“…For the love in me is much too big not to share.”

“We have anticipated your descent. Nibelung has prophesied the return of the tearful artisan.”

You felt yourself flush at the title that was given to you unceremoniously, “Are my tears so ineffably embarrassing that I deserve such a name from my beloved creations?”

It huffed at your light jest, “It is nothing more but a praise. Your tears brought life in this barren world. Your tears gave birth to a new life that not one could hope to achieve—

“Your tears are my waters, to which I have complete sovereign on. Your tears are my will, to which I am eternally thankful for.”

You felt the inevitable warmth flow through your tiny body from the Vishap’s words alone. While it was satisfying to finish Teyvat on its own, you suddenly found a level beyond that feeling after receiving gratitude from your own creation firsthand. It melted your lonely soul and you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the feeling of it alone.

Such a simple gesture it was — to thank you — and yet the feeling it gave transcends every other emotion you’ve felt throughout the course of your long and eternal life.

“May you continue to prosper with the gift I’ve given you.” You blessed it with your small voice, barely above a mere whisper.

Your palm that shaped many worlds emitted the kind of warmth from a starting kiln and the Vishap relished in the feeling, a pleased growl echoing through the empty vast land of the light realm.

“The life that I owe to you will be cherished and used to its fullest. And should I perish, I will return with memories of you, no matter how faint.” It promised in one breath.

Your silken robes billowed against the breeze that blew by again. You can only feel your thoughts and feelings mingle with the Vishap’s. For once, you are able to see how it and its fellow Vishaps came to be, how each of them walked through the light realm and claimed its own homes where they ruled with incredible prosperity and indomitable ambition.

You were able to appreciate the further creation of life on this world that you deemed perfect, and was able to see how it went when you slept to rest for a good few centuries.

It was a feeling so invigorating, that you could feel your heart swell with so much love and pride for these dragons that walked the haven you’ve created. It mattered not to you how they came to be, only that they were able to live in peace and free from cumbersome bothers. It eased your heart, knowing that they are able to propagate their kind with so much freedom under the autonomous law that you gave to Teyvat.

You were feeling genuine satisfaction.

And it feels your jovial heart, with the way it continued to nestle its luminous scaled body into your touch.

“Protect this world with all your might. And you… you that holds my tears, will be given the authority to bring judgment of all life that makes a home on this world for centuries to come.”

Among the array of emotions that flowed through you, you felt its grateful pride surge through you.

A draconic pride that will leave its mark on you.

You had hoped it was a bad dream — a childish nightmare, no matter how unheard of it was among the divinity like you.

You hoped that the constriction in your loving heart was a jest in poor taste, that it was just a passing act of scare that you will laugh at. But as your eyes gazed at your magnum opus, your heart nearly shattered into a million little pieces.

The waters that were intimately connected to your essence, your very being, was tainted with anguish and anger. You can feel the hardships that started to brew from a few tiny nicks of pain in your heart. Teyvat was quite literally anchored to you through the primordial waters that flowed through it.

And as it continued to suffer contamination from something foreign, your heart further corroded into something that inflicted pain. You can feel the blood that soaked into the waters cry for desperation, you can feel the way it boiled with so much thirst for vengeance against whatever caused the first tragedy on Teyvat in the first place.

You placed full faith on the seven sovereigns, you had given them blessings that will aid them to guard your precious creation, but you could feel the tinge of betrayal flow through your veins when you threw a quick glance and saw Nibelung seeking something far more dangerous to defend their realm.

Something not from Teyvat. Something you know the laws that you placed which granted autonomy would reject and inflict sorrow upon those that were affected by it.

You fell into a state of unrest, pained with the grief of betrayal and longing for those that fought to protect your very own creation. A part of your mind condemns you for placing such a burden on your creations that cannot be better than outworld creatures that transcend them. But another part of you screams genuine belief to those you have tasked, that they will prevail and honor your simple wish.

Normally a couple of decades was nothing to you — as it could pass as quick as a mere minute, but to experience excruciating pain that throbbed like a vile tumor on your heavenly being was not something to sneeze at. Your heart ached for so many decades as you watched the sovereigns fall before those that intruded in your lovely creation.

And as it stole the authorities of the sovereigns, like a widow bereft its lover, you were forced into a state of slumber, lasting for centuries to come.

The new world thrives with lush life, creatures alike living as though its lives weren’t owed to the slumbering deity that was consumed with so much grief after all the tragic events that happened since its arrival on your world.

Perhaps it was the gentle mercy granted upon you that you stayed asleep when it parted a new realm for humanity’s arrival. When it was challenged by someone of the same nature, resulting to more catastrophic devastation that marred your heart with more fresh scars while you slept.

Perhaps it was best that you were unconscious as your closed eyes poured out tears endlessly that would sure tire you out for years as it happened.

And perhaps it was its atonement for the damage it caused you when you woke up and saw your Teyvat as something entirely new. Something that you didn’t create, something… completely alien.

Your pride as a divine creator was shaken, but you were quick to brush it off, wanting to see just how much your precious world was defiled and turned into something you know would never pass up as befitting into your standards. It was admittedly unbecoming of you, to turn your nose up against a creation, you always held some form of admiration and appreciation towards anything. You loved — and loved so much that you had to create to share it with your creations.

But Teyvat was once your magnum opus, it was… yours. It bathed in your heavenly tears, it felt every caress of your hands as you molded it into something you called your greatest masterpiece eons ago. You broke into a sweat, slaved away for the sake of your satisfaction upon completion, and when you finished it, you cried from happiness alone.

You descended, the flurry of stardust in your divine robes coagulating into the familiar silken robes that you wore whenever you would visit the seven sovereigns.

How many years have you been asleep? Dreaming up a reality where you shared a meal with the humongous and serpentine Dragon of Verdure, where you watched the Dragon King roar with pride, and where you exchanged the most insightful and heartfelt conversations with the Dragon of Water — the one that held your tears.

The grass underneath your bare feet feels as though it had a million stories to tell you, that among those years you’ve been forced into a slumber, you had missed a good chunk of what made Teyvat into this.

But the familiarity of the empty landscape was enough to urge you to keep going forth.

And that same familiarity ended the moment your eyes landed on fallen structures — ones you’ve never seen before. You can decipher that it once stood at a towering height, just from pillars that could squash your tiny mortal form with ease should it fall at the slightest disturbance.

You could feel a sense of tyranny from these structures, a tyranny broken by a hope from perhaps the creatures that felt trapped by it. You may have been asleep when it happened, but you can almost see how the tyranny of the past ruler of this place fell against the unity of those who longed freedom.

“Freedom… huh…” You murmured softly and a breeze rustled the grass beneath you. A lone leaf from the many trees landed on your hair, prompting you to take it and look at it.

You wondered how the Dragon of Verdure was fairing. If it had the same authority over the luscious life of Dendro as it did before.

Your feet continued to take you somewhere else, as though it had a sense of where to go. You never questioned it — as alien as Teyvat was to you now, it was still your world. And as long as the primordial waters are around, it stays anchored with you.

It didn’t take long before you ended up before a civilization — one you have never seen before when you descended before it came to challenge the seven sovereigns. Your eyes widened at the sight, pupils dilating as you watched humanity flourish and thrive within that patch of rock where a city sat.

Never had you expected to wake up to the sight of humans thriving in your world where there was once none.

Your sense of cautiousness dropped in a quick second and you took yourself towards it, foot against the hard cobblestone bridge as you walked towards the walls of this… civilization.

If you looked odd approaching this city in such a state, then you were certain they brushed it off as the guards welcomed you with a smile.

“Weary traveler, welcome to Mondstadt, the City of Freedom, blessed by our beloved Anemo Archon, Barbatos himself!”

For the first time since you had woken up, you felt the same overwhelming sense of love and tenderness as you were welcomed with living mortals, living in your creation like it was a normal occurrence for them.

Never had you known that humanity, no matter how it came upon your world, could be so beautiful.

And just like the day you met that beloved Vishap of yours, you wept.

“You sure know a lot of things about this place! Paimon could even say that you’re far more knowledgeable than Zhongli could be!”

Your laugh rang through the streets of Fontaine, angelic and seeming like a song from the heavens itself.

It had been so many years — dare you say centuries even, since you first descended after sleeping for so long with all the catastrophic events that has happened. You had traveled far and wide, discovered every single hidden civilization from the time you were asleep, learned every little conflict that happened.

You had to do the hard part of reading through every ancient tome that had a different language with each ancient civilization, but filling in the gaps was much easier. Despite it being your creation, the mere fact that you gave it autonomy only meant it wasn’t always subservient to you. It had its own laws even if you were the very being that gave those laws.

It was a refreshing change, quite frankly. Teyvat treated you like any other mortal and you could see and experience how humanity managed to adapt to the laws of your creation. It was honestly tear-jerking. You may not be the one that introduced humanity — rather it was the one that caused devastation to you and your dragons, but it was nonetheless still an endearing sight that you cherished.

You had to relearn Teyvat’s new history as it began embarking on a journey as a new world, where humans thrived and dominated, where beings in a mortal body but with a higher threshold, power, and purpose called gods were the ones to govern instead of the elemental sovereigns.

Somehow throughout it all, it felt as though your world was no longer yours.

But the waters ring familiarity, as it held your feelings from all those years ago. And now it’s far more potent in the Land of Hydro that you were currently on as you accompanied the blonde traveler that gained infamy across the nations you too journeyed in the past.

You felt for them, much like you before, they had to learn the secrets of this world. Only that they had to do it blind, while you managed to fill in the blanks of the tragic past of this world. And as much as you’d like to play the hero, since your descent after your sleep, you have learned to let everything play out on its own.

“I’m not one to claim superiority over Mister Zhongli’s prowess. Surely he knows far more than I do,” you deny with a genuine conviction. You learned he was the oldest of all archons, and have a better grasp of the world than you do when you were asleep.

“Mm. Let’s just call it quits and say you and him are even!” The tiny floating guide chirped, clapping in satisfaction after her own little conclusion.

You only nodded, conceding to her whims before finding the traveler walking up to you and giving you a serving of fish and chips and a double of serving for Paimon. You thanked them kindly and they only offered you a polite smile and a nod.

“Oh! Right! We should be heading off to pick up some bounty for more mora! Are you coming, [Name]?” Paimon asked, looking at you.

You caught their gaze and shook your head, “I think I’d like to take a walk around for a moment. I’ll see you two in awhile.” You said with the same unwavering smile that offered nothing but fondness for either of the two.

With a nod from them, off they went to Euphrasie to hound her for more bounty and its fruitful rewards.

You walked through the streets, basking in the noise of every call from every vendor within the side of the street, indulging the bustling nature of the busybodies in Fontaine, and savoring the air of nostalgia that perhaps only you can understand and feel.

Your feet halted at the remote parts of Palais Mermonia, admiring the flowers while you embraced the sense of familiarity that coursed through your veins. It was a welcome feeling above all, as it was the same feeling when you first truly experienced happiness.

And what luck it was when the Iudex himself was passing by for a quick break, to take a tiny breather from the suffocating throes of workload that was hurled on him as one of his many responsibilities.

You perked up when you heard a pair of footsteps echo within the cavernous structure of the Palais Mermonia and you looked over your shoulder.

Suddenly, that nostalgic feeling increased and your heart throbbed and ached with so much longing.

Suddenly, the breeze felt like it did centuries ago.

Suddenly, the hard concrete floor felt like the gentle grass beneath you.

And suddenly, the man behind you felt like the bearer of your tears.

You took a moment before facing him and found a smidgen of confusion and surprise that broke through his otherwise stoic expression. You had heard his impartiality and people reveled in him, word of the mouth was that the great Iudex, Mister Neuvillette himself, was the very symbol of Justice in Fontaine.

You didn’t know whether or not it was a wasted chance, but it never occurred to you to even ask if he kept his promise.

To come back with the faintest memories of you.

Instead, you smiled, bowed so gracefully and respectfully to him like any other mortal who have heard of his achievements would.

But you had to give him a few words yourself; just for old time’s sake.

“Look at you now…”

Your voice, much like millions of years ago, held the same sweetness and fondness, honeyed to perfection that it can lull anyone within earshot to a sense of comfort and warmth. Your voice beckoned him to come closer.

And he does.

“You’re thriving so beautifully… living among humanity…”

You could see the way his breath hitch in his throat, and you stifle a tiny laugh and suppressed the nostalgic fondness and love in your heart that was close to bursting at the seams.

“You did well.”

And you left him then and there, like a soft breeze in passing, in search of the traveler and their tiny emergency sustenance, without you knowing, that for once, it wasn’t you who cried.

It’s true, the new Teyvat felt alien to you.

It is no longer your world, but theirs — they, the humanity that staked its claim and lived for generations, they, the creatures that survived every catastrophic event that struck this world, and they… the beings that claim dominion over it.

And as this world’s creator, you would do well to enact the safety of the life it nurtured, even if you were overshadowed by the very being that devastated you.

After all, with all the love in you, it would be hard not to share it with the world you once knew.

#this fic turned out to be so damn sad why #i think it’s because im listening to ruu’s melody on repeat #anyway… surprise???#i have nothing more to say ☠️#genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x male reader #jhuzen’s stupid one shots #seriously i am just being a nerd in this one im so sorry for a bland start #i think my next post is about the archons #good shit #oh yeah the ‘it’ in this one is the primordial one #tho im sure yall know that already #i just wanna create a dichotomy of reader wanting to hate primo but also being kinda thankful?#idk it’s weird

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shadowqueenjude · 1 year ago

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Azriel is jealous of Lucien

Azriel is 100% jealous of Lucien and here is, in my opinion, why: 1. There's the obvious factor: he has a mate and Azriel does not (or so he thinks). He's jealous of Rhysand and Cassian for this but he still manages to be happy for them because they're his closest friends. But he perceives Lucien as this "outsider," yet he got a mate while Azriel did not. 2. Truthfully? Lucien and Azriel have many similarities, particularly when you consider their backstories. Both grew up in abusive households and have difficulty getting over females that are not their mates despite their conviction that they are (Jesminda and Mor). Both feel like outsiders, although it's wild that Azriel feels that way considering he has Rhys and Cass but whatever. They even both have scars as a result of unbearable cruelty. But while Azriel came out of that situation with unresolved anger issues and a tendency towards violence (as demonstrated during the High Lord's meeting) and a darkness to him, Lucien came out of that situation a gentleman, still managing to be kind and with an incredible amount of self-restraint and lightness to him (and typically opting for nonviolence). Azriel sees himself as a bad person and he resents the fact that Lucien still maintains himself as a good person despite it all. 3. Lucien was easily accepted as a part of the group as his true self (or that's what Azriel sees) while Azriel still feels like he can't be his true self. He admitted in the bonus chapter that he only lets Rhys see the full extent of his anger because Rhysand is the only one who can match it. So, he doesn't even show his full anger to Cassian or Feyre. And look at them during the solstice in ACOSF: Rhys sprawled in an armchair, and Cassian occupied a second armchair with Lucien leaning against it, arguing with them about something that seemed related to a sporting event.

vs Azriel: Azriel lingered near the door, quiet enough that when Feyre and Mor began talking about some of her paintings, Nesta went over to him.

Lucien, with his ability to talk with people, worked his magic on Rhysand and Cassian easily. Lucien, despite having to deal with the strain of the mating bond, is still managing to converse with them while their own best friend of centuries cannot bear the scent of Lucien's bond, even though the person most affected by it isn't him. 4. Azriel feels replaced by Lucien. He is the Inner Circle's spy, mainly, but he isn't good for much else if we're being honest. Lucien, on the other hand, can ALSO spy. Evidence: Lucien took a steadying breath, and I wondered—wondered if being emissary also meant being spymaster.

Apart from that, he has exceptional abilities with people. He was instantly seen working his magic when the IC was having difficulty working out a time and place for the High Lord meeting. He helped create the antidote for the faebane as well. Then there's Azriel's other use: being a warrior. Lucien is a warrior too. And he is so powerful that he was able to venture into the continent by himself where even Rhysand with all his power feared to tread and come back with a large army which was essential for their victory. And post-war, he is the one keeping Prythian together, along with his beloved older brother Eris. He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately. Then there is this from Azriel: “No. But we need to summon Lucien,” Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn’t like it one bit. Elriels take this to be about Elain, but I actually believe this is further evidence of his complete and utter jealousy. It pains him to admit that the IC needs Lucien even more than they already did. With Lucien's increased role, Azriel's role further diminishes in Az's eyes. So when Azriel says he thinks "Lucien will never be good enough for her?" He is projecting his own feelings onto Lucien. Deep down he knows that he is completely and utterly wrong for Elain and that Lucien is 100% right for her. When he says that he'd "Defeat Lucien with little effort?" In his mind, it's a chance to regain some of his worth. He perceives that his only value to the IC is his spying and warrior abilities. He wants to prove that Lucien can't replace him because Azriel is better at these things. But in reality, he can't possibly believe he'd defeat the male who dominated Cassian with one word with little effort. Because even if he wasn't there for that moment, he knows Lucien survived the continent. He knows everything Lucien has been through and has definitely sparred with the guy. And we know Rhys agreed with him to keep him from getting any angrier or more frustrated. The beef between Azriel and Lucien is soooo one-sided. Lucien thinks of him as a decent dude! These two could be best friends if Azriel got over his dumb jealousy. But I don't care; I'm a Lucien stan for life and you'd better start treating my man right. Going through trauma is NOT an excuse to choke people or challenge them to blood duels. Lucien has gone through plenty and he hasn't even lashed out at anyone, even though he'd be completely valid for doing so. Learn from Lulu, Az.

#lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #elucien #pro elucien #anti e/riel #anti azriel

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halfmoth-halfman · 2 years ago

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v. she works hard for the money (so you better treat her right)

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 6.2k Warnings: alcohol, sexual harassment, groping, blood, violence Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. prev | next

You don’t know what to expect from shopping with Valeria.

In truth, the woman makes you nervous, but Kyle doesn’t seem to notice your hesitance. He leads you out to his shiny black car, one that reminds you of the vintage cars your father used to work on, holding the door open for you to slide in.

Kyle keeps your hungover state in mind, giving you control of the radio as he drives to your mystery destination. You find something upbeat, singing along softly as you watch the city pass by through the shade of your sunglasses.

It dawns on you how much of the city you haven’t seen. Most, if not all, of your time has been spent in two places: your motel room and the club. You didn’t mind when you had first arrived in the city; you had no intentions of staying as long as you have, so you had no desire to go sightseeing.

Now, though…

You never meant to stay this long, but the more time you spend at the club, you find yourself wanting to leave less and less. There was never a plan for where you would end up, only to get as far away as possible.

You may not be as far as you had initially planned, but you have to admit you feel safer than you have in years.

“You alright over there?” Kyle breaks you from your thoughts with a gentle nudge to your arm.

“Yeah?”

“You just got kind of quiet, is all.” You see the smirk grow on his face as he gives you a quick glance. “If you’re gonna be sick, I can pull over.”

“Don’t worry. Your upholstery is safe.” You roll your eyes while Kyle snickers as he parks in front of a clothing store reminiscent of the high-end boutiques you used to spend so much time in.

Kyle gets out of the car first, and you finish your coffee in the few seconds it takes for him to walk to your side of the car. He opens the car door for you and walks ahead to get the storefront door for you too. Kyle follows you in as you push your sunglasses up onto your head.

“We’re not open!” someone calls out from the back of the store as you walk in.

“It’s just us, Val!” Kyle yells back. The click of heels echoes through the store before Valeria appears, a broad smile on her face.

“This is a surprise,” Valeria smiles, arms crossed over her chest. She’s dressed impeccably, not a single hair out of place. She’d been far drunker than you, yet here she stands, looking as flawless as ever. You swallow down the small knot of jealousy, giving her a smile while Kyle wanders to a case of watches.

“Got time for a fitting?” he asks over his shoulder.

“I already have your measurements,” Valeria says, brows knitting together in confusion, “why do you need—”

“It’s not for me,” Kyle laughs, nodding toward you. Valeria turns to you in surprise, eyes roving over your figure as her smile grows into an excited grin.

Like the cat that ate the canary.

She circles you slowly, talking to herself in quiet Spanish, before she slides her perfectly manicured hands around your arm to pull you toward the back of the store.

“Have fun!” Kyle laughs behind you. You turn around to see him heading back out of the store.

“What? Where are you going?”

He spins on his heel, leaning back against the door to open it with a wide smile. With a wink, he waves his phone at you, leaving the store as Valeria leads you to a large dressing room immaculately decorated in black and gold.

“Stand here.” She pulls you up onto the round fitting-pedestal, leaving you in front of the wall of mirrors. She disappears from the room, but you can hear her heels as she walks around the store. You focus on your reflection while she’s gone, fixing your hair and adjusting your jacket sleeves to be a little more presentable. You doubt Valeria cares about your slight dishevelment; you’re sure she understands more than anything.

“Take off your jacket,” Valeria says as she returns, tailor’s tape in hand. You do as she says, folding your jacket before she takes it from you and sets it aside. She takes her measurements, working quickly and quietly. When she does talk, it’s soft and to herself.

You find yourself in an odd sort of peace, following Valeria’s instructions and letting her work without having to worry about small talk.

You reflect on the many other dressing rooms you’ve spent time in. You always found a sense of excitement in getting dressed up, in getting to choose your favorite colors and fabrics and turning them into something that would make you feel like a million bucks. It had been fun, filled with talking and laughter, but now that you think back on it, how many times have you actually enjoyed yourself? Was it really fun, or was it smiles and giggles to save face—a quick response to preserve your safety?

A dull thrum of pain dances across your left shoulder as Valeria slides her tape across the top of your back, the tips of her fingers skimming over the raised skin beneath your shirt. If she notices, she doesn’t comment.

“If you can, I’d prefer something with sleeves,” you say softly. She gives you a quick glance in the mirror, her sharp gaze sending a shock of anxiety through you. “They don’t have to be long or anything. I just…I would prefer—”

She finishes her measurements of your back, fingers purposely lingering over your left shoulder an extra second longer. You’re sure she feels how your body suddenly tenses, but she meets your eyes in your reflection and smiles—a gentler expression than you thought her capable of.

“Sleeves are no problem,” Valeria smiles, winding the measuring around her hand as she steps down from the platform. “Do you have a fabric preference?” You turn to her this time, allowing yourself to relax and feel a little thrill of excitement.

“What kind do you have?”

Kyle returns to the store three hours later with a sleek black box in hand. He expects to find you and Valeria in the back, possibly in one of the fitting rooms or going over fabrics. He expects to have to search for you.

He doesn’t expect to walk into music blaring over the shop speakers as you and Valeria sit on one of the plush sofas. The two of you laugh, surrounded by bags and boxes, as you sip from a tall glass of something pale green and bubbly. Valeria notices him first, smiling at him over her drink.

“Glad to see you two are getting on,” Kyle laughs, holding the box out to you.

“I get along with everyone,” Valeria smirks up at him while you giggle into your glass.

“Of course,” Kyle scoffs. You take the box from him, and he takes a seat on the sofa across from you and Valeria. You don’t waste time opening it, staring wide-eyed at the sleek, black phone inside.

“It already has everyone’s numbers, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from what will be the first cell phone you’ve owned in years.

“You seem surprised,” Kyle chuckles.

“I…Honestly, I was expecting a flip phone or something.”

Kyle laughs loudly as Valeria sets a hand to her chest, scoffing in disgust.

“My father would’ve killed me,” Kyle laughs.

You roll your eyes, setting the box aside and searching through your jacket for your wallet, “Just tell me how much I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Kyle says in slight surprise, “It’s a gift.”

“She won’t let me pay for the clothes—” You scoff, nodding to a very smug Valeria, “—the least you can do is let me pay for the phone.”

“Aw, my sweet avecita,” Valeria coos, giving you a teasing pout as she leans in closer, “Our little family doesn’t pay for things. Everything’s on the house, or the house burns down.” She leans back, lounging against the sofa with a smirk and a glint in her eyes that tells you she is dead serious. You glance at Kyle, expecting him to laugh it off, but he shrugs and nods at you.

You set your wallet down, tucking it back into your jacket pocket. “Nevermind, then.”

“Just say thank you,” Valeria says, setting her glass on the small side table beside the sofa.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Valeria winks.

“We’ll be taking our leave, then. Gotta get this one set up with Roach and Farah,” Kyle says, pushing himself to his feet and beginning to collect your bags. You finish your drink, gathering the remaining bags before Kyle can get to them. Valeria walks the two of you to the door, holding it open for you.

“I’ll have the rest of the pieces sent to your father,” she tells Kyle, who nods as he loads the backseat with bags.

“And I’ll see you later,” she says, turning to you with a wide smile. “You still owe me a game of pool.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you laugh, giving her a mock salute. She rolls her eyes, batting you on the arm. Kyle takes the rest of your bags, safely tucking them away in the car before opening the passenger door for you.

“Thanks for the help, Val,” Kyle says as you get into the car. Valeria leans against the door, watching Kyle slide into the driver’s seat and start the car. She gives a small wave of her fingers, disappearing back into her store as the car pulls onto the street.

“Alright,” Kyle speaks, looking at you with a small half-smile. “Ready to get to work?”

It takes some shifting, but you adjust your schedule enough to be able to rehearse with Farah and Roach and still keep up with your cleaning job. It helps that the others put in a little more effort to keep things cleaner for you, and you do your best to thank them whenever you get the chance.

Your next two months are spent cleaning in the mornings, rehearsing in the afternoons, and shadowing Farah at night. You’re given your own space backstage for your clothes and a place to do your makeup when the time comes.

Outside of work, you find yourself on your phone trying to catch up on the various group chats Soap and Kyle have added you to. It’s a lot for you, but you relish in the busy schedule; the exhaustion lets you sleep easier on your dingy motel mattress, and the sense of freedom, of having your own life, trumps any kind of stress your new working hours may cause.

Rehearsals are a blast. Roach and Farah make it fun for you, Roach teaching you sign language during your breaks, and Farah teaching you a few songs in Arabic.

Your audience consists of Alex, whose attention is almost always on Farah, and Soap and Kyle, the latter being more than happy to cheer you on while the former goes through your phone to change everyone’s contact names and ringtones.

Occasionally Ghost will shadow Price as he joins the others at the bar, watching with amused interest. Price doesn’t say much; he simply watches, offering polite applause when appropriate and leaving before rehearsals end.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you nervous, but it’s a fight figuring out where your nerves stem from.

You want to do good, want to impress the club, but something stirs in the pit of your stomach when you catch those steely blue eyes focusing on you. Yes, you want to impress them, to make them proud, but there’s a baser, far more selfish desire to show Price specifically just how good you are. You want him to notice you.

Don’t get involved with your boss, you remind yourself.

You push the feeling down, trying to keep your composure as Price stays for more and more rehearsals. You put in a little extra effort, pretending not to notice him noticing you and allowing yourself the confidence boost whenever he flashes you a smile.

It isn’t until the fourth week that he stays through the entire rehearsal, walking up next to you with a gentle hand splayed across your back.

“You’re doing a great job,” he murmurs in your ear as he reaches past you to grab a drink from Alex. He lets his hand linger before pulling away with a look that nearly sends you to your knees. You feel the blush that immediately floods your face and catch the smirk on his as he turns away to talk to Farah.

That bastard.

As embarrassed—and slightly turned on—as you are, you take the compliment and ride the high his praise gives you for the rest of the week.

After two and a half months of rehearsing, you lie back on the bed in your motel room, listening to one of the many playlists you and Farah created together as you try to get a quick nap before you have to return to the club. Your phone chimes from where it sits, charging on your tilted nightstand. As you pick it up, it chimes again, the name GAZ popping up on your screen.

You sit up, swiping open the message. It’s two quick, simple messages: Can you come in early tonight? Farah needs your help with something. You don’t see the harm in it; you’ve helped out her and Roach during shows a few times. You reply with a thumbs up that Kyle responds to with a ‘thank you’ and a smiley face.

You freshen up, hurrying out to your car. You listen to your playlist on the way, humming along and tapping to the beat on your steering wheel. When you pull into the back and lock your car, you do your usual double and triple-check before making your way inside.

“Hey!” Alex calls out when you come into view of the bar. He sets a mug on the bar for you, and when you pick it up, the pleasurable scent of lemon and ginger fills your nose. “Farah’s waiting backstage for you,” he smiles.

“Thanks, Alex,” you hum, wrapping your hands around the warm mug and heading toward the stage. You sip from the mug, humming at the delicious taste. “Tea’s great, by the way!” you call over your shoulder, hearing Alex’s laugh as you walk backstage.

You see Farah first, sitting at her vanity as she talks with Kyle and Roach. You pause, not expecting to see anyone beside Farah, and are even more surprised when Valeria walks up, Soap trailing behind her with arms full of your dresses.

“Looks like a party back here,” you laugh.

“There she is!” Soap cheers, setting the clothes down carefully over one of the chairs before pulling you in for a hug. “’Bout time you got here.”

“I’m not even late,” you scoff, playfully pushing him away.

“You're here just in time,” Farah says, smiling widely. You want to smile back, but notice how everyone else matches her grin as they stare at you, Valeria and Kyle appearing extra smug.

“You’re not about to ask me to do something illegal, are you?” you ask, looking between the small crowd of your co-workers and friends.

“Of course not,” Kyle frowns in mock offense.

“Not yet, anyway,” Valeria adds quietly.

“Wha—”

“I’m not performing tonight,” Farah steps in. Your concern for Valeria’s words melts into concern for Farah as your eyes glance over her, looking for any injuries or reason for worry.

“You’re not? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Canary,” Farah laughs lightly.

“Then why aren’t you…”

“Because you’re performing instead.”

If you didn’t have your hand woven through the handle of your mug, you’re sure it would’ve slipped from your grasp.

“I’m…what?”

“You’re taking my place tonight!” Farah smiles, standing from her chair to start sorting through your dresses.

“And if you do well enough, we’ll put you on stage a few nights a week until Farah leaves,” Kyle explains.

“And…Price is okay with this?” You immediately take a sip of your tea after asking, hoping to excuse the warmth in your cheeks with the heat from the drink.

“It was his idea,” Roach signs, shoulders shaking in soft laughter. “And it won’t be for the whole night, just a small set.”

“Think the old man’s got a soft spot for ya,” Soap chuckles.

Ignore him.

Don’t think about your boss.

Your very handsome, tall, strong—

Stop it.

“Well,” you sigh, “guess tonight’s as good a night as any.” You’re met with a chorus of cheers as Valeria ushers the guys out of the room while Farah begins holding up dresses, trying to find the best one for you.

“Put her in something blue,” Valeria says, not even looking at the two of you.

You can’t help but ask, “Why blue?”

“Hasn’t even finished her first performance, and she’s already questioning my fashion choices,” Valeria tisks.

“Means she’s learning,” Farah laughs, sending you a wink as she holds up a dress that’s all baby blue and silk. “Try this on.”

You set your mug down, take the dress from Farah, and move behind one of the screens to change.

You have to admit, Valeria knows what she’s talking about. The dress is exquisite, soft on your skin, and backless with long sleeves, a plunging neckline, and a high slit. Your shoulder is covered perfectly, the fabric gentle against the raised skin.

You step out from behind the screen, Valeria letting out a low whistle of appreciation.

“Told you,” Valeria smirks over to Farah.

Farah leads you to your vanity, sitting you down away from the mirror. You peer over your shoulder, seeing your makeup laid on the vanity. Farah sorts through different eyeshadow palettes, trying to find something to match the color of your dress.

Something gently grazes your right ear, and you jump, flinching slightly away from Valeria’s hand.

“Easy,” Valeria laughs, but her eyes narrow in brief curiosity. It’s a quick flash, easily covered by a polite, professional smile. “I was going to do your hair.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Right of passage,” Farah laughs from your other side. “It’s your first night, so we get to dress you up.”

“Don’t worry, avecita.” Valeria purrs, taking a piece of your hair between her fingers. “It’ll be fun.”

She's right, of course.

Farah does your makeup while Valeria does your hair, the two passing jokes and comments back and forth as they do.

You’re reminded of the few sleepovers you were allowed as a child with the daughters of your father’s acquaintances. You’d always loved those sleepovers, even if you hadn’t been close with the other girls there. You enjoyed the brief sense of normalcy and the fun of going through your mother’s closet to dress up in her finest clothes, those few memories you’ve held close to your heart in the years since.

It’s far more enjoyable with Farah and Valeria. It’s no sleepover, but you feel far closer to them than any of the girls from previous times. They make their makeover enjoyable—like two sisters helping you get ready for a party.

“Alright,” Valeria says as she and Farah take a step back. “All done.”

Farah gives you a once-over, nudging Valeria’s arm and muttering, “Shoes.” Valeria glances down at your boot-clad feet and nods.

“Can you walk in heels?” Valeria asks.

I’ve spent most of my life in stilettos.

“Yeah, no problem,” you smile. Valeria gives a soft hum of approval, walking away and returning seconds later with a pair of strappy, jewel-toned heels. They give you a minute to change your shoes, stepping back as you stand up.

You turn to the mirror, taking in your appearance. If there was a word you would use to describe yourself, it would be stunning. You can’t help the smile as you take the chance to twirl in the dress, admiring the way it sits on your figure.

You haven’t felt this beautiful since—

You try not to tense, smile dropping slightly as you swallow the sudden anxiety and calm your heart.

Taking a deep breath, you catch the eyes of Valeria and Farah in the mirror, the two of them proudly examining their work. You broaden your smile, shaking any memories from your mind as you turn to face them.

“Perfect,” you grin.

“We can practice back here until the show starts,” Farah says, tapping something on her phone before taking a seat at her own vanity. Valeria adjusts your hair one last time, tucking a stray piece behind your ear before she takes her leave, wishing you luck in a voice far more teasing than encouraging.

Roach appears backstage, jaw dropping as he takes in your appearance. “You look great.”

You blush at the compliment before Roach returns to business mode, and he and Farah take the next half hour walking through the setlist with you. It’s all songs you’ve practiced with her and nothing you haven’t done before, at the club or the one before.

As the first noises of the crowd begin to echo through the club, Roach leaves you and Farah. Farah stands, helping you up with a soft smile.

She gets you set up at the microphone, just behind the thick velvet curtains sitting closed on the stage.

“You’re going to do great,” she says gently, squeezing your hands before taking her leave.

Finally alone, you take a deep breath, shut your eyes tight, and roll your shoulders back.

You hear the voice in the back of your mind, murmuring quietly into your ears as the feel of calloused hands ghost over your back.

My sweet little songbird.

Try not to disappoint, darlin'.

You shiver, hands tightening into fists. Focusing on the noise around you, you take another deep breath, absorbing yourself in your surroundings.

He’s not here.

You’re safe here.

You’ve got this.

It has to be enough for you as the music starts, blaring throughout the club. You count yourself in, belting out the first note as the curtains slide open, and you're met with curious faces and excited cheers.

It feels good to sing again.

It feels good to perform.

You let loose, allow this time to be enjoyed and give it your absolute all.

You focus mainly on the bar where Alex, Farah, and, surprisingly, Nikolai cheer you on, applauding after every song.

Sometimes you spot Soap as he serves the patrons, and he makes a point to whistle and wink whenever you lock eyes.

Kyle spends most of his time bouncing back and forth between the bar and the dancefloor, where he twirls around a familiar woman in a beautiful teal dress.

Halfway through your set, you spot Price talking with Nikolai and Ghost hovering nearby. Nikolai claps him on the back, and the two turn to watch you.

Fuck it.

You up your performance—a slight shimmy here, a little shake of your hips there—doing your best to entertain the crowd and tease the hell out of your boss. It works, the dancers whistling and shouting while Price leans back against the bar, legs spread wide as he reclines and drums his finger along his thigh.

Your ego boosted, you continue the show with that same passion until you reach the final two songs. As you reach your last song, you begin to wind down, a little less oomph in your performance.

As you finish, the crowd goes wild. Roach transitions into one of his playlists. The moment the curtains pull shut, you take several hurried steps away from the mic, taking long, deep breaths. You let the adrenaline slow, a wide grin plastered on your face.

You hear the footsteps first before arms wind around your waist and lift you to spin you in a circle.

Roach sets you down, beaming down at you in excitement. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you,” you sign back. Roach’s smile grows wider as he pulls you into another hug before he lets you go and returns to his post.

You pass through backstage, not bothering to change out of your dress. You make your way toward the bar, occasionally being stopped by a patron who offers compliments to your songs or your dress. It takes a few extra minutes, but you make it to the bar, waving off compliments with a bashful smile and polite goodbyes.

“Nightingale!” Soap yells the moment you reach the bar. He lifts you into a bear hug, setting his hands on your shoulders when he sets you down. His eyes rake over your form appreciatively, smirking at you when he reaches your eyes again. “Parents shoulda’ named you Great Tit.”

“You’re showing more chest than I am!” you laugh, playfully slapping him on the chest where he has far too many buttons undone to be appropriate in a normal setting.

“Wasn’t complainin’, Dove,” Soap winks as Alex fills his tray. Soap lifts it, bumping your hip with his as he heads back into the crowd.

“You’re a natural,” Alex laughs, setting two glasses before you. One’s a tall flute of what you assume is champagne, the other a short glass of whiskey.

“What’s this?”

“The tall one’s for you. A celebratory glass for getting through your first show.”

You pluck the glass from the bar top, taking an appreciative sip.

“Who’s the other for?” you ask, leaning forward onto the bar top. A warm palm sets itself on the bare skin of your back, sliding slowly down until it settles on your lower back.

“That one’s for me,” the deep, accented baritone of Price’s voice murmurs into your ear. He leans forward to grab his drink, purposely pressing his body against yours. He settles against the bar next to you, leaning against the bar top with his hip while his hand stays pressed against your back.

“Quite the performance,” he smirks, thumb lightly running back and forth across your skin.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” you smirk back, sipping from your champagne, tongue darting out to swipe the remainder from your lips. He leans forward ever-so-slightly, eyes dipping down to follow your tongue.

“Well, I must say—”

“You were fantastic!” Price pulls away from you as Kyle comes up behind him, beelining straight for you. Kyle pulls you into a small hug, kissing your cheeks lightly. “I knew we made a good decision hiring you.” Kyle sends a pointed look to Price, who raises a hand in mock surrender.

“You were right,” Price chuckles, smoldering gaze boring into you. “She’s perfect.”

Kyle pauses, looking between you and Price before turning fully toward you with a devious grin.

“Fancy a dance?” Kyle asks, nodding back to the dancefloor.

You give Price one last look, setting your glass down and reaching over to grab his, fingers purposely grazing his. You down what’s left of his drink, ignoring the burn as you set the glass down and turn to Kyle with a toothy grin.

“I’d love to dance.” Kyle takes your hand with a laugh, pulling you to the dancefloor.

You get a few dances in with Kyle before Purple Dress, now Teal Dress, reclaims his attention. You don’t mind, as another man is eagerly ready to take his place, twirling you in a circle before pulling you in close.

The next few songs pass in a blur, spinning and dancing with this mystery man. You don’t get his name, but he’s easy on the eyes and dressed from head to toe in designer.

Five songs later, you feel your feet begin to hurt, politely excusing yourself from your dance partner. You don’t head to the bar, instead moving off to the side to lean against the wall near the doors to Price’s office.

Bending slightly, you lift one of your feet, balancing against the wall with one hand and using the other to loosen the straps of your heel.

“Need help with that?”

A body presses up against your back, hands settling on hips, fingertips dipping slightly beneath the open back of your dress. You stand up straight, trying to step away so you can turn to whoever’s behind you, but the stranger’s hands tighten, pulling you back harshly against them.

“I can handle myself,” you speak firmly, setting your hand over theirs and digging your nails into their skin. They hiss, letting go, and you immediately take three steps back.

You whip around, facing the man you’d been dancing with as he massages his hands with a scoff.

“Thought we had something going,” he says, stepping forward.

“We danced,” you say, keeping your voice flat. “It was fun for a while, but we’re done now.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” His arm shoots out, hand wrapping tightly around your upper arm. You pull back on instinct, but the hand tightens to a painful vice.

“Let go of me,” you hiss, trying to pull away. The man rolls his eyes, yanking you forward to wrap his other arm around your waist.

“Think you’ve had a little too much to drink, sweetheart,” he mutters, the hand around your waist moving dangerously low. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, hands vibrating with anxiety. Panic courses through your veins, and you follow the first instinct that comes to you.

You push against his chest, giving you enough distance to reach up and slap him, digging in your nails to claw at the stubbled skin of his cheek. He releases you with a shout, pressing a hand against the bloodied scratches on his face. His eyes land on you, angered glare filled with malicious intent.

“You stuck-up bit—”

A massive body blocks your view as the man cries out in pain.

“You okay?” You turn to the right, where Ghost stands, holding a cautious hand toward you.

“Ye—um, yeah. I’m fine,” you stammer. Ghost seems unconvinced but nods as someone groans in pain. You both turn as König picks up the man who had grabbed you by his collar, the man’s nose pouring blood.

“Please do not touch the staff,” König says, his usually soft-spoken tone suddenly far more threatening than friendly.

“Fuck, I think you broke my nose,” the man groans.

“Consider yourself lucky that’s all we broke,” Ghost spits before turning to König. “Get him outta here.”

König nods, roughly pulling the man to his feet and dragging him toward the front doors of the club.

“You sure you’re okay?” Ghost asks once König and the man are out of sight.

“A little shaken up, but I’ll be alright. Thanks.” He sets a cautious hand on your shoulder, and you send him a small smile.

“We’ll be closing soon, you oughta get changed.”

You nod once, then again more confidently, as you feel his hand lightly tap your shoulder. He walks beside you to the backstage door, only departing once he’s sure you’re inside.

You move on autopilot, grabbing your clothes and stripping out of your dress. You change back into your jeans and shirt, sighing in relief as you slip off your heels and put your boots back on. You don’t bother with your hair or makeup, deciding to deal with that when you return to your motel.

You step back out, heading straight for the bar keeping your eyes forward.

The club is winding down, the bulk of patrons gone now with the few remainders getting in their last drinks.

“Hey!” Kyle cheers as you approach the bar. He slings an arm around your shoulders, leading you to the small group formed at the end of the bar: Alex, Farah, Valeria, and Teal Dress.

The group cheers as you approach, raising glasses in your direction.

“I told you you’d do great.” Farah hands you a glass with a proud smile. You don’t drink from it, setting it down on the bar with a shy smile.

“I think a couple of us are going out for a few more celebratory drinks before heading home,” Kyle says, sidling up to Teal Dress and setting a hand around her waist. “If you’d like to join us.”

“No, thanks. I think I’m gonna head home.”

“You sure?” Alex asks, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that gets a small giggle out of you.

“I’m sure,” you nod. “If someone could walk me out to my car, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Easily done,” Valeria says with a casual wave. She turns around, glancing around the club until she spots Alejandro holding the front door open for the last few patrons. She lets out a shrill whistle, Alejandro’s head snapping toward the group.

After the last patron leaves, he closes the door, locking it behind them before going over to you. Valeria meets him halfway, whispering to him. You see him glance at you before he says something back to her. She blinks in mild surprise before her jaw sets, and she huffs.

She turns away from him, heading back to the bar with a clearly forced smile directed at you.

“Alejandro will walk you out.”

You want to ask, but the aura of anger oozes off her in violent waves, and you decide against it.

“Okay,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself and running your hands up and down your arms. You startle when you touch bare skin, realizing you’ve left your jacket backstage.

“I’ve gotta grab something real quick. I’ll meet you out front?”

Alejandro nods, and you hurry backstage. You grab your jacket, pull it on, and fold the sleeves up to your elbow. You take another minute to check your reflection, shaking out the nerves skating beneath your skin.

“You’re okay,” you tell your reflection. You give yourself a sharp nod, turning away and heading back into the club. The group is gone, presumably having left for their celebratory drinks, the house lights dimmed significantly down.

You check your pockets, making sure you have your phone, wallet, and keys as you slowly head toward the door.

“Please!”

You stop, hearing the pitched whine behind you. You turn around, eyes searching the almost darkness for the source of the noise.

You wait a few seconds, ears straining to hear something else.

It takes almost ten solid seconds before you hear it again. A harsh grunt, this time followed by the low murmur of several voices.

The source isn’t a mystery, coming from behind the slightly cracked door of Price’s office. You glance back at the front door, turning back to the office.

Alejandro’s waited this long. He can wait a little longer.

You creep toward the office, the grunting and pleading growing louder the closer you get. You press against the closed door, peering in through the crack. Pushing the door slightly more open gives you a better view of the office.

The lights are low in the office, the only reliable source coming from the lit fireplace. Valeria lounges on one of the sofas, sitting across from Nikolai, while Ghost lurks in the back near the bookcase. All three are focused intently on the center of the room, where a man sits tied to a chair with his face beaten to a bloody pulp.

Head lolled to the side, the man groans, blood dripping from his mouth as he tries to speak.

Standing before him, knuckles bruised, blood splattered from his hands, up his arms where his sleeves have been rolled up, onto his chest where the top buttons have been undone, and across his cheeks is Price. Tiny beads of sweat drip down his face into those cold and uncaring blue eyes.

“Let’s go over the rules of my club one last time, shall we?”

Price sets a hand on the back of the chair, tilting it onto its back legs so the man is forced to look up at him.

“One—” Price holds up a finger, “—No guns, no knives, no weapons.”

The man tries his best to hold Price’s gaze, but his head lolls back, falling over the back of the chair. He’s not as easy on the eyes anymore, but you clearly recognize the man who had grabbed you as he blinks hazily, trying to process the things around him.

You can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. Covering your mouth to dampen the sound, you freeze in the doorway. No one in the office moves, so you keep your place, doing your best to stay quiet as you watch the scene before you.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that.” Price slaps the man’s cheek before gripping his jaw and pulling the man's face down to look him in the eye. The man groans, tapering off into a pained whine. “You hear me, yeah? You’re still running your mouth, so I know you’re not unconscious yet.”

The man groans again, and Price huffs, dropping the chair and stepping back.

“Don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this one,” Price tells his small audience.

“Well,” Price sighs, “S’pose we’ll just skip to the most important rule since that’s the one you seem to be having trouble with.” Price rolls back his shoulders, flexing his hand before delivering a final, solid punch to the man’s face. Something cracks as the man breaks down into muffled sobs.

Price rolls his eyes, gripping the man's short hair and pulling his face up. Price stares down at him for a quiet moment before he tilts his head and lifts his gaze to stare directly into your eyes as he speaks to the man.

“You don’t touch what’s mine.”

taglist: @sleepyendymion, @blazedprince, @blueoorchid, @ohgodthebogisback, @melancholyy-hill, @wasteland-babe, @meepetteoneonly, @anitaebee, @honeyr4ven, @curasimp, @jxvipike, @frazie99, @reiya-djarin, @urfavsunkissedleo, @hauntingtherosebush,@aerangi, @ofmenanduhhhwellmen, @warners-wife, @xx4rcticxx, @mundane-frogola, @marytvirgin, @nyooom, @gogh-with-the-flow, @arctic-writes, @thriving-n-jiving, @deadpoetsandhoney, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @blurpleuni-squid

#captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #captain john price #captain price #john price #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw fics #moth writes

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vancruejovi · 4 months ago

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Artist Shoutout!! 🎨

As an artist I always get so excited seeing everyone’s art, so I wanted to share some of the incredibly talented artists that I’ve found over the couple years I’ve been here in no particular order (and feel free to add your own favourite artists to the list) and as always sorry if I forget anyone! I have a memory like a siv

@midnight-in-santa-carla (Unbelievable Lost Boys and Kiefer Sutherland digital paintings and fanart, I love their shading and the way they draw hair)

@wardenmop (I fell in love with their Wiseguy fanart but their OC stuff is also terrific!)

@contact-guy (UNREAL Sherlock Holmes comics, so much so they’re making a whole artbook!!)

@noodleshook (i adore their Knockout Grooves series, but also their LOTR art is amazing!!)

@forecast0ctopus (I love their almost blocky artstyle, they capture the Star Trek characters perfectly!!)

@rainfynite (Gorgeous Motley Crue fanart, they have so much range!!)

@hollis-art (their Star Trek fanart is always so colourful and lively. I really love their Superman art too, so cute!)

@apfel-strudelz (I absolutely adore their Star Trek fanart, their style in general is just so distinct and groovy)

@snottiesnot (GORGEOUS painted portraits from all sorts of different fandoms)

@hippano (BEAUTIFUL buffy fanart but also has so much range from cute Kirby stuff to LOTR)

@colloquial-kayak (absolutely adorable Knight Rider fanart, the way they draw kitt is immaculate)

@x-0rion-x (AMAZING IHNMAIMS art and band fanart, amazing lighting)

@otonokis (beautiful lost boys and gothic art, has so much range too!)

@guadalajarawontdonow (some STUNNING Star Wars fanart, amazing lighting and shading!)

@bryn-not-brian (some absolutely groovy beatles and monkees fanart, love their colours)

@hammettsulrich (Amazing Metallica fanart, love how they draw hair!)

@acewykkyd (has some AMAZING Jem and the Holograms fanart as well as some beautiful Monster High fanart)

@xwayka (UNREAL Metallica fanart, very cool stuff!!)

@razberry-cookie (I fell in love with their Rambo fanart but they’ve got some beautiful oc art too!!)

@colinarcartperson (Just AMAZING art all around, I love their Yeehawgust series)

Please check out everyone’s art is you can, they totally deserve it!! And please feel free to add some of your favourite artists too!! 🎨✨

#artists on tumblr #shoutout #artist shoutout

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star-dust78 · 1 month ago

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Old Godzilla was hopping around Tokyo City like a big playground When suddenly Batman burst from the shade And hit Godzilla with a Batgrenade Godzilla got pissed and began to attack But didn't expect to be blocked by Shaq Who proceeded to open up a can of Shaq-Fu When Aaron Carter came out of the blue

And he started beating up Shaquille O'Neal Then they both got flattened by the Batmobile But before it could make it back to the Batcave Abraham Lincoln popped out of his grave And took an AK-47 out from under his hat And blew Batman away with a rat-a-tat-tat But he ran out of bullets and he ran away Because Optimus Prime came to save the day

Godzilla took a bite out of Optimus Prime Like Scruff McGruff took a bite out of crime And then Shaq came back covered in a tire track But Jackie Chan jumped out and landed on his back And Batman was injured, and trying to get steady When Abraham Lincoln came back with a machete But suddenly something caught his leg and he tripped Indiana Jones took him out with his whip

Then he saw Godzilla sneaking up from behind And he reached for his gun which he just couldn't find 'Cause Batman stole it and he shot and he missed And Jackie Chan deflected it with his fist Then he jumped in the air and did a somersault While Abraham Lincoln tried to pole vault Onto Optimus Prime, but they collided in the air Then they both got hit by a Care Bear stare

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be This is the ultimate showdown

Angels sang out an immaculate chorus Down from the heavens descended Chuck Norris Who delivered a kick which could shatter bones Into the crotch of Indiana Jones Who fell over on the ground, writhing in pain As Batman changed back into Bruce Wayne But Chuck saw through his clever disguise And he crushed Batman's head in between his thighs

Then Gandalf the Grey and Gandalf the White And Monty Python and the Holy Grail's black knight And Benito Mussolini and the Blue Meanie And Cowboy Curtis and Jambi the Genie Robocop, The Terminator, Captain Kirk, and Darth Vader Lo-pan, Superman, every single Power Ranger Bill S. Preston and Theodore Logan Spock, The Rock, Doc Ock, and Hulk Hogan All came out of nowhere lightning fast And they kicked Chuck Norris in his cowboy ass It was the bloodiest battle that the world ever saw With civilians looking on in total awe

The fight raged on for a century Many lives were claimed, but eventually The champion stood, the rest saw their better Mr. Rogers in a bloodstained sweater

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be This is the ultimate showdown (The ultimate showdown) This is the ultimate showdown (The ultimate showdown) This is the ultimate showdown Of ultimate destiny

#the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny #lemon demon #neil cicierega #inanimate insanity #artists on tumblr #osc #fanart #ii fanart #ii lightbulb #lightbulb ii #ii paintbrush #paintbrush ii #lightbrush

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w3r1d0 · 1 day ago

Text

Old Godzilla was hopping around

Tokyo City like a big playground

When suddenly Batman burst from the shade

And hit Godzilla with a Batgrenade

Godzilla got pissed and began to attack

But didn't expect to be blocked by Shaq

Who proceeded to open up a can of Shaq-Fu

When Aaron Carter came out of the blue

And he started beating up Shaquille O'Neal

Then they both got flattened by the Batmobile

But before it could make it back to the Batcave

Abraham Lincoln popped out of his grave

And took an AK-47 out from under his hat

And blew Batman away with a rat-a-tat-tat

But he ran out of bullets and he ran away

Because Optimus Prime came to save the day

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny

Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see

And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny

Godzilla took a bite out of Optimus Prime

Like Scruff McGruff took a bite out of crime

And then Shaq came back covered in a tire track

But Jackie Chan jumped out and landed on his back

And Batman was injured, and trying to get steady

When Abraham Lincoln came back with a machete

But suddenly something caught his leg and he tripped

Indiana Jones took him out with his whip

Then he saw Godzilla sneaking up from behind

And he reached for his gun which he just couldn't find

'Cause Batman stole it and he shot and he missed

And Jackie Chan deflected it with his fist

Then he jumped in the air and did a somersault

While Abraham Lincoln tried to pole vault

Onto Optimus Prime, but they collided in the air

Then they both got hit by a Care Bear stare

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny

Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see

And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be

This is the ultimate showdown

Angels sang out an immaculate chorus

Down from the heavens descended Chuck Norris

Who delivered a kick which could shatter bones

Into the crotch of Indiana Jones

Who fell over on the ground, writhing in pain

As Batman changed back into Bruce Wayne

But Chuck saw through his clever disguise

And he crushed Batman's head in between his thighs

Then Gandalf the Grey and Gandalf the White

And Monty Python and the Holy Grail's black knight

And Benito Mussolini and the Blue Meanie

And Cowboy Curtis and Jambi the Genie

Robocop, The Terminator, Captain Kirk, and Darth Vader

Lo-pan, Superman, every single Power Ranger

Bill S. Preston and Theodore Logan

Spock, The Rock, Doc Ock, and Hulk Hogan

All came out of nowhere lightning fast

And they kicked Chuck Norris in his cowboy ass

It was the bloodiest battle that the world ever saw

With civilians looking on in total awe

The fight raged on for a century

Many lives were claimed, but eventually

The champion stood, the rest saw their better

Mr. Rogers in a bloodstained sweater

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny

Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see

And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be

This is the ultimate showdown

(The ultimate showdown)

This is the ultimate showdown

(The ultimate showdown)

This is the ultimate showdown

Of ultimate destiny

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nestastits · 6 months ago

Text

I NEED the bat boys and vanserra boys (lulu and eris only) to be besties. They can get over past mistakes and be the ultimate friend group, I’m telling yall. Despite fanbase’s hatred for one or the other, I love all of these boys. They just need love (from their mates obviously). Like I’m imagining all of them going out as a group and getting shitfaced. Cassian and Lucien some how managed to end up in jail and it’s up to Rhys and Eris to break them out while Azriel stands guard. You’re telling me yall don’t want this?

Azriel and Eris paint their nails the same color. It’s canon. They both emo. They both start throwing shade at Mor too for what happened in the past and for being the diverge that kept them from being besties this long.

Rhys and Lucien always dress immaculately. But we all know Cassian is the fashion expert (he always told someone off when they were wearing something that wasn’t right 😭😭😭 I’m sorry Elain but you know black ain’t your color. Cassian knows too.)

Cassian has a fifty step hair care routine and Eris bullies him for it but secretly wrote every step down for the next time he does his hair.

Lucien and Azriel always tie in a game of cards.

Rhysand is the mommy of the group. Eris is the daddy of the group.

Cassian decides to have a sleep over in the house of wind when Nesta is off on official Valkyrie spa getaway, but she comes home early to find all of them wearing matching boxers and cuddling on the living room floor in a pillow fort. She sends a mental image to Feyre for her to paint and the boys never live it down. It hangs in the river house for the whole family to see.

I could go on with the eventful life of these precious boys but I think this is enough for now😌

#bat boys #cassian #Azriel #Rhysand #lucien vanserra #eris vanserra #what would their entire group name be??#acotar #acosf

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udretlnea · 2 years ago

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An Idealized Image

Prompt: You die after getting hit by a truck and inspect your suddenly ideal appearance in the new world. Inspired by this post by @mists-reading-nook

A/N: Man, starting a story with disconnected parts is fun and difficult. First time using this literary device so be patient with me.

Words: 755

You hadn’t expected getting hit by a truck to hurt so damn much. But you’d gladly do it again if it meant you’d protect a child from getting run over.

Although you were dying, you still could feel the barest sensations around you; vaguely there was muffled shouting and crying. Good, the kid was safe and the driver was getting yelled at. Not that that mattered to you anymore.

Oh well, at least it’s over now.

The first world has been chosen. Initiating upload link.

You thought you heard someone, but that’s crazy. You were dead. The dead don’t hear voices. Maybe this was one of those post-death auditory hallucinations. Do…do the dead even have those? Actually, I guess nobody would know…except the dying. Ugh. What a morbid thought. I expected myself to have prettier final thoughts.

Link established. Uploading soul to the Samsara system now. Beginning samsara cycle #1…godspeed.

There it was again. You started thinking that maybe you weren’t dead, when suddenly you felt your soul being pulled down…down…down into the darkness. Rather than become panicked you felt a sense of peace. You allowed yourself to be carried until you felt a shift in the pressure around you.

Before you could realize what was happening, you blacked out.

////

He’s not waking up…should I do it manually?

Hang on, what are those kitsunes doing?

You feel something tap-tap-tapping against your side. Your eyes flutter open, barely registering the fact that there’s green all around you. Turning your head, you see several orange foxes nudging your body. The sleep leaves you immediately. You surge to your feet and back away from them

They didn’t make any moves toward you. The littlest one stared at you with its big eyes; after a moment it seemed to be satisfied. It turned to the others and made a sound. It wasn’t long before they ran away, leaving you by yourself. Come to think of it, where were you?

Everywhere around, you can see plants, trees, and just general things you’d find in a forest-wait, forest!?

Oh no, where the hell did I end up? Is this some kind of spiritual afterlife? You run, not really going anywhere, just someplace to get your bearings. You find a small stream. Thinking quickly, you examine your reflection, fearful that you looked like a ghost. However, what greets you instead is your pristine face without any blemishes.

Huh? Is that…me? No, no it can’t be. I’m not that…I’m not this immaculate! This is a dream, this has to be a dream! You do anything you can to wake up; you smack, slap, and pinch yourself all in that order, but it’s no use. It seems you weren’t dreaming.

Defeated, you decide to examine yourself. Amazingly, your skin was smooth, but you don’t recall it being like that. Furthermore, your eyes were completely different. Since when were your pupils a yellow pinprick, or your irises a brilliant shade of silver? Most concerning of all was your hair. It was white as snow. You pull at it, looking closely at the roots to check if it wasn’t dyed. You looked rather beautiful. Additionally, you finally noticed that your clothes were different.

When you died, you were wearing a hoodie and regular pants and shoes. Now, you were wearing a simple white kimono; a closer inspection revealed that it looked like genuine silk. Confused yet satisfied with your examination, you looked at your surroundings. Everything was slightly dark as if it were nighttime.

Weird, but ultimately it doesn’t matter. What DOES matter is figuring out where the heck I am. You push yourself off the ground, shaking the dirt off of your clothes. You look around you, wondering which direction to walk towards when something catches your eye. Squinting, you could make out the silhouette of a city in the distance. It almost looked like Japan, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Well, there’s the path to civilization right there. Now all I need to do is get over there without trouble.

You notice a well-worn path. You take it, pleased that you took the first step in your journey. Hopefully, you’d find what you needed to know.

////

Elsewhere, a solitary figure was meditating alone in a different plane of existence. Here in this space, she would achieve eternity and resist erosion.

And then she felt it. A sudden wave of divine energy sent tingles throughout her incorporeal body. This was unprecedented…what could have caused it? She needed to know. She had to know.

#sagau #self aware genshin #genshin self aware #genshin imagines #it’s short but they can’t all be long. Or winners.#I’m satisfied I managed to include a somewhat cohesive story with hints of a plot #perhaps making a story with disconnected events will be easier than I thought.#genshin impact sagau #genshin fanfic #what if we started in Inazuma instead of Mondstadt btw?#I imagine Ei would be curious with you #oh we'll see where the plot goes

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clumsy-jiminie · 1 year ago

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ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

❝ ʙɪɢ ꜰᴀɴ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 3.8k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, public displays of affection

↣ notes :: welcome to the first chapter! 💕 I hope you guys already for the rollercoaster between these two.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"you see my thick thighs, lost when you look into my brown eyes, see my little waist can make you switch sides. you've never seen the devil in disguise."

- be honest, jorja smith-

ｗｉｎｔｅｒ

A low hum of people chatting over the Lo-Fi beats filled the area. Glasses clinking, some munching, all sounds that Kiara Smith grew familiar with. Though the crowd was more significant than the last exhibition she attended, it was starting to become all the same.

She could remember the very first exhibit she went to and all the nerves it brought. She was a bumbling mess—sweaty palms constantly being wiped on her dress that she may have also used as her prom dress while her stomach frequently threatened to release her breakfast all over the floor—as she watched the few people who also attended like hawks. So insecure about the words those people chose not to share. So insecure about their lips pressed into taught smiles. Were they being genuine or just keeping up appearances? Was her art worth anything, or was she going to flop and end up having to get a shitty job just to make ends meet? Those same nerves would never fade, holding onto her like some clingy child desperately needing attention. But they became less apparent whenever her boyfriend was around. The heaven-sent angel would always know the right thing to say and make the world melt away. Though he would never miss an event, it was very seldom that he was on time. She never stressed his whereabouts, knowing he'd arrive eventually.

The 24-year-old continued to walk around, partially eavesdropping as she passed couples and groups of people. Occasionally, she would take a sip of the bubbly gold in her glass to appease that child named Nerves tugging on her leg. She slowed to a stop once a particular piece caught her eye. It was two separate canvases placed at equal heights. One canvas had a bright figure colored in hues of pink and blue, while the other was dark. Shades of black and grey bled from one canvas to the other as if it was trying to overcome the figure itself. The darkness had enough space on their canvas, though, at least a third remaining untouched, but it wanted the colors. It wanted to possess them, spread its darkness to them.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" blurted a voice near her. Despite the voice being calm and inviting, it startled her. She quickly turned to the side, not realizing a man joined her. His side profile was magnificent — features that were immaculately sculpted from his eyebrows, down his straight nose bridge leading to a button tip, to where his rose-shaded lips took center stage, frozen in a pout. His light blonde hair with dark roots made his olive skin stand out. It looked natural on him. The man was attractive, and Kiara couldn't deny that. His aura alone was almost as intoxicating as the drink in her hand. It pulled her in and wrapped around her like a warm embrace. She nodded, humming in agreement with his question. She faced ahead again.

The man stole another glance at her, eyes slowly glazing over her features. "It's so rare nowadays to find someone who could capture so much without saying a word. It's almost godly."

The more he talked, the nicer his voice sounded. It had an excellent depth, low and appealing even in his hushed tone. Kiara was into what he was saying, continuing to nod until the last comment. She had to sip her drink to subdue the urge to giggle.

"But you know what you and this painting have in common?"

She turned to look at the man, their eyes meeting for the first time tonight. And boy, how he could get lost in those pools of amber. She raised an eyebrow curiously, her glass still resting on her lips as she silently urged him to continue.

"You both were crafted with the same care, holding a beauty one could only dream of containing."

Kiara almost spat out her drink, startling the man before her. She raised her hand to cover her mouth, holding back the remainder of the liquid behind her taut lips. The man's eyebrows drew together and his lips pursed slightly. His expression then dropped to a neutral state once he realized she was chuckling at what he said.

Once she swallowed the liquid, she turned to face him completely. She took a moment to graze over his appearance fully. He was well dressed, wearing a black blazer, white crew neck underneath, and dark-wash skinny jeans. Silver earrings dangled from his earlobes to match the silver chain around his neck and the wristwatch.

"Damn," she commented, a grin growing on her full glossed lips, "you're really laying it on thick for someone you don't know." Her voice was nothing he expected. She seemed like one of those Hamptons girls, playing in New York City with daddy's money. Her voice was light and smooth like silk fabric, but her accent was hard like a concrete wall. She was either from Queens or Brooklyn, syllables being dropped or stretched at a whim. Something about the way her words blended was incredibly sexy.

The man quirked a brow, intrigued as the corner of his lips pulled into a half smile. "You tryna say I'm out of practice?"

"Precisely." She answered quickly and confidently as she gazed up at him. "I expect that kind of line from someone twice your age."

"Well, ouch." He chuckled, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as his eyes glanced downward at the girl. "My job requires me to be blunt, so I call it like I see it."

"And you're saying I'm as beautiful as this painting?"

He grabbed a glass off the tray of a passing waiter. "Your beauty surpasses it." It was true. She was absolutely breathtaking. Her golden honey skin practically glowed under the cool white fluorescent lights. Her hair was dark brown and long, pulled back into a sleek high ponytail with two strands framing her face. Her black satin dress hugged every curve in her body with grace, and there were plenty of them. The material looked soft to the touch, gently reflecting the light. He'd be lying if he said her looks weren't the reason why he approached. And on top of all the looks, she smelled phenomenal—warm and sweet, like a freshly baked sugar cookie with a dash of cinnamon on top, making him want to relive through the holiday season that just passed.

Kiara let out a soft scoff. "Thank you, but that's not as much of a compliment as you may think." She suddenly spun on her stiletto heels, turning her back to the man as she walked away.

He quickly followed, catching up in a few steps to join her by her side. "Do explain."

"Beauty has, and always will be, skin deep." She circled the champagne in her glass while looking out into the crowd. "Looks fade over time. Trends come and go faster than the seasons. So if you really wanna wow a girl…." She stopped at another painting that grabbed her attention before looking at him. "Compliment the things you can't see." The two stopped to gaze at the artwork in front of them. The man thought over her words while admiring the piece. The canvas before them had various hues of green splashed about, but shades of purple peeked through upon closer inspection. It mimicked little flowers blooming through a field of wild grass. She managed to lead him to the only painting that mirrored their conversation.

He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. "You're completely right. And to think I almost missed out on how intelligent you are."

She smiled, soft and genuine. "Thank you."

The man stayed by her side as Kiara floated, offering his opinions on whichever piece they stopped in front of. She really appreciated being able to receive unbiased feedback on her work. He didn't know he was chatting with the artist. No one in the room knew. The name signed at the bottom of each canvas was Luna, a faceless painter. It's been that way since the beginning, and she intended it to stay that way. Only her close friends, family, and people she hired knew of her secret.

"I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to lunch tomorrow." The man asked at their fourth or so painting.

"I see you don't waste any time."

"Correct. Time is limited, after all."

She looked up at him, his perfect lips pulled into a soft smile. Maybe in another lifetime, she thought as she caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Flattered, but I can't."

His brows furrowed. He thought that the conversation they were having was great, so what was with the rejection? "May I ask why?"

"I have a boyfriend," she said with a wide smile.

He suddenly scoffed, causing her to tilt her head to the side slightly. "I haven't seen anyone on your arm the whole night." The first thing the man hated the most was being lied to.

Her brows then lowered while her eyes narrowed. "He's just late."

The second thing was excuses.

"Tsk," he shook his head before downing his drink. "Committed to a man with no time management? Red flag."

"And somehow that's better than a man who can't take rejection?" She shot back as she quickly matched his energy. They had a peaceful conversation only moments before, and now the energy between them had grown negative.

"Oh, I can take rejection," he stated with a chuckle as he put his glass down. "But only when I'm being told the truth."

"It is—"

"Hey, darling." And finally, the deep and butter-smooth voice appeared, melting away the anger that was bubbling inside Kiara. As he approached her side, he placed his large hand on the small of her back and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm sorry I'm late."

The blonde in front of them eyed the man from his tan skin and wavy ebony hair to his solid-colored turtle neck and long coat. Something about the dark-haired man seemed familiar to the blonde. Then it hit him like a freight train. "Well, isn't it Mr. Kim Taehyung?" He smiled widely, glancing up at the slightly taller man.

Taehyung's brows furrowed momentarily before grinning. "Holy shit, Park Jimin!" He stepped forward, leaving Kiara's side to wrap his arms around the blonde. "What are you doing here?" He asked as he pulled away from the man. "I never would've thought that you'd be into art."

He chuckled softly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "It's just a little appreciation I picked up from Spain." He shrugged casually.

Taehyung's jaw clenched briefly, his smile slipping for a moment. For as long as he's known Jimin, he always had to slip in a way to brag about his accomplishments. It was sad that he still hasn't grown out of that trait yet. "Ah yeah," he responded, playing cool, "I forgot you traveled there. How was it?"

Jimin shrugged again. "It was Spain," he said, glazing over the topic. "But me and—shit, I'm sorry." His attention shifted from Taehyung to the woman. "I never asked for your name."

"I'm Kiara," she said softly. Her arms folded over her chest as she watched the two men converse. She didn't mind a bit since Taehyung was the most extroverted of the two.

"Kiara," Jimin repeated to himself, his eyes trailing down her appearance briefly. He tried to pin the name to the face, especially if she was Taehyung's. His eyes finally returned to the other man. "Kiara and I were discussing some of the pieces earlier. I've been a huge fan of Luna for years now." He tried to be calm about the subject of Luna, but it made excitement course through his veins. He was among the first few to learn about the mysterious artist who abruptly appeared on the scene. Everyone wanted one of their pieces overnight, and Jimin was obviously at the very top of that list. Every brushstroke left was a paragraph, speaking a language only artists could understand.

"I don't even wanna talk about how hard it was to get in here," he chuckled, a faint flush spreading over his cheeks. A Luna Eclipse had a longer wait list than some Michelin-star restaurants. Luckily for him, he was able to pull a few strings. A few phone calls here, some embarrassing promises there, and he was in.

Kiara couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as she eyed the man. The smirk on Taehyung's lips was full of pride, almost conceited, as he tilted his head slightly to the side. "Oh, you don't say?" For once in the pair's life, it felt like Taehyung had a one-up on Jimin. "How does it feel to—"

"My love," Kiara interjected, voice just as sweet, yet bitter, like honey as she placed her hand on Taehyung's chest. She looked up at him, and Jimin could see her pupils dilated, swirling with love. He chewed on his lower lip gently. He barely knew this woman, but why did he want her to look at him like that? "I have to talk to you about something."

Taehyung stared at his partner with furrowed brows before looking at Jimin. "Um, alright. I'll catch up with you later then."

She looked at Jimin, and that love dissipated instantly. Such a look was only reserved for Taehyung, making a heaviness grow in his abdomen. "If you would excuse us."

The blonde couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from Kiara. "Of course," he finally said, grinning at the man. "Don't be a stranger!"

The two waved at each other before Kiara led him away. Her arm wrapped around his, holding him close to her. She glanced back at Jimin one last time before pulling Taehyung to a quiet section of the event. He leaned against the pillar while Kiara stood before him, gazing up at him.

"Why did you cut me off?" Taehyung asked, keeping his voice calm.

"Because you almost name-dropped me," she said, her arms folding over her chest.

The 26-year-old's lips turned into a small o shape before forming a sheepish smile. "You're right. I'm sorry. I completely forgot for a second. It's just so hard not to brag about you when you always look so good." He reached out and touched her waist, pulling her into him.

She couldn't stop her lips from forming a smile as he buried his face into her neck. She giggled quietly, her hands placed on his chest. "Stop it," she whined, not wanting him to do such a thing.

Taehyung inhaled deeply, the notes of her sweet perfume entering his nostrils. "Mm, and you're wearing my favorite perfume too?" He mumbled against her skin, placing gentle kisses randomly. "You just wanted me to be on you."

The girl laughed before gasping when she felt his large hand fully palm her ass. She pulled away from him just enough to slap him in the chest playfully. "We're in public!"

His eyes locked with hers, with a smirk playing on his lips. "So?" He questioned as he pulled her close again, resuming to litter her neck with kisses. "No one's looking anyway. They're too distracted by your beautiful art."

He continued until he reached her favorite spot, a moan parting from her smiling lips. His hands couldn't get enough of her, feeling her up as if it was the first time. Kiara's eyes fluttered shut, biting back moans that wanted to escape her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Taehyung," she whined again, partially out of want. It started to feel so good that the world began to melt away. "Someone will see."

Someone cleared their throat. "That's true."

Kiara's eyes shot open, quickly pushing the man in the midst of giving her a hickey off of her. He groaned as his back hit the pillar wall while she turned around. Her cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassment promptly replacing the arousal. She saw familiar ice-blue eyes playfully glaring at her. The petite woman pushed her long, ginger hair off her shoulders as she cocked an eyebrow at the two—disapproval flooding her features.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "Hello, Aimee," he said, greeting the woman for both of them.

Aimee huffed, glancing at the man. "Taehyung."

He stood up from the wall, kissing Kiara's temple. "Lemme get us something to drink." He shot one last glare to Aimee before walking off.

Aimee shook her head. "I don't know how you put up with him and all the PDA." She grumbled, her heavy New Jersey accent ringing through Kiara's ears while she glared a hole into the back of Taehyung's head.

Kiara straightened out the smooth material of her dress. "You get used to it," she smiled softly to herself. "Plus, I kinda like it."

"Ugh," Aimee rolled her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest. "Seems like he'd fuck ya right there with an audience." The girl pointed her index finger to her open mouth, making a gagging sound while Kiara laughed.

"You're so dramatic," Kiara smiled while shaking her head. "But what's up? Is everything going OK?" Aimee was at every event Kiara held. She was her art dealer, providing guests with the information needed to purchase a piece. She would only come up to the artist if something were awry.

"Oh! Everything is fucking fantastic, honestly." Her eyes lit up with excitement as she bounced on the balls of her heels. "I think this might be your best collection yet."

Kiara sighed in relief, placing her hand on her chest as it fell. "Thank you. If we can get everything sold tonight, I'll be set." Aimee looked at the girl, her brows furrowing momentarily before releasing. "Taehyung and I have been looking for a bigger place."

Aimee's lips turned down into a slight frown. "A bigger house? Has he even talked about getting a ring yet?"

Kiara's shoulders dropped, her hand pinching and rubbing at her fingers. She sounded just like her best friends and every other friend in Kiara's life. "I know," she sighed. She glanced down at her left hand, where her ring finger was aching to be adorned with something. "It's so backward, but a one-bedroom isn't enough. He needs an office space for work. So, I'm hoping the ring will come soon after once we settle into a new place."

She looked at the girl, a sad smile replacing her frown. "Well, it's only been four years, right?"

Only. That word ran circles in Kiara's head.

It's only been for years.

You've only just moved in with each other.

You've only just started dating.

The word was growing tiresome, especially in the conversations about Taehyung. Everyone had an opinion about her and her relationship, but no one dared to say anything straightforward about it. She was sick of only.

Kiara nodded slowly, which only caused Aimee to sigh. "He'll come around, doll, don't stress it." She assured with a soft smile, gently patting the woman's shoulder. "Lemme get back to my job so you can get that house." After Kiara gave Aimee a small smile, she walked off. She almost bumped into Taehyung on the way out, the two quietly cursing at each other before continuing their path.

He returned to Kiara with a smile, handing her a glass of champagne. "All good news?"

She grinned at the man, feeling warm despite not sipping her drink yet. "Amazing news."

As the night continued, the two walked around together. They always had a hand on each other somehow, whether it was Taehyung's on the small of her back or Kiara's hand being swallowed by his. She adored this. It made her feel safe—feel wanted. He had to let everyone know she was off the market and was his. As if a shiny diamond ring resting upon her left finger wouldn't have done the same. Taehyung struck up conversations with random people, small-talking them like the extrovert he was. During each conversation, she would glance around, finding something to fill her attention while they spoke of things that didn't matter. Every time, her gaze would meet the blonde.

Their eyes lingered for longer than what was appropriate. Why was he looking at me? She thought while she fidgeted with her fingers. Or was he staring at Taehyung?

"Love," she said as she turned her gaze to Taehyung. He has just finished up a conversation with an elderly couple. "How long have you known Jimin?"

"We grew up together, and were best friends."

The girl's eyes went wide. Despite four years together, Taehyung rarely talked about anything before his college years. It was optional to dwell on past things, even though Kiara would've loved to know everything, from how he scraped his knees while learning to ride a bike to his first love.

"We even went to college together, out here," he continued. "But our crowds were completely different. He got along with the nepo babies since he basically is one, and I got along with the art kids. I remember us bumping heads quite a bit." He let out an amused chuckle.

"Oh," she frowned slightly.

"Like he didn't have to brag about going to Spain," he blurted out. "Not all of us can drop our responsibilities and take off on vacation for a year."

"A year?!" She repeated as her jaw dropped.

"Mhm, basically had his parents pay for the whole trip." There was a fire behind his words. He's been tight-lipped about his friendship with Jimin, and finally, it felt amazing to let it out. "I'm surprised he's not rotting from the inside out."

Kiara pouted a bit, never hearing Taehyung speak so harshly about another. "Well, maybe it was a birthday gift?" The blonde couldn't be that bad, even if she got a taste of that quick-witted mouth earlier. He could've just been having a bad day after all.

"He left in March, babe, and his birthday is in October."

Her mouth formed a small o before she chewed on her lower lip gently. "So you're not gonna catch up with him?"

He looked ahead before glancing down at the girl. "I am," he said with a shrug, "I would rather hang out with a nepo baby than my coworkers." Kiara let out a half-hearted snicker as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "It would be a good opportunity to get out of the house since someone says I need to make friends."

"You do!" She looked at him, brows furrowed and nose slightly scrunched. "I feel bad leaving you home every girls' night. I want to know you're having fun and not rewatching the same three movies."

"They're good movies!" He argued with a smile as the girl shot him a glare. "But I hear you," she stretched out the last syllable as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "So I will try for you, OK?"

The girl smiled, leaning up to touch their lips together briefly. "Thank you." She hoped they could work past their differences and become friends. She knew the man wanted to go out and experience things, but he longed for a set group to do that with. Sometimes, rekindling a relationship was more manageable than starting a new one.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

#bts fanfic #bts fic #fic: inevitably yours #park jimin fanfic #park jimin fic #bts smut #jimin x oc #park jimin x oc #park jimin smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut

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gifti3 · 6 months ago

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hii im posting this old fic for asmo, it was for his bday but i put it off cause i wanted to keep editing it and before you know it its been over year of it just sitting untouched 〒▽〒 so i decided to just post it without a reading over it again its pretty light hearted and silly, its an AU where Asmo is literally a queen and reader is one of those passing merchants (probably) reader is gn here and yep thats it!

----

Queen Asmodeus's Birthday

This was the first time you'd actually be present during Asmodeus's birthday. You heard about previous ones in passing during your travels, but now you'd get to experience all the hoopla in person.

You observe yourself in the mirror and smooth the front of your outfit down. It wasn't something you would usually wear on a day to day basis, but today….what the Queen says goes. Like any other day really, but now wasn’t the time to be contrarian. If any day needed to go smoothly, today was that day. So after one more look, you exit your room.

Making your way down the hallway you dodge several servants handling last minute preparations. You head downstairs and weave your way through mingling guests.

When you enter the grand banquet hall--not to be mistaken with the regular one--you whistle to yourself. It always looked nice but today it was at exorbitant levels of presentation. The long tables, the walls and even the ceiling seemed to be covered in the Queen's favorite shades and flowers. Everything was so flowery and pink.

Your eyes fall on the “Esteemed Guests” table and you make your way towards it.

"Hey guys." You greet the group of brothers. You nod at a few faces you weren’t quite familiar with, but they must be important to the Queen if they were at this table.

Before the brothers can say anything you interject. "No need to comment on the outfit. I know," you smile.

Several of them shut their mouths.

You take a seat at the head of the table, Asmodeus's spot. His chair was quite literally the center of attention. In the middle of the room it sat, the most immaculate and eye-catching. It was almost gaudy to be honest. And from here, you'd be able to see him from anywhere in the room.

“So…when does this start?” you ask.

“Hopefully he comes out within the hour,” Satan answers.

You’d think he was exaggerating if he wasn’t currently reading. In all this noise, you weren't sure how.

Lucifer sat back with his eyes closed, probably thinking of work, while Mammon and Levi talked (or maybe they were bickering) about something. Beelzebub frowned while rubbing at his stomach and Belphegor’s head was laid on the table.

Even though they seemed indifferent about being here, you knew they wanted to keep their brother happy. And anyways if they missed today they wouldn’t hear the end of it until his next birthday.

By the time his Majesty is formally introduced to the hall, an hour must have passed and Beel looks visibly famished. He gently nudges Belphie awake though.

“Ah, the star finally appears,” Solomon says. You had met the sorcerer for the first time today but he seemed decent from the conversation you had. Mostly everyone at the table seemed a bit perturbed by his presence though.

Anyone standing around moves quickly to sit down so as not to be chewed out by other guests for blocking the view.

All attention turns to decorative stairs at the front of the room as the Queen appears. Slowly rose petals magically start falling from the ceiling. Everyone watches as Queen Asmodeus gracefully makes his way down, his (very expensive) skirts following down behind him.

Mammon sits back crossing his arms and says under his breath. “He does this every year…”

You wonder if anyone outside his brothers would ever grow tired of it though. You swear you could see tears glistening in some of these guests' eyes.

You manage to catch Asmo’s eye and he winks at you.

The whispers amongst the guests go silent once Asmodeus begins talking to his closest family, friends and allies.

"Thank you for gathering here to celebrate this special day--my birthday. Seeing everyone's lovely faces smiling for me makes me so happy!"

You hear a couple of dreamlike sighs among the crowd.

"I’m excited for the fun to start so please everyone enjoy the food. The festivities will start right after.”

There’s cheers and Beel’s face brightens as servants file in with various dishes.

Asmo makes his way towards his seat waving and talking to people along the way.

"How'd you like my entrance MC? Wasn’t it perfectly befitting for someone like me," Asmo asks by the time he finally makes it to the table.

Most of his brothers look exasperated but you grin. “It was very Asmodeus-like. You look really amazing by the way. Your dress is very beautiful.”

He smiles at the compliment. “Not as beautiful as me though, right?”

“Heh, of course.”

Satisfied with your answer, Asmo rests a hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you all for coming. I hope you all brought presents ❤️"

Lucifer smiles, already prepared with his gift, "Happy Birthday Asmodeus."

“I didn’t skimp out this year so you better be grateful,” Mammon says.

All the brothers take their turns passing their presents for Asmo to open and gush over. And these were no simple gifts. These were items the average person could only dream of having but apparently this was nothing too hard for these brothers to acquire.

You watch Asmo brandish the beautiful sword Santa had given to him. You had never seen anything like it before. Where did he even find that? Maybe you should inquire with him about it later.

During the rest of the dinner, you see a shift in Asmo’s demeanor from fairly pleased to absolutely bored. Finally, he stands and clinks his glass with a fork to get the room's attention.

He takes a drink and raises his glass high. "Let's get this party started!"

-------

It had been 3 hours so far. The beginning of what would definitely be a way too long party.

You hadn't seen the Queen since dinner as he was mingling with the endless party guests.

How many people could one person remember off the top of their head?

Escaping the noise would be impossible even if you wanted to. You could hear Queen Asmo's subjects singing, dancing and lighting fireworks through your room window when you made a quick stop for the restroom.

You take a bite of your kebab, waving at someone you don’t remember the name of. Galavanting from room to room to keep yourself entertained in this overstimulation fest.

Maybe you'd go back to the 'bathing room'. It was always interesting there.

Suddenly, you find yourself wrapped in a warm embrace and surrounded by the scent of fruit and alcohol.

“Darling I haven’t seen you in so long.” Asmo says dragging out the end of the statement.

“It’s only been a few hours though.”

“Might as well been years.”

You roll your eyes but pat his arm soothingly. “But you’re enjoying yourself right?”

He hums. “Everyone is here for me, adorning me with gifts and praise. I’d say it’s within the top 3 best birthdays!”

“...Isn’t a good chunk of your usual days filled with that though?”

He rests his head on you. “It’s different though.”

Before you can ask more, several people approach you two to talk to the Queen. Asmodeus hooks his arms with yours before you can walk off though.

----

“Asmo, please let me go. Keeping up appearances for this long is killing me.”

“But I don't want you to disappear again!” He nuzzles into your arm and you let out a sigh.

“Can we at least take a break?”

“Are you trying to get special private time with the Queen?” Asmo gives you that stupid innocent smile that was rarely innocent.

“Er, I mean it would be nice…” You hadn’t been able to spend much time with him these last couple days since he was so busy.

“Okay since you’re one of my favorite guests I’ll give you special attention. But you owe me!”

And with that Asmo drags you away to his room.

As soon as you’re behind closed doors you flop on his soft bed. Even with the sounds of a party as background noise, you’d be able to rest your eyes.

“Wait, did you invite me here just to sleep?” You feel the bed dip beside you.

You mumble incoherently before turning your head to look at Asmo’s pouting face. You couldn’t help smiling at his expression though.

How did he do it? You probably looked very disheveled right now but there sat your Queen completely perfect as always even though he’d been all over the castle today.

“Hmm, has my beauty stunned you~?” Asmo’s lithe fingers trace a pattern on your cheek.

“Maybe…” you sigh and get up from the bed. “That reminds me. You said I owed you and I haven’t given you your birthday present yet.”

You beacon him towards his dressing table and retrieve the small box. You planned to give it to him this morning but he wasn’t here. So you left in his room hoping he would find it on his vanity before the day ended but inwardly scolded yourself for the choice when he eyed you at the dinner being the only one closest to him who hadn’t given him anything.

“Happy Birthday!” You hold out the gift to him with a small smile.

Asmo’s eyes widened a bit. Was he actually surprised? His expression turns pleased as he takes and carefully opens it.

“It’s beautiful…” He carefully pulls out the silver necklace and holds it up. It was adorned with several small jewels but the main star was a deep red painite that sat in the middle.

“And it’s very unique.” The merchant in you was screaming for giving away something this rare for free. But making sure Asmo was pleased with his present was much more worth it.

You help him put it on and watch as he admires himself in the mirror.

“So you like it right?”

“Of course I love it!” Asmo stands, grabs your hand and leans in to press a kiss to your lips. “I might have to show you how much I love it. You always know what to get me…”

You lean in hoping for another kiss but Asmo places a finger on your chin to stop you.

“After the party. I want to take my time with you….” He gives you a quick squeeze and leads you out of the room before you can complain.

----

The next day when you wake up in Asmo’s arms to the sound of people being unusually loud through his window. That couldn’t be what you think it was.

You stare blearily at the ceiling. "When does everyone stop partying exactly?”

Asmo yawns and cuddles into you. “Hmm, usually in several days.”

“...How are you sleeping through this?”

#his bday literally came through again and i still didnt post it...!!#so its here now #several months later (sorry asmo haha)#maybe asmo is a bit ooc #i cant remember #i wrote this when i was on my honeymoon nightbringer kick #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmodeus x reader #asmodeus x reader #obey me nightbringer #i remember I spent like an hour researching about gems for this and still picked the most historically inaccurate one on purpose lol #also mc is supposed to be one of those merchants who can talk circles around someone but thats not the main focus here lol #but yea another one of my aus #a secret au that yall didnt know about 🧠#i have so many aus in my head its wild #the mean girl (not the movie) au i have for asmo and reader #i love that one #its literally there for the purpose of “rivals” making out #this would be very niche cause asmo is gonna obviously not be very nice in the beginning #help im talking about another story in the tags of a different story lol #let me go now thanks for reading #hope some ppl like it #if theres mistakes sorry #i did not wanna get caught in the editing loop again haha

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