#I just had higher expectations for it at the time which is my own fault honestly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cakerybakery · 5 months ago

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“Why are you so pissed at me?” Lucifer demanded, “it’s not like you needed me.”

“Didn’t need you!?” Adam voice going higher with each word. “Of course I fucking needed you! You were half the people I knew and I trusted you! And you abandoned us, you abandoned me!”

“Ohh plot twist!” Angel commented, tossing popcorn in his mouth.

Adam whipped his head towards the gathered crowd, watching them like they were a fucking soap opera, “I’m not a plot twist, I’m a person! This was my fucking life, not entertainment for the fucking peanut gallery!”

Overcome with rage, Adam lashed out, shoving Lucifer back and away from him. “None of you know what it was like out there. Eve and I were alone. You all at least had time to learn and grow and were taken care of. You’re adults! Someone must have loved you at some point. I was a newborn in a grown man’s body when I was expect to, to father humanity, to keep Eve and actual babies alive.”

Adam pulled his robe off and threw it to the ground. “Here! This scar on my arm is from being hunted and attacked by a lion. Eve saved my life!” He tugged his shirt off and showed them the smattering of deep jagged markings. “A leopard. Eve was pregnant at the time and I covered her with my body until it left us.” He touch deep scar, “it took part of me with it.”

Pulling up his pant leg he showed how it was was partly withered away, “some sort of snake or something. I didn’t get to see it as it bit me while I slept.”

His body was littered with scars of all sizes, a whole muscle seemed torn out of his side. “Farming accident.” Adam’s voice was bitter, “at least, I want to call it an accident. Abel,” his voice choked on the name he hadn’t spoken in so long, “he wasn’t the only person Cain lost his temper on.”

Adam’s heart twisted, “The boy had a wrathful nature the likes of which I’ve never seen before. No matter what we did he reacted with violence. Eve and I were barely children ourself and I preferred the fucking leopard to that bastard.” Adam threw his hands over his mouth in horror. “I- I didn’t mean that. He-he was just a difficult kid. I should have been better. It’s my fault. I should have explained better and he would have reacted better. He-“

“It’s not your fault.” Lucifer drew Adam attention. “I never really thought about it like that before. I thought if you two knew the difference between good and evil, if you have free will, then you didn’t need me anymore. I thought you would be happy in the garden. I didn’t think they would make you leave. I didn’t think at all. I never seem to think before I do or say something stupid.”

They didn’t say much after that. Adam sulked off, unsatisfied and upset. He stayed in his room, laying on his bed, replaying the fight over and over in his mind. Lucifer’s words and his own.

He loved Cain. He was his son. But the boy was a fucking monster. A demon. A sin. He went by Satan these days but to Adam he would always be Cain.

Eve and he mourned Abel. Losing him was horrible. But for the first time since Cain was two they could breathe easy. They didn’t know how to deal with the violent outbursts. They thought it was over when Cain was banished but his seed infected generations.

It was entwined in the dna of every human on Earth. Like a genetic condition, it popped up at random in people. In sinners.

Adam was just doing his job of culling Cain’s descendants from reality. He couldn’t do anything until they fell. They could overcome the evil in them and ascend to heaven still if on Earth. So Adam had to wait.

He couldn’t protect Abel, but he could protect those in heaven from Cain.

There was a knock on his door and he knew the sound of hooves on the soft carpet by now. “Come in.”

Sheepishly, Lucifer entered freshly showered and already ready for bed. “I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t.

“I should apologize.”

“You wouldn’t mean it otherwise you would have already apologized.”

Lucifer nodded, “true. So I won’t. After all this time, I no longer regret what I’ve done, just the effect it has had on others. And I don’t know how to apologize for that.”

Adam shifted up and sat back against the headboard. “I don’t know how to accept an apology for that, so it’s for the best that you don’t try.” He motioned for Lucifer to join him on the bed.

“Are you sure? That was a pretty bad fight. If you don’t want to tonight, I understand.”

“Hmm. Yeah, but I need to unwind and come down.” Adam kicked the blankets down a bit and spread his legs for Lucifer.

Locking the door behind him, to ensure they weren’t caught unawares, Lucifer climbed up onto the bed and turned around to allow Adam access to his back. Adam grabbed the hair brush from the bedside table and started to brush Lucifer’s damp hair. Lucifer let Adam style it and restyle it until he was satisfied with playing with the angel’s feathery light hair and Adam brushed it out one last time.

“Want me to do yours?” Lucifer leaned back so he could look up at Adam.

Adam wasn’t much in the mood but it would help. “Sure.”

Like a magic trick Lucifer seemed to sink into the bed, disappearing, and Adam heard the bath run.

The hotel had been modernized since he destroyed it but it kept one feature Adam liked.

He got up from the bed and stripped down. Entering the bathroom neither of them batted an eye at Adam’s nudity. They had been this strange ritual most every night for months now.

The claw foot tub was an impressive sight and size. Enough to fit him and Lucifer if Lucifer ever joined him.

There wasn’t much water yet but Adam still got in. He liked the feeling of the water rising, the cold of the tub, Lucifer’s fingers massaging his scalp before the tub was full and Lucifer started to wash his hair.

He groaned as Lucifer’s fingers worked their way across his head. Adam took himself in hand, as he did most nights now, and teased himself. He hand no particular intention of getting off. He just enjoyed the feeling.

Lucifer poured water over Adam’s hair and let it splash him. There was a floor drain so neither of them cared about the water leaving the tub.

Shampoo was rubbed in and Adam enjoyed the little scrapes of Lucifer’s claws and sighed as the tension of their fight left him.

More water and silky conditioner was being massaged in next. Adam exposed his neck and let Lucifer have a taste of his wet skin.

They didn’t talk about what they did at night. They never told anyone what this was. They didn’t know what it was.

One night Lucifer came to talk. So they did. Then again another night. And a few more. One night Lucifer was complaining about something, Adam didn’t recall, as he leaned against Adam and Adam played with his hair. Playing turned into brushing and on one brave night as Adam tried to shoo Lucifer out of his room so he could take a bath, Lucifer asked to wash his hair.

For reasons he didn’t understand then, Adam agreed.

Lucifer soaked his pants and Adam offered him a change of clothes. There was a moment as they tried to pretend things were normal that they both stood there naked and had to admit that none of what they were doing was normal.

But the ritual continued. They talked, often about nothing and just filling the silence, Adam brushed and played with Lucifer’s hair, Lucifer washed Adam’s hair, the excuse for them both to be naked before they fell into bed together.

By dawn’s break Lucifer was up. Adam waited, this was another part of the ritual. Lucifer would slip out of bed, he would dress, he would leave, and Adam would pretend it didn’t hurt.

Lucifer instead turned towards Adam. “I’ve been thinking about it all night and I think I figured out how to apologize.”

This broke the ritual, Lucifer never said a word in the mornings, as though he was ashamed of why he came to Adam’s room almost every night.

“I’m sorry for assuming you would be okay. I hurt you and I’m sorry for that.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive you.” He felt lighter already though.

“That’s okay. I’m not apologizing so you absolve me of the guilt of hurting you. But because I regret having hurt you.”

The sun kept rising but Lucifer made no move to leave. He reached out by moving closer. Despite the sex there was something they had never done.

Lucifer’s mouth was hot, it burned so good, he tasted so sweet, Adam was lost to that mouth.

“I’m sorry for leaving every morning. I was afraid that if I didn’t leave then I would kiss you and everything would end.”

“Then why did you kiss me this morning?” Adam’s heart waited to shatter.

“Because I’m afraid that if I didn’t, everything would end and I would have regretted not doing it the most out of everything.”

Adam pulled Lucifer in for another kiss. “It seems nothing has ended.”

“Then what a fool I have been. Can you forgive a fool for being afraid?” Lucifer laid his head down on the pillow next to Adam’s and took Adam’s hand in his.

“Not yet. But I’m willing to try so long as you stop leaving me.”

Amusement reached from Lucifer lips to his eyes, “don’t tell me you’re proposing, Adam.”

“I’m not. So long as you keep another’s ring on your finger, I shan’t give nor accept one.”

“Feel my hand, Adam.”

He held his breath as he blindly groped a Lucifer’s fingers.

“I took it off before coming here. Thought it was time to stop being a fool and leaving you.”

“Shall you be a king and stay then?”

“Only if you’ll be my queen.”

“Are you proposing, Lucifer?”

“Are you accepting?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #adam x lucifer

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 years ago

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Sorry if this was obvious. But did Skull eat Kevin in Tilikum? If so, that's super dark, I love it

Maybe this will explain things. From Edith's secret logs.

---

(Sirenus) Hadocephalopoda Tenebri - Incident Log 9 - audiofile b

“Audiofiles are incredibly tedious to keep and sort. But I can’t risk this being in text format, that’s far too easy to leak.

So. Kevin... is dead. S3 made short work of him. I can’t say I didn’t expect this to happen, it had been too long since the last attack and Kevin was getting increasingly more arrogant with the sirens. I think he genuinely believed we had tamed them. Ultimately, what happened was his fault, and I really can’t say he’ll be missed all that much.

... This was a very unique kill, though. Worth fully logging. The same initial chain of events occurred, just like all the others- somehow, S3’s sirensong is still getting through its enclosure. What is this thing made of? The glass for S1 and S2 is half the thickness, and we consider that overkill. But it’s undeniable... in the security footage, Kevin is clearly under sirensong influence. He enters the room, then something happens to make him ascend the stairs, open the tank and stand at the very edge until S3 launches its attack. The unique part is that this time around, S3 did not consume any part of the body. In fact, S3 removed the body from the water of its own volition and left it on the edge for us to collect. Everything was intact... even the fingers, which are usually the first to go. My current theory is that this attack was out of malice, not hunger, like the other ones seemed to be. He’s akin to S1 in that respect.

... We still have no idea what to expect, after all this time. That’s what I don’t like about S3. What happened to Kevin was definitely... unfortunate. It’s always a pain to lose a member of management, no matter how low in the chain. But equally, it’s preferable to lose a management member, rather than a member of the hands-on team. It’s much easier to cover the tracks of someone who knew all the risks.

Perhaps it’s for the best that this happened with S3, when it did. Kevin was becoming a liability. His arrogance certainly would’ve led to him being killed by another siren in a much more public manner.

...

Now... onto the interesting part.

I was right. S3 won’t harm her, none of them will. My theory is looking more and more plausible. Even close to his next feeding and a few hours after having attacked another staff member, S3 was careful and playful with her. He knows his own strength, and the fact that he chooses to be gentle shows a higher level of intelligence than we initially suspected. The rest of the board refused to see the utility of her ability to calm/charm them, but now, I’m certain they’ll let me push my ideas through. She swam with S3, for fuck’s sake- why are we having her sitting around with the rest of the afterhours crew? The possibilities are endless.

I have so much to plan. For all S3’s faults, with this one... he did me a massive favour.”

#zoo siren au #ooOoOoOo le SPOOKY

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captain-mj · 8 months ago

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First of all, I love your writing and your fics. I love your IWTV au so much. And I'm a fan of your other stuff.

Sooo I have some ideas I'd like to share with you , dear MJ. I was thinking of an isolated Ghost. He almost hides himself from people, some place like Alaska or in the wild. Somewhere cold and out of humans, so he can be all by himself. He doesn't want to be around people because of his past, and he hides himself from people. He lives in a cold forest or somewhere unreachable in winter because of the snow. He lives in a cabin.

And there is Soap, who goes on a camping trip with himself after breaking up with his boyfriend. Thinking that camping would help him get better emotionally. But it starts snowing, and he is not prepared, and he gets lost in the wild. He is desperate and cold. While searching for help and walking for hours. He comes across the cabin where Ghost is staying. Ghost doesn't welcome Soap at first, but because of the heavy snow, they are stuck for about a week or a month. So Ghost helps Soap get better, and they start to get close and hot...

I think I explained it in so much detail, but you can change it however you want. I'm always hungry for your stuff, in any form. And feel free to ignore this if you don't want to write about it. And of course, please don't mind my English; it's not my first language.

Ily,take care.

Very much can do that!! Yes!

Ghost sat in his cabin up the mountains, using his sniper to look down at everyone. He knew that right now there were two different groups of people camping. One further down that seemed to be full of experienced campers and one a bit higher up that set up their spot for their view. They were way too close for comfort.

Neither were particularly good company. No one was.

Ghost hated people. Especially fuckers who came on to the mountain for camping.

He had hoped this secluded place in the middle of nowhere would provide peace. Instead he just dealt with this.

Ghost put his gun away. It was for hunting and he was worried any gunshots would send the campers into a frenzy. He had plenty of food for the winter thanks to Price sending him stuff. Price insisted he just used Ghost's pension for it but he didn't believe him. Old sap probably used his own money.

Ghost went to his cabin and cleaned instead. Not that it really needed it. Besides the fact that he meticulously cleaned most of the time, nothing he did made much of a mess. It was mostly just dusting the books off to make sure they didn't get dry rot.

The snow started. A lot harsher than he had been expecting. It started to pile up on his porch and it made the roof creak a little.

Ghost imagined it caving in and crushing him. Suffocating under the weight of wood and snow.

There were worse deaths.

Further down the mountain, Soap went a little away from the group he came up with. He set up his tent and planned to relax for the next two days.

No cell service which was exactly what he needed. No worrying Mam, no angry ex trying to get him back. Just silence.

Soap was so bored. He supposed it was his fault for expecting anything less. He was not a person that sat still often. Always searching for the next thing. The next adventure.

This did not feel like an adventure. It felt stale.

Soap noticed the snow so he only walked within the vicinity of his tent. He followed the protocol, but it took one stumble for him to fall out of bounds. Quickly, Soap scrambled back up and glanced at his tent. Still right there, just slightly farther than before.

Maybe some sleep would do him some good.

Soap settled into his tent, ignoring the snow piling on top of it. It just kept coming. Covering him in a freezing cold blanket of water.

The tent had a hole in it. He had just bought it, he had no idea what he did to cause it. Although small, it was definitely messing up the whole insulation part of this. It also let snow in which started to melt, getting him and his clothes wet.

Frustration started to bubble over. He wasn't experienced at camping but he wasn't an idiot. This wouldn't work. He'd have to either fix it or leave and he wasn't sure how he could even leave.

Thanks to the water, his arm was soaked, cold digging in so hard it felt like actual needles. He tried to dry himself off but the whole situation wasn't working.

Reluctantly, he ignored that he was still slightly wet and got dressed. He'd just go out for help.

The people he came with weren't there. Or at least, they weren't where he thought they were. He didn't want to believe the guide they came would be so stupid as to not count the people before evacuating if they did, but he also said he wanted seclusion and lied about being experienced.

Maybe they assumed he already left?

Soap panicked for a moment. He allowed himself that. Before he straightened up and started thinking. There was no way he was the only person on the mountain. While he couldn't make it all the way down on his own, he was sure someone had to be there. It was mid morning, he had time before it got dark and cold.

Ghost sat on his porch close to twilight. He smoked silently, watching the trees.

The man had been walking around his property for a few minutes and Ghost was trying to figure out if he was a real person or not.

He sighed and whistled, watching him yank his head around painfully to stare at him.

"You okay?" Ghost called out.

Soap stepped a bit closer, no longer shivering. He was also holding his shoulder. "Are you God?"

"Oh for fuck's sake. Sure. I'm God. Where are your things?"

"I took them."

"Why are you jacketless in the middle of the snow?"

"It had gotten wet. Was trying to dry it out but it didn't really work..."

Ghost sighed. "Come closer."

Soap stumbled to the steps. His pants up to his knees were soaked and his face had pale skin with rosy patches.

Ghost sighed in frustration and opened the door. "Come on." He'd get the guy warm and then send him on his way. The snow wasn't too bad yet. Neither of them had a radio to know that it was predicted to get much worse.

So Ghost accepted him in and had him sit in front of the fire. He found a dry blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. "You okay?"

Soap started to shiver.

"Guess not."

"Got a drink?" Soap rasped out.

Ghost poured him a nip of bourbon and handed him.

"Don't suppose you got Scotch?" Soap said softly before knocking back the drink. He grimaced and Ghost was sure he heard a mutter under his breath about British people having shit taste.

Ghost watched the way the alcohol raced through him. Color almost immediately back in his face. "Thanks. Name's Soap by the way."

"...Ghost. The fuck you doing up there?" Ghost went by his callsign since there was no way someone would name their kid Soap. He thought of asking him about his shoulder but decided against it.

Soap sighed. "Trying to clear my head." He flinched when Ghost laughed at him.

"Piss poor job of preparing."

"Aye. Suppose I thought myself a survivalist." Soap laughed softly before averting his eyes. He looked embarrassed.

Good.

Ghost put the bottle of bourbon next to him. "Drink as much as you want." He knew he'd barely make a dent on the bottle.

Soap only took what he had to. He managed to get himself warm.

Ghost looked out at the sky. Too dark to send him anywhere.

"In the morning, I'll show you the way down the mountain."

"Yes, sir." Soap looked at him. He seemed almost indignant. Like Ghost was being bossy.

Ghost bit his tongue. "fuck off. Go to bed near the fire. You'll need to stay warm all night."

Soap nodded and laid down. "Don't have to tell me twice."

Ghost went to his bedroom, brandishing a knife. He stayed there and watched the door all night. Just in case. Just in case.

Soap stayed in the living room and he tried to Keep warm. Ghost would come in like clockwork to put more wood on the fire.

During the night, the snow came down harder. Before long, it was at the door, covering the entire porch.

Ghost groaned as he watched it. While yes, he may be able to go down by himself, he'd never be able to get Soap down the mountain as well. As much as he hated it, he also likely wouldn't be able to make it back.

Soap stirred and groaned, holding his shoulder. He saw the outside and before long came to the same realization that Ghost did. "So we bunking together?" It sounded sheepish, like there was a risk that Ghost would throw him out into the cold.

Ghost sighed. "Yeah we are. I have a guest room that i haven't used in ages. I'll get it set up."

"And I had to sleep on the floor... why?"

"Be closer to the fire." Ghost left him alone to brush the dust off of everything. He had planned to turn it into a gym or something equally useful, but never did. The stupid room came with the house.

Once it was livable, Ghost came back out. "You can go in. I'll make breakfast. We'll be up here a while. It's still snowing so it's hard to tell."

"You have a vehicle or anything?"

"Nope. We'll be walking."

Soap cursed in a funny language and stretched, back popping. "How long you guessing?"

"A week. Minimum."

Soap winced. "Sorry for the... everything."

Ghost stared at him for a moment before just going in. He cooked breakfast silently and Soap sat nearby. Occasionally, he'd start talking, but Ghost didn't respond to any of it.

"Oh come on. You're going to be stuck with me for a week. Might as talk to me. What are you doing up here so isolated?"

Ghost put a plate of eggs, bacon and hashbrowns in front of him. He sat across from him and yanked his mask up just enough to start eating.

His scars had the effect he hoped. Soap winced at the harsh smile cut into Ghost's face. "Aye. I see."

"Good." Ghost answered, shoveling food down. He mentally counted through his supplies. He had enough for a few months, so with two people, it should be fine. This bastard was getting none of his ice cream though.

Soap ate quietly before swallowing. "Gang?"

"Military." Ghost admitted begrudgingly.

"Aye. I see. I'm a sergeant right now."

"Retired." Ghost drank some of his tea.

Soap nodded. "Look, I'm not trying to be an ass here. Really. You don't have to talk to me. But. Do you have any coffee?"

Ghost stared at him for a minute before getting up and checking. "I got instant and regular."

"Got a coffee pot?"

"French press. It was a gift."

Soap's eyebrows scrunched together. "You know how to use it?"

"...No."

"Fuck."

They put their heads together and worked with the French Press until they managed to get a cup of coffee brewing. Ghost watched the stuff bubble and huffed. "Tea is easier to make."

"Coffee tastes better."

"Yeah, right." Ghost continued drinking his tea.

"Since we got it figured out, do you at least wanna cup to try your gift?"

Ghost sighed. "Yeah, why not."

Black coffee was just as dreadful as he remembered. He added some sugar, ignoring Soap's mildly judgmental gaze.

The first day was spent with Ghost trying to do his normal routine of reading or working out and Soap being incredibly bored. Ghost felt too uncomfortable to do most of his workout routine with him around and decided to give up.

"Do you have internet? Or anything? Most of my stuff was left in my tent."

Ghost sighed. "No. How far away was your tent?"

Soap hummed. "No clue honestly. I don't think it was that far, but there should be a trail of my clothing. I have no idea why I started taking it off."

"Hypothermia makes you feel warm after a while. It's some psychological thing. It's why some people who are frozen to death are found naked."

Soap grimaced at him. "That's horrifying."

Ghost shrugged and showed him the guest room. It was pretty nice, if a bit plain. Soap fell on the bed and groaned. "Firm. I like that."

Ghost hit his boots. "I'll try to find your tent tomorrow. Get some sleep."

The second day he found himself being trailed by Soap despite the asshole clearly should be staying at home. He kept touching and rubbing at his shoulder. Ghost was trying not to ask, but he'd need to eventually. If he got infected, that would make everything a lot harder.

They found his tent and Soap went searching for his phone. Unfortunately it was dead and when they got home, they found that his charger had too much water damage to help. Soap sighed and rubbed his face. "I knew I shouldn't have come out here."

"Why did you?"

Soap thought about it for a second before turning towards him. "My ex." He was careful not to include man or woman. This guy could be homophobic for all he knew.

Ghost nodded. "Got it. Their fault or yours?"

Soap blinked. "What?"

"You cheat on them and up here hiding from it? Lot of guys do. Or did you come up here because they're a right prick?"

They. Not she. They. Soap picked up on the pronouns and took a deep breath. "They asked me to leave the military. I said no. They said stuff."

Ghost tilted his head. "I see. Well. They can't exactly find you up here."

"Aye. Guess they can't." Soap smiled.

On the third day. Ghost went searching and found his dvd player and old tv. He showed Soap his dvd collection.

Soap hummed. "More romance movies than I'd expect."

"I inherited my mum's collection." Ghost lied.

"Uh huh." Soap picked a movie and put it on, happy to have something else to do besides sit there. How Ghost did it was beyond him.

On the fourth day, Soap even managed to convince Ghost to sit with him through one of the movies. It was a romance movie that Ghost had memorized. It was a film where she had to travel across Ireland and stayed with a nice Irish man throughout the journey.

Soap drank some more of the coffee and it seemed to calm him down a little.

After a bit of hesitation, Ghost looked at him. "You smoke weed?"

"No." Soap glanced at him.

"You wanna start?"

Soap took a deep breath. "Fuck it. Sure."

Ghost pulled out a joint and lit it. He took the first hit and then gave it to Soap.

Soap coughed and Ghost laughed at him. "It's a little different than a cigarette."

"Yeah, a little bit, sir." Soap smiled at him and they passed it back and forth for a bit.

Ghost felt the pretty much permanent ache throughout his body disappear. It seemed to do the same for Soap's shoulder.

They both relaxed for a bit and Soap looked over at him. "You're a cool guy, Ghost."

"Thank you." Ghost smiled at him and kept smoking. They put on another movie and relaxed for a while. It took the edge off.

Soap swallowed. "Why are you up here?"

"It sucks down there."

"Does it get lonely?"

"Sometimes." Ghost mumbled, his head falling against the couch. Around people he was usually always wide awake. Too scared. But Soap made him feel weirdly safe.

Soap fell asleep against his shoulder and Ghost followed soon after.

When they wake up, the fire had been out for hours and the house was freezing.

"Fucking hell." Ghost got up and tried to start a new fire but it wasn't sparking.

Soap shivered. "Well, that's not great. Anything i can do to help?"

Ghost checked the wood. It was fucking damp for some reason. He couldn't figure out why but that would be better for morning when he had more light. "My bedroom has the least amount of windows."

Soap's eyes gleamed as they shacked up in there. Ghost covered his windows with curtains and grabbed some more blankets as he turned on the lights.

His room was far better decorated than any other part of the house. His bed was covered in quilts and high quality soft pillows. A cabinet in the corner had tons of photos from Ghost in his time in the military. Most of them had Ghost's own face covered with marker.

"You know Captain Price?"

"Yeah, I know John." Ghost rearranged a few things and started to strip off his jacket.

Soap paused to stare, admiring the muscles that were revealed when the shirt followed right after. His pants unfortunately did not come off too. "Take off your shirt."

Soap nodded and followed the order. Was this happening? Were they about to fuck right here and right now? The worst part was he was going to let it happen.

Ghost pulled him into bed and shifted so he was fucking spooning him. "Fucking hell I was cold." He settled into the warmth and promptly closed his eyes, pretending nothing was happening.

Soap was in heaven. Or maybe hell. Either way he was getting hard and that was not great.

Ghost fell back to sleep. Soap was ridiculously hard, pressed against a beautifully muscled chest. He could feel each of Ghost's breaths with the rise and fall of it. In a desperate attempt to calm down, he thought of war. His ex. The fact that his ex was probably trying to blow up his very dead phone.

Soap thought of his ex and felt a strange lump in his throat. God he didn't want to go home. He really didn't want to. His ex would be at his heels like a baying fucking dog to nip at his fucking heels.

Soap let out a sharp noise, a bit like a sob, and quickly bit his lip to shut up.

Ghost pulled him closer. "Soap?"

"My name is Johnny."

Ghost's thumb rubbed circles in his chest. "Johnny." Oh that beautiful voice. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Simon. You okay?"

"My ex tried to hurt me. I'm military, don't know why he thought it was a smart idea. But when I defended myself, he was just... so cruel. Called me shit I never wanted to hear again. Accidentally made myself upset over it."

"I'm sorry, Johnny."

"S'okay. Nothing to do with you. You're the first person that hasn't made me feel worse honestly."

"Not worse. I'll take it." Ghost sounded a tiny bit amused. He squeezed him. "Do you feel warmer?"

"Yes. Feels nice in this bed with you." Soap didn't mean to sound quite as suggestive as he did, but Ghost noticed. His grip loosened briefly before tightening again, tangling their legs together. "Simon."

Ghost turned him onto his back and kissed him, having pulled up his mask at some point. His scars tickled a little. It was pretty nice honestly.

Soap's fingers ran down his chest to his pant's button and undid it for him. "Is this okay?"

"Should be asking you that." Ghost gruffed. "Don't have to do too much tonight, but you're hard."

"So are you. Can feel you through your jeans." Soap smiled at him. He slowly unzipped his pants and touched over Ghost's cock.

Ghost let out a small whine. "Fuck, it's been so long." He quickly unzipped Soap's pants and pulled him out, having no shame about it. His hand fit around both of them and his thumb easily ran over Soap's head.

"Me too. Won't judge you if you don't last long." Soap teased, pulling him back to kiss him again. He groaned as he thrust up. "Nice and easy, yeah?"

Ghost rutted into him and moved his hand in time. They kept kissing as his hand found a decadent rhythm, truly stretching the pleasure out for both of them.

Soap moaned and his back arched trying to press himself even closer. "Simon."

Ghost bit his lip hard and paid more attention to Soap's cock, trying to get him closer and closer. He felt him start to pant into his mouth and licked into his mouth happily.

Simon buried his face into his throat and came over his chest. Despite this, he managed to keep his hand moving so Soap followed after a moment later.

Johnny kissed him softly. "Later, if you have lube, I'll let you fuck me."

Simon wondered briefly if he was a rebound and then decided he didn't particularly care. "Okay."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #cod #soapghost #ghoap

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firstelevens · 7 months ago

Text

traveling on (and it won't be long)

sam/bucky | alternate universe (formula one au) | 2.6k words | rated g

The drivers from Team Stark get invited to the Met Gala and produce some content for their socials on the way. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

My beloved @sesamestreep texted me yesterday about the F1 AU boys attending the Met Gala, and naturally her wish is my command. Enjoy!

( also on AO3 )

Over the course of his career, Bucky has done no shortage of things that made him look stupid. There was his exclusively-cavorting-with-young-royals-on-yachts phase, the two years (pre-Alpine, of course) where his Instagram was exclusively thirst traps, that one summer when he decided to go blond…all terrible choices, in retrospect, and all things that he regrets. One thing he can say for all those phases, though, is that at least they were fun at the time.

He would give anything to be able to say that about today.

‘If one more person tells me to relax, I’m going to lie down on the floor and scream,’ he texts Steve, because Sam’s probably on lap twenty of a race right now, and Becca would probably just tell him to suck it up.

‘How are you still this bad at being on camera?’ Steve replies.

‘Peter used to just let me argue with Sam and hit record. These guys are making me read from CUE CARDS.’

Steve just sends him a laughing emoji in response, because he’s a traitor. (But then he follows up with a picture of Ellie and her baby brother playing with fingerpaint to cheer him up, because apparently siding with Steve in a fight against two boys twice their size was the right call when Bucky made it thirty years ago.)

It’s his own fault, maybe. If Bucky had spent less of his last year on the grid antagonizing the higher ups at Tuono, Rhodey and Nat would have had to spend considerably less time trying to placate them, and then they wouldn’t have had the leverage they needed to get Bucky to agree to this.

The director calls for everyone to get set up for another take, and Bucky stands on his mark again, shaking out his shoulders and trying to reach for the charming version of him from the yacht parties and all those videos with Sam. When they call action, Bucky looks at the camera, pretends that it’s Sam, and lets the smile spread across his face as he reads from the cards: “I’m Bucky Barnes and today is the first Sunday in May. It’s time to get ready with me and Team Stark to go to the 2026 Met Gala.”

He doesn’t actually fall to the floor in relief when the director declares, after eighteen takes, that they’ve finally got it, but it’s a near thing.

After the cue cards, they film Olivia as she talks the viewers through Bucky and Sam and Joaquín’s outfits for the events, and Bucky just has to ask her questions and let her talk, which is a relief. Bucky gets about fifteen seconds after that to check the results of the race in Montreal and text Sam an emphatic, ‘CONGRATULATIONS I LOVE YOU SO MUCH’ immediately followed by an equally sincere, ‘they’re making me film my skincare routine you owe me so big after this.’

He knows that Sam won’t get around to checking his phone until much later, not until after the cooldown room and interviews and the presentation of the trophies, but still. If Bucky can’t pull him aside and kiss the hell out of him in a quiet corner the way did after all their races last year, the least he can do is be sure there’s a text waiting for whenever Sam gets to it.

Then he trudges to the bathroom vanity, where there’s a ring light and a camera set up by the mirror and a sound guy standing in the shower, reminds himself that he’s doing this because of how much he loves Sam, and launches into an explanation of the facial cleanser he uses and how important hydration is for race car drivers.

By the time the crew packs up for the night, they’ve filmed skincare, haircare (an overnight mask made by a New Orleans small business), and gotten footage of Bucky doing a Korean face mask (he looked ridiculous, but Olivia did one with him in solidarity, because she’s the best). As Bucky closes the door behind the last person to leave, he looks around the suite, now ringing in its emptiness, and falls into bed without even turning off the lights.

—

It’s not until morning that Bucky even remembers to check his phone. He’d plugged it in to charge far away from where they were filming, to avoid the temptation to check for replies from Sam every few minutes, and he’d been too tired to retrieve it at night. He swipes through his texts as he sits up in bed: selfies that he and Olivia took with the face masks on, pictures from Steve of Ellie and Jamie covered in paint after their art session, and then a stack of notifications from Sam. The earliest ones are from last night, a series of hearts and a ‘ thank you, baby’ in response to Bucky’s congratulations, then laughter at Bucky’s unwitting transformation into a skincare influencer, and a message that says, ‘guess I’ll have to think of some way to repay you for everything’ followed by that weird smirky emoji that shouldn’t make Bucky blush as hard as it does.

The rest are just updates: a good night text from when Sam went to bed, a message from around seven AM about a weird dream he’d had involving a tortoise, and then messages about heading for the airport and getting on the plane. Bucky replies to the very last one and then sets off in search of some kind of caffeine before the cameras come back in.

He doesn’t realize until much later that his ‘love you, see you soon’ text to Sam was only half true. They’re doing his makeup—eyeliner is involved, enough that he’s irrepressibly reminded of the era where his style icon was Pete Wentz—when Bucky notices that there’s only one camera in the room today instead of three. When he asks about it, the makeup artist tells him they had to split up the cameras between the three rooms, which she appreciated because she’d been worried that they would get in her way.

Bucky says something about how it must be hard to weave around all of that and do such delicate work, and she agrees, but really all that he’s thinking about is the fact that there are two other rooms. Some part of his brain had just assumed that Sam would be here getting ready alongside him, that they’d have at least gotten to see each other while being corralled into makeup and hair and wardrobe. He knows that Sam’s outfit has enough architectural detail that they can’t share a car there, but he’d hoped that they could at least swing a couple minutes with each other before he had to relinquish Sam to his adoring public. (And they are adoring, not that Bucky can blame them.) Something in Bucky’s chest sinks a little bit, but he swallows it and keeps chatting, very aware of the camera pointed directly at his face.

As it turns out, there’s a staggered schedule for Sam and Bucky and Joaquín to finish getting ready and head out, and Bucky’s up first. Olivia sweeps into his room right as they’re putting the finishing touches on his hair, one last tweak of the flowers tucked into the bun at the back of his head and a spritz of hairspray for the hair that’s down and brushing his shoulders as he turns his head.

“You look amazing,” she says, beaming at him. He grins and thanks her, then grins even wider when she takes a step forward and adjusts the lapels of his jacket, fussing with how the necklaces sit and adjusting the way his cape drapes over his shoulder.

He steps back for final approval when she’s done, turning to the side so she can get a better look at the cape. “Am I up to your standards? I won’t bring shame to your good name if people know you’re my stylist?”

“With your jacket collection? Never,” laughs Olivia.

She gives his hand a squeeze before she shoos him out the door, and he calls over his shoulder, “Go get dressed already! How are you gonna upstage us if you’re not on time?”

“There’s one person here who’s gonna be doing the upstaging,” she says, “and it’s not me or you.”

As Bucky is ushered out towards the elevators, he sees Peter at the end of the hall, holding the door open for someone carrying an oversized garment bag. There’s a little bit of coral fabric peeking out, just like the material of Sam’s outfit, and for a second, Bucky thinks about making a break for the room. He’s an adult, he reasons. It’s not like they could stop him if he ran.

But then the elevator opens, and the camera operator gets in first, immediately turning to get a shot of Bucky at the doors, and he resigns himself to waiting a little bit longer as he steps in.

Bucky has attended exactly one other Met Gala before, when he was twenty-four and dating a British model who was maybe also some kind of duchess. He’d just been scenery back then, dressed all in black so as to avoid taking away from her outfit, which had involved so many ruffles in the skirt that she couldn’t even sit down in the car on the way over. As the door opens and he steps out of the car, Bucky finds himself wishing he was that invisible again, just for a second.

Then he remembers how hard Olivia has worked for months now, how excited the young designers had been when the team had gotten in touch about dressing the three of them. There simply isn’t a universe where Bucky allows himself to let them down, so takes a deep breath and straightens his back and steps out onto the red carpet.

Once he’s high up enough on the stairs, he undoes the tie that’s holding up the train of his cape, hopes that the damn thing works, and keeps walking. He only knows that the fabric unfolded properly when he hears the soft noise of silk flowers tumbling out in his wake, spreading out into a train as he goes. He tries not to look too pleased with himself and hopes to God that it was the right angle for photos.

He’s just made it up to where people are being greeted and interviewed by a young woman who looks familiar. He’s seen her face on posters, and though he doesn’t know her name, she knows his. He tries not to feel too bad about it when she tells him how much she enjoyed this season of Need for Speed , and he opens his mouth to thank her when a ripple of gasps carry down the stairs, loud enough to be heard over shouting photographers and the ambient noise of so many people in one place.

“Did someone fall?” Bucky asks, looking ahead to where people are posing on the steps, but he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary there.

“I’m pretty sure they’re looking that way,” says the interviewer, grinning as she points down at the very bottom of the stairs.

He turns to see what she’s pointing at and feels his breath catch in his chest, a second too late to join the chorus.

Bucky has only ever seen Sam’s outfit in parts: sketches on the wall of Olivia’s studio and individual pieces tried on during fittings, mockups shared on video calls and swatches of fabric pinned up next to a Botticelli painting. They were all too disjointed to form any kind of picture, and Bucky had trusted Olivia enough to know that the effect was worth waiting for.

Now, as he looks down towards Sam, he’s not sure that ‘worth waiting for’ does him any kind of justice.

His arms are bare, rings and bracelets glittering on his hands as a gold filigree cuff wraps around his bicep. The coral and gold fabric of his vest and pants must be tailored down to the millimeter for how they hug his body, and there’s a gold headpiece creating a halo around him like the one Bucky sometimes thinks he might have in real life.

And though Sam sometimes feels to Bucky larger than life—in his talent, in his kindness, in the vastness of his love—now he looks the part, too, the cape that’s settled on his shoulders arcing high up behind him in two curves like an enormous set of angel’s wings. It’s layer upon layer of soft, floaty fabric, coral giving way to pinks and purples and eventually a deep ocean blue that just sweeps the floor as Sam walks.

There are flashbulbs going off and people murmuring excitedly around him, but all Bucky can do is stare at Sam, watching as he jokes with a photographer and throws his head back in a delighted laugh. Bucky has taken his first step down before he even realizes it, then stops where he is.

He thinks again of the last time he was on this carpet, of how the greatest worry was that he would be a distraction and he was kept well clear of the pictures until it was decided that he could come back in. He couldn’t do that to Sam, not when he’s so utterly glorious a picture all on his own.

“He looks incredible,” says the interviewer, who Bucky really should apologize to. He’s about to do it, too, to say sorry and try to answer at least one of her questions before moving on, but his eyes are still on Sam, and he knows that he should tear them away except…except…

Except now it’s Sam who’s looking up at him , eyes wide. He would feel the weight of that gaze from a mile away, would know in an instant that it was Sam whose eyes were tracing the lines of his body. He would know the smile that spreads across Sam’s face, too: slow and satisfied and with its own gravitational pull, for all that Bucky can’t turn away from it.

The smile would be enough for Bucky, really. He’s well aware that he ought to be moving on, that people are looking impatiently at him from their various stations, but then Sam catches Bucky’s eye, raises a hand, and beckons him down.

There’s no way that people are supposed to be doing this, thinks Bucky, as he hurries down the stairs, but there’s no way that he’ll lose even a second of being at Sam’s side, not if he can help it.

He’s almost tempted to hover a few paces away, just so he’s out of shot, but Sam extends a hand to him before Bucky even makes it to the last step, interlacing their fingers as soon as Bucky’s hand lands in his.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, all warmth as he pulls Bucky towards him.

Bucky shrugs, not even bothering to hide his smile. “Well, you know, I didn’t have anything else planned tonight, so I thought I’d see what the fuss was about.”

Sam raises their joined hands and kisses Bucky’s knuckles, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s own. “You want to find out together?”

“Always.”

—

The next morning finds about five dozen texts from Becca and Steve on Bucky’s phone, every possible angle on Bucky’s awestruck face as he looked at Sam on the red carpet. None of them are particularly flattering, his jaw hanging open and his eyes wide in pure wonder.

Still, Bucky thinks, as Sam curls an arm around him and wordlessly grumbles about being woken up too early, this time, maybe he’s okay with looking a little bit stupid.

#happy first monday in may y'all #sambucky #sambucky fanfic #sambucky f1 AU #my fic #down to the WIRE but I finished it while it was still temporally relevant so THERE #sesamestreep

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sleepy0s · 1 year ago

Text

The Ariana Griande concert

Havent written Ariana much so lemme know any tips!

Some au facts for this certain one-shot

Allay Grian! (I felt like Allay grian made the most sense to be a singer cos there like musical??)

His voice sounds different due to Allay stuff- makes it higher pitched?

Hermits know he's an Allay but no one knows he's Ariana Griande (Not even pearl- very important for this)

I've decided. When Grian is just grian he is he/they and when he's being Ariana Griande has she/they

This is my longest one yet! (1303 words)

—---------------------------------------

“Pearl! Pearl! I got them!” Gem came sprinting round the corner, clutching four tickets in her hands

“Let me see!” Scar pushed Pearl to the side wanting to see the tickets,

“Gem! You're the best!How did you get four VIP tickets?!” If Scars Vex wings worked then you best believe he would be floating

. “I have friends.” She smiled, handing the tickets out to her friends before pocketting her own. “We are forever in your debt Gem.” Scar bowed down, almost hitting Mumbo in the nose on his way back up.

“What are you doing?” The voice made all four jump, having not noticed Grian get closer, the small allay was trying to climb Mumbo to see what was in his hands but was failing due to the suit material. “Gem just got us V.I.P tickets!” He made sure to take a pause after each letter in VIP, Grian just looked at him, sliding down the suit. “To who?”

“Ariana Griande, of course!” Pearl responded before Mumbo could.

Now, they’re not sure what they expected from Grian but it certainly wasn’t for him to lay on the floor and sigh in what seemed to be sadness, “Grian?? You all good down there?” Gem put her arm out to help him get up- he took this as a chance to climb onto Gems shoulders instead, whatever her fault. “Yep. I'm fine.” Scar however seemed offended that Grian had responded this way to such an idol, “G, do you not like Ariana? She is the best idol in the world and you need to agree.” Grians response was a sad sigh as he hopped of Gems shoulder and fluttered towards his base. (Can you blame the guy tho? He just found out four of his friends were going to be at his concert, pressure much.)

~ ~ ~

Ok, so it turns out Gem is Amazing. They had front row seats to the concert and would be able to see everything perfectly, she had managed to get her hands on some merch so all four were decked out.

Gem was wearing a nice laced white shirt with a baby pink skirt, her hair was put high pigtails (One of Ariana's signature hairstyles) with two bows clipped on.

Pearl was wearing a pink shoulderless shirt, a bandana wrapped around her wrist, and her hair had been put into a plait with pink ribbon.

Mumbo was wearing pink glasses (Vampires don't do well with the lights), he had a pink jacket on which was covered with pins.

Scar, who was arguably the most enthusiastic, was rocking a pink cowboy hat, heart shaped glasses, a half buttoned up white and pink striped shirt (Think limited life) and had a bag covered in pins, bandanas and keychains.

So yea. They were decked out.

~ ~ ~

They had gotten there early and had been waiting for around half an hour (Though all would claim it was worth it) and now, finally the lights were dimming around the stadium signalling the start was near, all the chatter quieted down as people looked to the stage.

“I'm so excited!” Scar whispered from beside Mumbo

“Scar shush. I'm concentrating.” Pearl elbowed him, making him shush,.Just in time as well because suddenly a bright pink light appeared on the stage and a platform rose from underneath the stage, and there she was! Ariana Griande rose from the stage, wearing a sleeveless white shirt and a gorgeous red and pink skirt, her hair was put in high pigtails with ribbons wrapped around. It was genius really, the pink she had claimed as ‘hers’ matched the light blue of her wings and the small horns in between her hair.

“Good evening Ladies, Gents, Hybrids and Humans!” The four screamed at her entrance, waving their hands in the hopes she would notice them, “I hope everyones having a lovely night, and hopefully you're happy to be here!” She began walking to the front of the stage waving at audience members as she spoke, “We have an action packed night ahead of us, so first let’s just have a little talk!” She gave a young girl a high five, causing the girl to scream, someone threw a poster up luckily, Ariana caught it before it hit her, “Guys, please don't throw stuff.” Ariana began talking and walking again, just chatting normally as if one would with a friend about how her day had been and occasionally pointing the mic towards someone else to let them respond.

She got to Scar, Mumbo, Pearl and Gem and gave them each a high five and smile, and honestly they looked like they were on the edge of passing out. “All right everyone! I think it's time we start!”

~ ~ ~

The concert was around 2 hours long and honestly they wished it was longer. But now it was time for the best part. “We get to meet her!? Gem I dont think ive said it enough but you're amazing.” Pearl was smiling madly, hugging Gem as if she was going to disappear, “Yep, Yep I know- pearl. I can't. Breath.” Pearl immediately let go, making sure she was okay before running to go find the VIP line. “Pearl, wait up!” Mumbo called after her.

The three met her at the line, she had gotten near the front and was talking to one of the body guards, who seemed to know her? “Pearl! We're here!” Gem waved her hands in the air to get Pearl's attention as they got closer.

“Ah! You guys made it! Look, meet my friend Martyn!” The three introduced themselves to Pearl's friend, “Martyn I wish we could talk longer but it's nearly our turn!” Martyn just laughed and gave Pearl a hug, promising that they would have to meet up sometime.

Scar dragged them forwards once it was their turn to meet Ariana Griande.

“Hello! Welcome, it's lovely to meet you!” Ariana smiled at them happily, from where she was sitting. “Hello! We are such big fans!!” Gem led the group to sit on the seats opposite Ariana. “It's great to see you so enthusiastic. Is there anything you'd like? I can do signatures, photos, could just chat, or really anything you’d like- under reason of course.” There were probably loads of things she shouldn't do, but c'mon. They were gonna do anything bad. Hopefully. “Can you sign our photos? Please??” Mumbo had been put in charge of holding all four photos, and happily handed them over to Ariana to sign them. “I am so going to brag about this to Grian.” Scar said, causing Ariana to chuckle, The five talked for a bit, it was mainly just questions like if she had any pets, her favourite song she had made, just the normal things you ask your Idol. But obviously others needed a go so they had to leave, “Would you guys like a picture before you leave?” Ariana asked,

“Yes please!” Scar answered for the group as they all stood up to take the photo.

“Alright! Have a lovely night you guys! I hope to see you at the next concert!” Ariana smiled happily at them as they left the Private room, and headed back to the hub.

~ ~ ~

Scar popped around Grians base the next morning, poor lad looked exhausted. What had he been up to whilst they were at the concert?

“Griannn!” He called out in a sing-songy voice, “Guess what I gottt”

Grian just sighed, rolling over and looking at scar, who was proudly showing off his Signed Ariana Griande poster.

Grian rolled back over, “Scar, that's great and I love you. BUT. Its 5am go back to sleep.” Scar laughed a bit before wishing Grian a good sleep and leaving his base, promising to tell Grian all about the concert once he was more awake

#grian #hermitcraft #pearlescentmoon #mumbo jumbo #goodtimewithscar #ariana griande #sleepy0s

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strwberri-milk · 2 years ago

Note

I’m thinking of kaeya x reader Academic rivals to lovers

i just have to say kaeya is a habitual smirker and if i ever met him i think id cry really hard bc hes just so pretty with a smirk

I think just generally, Kaeya isn't too competitive. He's pretty confident with himself and where is in in life, and really enjoys the system he's got going on right now. He doesn't have to worry about too much outside of his own work, so he just goes to class and then goes home.

However, that all changed when one day, you ran up to him, showed off your better grade, then ran off. He knew who you were and somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that you're his rival of some sort as you also had pretty high grades, but he never though to care until now.

The fact that you were celebrating your victory against him meant he clearly was missing out on some competition and he had no interest in losing now that you've directly challenged him.

Kaeya seems like he doesn't care about his grades since he doesn't seem to do any work outside of school. He finishes his assignments fairly quickly and doesn't spend the entire exam break preparing for his tests. Instead, he's going out or just hanging around while everyone around him struggles, which is why you thought knocking him off his high pedestal was going to be easy.

You had no idea that he was easily maintaining his position above you through the power of time management and ridiculously high standards. Kaeya expects himself to do well, and anything falling short of that will not make it to the grading process. Having such a low tolerance for failure meant he aimed for perfection on the first go, and if he didn't achieve that it meant locking himself in his room for days on end until he did. He was just really good at hiding his academic panic.

When you got a higher grade then him again, as well as props for doing so good on the assignment he decided it was time to take things seriously. He started focusing harder on his assignments, doing even more work than he usually would, and looking especially smug when he retaliated with a simple flourish of his own grade.

You didn't expect him to pick up so fast, nor for your victory to be short-lived but you refuse to go down this easily. Now, you knew you had to up the ante, not caring about getting good grades only for yourself but also to rub that ridiculously handsome smirk off his face.

He found it amusing to see how you were now practically attached to him, constantly trying to get information out of him and see if he'd tell you what his plans for the next assignment were to beat him, or see if you could distract him enough to flunk a test. It seemed to always fail as he always just barely glanced at you or would finish his exam first and then give you a wink before running off.

The tension between the two of you only built on your end. Kaeya found you very adorable, and didn't seem to mind too much the way you tagged after him because he knew he could just keep winning. Once the end of the semester finally came he decided to really up the ante, waiting for you outside of the classroom before dragging you off somewhere privately.

"Kaeya! Let me go I have to get home and start the final project!"

You try to yank your arm out of his grasp and he lets you, standing against the tree with his arms crossed against his chest. He seems to invite you to leave, but something compels you to stay. The two of you stare at each other before he finally speaks, not of course without that signature smirk of his.

"I'm glad to see you're taking our little rivalry seriously. I thought you had given up after that dumpster fire of your last assignment."

You gasp, offended he would say that and huff.

"It's not my fault you got only 2% higher than I did." He shakes his head, tsking scoldingly.

"I only got 2% because that was all that was left to get! I could have done better if I needed to."

This part of him infuriated you. It was clear to you he only dragged you out here to humiliate you and you make to leave. You liked it back when he was ignoring you and the two of you barely spoke and just flashed grades at each other with sneers. Actually talking to him was draining and you didn't feel like dealing with him right now.

"Now come on, don't tell me you're going to leave before I give you an offer to make our last competition for the year more interesting."

"Fine but make it quick," you say, turning to face him again.

"Loser has to do whatever the winner wants." You roll your eyes.

"I'm not going to humiliate myself for you. You really think I'm that dumb?"

"Come on, I'll even tell you what I'll do when I win! That way you can be more motivated to lose."

"You mean when you lose?" He laughs, the sound alighting your chest.

"Considering the result of the last assignment I wouldn't bet on that. When I win I'm going to take you to dinner."

You stare at him with wide eyes, trying to see if he was joking. He seems to not be, casually twirling a lock of his hair as he waits for your response.

"If the idea of that is so detestable I'm sure you'll work hard to win."

You detect the slightest hint of hurt in his voice, masked with his signature aloofness. You bite your lip a little, gnawing on it as you think.

"Fine, but when I win I'm choosing where we go."

His face lights up before he quickly clears his throat and turns around. You think you can see the tips of his ears turning the slightest bit pink, smiling to yourself as the fire underneath you is lit again at the added stakes to the competition.

"Deal," he says, leaning down and sealing the conditions with the soft press of his lips against yours.

#kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kaeya fluff

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jellybean-supreme · 6 months ago

Text

My poor little experiment (Simon ’Ghost’ Riley x reader)

Introduction

You were a experiment in a lab that ghost rescued.

“Don’t…look at that.” Ghost sighed, watching you stare into his drawer. His personal stuff.

“Y/n.” He grumbled, picking you up and placing you down onto the floor while closing the drawer again.

You were a rescued experiment, so you had to yet learn a lot about the real life…and Ghost was there to teach you (against his will)

“You’re a rescued experiment,” Ghost stated, glancing towards you with an expression of annoyance. He hated being forced to take care of ‘dumb people’. (That’s what he called you, after all.)

He ran a hand through his jet black hair, pushing it out of his face.

“So you obviously don’t understand much about the real world...so. I’m going to do my best to educate you, even though I absolutely hate this-“

"I sorry" i say trying to reply him. In the lab that they experienced on you never really thought you words, or how to talk properly so you tried your best replying to Ghost.

“Yeah, yeah...I expected that.” Ghost looked away, letting out a frustrated grunt. “Just...keep quiet for now, okay? I’ll go and…get you something.”

With that, he left the room. After 5 minutes, he returned. In his hands, he held a piece of toast, which he extended towards you.

“Eat up. You need to get used to eating, too.”

"Thank" I say again trying to say it the right way.

Ghost rolled his eyes and mumbled something to himself.

“Yeah...whatever-“

He took a deep breath in, trying his best to contain his annoyance towards you. “Right...let’s start from the beginning.

“In case they didn’t tell you anything about your past...you were an experiment in a lab.” Ghost explained, keeping the tone of his voice as polite as possible so not to alarm you. “But, long story short...you’re out of that place now and you’re now *my* responsibility.”

"What i do here? Why I responsibilities for you? I sorry I make you mad, " I say, seeing how annoyed he looks at me.

“Ugh...it’s a long story, okay?” Ghost snapped, clearly losing patience with you. “Long story short...the people back at the lab think it’s necessary for me to take care of you, otherwise you’ll make their work go to waste and they’ll have to put you back in the lab.”

"Why I in lab? Did I do wrong?" I ask him quietly

Ghost scoffed. “No-no, I mean...” he sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“You did nothing wrong...they just...wanted to do studies on you, that’s all.”

"Why me studied? I want home, " I say, remembering a house in the woods.

“You don’t seem to get it...you’re not getting home. You’re my responsibility,” Ghost said, making sure that your attention was on him this time.

He knew you wanted to go back home...but for his own sake, he had to make sure you understood that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

"Why?" I say sadly

Ghost rolled his eyes. “Because I have to keep you under observation. The higher-ups said so themselves,” he said, his tone becoming colder with every word.

“Whether you like it or not, you’re mine now. And I’m your caretaker, understand?”

"Ok, but can know I happened to papa?" I ask, remembering a man that was supposed to be my father in front of me with a bat in hand coming closer to me.

I don't remember much more than the man beating me with that beat and that beautiful house in the woods with those beautiful big great Danes.

Ghost frowned upon hearing that...you seemed to have some memory, after all. However, the memory you have was rather unsettling.

“Your ‘papa’ was the one who sold you off to the lab, you know that?” Ghost asked, his tone still cold towards you despite you being a child. “He didn’t want you, you weren’t enough.”

"Wha- I do ?" I ask him as if he's supposed to know.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s him. It’s your father’s fault. He sold you to those people to do experiments on you...he basically sold his own child,” Ghost elaborated. He knew it was a lot of information to take in, especially for a child, however he felt like you deserved to know the actual truth behind your life.

"I not child, I there been long," I tell him, making it known to him that I was not a child.

“You’re not a child?” Ghost repeated, confused.

...Huh..you certainly have a very childish mindset, given the tone of your voice and your way of thinking...

“How old are you, then?” Ghost asked, raising an eyebrow as he shifted his hands into his pockets.

"I not know, what year is it?" I ask him, trying to remember the year I was born, tho I think I might me 26.

26?...

Ghost raised an eyebrow, a bit hesitant at first, before realizing you might actually not be that much of a kid after all.

...However, why do you have some childish mindset if you’re 26?

“...It’s 2024,” he responded.

"I 26, I there been for awhile. Mayhaps 23 years I know not" I reply telling him my age.

26...and yet your way of talking is more childish...interesting.

“...If you don’t mind me asking...why do you have such a child-like mindset?” Ghost couldn’t help asking, wondering where that trait of yours came from.

"They not teach, I three when I came to lab" I say

“Three? As in, three years old?” Ghost asked you, raising an eyebrow. That made more sense now...you had three years of childhood development taken away from you, that was surely where your child-like mindset came from.

“They didn’t teach you anything? At all?” He asked, sounding surprised at that fact.

"Yes three years old. No not teach, I had learn from them speaking"

“...So you didn’t go to school, didn’t learn basic things like how to speak properly or to read and write?” He asked, surprised at the fact that the lab didn’t take the time to teach you basic things any kid should know how to do.

"No, they not care" I tell him

“Clearly...”

Ghost let out a frustrated grunt, shaking his head.

“...This’ll be harder than I thought,” he admitted. “You’re not even literate.”

"I sorry" I tell him sadly with tears in my eyes, thinking he's mad at me.

“Hmph...no no, don’t cry,” he said, his voice becoming gentler as he saw that you were starting to tear up.

The last thing he wanted, was for you to believe that he was mad/upset at you...and he didn’t want to raise his voice either.

“Hey...don’t cry, it’s okay,” he said a bit gentler.

" I'm sorry," I say, trying to stop crying. I can't, I don't know how.

Ghost rolled his eyes, sighing. “Can you at least wipe your eyes?” He asked, his expression being softer compared to the one he had a few minutes ago.

I nod trying to stop and wipe the tears with the old dirty clothes I had on from the lad.

Ghost stayed silent as he watched you try to dry your tears. He didn't want to say it himself, but that shirt you were wearing did look extremely dirty...

“...Hey, can I ask you something?” He asked.

I nod still trying to stop the tears.

“Are these the only clothes that you have?” He asked, shifting his gaze from your tear-streaked eyes and towards the shirt you were wearing.

I nod again "only clothes I have, they never gave any other"

Ghost sighed. "Right.."

He walked over to a cabinet next to him, opening it to reveal a few basic pieces of clothes...from shirts, jeans, and even hoodies. "Here," he said, picking up a plain white shirt and handing it to you. "Try wearing this instead..."

"Thank," I say, wiping the last of my tears while taking the clothes from Ghost.

"...Yeah, no problem, go ahead and change..." He leaned back against the wall nearby to watch you. He was somewhat curious to see what you looked like without the same dirty outfit.

"No look," I ask while trying to change the clothes but struggling a little, but getting it at the end.

"Alright...that's good."

Ghost watched you as you changed your clothes, now wearing a cleaner outfit.

He looked away the moment you were finishing up, not wanting you to think he was a creep for staring at you while you were changing.

“You finished?”

"I finsh" I tell him

Ghost gave a silent nod, glancing at you once again.

“Right, you certainly look better in that…”

He looked you up and down. Your old clothes were dirty and disheveled...so it was an improvement from before, at least.

“Right...so..."

Ghost paused, trying to think of a topic to discuss with you.

“...Do you want some food? I’m also planning to make some coffee...maybe you could have some, if you want, of course...?”

"What coffee? And food?" I ask him. They (the people from the lab) never said those words before

"...Uhm...you...don't understand what food or coffee is?"

Ghost raised an eyebrow at you, not sure if you're just kidding around with him or not.

That wasn't possible, right?

I shake my head "no what that"

"...Right..."

Ghost was silent for a moment, trying to process that.

"...Can I ask you a question?"

I nod again

"Can I ask you, what did they feed you at the lab?”

"Feed? Do you mean nom nom ? They called nom nom feed. Nom nom they gave it in weird tube thingy. They said good for me. It hurt. "

"...They fed you in a tube?..."

Ghost asked that again, slightly horrified by the fact that they could even do that.

He had heard of stories about how the lab subjects weren't allowed meals like normal people, but tube feeds? That...that was something else entirely.

"Yeah, it look weird they said something about nutrition in it I not know more. Sorry "

Ghost sighed.

...It seemed like you were really neglected over there...more than he thought.

"Don't be sorry, it's fine," he said, before thinking of the next question to ask.

"Were there other people at the lab? Like...lab subjects like you?"

I nod sadly "Yes, but they gone. The people (the lab people ) said something about they death."

"...They *died*?"

Ghost frowned at the thought.

...Did this mean the lab was experimenting on people, only to eventually kill them?

Ghost didn't want to believe that thought...it was horrific.

"I not know word, the word they used was death, I don't know that word also".

"...That...that's disturbing..."

The lab was killing them...Ghost was just starting to realize how messed up this place was, and he started to feel anger building up inside him.

The way they treated you...it was horrible, and the fact that they even killed their subjects was even worse.

"They're...bad people, aren't they?" He said, with a cold tone.

"I not know, they played games with us, do bad people play games ?

"...Oh, so they played games with you?"

Ghost perked up at something positive...although, the games they played were probably some kind of sick, deranged experiments on you, since the lab never really cared about its subjects.

"What type of games did they make you play?" He asked.

"They took this weird sharp thingy and told us too stand still and new people (new lab people) would through it at us until they hit us on the hands or upper leg"

"...They made you stand still while being stabbed with sharp objects...?"

Ghost’s eyes widened in shock...they were using you people as practice to learn how to hit people with sharp objects more accurately.

Ghost had a look of disgust and pity on his face now, the more he was hearing from you

"Why you look so shock? That not game you also play?"

"No...! That’s torture, not a game!"

Ghost was starting to get really pissed off at the thought of that...they basically tortured you guys for fun, or for practice...either way, it was horrifying.

He took a deep breath in.

“...What other types of ‘games’ did they make you play?” He asked, using air quotes for the word ‘games’.

I look at him weirdly not knowing what torture meant. "There another game. Where they make us fight each other, most of them (the other kids) sleep during this game" I tell him

"Wait...wait, wait, wait a minute. You’re telling me...they made you guys fight each other?”

Ghost could feel his temper rising as he heard that...they made CHILDREN, who had no idea about anything, fight each other?

"So they made you guys fight...like a bunch of wild animals?" He asked, clearly angry at the thought.

"Yes?" I say cautiously seeing that he's mad.

Ghost was trying his best to contain his anger, and he was surprisingly doing a good job at it...though there was still anger left in his voice.

"...And you fought other children?"

"I had to, they almost kill me " I say softly

"They almost killed you...?"

So they forced you to fight other people for...what, an experiment? They were trying to find out who was the strongest out of the lot?

This was becoming more and more messed up, and he was now starting to wonder if the people at the lab were even sane...

"Had to survive," I reply nonchalantly

He went silent for a moment, realizing that for you- that was probably a regular occurrence...having to fight just to survive.

"Right...that. And...those people that died...they weren't killed when they were in a fight with someone...right?"

"That's how you win they have to not wake up. They (the lab people) said that they'd eventually wake up, so we had to do it as hard as we could." I reply to him

Ghost’s eyes widened in horror.

...That sounded more like murdering than a game...was the lab trying to encourage murder, amongst children, at such a young age...?

No, that had to be wrong. It couldn’t be real...

“It’s...it’s not. Right?” He asked, wanting to not believe that the lab actually encouraged children to murder each other...

"It's not what? Real? It is, there video that they show to people, they (the lab people) called them buyers"

"...They...they sold those tapes...to other people...so they could watch?"

...This lab was definitely messed up. More than Ghost could even imagine, and he had known that they were already messed up...but this was on a whole new level.

And Ghost had been around people that could be deemed 'messed up'...but he had never heard of anyone as twisted as what he was hearing now from the description of the lab...

I nod, signalling that what he just said was true.

His eyes widen further as he processed that information.

They not only recorded these horrible experiments...but *they were actually selling it off.*

This lab was beyond messed up...Ghost didn’t know if anything else could surpass this.

“...And the buyers...they actually bought these tapes?” He asked.

"They bought friends and tapes, depending on buyer"

Ghost stayed silent for a moment, processing everything you had said.

...It was all true...all of it...

“...You do know that what the lab people did was wrong...right?”

He asked you, hoping that you would say yes.

"What wrong, that what they done since little. How wrong?" I ask, not knowing that what I'm saying is wrong.

...This was worse than he thought.

You had never known a life outside of those lab walls, and yet, in your mind, what they did to you was considered normal. They had truly brainwashed you.

“What they did was very, very wrong...they abused you, hurt you...”

He sighed, not knowing how to tell you that everything they did to you was considered messed up...

"I hurt? I do feel pain. I hurt, but what abuse mean?"

"...Abuse is when someone hurts you on purpose...or when someone treats you badly, you know?”

It seemed like you really didn't know about what the word 'abuse' meant.

"Have you never been insulted before? Or called names...or even beaten...?"

"Of course.....they say it was good thing." I say sadly, realizing that what those people dis might not have been right.

"...They said it was a good thing?" Ghost repeated back to you, sounding even more horrified now.

...Did they really have you believe that the things they were...were considered 'good things'? Did they really brainwash you to the point that hurting you was considered normal?

...Did they tell you that they were training you when it reality they were just making you get beat up badly, physically and mentally?

I nod again. Telling him that what he just said was correct

"...Right..."

So you had never had any knowledge on what was right or wrong...and everything the lab people did was good, as far as you were concerned...

...This just made Ghost even more pissed off.

"I'm sorry if I'm asking too many questions but...do you remember a time when you had parents? Or...family?"

"I only remember papa, he I told you about. The one who I rembered with the bat coming closer."

"And you don't remember anyone else?..Not a mom, or siblings?" He asked, now curious about whether or not you had any other family outside of your dad...

"No mom. No sibling."

“No siblings…”

That made Ghost pause for a second.

“Did you have any friends? In the lab…”

"Had one, they died"

“Died...? Do you...how did they die?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Had to kill them"i say with no emotion in my voice.

“What? You-...wait-...you killed them?” Ghost said, now looking at you with a mixture of fear, disbelief and confusion.

"They had sharp thingy to my throat"

"...They held...they held a knife to your throat?" He repeated, his tone of voice revealing that he was shocked at what you had just said.

"To survive had to kill"

“...Right…”

This was really getting messed up.

He took a deep breath in before asking you a question.

“...How about the people you fought against, or the people that fought you. Do you know what happened to them?”

"Died," I say

“…Right…” Ghost’s heart dropped slightly as you told him that.

So all the kids you fought against..they were also dead…

“And…the buyers…” He took another deep breath. “...Have they ever come to the lab?”

"Yes, they did. Though they were killed and money taken from their bodies."

“Wait…wait...the people who bought the tapes from the lab…the ‘buyers’…they were murdered when they tried to buy them?”

I nod

His eyes widening again in disbelief.

"...The lab people...they...killed the people that bought their tapes?!”

I nod once again

"...Are...you telling me...that the lab people were *killing the people that supported them?*"

I nod "yes, they are"

"...Wha...why?" His tone of voice had suddenly become serious- and confused.

...He just couldn't understand why they were killing the people that supported them. Or maybe these 'buyers' were there for some other reason, other than just buying the tapes.

"Why would the lab people try to kill them?" He asked you, waiting for you to respond.

"They only want the money" I tell him

"...Is that all they wanted?" He asked, starting to get slightly worried now. There had to be some other reason they were doing this...

"...So they killed the buyers...just for money?"

"Yes." I tell him once again

"...There has to be another reason...right?"

He paused for an moment, debating with himself about what his next question should be.

"...Were the 'buyers' actually buyers...or were they...people who were trying to stop them from doing all this stuff?"

"No other reason only money," I say, knowing that they don't care for anything else.

"...Are you sure...?" He continued to ask, trying to not sound too pushy.

"...Were these buyers just regular folks trying to buy the tapes from the lab...or were they people from the government trying to catch them for their crimes?"

"I not know" I tell him

"...Right..."

Ghost sighed. You probably didn't know the real reason either.

You might not have even known anything at all…

"...Have they ever done any experiments on you that weren't...fighting related?"

"Course, they inject me with different types needles" I say to him slowly

"...They injected you with different types of needles?"

He raised an eyebrow at you, his tone now getting slightly concerned.

"...What did they say they were injecting you with?"

"I not know" I say while my stomach starts to growl. "Can i have nom nom? " I ask him saying it quietly, he almost can't hear it.

"...Yes, you can have food."

Ghost glanced at your stomach, it wasn't hard to realize that you were suddenly pretty hungry.

"...Right, I'll go make the coffee and the food, just...stay here. I'll be back."

And with that, he rushed into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Ghost came back into the room, carrying a small tray that had a plate of food, along with a mug of coffee.

He had made sure to make enough for you...just in case your appetite was large, given all you were used to eating was those meal tubes.

He sets the tray on the table, before looking at you.

"Here you go, food and coffee. If you want some water, that can be provided, too."

"Thank" I say to him with a small smile

"No problem." He responded, smiling back.

Ghost watched you eat, taking a mental note of how you ate and the speed of it…

“...Do you always eat this fast?” He asked, since he noticed your eating speed was pretty rapid.

"I always hungry......" You replied, as you ate at a pretty quick pace.

Ghost remained silent for a moment...noting the sudden hunger that you seemed to have, and thinking of how long it has been since you have had a real meal.

"...Right. Just...just take your time eating...don't eat too fast."

He looked at the food, and took another mental note of how quickly you started to eat...he didn't want you to accidentally end up choking on it as a result.

“You’re...you’re not used to having a real meal...are you?” Ghost said, as he continued to watch you eat quickly.

I shake my head while taking another bite.

Ghost continued watching, now realizing that he might not be able to get you to slow down, given your lack of experience around proper meals.

"Right...well, just, try to eat slower...do it at a...reasonable pace..." Ghost said, trying to get you to slow down.

I nod, eating slower.

"Good...that's better..." Ghost said, looking at you as you ate slower and not as quickly as before...

...Now that he was thinking of it, he realized that you didn't really know how to properly have a real meal, due to the food tubes you were fed while in the lab.

So he decided that he would just let you eat at your own pace, for right now...

After Ghost gave you food, and you finished eating it. Ghost starts to teach you English and about life. A few (like three ) years have passed since he rescued you, and you slowly realized that you were falling for him.

Over the years that he has spent teaching you, Ghost has noticed that you slowly started hanging around him more and more...

This had started to make him curious about your true feelings towards him...and he's noticed that he has slowly started to enjoy teaching you about life...and he’s also become quite attached to you as well...

...The both of you had certainly become close over the years…

...And while he's taught you about life, you've also taught him about having a more empathetic side to himself, and that he was actually able to fall for people as well...

...So the two of you eventually developed feelings of love, and that love slowly grew over the years...

...And here you both are, with the years gone by, still in love with each other and still being close...

Ghost and you have become a couple...the two of you living out your lives together...always there to support and love each other...always able to make each other laugh and remember about the important things in life...

...And the two of you were always by each others side, loving and caring...even when things got tough...you both were always there for each other, through the thick and thin...

...And here you both are, living your lives out, and still loving each other...

...And so the years continued to go by, the two of you now living in a cozy home, where you both are still spending your days together, and loving each other...

...And even though years may have passed since you left that lab...the love still remains strong, and the two of you are still together...

...You both lived long lives together...with each other's support, love and friendship...

And that was the ending of these two’s story.

It was quite the rollercoaster, wasn’t it?

From escaping the lab to meeting Ghost, to becoming friends, family and then finally, lovers.

These two made it through it all...through the thick and thin, they had each other’s support, love and friendship through it all…

...And now, they’re living together...with each other’s love still standing strong, and still enjoying their time together.

THE END

Words : 4408

#cod ghost #simon ghost riley #x reader #ghost x reader

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goldenlilium-ocs · 8 months ago

Text

November 27th, 1995.

(thank you to @multifanenthusiast with your assistance with this scene last year)

Loss. For such a universal experience, Juliette had never expected it to be so isolating. It had been five months now since the death of Cedric Diggory. The world did not stop spinning for the death of angels. Juliette had learned that the hard way. There were no more handwritten letters at breakfast, no picnic dates on the quidditch pitch or astronomy tower, no matching shirts bequeathed by Seb and Kingston. She had danced with Death for the first time and it had left her lonely on the dance floor while everyone else continued Life’s waltz. It was like she had forgotten the steps.

She had received her O.W.L results over the summer. Her aunt had gotten engaged, Gwenog Jones had visited to share her prayers- and yet none of it meant anything. Nothing mattered anymore. Not when it couldn’t be shared with him.

Those around her grew impatient now. It seemed the socially acceptable mourning period was coming to an end. The gentle nudges to contact friends, the invitations to Hogsmeade, owls from both her and his parents. Juliette, once so eager to please, no longer cared for the worry she caused others. Let them worry that she was falling apart. They didn’t understand that she already had. The pieces of her lay scattered in that grave with Cedric. Now she was just a shell of Juliette Bishop, moving through the motions.

Juliette spent most of her time in the library these days. It was a good way to avoid the heavy eye-prickling sorrow that threatened to take over every second of the day. Madam Pince made a pretty good bodyguard with her affinity for scaring people away the second they spoke a decibel higher than the sound of a pin dropping. It had eventually encouraged even her own best friend Kingston to give up and leave her be as soon as she stepped inside the library. The witch kept to a table by the windows in the very back of the room, usually only occupied by the most studious or couples snogging. Fortunately, they usually left pretty quickly once they spotted ‘The Girl With The Dead Boyfriend’.

It was one of those days again today. The emptiness hollow yet weighted permanently in Juliette’s chest as she stared blankly at her potions homework. Amortentia. Death was cruel, but Life was ruthless. Lost in her voided mind, the shadow passing over her almost went amiss until the intruder cleared their throat. As the brunette glanced up, she was taken aback by the sight of Mattheo Riddle. Especially without his usual cohort. Up close, he looked like shit.

His dark curls seemed in disagreement about which direction to stand in. He had bags under his eyes and kept shifting from foot to foot. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times, an odd sight to see. What was even odder were the words that finally came out.

“I’m sorry.”

Juliette glanced around, wondering if maybe he’d knocked over her ink or dropped some books. Nothing seemed out of place except for the Slytherin standing before her. “For…?”

He still stood there, mouth puckering like a fish. Eventually he inhaled sharply, gazing down at the books on the desk. “Diggory was- he was really good. Death’s sort of a strange concept for me and all but…he didn’t deserve that. And… I know he’s my father but- I mean I don’t know him. Never met the bloke.”

Juliette’s gaze fell onto the books in front of her, as if staring hard enough might burn through any rising emotion. She thought she had run out of tears to cry by now but they poked at her eyes, begging for release.

“It wasn’t your fault.” The witch shrugged. She wasn’t even sure he had bothered to attend the finale of the tournament. Perhaps because he had known, but the look in his eyes told a different story. She knew pain.

Mattheo seemed confused. As if the genuity of her words had shocked him. “No, but I still have to live with the consequences of what he does.” He stated. "No one should have to die for this. No one should lose the one they love the most..." Mattheo said, trailing off wondering what the feeling was that he just spoke of. Much like death, he knew little about love. He had love from his aunt growing up. He knew brotherly love from Theo. But a love that is so strong you can smell it in a potion and be reminded of a single person- the love he saw in Juliette's eyes every time she looked at Cedric was a love Mattheo had never known. It was a love he craved, but would never feel. He didn't deserve to feel that level of emotion.

“You didn’t give the order or perform the curse as far as I’m aware. It wasn’t your fault.” Juliette steeled herself to look up again. She just wished he would leave already instead of trying to take responsibility for what happened to Cedric. She didn’t need to relive that night again. Or be reminded she might never be loved like that again.

Instead of leaving, Riddle pulled out the chair opposite and sat down. “Where’s Chance?”

The worst part of it all was that this boy who didn’t even know her, looked genuinely concerned. Juliette was so sick of that look. She shrank into her chair, folding her arms across her chest. The truth was that Kingston was losing hope in her. He was inviting her to eat less and less, no longer bothering to bring her the homework she never completed from classes she never attended. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“Has anyone ever told you it’s impolite to shove your nose when it doesn’t belong?”

“Once or twice.” The Slytherin replied, the humour wrapped around his tongue was absent from his gaze as he stared her down. “Do you really think this is how he wants you to mourn him, Bishop?”

Why was it always the people who had lost nothing who were the ones acting like they understood how it felt?

“Don’t act like you knew the first thing about him.” Juliette’s scowl deepened. She doubted he’d ever uttered a single word to Cedric. Too many people in Cedric’s life had just assumed they had him pinned down. It had to have been exhausting.

A hushing sound came from over the Slytherin’s shoulder, the shape of Madam Pince disappearing behind the shelves, and Juliette glowered. “Are you done?”

Apparently not.

“Look, I get it. He was your boyfriend. You probably thought he was the love of your life,” Mattheo continued in hushed tones, “But you have got to stop being dead set on being the girl with the dead boyfriend. I know you’re pushing people away. This is my table, you know. Nobody comes here. I know your grades are slipping. Since when does Theo score higher than you in potions? He’s always complaining about how uptight you are in that class.”

So he was impolite and a stalker.

“I am not uptight.” Juliette huffed, another shush coming from somewhere to her right. She rolled her eyes and went to pull her planner toward her, but Mattheo tugged it right out of her hand.

“Bishop, your planner has two different colour code systems, you’re always obnoxiously on time to everything. You push away anyone who tries to sympathise with you and you hate when people don’t match the effort you put in. Up. Tight.” Mattheo leaned back with a smirk, proud of his freakish oberservations, but then his expression turned serious again. "Everyone around you can see it. You've become a shell of yourself since losing him." He muttered.

Juliette’s hands shook a little, and she gripped the edge of the desk, gazing away from the Slytherin. “I didn’t lose him, he was taken from me. And they’re trying to call it a fucking accident.” She hissed.

She watched as Mattheo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table with that stupid smirk on his face. His dismissal of her anger was irksome, as if he’d been waiting for it. “There you go, Bishop. Let out the aggression. No use in keeping it bottled up forever. Strength is better than weakness. Be angry.” He even chuckled, which made her insides burn.

Her cheeks flushed a little, brows furrowing in confusion. Was he actively trying to piss her off? “I’m not angry. I’m fucking sad.”

“Sadness is just rage turned inwards.”

“You’re insane.” Juliette scoffed. She rose to her feet, packing the books back into her bag.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” Mattheo stood too, sidestepping to block her escape. Her planner was still clutched in his hand. “You’re allowed to be angry. Merlin knows it’s better than feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel!”

“Out!” Madam Pince had appeared out of nowhere yet again. And despite her whispers, the shrill of her voice still pierced Juliette’s ears. “One week’s ban, both of you.”

Juliette paled. Where else could she go to escape her friends? No, not escape them, just get away for a bit. “Nice going.” She spat, glaring at Mattheo as she tore her planner from his hands on the way out.

She began walking away, but she couldn’t get rid of that nagging voice in her head. Cedric would have handled it better, he handled everything better. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Mattheo was still standing there at the entrance, he seemed to be muttering angrily to himself. Juliette felt a little bad for snapping now, but he shouldn’t have pushed her. And she was not uptight.

She turned back with a sigh, changing course for the Hufflepuff common room. She probably owed her friends a visit by now. If Cedric were here, he’d definitely be smug about her sudden change of heart.

“Shut it, Diggory.”

#jattheo #julie x mattheo #snapshots

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batsplat · 5 months ago

Text

right, by popular demand (a request from @washerdryer), I'm following up this post and just giving a few more details for what you can watch out for to start distinguishing tennis players in your head. how to differentiate the hoards, basically - what makes each tennis player unique. so I've split this up in three basic levels: the numbers, the units, and the shapes

the numbers

so, let's just simplify tennis playstyles as much as it is possible to simplify them, and say we have two types of players: the offensive ones and the defensive ones. the bashers and the pushers. one wants to finish the points on their own racquet, the other one just wants to get the ball back often enough. winning a tennis point is about getting the ball into the court one more time than your opponent. what this means is you can win a point either by putting the ball into a position the opponent can't get it back from, or by waiting until your opponent makes a mistake

when tennis points are coded for purposes of generating stats, point finishes can fall into one of three basic categories:

winner: a ball you hit into the court that the opponent's racquet does not touch, to cleanly win you the point (also includes aces)

unforced errors: a ball you hit that does not make it to your opponent's court, when you could have been expected to make that ball (also includes double faults)

forced errors: a ball you hit that does not make it to your opponent's court, when you have been put under enough duress to 'force' the error

now, you may be wondering how we distinguish between unforced and forced errors, which... it's complicated... it's basically a question of time. if the player had time to reach the ball, if they were in a position on the court where they could hit that ball within a relatively comfortable hitting zone, if they were in a neutral or an offensive position rather than a defensive one, then it's unforced. obviously, this isn't an objective measure, and sometimes whoever is logging in the points is like... either WAY too harsh or far far too generous.... but as a general metric, it's not the worst place to start. now, typically we only get numbers of winners and unforced errors (unless it's a fan-charted match, which we'll get to in a sec), but obviously you can infer the number of forced errors at least. even these basic stats aren't a bad starting point. if someone is playing offensively and taking more risk, it would logically follow that their counts of winners and unforced errors are both higher than for someone playing defensively, right?

let's bring in two players I thought of off the top of my head, and luckily they did not disappoint me here. kasatkina on the left and ostapenko on the right at wimbledon 2021 (this is from flashscore btw):

in the end, penko won this three set match. she won somewhat more points than her opponents - and outperformed her opponent in both service points and return points. what else can these numbers tell us?

well, first of all, penko managed to hit 48 winners vs dasha's *pinches nose* 11. so she tended to play more offensively, or was certainly more effective in doing so. on the flip side, penko hit 48 unforced errors to dasha's 24 - her high risk style inevitably generated more errors than dasha's low risk approach. obviously, in this case that approach took her to victory, despite finishing on double the amount of unforced errors as her opponent. sometimes, the difference between winners and unforced errors is treated as some kind of brute force measure of a match's 'quality' which... I don't love, but of course it's generally a good thing if you're clocking in more winners than unforced errors. dasha ends on (-13) and penko ends on (0), and penko ended up winning the match

what else can we take from this? well, penko came to the net more - and tended to have a very good success rate there. this is a super super rough metric, but I generally feel you want about two thirds success at the net at least, since more often than not you're approaching the net when you're on the offensive and should be winning points. so, y'know, 13 isn't a crazy amount of total net points but it's still fundamentally a job well done. some players don't approach the net at all - and of course it's also reflective of the fact dasha generally wasn't getting herself into positions during the match where she could get to the net. given penko's playstyle, most points will have be conducted on her racquet, where either she bullies around dasha to make an error or she makes an error herself. she's not giving dasha the time to construct rallies in a way that would let dasha gradually navigate herself to the net

and then, of course, there's the most glaring numbers of them all: the serve/return numbers. *pinches nose again* okay. so obviously, the serve is supposed to be a weapon, and especially on grass it is common enough to see 80%, 90% of service points won (if more so on the men's side). these two icons don't believe in that kind of thing, and have even managed to win more points on return than on serve on the most serve-friendly surface. given dasha's impressive returning and her very not impressive serving, I'm guessing this was mainly her fault. there's also a lot of people who will conflate a lot of breaks of serve with a match being 'bad', but those people lack taste. nobody likes a servebot

now, we can add more numbers into the equation. and yes, this is a lot of numbers, but it's all actually quite straightforward, don't run away, we're not going through all of them. this is from ryba vs krej, the wimbledon semi we just had, and is submitted as part of the volunteer-driven match charting project at tennis abstract. what you're seeing are elena's shot types:

so. what you're seeing here is every single shot rybakina hit in that match, and what the result of each and every single one of them was. rybakina hit 257 total shots - of them, 32% ended the point in some way. of those 32%, you get a further breakdown between winners, 11%, forced errors, 8%, and unforced errors, 15%. she hits 133 on the forehand side, and 124 on the backhand - and she was more likely to finish a point on the forehand side than on the backhand side. this is what we would EXPECT to see: for 99% of players, the forehand is a bigger weapon than the backhand. that doesn't mean the forehand is better, and it is often more liable to generating errors, but you can hit the ball harder on that side. the numbers here beyond that are actually a bit quirky... unsurprisingly, rybs was hitting more forehand winners than backhand winners, but in terms of errors the big disparity was in the forced errors tally. now, honestly I don't remember this match enough so this may be bullshit - but just looking at the numbers, my initial guess is that rybs was being forced to run into the forehand corner a lot and krej was extracting errors that way

there's a lot of other details you CAN look at here, but also ryba makes it easy for us by conducting most of her shots from the baseline. 'gs' here stands for 'groundstrokes' so... literally any shot that hits the ground first. she barely went to the net, she wasn't doing much slicing or dropshotting. (I notice the coder made one of her forehand dropshots a forced error, which... I can kinda see how that happens, but to me almost all dropshots are unforced.) some normal volleys, some 'swinging' volleys - also called topspin volleys, which basically looks like your normal groundstroke but without the bit where it touches the ground first

let's quickly bring in what krej was doing:

so, only 23% of shots are point ending, which is what you'd broadly expect - ryba is one of the players with the biggest firepower so she will generally be doing more point ending on her racquet. similarly to ryba, krej has a slight skew to the forehand side, and also has a strong skew towards staying at the baseline. the main thing I'm a teensy bit curious about is how krej ended up with 9 lobs and ryba with only one smash because like?? rybakina is very tall?? but also krej is the prime moonballer on tour, so if that was correctly coded then well done to her lol. the only other thing I wanted to point out is the kind of quirk you can spot through these numbers - krej is one of the big users of the forehand slice in the game, which tends to be an extremely uncommon shot, but she uses 24 times. ryba's 12 also actually feels quite high, but it's also more common to slice when you're getting a slice so that MAY be part of it

tennis has many more numbers that tells you many more things about the matches you're watching - like for instance serve efficacy and how your win % compares on the first serve to the second serve, how often you're getting your first serve in, how often it's an ace, an unreturned serve, a double fault... you'll build up a bit of a frame of reference over time for what counts as 'good' or 'bad' numbers. but, yeah, if one player is hitting a lot of winners and unforced errors and the other one isn't, you can draw some basic conclusions about what kind of player you're watching

the units

okay, so you've got the numbers, which you can also check during matches and will be provided on screen between sets. now we get to the bit where you're actually watching tennis. you basically what to figure out what units, what bits a player's game is composed of. everyone has a serve, everyone has a return, everyone has a forehand and a backhand - but what are they doing with them? how are they using them? where do they tend to win points and where do they tend to lose them? again, part of this will just be about paying attention to what the commentators tell you and try to see if you can spot it for yourself. here are like, some of the basic questions you can watch out for... many you don't need to immediately just spot, but just so you know this is something that is possible to notice:

are they a good server? very tall? good at 'hitting their spots'? do they double fault a lot? can they mix up the spins of their serve - the kick serve (literally kicks up) or slice (slides away from the opponent)? how's their ace rate? how good are they at 'disguising' their serve direction? is it easy to attack their second serve?

how about their return? is there something funky about their return position, are they standing too close or too far away? (most players will be a little bit behind the baseline.) do they change their position depending on whether they're returning first or second serve (typically but not always you'll be closer for the second)? do they get a lot of returns into play? can they attack the second serve? how good are they at 'reading' the opponent's serve?

are they more of an attacking player who attempts to generate their own offence and dominate the point, or a defensive player who is responding to what the opponent is doing and are trying to force them into a mistake? are they a counterpuncher (aka a player who can turn defence into offence)? are they 'aggressive' with their court positioning by standing further forwards? or are they retreating, buying themselves time?

where are they looking to finish points? are they a baseliner and are operating from the back of the court? are they an all courter? are they looking to come in and attack at the net? how's their forecourt game? how are their volleys? do they ever serve and volley (aka immediately follow in the serve to hit the first ball from the net)?

how are their two wings - the forehand and the backhand? how good are they at generating offence from either side? how good are they at defending from either side? is there one side where they're good at hitting 'on the run' shots but not the other? is there one side (typically the forehand) where they can generate more pace but are also more likely to make errors? can they rally consistently from both wins?

what about their variety? now, variety is a bit of a catch all term that describes how many dimensions their game has - but a lot of times it does kinda just mean 'can they slice and volley'. a slice has a different type of spin from your basic ground strokes - especially on the backhand side, it's an important defensive tool, not least to slow the ball down, but can also used offensively. are all the balls they're hitting kinda similar in terms of speed and height and spin? or can they hit their shots flatter, can they change up the spin with slices... can they get forwards and sprinkle in volleys, can they integrate different shots like the dropshot into their game? can they hit high moonballs and find short angles? or is it all just 'see ball bash ball'

how good a mover are they? both in terms of outright speed, up the court and side to side, but also how their balance is, how good they are at anticipating where the opponent will hit the ball, and do on... how flexible are they, can they reach even the unlikeliest balls? how's their endurance? can they defend point after point game after game, or do they eventually falter?

what are they like mentally? do they fold every time they're facing break point? can they actually convert their chances? what are they like at crunch time - late in sets, in tiebreaks, in deciding sets? do they choke away leads? are they clutch under pressure? can they serve out sets and matches?

how do they think they're going to win this match? what's their approach, what's the strategy, what tactics are they deploying, can they adjust these to the match situation? are you watching a player who's thinking their way through rallies, who's following a game plan, or are they just doing whatever?

these aren't questions you need to be engaging with every time you watch a tennis match but, again, they're questions you can ask yourself. not as tricky as it looks!!

the shapes

okay. you get the numbers, you know how the match quite literally is playing out. you've watched the points and can spot what they're actually doing to generate those numbers. now let's go one step further: how are these 'units' being produced? why is it that some serves are better than others? what makes different forehands produce different effects? what makes someone a good mover?

now, obviously, this is like. a massive topic, and I'm not going to give an intro to tennis technique here. but what you really want to do, especially at the start, is spot variance. the photos I included at the top of this post are all from players with techniques that immediately jump out at you for being WEIRD. snigur's forehand looks weird (it's like she's swinging a pan). delbonis' serve looks weird (bizarrely high ball toss). norrie's backhand looks weird (like he's trying to stab someone). obviously, to some extent you can only do this through brute force watching tennis to give yourself a kind of internal, instinctual understanding of what the 'average' shot looks like... but you can also kickstart this process

the thing is, right, you can say that all technique is very complicated, but at the end of the day what it boils down to is you have the bit that happens before they hit the ball, the bit where they're hitting the ball, and the bit after they're hitting the ball. usually, what tennis viewers are responding to when they're watching the sport is some kind of flash aesthetic judgement of that racquet motion. is it a 'short' or a 'long' motion? you can be super concise and compressed with your motion, and only quickly slash at the ball in a direct path, or you can draw a massive loop with your arm like you're simulating a windmill where, after yanking it in a bunch of directions, eventually you make contact with the ball... where is the racquet at the point of contact? generally speaking it should be in front of the body, though how close or far it is can vary quite a lot. and where does the racquet go afterwards?

let's bring in a straightforward example, and check out the forehand techniques of the two most recent women's slam champs - krej on the left and iga on the right

at point of contact, krej has her arm completely extended, while iga's elbow is bent. both are entirely acceptable way of hitting your forehand!! it obviously means both need to move differently to the ball to make sure it's at their preferred distance

if you look at iga's arm, you may also notice all the... bits are kinda pointing in different ways? what you might notice if you watch her a bit is that she draws quite the loop with her forehand, and that a lot of her arm seems to be moving a lot during the stroke. the underlying 'reason' for that is she has quite an extreme forehand grip (called the 'western' grip) which means that the way she holds her racquet essentially requires her to twist around her wrist to make contact with it. so, what's the benefit? why are you doing weird shit with your wrist while hitting the ball? well, iga's forehand also has a lot of topspin - the sharp wrist movement applies an intensive amount of spin to the ball that makes it fly high over the net and bounce high on the other side of the court. it's a very spin-intensive forehand grip - she WHIPS the racquet up to make that ball rotate a shit ton

now, obviously you don't need to get all that just looking at a clip of a player hitting a shot. it's more just... stuff to start paying attention to. how much they're using their arms. how much they're bending their knees. where their racquet is in relation to their body when they hit it. how big the steps they're taking are to get across the court

in conclusion

in conclusion. have fun watching the matches!!

#//#tennis #this is supposed to be an intro guide but (not to be rude) you do feel like a lot of long term fans still can't spot some of this stuff lol #so it's not mandatory. I just think tennis is fundamentally more interesting if you treat it as a puzzle. what's the story of a match #also the quirkier the technique the better

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sugarsnappeases · 6 months ago

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lilyrosekiller after midnight……. on my knees asking for lilyrosekiller after midnight…..

kissing you. thrilled to provide. so this fic is sude @/stillagoodwitch 's fault. bc they told me like back in december that i should write lilyrosekiller based on chappell roan's after midnight and i'm nothing if not at their every beck and call so here we are!!

the general premise is lily having just broken up w james, heading out to a bar wherein she encounters barty and evan....

i posted a snippet a while ago which is basically where the fic has left off since i last tried to write it. am currently Stuck and deeply overthinking every decision i've made w it but basically the gist of what happens next is snogging. then a bar fight which results in the three of them getting kicked out of the bar. then breaking into a building to watch the sunrise from the roof. then fucking on said roof...

and it was also meant to be a fairly speedily-written fic lol but here we are six months later bc i kept getting side-tracked by lily evans' beautiful mind. bc when i say she's just broken up w james, i mean that james was down on one knee in front of her, asking her to marry him. and she said no. and i apparently had rather a lot to say about that.... snippet for your consideration:

Two weeks earlier, after breaking up with James, after the disaster proposal, Lily had packed her things. James had come back to their shared flat with her for some reason, tears still streaming down his face, and for the first time, Lily hadn’t felt the need to comfort him, or try and make him feel better, or take back the decision that felt like the only decision she had ever truly made to suit her own best interests. Instead she had packed her things, just the essentials, she was planning to start afresh and she didn’t want to carry around memories like an endless chain always tying her back to James, she was cutting herself loose. She had looked at James one last time - because they had been together for four years, they had plans together, they had a future mapped out between them, a house and a wedding and a family that Lily didn’t want anymore, maybe had never wanted. She looked at him one last time because there were happy memories too, laughter and adventures and love - she thought there must have been love, surely there was love - and she said goodbye to him. He was sitting on the bed they had shared for the last five months, since they had moved into the flat together for their second year of uni, tear stains on his face and just looking so lost, confused, bewildered maybe, and Lily had said goodbye and walked out without a backwards glance. She feels free again now; she wasn’t sure when she had stopped feeling free, maybe when she had started her degree, medicine, setting out a career path for herself, something that felt like it was set in stone, or maybe when she had started dating James, giggling when people told her they’d look good together instead of hitting them, giving in to expectations and his infuriating persistence, or maybe it was when she had started at Hogwarts, eleven years old with her scholarship and her sister’s jealousy and her parent’s ever-higher standards. At some point, a noose had started to tighten around her neck, a chain around her ankle, endless ropes tangling around her, squeezing at her until she was contorting herself into the shapes that she thought would please the most people, twisted and uncomfortable and painfully unreal no matter how much she tried to convince herself they weren’t.

okay reading this back now it's in need of some edits but you get the vibe. she's cutting loose. she's leaving james behind. she's living in a shitty hotel on the other side of the city and spending most of her evenings going to different bars. she's figuring out what she wants and what she likes. she's forcibly knocked herself off the pedestal that everyone in her life has always put her on and now she's the phoenix rising for the ashes in the aftermath.

and she's coming across barty and evan <3 and they're such a tightknit couple, so incredibly comfortable w each other and they've clearly been together for years and see and know each other in a way that she doesn't feel like she's ever really been seen or known. and they're looking at her across the bar throughout the night, locking eyes w her, seeing her. and she's so drawn to them, pulled into their orbit and like. she's obvs 'wearing that dress and red lipstick' and 'she's been a good, good girl for a long time' and it's 'after midnight' etc etc etc

anyway mwah mwah mwah thank you so much for asking i do love them even if they've been getting on my nerves as of late and i'm hoping that when i have time again things will flow....

#dil tag #after midnight fic

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thesinglesjukebox · 1 month ago

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FKA TWIGS - "EUSEXUA"

youtube

Forever 'til the end of time...

[7.70]

Ian Mathers: First part: I do wish more pop music sounded like its makers had heard "Windowlicker" at least once, yeah. Second part: why does it suddenly feel like we're freefalling without a parachute? Third part: you know what, they should have gone with "braindance" back in the day. [8]

Grace Robins-Somerville: Everyone should burn down their place of work and host a rave inside its charred shell. This song is so fucking good. Twigs can do whatever she wants forever. [9]

Will Adams: The office choreo clip that kept bouncing around my timeline upon the video's release was a fake-out; the stuttering boom-boom beat in the prelude is a separate song entirely, "Drums of Death." "Eusexua" proper is breathtaking in the way the best trance music is: strobing, nervous, euphoric all at once. The titular concept would seem overwrought were it not explicated as flawlessly as Twigs does here. Her voice is suspended in mid-air as the track swirls around her, until everything falls away and she is lifted to that higher state. [9]

Jel Bugle: It’s ponderous, and I had to google what "eusexua" is: "a state of being" and "the pinnacle of human experience." I didn’t really get to the summit of human experience with this one – it’s kinda Perrie Edwards x Yeule, and I feel this leaves a sort of electronic slop. Maybe it’s the kind of thing that gets played in a club, rather than on a cold drizzly afternoon, The last 40 seconds are good, where it’s more disjointed and ethereal. That should have been the whole song. [5]

Katherine St. Asaph: Putting my editor's cap on: Twigs used 167 words to describe the indescribable "eusexua" when one word existed and would suffice, "ecstasy." Zero words, even, would suffice: the last part of this song. [8]

Mark Sinker: Listening to this engenders a state of being and the description of that state of being is: pleasant! In a somewhat nervous and spooky way! It’s not really a new state of being though, because I’ve heard other songs by FKA Twigs. It seems a vaguely needless pressure for everyone to invent a whole new word for it. [7]

Taylor Alatorre: FKA Twigs is bad at naming things, including herself, but this is known. The syllables comprising "Eusexua" are an obstacle of her own making, which is apt for a song that portrays its (unfortunately) titular feeling as a state that must be fought and clawed for, even against one's better judgment. As depicted, the ascent to transcendence is a rather bumpy one, speckled with earthly crevices and frictions -- those chittering little clacks against the temple are what deny us an early exit from crass materiality. Twigs dances around her definitions because she knows that, despite what she says at one point, to transcribe would only tether her down further. She trusts in her voice, and its wide range of contortions, to do the real semantic lifting, and the trust pays itself back. Our reward for following her on this ersatz Eightfold Path is a guiltless surrender to the simple joys of trance, not in scare quotes but in full hands-up glory. It can't last forever, of course, but just long enough to have made the journey worth it under any name. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Maybe my standards are too high for her — at this point, I expect masterworks from Twigs every time, songs that will stop you in your tracks through novel stylistic choices or sheer emotive weight. "Eusexua" is instead merely a case of well-executed contemporary sophistipop, hitting all of the right semi-nostalgic synth tones and rhythms to feel like a moment of ecstasy on the dancefloor. Even when it slows down I don't get any more out of it; she phones it in a little, which is to say she does better than most working pop musicians. [7]

Nortey Dowuona: I already felt constantly alone. It's my own damn fault. I'm getting older, so it's my job to fix it. That is when you reach eusexua. You finally hit the end of your excuses, rationalizations, punching up and down and delusions, and you swim free into your own eusexua. Fear is a common process -- it happens often when others are trying to drown you with their own despair -- but fear not; eusexua is here for them too. Look past yourself to see the despair and regret you constantly feel just for existing reflected in another's eyes; pull them too into eusexua. Eusexua will be our freedom, our community, our life. You will not have to be rich, you will not have to be handsome, you will be healed of your disabilities and difficulties, you will need no power or gratification, you will become part of us, and be a greater whole that will have you complete and loved. You will finally have help. [10]

Alfred Soto: Putting aside my FKA Twigs skepticism was easy: I'm a sucker for boom-clap stutterbeats. She channels K-pop and Fever Ray for the sake of inhabiting a reasonable facsimile of euphoria. She's always been reasonable. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#fka twigs #eusexua #music #music writing #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

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bebepac · 2 years ago

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Six Sentence Sunday 03.26.23

Ooooh. Boy.. Here we go. Some of you all may remember this chick. Well she’s back messing with stuff again. I apologize in advance for some of the snippets you’re going to see today.

Things I’ve written lately:

The Cordonian Arrangement: Shattered Heart

The Cordonian Arrangement: Memories of You

The Vampires Live On: Part 3

Original Post: 03/26/23 at 8:01PM EST

The Book: TRR Chapter 8: Garden Party Photo Op Series: The Life Of Riley: Book 2 Pairings: Liam x Riley Status: Still in the writing process.

Special Request fic :) and has a companion chapter to Heroes and Villians

She smiled when she woke up yet again, amongst the soft plush covers and mattress that felt like she was sleeping on clouds. Opening her eyes, she glanced around the ornately decorated room. Waking up there every morning always felt like she was in a dream. She jumped up ,from her bed running over to the balcony, throwing open the doors, as if she expected the gardens below not to be visible. But it was, every single morning. She had been in Cordonia a little more than three weeks; the ending of the first week at the palace where she was participating in Prince Liam’s social season. She was living her own Cinderella story thanks to Prince Liam Rys, who after spending the night with her in New York, asked her to come visit him in Cordonia for a week, and then asked her to stay..

She was not the only one living their own Cinderella story that had Liam to thank. A young Nicolas Karahalios had everything he owned packed in a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and was standing at the palace gates waiting for entry.

“Full name, and state your business at the palace.”

“Karahalios, Nicolas A. I’m training for the Kingsguard.”

The sentry took out a clip board and scrolled through the names. Nico sighed in relief when the guard picked up a pen and checked his name off the list.

“Right on time, head through those double doors there to take your photo for your level two identification, and from there, you’ll go to uniforms for your cadet attire.”

“Thank you.”

“Good luck, kid.” The guard nodded to him, opening the gate.

“Thank you, Sir!”

Nico slid the strap of his bag up higher on his shoulder and stood in amazement as the palace gates opened for him. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Nico was officially on palace soil for the first time.

“Come in Maxwell!” Riley said when she heard his knock.

Maxwell smiled as he walked through the door.

“You know, we have to stop meeting this way.”

Maxwell laughed but the door remained open for Bertrand to walk through. Riley tried to hide her annoyance.

“Yes Bertrand, what did I do wrong now?”

He looked her over.

“Nothing that I can tell as of yet, but you did just wake up, which already means you have a late start.”

“Still getting used to the time difference.”

“That didn’t matter last night when you were at the dive bar drinking with Drake Walker acting like you’re still a college student.”

“You’re acting like your brother Maxwell wasn’t there too.”

“Little Blossom! Way to throw me under the bus!”

“I feel like I’m the only one taking this whole arrangement seriously, keeping you two in check is like herding cats.”

“Meow.”

Maxwell chuckled.

“Do not encourage her Maxwell.”

The Book: TRR Part 4: The Vampires Live On Series: The Vampires Live On Pairings: Liam x Riley (in this decade) Gabriel x Alice in the past. Status: Still in the writing process.

Gabriel consoled me as I cried.

“Are you happy we made it here?”

“Very happy. I promise these are happy tears. I felt like I was robbed of the opportunity to give her a proper goodbye.”

Gabriel looked visibly hurt by my words. I grabbed his arm to reassure him.

“It was not your fault, you did what you had to do to keep me safe, to keep us safe. I understand why you did it. Though, it still does not sway how I felt and have felt all of these years. The world should be more evolved, and it’s not. And because it wasn’t, I couldn’t even say a proper farewell to my sister, when I really needed to do it.”

“The world never changes. Yes, there is a lot more technology now that has made life remarkably easier, but the core of people… never change. I have walked this earth for long enough to realize that.”

“The things you’ve seen I can’t even imagine, especially in the earlier years.”

“Yes, it was quite a different time. I must leave for a little bit, but I will return shortly, then we will go out for dinner.”

From the time Gabriel left to the time he returned all I had thought about was Clara and the picture of the two of us.

“I have a present for you.”

He held out a small wrapped box for me to take.

“What is this?”

“Something you really wanted, and deserved to have.”

“This is so sweet.”

When I tore open the box, inside, was the framed picture of me and Clara.

“Gabriel….”

“You deserve more than just to see Clara in only your dreams. This picture should lie with her family and now it does, and if you look closely, you can see Maxwell in it as well, and he’s looking at Clara, smiling.”

“He loved her so much.”

“He did. And you can see it as clear as day here.”

The Book: TRF Part 8: Where Do We Go From Here? The Series: The Cordonian Arrangement Pairings Former Riley x Nico (Riley X M!OC) Liam x Riley? Status: Still in the writing process.

It was barely dawn and the sun was only creeping slightly through the windows. When she moved, his embrace tightened, pulling her back close to him, leaning in, to kiss her neck. Still waking from her slumber, it felt like a typical morning that she had lived every day when waking in his arms was commonplace. Riley moaned softly as he continued to gently nibble her neck, pressing her body into his.

“Let’s stay in bed. Don’t go…." she mumbled in her sleep. “Stay with me.”

“Always.”

His voice made her immediately leave that place of pre woke slumber to soberingly wide awake, quickly pulling away from him.

“Liam….”

Fully awake, all the memories of the last few months, and from last night flooded back to her in a wave.

Observing the shock and almost disappointment in her eyes, shielding her bare body from him with the sheet, Liam knew.

“That wasn’t intended for me, was it?”

She didn’t want to lie to him, and she couldn’t look him in the face either.

“No… I’m…. sorry….” She headed towards the door still draped in the sheet from the bed.

“Riley, we need to talk about this. There’s a reason you came to me last night. It felt right for us to be together that way.”

“For a brief second, this morning I forgot the horror that has been these last 3 months that has been my life. Last night, I was lonely… I wanted to feel…. Connected to someone again. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No… I don’t regret it… but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a mistake. It was a mistake Liam. We have way too much history for me to think that you would simply be okay with this.”

“We made love last night Riley.”

“We… didn’t. It was just sex. I’m still in love with my husband.” Glancing down at her ring on her finger that she was still wearing.

“Your husband is dead.”

Riley gasped in shock. Liam immediately wanted to take the words back.

“Who are you?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like it came out Riley. Forgive me, I didn’t mean it Riley. I promise you I didn’t.”

“Get out of my house.”

“Riley…. We’re supposed to take Angelo to the zoo today.”

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!!!!”

#bebepac writes #six sentence sunday #always more than six #cfwc sunday six #the cordonian arrangement #the vampires live on #the life of riley #riley goes to cordonia #heroes and villans #choices fanfiction #trr fanfic #trr fandom #liam x riley #riley x nico #liam and riley throughout the centuries

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moonlightbeamu · 3 months ago

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I've been working on a personal project that I wanted to yap about a little bit. This will be a bit long-winded, but it's my damn blog and I don't really care if anyone reads, to be honest.

Anyway, a few years back I bought a Sailor Moon season 1 DVD set from a Japanese-owned rental shop that was liquidating its stock. I was hoping it'd be a copy of the JP DVD set, but it turned out to be an exact copy of Viz's monstrosity from 2014. For anyone who doesn't know, that set is infamously terrible. The picture is ROUGH. Here's an example frame to show just how bad it is:

Like... what's even going on here? First of all, the aspect ratio is wrong. It's got what you might call "pillar boxing." Basically, they've embedded the 4:3 frame into a 16:9 canvas. In this case, it's an obvious sign that this set is a downscale of their blu-ray version (Which is its own nightmare). On blu-ray, this is correct practice since the BD standard only supports 16:9. On DVD, this results in the picture losing ~30% of the horizontal resolution, as well as rendering it unplayable on a traditional 4:3 display- ya know, the type of display this content was literally created to be played on.

The luma and chroma (lighting and colors) are also terrible. But not terrible in the usual "DVD copy of a broadcast VHS from 1992" way- that would be a significant upgrade from this- but in a, "how did you manage to include several types of degradation from various different types of sources?!" way. Here's an example of what it should look like:

This frame is from Viz's Pokemon DVD box set that was released around the same time. It's literally just a digital copy of a VHS from 1998. It's dull, blurry, and beautiful. There is very slight pillar boxing as an artifact of the telecine process (The tape was made by literally shooting a projector screen with a 90s TV camera). Note the significantly higher resolution compared to the Sailor Moon shot, as well as the more accurate colors. THIS is how you'd expect Sailor Moon to look on DVD. But... it doesn't?

Somehow the SM shot shows significant red shift (Colors are SIGNIFICANTLY redder than they're supposed to be), which you'd expect from film assets that had been stored improperly over long periods of time. Yet we know from Viz's statements at the time that they weren't allowed to use the film assets... Which is why it looks so shit, according to them... But then they'd be giving us a scan of, presumably, a betamax tape from 1992 (Japan was big on beta). But that would look significantly better than what they released? So how does a beta tape end up with film degradation? Unless Viz is saying that Toei literally created a brand new telecine of aged, badly-stored film to give them in 2014?

For comparison, here's my attempt to "fix" the SM footage for my own personal use:

It's not perfect, but it's significantly better. I was able to do this using free software in my spare time. How did Viz fuck up so badly? Is it really Toei's fault like they said? It's truly one of the great mysteries of anime fandom.

#sailor moon #long post #text post #anime #av nerd shit

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rosemaryblogs · 6 months ago

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Muzan Kibutsuji Character Study

Short story based off a Muzan time travel AU fic that I wrote a while back- might be a bit confusing :,)

Tomioka Giyuu was scared. He would be too late. Sightings of a powerful demon had been reported, and there were so many innocent families in this village. He was going to be late again. He was always late.

As he was running up through the snowy peaks he sees blood covering the snow. So. Much. Blood. He truly was too late again. Just like with Sabito and Tsutako. He’s always too late. But he still must avenge those who have been slaughtered.

And there he saw a demon with short black hair and plum red eyes dressed in a gold trimmed suit, holding a katana to his own neck. Cutting his head off over and over again, only for it to regenerate before it could even disappear. He was crying, Giyuu realizes. He was trying to kill himself. But why it wasn’t working confused him. A demon should be dead after having their neck cut with a nichirin blade. Maybe this demon felt guilt for killing an innocent family. Or maybe he was simply insane.

Cautiously, Giyuu approached the demon who was sitting on an Eastern facing cliff, staring out at the dim sky.

“What are you doing?” Asks Giyuu warily, pointing his blade at the demon.

“Waiting for the Sun to rise,” the demon comments with a small smile, “or trying to die before then. I am still as much of a coward as ever, wanting to die painlessly. It’s pathetic, is it not?”

Giyuu’s eyebrows raise at how composed the demon seems. Not just does he have incredible regeneration but the ability to speak freely and eloquently as well. Strange. He doesn’t respond.

“Would you like to try?” The demon asks with a hopeful smile, gesturing to Giyuu’s blade, “to kill me, I mean.”

“Is it likely I’ll succeed?” Giyuu asks in defeat, fist clenched around the hilt of his katana to which the demon only laughs ruefully.

“No.”

“I expected that much,” Giyuu says with a grim expression, “why is it you want to die? Because you slaughtered an innocent family tonight?”

“Huh?” The demon asks, quirking his head to the side, “oh, you’re referring to the blood. That’s all my own.”

Giyuu pales. Even for a demon, that much blood means he’s tried to slice his neck at least 100 times. Even if he has an uncanny ability to regenerate, there’s no way he can’t feel the pain.

“How long until sunrise now?” The demon asks calmly, his red eyes gazing off into the sky, “it shouldn’t be long now.”

“No, not long at all,” Giyuu replies coldly, “you never answered my question, demon.”

“Oh, I suppose I didn’t,” he chuckles wryly, “there are many reasons. Not that you’d believe them. You see, somehow, I found myself in the past. Once, before this time, I did slaughter the family on this mountain. I slaughtered all the hashira, save for you and the one who was riddled with scars. All the slayers, all the demons, dead. Every death my doing. You know, I came to terms with my actions and stepped into the sunlight on my second loop. I thought that would give me closure. I thought I could give the slayers hope by sending the one who killed me back in time so she could kill me before all of this happened. But I suppose that wasn’t enough to appease the gods for my sins. So I stand here to face the sunlight as many times as it takes.”

Giyuu ponders his words for a moment, taking in the demon’s outlandish claims.

“I did not know demon’s believed in a higher power,” Giyuu settles on, choosing not to address the death’s the demon had spoke of.

“I did not, once,” the demon concludes quietly, “but sometimes it takes coming face to face with that you cannot accept in order to comprehend it.”

“I see.”

There is silence until Giyuu speaks up, turning to face the demon.

“What is your name, demon? You speak of events that have not occurred as if they are all your fault,” Giyuu speaks in contemplation, “that is a heavy belief to carry with you. I find you intriguing.”

“You would no longer wish to speak with me if you knew who I was, Tomioka Giyuu,” replies the demon sadly.

Giyuu flinches, shocked that this demon actually knows who he is, regaining his composure.

“You do not know that,” decides Giyuu, fixing the demon with a calculated gaze, “besides, you will die anyways.”

“That is true,” the demon murmurs with a twinge of something almost resembling guilt in his voice, “my name is Kibutsuji Muzan.”

Giyuu’s face remains calm, having been expecting this answer,

“You do not appear surprised,” notes Muzan simply, “what gave you the impression?”

“Your regeneration, appearance, and the deaths you claimed you caused,” Giyuu answers resolutely with a voice masking all the unanswered questions he still has.

“Yes, that makes sense.”

There is silence once again, home only to the sounds of the rustling fir trees, the crunch of snow, and the birds flitting in between trees.

“Why are you like this?” Giyuu asks finally, “why are you a demon who leads so cruelly and harmfully?”

“I was once sick,” Muzan says, causing Giyuu to flinch in surprise, “I was only 18 and I’d never been able to go outside- I was dying. I coughed up blood constantly, I could hardly move nor breath. My life was miserable. But my family was wealthy so they got me a doctor. He experimented on me, a mad scientist of sorts. So when I was on the brink of death, I killed him- as a human- in a fit of rage. And I took his damned unfinished medicine. I ended up the way I am now. I killed my family, everyone who worked in that estate. I was starving and high on power. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Giyuu says nothing, face unwavering despite the storm raging in his mind. He masks his emotions so easily.

“I don’t know how to explain the way I lead,” continues Muzan solemnly, “the simplest way to explain it is simply that I am a coward. I fear what I don’t understand, I shun it, I hate it, I purge it. I could not understand love. So I cut it out of my mind, of my life. And I killed all those that displayed that sickly affection and emotion. I destroyed them. I suppose the time at which I came to terms with the monster I had become was when I first felt love. For the woman who sent me to grave. I cannot say whether or not it was unrequited, but even if she forgave me, I could not bring myself to chase after someone I’d hurt so badly. Maybe in another life I will see her again.”

Giyuu is at a loss for words. This monster is far more conscious than he would’ve thought. He supposed that much time to yourself would have that effect.

“If it helps, I do not view you as a monster, Kibutsuji Muzan.”

“You know, we aren’t that different, you and I.”

And with those words Muzan spreads his arms out to great the sun and fades to ashes until nothing off him remains. And with him, every other demon disappears from existence, leaving Giyuu to stare at the place where the man once sat and mull over his words. Maybe they were more true than he’d like to think. Maybe he should heed the words of the one who once ruined his life.

—-

“Hey, hey Tomioka-san, I’m talking to you!” Shinobu complains, poking him in the side, “you know, it’s not very nice to ignore people. Hey Tomioka-sa-“

“Ah, apologies Kocho, I was thinking about something, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Giyuu comments absentmindedly, “I was wondering, would you ever want to go out to eat somewhere?”

-Fin-

#muzan kibutsuji #fanfic #short story #demon slayer #giyuu tomioka #kny #dskny #character study

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bazzpop · 1 year ago

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Fire Away Like Never Before

Contains spoilers for S2E4 (1941 minisode)

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Crowley had experience with holding guns—probably not with the correct form and he’d only really held them in passing—but that was about as far as his experience with guns went.

He wasn’t familiar with how they worked at all, never really bothering to learn how to use one, but he knew how to make it look like he did. Which, in hindsight, probably made it his own fault when Aziraphale assumed he knew how to handle a firearm well enough to help him perform the infamous Bullet Catch.

And so, there he was, sitting in the middle of a crowd, waiting for Aziraphale to take to the West End stage after the Ladies of Camelot finished up their dance routine.

Aziraphale had picked Crowley out of the crowd and called him up to the stage, even though he’d kept his hand down during the call for a volunteer with experience—not because he didn’t want to help the angel, but because he genuinely didn’t have the experience required to perform this trick.

In the end, Crowley went willingly, though being a part of the act gave him a better opportunity to get a laugh out of the whole ordeal if this went as bad as he thought it would—Nefertiti fooling aside, Aziraphale’s record as a magician was lackluster at best—but it turned out so, so much worse than previously expected, completely unrelated to Aziraphale’s skills.

It wasn’t until the show got underway that they’d found, much to their shared horror, that their miracles weren’t working. So much for breaking Aziraphale’s one-miracle-limit, or having a solid backup plan altogether.

Now Crowley would be expected to actually shoot point-blank at Aziraphale without miracles at his disposal if something went wrong. Great.

“It’s perfectly simple,” Aziraphale whispered, close enough for Crowley to feel the angel’s breath on his cheek, “aim for my mouth but shoot past my ear.”

“I just squeeze that bit there, do I not?” Crowley muttered from the corner of his mouth, pointing towards the trigger.

A mix of disbelief and genuine concern flashed in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Haven’t you ever fired a gun before?”

“Not as such,” Crowley enunciated slowly, clearing his throat to cover the underlying nerves in his voice. “Now how d’you use it?”

“Keep your hands steady and pull the trigger on my mark,” Aziraphale said with a forced confidence in his tone that did little to help Crowley feel better about the situation, “there’s nothing to it.”

“Aziraphale, are you sure about this?” Crowley stressed, glasses slipping down enough to show Aziraphale the barely controlled fear within his eyes.

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed, turning back to address the audience in a louder voice, “Now if you would… load the bullet into the gun.”

Crowley grunted, nearly dropping the bullet as his fingers slipped around the smooth metal. Sweat ran down his face as he fed the bullet into the gun, a combination from stress and the heat coming off the bright stage lights above them. He cursed under his breath, shoving his glasses up higher so that he wouldn’t be totally blinded by the spotlight.

He couldn’t afford to fuck this up if Aziraphale was dead-set of going through with this. Without miracles, no less, and as powerless as a real human magician was. There was loads more at stake here than what Crowley—or either of them, really—signed up for.

“That’s right,” Aziraphale encouraged.

Crowley raised the loaded gun up for the audience to see and, with a false sense of enthusiasm, announced “Bullet loaded!”

“Yes, thank you.” Aziraphale drew the crowd’s attention back onto himself while Crowley tried to calm down.

The last thing he needed to do was be in full-blown panic attack mode by the time he needed to focus and fire. These humans better enjoy this show, he thought miserably, not even bothering to pay attention as Aziraphale explained what was about to happen to their mildly eager audience.

“Are you ready, sir?” Aziraphale managed to regain Crowley’s attention, beseeching eyes wide.

Crowley grimaced, but gave a half-nod.

“When you hear my signal, sir, shoot.”

“No,” Crowley mouthed with a wince, baring his teeth, and hesitantly raised the firearm into what he thought was the proper position.

It was a last ditch effort to get Aziraphale to call off this stupid trick before he could get hurt. He really didn’t want to be responsible for blasting Aziraphale in the face if this all went as wrong as he feared it would.

But Aziraphale didn’t back down.

Instead, he stood at his full height and faced Crowley head on, allowing himself to be entirely at the demon’s mercy. And for Crowley’s eyes only, he mouthed “Trust me.”

Panic crashed into Crowley’s chest before he had the chance to tamper it back down before Aziraphale started the countdown.

“Ready…”

Crowley sucked in a breath, heart pounding in time to the drum-roll.

“Aim…”

Crowley stopped breathing entirely as he found it to be doing more harm than good, making him shake even worse while he tried to be as steady and precise as possible.

And now, staring down the barrel of a rifle at Aziraphale’s cherubic face, hands shaking against his will as he tried his best to stay on target; Crowley put his trust in Aziraphale, the same way Aziraphale had put his trust in him.

With a thick swallow, he shakily moved his finger closer to the trigger and, for the first time since his Fall, prayed that their mutual trust in each other wasn’t in vain.

“Fire!” Aziraphale exclaimed, closing his eyes with a barely concealed wince.

Crowley fired, quickly pulling off to the right at the last second, and shot just past Aziraphale’s ear.

No paperwork; Crowley’s chest stuttered back to life at the same time Aziraphale peeked an eye open, unscathed, and revealed a bullet between his teeth.

The universe must have been looking out for the both of them that night on the West End stage.

Full Fic, 2.6k words here

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens fanfiction #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #crowley #aziraphale #flash fiction #flash fic friday #flash fiction friday #good omens 1941 #bazz writes

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