#I'll add proper tags later | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vulpixisananimal · 25 days

Text

(You run down the stairs two at a time, taking the lead as usual. What WAS that sadness anyawy?!? The Sadness that appeared because of The King were more intelligent, had plans, but the King was gone, and so sadness you'd find now would just be, normal, animalistic. But this one was smart, AND it could freeze time!)

<Doesn't matter, we have a job to do.>

(You get to the main room. It's a mess. Tables were overturned, Odile was frozen in time, Bonnie was against the far wall and Nille was protecting them. The door was ripped from the wall, and Isabeau was nowhere to be seen.)

(The sadness loomed over Pétronille, who, seeing you walk down, got distracted, looking right at you. The sadness took the chance, and flung her across the room.)

"S-SIS!!" (Bonnie screamed, looking over, Nille wasn't moving.)

"I-I'll unfreeze madame-" (Mirabelle starts.)

"Don't!" <You interrupt.> "She'll likely fight us, we can't risk it."

"'Frin!!" <Bonnie calls to you. They're trying to slip away from the sadness while it was distracted.>

(I. . . Alright, don't go crazy with looping, please.)

<Alright. You reach down out of habit and take those singing stones and place them in your ear. You hear music.>

"Siffrin?" <Ramos looks over to you.> "What are. ."

(You want to know, too.)

<. . . Habit, you think. That's what you would do in the play, right? Place stones in your ears before each grand battle- >

(Alright alright, just focus.)

"Ready?" <You ask, drawing your dagger. Mirabelle draws her sword, and you see Ramos take a ready stance.>

"H-huh?!?" <Ramos exclaims.> "What blinding type IS it anyways!"

"I don't know, b-but. . ." <Mirabelle clapped her hands together, you feel a warmth wash over you. Good.> "We'll figure it out!"

(Don't you know combat crafts?!?)

(Blinding- tag in please now THANK you!!)

(The wave of nausea passes as you jump back. You snap your fingers, feeling your feet get lighter in an instant. What do you MEAN you don't know combat crafts!!)

(The sadness screamed, it's sharp, needle arms formed into hands and they clapped together- wait. Paper sign, scissors sign, two crafts?)

(Mirabelle rushed forward with her rapier, striking at the sadness. The blow bounced off, harmless.)

<Something's wrong.>

(Huh?)

(From the side, Bonnie rushed in with their pan, bonking the sadness before running past you and behind you.) "F-frin!!! 'Frin there's, there's something wrong with Nille!"

(Be nice!) "What happened?"

"S-she was, acting really weird, and, a-and looking for you and, tried to grab me when I said no and-"

"Eyes up Sif!!" (Ramos yells, throwing up a scissors sign and slowing down the sadness.) "Talk after!"

"There might not be an after!!" (Stars, should have phrased that better for Bonnie.)

(Siffrin time. Okay, so if it's scissors and paper, then you should. . . You make a first and strike! There we go! Damage!! Proper damage!! The sadness roared in anger.)

"FINALLY, progress!!" (Ramos cheered.)

"Careful though!! I-it might change it's typing but I know we can do it!!!" (Mira adds. She looks focused, cheering you on. You feel stronger.)

(What makes you say that?)

(Ramos time, they strike at the sadness with a fist sign, just like yours, it hit a weakness. You were getting back in the groove. You could win this!)

(The sadness stumbled to a knee. It looked at you with loathing. It stood up and struck a needle like arm into the earth.)

(+80% recovered.)

"WHAT?!?"

"Oh that is SO unfair!!"

"STUPID CRABBING SADNESS!!"

(You didn't- UGH! FINE!!) "Hey!! Over here, crabface!!" (The sadness turned to look at you. You gave a wink to Ramos, who took the chance and strikes at the sadness while its back was turned.)

(The sadness screamed, turned, and slapped Ramos away with a powerful paper craft. K.O.ed.)

"Ramos!!" (Mirabelle yells. She looks to the sadness, then to the collapsed ally, then to you. She doesn't know what to do.)

"Just, just focus on-" (You start to respond, Mirabelle shrieks, alerting you. You look back and the sadness was right in your face. It stares at you. It's eyes, those eyes.)

(It looks at you with, disgust, with, betrayal. In anger, confusion, and, and. . .)

(You can't move.)

<Siffrin- >

(Your mind is freezing up. Your body. You're. You. Can't. You, you. . .)

<. . .>

<. . . We're dead.>

<. . . . You can still hear me.>

<. . . . .>

<. . . . . . . . . . .>

<. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Try again.>

#this is no normal sadness #isat #in stars and time #art #isat art #isat fanart #isat spoilers #siffrin system au #isat au #sifstem #isat siffrin #isat fanfic #isat ramos #isat bonnie #isat mirabelle #isat null

59 notes · View notes

synamartia · 5 months

Text

GUYS I SWEAR I'M TRYING TO FINISH SMUTMUS. I just can't stop myself from adding new things each time I try to enter the final editing stage 😭 I keep telling myself to save some bits for future stories, but fuck! It's getting too good for me to stop~ 😉 and then I get on here and get inspired to add something else, which throws me back a couple steps cause I'm trying to make sure it flows properly. SOMEONE TAKE AWAY MY PHONE- *gets smacked down*

Btdubs I've used the word "tongue" WAY too many times so if anyone could help me with synonyms or alternative ways to describe the tongue that'd be great 🥲

Be prepared though, once it's done and posted, I'mma take some time to respond to messages/comments/reblogs, catch up on some reading *looks at Hazel, Mink, & Danny* and write ESSAYS on every little detail! Yall might wanna put me on mute when that happens 🤣

I'll come back and add proper CW tags to all the teasers I release later, but for now (and just as a general rule of thumb with anything I post): MDNI! And jsyk, it WILL BE WORTH IT. I've doubled my word count from the original nine parts, and it's still growing. So. Y'know.

GET 👏 READY 👏 FOR 👏 10K+ 👏 WORDS 👏 OF 👏 ABSOLUTE 👏 FILTH 👏👏👏👏

Quickly, you turned your head and pushed yourself up. “No! No, I can…” you paused for a moment to stifle a yawn. The incident that led to all of this occurred near the end of your work day, so you were already fairly tired when this started. The unexpectedly hard orgasm wasn't helping any, but the promise of even more kept you going. Besides, you couldn't be the only one having fun here. That wouldn't be fair. “... I can keep going. I wanna keep going,” you insisted, lowering your leg as you pushed yourself up straight, turning to face him fully now. “For you.” You added, staring up at him with an amorous look that made his breath hitch in his throat for a moment. Cautiously, you raised your hands to gently cradle his face, standing on your tip toes so you could place a soft peck on his smiling lips.

Lowering yourself to stand proper now, you began to trace your hands down his neck and chest, not missing the way his muscles still tensed at your touch. It was going to take some time, you realized, to get him to a point where he welcomes your touch rather than shies away from it. You hoped that he would give you that time; outside of this incident that you so clumsily caused, of course. When your hands reached the waistband of his pants, you looked up at him and waited for his permission to continue - something small and near insignificant but nevertheless something he still appreciated. He would have to reward you for that later. Nodding his head, Alastor watched you as you slowly pushed both his trousers and briefs down past his hips, his aching cock springing from its prison and slapping lightly against his lower abdomen. He looked away for a moment, unable to hide his growing discomfort with being so bare in front of another person. Gently, you pressed on his jaw with your left hand to bring his narrowed eyes back to your face. “Hey,” you called. “You can trust me, Alastor,” you assured him, knowing full well that was only part of the problem. Mouth twitching, Alastor stared at you as you leaned in to place tender kisses to his chest, your eyes never once leaving his face as you lowered yourself to your knees before him. “I promise,” you spoke softly, hands tracing the defined muscles of his abs and gliding along the dips of his pelvic v. Bringing one hand down to rest on his thigh, your other gently wrapped around the base of his cock. Humming softly as you smiled up at him, you rubbed your cheek against his length, then grazed your lips over his leaking tip. “I just want to make you feel good,” you continued to assure him, not missing the shaky sigh he gave in response to your touches. Experimentally, you let the tip of your tongue dart past your lips and against his crying slit, his entire body tensing as one of his hands moved to tangle within your tresses while you continued to deliver kitten licks to his sensitive tip. You stared up at Alastor with such innocence in your big doe eyes; he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from forcing his cock as far down your throat as it could go. “Is that okay?” You asked after a couple more licks to his slit. “Will you let me make you feel good, Alastor?” You asked him so sweetly, voice dripping with honey as his name rolled off your devilish tongue. You really knew how to push his buttons. With a drawn out moan vibrating through his chest, you barely had time to fully open your mouth as he pushed his hips forward and guided your head down until your nose brushed against the carmine strands at his base, his head tilting back at the long anticipated sensation finally washing over him as he breathed out a singular, “Yes!”

#smutmus #smutmus teaser #synamartia #alastor smut #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #syn speaks #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel smut

92 notes · View notes

feyhunter78 · 3 months

Note

the way your jon snow fic has the most VICOUS hold on me. like i love it so much you have no idea. please please add me to that tag list! also whens the next part coming out i beg to know.

I can do that, and I'll do ya one better and drop the next chapter right here!!!!!

Chapter Eleven - Another marriage, and now a few moons later Queen Margaery has settled into her throne and it is time to celebrate her nameday with yet another feast, this time in Highgarden.

Ch 12

When your Uncle Jamie—really your only uncle now, as your Uncle Robert is long dead—slips back inside your aunt’s solar, he seems different, withdrawn, and pensive. You blame it on the death of his eldest child, wishing to not worry about whatever he and Jon spoke of. Though you know he is not so broken up about Joffrey’s death, he never truly liked the boy.

Your aunt is calm now, only a few stray tears and sniffles, Tommen curled in her lap. Your grandsire sitting in a chair his back ramrod straight, your father standing by your side as you lean against the table, your eyes on the large windows overlooking the Keep.

“We must uncover the assassins and hold a proper funeral for the king.” Your aunt says, her arms wrapped tightly around Tommen.

“We must write to Myrcella first; she needs to know of Joffrey’s death from us, not strangers.” You argue.

“No, we must secure the safety of all members of the royal family.” Your uncle says, his arms folded across his chest.

Your grandsire sighs. “You are all wrong, first we must arrange for Lady Margaery to marry Tommen and place Tommen on the throne, we cannot waste time, every second he does not sit on the Iron Throne more schemes to take it from him are hatched.”

“He is barely half her age.” Cersei protests.

You look at your father, this must be part of the plan, though you do not understand how, it must be. Besides, Tommen is a sweet boy, he will not harm her, nor will Margaery harm him.

“Grandsire is right, we cannot allow the Tyrells to slip from our fingers.” You say, earning a look of approval from your grandsire, one you so rarely get.

So now you stand in the crowd once more, dressed less lavishly than you were for Joffrey’s wedding, watching as Tommen and Margaery say their vows. The affair is duller, quieter, Margaery of course looks beautiful, but you cannot find it in yourself to be joyous. Your father has not explained how this is part of the plan. The wedding has happened, the vows were said, how is she to marry Robb while Tommen still lives? Perhaps an annulment? It would make sense; Tommen is far too young; no bedding will happen until he is of age. But it does not make sense in terms of succession.

You wring your hands, trying to piece together some way Robb can take the throne while Tommen still lives. Then the ceremony is over, the feasting and dancing commences, and Tommen seems…happy. That is truly all you want for him, happiness, but there is a cloud hanging over you that you cannot shake.

As you disperse with the rest of the crowd, a tall, dark-haired, olive-skinned man steps into your view, his fine clothing colorful and cut in a distinct fashion.

“Lady y/n, may I have this dance?” Lord Oberyn Martell extends his hand, and you take it, giving him a gracious smile.

Myrcella has written of Oberyn, of his quick wit, of the way he dotes on his daughters, how he cares greatly for nieces and nephews, and though he still holds her at a distance he is not unkind to her. Despite all that she still warns you to be wary of him, that he earned the name Red Viper for a reason.

The song is familiar, the steps easy, and you fall in line with the other dancers, gliding and turning on beat, the melodious strings accompanied by clear toned woodwinds invoking the image of young lovers enjoying a spring day.

“Your cousin speaks highly of you.” Lord Oberyn says, his words far more accented than Jon’s, but still clear as day.

“I do miss her.” You twirl then return within his arm’s reach.

“Trystane takes good care of her I can assure you; I have never seen a young man more smitten than him” There is a look on his face, one of mischief, and he gracefully inclines his head towards Jon. “Though your White Wolf could put up a fair fight.”

“He is devoted, as a sworn sword should be.” You say nonchalantly, before attempting to turn the conversation back to Myrcella.

Oberyn stops you, dipping you low, a devilish smile on his handsome face directed towards someone you cannot see, though you imagine it is Jon. “If that is the case, then perhaps, I shall take your aunt up on her offer of further betrothals in Dorne.”

You stumble, catching the Dornish prince’s foot with the edge of your heel. “My apologies, My Lord.”

“No harm done; I expected such a reaction.”

“I think it would be best to speak with my father, not my aunt, if you wish to marry me to one of your nephews or cousins.” You say primly, curtsying to him once the dance has finished.

He presses your hand to his lips. “And if I wished to marry you myself? Would I still need to speak with your father.”

Your face burns and you snatch your hand away. “You have daughters younger than me, Prince Oberyn, and I do not think their mother would take kindly to another woman attempting to take her place. Nor would I want to. I mean no offense, but I cannot enter a marriage where I must share my husband, especially not when the other woman has had him first.”

He laughs, the sound warm, banishing the tension from the air around you, lifting the weight from your shoulders. It reminds you a little of how Jon laughs, the comfort it brings. Is this how all Dornish men laugh? If so, you can understand why Lyanna and Myrcella did not find it hard to fall for their own Dornish lovers.

“She would not, but she will appreciate your words.” He takes your hand gently, kissing it once more, then releasing you.

You give him a smile and gracefully take the arm of your next partner, then the next one then the next one, until finally Jon is able to steal you away, leading you back to your father.

“I have just turned down Oberyn Martell’s proposal, Father, I wished to let you know.” You say, a weary smile on your face as you slump in the chair next to him.

“Oh, did you? How bold these Dornish are, asking a girl for her hand without first consulting with her father.” Your father says, a ghost of a grin on his lips.

Jon stiffens from his place behind you.

“I reminded him he has daughters younger than me. Also, that I would not share my husband, it is too…unsavory for me, though of course I did not phrase it so.”

Your father snorts. “You told the Red Viper that you will not play the whore in your own marriage?”

You can hear Jon shifting his weight, and he hates when others use what he deems foul language in your presence. Though, you always remind him that Theon had given you quite the course in how to speak as a proper sailor does.

“No, I said I would not like to take the place of another woman.” You take a cube of cheese from his plate and pop it in your mouth. “Though perhaps I should have said lions are far too possessive to ever share their mates.” You catch sight of Jon in your peripheral and flash him a teasing smile.

He clears his throat and looks away, his arms clasped behind his back.

Jon has been oddly distant since the night of Joffrey’s death, and you fear it has more to do with whatever your uncle said to him than the death of the so-called king.

“Do you not think I spoke right, Ser Jon?” You ask, unable to resist drawing him into the conversation, though you know he would rather not participate.

“I think it is dishonorable to take more than one wife, or to have a mistress. It sullies not only the marital bed, but the house itself.” He says, his posture stiff, his words stilted.

You frown and your father shrugs before handing you another cheese cube.

The Roseroad toward Highgarden is well-kept, guards and small towns scattered along the winding road, the countryside lush and brimming with life. The air is cleaner here, sweet smelling compared to the unwashed filth that permeates the air of King’s Landing, and you are once again thankful that no one allowed your Aunt Cersei to take her gargantuan wheelhouse on this trip.

You are divided into smaller groups, within smaller wheelhouses, with windows that allow air to flow through. Your aunt is in one with her ladies, your father, uncle, and Tommen ride their horses alongside the guards, while you and Margaery were able to snag a wheelhouse to yourselves. Margaery claims she needs the extra space to prepare for her nameday festivities, and no one could deny their queen.

“We are a few hours out from my home, I cannot wait to show you the grounds, they are especially beautiful this time of year.” Margaery says, looking out the window, her face lit with a radiant smile.

It has been a few moons since her wedding to Tommen, and you have grown closer to the older girl, you and she are in fact Tommen’s favorite people and in turn spend much time together with or without him.

“I have heard tales, but I am sure words cannot compare.” You say, joining her at the window as she points out places she used to ride to with her brothers.

After a while of you two quietly enjoying the countryside, Margaery clears her throat delicately. “Speaking of words.” She draws back from the window and pulls the curtain closed. “Have you heard anything from our dear redheaded friend?”

You scoot closer to her, lowering your voice to a whisper. “She writes to say that all is well, her home has fallen back into routine and regrets she is unable to attend the celebrations but holds out hope she will see us soon.”

“And what about…” Robb, she means Robb, she wishes to know if he thinks of her.

You reach into your satchel and dig out a letter, “I had been hoping to save it as a nameday present, but I guess I could give it to you now.”

After her and Tommen’s wedding your father roped you into secreting letters between Margaery and Robb, the seals were Hawthorne coming in, and Lannister going out. In truth, it made you feel part of a romantic story, playing the kind maid that helps the young lovers sneak away to be together.

Margaery rips open the letter and devours it, a soft smile on her face, her hand coming to cover her lips as her eyes begin to water.

“What, what did he say?” You ask, suddenly alarmed by the tears in your friend’s eyes.

She hands the letter to you, “he—he is so sweet.”

My dearest Lady Margaery,

I cannot tell you how delighted I still am each time your letters arrive, though I must admit my joy is dimmed by the continued reminder that you are wed to another. That I cannot speak freely of my affections for you. I know it is in name only, and that I should not be envious of a child no more than eight nearly nine namedays, but I am. To think that I, a man grown, is envious of a child for the mere fact that he is allowed to hold your hand. That he is allowed to call your name, to dance with you, it is shameful, but I would bear this shame and many others for you. There will come a day soon that we will be united, that I will take your hand and let all the realm know that you are not only my queen, but my heart’s desire.

I shall not drag on with sentiment lest I embarrass myself, so I will get to the meat of this letter. Sansa informed me it is to be your nameday soon, and that you will be traveling to Highgarden to celebrate. Part of me wished to set out for Highgarden the moment she said so, surely, I would be able to disguise myself well enough, but Sansa squashed that scheme quite quickly. Nevertheless, I am hopeful that Lady y/n will be able to present you with my gift. And if it is not too forward, I would ask that you wear it during the celebrations, and know that I am with you, that you carry my heart in your hands.

I have had your latest portrait replicated, made smaller, and set within a locket so that I might carry it around wherever I go. Theon teases me quite mercilessly about it, but I care not. While we are parted, I wish to do all I can to keep your visage beside me. The curve of your smile, the light in your eyes, and the soft blush that adorns your cheeks, they give me strength, and I will draw on them until we meet, and I no longer need drawn or painted images.

The Gods smiled upon the realm the day you were born, and I swear to you, when we are finally together, I will spend every moment I can making up for our time apart, especially your namedays.

- Ever yours, Robb

“This is quite sweet; he has a way with words I would not expect.” You say, handing her the letter back.

“Why would he not? Even the way Jon spoke to you when he helped you into the wheelhouse was full of passion.” She bristles, holding the letter close to her chest.

You need only call for me, I will not be far. Perhaps have Ghost stay with you, it would ease my mind. He had said, before trying to force a very resistant Ghost into the wheelhouse. You thanked him but told him to let Ghost run free, knowing the direwolf would grow bored on the long journey.

You reach out and squeeze her hand. “I meant no offense, it is only that Jon has spent much time here, and Robb has not. I imagined they would speak differently, but it seems there is a hidden romantic streak in House Stark.”

She smiles, a pretty blush decorating her face, then she smooths out her expression and holds out her hand with the air of a queen. “My gift please?”

“Of course, My Queen.” You say, bowing your head ridiculously far as you hand her the small velvet bag.

She pulls the drawstrings open, gasping as she carefully pulls out the gift. It is a necklace made of gold and citrine, arranged in an elegant yet sturdy way, the gems draping down, the gold perfect and glowing against Margaery’s skin. “It is as he has described Grey Wind’s eyes.”

“Is there anything else?” You ask curiously, smiling as she holds it up to her chest once more.

She digs in the bag and finds a golden ring, engraved with the letters M and R in curling script, hidden within the rose emblem.

You hold out your hand for it, and she gives it to you. You fiddle with the edge of it until it pops open. Inside reveals a small, detailed portrait of a bright blue eye. “I wondered if he would go through with it.”

“Is that his?” Margaery asks, tracing the edges of the ring longingly.

“From what I remember it is, and Tommen also has blue eyes, so if anyone discovers it, they will be none the wiser.

She carefully replaces the gifts in their bag, and you feel a pang of sadness. You cannot imagine what she must feel like, married to a child, in love with a man she must keep secret, unable to even pretend they are merely friends, unable to freely send him letters.

A knock on the wheelhouse door pulls you from your thoughts. “My Queen, My Lady, we have nearly arrived.”

Highgarden is beyond beautiful, set upon a hill overlooking the Mander, built with clean white stone, and narrow towers that seem to scrape the clouds. Rows and rows of briar hedges, fields of flowers, and works of art tastefully scattered about the halls and grounds, complete the fairy tale look of the Tyrell’s castle, and you cannot wait to see more.

“And you must see the Three Singers, our Godswood is known throughout the realm for its beauty.” Margaery says, as the wheelhouse finally grinds to a halt and the door is pulled open.

“Sister,” Loras says, holding out his hand to her. “Welcome home.”

Margaery takes his hand, gracefully exiting the wheelhouse, her excitement radiating from her like rays of the sun. Then Loras goes to help you, but Jon’s hand is already there.

“My Lady, the Dowager Queen requires a word with you.” Jon says, his face unreadable, his eyes never lingering on you for too long.

“Thank you, Ser Jon, I will go to her once we have settled into our chambers.”

You sit and wait for your aunt, fiddling with your sleeves, birdsong, and the sound of harps playing floats in through the open window.

She sweeps in, head held high, and closes the window, plunging the room into dead quiet. “I know your father has been lenient with you since your poor mother died, but as your aunt, the only motherly figure in your life, I can no longer stand by and watch you waste away your future.”

“Beg pardon?”

She takes your hands, her expression soft, caring, one you have not seen since you were a little girl. “Y/N, we must find you a husband, a good man, who will provide for you, for your children.”

“Father said—”

“I know your father has filled your head with stories of freedom, and true love, but that is for children, and you have not been a child for some time now.” She takes the seat across from you, her ruby gown looking harsh and garish among the soft colors and fabrics of the guest chamber she has been given.

“You are right, I am no longer a child.” You agree, trying to give her an answer that betrays nothing of true value.

She brushes your cheek with her knuckles, her eyes looking for something, in your own. “Your mother was a great beauty, with a kind heart, far too kind. I do not want you making the same mistake she did. Not that you are a mistake, my darling girl, you are the only worthwhile thing that has ever come from my brother, but your mother did not examine her prospects wisely enough.”

“I do not have any prospects.” You tell her, torn between feeling comforted and wounded by her words.

“At tomorrow night’s feast there will be many lords from all across the realm, and you will dance with them, you will talk and flatter, and laugh at their jests even if they are not humorous.”

“But if I dance with so many, how will I know who is good?”

She gives you a smile and smooths down your hair. “Allow me to take care of that, I want you to enjoy yourself, and show the realm how delightful you are.”

“I will try.” You say, giving her a weak smile, hoping she believes it is born of nerves and not a complete lack of interest.

“You will do more than try, you will succeed.”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film

#meg's writing #jon snow imagine #jon snow x reader #jon snow x y/n #jon snow x you #jon snow imagines #lannister!reader #robb stark x margaery tyrell

97 notes · View notes

seethesin · 11 months

Text

rotaries and roses

pairing: Tattoo Artist!Corky x Florist!F!Reader

tags/warnings: modern au, tattoo artist/florist trope, first time tattoos, suggestive themes, cursing, teasing

a/n: requested by anonymous here. this was my biggest challenge yet because... this is smut free and i don't have tattoos 😭 i hope you guys don't mind how many liberties i took with this! as there are no gif hunts of gina as corky, this will have a gifless format. enjoy! 🥰

You found yourself at Corky's by the recommendation of a close friend. Every time you mentioned your desire for a tattoo, they would practically beg you to give the tattoo shop a chance before pulling up their Instagram page. The first thing you noticed was the address. The tattoo shop was on the same street as your flower shop; how you hadn't noticed it sooner was beyond you.

Your friend was right. You needed to take your ass over there. And now, there was no excuse not to.

Out of all the artists featured, the owner, Corky, had your favorite designs. Her Neo-Traditional style blew you away, and it was the post featuring a canvas with an array of roses that sealed the deal. They had always been your favorite flower, regardless of the stereotypical label they held. Every bouquet of roses that leaves your shop always receives your special attention. They never fail to bring a smile to your face, regardless of the color, quantity, or occasion. To have them on your body felt right to you and you wanted them in Corky's signature style.

You spent the rest of that evening mulling over what you wanted. It took you a few more days, but finally, you came to a decision. You wanted a ram surrounded by Corky's roses. A ribbon would wind around the portrait of the ram with the phrase: My will is sturdy inscribed on it. The design was perfect and you knew Corky would do your vision justice.

Your consultation was the first time you meant Corky outside of emailing her. A studded leather jacket was haphazardly thrown over her white tank top. You couldn't tell what brand of jeans she wore, but they did wonders for her legs. Her steel-toed boots clicked on the hardwood floor as she came to greet you. You accepted her offered hand into a shake and couldn't stop yourself from memorizing the callouses on her palm within those few, fleeting seconds. Her brown hair was perfectly unkempt and a permanent, knowing smirk was glued onto her face.

"I'm Corky."

She was hot. You were fucked.

After your initial greetings, she brought you to the back where her desk was so you both could work through your design. You found as many references as possible, including the same array of roses you saw on her shop's Instagram page. Corky chuckled fondly as she examined the canvas, lips quirking into a genuine smile.

"This is some of my older work," she mused as if she was warning you. Her gaze flickered through her lashes, brow quirked inquisitively at you.

"It's one of my favorites," you admit and Corky's smile only grows at your confession.

The close proximity allows you to catch onto her scent: fresh smoke and citrus. You want her to tattoo it into your lungs.

"Give me an hour and I'll have something nice for you. I'll call you when I'm finished."

One phone call later and you were back in her shop. Unsure of proper etiquette in the tattooing world, you had brought back coffee for both yourself and Corky. You needed a pick me up and it felt strange not to share with her. Shyly, you offered her a cup which she graciously accepted. Your guess of Corky taking her coffee black was right; you swallow a smile at the thought. She leads you back to her desk so she can present you her work.

It's overwhelming how beautiful Corky's art is. Everything about it is perfect and truly, you can't think of anything else to add, remove, or change. The roses woven through the ram's horns, the brilliant blue outline, and the delicate font she chose for the banner were small details you would have never considered on your own.

Your lack of a verbal response makes Corky laugh, leaning in closer.

"Stunned ya speechless, huh?" she teased and you can't help but laugh with her.

"It's gorgeous, Corky."

There's something on Corky's tongue as she pauses. Silently, you watch her shake whatever thought it was away before refocusing on you.

"Where do you want this?"

You pause to think.

"I think my thigh would be the best. I've read that it's one of the better places to get your first tattoo."

This information slaps a smile back on her face.

"You read right. That works for me."

Soon after, you discuss the rest of the housekeeping tasks regarding your tattoo. Once you put an initial deposit down, you decide on a date a month later. You bid Corky goodbye and return to your flower shop to close up for the night. Before you retire to bed, you start working on a custom rose bouquet for one of your clients.

The roses are beautifully crimson, just like the ones Corky drew for you.

"I'll be with ya in a moment!" A disembodied voice calls from the next room over at the sound of the doorbell. You nod—more to yourself—before shutting the door behind you.

A month blew by quicker than you anticipated. Tonight, you found yourself awkwardly stationed at the front door of Corky’s tattoo shop with a cup of coffee in each hand. On her recommendation, you came well-fed, hydrated, and with eight hours of sleep under your belt. You donned a loose, simple dress, figuring it would make Corky's job tonight easier.

What you didn't realize was that she booked you as her closer tonight. The shop was empty and immediately, you felt yourself sweating. Silently, you asked whatever higher powers existed to refrain from making you out into a fool tonight.

Shifting on your heels, you visibly brighten at the sound of Corky's boots thundering towards you. She appears from the backroom, grinning ear to ear as she walks towards you. She's clad in another plain white tank top and dark jeans, revealing the complex sleeves her leather jacket hid. The most notable tattoo is of a labrys on her upper arm.

"Hey stranger," she greets, raising her brows as you offer her a coffee cup. "You spoil me; thank you."

You don't miss the way her eyes drag down your frame.

Corky's fingers slide against yours as she takes the coffee from you. Her touch is electric and you hold back from shivering. If something so innocuous got to you, you don't know how you'll last tonight.

"My pleasure." You don't mean to sound so breathless, but you were currently recovering from her touch. Corky merely smiles and beckons you to follow her. You do so wordlessly, stepping up and over to her workstation.

She sifts through her desk before pulling out the stencil of your tattoo. Turning on her heel, she presents it to you and you nearly choke on your coffee.

It’s perfect.

Every detail from her initial artwork has been transcribed onto the stencil. You find yourself hypnotized as you lean in closer. It needs to be on your body now.

"Corky," you start and she laughs, gesturing for you to sit in the chair. You do so quickly, placing your belongings on an empty side table out of the way.

"Don't go worshipping me yet," she teases, easily picking up on the dreaminess laced in your voice.

She drags over a small, wheeled cart, completely set up for your session. You're unfamiliar with everything on it, but you watch carefully as she sets up her rotary machine. After checking to make sure you didn't have a latex allergy, Corky puts on a pair of black, single-use gloves.

"I still gotta tattoo it."

Pulling her stool over, her gloved hand goes to your thigh. The edge of her thumb grazes the hem of your dress and tenderly—so tenderly you might faint—she pushes the skirt up. You meet her in the middle, pulling it the rest of the way so it settles just over your hips. Cool air immediately rushes between your thighs and you've never felt more exposed. Corky guides your leg towards her and the thought of her face buried in your cunt flashes in your mind. Swiftly, you shake it away.

You allow her to position you as she sees fit while she preps your skin. Once satisfied, she presses the stencil to your skin to transfer the design. It takes all of your restraint to stay still and on the chair. How were you going to make it through a two hour session?

"Go check it out in the mirror." Corky points her thumb behind her and her voice sucks you back from your reverie.

Holding your dress skirt up, you walk to the wall mirror and examine the design. Turning to her, you hold a thumb up as she stares intensely at the exposed flesh. She hums in approval and you hurry back onto the chair. You get comfortable and again, Corky's hands are on your thigh. She's readjusting you and your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning.

"Are you ready?"

You nod.

"Let's begin."

The first ten minutes are relatively quiet. The buzz of the rotary is the only thing distracting you from the dull pain in your thigh. Well, that and the fact that her other hand is gripping your thigh in a way that makes your head spin. Corky pipes up first over the noise.

"What do you do?"

You beam; you adore answering this question.

"I'm a florist!" You watch as Corky's brows raise in interest, her gaze intensely fixed on your leg as she works. "I actually own the flower shop just up the street."

The buzzing stops completely and her eyes are glued to your face, lips parted in surprise.

"You own Fern & Flora?"

You nod proudly, practically glowing from the recognition.

"No shit; one of my girls, Sue, is there every two weeks buying flowers for her girlfriend."

Corky's machine whirs back to life and the prickly pain on your thigh returns. You hum to yourself, going over a mental list of your regulars and who could fit the profile Corky described.

"She's always going on about how her girlfriend likes the—"

"Violets." You finish thoughtfully, unable to stop the genuine smile growing across your face. "Margaret's favorite flowers are violets and Sue never lets me forget it."

You watch the way Corky's face softens as you speak. Her thumb presses against your inner thigh and your breath hitches quietly in your throat.

"What's your favorite flower?"

Staring down at her in disbelief, a chuckle pushes from your throat. You gesture to the tattoo she was currently working on, hoping to highlight the array of roses she was getting ready to outline.

"Do you even have to ask?"

Corky's shoulders raise into a shrug, glancing up at you quickly before refocusing on your thigh.

"Hey, forgive me for making small talk." The smile in her voice is evident and you find yourself grinning along with her.

"What's your favorite flower?" You toss the question back to Corky, ready to take her answer and brand it into the back of your mind.

She takes a moment to think about your question. If it wasn't obvious already, you could tell that this was something Corky hadn't previously thought about.

"I think I'm going to have to swing by your shop at some point to answer that question."

You can't help but blush. Was she flirting with you?

"I'd like that," you admit, fiddling with your fingernails.

Corky doesn't respond, instead reabsorbing herself back into her work. But a sly smirk plays on her lips and you have to stare up at the ceiling to keep your thoughts at bay.

"I think you'd like cornflowers." You finally state after a minute of silence. The cool colors and perky petals reminded you of Corky's persona. The bouquets that you crafted with them were some of your favorites so far.

"I think I'd like anything you recommend."

Okay, she's definitely flirting with you. Brazenly, you reply with: "Then I recommend you visit me sooner rather than later."

"Oh yeah?" There's a teasing edge in Corky's voice and you feel the warmth rise to your cheeks. Her voice drops an octave lower and you've completely disregarded the pain in your thigh. "And why's that?"

In that moment, you’ve forgotten everything about yourself. The only things you could comprehend were Corky’s hands groping your flesh and the irritating whizzing of the rotary. You suddenly feel hot and the idea of stripping your dress off grows more attractive with each passing second.

“I want to make a bouquet for you.” The sentence is rushed from your own nervousness, but you mean every word. “The sooner you stop by, the better of a selection I’ll still have for the season.”

Caught off guard, Corky sputters out a cough. However, she doesn’t stop working. The machine is still on as she finishes the outline of your tattoo without issue. You glance down curiously and witness her face flush crimson. A delighted giggle squeezes from your throat and you swear Corky blushes deeper than before.

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

Your laughter is replaced with a kind smile. “Promise?”

She nods.

The rest of your session goes swiftly. Corky works like a machine: detailed, efficient, and insanely accurate. Your small talk comes and goes in waves, more so that she can focus on her work above all else. With a final wipe of her towel, your tattoo is finished two hours later. She grins eagerly before looking up at you.

"Wanna check it out?"

You don't miss a beat: "Uh, of course!"

You practically spring off the chair, stretching your legs as you scurry over to the mirror. The hem of your dress is still bawled in your fists as you stare at your thigh. You can hear Corky snickering at you while you fawn over her work.

"Holy shit..." You are awestruck and you turn to her, gaping before turning back to the mirror.

"It looks incredible," she agrees, discarding her gloves before pulling the rolling cart over to the side and out of the way. She goes to her workstation, pulls a few documents out, and scribbles something down as you continue to gape and stare at your new tattoo.

You return to Corky's workstation, gathering your belongings as you ready your wallet. She turns to face you again, handing you paperwork and guidance on how to maintain your new tattoo. You listen to her instructions carefully, unable to stop yourself from staring at her chapped lips every few moments.

"Do you have any questions?" You shake your head, averting your gaze to the papers she gave you. It essentially regurgitated what she said aloud, but you were thankful to have something written to refer to. Corky had also included her business card that you examined, noting the handwritten number just below her professional contact information.

"Actually, I do have a question," you start, not looking up from the papers in your hands. "Do you give all of your clients your personal number?"

Turning the documents to Corky, you point at the handwritten digits just below her work email. She flushes briefly before clearing her throat.

"Well no," she starts and a grin is already curling on your lips, watching as she gathers her thoughts. "But I figured it would make sense to give it to you. For tomorrow."

You hum thoughtfully, glancing over at her workstation before looking at her.

"Can I borrow that?" You gesture at a Sharpie marker on the side and she snatches it up before handing it to you.

"Give me your arm."

Corky stares at you, bewildered by your demand, but obediently offers her right arm to you. Your fingers clasp her wrist, outstretching it so that her fingertips just barely graze the top of your chest.

You miss the sharp inhale Corky takes.

Carefully, you jot your phone number down, making sure to avoid writing over the pinup girl tattoo facing you. Once finished, you push the cap back on and place the marker in her open palm.

"For tomorrow," you parrot, giddily watching the flustered look wash over Corky's face. She nods quickly, clutching the marker before stammering for you to follow her so she can take the rest of your payment. You trail behind her, already working out flower combinations in your mind for Corky's bouquet.

Out of all the ones you can think of, cornflowers and roses are the most fitting.

🦇 tag list: @crvptidsmain, @astroph1les, @uraesthete

#corky bound #corky #corky x reader #x reader #x you #lesbian #wlw #lgbtq #bound #bound 1996 #bound movie

387 notes · View notes

corndasby · 5 months

Text

Patch 1.9 Full Event Summary! (Live Updates)

The 1.9 event summary got posted! I ran the patch notes through google translate and combined them with some translations from the official server. If I find anything else major I will update. Skin/Character previews can be found in my previous post, and I'll post some new character kit rundowns later! I will tag every spoiler post with the version number, so add that to your filters if you don't want to see anything about it.

Things You'll Care About

Full translated list is after this section.

Free Six Star for everyone: Semmelweiss, a mineral support that drains ally health to give them buffs based on their missing health.

First banner: Lucy, an intelligence DPS/support that spends Electricity to give their incantations extra effects, such as hitting more targets or buffing ally afflatus damage.

Second banner: Kakania, a plant support/tank/sub-healer that absorbs a portion of damage taken by allies and uses it to enhance her self-healing and damage.

Lorelei is a star afflatus five star support/sub dps. Her incantations haven't been released but her i1 Passive gives a buff depending on the most common card type in your hand, and her i3 passive gives her moxie when critting with her ult (Just Star Things). She is obtained from the new roguelite mode so may be accessible to players starting after 1.9.

Free Sonetto skin for logging in!

New skins for Mesmer Jr., Desert Flannel, Voyager, Regulus, and Jessica.

Thirty combined free pulls just for logging in. I'm sure clear drops will be showered on you elsewhere in the event.

Special banner for a single 6* rate up selector (If you win the 50/50 on this banner you get to choose ANY six star up until 1.6 excluding JNZ! This is a crazy good deal and you can pick up anyone you missed before the next saga of the story)

New main story chapter of course. Chapter Six is called Vereinsamt. Apparently, 1.7 is not a direct continuation of 1.5, but 1.9 will combine the two for a proper ending.

Brand new roguelite mode. The reception to 1.6's attempt was pretty poor, so I think this is a revised version that will be left in the game permanently.

New story events for Lucy and Kakania.

New anecdotes for Eagle and Semmelweiss.

New maps for Three Doors! I enjoyed the Mesmer storyline so I'm interested.

Reruns of all the skins from 1.1 - 1.4. The London wilderness will now be permanently available in the shop.

All of the standard stuff you can find in events. There's a shop, new wilderness, free items all over the place, and puzzle side events. Uttu is going to be there. You know the drill.

Edit 1: They're finally adding a system to let you seamlessly connect water tiles in the wilderness. No more dumb transition tiles!

Edit 2: They're adding new animation upgrades to older skins!?!? Confirmed list so far: Jukebox Bkornblume, Halloween Sotheby, Halloween X, Jukebox Matilda, Summer Pickles, Wild West Tennantt.

Full List

Some of these are literally just titles in the patch notes so if I don't elaborate that is why!

Free Sonetto skin

Shop crystal drop reset (I think this means the "first time buy" bonus is reset?)

Special banner: free single 6* rate up selector (If you win the 50/50 on this banner you get to choose ANY six star up until 1.6 excluding JNZ! This is a crazy good deal and you can pick up anyone you missed before the next saga of the story)

New main story chapter: Vereinsamt

New story event: Lucy

Limited collection: Thoughts Alone in a Tank.

New story event: Kakania

Event: Practice of Phantom starts.

New permanent gamemode: Roguelite

Three Doors: new maps

New function: select BGM on suitcase lobby

Anecdotes: Eagle and Semmelweiss

Mane's Bulletin: Abyss, Opera, and Lord of Dreams

UTTU: Mesmer Jr. skin

New function: event atlas

Limited collection: Promise of the Lake

New Jukebox: Desert Flannel skin

New skins: Regulus, Jessica, Voyager new skins

New Wilderness set: Laplace

New packs

Patch 1.1 skins rerun

Patch 1.2 skins rerun

Patch 1.3 skins rerun

Patch 1.4 skins rerun

Patch 1.1 Wilderness is added to the shop permanently

Event starts: Little Steel Gold Rush

#r1999 #reverse 1999 #gaming #vertin #schneider #vernetto #1.9

58 notes · View notes

blingblong55 · 1 year

Text

Improper -141

Based on a request:

I'm currently sick with the flu🤧 And made some tea this morning, but the American way lol. And it got me thinking about how upset the British guys would get watching an american!reader try to make tea (puts a mug of water in the microwave, then adds the tea bag to the hot water) Would they be gentle and show reader the correct way or would they stare at reader appalled and disgusted 😂😂

A/n: The gasp I let out, babes why would you do us brits like this!! you're breaking my heart here, but since you're sick I'll give you this pass, also a special delivery pookie<3 Get well

GN!Reader, american!reader, trigger warning for my brit readers, sick!reader, platonic!relationship, soldier!reader

You have been volunteering at the medic bay, wanting to help some of the new recruits get over this sickness and just 2 days later, you laid in bed, sick with the flu. Your nose is all red, tissues pilling up on your desk. "Fuckin' shit, it's always me." You complained and got up from your bed. You walked to the common room where the team was. "Hey guys" your voice raspy and low. "Mate, you al'right?" Gaz asked from the sofa and all you gave him was a thumbs up.

You grab your designated mug and pour water from the bottles of water by the fridge, You open a packet and put the tea bag inside the mug. The microwave does the work and as you stand and wait, Price walks up to you, getting a piece of the snacks Soap made. "You looked like shite, kid." he chuckles and eats some of the food. "Feel like shit too."

Ghost walks in, ready for his midday tea when you take your mug from the microwave. All the men in the room gasped. "What're yer doing, mate?!" Even Soap felt offended.

"Y'all never made tea like this?"

"We have a bloody kettle for this reason!" Ghost shows you the item and tosses it on the stove. You watch as the four men all argue against you. "Bloody Americans always want the easy way out!"

"I mean the fuckin' microwave!" Gaz's voice squeals a little. "It's just tea, calm your tits." and that comment earns another gasp from the men.

In unison, "Just tea!"

You nod and reach for the sugar, Price shakes his head. Ghost reaches for your mug and dumps it out on the sink. "Bad human!" he scolds you. You laugh, you never knew the stereotype was an actual thing. "Now y'all will tell me you really got offended over the Boston Tea Party."

"It's tea, mate." Gaz looks at you disapprovingly and pats your back. "It's time we teach our little American 'ere to make proper tea, yeah?" All men nod and Ghost slowly and I mean slowly as if you were some child gives you a step-by-step on how to: use the kettle, understand when the tea is ready, that you must pour milk first and then the tea.

They all watch as you drink a sip and wait for your comment. "It's..tea, I still don't get why y'all are so pressed about this?"

"Look 'ere Hollywood, it's not just tea, we have customs 'ere for them. You must always follow these steps, yeah?" Gaz tried to talk you out of your usual American ways. You sigh, "Fine, but you better not try to change my way of fucking talking, fuckin' brits." You walk back to your room. The tea was possibly the best you've had and it did make you feel better now.

Meanwhile, the team tried to console a devasted teammate Ghost. "I can't believe I trust this person with my life on the field and they can't make one proper tea!"

Price rubs his back and shakes his head, "Shame Hollywood will go back to their ways." The four men stand there, meanwhile Gaz has already sent you four links to stores near you that sell kettles and YouTube links to teach you how to properly make tea.

Tags: @warenai

235 notes · View notes

xcerizex · 3 months

Text

"The vacancy of your eyes is a curse."

3.3k words, angst, contains spoilers for the main story, cael anselm, horrible attempt at minor fluff, how do you do tags and stuff???

Day #36:

The morning sunlight is bright on his skin as Cael does the laundry in the garden. Flinging the bedsheets up, he then drapes them across the wire, after all the sheets need to be dried before tonight so that she can get a good night sleep. Unfortunately, she won't be able to use the spares, not when it's been torn to the point where it's unusable.

He senses her gaze on him and shifts his position so that he can watch her discreetly and see her looking at him through the glass walls of her gallery pretending to paint. Having failed subtlety, she repeats the same strokes over and over again, creating an unusual blob of blue and white. Judging from the look on her face, it seems as if she wishes to talk to him again.

The wind picks up, and the white sheets whack him in the face, covering his sight. He doesn't need his eyes to see that the girl is giggling at his predicament and he wonders how on earth she finds his suffering a source of amusement.

'If it makes her happy.'

He quickly finishes the rest of the laundry and heads inside, ready for the girl to pounce on him the moment he steps back into the house and sure enough, she approaches him as he places his shoes down on the floor.

"Are you planning on doing the groceries soon, Cael?"

She pretends as if she were simply asking him out of curiosity, but he knows better. Noticing the way her feet fidget, he smiles at her and nods his head.

"Yes, I am. I'll be here for an hour or two before I leave, so I'm not in any rush."

"Then..."

She holds up a box of new paint he had gotten for her and asks him eagerly;

"Can we paint together?"

He smiles serenely. He notices that she has started to paint less in her time here despite not having much else to do. So he agrees, it's best if she picks up the brush again, and he wants to spend some time with her anyway.

"Alright then, let's head to your gallery."

After moving a new set of blank canvas for Cael into the gallery, the both of them start to paint side-by-side, and a tranquil silence falls across them. They have never needed idle talk to feel comfortable with one another once they start painting, and in a way, Cael is glad he doesn't have to force himself to act as her guardian during these moments, where time passes like the wind.

Right now, it's just him, Cael, and the girl whose existence has made him spiral to a deep end he can't get out of.

He hears her choking on her paint water again, startling him out of his thoughts. Heaving an exasperated sigh, he hands her a clean handkerchief and a proper glass of water to clear her throat. While wiping her mouth, she wheezes a hoarse "Thank you" before finally calming down and resuming her painting. Next time, he hopes that she'll learn to separate the glass that holds her paint water, and the one that holds her drinking water at opposite ends the next time.

However, years of spending time with her has made him acutely aware of what her next course of action may be. So it doesn't surprise him when she takes the shift in mood as an opportunity to nonchalantly ask him;

"Can I...join you later? To do the groceries?"

Her voice is still slightly hoarse as she says this, and as if afraid it won't be enough to convince him, she adds;

"It's just, wouldn't it be easier if the both of us carried the load, instead of just you? I can help you and I won't stray away-"

He places his brush aside on the easel and despite placing it down as gently as he could, the sound of it rings loudly like a bell, as she immediately falls silent. Her response is like a whip to the heart, lashing and cracking an irreparable crevice and he doesn't know why. But she does not back down and stares into his eyes after his gaze finds her.

"I understand that you wish to go out. But it is dangerous." He says, making sure he speaks gently to appear as affable as possible.

"The trip to the main island is full of danger. Those who wish to capture and hurt you may take the chance to do so."

Standing up, he moves forward towards her until their faces are only a few inches apart. He feels the tremble of her breath on his mouth while he, softly, lightly, rests his fingertips on the area under her eyes.

He doesn't remember ever coming this close to her before...this, and the proximity makes him feel slightly giddy.

He feels sick.

"It is better for me to protect you here, than endanger you by letting you go outside."

He hopes to convince her by emphasizing about the possible dangers. But in their proximity, their eyes find each other and it is not he who wears the heavy stare. It is her. She gazes at him and for the first time since he's brought her here, he sees something else that is not the hue of hopelessness in her eyes that haunts both him and her even when she's smiling. It is an emotion he cannot recognize.

Acquiescing to his desires, she nods her head.

"Yes...Cael. I'm sorry to have bothered you again with this."

She excuses herself, abandoning her painting as she exits the gallery claiming she needed some alone time and he lets her go. At the moment, he has no heart to chase after her and offer comfort. The unease he feels in his chest roots him on the spot and he wonders about the way she looked at him.

There is a sinking feeling in his gut, telling him it was not his words that had convinced her.

What did she see?

He fears the answer.

You coward.

Day #122:

She has begun to hide her emotions from him now.

Placing a plate of strawberry toast on the table, Cael turns his head towards the kitchen door to find her entering the room. Her steps are slow and heavy, but retain their daintiness and mimic the footsteps of a doll.

She draws a chair back and sits down. It's early in the morning and as usual, Cael makes breakfast for her. He greets her with a practiced smile.

"Good morning, I'll be preparing some black tea shortly. The strawberry toast won't turn cold just yet, so it's fine if you want to wait until then."

She nods her head quietly and whispers "Thank you, Cael", before she starts staring out at the window.

He frowns inwardly to himself as he turns towards the teapot. Strawberry toast had always been her favourite. Knowing her, she would have long scarfed down her food regardless if the tea was ready or not.

Does he really not understand why however? He does. And yet, he stays in denial. Knowing that the moment he wakes up from this dream, it will tear him apart with no mercy. It will break him.

"!"

He hears a clatter on the floor and turns around to see that she has dropped her butter knife and now sports a cut of scarlet red. Alarmed, he rushes over to her, forgoing the most practical solution of immediately finding a bandage in favor of taking her hand in his and pressing his handkerchief to the wound. For some reason, his time here with her has eroded him of his logic and has now turned him into someone who breaks out in cold sweat over a mere injury.

"...What happened?"

But if it's her who was hurt, then it's not just a mere injury to him. That was enough to send him into a frenzy. He looks up at her face hoping she'd answer him already but freezes.

When humans feel pain, it is common for them to react in kind. Be it a shift in facial expression or an outburst of sound.

But looking into her face, he finds nothing. Sees nothing. Blank eyes stare back at him expressing nothing and everything.

Regardless of her time here, she should still be susceptible to the average human response towards an injury. Simply put;

She does not want to share her pain with him.

She is fearful of you.

Cold silence fills the room and Cael thinks about the time they've spent painting in the gallery together, silently sharing their feelings amidst the soundless interactions. He bites his bottom lip before standing up and walking towards the cupboard containing bandages.

"...I dropped my knife on accident. It won't happen again, Cael."

"..."

"Cael?"

There is a tinge of worry in her voice.

He finds a box of plasters hidden in the corner of the cupboard and grabs it with unnecessary force before returning to her.

Will saying her name right now scare her more than reassure her?

Bending down, he starts applying a small bandage to her cut.

"Please..." he murmurs.

He has no right to feel afraid of her reaction. He was the one that turned her into this after all.

But he still keeps his head down. Refuses to look at her vacant face once more even as he continues speaking.

"...please be more careful."

Maybe he could still have her like this.

"I will, Cael. So..."

She cups his face with her hands, with a touch softer than he could ever hope to mimic with ones as bloodstained as his own, and holds his face up to look at him properly.

She smiles the best she can. It's hollow like all the rest before, but it is kind. The way she always is towards him even now.

"...don't worry."

"..."

"If seeing me hurt makes you this upset, it won't happen again."

Like the ghost of a whisper, he hears the silent continuation of her words;

I just don't have to show it.

While most birds avoid human abodes, a little one enters through an open window in search of food. Sensing no predators around, it jumps inside.

Day #???:

She has decided to completely lock herself in her room. Only occasionally coming out for meals when she feels like it, or to go to the gallery and stare at the open sky.

And Cael...

Cael doesn't know what to do anymore.

He tries his best to coax her, of course. Offers her new paints, albums featuring her favourite singers, and cooks the different types of food she would always ask him to make back when he took care of her when her mother died.

But she is not the young child who once poured dish soap into the washing machine anymore. She has grown and matured. Saw his wrongs, and the monster he is. None of his efforts will work on her anymore. She is a grown women, not a teenager.

Initially, he thought that he would be able to keep her here despite the fact she had the capability to leave and thought so long as he sheltered her from the outside world and took her away to Neverland, she could still find happiness and comfort in this small bubble he's built for her.

But he never thought that...this would become something he couldn't fix. He thought he could fix anything.

"...It's time for lunch."

Knocking on her door, he hopes that the allure of the pasta he holds in his hands will be enough to bring her out of her room. But minutes pass and once again he has no choice but to resign himself to the fact that she won't be coming out of her room today either. Still, it's not good for her to continuously skip meals. She may die of malnutrition if she doesn't eat properly.

The very thought makes him shudder with fear and he has to hold himself back from pleading with her again like the last time. The plate in his hand trembles with his slight movements however, and he has to straighten himself properly lest her food falls down on to the floor.

He recalls the time he offered her a handmade pastry, something that he thought she would have jumped at eagerly even with her current state, in an attempt to pry her out of her room. But it had been days since she'd last eaten and desperation had gotten the better of him.

He still remembers everything with clarity.

With his head hanging down and his hair unfurling limply from his shoulders, the pastry he held on a plate fell to the floor with a loud clatter, with his hands having lost their strength for some unknown reason. When did he lose control of his own body? But what he does know is that his whole being feels hollow. And for the first time in days, she finally opens her door. Aggressively so. A loud bang resounds across the house as she slams it open and such a violent outburst makes him raise his head in surprise and he finds her staring down at him with her vacant eyes and the features of her face having twisted with worry again.

He feels a knife twisting in his chest. He thinks it might kill him.

But he ignores the pain, ignores the impulse to plunge his hand into his chest and physically rip out that lump of pain, and uses his hands instead to embrace her.

It is sudden and quick, startling her. But she slowly relaxes in his trembling hold and moves her hands to pat his back awkwardly.

"Cael?"

"..."

Again, he finds himself unable to respond to her. She continues talking.

"I'll come down to eat, alright? I'm sorry I made you worry."

Pulling back, she faces him and gives him what should have been a smile of assurance to put him at ease. But he knows that stretching the corners of the mouth does not make a real smile. He does not love that smile.

The worse part is? He still finds her so, so lovely.

"It won't happen again."

She tries to voice it confidently, to be sincere about it, because she knows that will be the only way to convince him. And just for a split second, he sees the ghost of her, smiling back up at him in exuberant joy, and watches it all melt away to bones like a burning candle in the same second.

How many times has he heard her say that?

How many times will her make her say that?

He's grown nauseous of it.

She stayed true to her word, for the next few weeks only anyway, having retreated back into her habit once more to Cael's misery.

Placing the plate in front of her door, he can only hope that she would come out of her own accord today. While he knows that he could simply convince her to come out of her room the way he did last time...

The thought of doing so makes him shudder with disgust. Knowing that he can affect her like that to such a disturbing degree, gives him an itch he can't scratch off no matter how hard he tries. He hides it from himself well, but his palms still carry the faint scars of a history of digging his nails too deep into his hands whenever that suffocating feeling comes back to haunt him.

He flexes his hands, to make sure he's not unconsciously doing it again.

He did.

Still, at least he's not bleeding this time. Marks as red as it could be, but not bleeding.

She bled.

Sighing, he accepts the fact she won't be leaving her room anytime soon and makes his way downstairs. He hears each and every step he takes a little too clearly, something that he has become accustomed to ever since she has stopped talking regularly. Or rather, ever since she came here. There was a time where being in the same space as her would bring a variety of noises, ranging from her loud caterwauling after having stubbed her toe, the sound of her footsteps banging against the floor as she runs across the house, or just....the sound of her being there.

And she was always there. She used to always be there.

He reaches the living room and a quick glance to the right brings the door of her gallery into view. Cael hesitates for a second, and another two, before making his way towards it. He doesn't know why, he could never understand his own impulses, but he's given up on trying to control them.

The door creaks open, an evidence of a long time gone by since it was installed, and Cael walks into the space of her gallery. Despite her no longer using it frequently, he made sure to keep the entire room clean. Dust is an annoying irritant, and something that would have disturbed her by constantly triggering her allergies, disrupting her focus as she painted.

He sees a canvas lying upright on the easel close by the windows, and the blue, white blob she had painted a while ago has now transformed into something else. He inches his way towards it after deciding to take a closer look, and feels a foreboding sense of trepidation for some unknown reason. Having always left her alone when she painted, he has never once seen the results of this one creative endeavour and wonders what sort of painting could she have possibly produced in this life of stagnation, where true inspiration has become a corpse.

Closing in, his eyes land on the painting...

And he sees himself.

He is standing on the coastline of Harp Island's beach as the waves rock back and forth against the rocks. By perfectly capturing the melancholy of the ocean, and coupled with the expression she drew on his portrait, the somber and gentle colours give off a hue of loneliness as he stares out towards the sky as if he were waiting for someone. And he...

He thinks he may die from the pain in his chest.

He grasps the area over his heart while gasping, as his ears ring from the words that bore down on him like cursed chants;

It's because of you.

She stays here because of you.

Wendy choose to stay with Peter Pan.

So that was what she saw.

You are lonely without her.

"I see."

You must let her go.

"I know that now."

Again and again, the whispers torment him with the truth, but he answers all of them with a mind clearer than ever before. There is no hesitation in his answers, only impatience.

Simply answering won't do after all, he must act on it.

Still, the entire ordeal leaves his mind in a frenzy and by the time he comes to his senses, Cael isn't sure just how much time has passed. He looks up at the painting again to see that the moon has risen, with it's benevolent light illuminating the gallery and the portrait.

He thought that her painting would have been a reflection of vacancy, but instead what he finds is the secret he has been denying for so long.

His heart still hurts, but looking at the lonely portrait before him, he finds that the hazy edges of his vision has cleared, and sees the consequences of his actions as clear as day. Similar to how one would clean the fog from their glasses.

Cael laughs bitterly to himself and clenches his fists as he stands up.

"This cannot go on."

If he lets her go now and admits his forbidden feelings, he may break.

But perhaps, he would rather be broken if it meant she could be fixed.

He makes up his mind.

"To Godheim it is."

First however, he must make sure she eats her dinner before she leaves him for good.

#lovebrush chronicles #for all time #for all time~☆#cael anselm #ye xuan #yexuan #FINALLY DONE #FREED FROM THE DRAFTS YIIPEEEEEEEE #now only a dozen more fics to ahahahaha....#kill me now #a familiar face is sooooooo-#wrecked me to hell why don't you lbc

34 notes · View notes

nightlyrequiem · 3 days

Text

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 2- Analyze, Adapt, Overcome

Masterlist AO3

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: This is one is a bit short and a little uneventful, but I promise you it gets good. I'm very excited to get to the later chapters.

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH20.)

Even after a few weeks, you can't get that meth out of your mind. You lightly swish your hips to the beat of the song playing in your earbuds. Your gloved hands carefully pour the liquidated Red Phosphorus into an Erlenmeyer flask. Even through the gas mask you can still pick up wafts of the garlicy smell of the chemical. You'll have to talk to Valeria about getting a new a gas mask. Destroying your lungs is not one of your goals in life. While you work on this batch your mind strays to the meth Valeria brought you. The Enginuity of its creation is both impressive and irritating. You're a little upset that you didn't think to use morphine. Although that isn't entirely your fault. Getting unlicensed morphine here is like pulling teeth. That's why Las Almas's choice of drug isn't heroin.

You inaccurately hum along to the song while you measure the proper amount of Sulfuric Acid to add to the Red Phosphorus. You're very precise with your cooking. Too little and it won't be as potent, too much and you'll blow it up. You learned that one the hard way. Someone abruptly taps you on the shoulder and you yelp in surprise, almost dropping the Sulfuric Acid. You set it down on the steel counter and turn to look at the intruder. Corra's light brown eye's stare back at you, shining with amusement.

"Valeria wants to see you in her office." She informs you. Her eyes dart to the equipment behind you.

"Alright, tell her I'll be right there I just need to finish up." You reply. Corra leaves and you turn back around to swiftly finish up this batch.

Once done, you leave it in the big metal container to let the liquid product ferment into the iconic methamphetamine crystals. You make your way out of the lab after properly disrobing out of your PPE and neatly stuffing it back into the locker. On your way towards Valeria's office, you're ignored by the others. You see two of her worker's snorting something off of a table. You assume it's your product. You'll have to tell Valeria about that. Like you'll need to tell her about the gas mask. Come to think of it, you're also severely low on Ephedrine.

You open the door to her office and walk in. Giving Deigo a flat look, one he returns. Valeria gives you a much more friendly look and invites you to sit down.

"I want to discuss this new meth going around." She says. Leaning back and bringing a lit cigarette to her lips.

"I think it's coming from one of those little gangs that have been popping up." Diego remarks. Furrowing his brows. Recently the Cartel has been dealing with new gangs that think they have what it takes to compete. After Valeria was arrested, multiple people began vying for the metaphorical crown. Her incarceration created a power vacuum, as Valeria would put it.

You shake your head at Deigo's claim, refuting it quickly.

"No, I don't think it's even being produced in Las Almas, let alone Mexico." You object. Both Deigo and Valeria look at you.

"Why do you say that?" Asks Valeria. You look at the wall. It's painted some muted red colour. It makes the room feel smaller.

"Because," You say, staring at the wall. "morphine is such a hassle to obtain, if someone was stealing it, we'd know. And if there were a group big enough to pay hush money to hospitals, we'd know about them too."

Valeria nods in agreement.

"She's right." Valeria murmurs. Deigo rubs a hand over his knee, smoothing over the denim of his pants.

"There is that growing nuisance in Pajaro Azul." He grumbles. Pajaro Azul, Las Almas's sister city. You went there once and hated it. It even has it's own bigwig cartel. You'd never tell anyone, but they scare you a little bit. The men look ten times meaner and the man who runs it is crazy. You prefer the traditional small-town cartel in Las Almas. Even if their reach and influence is anything but.

"Let them deal with it." You say, furrowing your brows. "If the meth is coming from there then I doubt the Pajaro Azul Cartel will let that slide for much longer."

Valeria stubs out her smoke and stretches. Deigo fixes you with a look of annoyance.

"They've let them get this far." He grunts. "They're a bunch of pussies. We need to take care of it ourselves."

You look to Valeria for backup but she's looking at Deigo. Regarding him with careful consideration.

"I'll think about it." She says. "I don't want to tread on their toes though. A war is the last thing we need right now." Her gaze darkens. Just a year ago, Valeria was caught by Los Vaqueros, aided by foreign military. The whole town was ravished by one of the groups going rogue and both she and the town are still recovering.

It's thanks to you, in your humble opinion, that the cartel is healing so fast. Your meth is making them great money. Well, it was. Until that other stuff just appeared out of thin air. The thought brings a jealous scowl to your face.

"How did that new batch do?" You ask. Looking at Valeria intently. You worry the inside of your cheek. Valeria glances at Diego. Nodding at him. He takes the cue and stands up, brushing off his pants and lumbering out of the room, shutting the heavy wooden door behind him. The office feels much lighter without his intrusive presence. "It didn't sell." She says.

You frown at her. "What?"

"Most of our usual customers weren't buying." Valeria explains. "The other stuff is cheaper and better."

The statement is a wrecking ball to your pride. Cheaper and better? You frown deeply at the news.

"Well..." You start, picking at a loose thread on the sleave of your shirt. "I'll have to come up with a new recipe." Something more addictive than the Super Meth. Which will be hard without morphine. Valeria stares at you as you go quiet, retreating into the dark folds of your brain. Meth causes intense sugar cravings. Which is one of the main reasons meth users have bad teeth. That and the Acetone in it reacts badly to saliva, drying it up which makes keeping bad bacteria at bay much harder, causing cavities and rot.

You brighten. That's it, sugar.

"I need sugar." You tell her. Looking up at her with renowned determination. Valeria blinks but nods.

"Okay." She agrees. "How much?"

"Three pounds should be enough." You say, then pause. Something in your mind is wiggling for attention but the harder you try to think about it, the less clear it becomes. You needed to do something. You shrug it off. If it were important, you would have remembered.

Valeria dismisses you and you head back down to the lab. You sit at your little desk and begin to start planning out the proper ratios of your ingredients. Excitement wells up inside of you. Nothing is better than a good challenge. You spend hours carefully crafting a new recipe. A few orange crystals of the meth sit on your desk for motivation.

#valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #cod mw2

21 notes · View notes