#The mercy skin is so ugly too lmao

[janayuga]

My Lifeweaver crumbs 🌸😢

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Reader (You) Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. For years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because you feel like something halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t wash the smell of hospital out of clothes, not really. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After your annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, you meet his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables and incoherent babbling.

A/N: Does this look familiar? It should lmao. I gave into the peer pressure. All the messages and requests were too powerful. Here is a reader version of my ofc season 1 fic. Obviously some things have been removed to get rid of specific names/descriptions, so you want to read the full thing you can read the og version and check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)! For the sake of not clogging tags, I'll probably just do my reader version on tumblr and the full oc lore version on ao3 from now on. xx

Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before your mother’s death, you would have picked fire. Every single time. 

You never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of your argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, your mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, you mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; you connected those dots all on your own. You’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

You flitted your eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Your responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Your yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely your father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to your face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps he stopped being your dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” you smoothed your thumb in small circles over the armrest of your chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of your first interrogation. You’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. You picked at your uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of your mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Your mom had been far too indulgent of your lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at your snarky aside. She let you finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; you could tell. At the time, you saw it as a victory. Now, it kept you up at night, the drooping lines of your mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book you were trying to read.

You bit down on your tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of your thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” You paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Your mother kissed the top of your head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. You woke up in the hospital, and your mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto your top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, you wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though you both knew how the story went from here. You had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

You bit down on your thumbnail and winced when your teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

You shook your head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, you had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, you looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped your knees tightly, digging your fingers into fragile skin until your wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Your eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and your voice went so quiet you could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” Copper flooded your mouth as the soft lining of your cheek split under the brunt of your teeth, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

You were scared to open your eyes as the silence stretched between the two of you. You’d danced around the subject before, hinted and spun around the heart of it, but you’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give you a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, just plain ol’ grief—but whatever caused your temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, you had no explanation at all. When you finally peeked through your lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, you couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” you cut him off. Your eyes went flinty, irises darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of your anger. You never had any trouble reading your father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that you had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing you remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

You nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of your denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

You blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” you stood up quickly, shouldering your bag. You forced the corners of your mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. You had seen it before, on one of your many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, you assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. You must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave you a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping your fingers around the strap of your backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

Outside, the sky was grim, a mocking reflection of the dour expression on your face. The spite in your eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of your cheeks. For a moment, you just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor.

A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled you back into reality. The search for your car keys was, of course, a considerable endeavor. Nothing could be easy. Not here. Not today. Not ever, you thought. A bit melodramatic maybe, but the weather was certainly ripe for a bit of self-pity.

You stacked your textbooks and binders onto the hood of your sedan, haphazardly throwing your jacket on top of the pile to protect your painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of your car keys, your hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when you pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all you could do was rest your forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to your mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of your thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

You jumped, and then flinched again when your keys clattered against the ground. You caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as you felt. You turned around, trepidatiously—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow your rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

You blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for your keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and your heart dropped back into your chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. You hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” you hummed, leaning back against your car. Your fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” your brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above your heads as you stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made you sink your teeth into your bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

You pursed your lips and ran your eyes over the front of your car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” You were slightly horrified when you finally noticed that you were smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto your face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in your cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of your car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by your freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” you sighed and started stuffing your things back into your backpack, shaking it violently until your notebook finally slid past your chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of your face. You tilted your head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. His eyes, you noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, you realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

You pushed his finger away from your face with your own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered. He struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked next to your car, cursing under his breath until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Your lips parted briefly, and then you grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

You bit back the snark poised on the tip of your tongue. When people looked at you, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. You were the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; your mom died, and you were there. It seemed like that was all you would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been your chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so you took it, wholeheartedly. You kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and your mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” you finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting your head, you watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” you said faintly. It was coming back to you in pieces. That was life after twelve for you: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when you surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards you, “Stiles.”

You took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Y/N.”

His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and your eyes widened. You held your breath in your sternum until you registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, you concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills.  

You sighed a little as you listened to the rain patter against the asphalt and the roof of your car, rubbing your palms over your arms until the goosebumps prickling along your biceps receded into your skin. Stiles looked back at you again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards your face. You caught it before it could smack into your nose, and you clutched at the soft material until you realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at you when you looked up from your hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and you felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in your arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. You blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into your closet until your second alarm startled you into snatching the first shirt you came across—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on your lashes dripped into your eyes.

Robotically, you thrust your arms through the sleeves and tugged it over your head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. You smiled slightly, combing your baby hairs behind your ears, “I guess I forgive you for attempting to blind me in the process.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “That was an excellent throw. First-line material, honestly.”

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyebrows crawling towards your hairline, and Stiles sighed loudly, “Okay, so I’m not an ‘athlete’ or whatever—but I’m working on it. You’ll see—you’ll all see.”

You hummed softly, unconvinced but grateful enough to not comment further. Another bout of silence fell between you, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the background as you let out a soft sigh, dropping your head back against your car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock your car and now, but you couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, you realized, without your foul mood casting a shadow over your head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. You could feel his gaze on you again. A tickling sensation trailed down your spine as you fiddled with your keychain. You took a step backwards and bit your bottom lip, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you throw something else at my face.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. A tire iron was next.”

You slid into your car and stared at the steering wheel, forgetting to laugh at his joke. You wrapped your fingers around 10 and 2 and silently called upon every deity you’d ever heard of to end your suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but you seriously doubted your smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, you should revisit your resounding dedication to atheism, you thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. You bit back a smile when he shot you another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from your car’s battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, you were convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against your window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

You snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. You decided that you much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” you drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

You thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” you sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” you agreed, staring at a small chip in your windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that you couldn’t believe it had taken you this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut your door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “Seeya at school. I’ll bring something fun for target practice—maybe grapes. You like grapes? Don’t answer that—I’ll surprise you.”

You put your car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and gave him a dry smile, “The anticipation is killing me.”

What a scary place to be, you thought as you watched Stiles disappear in your rearview mirror. Anticipation. Hope. Life. You were chronically good at surviving; cockroached your way out of every horrible thing life squashed you with. Lately, all you could do was cling to your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin, until you were barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but death would not stop for you, so you stopped looking for him. You kept treading water, took your pills, stopped existing—you were a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. You didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced you to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

Your dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when you finally pulled into your circle driveway. It was a rare sight; your dead battery had disrupted your usual routine. You were supposed to be safely tucked away in your room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if you were feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time your dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way you could function in the same space. 

He used to stare at you from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way you knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, you thought. You loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you now. You wondered, and you desperately didn’t want to find out.  

You shouldered your backpack and made sure your car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. You could hear the buzz of the microwave as you toed off your sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Your dad loved their al pomodoro. 

You tried to make yourself as small as possible as you skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to your ears and grip tight around the strap of your backpack. Your dad’s back was to you; you could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once you reached the island. 

“Did…” your dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?” 

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at you. You stared at the back of his head and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. Look at me. Your brows pinched, and your back molars ground together. Look at me. 

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” you shoved your hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that you forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time. 

“That’s not what I—” your dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.” 

“Oh,” you shifted your weight onto your other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Your dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but you supposed it was the closest you’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud. 

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.” 

You nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. You’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when your dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe you could if he would look at you.

[one-winged-dreams]

jackals will see the words "plague doctor" and immediately black out so 👀 im curious about 'Blood Plague with Vampires and Plague Doctor Exorcists Book'

@dearly-beeloved

OKAY. This one is my horror novel, and it's got such a long title because it's just... a lot lmao.

It's about a blood plague that infected 65% of the world, and has varying stages that some people may or may not get to. Most people have the passive stage, but the worst stage is complete transformation into a horrific monster that's pretty much a vampire in that it needs blood (by... eating whole people) to survive, super strong and agile, and weak to religious imagery (mostly Exisa, the Goddess of Mercy that the whole Church involved in maintaining the plague follows. Also there are SO many gods in this universe, even just casual ones that roam the world. Some of them are pretty freaky.)

ANYWAY, the Church performs something called an 'exorcism' on the people who transform. It involves typical exorcism stuff and... surgically removing constantly regenerating organs and teratomas and stuff until the person is 'cured' (not cured but basically not a monster anymore. They gradually start to reform back into a person instead of an amalgam of teeth and bones and other things.). The survival rate is... Not great, but the chance beats just outright putting them down.

The protags are a 14-year-old girl named Fausta that has a minor level of the plague and is training to be a Plague Nurse, and her 28-year-old big brother figure named Arnaud who is pure of the plague so he's a Plague Doctor.

The main plot is still in the works, but it involves ~gruesome murder~ and ~church conspiracy~

It's my baby right now. As a treat, he's the descrip of the peek of the first Vampire that appears in the book. tw for body horror and gore

The arms were split from hand to elbow, sharp rows of tooth-like growths in various shapes and sizes rowing the schism of flesh and bone. The bones of the fingers had grown too thick and too long to be contained, only the remains of shredded skin around the barbed appendages that extended long and far. 

As the Doctors lifted the cloth to strap in the legs, Arnaud wondered how they would even manage. The bones were snapped and twisted as if screaming out in protest to the anatomy ordained by the God of Creation. His answer came suddenly as the Doctors counted down, then snapped the almost plantigrade shape from the knees down into a straight-legged position, the body beneath the cloth suddenly jerking. 

Arnaud thought he could hear a light clicking, but the way his nerves were screaming had him considering if his senses could currently be trusted.

Next came the upper legs, spread outward into an almost impossible frog-like position. Another countdown and then an ugly popping complimented by the chorus of flesh stretched beyond its limits violently tearing.

The resulting sound could only be described as obscene, ear-splitting, and chilling to the core.

[blkkizzat]

Happy Thursday 😊

Omggg i love that idea of reader being engaged maybe to Naoya (ik he nasty but him and his bleached hair and tight black shirt does things to me)

STOPPP THE PTSD I GOT FROM PLUG!CHOSO WAS SO DELICIOUSSSS like fr i need to send you a whole ass book report on how that fic made me see colors i didnt know existed because 😵‍💫 its my weakness when the angst only affects the male character and not the reader HDJSKSKA i been suffer too much in my life to want to read about a fictional me suffered so why not ruin a fictional man's life 🤷‍♀️ that fic came to me at a good time because honestly i was spiraling a bit over some fic i shldnt have read where reader was this pushover who got cheated on (and then threw her virginity to the man who cheated on her 💀)and i had to nope outta there so fast bc that personally aint for me, thats why im saying i looove your bimbo reader and like, she aint takin shit- she causing it 😂

Otaku!Gojo wasn't incel coded to me at all btw, in case i said smth that made you think otherwise 😭 he gen seemed like just his goofy ass self i love him so much. Also semi rare opinion but I like the virgin gojo fics because I really do think as much as gojo is such an extroverted little bug, he really does have his walls up on who he lets in emotionally 🥲 I feel like he might even have some internalized "well im not gonna date or fuck around because i dont want to drag anyone into my ugly world" hsjsjks idk i just feel like he might force himself to be lonely because he takes his responsibility seriously. Aughhhh, especially if he's in love with reader? I feel like man would be in the friendzone for years, be the best man at her wedding, and live and die loving herrrr 😭 im delulu but its just so loverboy gojo to me hehe. Also omg I have so many requests I wanna make before they close but honestly I'm secondhand exhausted from reading all the fics you already got going on LMAO

p.s your about the editor- ummmm excuse me???? YOU'RE SO GODDAMN PRETTY!!!! Like you gen have doe eyes and flawless skin I'm so jelly. Also i love the gloves w the dress 😍. You didn't ask but visually i would ship you with toji 😤 yall would have that bonnie and clyde hitman x bad bitch aesthetic going on !!

🍒 nonnie

🍒 nonny!!!! hi babes you doing good today???

LOL i totally feel you though, i wanna hate naoya so bad and then i be finding myself hate reading naoya x reader fics with a hand in my panties he's such a lil worm tho 😭

LMFAO listen i have that nicki quote in my m.list for a reason. tryna give these men trauma fr 😩. i want them absolutely SICK over us LOL! i totally get that, i hate when its a really well written fic too cause im like damn i wanna read more but i dont wanna be in my bed depressed tomorrow dkhsfliahsd.

but i feel like authors always come out a bit in our work, im definitely bimbo/brat reader. i do not take shit from these dudes irl so im not about to write reader getting cheated on or played unless reader is about to go scorched earth gone girl on their asses lmfao. like entire lives ruined lol.

also omg, yes, yes, yes. i totally agree about gojo. i actually think hes very emotionally stunted in canon, as its suggested by him, geto and sukuna in later chapters that being the strongest comes with isolation so growing up with so much expectations i feel as gojo sees himself as disconnected from others. in AUs i feel like this can manifest in him becoming more isolated. i almost feel like he's an extroverted introvert. that he probably feels more used to being isolated but still feels that need for connection. so yes friendzone for years. omg (not you making me feel bad for this man now lmfao).

You can make more if you want! like idk when im gonna get to everything cause im at the mercy of my adhd but honestly with all the fics i do have and these requests i think im pretty solid until the end of the year lmfaooo.

ALSO OMFGFGFGFGF you gonna make me cry whaaaat. tysm!! i went to a charity auction for my mba program. i work from home and im legit in a bonnet and an anime shirt 80% of the time so when i have the chance to glam up i really like to do that! ALSO WHAT!? GET OUT OF MY BRAIIIIN LOL!! So i thought of this one selfship, that i was going to make into toji x reader that was pretty much bonnie and clyde kinda relationship. but i didnt really know where the fic was going besides us causing general chaos and being super downbad for each other haha.

but omfg tsym for the long beautiful ask you're so sweet omfgbsjdbasdkj id die for you 🍒 anon you da best pookies!

[arcadejohn127-9]

Okay, so I'm really skinny. Underweight tbh. And I'm kinda insecure about that, because I'm literary bones and skin.

Could I request Brothers dealing with some lesser demons who were laughing at MC because how small, skinny and "easy to break" they are?

All body types are valid and wonderful; just like some people can't control how much weight they put on, others can't control how much weight they can't gain. It's not always simple with body types - just look after yourself regardless of your size. Eat your 3 main meals, have small snacks or mini meals every 2-3 hours that are more healthy or if you have healthy main meals let your mini meals/snacks be unhealthy

Though too much of anything can be unhealthy so is there really a different between the types?

Also please everyone drink plenty of water even if you have to give it some flavour for it be more enjoyable!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"are you sure you're a human? You look more like a reaper to me."

Three demons surrounded you, leaning on the table as you tried to ignore them. Keeping your focus on the the worksheet Infront of you but a demon snatched your pencil.

"Hey, doesn't this remind you of Someone?" the demon laughed, pointing the pencil at you.

But they took it another step, they easily snapped the pencil in half with one hand. Throwing it back at you. You flinched away, covering your face but luckily it landed on the table.

They were all snickering. Prodding at your arms and sides. You squirmed away from them and slapped their hands.

"leave me alone..."

A different male demon grabbed your wrist, inspecting your slim wrist.

"hey don't grab them like that, you might break them! I mean look at them, they're bone!" The female demon mocked concern.

"Aw come on~ can't handle a few jokes? Humans really are weak."

Your wrist was thrown from his grasp; it smacked on the table and you hissed. Just before you could do anything the classroom door suddenly opened. The demons all whispered a fearful "oh shit" under their breath.

Lucifer:

"I see you're living up to the title 'lesser demon', how wonderful for you."

His condescending smile immediately drooped

His hands moved swiftly and a whip appeared in them, he glared at them

The three of them gulped, looking at each other

"How many lashing should I give them, perhaps everytime they insulted you? Every snicker or chuckle - how about everytime they breathed?"

he snapped the whip with a snarl

They looked at you for mercy and you considered letting Lucifer having his way

But you felt a sick feeling in your stomach knowing how vicious he could get

"i just want an apology and to be left alone..."

"You heard them, beg for forgiveness and if i find any of you were bothering them again I won't let them decide your fate."

The three demons immediately got on their knees, legs shaking as they apologized repeatedly for their actions

You knew it was fake but apart of you felt happy hearing their apology

"you can leave now."

On that cue they ran out making sure to dodge the quick whip from Lucifer

The last one Getting caught on the butt and practically jumped out of the room

"They're foolish, love, you are absolutely ravishing and I could never ask for a more wonderful partner, let's go get some ice cream - my treat to help your bad day."

Mammon:

"ya wanna repeat that? Don't be going all silent just because I'm here~ go on, keep insulting the human, see what happens."

He chuckled, hands in pockets

The demons weren't sure how to respond

To test what he'll do or play it safe

Mammon twiddled a playing card between his fingers, a smirk on his face as he stood behind you

One of the demons opened their mouth but he just flicked his wrist, the card sticking itself in the wall just missing the demon

"I ain't very forgiving, ya see so it's best you start apologizing now or things could get abit messy."

You was surprised by how fast they all dropped

Apologizing and begging for you to forgive them

"Please leave, you've apologized enough."

They all ran out thanking you for being so kind

"awww but (Y/N), you could of made them your posse!"

"I just wanted them to leave, I know they aren't actually sorry."

"hfmp, they better be or else I'll get 'em - did I look cool?! I was practising that trick for weeks!"

You chuckled, kissing his cheek

He grinned even wider as he grabbed your hand

"you were real cool, you were like a spy."

"does that make you my stunning partner in crime? Your looks lure in the suspects and I get them? You can't convince me otherwise - you're a real beaut."

Levithan:

"LMAO, your faces~! I can't wait for this to go viral, perhaps even Prince Diavolo will see this, wouldn't that be unfortunate."

He kept filming, pointing the camera at their faces

They looked even more Horrified

A powerful demon was already coming to get them but now the prince could get involved?

"should I post it, (Y/N)? You're in it after all."

"I just want them to leave me alone, I don't care."

Levithan hummed, displeased at the demons

"it's pretty rude you're just standing there and not apologizing, they're the one in charge if you get found out or not."

The demons gasped, staring at you and then back at Levithan

They immediately started apologizing, blaming their actions on just jealousy

You shook your head and they began to sweat

Fearing they're going to put on blast for their actions

Surprised by your defeated sigh

"just go....it's not worth it."

Levi was about to argue differently but the demon had already left

"Wha!!!! I felt like an anime protagonist! Did they say anything else to you?! I swear they can't tell what beauty is-"

"it's fine, they weren't wrong."

"HUUUH???!!!!!! don't listen to them, (Y/N), I think you look just fine the way you are and yo-you should see yourself as attractive too-! because you're awesome and Your loo-looks are even more cool!"

He hugged you, hiding his red face in your shoulder

Satan:

"You're brave to think you're in any position to even breathe in their direction, for all our dignities It would be best you apologize and leave."

They were ready to bolt right there and then

They looked at you and started to apologize but Satan clicked his teeth

"be sincere, we can be here for as long as we want until you feel genuine guilt for your actions."

He slammed his hand down on the table

The lesser demons cowered

You just sat there, frowning

You just wanted to be left alone and let your feelings out

The demons apologized again

Making sure to add sincerity in their voice but Satan kept making them repeat themselves

It got to the point you had to cut him off

"It's fine, they've apologized, let them leave."

He hummed, annoyed but nodded

The demons scrambled out of the room, fearing to even look at the two of you

"if you ever need me to go back at them I'll do just that, I couldn't believe they would say something like that to you."

"thanks for helping, just let them leave instead of using your energy."

"I'll try to but I'll make sure there is no next time, you don't deserve to be spoken to like that and you are far more charming than any of them, I for one, adore how you look."

Asmodeus:

"repeat that again~? I hope I didn't hear you three insulting my darling, it's so ugly to shame others for their body."

The demons tried to utter out a response but he just stared at them

Tilting his head as he smiled

He got closer to them, staring into their eyes

Soon enough they were charmed

"why don't you tell me why you thought it was okay to speak to (Y/N) like that."

They all began speaking; expressing their envy for your relationship with asmo and the other demons

One of them just telling him they saw you as fragile and unlikable

Asmo smiled wider before suddenly grabbing one their chins, a snarl on his face now

"do you feel sorry? Are you ashamed of yourself?"

They all said yes, apologizing to you

"thanks asmo, you can let them go now."

He happily did as you said, telling them to leave

He nuzzled into your body, hands wandering over it as he grinned

"They're just jealous demons who can't handle their own Insecurities, you're not like them, everything about you is good looking - inside and out! I couldn't ask for anything more~"

"Seriously...?"

"yes!!! I'm in love with you and your body is marvelous to look at, i can't get enough of you!"

Beezlebub:

"Apologize and leave or I'll make you my next meal."

Straight to the point

And it was effective

His size was already intimidating but his willingness to devour whatever he wanted was scarier

They apologized to you, Getting on their knees and telling you how gorgeous you were

You felt your mood get worse so you waved your hand

"don't bother, a sorry was enough, you can leave now."

They shot up but Beel bite the air Infront of them when they passed him

They shrieked and picked up their speed

"I can't stand people like that.... they're more clueless than mammon."

He sat with you

Clenching his jaw, you held his hand and leaned against him

"Don't listen to them, I think you look really nice, I like the way you look but I know the important thing is that you like the way you look, I don't mind how you look because you'll still always be you."

Belphegor:

"Hey gorgeous, are these idioits bothering you? What a shame, I was hoping lesser demons knew how to keep in their place."

He wrapped an arm around you

Glaring at the lesser demons, they grew more nervous under his hateful eye

They muttered to themselves for not realising he was there but belphie mocked them, asking them to speak up

"what's with the change of energy? You were confident about your opinions before, what changed?"

They couldn't answer without looking weak

Belphegor only grinned at them

He kissed your cheek

"that's what I thought, scram!"

They ran off, not daring to look at you

They couldn't even hiss or glare, knowing the demon behind you would have their throat for it

They were lucky to not get hurt when he found them

"thanks, sorry, did you come here to sleep?"

"I was looking for you, keep me close, okay? Don't listen to those demons - they wouldn't be able to tell what's good or not even if their lives depended on it, you're perfect the way you are."

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hi love, so I was wondering if u had any thoughts about Edward panic changing Bella if she was close to death while he was near. Like if they were in a car accident or whatever and medical help was too far away. For all his refusal to turn her and let her die naturally, he seems like he would panic and bite her when in the actual situation. (Regardless of whether or not he succeeds in turning her or mercy kills her after, because I totally agree with u about those two lmao 😭😭😂)

Hello, anon.

Well, this actually happened in canon.

The Fiasco of Bella's Emergency Birth

Bella's emergency C-section was a complete shit show and almost like an act of God to make sure Carlisle was not there. The date for the operation had been set, after weeks of starvation Carlisle finally leaves the house in order to prepare for surgery, and the second he steps out side what happens.

Bella's spine snaps like a twig, Edward has to eat his daughter out of the womb, and Bella's goes into cardiac arrest.

Bella's heart stops in the middle of this, her spine was broken, and she lost a massive amount of blood. Bella was a millisecond from death.

Edward stabs her with a syringe and chooses to turn her.

Before that point, it was unclear that he would.

He starts Breaking Dawn trying to coax Bella into postponing the change or even delaying it inevitably. His plan is to attend college with her, something Bella would physically not be capable of as a typical newborn.

Given the Volturi, this was absolutely not an option, Edward insists it is anyway.

When Bella becomes pregnant with his child, his plan is to abort her (forcibly if need be) and supply her Jacob Black as a stud in order to deliver all the human babies she could possibly want. Bella by this point cannot digest human food, her stomach has turned to stone, and Renesmee has likely damaged her internal organs beyond repair. Bella cannot go back to being an ordinary human, not without significant health issues, and that's if she survives at all (which I find doubtful).

I'm sure Edward had it in his mind that, even with Carlisle cutting Bella's uterus open with his teeth, that somehow, in some miraculous way, they might not have to turn Bella. Bella can remain human and everything will be fine.

But then Bella is dying in front of him, he sees her heart stop, and he makes the panic decision to save her life. He shoots her heart full of venom then begins CPR. Bella survives through the transformation and is turned.

To me though, this was very much a panic changing and something that was up in the air. Edward in that moment had to decide whether or not he could live without Bella, even if she's a vampire. He chose to keep her, he likely will always wonder if he made the correct choice.

But Back To Your Question

By Breaking Dawn Bella's been around a while. She's made it repeatedly clear, many many times, that she wants to be a vampire. She and Edward have extensively argued both pros and cons of vampirism. Edward's not sure Bella really gets what his reality is (she doesn't) but they have gone over it.

Bella's also talked to Carlisle, Rosalie, and Jasper about the whole vampire package. She's met multiple vampires, been attacked by multiple vampires, even Edward can't deny she's seen the ugly side of vampirism.

Bella really wants to be a vampire.

Edward has also faced reality without Bella Swan. It's bleak, cold, and endless. There is nothing for him in that world, even separating from her if she were to remain human pains him significantly.

Even Edward, stubborn as he is, could read the writing on the wall by Breaking Dawn. The decision is ruminating in the back of his mind and the option, loathe as he is to admit it, is actually on the table.

Then you have Renesmee who really helps things along. Per Renesmee, Edward decides that vampires do in fact have a soul. He is not a damned, senseless, creature and turning Bella would not condemn her to be a monster. He still likely doesn't like the idea of it, for reasons he cannot explain to himself, but his major theological argument is now gone.

Without Renesmee's gift, he may very well not have gone for that syringe.

But say we're in Twilight or even New Moon, this is a Bella Edward is sure has no idea what a vampire is. One who has not had a chance to assert a billion times that, yes, she really really really wants to do this. He's still convinced he can leave her and she can live a human life without vampires or any supernatural nonsense.

We see this Bella get significantly injured in Edward's presence.

Bella is losing a lot of blood fast after her run in with James. Carlisle has to start stitching her up immediately and get her to a hospital. A little later, and even from the blood loss she might have died. She's also been been bitten.

To stop her transformation, the venom would have to be sucked out, something notoriously difficult to do even under the best of circumstances. Bella's currently bleeding profusely and is Edward's singer: this is a death sentence.

Rather than panic change her, Edward panic keeps her human. He sucks the poison out, nearly going too far and killing her, and risks her death to keep her human.

In that moment, though it's a flash decision, Edward would rather Bella die than turn her. (After which, of course, he would go to Volterra to kill himself and give Aro an aneurism).

He repeats this sort of idea throughout the series. Notable are the times that Bella gives him hypothetical scenarios, increasingly ridiculous, to see what he would come up with.

A car crashes? Edward never crashes cars, he is that awesome at driving. And if the car crashes anyway, he has the reflexes of a panther, he'll unbuckle Bella, vault out of the car, and heroically jump out the back window to safety and humanity. Bella will never be injured.

A plane crashes? Edward unbuckles Bella from her seatbelt, carries her bridal style to the emergency exit, and then throws them both out the window and to safety... some tens of thousands of feet below preferably in water. He and Bella are then photographed as the sole miraculous survivors of this terrible tragedy. (When Edward gave this answer, I had my answer as to whether or not Edward actually passed his basic physics class. The answer, children, is no.)

Granted, these are not actual scenarios, and it's easier to give these kinds of answers than talk about them. But it's very telling that in Twilight, when Bella point blank tells him that one day she will die and that is the truth of humanity, he essentially says, "Blue Screen: ERROR" back to her followed swiftly by, "THE SUBJECT IS CLOSED".

Back to Your Question (Again)

But let's say we have your scenario. The summer after James, in Bella and Edward's summer of love before the birthday disaster, Edward (say it ain't so) crashes the fucking Volvo.

What can one expect when making a sharp turn at 110 MPH? Well, Edward has the reflexes of a panther, so he never saw it coming somehow. Bella, of course, saw it coming the first time she stepped into Edward's car.

Edward walks out fine, Bella... does not. The car's down in a ravine, Bella's bleeding out, it is clear she is not going to survive this and Edward cannot get her to the hospital in time even with his speed.

Well, given this is Twilight, and given the shock of all of this and suddenness, Edward could very well black out and eat her. When Edward comes to, he's om nom noming on Bella's battered corpse.

Edward runs away to Italy to kill himself.

Say he doesn't though, Edward manages to hold his breath or else miraculously control himself. Bella's still bleeding out, and giving him this very dazed, expectant, look. From Bella's face, it's clear what she's thinking: Turn Me, You Dipshit.

However... I imagine if Bella can't say the words out loud, Edward while panicked and in terror of losing her, won't do it. He will not condemn her to vampirism without her explicit consent.

Let's say Bella gurgles out, "Turn me, Edward"

Well, things just got a whole lot harder. This is now Bella's dying wish, she's looking at him even as the light fades out of her eyes, and he can see the growing resignation and disappointment in them. Edward will have this image with him forever, the life, light, and love bleeding out of Bella and her undoubtedly final thoughts that Edward was never worthy of her.

Honestly? Toss a coin.

I could see it going either way.

Edward stalls so long, deliberating, that the time for action passes. Bella dies right in front of him. That, or he sees her life force flickering and before he can think about it he bites her (whether to eat her or turn her we'll never truly know) and then it's too late, it's done, he's turned her himself. (If, of course, he doesn't accidentally kill her in the process).

The Aftermath

If he turns her then Edward will forever be haunted by the guilt that he destroyed Bella Swan. He turned her into a monster, just as he feared, and has condemned her to this miserable existence where she becomes orphaned from everything she knew.

Edward in this situation breaks things off with Bella (very awkward as they're part of the same coven now), he can't handle the guilt of what he did to her or what she now is. He thinks about mercy killing her, but given it's his own damn fault, is probably very conflicted and feels unworthy of taking even this action. All of this just makes him the lowest of worms.

Bella is utterly devastated that Edward appears to no longer love her (just as she suspected) and tries desperately to assure him that she loves being a vampire. She's finally comfortable in her own skin. She certainly still loves him and more, even if she wasn't happy, she gave her consent and would never hold that against him.

Edward doesn't care.

Edward likely goes to Rio to try to wrap his head around everything and be miserable by himself. Alice and Jasper likely leave on Alice's journey of self-discovery (but mostly to just avoid the emotional turmoil of the Cullen household). Rosalie actively blames Bella for this and tells her so to her face, Esme is an utter wreck, and Carlisle's working triple overtime at the hospital. Bella is even more devastated, she's Yoko Ono breaking apart the Beatles.

Bella offers to leave the Cullens. If she leaves then everything will go back to normal, right?

Everyone protests. But everyone here is pretty much Esme and Carlisle. But mostly Carlisle. Esme tries to, but it's in between sobs, where she talks about how beautiful Bella and Edward were AND THEY CAN WORK IT OUT. Emmett would, but Rosalie views Bella as a home wrecker and he has to side with the wife. Which just leaves Carlisle trying to lamely insist this isn't her fault.

It isn't, but, well, things are very bad right now.

Carlisle likely sets up Bella with the Denali. This ends after a few weeks, Bella can't handle the lifestyle and being the ugly brunette sister. Bella likely becomes a nomad and catches up with the Cullens every few years or so.

The 'Cullens' of course, becoming smaller and smaller each consecutive visit as the coven utterly dissolves.

The last time Bella visits, it's just Carlisle. Esme ran off to support Edward in Rio, Alice and Jasper never came back, and Rosalie and Emmett are on their 23rd honey-moon.

And that's how Bella rejoins the Cullens (i.e. Carlisle).

It's very awkward.

[writingindulgence]

Painting Nails with Gojo Satoru (x reader)

Pairings: Gojo Satoru x (unspecified-gender) reader

Genre: Good friends with some mutual pining, a bit of fluff and a bit of uncertainty, reader has their mind in the gutter for a split second 

Lmao, how long can someone write about painting nails T.T 2800+ words

When you recently mentioned that you had no free time to refresh your nails due to the influx of odd jobs here and there, you didn’t think that it would lead to your long time friend, Gojo Satoru, sneaking into your room at the Tech with a bag full of nail polish.

He was in the middle of laying them out haphazardly onto the coffee table. Colours ranging from neon bright to the darkest of shades stood before your very own eyes on full display. Their shapes were as varied as the palette. Standard round, rectangle shapes, funky stars and fragile butterflies just to name a few. 

The shock of what was transpiring had yet to register in your mind, a dumbfounded look creeping onto your face.

It wasn’t even the first time that this has occurred. Once in a while you would come back from a mission in another city, ready to fall down onto your bed in the one place that you could call home, only to have this excuse for a friend barge in on your time of relaxation. Sometimes, you didn’t inform anyone when you would be back in the hopes of being left alone but he always seemed to find out the best time to annoy you. When you were tired. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing in my room Gojo-san?”, you drop your tattered bag onto the ground before closing the door. 

The feeling of his incoming whines and guaranteed pout had become something of a sixth sense to you now. You thought that maybe he would grow out of it after his teenage years but the gods weren’t as merciful as you once believed them to be. 

“(Y/n)-channnn, why are you so mean to me? I haven’t done anything for you to call me that”, he dramatically groaned out before flopping onto your bed. 

Glancing at the table, you notice that his sudden movement knocked over some of the bottles.  

You also know what he meant by that. You only ever call him ‘Gojo-san’ when he screws up or when you are both in the presence of his students. 

As much as he likes to tease you in front of important people, you aren’t that unprofessional as to disrespect him as an educator in front of the students that he teaches. The kids already make fun of him and if you were to join in at the same time then you would begin pitying the man. 

You walk over to the sprawled lamp post of a human and indicate with your hand to scoot over before proceeding to throw yourself down beside him. 

“What is this about, Toru-kun?”, your eyes lazily scan over the nail polish. Of course you know what is going on but Gojo Satoru is a man that enjoys being humoured. 

Poor Ijichi-kun ends up as the victim of a lot of his whims when you’re away. Scratch that, even when you are around the unfortunate fellow gets bullied like a kindergartner at a playground.

“So~ I’ve noticed that your nails-,”

“I mentioned it.”

“.. have been looking rather-,”

“I mentioned it.”

“..duller than usual so-”,

“I-”, 

His body flew up from the lying position and a hand suddenly came into your view. Before you could do anything, Gojo clamped it over your mouth, an unseen eye-roll definitely going off under his blindfold. 

He wasn’t really irritated but you took it as a win for all the times he irked you in the past month.

“I NOTICED YOUR NAILS LOOKING DULLER THAN USUAL SO I WENT OUT OF MY HUMBLE WAY TO BUY THESE,” he finally lets you go after finishing what he wanted to say.

The sheets under you have become disheveled, your thrashing around to get away and shut his loud mouth in case Principal Yaga hears brought about no results. There was no rule against being in the same room, you weren’t some silly teenagers and even if you were, the Tech wasn’t that strict anyway, but the thought of his disappointing gaze burning into your soul…

Your thoughts are disrupted when Gojo throws two pillows onto the floor. Knowing that there is no escaping this, you dust down your clothes and gracefully sit down. 

Who knows? This may actually turn out to be relaxing. Even if you’re wrong then spending time with friends is precious, no matter the activity. Especially in this line of work. There is no telling when one might hear the news of their comrades’ death. 

Gojo sits on the other free pillow and smiles. “Any colour pulling you in? If not then I would love to recommend, you know, I’m sort of an expert at this.”

You laugh slightly at his confidence before agreeing to his proposal. As long as it’s not too ugly then you really don’t mind what he ends up picking. 

In fact, you trust his judgement when it comes to fashion. His casual outfits always end up taking your breath away. You’re forever glad when he forces you to go along with him to the shopping district. You know your style and what you’re comfortable with but Gojo presents you with something unique every time.

“Hmmmm...then, what about this one?”, the hand that was under his chin as he was contemplating leaves its position and he quickly picks up a (f/c) nail polish. 

The container is cute too, a glass cat face. Though how did he figure out what colour this was with that blindfold? Only Gojo knows. 

You reach out for the item but he leans back and pulls it to his chest. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. 

“(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n)...,” he creates an X with his arms before continuing, “Bzzzt! Did you really think I would be so rude as to leave you alone with that tedious job? Who do you take me for?”. 

He grasps the fabric where his heart is located and fakely sniffles. Oh, so he wants to paint them for you. Figuring out that you may as well indulge in a little care, you extend your hand for him to hold. 

Gojo twists the nail brush open and dips it into the bottle a few times. His tongue is poking out as he tests how much of the liquid is on the brush. You don’t even question how he will paint your nails without seeing properly. Understanding his infinite capabilities has become second nature to you. 

Instead, you focus on the feeling of his hand when it grasps yours. 

It’s bigger and somewhat rougher, though not uncomfortable. Really, it feels secure to have around your own.

Jerking back at your line of thinking, you can feel the heat growing on your face by the second. Calm down there, no need to get ahead of yourself. You’ve held hands many times in the city before so that you don’t get ‘lost’, how is this any different?

“Hey now!,” Gojo grips your hand more firmly than before. 

“Sorry, sorry. I had an itch,” you come up with an excuse and double down when you scratch your shoulder with a free hand. 

He doesn’t say anything in return, there are none of his usual comebacks. That’s suspicious, he always needs to have the last word in no matter what. 

Instead he applies the first stroke of nail polish on one of your nails. 

His movements are steady, no shaking, and he doesn’t miss any spots. The process is...pleasant, being attended to by another. 

He moves on to your second finger, repeating the action from the previous one, applying just as much attention. 

Now that you are sitting still, barely breathing as you look on, his hold has become almost airy. Unless you focused purely on the skin to skin contact, it was as if your hand was levitating. 

Ah, technically he could be using ‘Infinity’ and keeping your hand away but...it made you feel weirdly unhappy. Your mouth tugged down in dissatisfaction unconsciously.

At the same moment, Gojo grasped the next finger on the list, the sudden feeling coming as a surprise. You barely held in the shocked gasp, tingles travelling up your arm. 

He didn’t say anything and continued the procedure. 

You peeked at his face to see if you could read him but there was nothing at all to go off on. No smile, smirk, pout or frown. 

Sheer concentration. 

It wasn’t unwelcome, in fact it was peaceful without the usual banter. And it wasn’t unbearably serious either. If you had to put a word on it then it felt...intimate.‘Wow, what the hell? Chill, he’s only a friend and this is simple nail painting’.

The clock in your room ticked continuously until eventually your fingernails were all finished. It took extra long because Gojo insisted that the proper way to do it was to paint two layers. So in the end you had to sit through another few minutes that honestly felt like an eternity. 

You hoped that you hadn't sweated with how warm it had gotten on your end.

“Alright! It’s your turn (Y/n)-chan,” he made finger guns and pointed them at your bewildered expression. 

“It isn’t fair if only you get this spa worthy treatment, no?”.

“Satoru, I think you overestimate my ability to paint nails. Of course, I do a fantastic job on myself but I am hopeless when it comes to others,” you explain. 

You may have over exaggerated a bit but if this goes on then your thoughts will enter dangerous territory, not that they haven’t already.

Distractions aren’t helpful when you are a jujutsu sorcerer, particularly in the romantic scene. 

Have you daydreamed about such scenarios? Yes. 

Would you like to experience them? Definitely. 

However, what you want and what you can have are at odds with each other.

“Don’t be a bore, come on, come on,” he sticks out his own hand before thinking up something and reaching towards his blindfold. “Let’s make it a challenge. I had such a difficult time so you have to suffer too”. 

He frees his eyesight and stands up. You’re about to follow but he shakes his head and kneels behind you. 

The smooth fabric covers your eyes and the pressure as he tightens the blindfold rubs against the back of your head. This feels like the beginning of a dirty situation-

A resounding smack travels in the enclosed room as you slap your cheeks simultaneously. This isn’t the time nor place.

“I’m accepting my resolve,” you throw out before Gojo can ask you why you hit yourself in the face. 

You hear him shuffle back to the pillow as well as glass tapping against glass. A nail polish bottle is shoved into your unprepared self. “I’m in your hands now,” he laughs stupidly to himself at his own pun. You can’t help cracking a small smile too.

Blindly, you fiddle around in front of you, wanting to start this. Clicking your tongue, you’re about to give out but Gojo finally decides to stop being a prick and gives you his hand. His shakes from laughter make themselves known but you ignore him. 

Unscrewing the bottle cap, you get to work. 

Only, you have to feel around for his fingernail. It’s impossible to hit the target without searching around first. 

You become overwhelmingly aware of the close proximity yet again and your heart skips a beat. The fact that you can’t see anything makes it far worse as your sense of touch becomes more sensitive. Your shaking hand dabs the point where you think the nail polish goes and you begin painting. 

Gojo’s amusement must have stopped too since you don’t hear him chuckling anymore. Is he looking at you? Or is he looking at his poor skin whenever you miss the fingernail? He doesn’t have his blindfold on so his eyes have to be focused on something. 

But what?

The silence becomes unmanageable and the constant skin against skin friction twists your insides. Is it just you? Or does he also think the same way?

“You know, you have pretty eyes. If you start an Instagram page with photos of them then you’ll get a following in no time,” you offhandedly mention to start a conversation. Knowing Gojo he’ll take the compliment, tease you a bit and move on. You shift around in the pillow before progressing onto the other hand, having speedrun the first, before he starts talking.

“That’s not a bad idea. You can do the eyeshadow and we can make some money,” he hums in agreement. The sound of extra cash nearly makes you drool but then a realisation hits you, like a truck an isekai protagonist. If you were to do the eyeshadow then you will no doubt have to be very close to his face. No way.

“On second thought, I don’t think we have the time,” you laugh it off. 

His disagreement comes soon after. 

“Haaaaaaah?! Then why did you mention it?”. His muscles tense, about to pull back to cross his arms but he remembers that you’re in the middle of painting his nails. 

After that, you both fall silent again. 

In the end, you get through the last finger and close the nail polish bottle. You tried your best, having taken your time despite it making you feel a certain way whenever you had to touch him longer than is necessary. 

You get up and reach out to unhook the blindfold but larger hands stop you in your tracks from behind. They pull yours away and drop them at your sides. 

“Allow the amazing gentleman, Gojo Satoru,” he gently takes it off as you stand unmoving. 

When light from the window hits your face, you scrunch your eyelids shut, waiting to adjust to the bright atmosphere. A hand patting down your hair makes them shoot open and you turn around to complain. 

Whatever you were going to say gets caught in your throat as you look up into his light blue eyes. His expression is serene, free of any worries but his eyes seem to be trying to speak a thousand words. 

They too look composed but you get the feeling that he’s trying to communicate something to you.

Swallowing, you clench your hand (conscious of the recently dry nail polish), and place it over your chest. “Satoru..um,” you pause, not fully comprehending what you want to say, or rather, how you want to say it.

Your eyes widen when you notice his hand traveling towards yours. 

Clumsily spinning around, you head for the pillows and shake off the dust that accumulated on them. 

“Thanks for today. I’ll have a nap, since I’m still tired from the flight.” 

You show your gratitude but hide the words your heart wanted to really express. 

You don’t turn around to see his expression. The sound of his blindfold going over his eyes is what you hear first. Then, 

“Don’t worry your sleepy head over it! Sweet dreams, (Y/n)”.

The door opens and closes gently behind you. 

Once you’re sure that he is far down the hallway, you throw yourself onto your bed, put the pillow over your face and scream. Feeling a little foolish, you stop and look over your nails. 

He really did a great job.

-Next Day-

The sun is shining brightly therefore there is no better time to take a walk. Which is why you aren’t surprised when you stumble upon Sukuna’s vessel, Itadori Yuuji. 

The teenager has a tub of ice cream with him. Maybe you should get some too? Gojo is bound to have some in his mini freezer.

“Ah! Hello, (L/n)-san,” the boy waves his hand in greeting and jogs over. 

“Itadori-kun, is it alright for you to be outside like this?,” you ask with concern. 

There are only a few people that know about his current state of being alive. When you heard that he died, you came as fast as possible to comfort Gojo. 

“It’s fine! Everyone is gone and Ijichi-san is on the lookout at the front gate. He’s meant to give me a ring you see”. He looks down.

“Oh! You’ve got some nice nails there,” he points out as he takes a bite out of the dessert. “You match with Gojo-sensei,” he adds after a second.

You pause your appreciative smile at his compliment. Excuse me? 

“Excuse me? Match?,” you prod him to elaborate.

The teenager scratches his cheek. 

“Ehh, but he said the plan was to match all along. Though they don't exactly look the same”.

Your eyes tear up in embarrassment at the turn of events. You’re matching nails? You thought for definite that he would wash them off when he gets back to his room. Not only that but putting the blindfold over your eyes must have been his sly way of making sure that you don't notice they're the same colour. 

Itadori shakes his hands in front of him before bowing. “I-I’m sorry (L/n)-san! I did not mean to insult the way you painted Gojo-sensei’s nails. They are a bit tactless compared to yours but that’s okay,” he apologises profusely, mistaking the root of your shame.

‘That dumbass Gojo Satoru’

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 13.2/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 2,815 Warnings: E for Adult Content

Notes: LMAO. Jokes on me, this half was longer.

Chapter 13.2 - In Which We Bask in the Company of Wolves

As quick as it had happened, the kiss was broken.

Holidae shrunk back against the arm of the sofa, her bottom lip trembling as though she were about to cry, her fingers falling away from his face and picking at the collar of her sweatshirt anxiously, “I… I d-didn’t… oh that was bad, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I should have… asked? Or… something… right?”

Much as he liked to brag about his skills at being a full-blown pathological liar, Beetlejuice was actually terrible at hiding his expressions when he was caught off guard. Not many people had been able to surprise him: after being around so long, you start to pick up on common things between humans, little nuances that they all shared in one form or another. Even though he lacked the ability to blush, it was easy to tell he was blushing; the wide, doe-like expression etched into every inch of his face.

She had pulled him to her.

There wasn’t malice behind her touch; no dragging him kicking and screaming around by his tie or coat lapels. Being shoved away in anger or irritation? He had grown numb to that sort of reaction to his closeness, figuring any sort of attention was better than none at all.

But this? Holidae had willingly allowed -wanted- him near her.

Although, by the look on her face, this situation was not going the way he had expected it to go after she made the first move. This was something that needed to be fixed now. His internal insecurities could wait.

“Whoa… hey hey now, what do you have to be sorry for?” Beej took hold of her jaw, squeezing it to encourage stillness. “I’m pretty damn sure I’ve made it more than clear that this - you and me - is something I want. Like. Yesterday. You could pretty much do anything you wanted to me and I would be more than happy to let you. …actually the thought of that is like ridiculously hot.”

The was a noticeable pause as he stopped to focus on the image appearing in his mind: Holidae looming over him in a skintight vinyl getup, one foot pressed against his back to keep him on all fours. Clearing his throat, he made a mental note to suggest that idea for another time. Holidae, not being able to see what was brewing in that mind of his, took his silence for comical effect.

She allowed herself some quiet laughter, “Oh? Just how often have you thought about you and me, huh? Should I be concerned? What if it’s not as good as you expect?”

He shook his head, subtly moving himself further up her body, easing the sudden pressure underneath his boxers. Those near-glowing eyes of his were trained directly on her face, watching for any change in her expression as he slipped his hands under her sweatshirt. Her skin was so damn warm; and he took it as a positive sign to continue his exploration, wanting to know just how hot he could make her become.

“Impossible. But the only way to prove my certainty is to test my logic over and over… you’ll be a good girl and help me with that, won’t you? No fun alone.” Beej was growling low in his throat, lulling her into a daze the way a serpent would its prey.

Holidae’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, her muscles twitching with every new point of contact between his hands and her skin. Her brain felt fuzzy as she listened to him, each syllable gliding over her body like smoke. When did it become so hot in the attic? His skin was almost biting cold against her stomach, feeling his sharp claws trace the line underneath her bra.

“…you’re right, it’s no fun alone.” She mumbled, the wanton tone in her voice sounding so foreign. “I can be a very good girl if you let me.”

Just like that, Beetlejuice’s demeanor shifted into something wholly more predatory. There was no subtlety to his movement as he crushed her against his larger form, covering her mouth with her own. Holidae could feel her heart pounding against her rib cage when he roughly pushed her against the arm of the sofa, his nails digging sharply into the flesh on either side of her body. It felt like she had been ‘nicked by razors, stinging as she felt him drag his hands down her body, but in spite of herself… she liked it.

Breathless, she managed to dislodge the two of them from each other, gasping for air as he pulled her sweatshirt up and off of her body.

“I’ve thought about this, ya know. A lot.” He grinned wolfishly, showing rows of sharpened teeth. “But I gotta wonder if you ever did the same.”

Her hands wandered down the side of his torso, holding him at bay for a few moments while he sat up between her legs, “Oh… once or twice… I suppose. It might have crossed my mind.”

“You are the worst liar, babes,” He chuckled, leaning back to let her explore as she pleased. “I bet you had some late nights… laying in that bed of yours and thinking about me. All the things I could do to you.”

Holidae stared unabashedly at him, her hands immediately busying themselves with exploring the soft planes of his chest, taking note of each little imperfection. He wasn’t lean by any standard, but she knew how strong he was; his general frame was stocky, there was a bit of muscle definition to be seen, but there were more areas where he was filled out.

There was a moment where he moved his body away from her touches; when she got too near the scar, ugly and prominently on display. Wisely, she stayed away from that spot for now, her hands settling on a spot just above his hips, squeezing the flesh softly.

“You look like you wanna eat me, Holly-baby,” Beetlejuice laughed, falling backward onto the sofa and pulling her on top of him.

“Maybe I do,” Holidae’s voice was husky and deep, the adjusted positions allowing her to feel the rather large bulge he was sporting now. “Would you really just let me devour you?”

“There’s nothing stopping you. I’m at your mercy, completely helpless in your sexy grasp.” He chuckled, unhooking her bra with precision. “I’m a tough guy, I can take what you dish out.”

She rolled her eyes, straddling him for balance as she sat up and tossed the undergarment in a pile with her sweater, “Well, if you’re going to be so damn romantic about it, how can I resist?”

Beej’s hand traveled up her left side, tracing the claw marks he had made all the way up to her breast. Her face grew warm in a blush that trickled down to her neck as he idly massaged her chest before sitting upright himself, the movement shifting their hips together, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the girl on top of him.

Humming in approval, the ghost leaned forward and buried his face against the crook of her neck, catching a bit of skin between his teeth. Holidae shivered, lolling her head to the side to allow him room to do as he pleased, tangling her hands in his hair. She could feel the groan he let out against her body, and she rewarded him with a soft tug on his pink-tinted locks.

Beej lavished open-mouthed kisses along her throat, his long tongue flicking at her pulse point, “Why are you so damn quiet? Didn’t peg you for the hush-hush quickie type of girl.”

“Quiet?” Holidae sounded breathy, lulled into laziness by his – surprisingly – gentle attention.

“Figured you’d be louder. Vocal. I wanna hear that pretty voice tear itself apart for me,” He mumbled against her skin, “We’re alone up here, babycakes. I’m gonna make you scream.”

She tugged on his hair sharply, enjoy the hissing gasp that came out of him, “Maybe this just isn’t doing it for me, Lawrence.”

He groaned loudly, bucking his hips up against her, “The fuck it isn’t.”

With effort, he pulled himself away from her, just long enough to snap his fingers at divest them both of their remaining clothing. Holidae wasn’t expecting the sudden nakedness, feeling the blush return to her face, a sudden spark of arousal prickling down her skin and sinking into her stomach. The girl was no virgin, but her sexual encounters were few and far between. She turned her head away from him, feeling not just nude, but bare all of a sudden.

Her arms started to fold across her chest, subtly covering herself, but he moved lightening fast to pull her arms away from her body.

“Nope, nope we are not gonna have any of that shit going on; I have spent too many hours thinking about these tits to just not appreciate them.” Beetlejuice huffed, “Ya get me?”

Holidae nodded, giving a surprised squeak as he rolled the two of them over on the sofa with ease. The furniture creaked loudly in protest, fitting itself to her body shape on the cushions.

Beetlejuice settled himself on top of her, running his hand in a slow path between their bodies, “Oooooh you lied to me, Holidae. Not doing anything for you, eh? You’re goddamn scorching. And fucking soaked. Right here.”

His hand pushed deliberately between her legs, his clawed fingers stroking her without shame or hesitation. Holidae turned her face to the side, trying to muffle the sounds that welled up in her throat, rolling her hips toward his hand. Beej took his free hand and grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look up at him, subtly pressing his hardened cock against her thigh.

“Noooo,” He leaned down and kissed her, his fingers pushing past her folds and deeper into her with ease. “I want to hear every sound you make because of me.”

Another jolt of arousal swept through her; brought to life by the roughness of his movement inside her, and the slight apprehension she felt whenever he put his hands near her neck. She knew those hands could have snapped her neck long ago – they still could – and the fear of it only seemed to heighten the sensations running through her body.

Holidae gave in to Beetlejuice’s request, a soft cry finally releasing itself into the quiet space around them. He rewarded her with another kiss, trailing his lips down to her jaw, and giving a bite to the tender skin. After a bit he slipped his fingers out of her wetness, adjusting her legs apart wide enough for him to move between, using his body to move her hips closer to his own. Grinning wide, he licked his fingers slowly… deliberately showing her his unnatural tongue as it moved between each digit, licking up every last drop of her.

It was embarrassing how much she was trembling against his body; how much she wanted him. He didn’t make her wait long, slowly positioning his cock right at her entrance. She knew that despite how wet she had become, it wasn’t going to be enough to make this a painless encounter. What worried her more than the fear of discomfort was how much she wanted it to hurt. All she wanted was to feel him inside her, to be completely at his mercy.

It was wrong.

Wasn’t it?

“Be a good girl and let me hear you, Holidae.” He whispered, snapping his hips forward and thrusting into her hard.

A shout tore itself from her throat, and her head pressed back against the sofa, her body arching up into his chest. Beej couldn’t hide his utter excitement at hearing her scream for him - because of him. A small voice in the back of his mind told him to hold still, however, knowing he might have gone a little too rough for their first time together.

“If… if you don’t start moving… I’ll exorcise you myself.” Holidae’s command was heavy with lust, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him in deeper.

Beetlejuice groaned loudly next to her ear, pulling out nearly all the way before thrusting back into her even harder. He set a rough, but steady, pace; keeping their bodies as close as he could manage as though he were afraid to let go of her. Holidae locked her legs around him, mimicking the harshness of his movement against her, meeting him thrust for thrust once she found his rhythm.

Her hands found their way into his hair, and she pulled him in for a deep kiss, moaning against his mouth. She knew she wouldn’t last much longer if he kept at it the way he was, already feeling the muscles in her abdomen coiling tightly like a spring. He didn’t seem in better condition, his thrusts becoming a little more erratic and shallow.

“Fuck,” Beej mumbled to himself more than her, concentration etched on his features, slowing down his pace. “Goddamn, Holly… If I would’a known… I would have fucked you in the graveyard that day. All mine now… all mine.”

He looked so disheveled above her; his hair sticking to the damp skin on his forehead above his brow, muscles stiff as he struggled to keep control of himself. Just seeing him like that – knowing that she had a hand in it – was enough to finally tip Holidae over the edge she was desperate to reach. She cried out his name in a sharp sound, voice cracking in a way that surprised her.

It was a desperate, wanting sound.

Almost helpless.

Sounds that were far more primal – predatory – came out of him and he sunk his teeth into the junction of her neck and shoulder. She knew he had pierced the skin, a small drop of blood running down her collarbone as he pulled away. Her body shuddered deeply around him, riding out wave after wave of pleasure until they begun to subside; her skin feeling as though she had been doused in ice water despite how hot she was to the touch.

Beetlejuice had slowed himself down during the height of her release, but resumed his brutal pace shortly after. He was almost frantic in those last moments, mumbling words she couldn’t make out against her skin, squeezing her impossibly tight as he finally spilled into her with few erratic thrusts. Holidae moaned softly, feeling impossibly full of him in that moment, holding him tight against her body as though he would vanish if she let go for an instant.

For what seemed like hours, neither of them moved.

Beej was the first to break their contact, slowly easing off of her and sitting himself up on the sofa next to her, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead. Conjuring his favored cigarettes, he deeply inhaled the smoke, letting it seep out of his mouth like a contented dragon. Holidae shivered, feeling the cool air against the thin layer of sweat upon her skin, her body screaming with aches she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She was unnerved by his silence, having expected him to make some lewd comment about his own performance, or hers. Was she expected to leave after a certain period of time? Slink back to her room down the stairs and not speak of the encounter again? Her previous partners had not been the most affectionate after sex, and she harbored no illusions of a  demon like him being any different.

Holidae began slowly easing herself up to sitting, her body protesting with even the smallest movement.

Immediately, an arm reached out and dragged her over to lay against his side, “Going somewhere, my little breather?”

She felt insanely embarrassed now, “You weren’t talking to me, so I assumed-.”

“I'm fucking worn out because of you, baby, you gotta give me a minute. Take it as a compliment.” He huffed, shifting himself up to rest his chin on the top of her head, holding the cigarette between his teeth.

“Oh,” Holidae eased herself against his body, willing herself to relax into the sudden affectionate gesture.

“Lemme just tell you: worth the wait. Have to savor it for a while, you know? Plus, I'm hardly the type to kick a little hellcat like you out of bed. I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I pulled shit like that.” He laughed, drawing nonsensical shapes on her back with his fingers.

“So you want me here to save your gentlemanly reputation?” The pout was clear in her voice.

“No, I want you here because I just do.” His fingers stopped moving, his hand flattening out against her skin, “Is that a problem?”

Holidae shook her head, “No, I'm just surprised.”

“Mmm, had me worried there for a second.” Beetlejuice hummed in the back of his throat, “You’re mine now, and I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

“Oh, well, in that case I suppose I should stay.” She replied softly. “I won’t go anywhere.”

There was a very long silence that followed, and she had thought he’d fallen asleep in the wake of his exhaustion, like she was tempted to do herself.

Before she gave into the gentle pull of sleep, Beej’s voice broke through the quiet, “No, you won’t.”

Writing Tags: @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @ashemspirit @asriells

[haikyuu-scenarios-box]

Hi. I'm the anon who asked about au's. I'm just shy, so don't take offense my apology! You're great and friendly! I'd like a scenario request though! I've been into vampires since the Halloween season, and wanted to request one. A little late, but I guess any time is a good time, haha. I'd like it to be with Tsukishima being vampire and spending the night at his crushes house, and he ends up feeding on her in her sleep? You can do what you like with this idea! I'm very interested to see it!

A/N: omfggg i went so so overboard with this,, im just so damn weak for vampire!tsukishima. TW: blood obviously. Also, keep in mind that this request involves a character coming into the reader’s bedroom to p much prey on her while she’s asleep. There’s nothing sexual involved, but if you suspect that that type of scene may trigger you, then I suggest you either don’t read this or read at your own discretion. Ok?? ok,..,, you’ve been warned and you’re on your own now. Word count: 1,870 (lmao my bad)

UNDER THE CUT.

____________

His fingers were akin to glass; their delicacy threatened with a shatter as they brushed against the daisies. Traces of pollen were dusted along his palms, petals of ivory stroking the length of his legs. Sparse grass had buried itself into the folds that rested within his clothes, lightly pricking his skin. 

Discarding the vivid memory, Tsukishima recalled that he hadn’t seen the cottage by the meadow in over a century. 

To Tsukishima, those memories resembled scratched segments of dusty videocassettes. He remembered that he had a brother named Akiteru, a seamstress for a mother and a labourer for a father. Their faces, however, were permanently forgotten. It didn’t bother Tsukishima, though - he preferred it over death. If it weren’t for Yamaguchi turning him, he would have died following the pillage. 

Prior to meeting her, Tsukishima never kept track of time since he had all of eternity to live. In the past year, he’d grown attached enough to maintain his relationship with her, but not attached enough to risk getting his head severed from his body. Tsukishima planned to cut her out of his life soon.

‘Look at you all zoned out,’ she teased, ‘I didn’t take you for an art critic.’ 

‘You want a critique?’ Tsukishima sneered, ‘this painting’s really ugly.’

‘It’s not ugly!’ she exclaimed, ‘Ojiisan gave it to me. He bought it from an artist in Nagiso long ago.’ 

‘Well, he had awful taste,’ he knew that that wasn’t his real opinion. What else was he supposed to say, though? That the painting of a cottage by a meadow reminded him of his first home? That he was alive before her grandfather was? 

Of course not.

‘You have a lot of nerve saying that…’ she poked the bridge of Tsukishima’s glasses, ‘… when you’re the one who’s wearing those. Get nicer frames.’

‘I’m sorry I like to see,’ he sarcastically said with a smirk, ‘is this how you treat your guests?’

‘You’re the one who said my painting’s ugly,’ she shrugged, collapsing on the couch. ‘I think ojiisan said he met a vampire when he visited Nagiso.’ 

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Tsukishima sneered, joining her, ‘there’s barely any in Japan.’

‘Yes there is,’ she asserted, ‘they used to live savagely centuries ago, but they’ve integrated into human society.’

Tsukishima was almost taken aback. She was right - creatures of his kind still existed and they integrated well. Too well, to the point where they were widely considered to be an extinct being.

‘Let me guess, your ojiisan told you that,’ Tsukishima masked his surprise with a taunting tone, ‘do vampires also disappear in mirrors and wear black cloaks?’ 

She crossed her arms as she stuck her tongue out childishly, ‘Make fun of me all you want, but he said that he knew what he saw. A young woman in an alleyway,’ she shuddered, her spine graced by a shiver, ‘her fangs buried deeply within a mangled cat, slurping up all its blood.’

‘How scary,’ Tsukishima mocked, pretending as though he hadn’t done such a thing. He was repulsed at the idea of feeding on animals, but centuries ago, there were times where he found himself desperate. All he fed on nowadays were suicide victims beneath a nearby cliff and from blood banks. Yamaguchi did the same.

‘Whatever,’ she stood up, stretching her arms out with a yawn, ‘don’t come crying to me if you ever do come across a vampire.’ 

‘Because in that situation, I’d definitely come to you,’ Tsukishima sarcastically remarked, ‘I’d feel safe with your wooden stake and silver.’

‘You realise I can make you sleep on the couch instead of the guest bedroom, right?’

____________

Every attempt he made to quiet his mind had failed; it descended, further, further and further into an obsession with the possibility that a long blade would soon sever his head. 

Tsukishima was never aware that she possessed any knowledge about his kind. Vampires became less of a reality and more of an old tale. Not many knew that they ate human food, drank human drinks - the only difference was that it was all tasteless and that his nutrition could only be obtained from fresh blood. Put simply, human foods were a useless filler. 

Although she didn’t mention it, Tsukishima believed it was likely that she was aware of that fact. As his pupils fixated themselves to the ceiling, a year was suddenly no longer a fleeting moment to him. A year’s worth of a close relationship with a human was a long time. Especially when the human belongs to the minority that believed that vampires still lived amongst them. 

Yamaguchi had warned him of this, urging him to recall when hiring vampire hunters was common practise, when suspected vampires (and any human who sheltered a vampire) were burned at the stake, begging for any form of mercy. 

Tsukishima began packing away the belongings he brought with him to her home, concluding that her memory of him had to turn into a mirage, just like the faces of his family. As he made his way out the guest bedroom, he realised how he loathed how fond he grew of her. Tsukishima wanted to fully remember the arch of her brows, the lashes that curved away from her waterline, the wit of her tongue, the outline of her lips.

He passed by her bedroom, knowing that he couldn’t rely on his memories. Eventually, the centuries to come would led them to disintegrate into ashes, where they will never arise again - memories bore no similarity to a phoenix.

Turning around, Tsukishima quietly placed his duffle bag on the floor and carefully opened the door. He was unsure as to whether he could remember her once he left - but he was confident that he wouldn’t forget the flavour her blood carried. 

Her body had already been lulled into a deep state of sleep - after all, Tsukishima possessed heightened senses and could hear her slow and rhythmic breathing. 

The emotional attachment Tsukishima held towards her was constantly denied by him, until he envisioned his pillow beside hers. He falsely hoped to share that blanket with her for the nights to come, perhaps even bicker over blanket-stealing the following morning. Maybe she snored sometimes and he could tease her about it. Would they wake up at the same time, or would he wake up first? 

Tsukishima didn’t want those thoughts to exist anymore. He wanted them to burn with intense fury and relief; identical to the burning of suspected vampires centuries ago. 

She was already asleep on her side, her body facing the wall. Kneeling beside the double bed, Tsukishima warily placed a hand on her shoulder. The thumb of his other hand rested along the angle of her jaw, gently pushing her head further away from her neck. For a couple of seconds, Tsukishima merely stared at the skin he was about to pierce. She’ll keep him in mind while the marks scab over and bruise, but after that, she will forget about him; because he’ll be long gone by then. 

The longer his fangs grew, the more reluctant he became to bite into her. This wasn’t going to be the first time that Tsukishima fed on someone alive - there was a time when he was forced to do so. He knew his neck anatomy quite well, he wasn’t an idiot who recklessly bit into people and accidentally killed them.

Tsukishima’s felt the tip of his fangs touch her neck. This situation lacked any similarity to his past feedings on sleeping humans, for it was completely unrelated to survival. Rather, it was a feeble to cure his illness of melancholy; the fever that forced him to breathe the air that, to him, resembled the very salts of the ocean. Every inhale filled his lungs with blue hellfire.

That was what drove him to finally abandon his loyalty to cautiousness.

Tsukishima haphazardly sink his fangs into her neck, memorising the intensity of the iron. He knew that if he were to suddenly pull his head away in that moment, he’d rip her neck wide open. But he had to bite down with that much force. He had to remember her. 

As hot, thick scarlet slid down Tsukishima’s throat, he began to actually consider the consequences. With the mark, she’d easily have the power to report him. Although the probability of anyone believing her was slim, his actions were still creating the possibility of his death. For a mere second, Tsukishima even pictured himself turning her.

Once a low yelp was heard by Tsukishima’s hypersensitive ears, he rid his mind of those disorganised thoughts. He was sure that his absence of self-control had awakened her, yet he began to question whether he really was scared of getting killed. Tsukishima’s lived for centuries. He’d seen it all. 

With that realisation, Tsukishima strengthened his grip and pushed her head even further away from her neck. He noted that as his gulps turned longer and deeper, her whimpers grew louder and her knuckles curled themselves into the sheets.

When he finally pulled away, he watched her reluctantly place her fingers on the wound, smearing the bloody marks in the process. Tsukishima’s lips were still warm, a crimson trail slowly dripping down his chin. 

Tsukishima sat up, retracting his fangs back into his gums. He headed towards the door, wiping away the blood with the back of his hand. He forced the turmoil within his chest to be replaced with apathy, since he already knew the facial expression that will rest upon her face once she turned around - forehead wrinkled, eyebrows knitted, lip corners pulled downwards - sheer terror.

‘You…’ she trailed off, her voice uncertain, ‘… if you wanted to bite me that bad, you could have just asked.’

For the first time since Yamaguchi turned him, Tsukishima was the one stunned by a human. His eyelids drew themselves back slightly, his mouth agape with an intense confusion. Tsukishima didn’t want to look at her - he had no desire for her to see the breach of his facade. 

‘I already knew.’ 

After a long pause, Tsukishima snapped. ‘And you didn’t tell me,’ The apathy within his chest started to dissipate, an immeasurable confusion and fury settling in. ‘Instead, you decided to have a casual conversation with me about my kind.’ 

‘Kei,’ she said, ‘turn around and look me in the eye,’ she’d never used his first name before. He never did, either, although he always wished their relationship would reach a point where he could. 

Tsukishima obliged with her command. ‘You think I’m a fool, do you?’ his skin almost sizzled against his bones, overwhelmed by every form of hurt he’d experienced throughout the centuries. ‘All this time, you acted like you’re oblivious to what I am and spoke to me as though I’m a human.’

Mainly, it was the hurt that was buried within the sense of imminent loss.

‘Well, I’m not a human,’ Tsukishima revealed his fangs once more, clenching his teeth in anger, ‘and that means that I’ll kill you right now.’ 

‘You won’t,’ she said, her smile soft enough to be mistaken for a smirk. She was smug about the fact that her suspicion was true, though - this was Tsukishima’s crush, after all. 

She slowly stepped closer to him until she was able to firmly press her chest against his. Tenderly placing an open palm against Tsukishima’s cheek, the pad of her thumb gently stroked his cheekbone; an attempt to induce tranquillity within him. Once her gentle gesture ceased, she hooked an index finger underneath the fabric of her shirt, pulling it away from her neck to expose the bare skin of her shoulder.

‘Drink.’ 

[illegiblewords]

5 Questions for Writers!

               5 Questions for Writers                                                        

I got tagged by @kunstpause, it looked like fun so figured I’d go for it! THANKS TO KUNST!

Tagging @wouldyouliketoseemymask, @nilim, @azwoodbomb, @peregrineroad, @frostmantle, @autumnslance, @strangefellows, @redbud-tree, @nozomikei​, and @rivenroad​. No obligation to anyone but full permission to steal granted to anyone else who might like to. I’ll literally be delighted if you pick this up spontaneously and blame me as an excuse lmao.

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

I made long answers so have a cut!

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

It depends heavily on what fandom and where I am mentally, but I’ve figured out I tend to love writing angsty lameass dudes with blonde hair who are prone to doing really silly things despite taking themselves entirely too seriously. Honestly, I have a pretty huge track record at this point. Harvey Dent, Vexen, Dmitri, Lahabrea, probably more besides. Every one of them fits the right balance of lameass to angst. I like seeing them grow and find fulfillment as people and they are very very cute while still having an edge of badassery and cleverness. Also they’re funny.

Lahabrea is my favorite at the moment, and him reaching that position is an accomplishment considering how stiff the competition is in FFXIV. Loser tricked his way to the top while I was busy laughing at him.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I really, really, really love redemption arcs and people recovering from fucked up experiences. Latter case especially I love seeing characters in those situations successfully connect to the people and world around them, especially if they get to grow together with a partner. I also LOVE “hero saves the villain and villain takes it to heart”.

(You may be sensing a theme here haha.)

There are a few reason these concepts resonate with me, the first being I think they’re really hopeful, inspiring, and something I always wanted to see growing up but rarely did.

People fuck up in life. People get hurt in horrible ways that bring out the worst in them. Sometimes when that happens they dig themselves deeper and deeper into ugliness. The more a person’s bad side comes out, the more hopeless it can feel. And for mental illness especially I’ve found this can be a major issue.

Everyone makes mistakes and everyone has flaws, but I think there’s something really significant in seeing someone who has hit rock bottom, who can no longer imagine a way out, get offered a hand for support and take it. While recovery and redemption (not synonymous of course) ultimately need to be carried by the individual struggling, I really can’t understate how important it is to know in those situations that you’re not alone and someone believes in you.

I think a big part of why this theme is important to me is because mental illness, both genetic and due to trauma, is something unbelievably difficult and painful not only for the sufferer but those around them. The most mentally ill characters in fiction tend to be villains, and are disproportionately more likely to be suffering severe trauma. It frustrated me since I was pretty young to see over and over again cases where a mess could have been avoided if there was any support system in place.

Seeing compassion and connection given that kind of power means a lot to me, as does recognizing that villains are people before they are villains. It’s also very reassuring in the sense of “If this person fucked up that badly but still tried to better themself, I can too. And odds are I’m also worthy of love and compassion, even when my issues make things harder for others. I just have to keep working to improve.”

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

Eff.

Straight up I think I’ve written too much to have just one favorite description. It’s been a lot of years and I have hundreds of fics and I’m lame. So I’m going to put a few of my favs.

Anytime there’s a gap in block quotes it’s a different section within the same fic.

22 - A Batman Fanfic

He trembles beneath the weight of their expectations but his smile never fades flashes before cameras microphones under his nose crowds screaming questions bleeding together he answers like clockwork the District Attorney who must bring justice to us all paying tribute to false idols with golden hair and silver tongues we the people bow down in worship to this guardian of the law with words and deeds I believe in Harvey Dent so he swears in hallowed halls to bring prosperity to smite the wicked to damn the criminal with authority invested in him by Gotham’s dutiful children and himself.

***

On the precipice of victory we stand united our voice raised like a torch like a spear like a golden arrow against the beast of Lerna we are gods and monsters we are so much more than good and evil we are order in the court cauterizing corruption our head held high and mighty manifest in Harvey of the doubletalk Harvey who writes himself into the fabric of Gotham’s history Harvey who will not bend before the Roman we command you the unworthy we condemn you the unrighteous we will not be merciful and you will fall before our eyes.

***

I am Dionysus divided at the altar of Tyche O Fortuna O Fortuna give me guidance in the light of the moon you dance sacred silver dollar I see and obey the wax and wane your whim Wheel of Fortune the card I am dealt your servant your slave venerated puppet of flesh blessed is your wisdom bestowed upon I am your disciple wine-mad twisted chanting your word becomes law holy splendor against gavels desecrating your name defiant in denial extend your will through me and we shall strike the innocent enlighten the ignorant or spare them all for now.

Doppelganger - A Spider-Man Fanfic

She asks him to tell the story of himself, and like Scheherazade he begins anew each day.

As with many other things, this comparison is imperfect. The Ravencroft Institute is hardly a palace and neither of them could pass for royalty. She sits in a chair across from him over a carpet the color of sawdust. Her walls are lined with insects pinned on display. Not many butterflies, quite a few beetles. On a bookshelf Dmitri sees The Metamorphosis nestled between non-fiction texts more relevant to her profession. He thinks maybe it's an inside joke she has with herself, but doesn't say so.

He's received an invitation to call her Ashley instead of Dr. Kafka and doesn't know whether to accept. It might be to make him more comfortable. It might be something else. In her late fifties Kafka is built from delicate features, and he suspects the lines around her eyes mean they crinkle when she smiles. Short black hair, beige suit, only jewelry a pair of diamond stud earrings. Dmitri thinks she looks like a mother, but not his.

Her weight sinks into leather, darker than the floor. The couch he rests on matches. He finds himself leaning forward with one elbow propped on his thigh, the other locked in a cast suspended by his neck. There is something reassuringly empty in the gray fabric of his uniform, cheap and utilitarian and harmless. Dmitri’s wrists are thin, but then he's lost a lot of weight recently. He probably wouldn't be able to run as fast as he used to, but then circumstances would be the same anywhere he went so that really doesn't matter. His espionage days are over. His free arm is shedding in flakes but at least his skin is dry. Clean.

Dmitri no longer looks like anyone, unrecognizable to himself. A face without much in the way of edges, short nose. Weak chin. Mismatched eyes that shift between green and blue and brown and every other natural hue as moments pass into minutes pass into hours. Dark blotches interrupt his forehead and chin. They will peel in new patterns across a span of days. For the most part though, he is pale enough to trace veins where his body seems on the brink of spilling out.

It's been a while since he shaved his head and the hair that grows back is almost foreign. An unruly mess of black, blond, brunet, and red—strands as unlike in texture as anything else. The mask that made him Chameleon was white plastic embedded with hardware. Left deformed after trying to resemble others in flesh too many times, it allowed him to duplicate any face, any body he could remember. More than holograms, the most complete sensory illusions technology could perform.

Without it, Dmitri feels stripped.

When Kafka looks at him she’s receiving constant signals and missing none of them. The moments he needs to turn away, flat monosyllabic turns of phrase he chooses or resorts to or blankly accepts as his own. It doesn’t have to be this way. It isn’t comfortable and he doesn’t even trust it’s not calculated. But she’s going to notice no matter what he does at this point, and lying about it doesn’t do anyone much good. They both know why he’s here.

***

“We were poor. We worked hard to keep ourselves fed and clothed and less than an embarrassment. I probably could have worked harder. Mother,” he begins before stumbling over himself.

The story he’s telling isn’t hers. Whatever else she was, Sonya Smerdyakov wasn’t Mrs. Bates. He remembers her voice as the beginning of an echo, forever following someone else’s lead.

And so he followed her.

She was bright like a light going out. She was gentle without being kind. Her fingers were short and delicate and she touched him as little as possible. He found her attention in the way she avoided his name.

***

In the privacy of his room, Dmitri began talking to himself.

Celebrities. Teachers. Children. The flat, steady rhythm of his father’s voice. The words and intonations favored by mother. Sergei’s laugh. He lost himself in a fantasy of conversations, strode through space to mimic confidence he didn’t feel, flashed teeth in front of his mirror like other people.

Once, Dmitri raised his voice. And when his older brother came, eyebrows knitting in confusion, he found himself full of stammered explanations, hands fumbling at his elbows, stumbling over his tongue to make sense of it.

Just making stories for himself. A game with no ending. That was all.

***

He would have died in that town under the eyes of speechless parents. Dmitri remembers the confusion that took his peers when he found a job for people who spoke for themselves. They thought he might be growing up.

He could lie. And when he began he understood it would always be a game with no ending.

Dmitri lost himself in a fantasy of conversations with real people and a voice that didn’t belong to him.

They asked a stranger to sign their yearbooks without even realizing it.

And then he was eighteen, and he left to continue elsewhere.

He didn’t announce his departure.

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It was probably a dream.

Lukewarm water crept down his throat, nearly making him choke. A skin pressed to his lips, insistent. He coughed, and for the first time there was moisture enough for resistance.

The face that obscured his vision was shrouded in white cloth. Cenric found he couldn’t focus on it. Mismatched eyes, one light and the other dark. Impossible to say if blindness caused the inconsistency.

A string of shells dangled from the figure’s neck, rattling gently. The skin pulled back for a moment. Careful. Patient.

It returned only once he'd grown quiet. Cenric drank for as long as he could. Impossibly, a great deal remained by the time he relinquished his hold.

There wasn't enough of him present to say thank you. Cenric barely registered being dragged, being carried onto a cart. Awareness was altogether gone by the time they started to move.

***

…to the blessed traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn aether born fire-walker your will sees us to rest we entrust ourselves to your sight forged of oschon for peace and prosperity and an ending you do not weep for father azeyma lives in the earth with you her fan brings no breeze the air is hot and thick and breathless your domain a silent place that does not stir have you forgotten the sound of your own voice have you known what it is to live and fail have you been alone do you know what it is to die how can a god pass judgment without being judged nald’thal lord of departures of flame and sand whose coin purse overflows who knows not what it means to starve what it means to spoil the legacy of one who loved you nald’thal who holds shells and souls and precious stones as if their worth were equal nald’thal who cannot know mercy without knowing pain who are you to weigh mortal affairs?

***

In darkness he unwinds the black bandana, steps first from his slops and then his kurta. Yuyudana has provided robes, which rest neatly on a small rock nearby. It crosses Cenric’s mind that the bones of his knees, his hips, his wrists, even his face have all started to protrude strangely. He looks less hyuran than before, maybe less than he ever has. Closer to something priests would exorcise than anyone deserving aid.

He wonders if this idea has occurred to them.

The water, when he advances, is cold. Goosebumps raise across his skin as slowly, gingerly, he wades in to his waist.

Cenric ducks under.

His hair is a long and tangled wreck. Being wet only disguises this slightly. It drifts past his neck, comes to float near the surface. Cenric holds himself in silence, eyes open, watching the silver scatter of light over stones and plants and fish. He remains for as long as he can bear.

His vision stings afterward. Gasping, he can’t tell if the cause is exposure or something else. For a time he simply waits, breathing hard through his nose, hunched so that his lips are partially submerged.

He thinks of nothing, pretends that this time instead of no future he has no past.

Only one moon remains. Maybe the sky aches for losing Dalamud, but better that than the blow which scarred Eorzea.

Stalemate - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

He is presented with impressions of a horse, gaunt and fetid and decayed. Spreading ruin wheresoever it goes. Occasionally it sloughs off portions of its own flesh, which collect flies and blacken any land that surrounds. On its back rests a world, and alongside it does the herd struggle under their own burdens. But even beasts of such endurance have limits. Theirs are reached. When the rotten steed lags, its companions cannot afford to falter. Cannot turn. Without its ability to bear loads, this aberration has no place. Falling is inevitable.

Yet a heart still beats and lungs yet swell.

The Ascian shivers in his grasp, but does not attempt escape.

Here, something festers. Something bleeds. An old wound exacerbated over time.

Fevered, coated in a film of self-disgust, the core of Lahabrea convulses.

 Don’t…

 Don’t leave me like this…

***

Teeth and tongue. Lingering, wet, disembodied. Another finds his hip. Another his thigh, slipping beneath what clothes remain.

And another.

And another.

Warm, human, seeking. The Warrior tightens his hold, uses the moan crawling from his own chest as incentive. Barred by naught but fabric, driving close as he can manage. Lahabrea makes a strangled sound, his gasp crushed empty. A new mouth finds the dark knight’s ear in response.

These are parts of him no one dares touch, no one dares acknowledge. Slick now, attended with something like reverence. Supplication.

He resolves to fuck the Ascian senseless for this, presses his intent deep into Lahabrea’s aether. He is going to steal all his fancy words away. Make him squirm.

“I… I…” Tight, airless, like a plucked string. The Warrior feels Lahabrea’s voice reverberate against the roof of his mouth.

The feeling is difficult to describe. Cracked ice. A fraying rope. Such is Lahabrea's response, fumbling and disoriented as it is.

The Warrior lets go.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

Just imagine me weeping over here lmao. Same deal as before, I’VE DONE TOO MUCH SHIT.

Spare Change - A Batman Fanfic

"Stop," he gasps, "I wouldn’t—"

"You would Harvey. You did. It’s what makes you such a damn good instrument. You had to test yourself, prove that you’re not a real person.” He can feel fingers grinding against bone. His knees bend. Harvey kneels, shuddering, gazing up into the destruction of his own visage. Two-Face meets his eyes, blue on blue. “People are weak. People are ruled by what they want and don’t want. You’re capable of anything if the wind blows just right. You can’t even stop yourself.”

"I wouldn’t," he repeats, numbly.

"Did you," demands Two-Face, forcing him down further, "or did you not flip for their lives, Harvey Dent?"

"We…We aren’t the same people anymore."

"Of COURSE we’re the same people!" Another shove and he’s on the ground, Two-Face sitting on his chest, teeth bared, coin clenched tight between them. "Do you really think you can close your eyes and pretend you aren’t capable of these things? They’re alive," and there is something hideous in his expression, something certain, "because they were lucky. No other reason.”

"The coin is gone! Even if I wanted to listen to it—I can’t!”

"If you’re so sure," says Two-Face, "then how about you improvise?”

And with one motion the silver dollar is under his tongue, forced back so hard he feels himself gag and begin to choke before his eyes open.

The Inquisitor’s Letters - A Dragon Age: Inquisition Fanfic

To His Worship Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan of Skyhold, My name is Isell from Amaranthine and I’m seven. My mum is helping but says I can send you all by myself. Thank you for fixing the hole in the sky and also the one by the dead man’s house. There were demons but they’re mostly gone now and people are going outside now. Da says Amaranthine has been through too much and can survive anything and he says you’re an elf like us and the Hero of Ferelden was an elf too. He says people used to think elves can’t be heroes but now they don’t. Have you met the Hero of Ferelden? Also I heard that even though you’re Dalish Andraste helped you in the Fade and that humans let you be in the Chantry because anyone Andraste likes must be a really good person. What’s Andraste like? The Chant says a lot but it’s different meeting someone I think. Also I think I saw you a little before but Mum wasn’t sure because you had a helmet on and we were far away and there were a lot of people but I bet it was you. Da wasn’t sure I should write because he says the Dalish don’t like city elves like we are but I think you must be nice and Mum agrees with me. I’ve been playing demon hunters with my brother Arrion (he’s just five still) and Da said templars are who fights demons usually and elves can’t be templars. People thought elves couldn’t be heroes and inquisitors though and we are so I bet I could too. Is it hard fighting demons? Da says they’re real scary but I’m not scared. Thank you for helping us and everyone and I hope you kill lots of demons. Sincerely, Isell U’venlan

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

Cenric sits on the floor, draped in a white cotton tunic. It might have been snug on a Roegadyn but anyone else would find ample room. Behind him, Memesu stands on a cot holding shears. Gold earrings dangle on either side of her face.

“I fought at Carteneau, you know,” she mentions casually. There is a soft hsssssshhhh. Click.

Hair hits the floor. Coils.

He starts to shake his head, aborts the gesture partway through. Stills. “…you saw Bahamut?”

Memesu snorts. “I’m sure everyone this side of Hydaelyn saw Bahamut.” Click.

“That’s probably true,” he concedes. The dragon is what everyone knows, everyone remembers. He can't imagine the proximity. “What about the Warriors of Light?”

“Pff.” Gentle tugging at his scalp. Cenric does not open his eyes but leans into the motion. “I wasn’t of rank to see their like. Not that I’d remember. Stop moving.” Click.

Cenric hesitates.

“What do you remember, then?”

For a time, the only sound comes from blades and a thousand strands cut short. This lasts for several minutes. Cenric resigns himself to secrets.

Then, “I used to think I was special too. As a twin. My sister was Memeni. We studied together.”

 Was.

The exhale hits him slowly, quietly.

“She died?”

He can feel the shrug in her hip against his shoulder.

“It was Carteneau,” says Memesu. “Of course she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Click. “It had nothing too do with you. If you keep trying to claim responsibility for every misfortune you find, you’re going to get self-important.”

Cenric only grunts, quiet and non-committal.

 Click.

 Click.

 Click.

“Carteneu was so much worse than people remember. Only four years later and already we hurry to dispose of details.” There is a hard undercurrent to Memesu’s voice, but what contact she makes remains light. Careful. “I remember the arcanist from Limsa who didn’t dodge a magitek canon in time. Miqo’te. Spells come faster in that discipline, so there’s less stress on distance than thaumaturgy. Girl got careless.” Click. “The mess smelled like rotten eggs and charcoal. Her face was… melted.” Click. “I try not to look in those situations. They only make casting harder. But she was so close.”

Cenric doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

Memesu continues. “One of our own gladiators, an Ala Mhigan, took to mutilating any pureblooded Garleans he could catch. The man had a string of eyes hanging around his neck. I’m pretty sure one enemy officer wet himself before he started to beg. Not that it particularly mattered.”

 Click.

“Memeni… didn’t anticipate what she was getting herself into. She saw magic as a way of being useful to craftsmen. My focus has always been theoretical. Right side.” Startled, Cenric lets her guide his jaw to get a better view of his profile. Click. Click. “Meni used to think I was a priss. She preferred to develop magitek kettles alongside alchemists. See if she could find a way to capture light like the Mhachi did. She still enjoyed fishing when she could, even though it smelled awful. Never outgrew the braids she wore growing up. ” Memesu sighs. “…just understand she died afraid, in pain, and with things left undone. My sister didn’t even resemble herself at the end.”

Cenric is very still. Thinks carefully.

“…I wish it could have gone differently,” he says at last.

Memesu’s mouth slides up in a small, crooked smile. She tousles the neat, ear-length hair before her. “So do I.”

Eclipse - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It ends at Elidibus’ untimely arrival.

“Lord Zodiark,” he says, so smoothly that were he not searching for it that the anger would be undetectable, “appreciates your attentions.”  His gaze does not waver from Lahabrea as he speaks. “But there is work to be done and I’m afraid there are words I would have with your Speaker.”

They disperse.

Nabriales, careful and curious, folds himself out of sight beyond the chamber then makes his way back to its edge.

Lahabrea, farthest from the exit, attempts to steal some small dignity. Turns to face Elidibus.

The Emissary makes him wait. Expressionless red masks matched by those who wear them.

Then, with more speed and force than typical for his demeanor, the Emissary closes distance to trap his colleague against the wall.

“It was my error,” hisses Elidibus, leaning in, “to have stayed silent upon rescuing you. A mistake I will remedy now, so we can be on no uncertain terms.”

Lahabrea lowers his eyes. Nabriales notes that despite the dread they all share of such reprimands, the man does not brace.

“You know as well as I that these words offer less succor to our Lord than action,” continues Elidibus, his fury quiet and no less sharp for that, “just as we both know your thoughtless action is the cause of repeated missteps these past centuries. Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.”

Silence.

“Do you truly think this is your best service to Him?” asks Elidibus. “To us? Compromising your ability to fill the hours? Even Emet-Selch agrees these displays are disgraceful. You have ever borne them poorly, but being a 'paragon among paragons' naturally you continue ignoring your own better judgment with ours to continue this exercise in futility. Idiot.”

A twitch of the head. Almost a flinch.

It is one of few moments Nabriales has seen the Emissary express his anger so openly. Even after the Thirteenth fell to Igeyorhm’s error, Elidibus allowed the Angel of Truth to lead and voiced his own reproach with a more typical icy demeanor. Scathing though it was.

“I can be of use,” says Lahabrea softly. “Only three of us remain, and I—“

“You,” Elidibus snaps, “cannot follow the most simple instructions for the good of us all. Not for Him, not for Amaurot, not even for yourself. Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.”

Neither man speaks for several moments after that.

And then, at length, Elidibus exhales.

Says the Speaker’s name.

Receives his attention.

“What would you have me do?” the Emissary asks. His tone now is almost weary. “Clearly it would be unreasonable to trust you’d simply listen. Must I mind you like a child?” This is what breaks Lahabrea’s composure.

Knowing the man’s temper, Nabriales had expected him to lash out. Even on the back foot their orator is perfectly capable of defending himself from insults.

Instead, he embraces Elidibus fiercely—face just within the bounds of his pauldrons. Jaw locked shut firmly enough to hurt. Expression downcast.

Elidibus remains perfectly still at first. In the absence of conversation it is possible to hear the rush of Lahabrea’s breathing. Only through the nose, withheld briefly between each inhale as if that offers some means to steady himself.

As if that would make it better.

Tentatively, Elidibus holds him back. Lahabrea's fingers contract, and though he remains upright when his knees begin to give it is the Emissary who helps him kneel.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and Lahabrea removes one hand to run it reflexively over his face—coming against the mask.

Nabriales finds himself staring, searching. A puzzle with missing pieces whose image he may yet divine

“It was not,” says Lahabrea roughly, “my intention to…”

Elidibus reaches beneath the other man’s cowl, finds the hair and skin beneath. Draws him in once more.

Naught that would be shared with or among the Sundered. Nothing so personal as that.

Nabriales has worn his own share of flesh. Bedded lovers, adopted companions and families of vessels to fulfill a purpose. Passable enough, perhaps, but never for him. Not in truth.

It’s as if he looks upon two strangers.

Parched - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

The door closes behind them. Lahabrea, projecting his preferred likeness over the host, waits on a couch within.

It’s admittedly a surreal sight. Ishgardian finery with its gilded edges, its elaborate wallpapers and marble floors. A collection of creams and blues and greens, fine furniture with velvet seat cushions. All ostentatious in the extreme… and then Lahabrea. Masked and cowled. Pouring three glasses of La Noscean arrack.

Elidibus freezes, and though none of them can see his eyes the confusion is clear enough.

“What is this?”

“Your turn,” says Emet-Selch, lightly but less flippant than he might have been.

Lahabrea proffers a cup from where he sits.

Elidibus neither moves nor speaks.

Emet-Selch approaches. Takes the drink. Presses it carefully into the other man’s hand.

“Don’t think,” he says smoothly,” that I won’t let you drop it.”

Mercifully, Elidibus has a good grip.

“Sit,” says Lahabrea, gesturing with his own glass to the sofa across from him.

Elidibus sits.

Emet-Selch sits.

Takes his own glass, perhaps a bit pointedly.

Elidibus’ mouth is pressed tight. It opens briefly, as if to speak. Shuts again.

“Explain,” the Emissary manages eventually.

Lahabrea meets his co-conspirator’s eye. Downs his arrack in a single attempt.

It is a long attempt.

It lasts several moments.

The other Ascians watch.

“Elidibus,” says Emet-Selch as Lahabrea endeavors to catch his breath in the aftermath, “Lahabrea and I are concerned that you may be experiencing some difficulties in recent years.”

“I’m fine,” replies Elidibus coldly. Holding his drink. “Why did you think this necessary?”

“Because—“ wheezes Lahabrea.

“Because you’re practically a mammet,” says Emet-Selch, picking up Lahabrea’s glass. Moving it just out of reach. “Truly. It’s been what, two hundred years? Three? Neither of us can remember the last time you so much as spoke of matters unrelated to the Rejoining.”

Lahabrea reaches. Elidibus pours his arrack into the other man’s glass before nudging it back toward him.

Elidibus makes eye contact with Emet-Selch.

“I remain focused,” he says evenly. “Nothing more.”

Emet-Selch gestures to the bottle.

Elidibus sighs.

Refills his own glass.

“There are matters I must attend myself. As is the case with each of you.”

“Undoubtedly,” replies Lahabrea more evenly. “But with few exceptions, you haven’t done so.”

A hard stare from behind the mask.

“What would you have me do? I can’t very well take time off.”

Emet-Selch sips.

“A negligible amount of time,” he says, “taken sparingly, may be forgivable.”

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

Lmao see this is a plus side/minus side deal. Minus side, it’s being asked just before I embark on a MASSIVE ASS FANFIC. And I basically am excited for all of it. Plus side, there are things I refuse to spoil.

So... putting it vaguely, in no particular order:

- Lahabrea and Hydaelyn meet a second time after Praetorium.

- Moonfire Faire

- Thancred

- Conversations over mulled wine

- Silvertear Lake

Some of these are sex scenes. Most aren’t. But I am very hyped.

[wolgrahas]

MAIA LAVELLAN

@denerim​ tagged me to do this! i read somewhere that you can do with whoever character you like so... i needed to give some love to maia! :3c (also: i change my hawkes and wardens a lOT soooo... i prefer to do this with a character that isn't changed much :/) i’m tagging: @falkreathh​, @ciriofcintras​, @blckwall​, @rowsin​, @venatori​, @widowmaqer​ and everyone who wants to of course!! :) i sUCK at speaking english so... don’t expect much lol

appearance

— long black straight hair which reaches to the waist, it is thin but dense. tends to braid it or put it in a bun when doing quests. she always decorates it with flowers she finds in the road, and the ones she likes the most, tends to cast a spell to make them remain fresh forever. but in trespasser maia cuts her hair to shoulder lenght and no longer wears flowers in it. — before the conclave she used to have porcelain skin, tho a bit dry. after the conclave she has an "ugly" burn scar in most of half of her face, because of this, that zone tends to get dry more often and she always has to carry a special moisturizing cream. also, her left ear is burned too and a piece of cartilage had been detached from it. bc she wasn't the inquisitor, she would be near the conclave and the explossion would have reached her, so she still has the burn scars. — oval or diamond face shape, big almond and monolid eyes, flat nose and a bit wide, thin lips which usually wear red lipstick. — she wears the mythal vallaslin on her cheeks, to revere her mother who did "justice" and save her. also her mother had told maia more than once that if she belonged to a dalish clan she would have chosen the mythal vallaslin. — she's quite short. maia has always been shorter that the rest of the girls of her clan. maia supposes that she's that way because she spent the first eight years of her life malnourished. her height makes her a bit self-councious. — before the conclave her body was considered too thin even among elves, she naturally has a fast metabolism and this is one of the reasons she is self-concious. she also wasn't too fit, she used to get exhausted by just doing mild exercise. however while building the inquisition, while doing the quests, she built up quite a bit of muscle, tho the first weeks were awfully exhausting. she also has some big burn scars on her shoulder, arm and back.

pack items:

— her moisturizing special oil and cream (for her burn scars, which tend to get dry very often). — a sack with some coins. — a personal diary which was a gift from keeper deshanna. — elfroot and a dalish pipe, to calm down when she has panic attacks or feels anxious (which is 24/7, lmao. jk, tho it's kinda tru :/). — whatever books she's reading at the time.

handwriting:

she likes to make an easy but "cute" handwriting. tho it gets messier when writing in a hurry or her ideas go faster than her hand :3c.

approval:

— helping people in need. — being respectful towards the dalish culture. — being respectful to non-human races. — being merciful towards animals. — being supportive of mages. — expressing your emotions or opinions to her. — and asking hers too. — talking about books or elfy stuff. — listening to her when she speaks.

disapproval:

— being rude to elves. — being too ruthless. — thinking the maker is the only true god. — thinking magic is dangerous. — supporting the chantry. — stepping on others to advance yourself. — supporting the aristocracy. — telling her her burn scar is ugly or makes her ugly (she will probably cry and never talk to you again lmao). — asking her about her life before the clan, without enough approval or before her personal quest.

romance:

maia would be a romanceable companion, both for women and men. however, if you are a human male, she will tend to disapprove more times and she'll be shyer or even scared of you, so be careful! she tends to get along the best with other elves. you will be in a relationship with her, after her personal quest. her personal quest is about finding the location of her biological mother, because leliana has found some information. maia will ask you if you can go with her, you can accept or turn down her offer. if you turn down her offer the previous romantic interactions will have no meaning and the romance will be impossible. you will have to find evidences of her mother's track in the emerald graves. when yo do so, you'll go to the knight's tomb. you will find maia's mother, an elven woman in her fourties who has grey sideburns. she carries a bow and before talking to her she will warn you that if you take another step foward she will shoot an arrow. you can speak for maia or you can let her speak. her highest approval is if you let her talk and she will disapprove if you threaten her mother. if you make the right choices maia's mother will confess that she is trying to find information about the state of the red templars to her leader. now, you can make her prisioner so she can confess who's her leader, oR, you can let her live in skyhold without asking her any more questions. if you make her a prissioner maia will leave the party and in trespasser there will be a slide that says that maia's mother died in the darkness of the dungeon, forgotten, without telling any new information, and the next day you'll recieve a letter that says: "may the dread wolf never catch your steps, because the day he finds you, you will feel infinite pain", this letter is from a person whose font you find "familiar". if you romanced solas and made maia's mother a prisioner, you won't receive the letter, tho solas will GREATLY dissaprove of your decision. you can harden maia if you tell her that her mother is unknown to her, that they have nothing in common, that maybe they'll have to work to get along and that she will have to choose between her biological mother and her clan, if so, maia will choose her clan over her mother. to unharden her, you'll have to encourage her to embrace her new family and accept her new life, if so, she will choose her mother over her clan. if you don't romance her and she is in the party the whole game, she will start a romance with solas, and you can comment on it in some banter. if maia romances solas, she will leave the party before the last scene in trespasser (when you disband or keep the inquisition), and in the sliders leliana will inform the inquisitor that maia is an agent of fen'harel. and yes, maia is an agent of fen'harel in trespasser, and she will change some dialogue, when she talks about solas or fen'harel she will sound less impressed about the qunari and the agents of fen'harel. if you romance solas and you have high approval, she will tell the inquisitor that they're lucky for having such a good and honorable person as their partner, but before the temple of mythal, she'll warn you about solas with a really cryptic talk; "the wolf will cry because their heart is broken, but it's their own fault, so don't sadden yourself because they bit you".

dialogue:

entering combat: "ma halani!" ("help me!" in common) "fenedhis lasa! i'm a healer! not a fighter!" "so... more trouble? (sobs)" "not again... (sighs)" exiting combat: "is someone hurt? can i give you some heal?" "damn... i may have nightmares tonight." "ups... i think i stepped on something and... i don't want to know what it is." "ir abelas..." (she sadly says to the people they have finished killing) "the next fight i'll do better!" death: "i will finally join my loved ones..." "m-mother? is that you...?" "dying like this is... pathetic" (if high or neutral approval) "i wish you well, inquisitor" (if low approval) "i guess i won't see your dawnfall... pity"

[ifridiot]

⭐ for About The Living For The Dead

okay, so this one ain’t done yet, but I am admittedly Super Fond of this idea. The crossover no one wanted (yes, I am aware of the What If comic, yes it’s good, no it holds absolutely no bearing on how, why, or what I am doing with this fic). Punisher symbiote fic: About the Living, For the Dead.

First of all, can we talk about the title? I think it’s been made pretty evident in my fics that I fixated pretty hard on David’s little speech in the episode ‘Danger Close’. That whole conversation was so good, and the way the show handled it it felt like real, natural concern from David for Frank at this moment when Frank was displaying real suicidal intent in his search for vengeance. Memento Mori and the Let Them Eat Flesh series are both heavily drawn from that scene, and of course Puncture Repair. 

So I decided to title this fic as it is because obviously Frank himself is gone. That’s kind of the ugly point, isn’t it? Frank is gone and now David is doing what Frank did. Frank didn’t ask him to finish what he started. Frank probably didn’t want him to, for any number of reasons. Frank just asked David to save the symbiote because otherwise it would die with him and if he could save one more life out of the mess then he was going to, by god. David (with Punisher’s support and encouragement) really takes it on himself to go after Billy. To set himself up in the basement of his family home so he can track Billy down, confront and kill him. On this, even in the haze of grief and loss, David is single-minded; the symbiote is the one reminding David to spend time with his family and take care of himself. It’s David that has the fixation, the bloody mind; it’s David forgetting to ‘live his life well’. I haven’t gotten to publishing the scene where it’s made explicit yet, but in this fic it’s the symbiote who’s concerned more ‘about the living’, while David is motivated by vengeance ‘for the dead’.

Favourite bits under a cut, because this fic is multichap and there’s some good bits in each chapter.

Chapter One:

Madani is not watching. Madani can’t hear Frank’s dying rasps – Madani is taking care of clean up, giving them space because she knows what it’s like to hold someone too late, to take on the responsibility of being the last thing they see.

Ugh, just... Dinah really understanding what David’s going through here. The obvious fact that they can’t save Frank, so David’s left in the same place as she was with Sam, and she knows exactly how painful that is, exactly how awful. The responsibility of being the last thing they see, I just like that.

Frank’s fingers are clutching his, shaking and seizing, every breath labored and wet. Each exhale sends little flecks of blood flying, and David thinks he might be drowning, suffocating on his own blood. From the looks of it, Rawlins had worked him over expertly before he’d managed to break free and kill him, but the exertion had cost Frank dearly.

Those fingers guide his hand to Frank’s gut, to the squirming, charred surface of the symbiote. David has never dared touch the creature, and is surprised when it flattens against Frank’s skin, spreading thin, away from David’s hand as though shy. Frank presses David’s palm into it. He’s making desperate eye contact with David, dark eyes flicking over David’s as he struggles to stay, but there are no more words. David curls his fingers against the oil-slick darkness, and knows that Punisher and Frank are having one of those conversations David can’t hear but can see. Franks lips move as though he’s trying to speak, but he can’t hear him however close he leans.

Frank working so hard to stay together, to stay alive long enough to be sure Punisher bonds safely with David. The display here that Frank and Punisher are so well bonded; a conversation David can’t hear but can see. 

He will die he will die if I leave

“Yeah,” David says, and he can see his tears splash on Frank’s bloodied torso. “He will. We can’t save him. But I can save you. Lemme save you.”

I love the way Punisher talks, the difference between structured sentences when it forms a physical mouth to speak from and the stream of conscious dialog, no punctuation when its speaking between itself and its host.

also just. ow. 

We do not mourn the loss of a host

Frank’s eyes drift, and glass over, and he heaves a shaking, weak sigh that has no follow up, no reflexive inhale. His body is so warm and so heavy across David’s lap.

We mourn a friend a love

Immediate, and i mean immediate use of the word we for Punisher and David. No hesitation, they are a team now. Also i feel like this part is so rude emotionally lmao, like it’s really just kind of a punch.

Chapter Two:

Bad David bad brain phenethylamine dopamine norepinephrine all low unhealthy mourning mourning mourning we have to focus

David understands that. That’s why he’d let himself go on autopilot for the last – he glances at his watch and curses. Seven hours? They’d been down here for seven hours and he hadn’t finished the array?

I like to think Punisher uses more clinical terms for what it needs with David and it did with Frank, because David either already knows them from the research he did on the symbiotes (re: hacking the Life Foundation and also probably a bunch of military sources too) or because David is curious enough about new words to look them up, while Frank just understood he needed to take a supplement or else Punisher would die/kill him.

the time loss due to depressive dissociation is also a big Thing to me. 

“Frank felt deeply. We adapted. He took care of himself, of us, mindful. Curtis taught him. It was… difficult.”

It comes in a rush of images and impressions, memories not his own – Frank meditating, Frank focusing on their bond, Frank loving – them, not just Punisher, but them, both of them, and latching on to that love to pull him on and on. The realization that Frank had cared for him as much as he cared for Frank is –

Well.

“You did not know?”

David scoffs, shakes his head, looking away. “Of course I didn’t know. Half the time he looked like he wanted to kick the shit out of me and the rest of the time I wanted to kick the shit out of me.”

I just love this conversation, the gentle revelation of it. Punisher having taken it for granted that David would have understood on his own that Frank loved him too. 

“He chose, David. It wasn’t for any lack of yours. The moment we bonded I knew I would lose him. He belonged to the dead more than he would ever belong to us.”

David can’t imagine that. He can feel Punisher’s pain – the pain of loving someone and knowing their heart, despite the effort they put into the relationship, wasn’t really in it. The pain of knowing that your love was willing to die, just waiting for the chance really. He’d never really thought of Frank as suicidal, but seeing him through the symbiote’s eyes, he has new perspective. Frank dreamed of death, courted it, counted on it.

He loved so many things, so deeply, but his losses had been too great. Finding out that the work he’d done in Cerberus had been illegitimate, had made him a murderer of who knew how many innocent men had been the end of him. He didn’t believe in redemption, certainly not for himself. He’d loved David, loved Punisher – he’d loved Sarah and the kids too, David felt that in the memories Punisher shared – but he had hated himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says...

Just this whole exchange is Good. For an extra hit, allow me to point out that Punisher says ‘It wasn’t for any lack of yours’. Not ‘ours’. Just ‘yours’.

Also the Punisher loving Frank and having a front row seat to his self-destruction, his lack of self preservation. Uh, can you imagine, for a minute, what Frank bonded to a symbiote was like? The risks he’d throw himself into because even if he took a bullet or broke a bone, Punisher would heal him before he died from it? yeah.

“Look, Russo is out there, right now – that smug piece of shit thinks he got away and –”

“And he is hiding. Like a rat, like a roach. When we find him, we will eat his pretty face off his skull and he will die screaming, begging our mercy and there will be none. It will be delicious and we live for that moment. But that is future. This is now. Go up stairs. This… moping… is unbecoming.”

Haha i love how much they both hate Russo. I really treasure that. And the whole way Punisher talks about what they’re gonna do when they catch him is just Nice.

Chapter Three:

So when David twists and writhes in bed, Punisher tastes his anguish, his despair, and wakes him before he can wake Sarah. It soothes him into rising without a noise, but drags him from the dream swiftly, baring it from further examination. This is easy for the symbiote, sort of like throwing the thought in a box. It’s not David’s thought, it’s theirs, and if they have to share it, then Punisher will deal with it.

Part of what I like so much about this chapter is the narrative perspective bleeding back and forth between Punisher and David. Because they’re bonded quite well at this point, and their experiences still have distinct flavours but more and more they function as one. So Punisher coming forward and just boxing up David’s Bad Thoughts is just kinda cool and nice.

He’s cut off by the image, definitely not his own, of himself, sitting at the desk in the power station. He looks tired, and distant, not focused on anything in particular, just looking off to one side, gently lit in the low lights but somehow distinct. His hair is wild, longer, tangled around his face in a mess that somehow reads as endearing; his eyes – they’re not even focused on them, but they’re so blue its unnatural. And in this image – it’s a memory, but it’s not, it’s something more, enhanced by so many emotions that Punisher is pushing through their bond

protect beware infuriating love love love

in this image he looks up, straight into his minds eye – Frank’s mind’s eye because who else would he have been talking to there – and he smiles, and his own heart twists with the fondness and delight he feels, emotions high and unnatural for ‘him’ at the time. He feels a distant stirring of arousal, and again it’s not his own, but the pounding of his heart certainly is.

The memory dissipates all at once, leaving him feeling shell-shocked and wide-eyed in the basement dark, and Punisher curls protectively, sweetly, around his ribs. It’s a physical presence; he can feel the symbiote in his chest, winding around bone, caressing his thudding heart. It should be disturbing, but somehow it’s a comfort.

This whole exchange is just Wow and also Romantic to me. Punisher being able to give David Frank’s memories and let David perceive himself how Frank did. I just really like that as a concept. bombarding David with the feelings Frank felt when he looked at David. That ‘beware’ was one of those emotions.

“Maybe he deserved them more than me, okay? Maybe that’s what it’s about, maybe I’m not scared of him – why the fuck would I be scared of him? I loved him so much I would have died for him and now he’s gone and he shouldn’t be, he should be here – Sarah would be happier with him, someone strong and steady, not some loser who hid from her for a year!”

Those white eyes are wide in shock, though they are mentally entwined and David thinks it had to have known… but then, he hadn’t known Punisher was angry about his nightmares until it spoke, either.

“Everything he did he did for your survival. For you, David.”

“Yeah, so you say! Maybe you’re just fucking with me, trying to make me happy – gotta make those brain chemicals, right? Make it comfy in here for you, right?”

He regrets saying it even as he says it, his own eyes widening at the surge of hurt and upset he feels wash through him, followed by a coiled sort of anger. All at once he’s slammed back into the futon, and he can’t move; Punisher looms in front of him, dangerous teeth on gruesome display. For all that it always seems to be grinning, there’s nothing amused about it’s visage now.

lmao just... god, being so nicely bonded and still having this kind of miscommunication is Good. They’re still alien to one another, especially in emotional experience. David saying something ugly and regretting it even as he’s saying it. Being able to feel how hurtful the words are to Punisher. Punisher rising up righteous in retaliation.

“What was that he said?”

Again, like an instant replay, Frank’s eyelids fluttering, his back pressed against the cold tiles of the shower they’d used in that hellish basement, his hand squeezing just slightly as he moans David’s name.

“Ah, that’s right. You, he was thinking about you.”

The words are so smug yet so bitter – Punisher proving a point.

Did i make it obvious yet how Frank loved David more than Punisher?

Frank could have gone after anyone. That Karen woman, hell, he could have been thinking about Sarah and it would have been more understandable, but he wasn’t. He was thinking about David, he wanted David, yearned for him, and David – oh, David was lost in that revelation.

“You think I was was lying? Manipulating you?”

It’s accusatory, mocking, but David knows he deserves it. Punisher would not, maybe could not have lied, he understands that now. But still he can’t move, can only shiver when the symbiote makes a soft sound, a click of the tongue maybe, and then his legs slowly part. He has no control over it, but he makes no effort to stop it, nor does he stop his hands when they move to shimmy down his pajama pants. His breath hitches and Punisher shushes him, nuzzling against his cheek.

“He wanted you. Loved you. Wanted you happy, David. So let’s be happy.”

How about now?

Also I rarely :eyes emoji: at my own work, but... :eyes emoji:.

David only realizes tears are leaking out of him when Punisher hums, leaning in to lick them away. “No, David, no tears. We are happy like this.”

The weirdest part of it all is, he is, and it’s not just fuck-happy, it’s genuine, bone-deep, actual joy.

I just dig the idea of Punisher comforting David, telling him not to cry.

You have me I have him all of him in me so you have him too

Romantic!!! Sweet!! I REALLY LIKE THIS LINE.

[squishteen-blog]

I Really Really Missed You (Suggestive)

A/N: sorry this isn’t the best and also that it took 27835 years lmao @choco-seventeen

It wasn’t easy to be in love with a boy that was never home, especially tonight. You hummed quietly to yourself while you mixed a dollop of honey into your tea. Your feet stood idly on the cold tile floor making your skin prickle and a chill jolting up your back. Only a big white tank top hung over your frame, Jun’s T-shirt to be exact. It was an old T-shirt he left behind while he went on tour three weeks ago, a small red stain of what you hoped was ketchup on the collar of the shirt making you understand why Jun left it behind.

With a groan you took your tea and walked into the living room, turning on the TV. Jun was in a different country right now, which meant in the next two hours he would wake up, that subsequently also meant that you had to stay up until four am to talk to him. It was only an hour into the Netflix binge that you fell asleep on the couch.

You felt something warm nudging you awake and let out a small groan as you rubbed your eyes. As soon are you were awake enough to register who was in front of you a big smile plastered itself on your face. An ear to ear grin that hurt your cheeks the longer it appeared, but it was a sweet pain that felt as wispy as cotton candy in your heart. Jun looked down at your disheveled features: glossy eyes that couldn’t focus properly, a red temporary tattoo on your cheek thanks to your blanket, and maybe a little drool in the corner of your mouth (not that you would admit it).

He leaned down to give you a hug, his hair smelt like apple shampoo, a scent that brought back so many happy memories you didn’t know you forgot. Based on the intensity of the hug someone might guess that it had been more than three weeks since you had last seen each other. That was how your love was, full and intense.

“I missed you,” Jun spoke quietly with a smile that matched your own. However, deep within that smile, if you looked closely you could see a hint of something. His long fingers delicately wrapped themselves in your hair.

“I missed you too,” You said in a whisper as you looked him over. One time he went on tour and lost weight due to stress, and you would be damned if you let it happen again. Your love wasn’t easily defined by just the word “love,” it always felt like there was another indescribable feeling in the mix. You cared for him deeper than you ever imagined you could, but mixed in with that deep care were feelings of lust and want. Was every relationship willing to hold their partner’s hand while they flu shot and then two hours later become an absolute mess at the mercy of one another?

“No, you don’t understand. I really, really missed you.” He mumbled sitting down next to you on the couch and pressing his lips against your cheek. There were certain things Jun was good at, but being discreet wasn’t one of them. The boy had ulterior motives and you would have to be a special form of dense to not pick up on that.

You swirled your finger around a lock his hair and felt his body jump slightly in excitement, it was such a childlike response that if he wasn’t breathing hotly on your neck you would have thought you were babysitting. He moved your body so that you were straddling his lap and pushed your foreheads together roughly.

“I’ve missed just about everything about you.” His fists bunched the fabric of his your T-shirt. All his movements, no matter how urgent remained unbashful. Normally, he may have been embarrassed about how badly he wanted you, but not in that moment. In that moment the only thing he could focus on was how perfectly that ugly white shirt with the salsa stain hugged your body, all he could focus on was how you somehow made bedhead incredibly attractive and borderline pornographic, all he could focus on was you. And before you could ask him why he chose the words “just about” he pushed his lips on yours.

The kiss was anything but precise, it was sloppy, messy, and oh so intoxicating. Even while he kissed you his mind was still racing, his body still aching for everything he missed so dearly. His arms pushed you closer into him in a desperate attempt to deepen the kiss, if his mind had kept any form of logic that was not clouded by immense want he would know that your body couldn’t possibly get any closer to his. The kiss broke quickly and abruptly when you pulled back for air, making a small whine leave Jun’s lips.

“I’ve missed your taste.” He moaned before leaning down to being planting small kisses on your jawline. Unlike when he kissed your lips, these were more playful than the other ones. Small nips were sometimes replaced with the kiss as he made a trail down to your neck. You moved your neck to give him more access to the skin making him glance up at you with his signature teasing look.

He began to suck teasingly at the revealed skin on your neck, laughing when you began to squirm against him. It was incredibly rude of Jun to do this to you, honestly. Who else but Jun would come back out of the blue after what seemed like years, whine for your touch, but then tease you when he finally had you. Your breath began to quicken in pace, especially when one of Jun’s cold hands moved to the opposite side of your neck to push you deeper into his mouth allowing the sinful sucks and kisses to intensify. The tingling sensation erupted on your body: pooling in the pit of your stomach, trickling down your thighs, and exploding into goosebumps on the skin where Jun’s lips touched. The sucking remained relentless as if it was some form of sweet torture, and all while this continued Jun’s eyes still gazed on you, drinking up your twisted facial expressions. Jun lived to please you and when he stopped sucking and saw the nape of your neck littered in what was going to become a wonderful mess of hickeys he could only look at you with a big happy smirk.

He knew that this was only the beginning, but that didn’t stop him from acting like it was over. “Sorry for waking you up from your nap. Let’s just go to bed right now.” He said with a grin while he wiped the corners of his mouth.

[cometkins]

even more qs

1) What position does your character sleep in? ( i.e; stomach, side, back, etc. ) Describe why they do this — optional.

He’s probably used to his side bc Shouri sleeps on his back and he likes using Shouri as a pillow.

2) Does your character have any noteworthy features? Freckles? Dimples? A scar somewhere unusual? etc.

Theo has full body freckles that are more prominent on the high points of his body, he’s probably got a few facial scars and other random body scars here and there. Has his marks of adulthood, which are white scars all across his body. His nose is broken and it wasn’t set back quite right so his nose has a fairly prominent ridge. Also has a veeery large fiend summoning circle on his back over his shoulders that was carved into his skin, and the scars are a bit more angry and red even still

3) Does your character have an accent? What does it sound like?

I feel like Theo sort of has an accent? Mostly he doesn’t use contractions and speaks very slowly and kind of stilted.

4) Do they have any verbal tics? Do they have trouble pronouncing certain words or getting their thoughts across clearly?

I mean he rarely raises his voice but idk if that’s a tic. I think combining words (don’t as opposed to do not) is still hard for him since those words don’t exist in elvish. There’s a few words he uses that just can’t be translated into common as well that he’d probably feel silly describing.

5) What are their chief tension areas?

Shoulders and neck for sure, probably his head as well. Theo’s very inward with his tension.

6) If you were to pick one song — and only one song — to describe your character, what would it be and why?

Glass Heart Hymn by Paper Route. It’s a softer tone song but I think it describes a lot of the emotional turmoil that he endures, with some elements of his religious struggles as well.

7) How does your character perceive themselves? Positive? Negative? Neutral?

Theo thinks completely negatively of himself. Between the abuse he endured during his enslavement and the abandonment at the hands of his god, his clan, and his love, he feels strongly that he must be a truly awful, ugly, disgusting person to be abandoned so constantly. He’s just constantly waiting to be left again.

8) Are they a quick thinker or do they need time to sort through their thoughts?

Theo is all quick thought and action. It’s not necessarily clever or what’s best, but he’s very quick on his feet. He doesn’t have the patience for thinking on things, and I think he’s tired from the long-haul plan he had to escape slavery. Thinking for too long and being in his head too long brings him back to that state of mine, and being quick is just easier.

9) Does your character dream or are their nights filled with an empty blackness? Describe a dream they’ve had or a night they couldn’t sleep and what they did to preoccupy their time.

Theo has a lot of nightmares and night terrors. He can’t always remember everything but a lot of it is just trying to process through his trauma. He hasn’t really had the chance to over the last 110 years and while I think he’s feeling settled now, it’s all gonna hit like a freight train pretty fast and he’s gonna be in a really bad spot.

10) If they had a choice, would they prefer a subway or a bus for public transportation?

I think in a modern context, Theo would prefer the bus. Subways are usually underground and I don’t think Theo would like that.

11) What do they think of creation? Do they believe in evolution or do they believe in God? What is their religion like?

With how DnD gods work, Theo doesn’t necessarily believe his god created the universe, but he does believe she holds him at her mercy against his will, and that she is malevolent. He abandoned her long ago by now though; he has no time or patience left for those who would subjugate him. Oppressors and enslavers must be destroyed.

12) Describe 5 unusual characteristics your muse has.

Actually very good at singing. Actually a very good cook. Very fond of children and very good with kids, which you’d never guess from his base personality. Very physically affectionate with people he’s close to. Doesn’t know shit about anything not from the wildwoods; if it’s not a potato, onion, or carrot it’s not shit my dude.

13) Have they ever been so overwhelmed they had to stop and take a break from something?

This is Theo’s constant state of being but he is never allowed to Rest or Be Happy so he just toughs it out. Small things tend to set him off for this reason.

14) Are they a team player or do they prefer to be solo?

Theo goes along with the group because it’s what he’s learned for survival growing up, and I think he does like being with a group, but he’s so fearful and distrusting that it makes it hard for him to actually gel with a group.

15) Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time?

I think by nature of being a magic user he’s fairly good at focusing and multitasking, but I think if too many things pile on top of him he loses concentration.

16) What are their best school subjects? What are their worst? List five of each.

There aren’t even 10 subjects wtf. I think Theo would be pretty good with artistic and creative things, but more technical and mathematic things would be slightly harder. He’s got a fairly decent intelligence so things that require clever thinkign aren’t beyond him, but things like home ec, art, creative writing, biological sciences, those are easier to process.

17) Is your character an introvert or an extrovert? How do they handle big crowds of people?

Introverrrttttttt. I think really big crowds, like in a city or festival setting or smth are okay, esp since his clan was pretty massive, but I think he gets uncomfortable with larger… groups? like being alone at a party. If he was ever surrounded by like, 10 - 20 other people on his own I think he’d shut down pretty fast.

18) Are they a leader, do they prefer to follow, or would they rather just stay on the sidelines altogether?

Theo used to be a leader, but I don’t think he can fill the role very well anymore, and I think he’d agree as much. I don’t think he’d want to do it anymore anyway, because it was absolutely miserable and it was making his hair go grey pretty fast. I don’t necessarily think he likes following either, at least he doesn’t like being told what to do and not being given a choice? He’ll follow along with plans and such but if you tell him specifically to do something you have to be careful.

19) If your character was suddenly challenged, would they rather run away or stay and fight?

Theo will pvp any scrub

20) If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would that person be and why?

This is such a loaded question LMAO but to be honest he’d probably have Auril killed.

21) Your character has been granted 3 wishes; what would they wish for and why?

The problem here is that there’s a certain deck in dnd and a certain card gives you 1d3 wishes and if I write my wishes down they’ll never come true. But Theo would definitely correct a lot of his past and a lot of the damage Jericho did.

22) Does your character trust people right off the bat or does it take them some time to warm up to someone?

I think Theo used to be very instantly open to trusting people before Jericho, which is part of why he was friends with so many people. Now it takes him a looong time and several demonstrations of positive behavior for him to really trust anyone, and it’s very easily broken. I think Shouri, and maybe a select number of others could get away with breaking his trust and be forgiven quickly, depending on how tired he is of being angry with them. Shouri especially he was furious and upset with for a long time, and I think he’s just in a place where he feels like he’d be happier just forgiving and moving on than sitting in anguish. He knows Shouri makes him happier than anybody, and he’ll give Shouri whatfor, but in the end he’d rather not be mad at him and he’d rather trust he means well.

23) Do they prefer romance or affection? What is the quickest way to your character’s heart?

I think with as touch starved as Theo has been, physical affection is very important to him. Gentle, loving touches are a fast way to calm him down and ground him and keep him centered and I think a lot of people would be surprised at how far holding his hand would go too. Holding his face is also good.

24) Does your character have any enemies? If so, who and why?

I mean, ‘enemy’ but he and the party paladin don’t really get along. I’m 50% sure she’s gonna try some nonsense to get Theo and Shouri to break things off somehow and i’m just. squinting. what is she planning. Otherwise there’s his former goddess Auril. He used to consider the prince of frost his enemy but I think Theo feels he’s in a considerable position of power over him so he’s not really an enemy so much as a pawn now.

25) Do they have any weird bedroom habits? Any unusual kinks?

Hair pulling, roughness in general, getting rimmed, toy play, being very submissive.

26) How does your character prepare for bed? Do they sleep at all or can they stay awake for days on end without trouble?

Theo probably just strips down, finds the nearest living pillow in Shouri, and knocks out on an ideal night. If he’s not present I think Theo would force himself to stay up so he doesn’t risk night terrors; he’s very embarrassed by those and I think Shouri knows Theo enough to be able to catch them before they get too bad.

27) If your character had one thing to say to their parents before they died, what would it be?

“We made it out. I fixed it. I did something. I fixed it.”

28) Are they afraid of death? Do they have any regrets?

I think Theo, despite being extremely suicidal, actually fears death a lot. I think he worries about his afterlife and what that will entail for him, because he feels like he’s only going to end up punished. He has a lot of conflicting regrets and regrets in general and I don’t think he’d handle the end of his life well.

29) Does your character get restless when things are too quiet or do they favour solitude and silence? Why?

I think it switches. Having people around can be overhwelming, but being completely alone is upsetting. It’s a mix of both tbh.

30) Finally; if your character was forced to eat one thing for the rest of their life, what would they choose and why?

Reindeer cream stew with herbs and potatoes. It’s his favorite food and he didn’t get to have it often bc Reindeer couldn’t be slaughtered very often; he’d be happy eating it constantly.

[somedaywellfindit]

do the entire overwatch questionnaire

There;s a lot so I’ve put it under the cut.

1. Who is your defence main?

Bastion and (recently) if I can, Junkrat!

2. Who is your support main?

Symmetrya or Lucio

3. Who is your offence main?

Tracer and Sombra

4. Who is your tank main?

D.Va!!

5. Who is you MAIN main?

D.Va but I’m starting to play more Symmetra

6. Which character have you played the least?

Doomfist

7. Which character do you want to learn how to play?

Ana. I’m not good at aiming so it’s hard for me to play as a sniper but Ana seems really heckin neat!

8. Which character do you dislike the most?

Roadhog. He’s so annoying to play against

9. Which character’s background story do you like the most?

Sombra’s!

10. Which character’s background story do you like the least?

Soldier’s. It’s a bit generic… It’s also basically Captian America js

11. Which map is your favorite?

Horizon!

12. Which map is your least favorite?

Probably Volskaya or Antartica

13. What Arcade game type is your favorite?

Mystery Heroes

14. What Arcade game type is your least favorite?

FFA

15. Do you prefer quick play, competitive, arcade mode, or custom games?

Arcade mode but I do like QP

16. Which map type is your favorite? Assault, escort, assault & escort, control, or arena?

Assult and escort (seperatley and together)

17. Which map type is your least favorite? Assault, escort, assault & escort, control, or arena?

Arena

18. Which event map was your favorite?

The Lucio Ball maps

19. Which event map reskin was your favorite?

Aldersbrunn!

20. Which event was your favorite?

So far, the Halloween event

21. Which event legendary skin was your favorite?

Cruiser :’)

22. Which event was your least favorite?

Probably, compared to all of the other ones I’ve been a part of, the anniversary event

23. Which event legendary skin was your least favorite?

Cyborg:76. It’s ugly as frick omg

24. Which event non-legendary skin was your favorite?

Skullyatta!

25. Which event non-legendary skin was your least favorite?

Symmetra’s vampire skin. Don’t want to go into why but I think it’s pretty obvious…

26. Which event item do you most regret not getting?

Oasis omg. It’s such a nice skin and I want it so bad

27. Did you beat the Uprising event on Normal, Hard, Expert, and Legendary?

I wasn’t there for that, sorry (but if I had been there, I probably would’ve only done normal)

28. Do you have Sombra’s “Power Outage” achievement?

Nope. I’m going to try and get it though

29. Do you have Widowmaker’s “Smooth as Silk” achievement?

I don’t have the aim to get that one, sadly

30. Do you have Lucio’s “The Floor is Lava” achievement?

Nope. I want to though

31. Do you have Zenyatta’s “Rapid Discord” achievement?

I don’t play enough Zen to get that but I’m going to Try

32. What was the first achievement you got?

Level 10

33. Did you get the “Not A Scratch,” achievement on Junkenstein’s Revenge?

Nope. I haven’t played hard mode yet, so I’ll have to try and get that one

34. What has been the hardest achievement to get for you?

I don’t really try and get certain achievements but probably Group Health Plan? It’s hard for me to not die as Mercy because usually (unless it’s my friends), my team doesn’t do much to help me

35. What’s your current SR score in Competitive Mode?

I’ve only played one comp match this season and I don’t really plan on playing anymore. My sr from last season was 1454 though

36. What the highest you’ve been in Competitive?

1624

37. What’s the most amount of placement matches you’ve won?

5 :P

38. How many gold guns do you have?

None :(

39. Which was the first gold gun you got?

No one’s yet

40. Whose gold gun do you currently want?

Symmetra’s or D.Va’s

41. What role do you usually play in Competitive?

Support

42. If you don’t play Competitive, why not?

It’s scary ok. The pressure is not fun

43. What kind of theme event would you like to see in the future?

Probably something like Uprising? Or like a winter games one???? I’m not sure tbh

44. What type of character would you like to see in the future?

Another fuckin healer or defence character!!! Like there’s other classes Jeff Overwatch. hop fuckin to it

45. Who needs more (or better) skins in the future?

Doomfist h ol y shi t. Zarya and Bastion need better skins too lmao. Their recolours are their best ones

46. What country would you like a new character to come from?

The Philippines!!

47. Favorite voice line?

“I’m your huckleberry.” hsfjaofkl

48. Favorite player icon?

Doom Dab! Doom Dab! (the Doomfist shotput one)

49. Favorite emote?

All of the dances

50. Favorite spray?

Tuxedo. I hope we can get that as a Doomfist skin. He looks dapper as fuck and I love it

51.Favorite victory pose?

Zenyatta’s Peace one omg

52. Favorite highlight intro?

The Sombra hacked one

53. Characters you ship the most?

Genji and Zenyatta for mlmSombra and Symmetra for wlwD.Va and Lucio for a het couple

54. Characters you ship the least?

Genji and Mercy, Soldier and Reaper, anything with Tracer unless it’s Emily, Genji and Hanzo (wtf is wrong with you people), anything with the father figures and their kids (D.Va and Soldier, Reaper and McCree or Genji, Soldier and Mercy, etc)

55. Characters you wish had more in-game interactions?

Lucio and D.Va or anyone with Winston probably

56. Character you wish had a comic about?

Zenyatta!!

57. Favorite comic released?

I don’t read the comics so I don’t have a favourite

58. Favorite short released?

Infiltration. It was the first short I ever saw and I love it

59. Favorite new character released?

Orisa. She’s so pure….

60. Overwatch, Blackwatch, or Talon?

Overwatch or Talon tbh

61. Pro-Omnic or anti-Omnic?

Pro-Omnic omg

62. Favorite character that isn’t a playable one? (Ex: Emily, Brigitte, Gerard, Efi, etc.)

Efi or Emily

63. Character change (nerf, boost, work around) that you liked the most?

The Doomfist nerf.. He could kill you in one charge, which would work for a tank hero but for an offence hero, it was too op

64. Character change (nerf, boost, work around) you liked the least?

The Zarya ult change where you couldn’t shoot

65. Best ultimate?

Soldier’s or Mercy’s

66. Worst ultimate?

Winston’s and Reinhardt’s

67. Most kills in game?

Altogether, 2817

68. Most heals in game?

290, 983

69. What character do you think needs a nerf?

Probably Junkrat? If he has an extra mine, there should be a way to escape his trap imo (like how you can not get frozen if you’re D.va when you use her boosters)

70. What character do you think needs a buff?

I’m not sure, honestly.

71. Have you ever rage quit in the middle of a game?

Kinda. Usually, when I leave in the middle of a game, it’s because I have to do something or I go afk

72. What’s the fastest you’ve won a game?

Probably 3 minutes? I remember I was in an arcade game or something and we were on defence and we just decimated the other team. They couldn’t even get out of spawn for half the game

73. What’s the fastest you’ve lost a game?

Does joining a game and immediately losing count? Because that happens a lot

74. Your best Overwatch-related story?

I don’t really have one yet

75. Weirdest thing that happened to you on Overwatch?

Finding the weird names. I saw someone called RespectWemen and I wish I added them as a friend omg

76. Platform you play on?

PC master race bitches

77. Do you stream?

Nope. My friends do though. It would be neat to be a part of the stream but that means I would have to talk :P

78. Do you normally play solo or with friends?

Solo but if my friends are online, I’ll play with them

79. Have you made any friends because of Overwatch?

Kinda? There’s someone from a group chat but I don’t want to call them a friend since they’ve said some shit that I don’t agree with (it was racist and gross)

80. Have you cosplayed a character from Overwatch?

Nope. I wanted to dress up as Tracer for Halloween but I don’t have the money to do that right now, sadly

81. Have you ever wrote fan fiction about Overwatch?

Nah

82. What’s the lowest you’ve been in Competitive?

In terms of SR? 1456

83. In “All Brawls,” if you get “Charge!” do you play Reinhardt or do you pick the Lucio role?

I haven’t played it but I would pick Lucio

84. In “All Brawls,” if you get “One Shot, One Kill,” do you play Ana, Hanzo, or Widowmaker?

Widow or Ana

85. In “All Brawls,” if you get “This is Ilios,” do you pick Lucio or Roadhog?

Lucio

86. Team Genji or Team Hanzo?

Genji!! He’s a cyborg ninja. He’s cool as fuck. Hanzo is edgy and kind of annoying

87. Be honest! Do you usually get on the payload?

Yeah, I try to

88. Does your team?

Most of the time, yeah

89. What’s the longest session of Overwatch you’ve played?

Idk if this means a match or time playing it in general so I’m gonna go for the latter. I’ve probably spent at least a couple hours playing Overwatch, if not more

90. No Limits, Mystery Heroes, or Total Mayhem?

Mystery Heroes

91.Most cosmetics you have for one character?

16 (D.Va)

92. Least cosmetics you have for one character?

9 (Winston)

93. Have you ever made your own custom game?

Yeah, but it was just to look at the maps

94. Best D.Va skin?

Cruiser

95. Best Mercy skin?

Literally all of her event legendaries. They’re beautiful

96. Best Tracer skin?

Graffiti but I also love Posh and Sporty (also that Spice Girls reference? love it)

97. Zarya’s Industrial and Cybergoth skins: yes, no, or HELL NO?

Hell no. THey’re Not Nice

98. Do you want more animal character, robot characters, or human characters?

Robot, I think. An animal character would be cool though! Like how everyone was theorising about the ape from the moon being a new hero

99. Is there a character you’d get rid of completely?

Nah. There’s some who suck (*cough* Hanzo * cough cough*) but not to the point where I would want them removed

100. What do you think Sombra’s real name is?

This was before her real name was revealed so I already know her name but probably Sofia. It’s a pretty name for a pretty girl

[atlaswriting]

My jaw is a vice, clenching and unclenching as Abram is swallowed by a sea of well-dressed bodies. Slender arms wrap around him and I can see through a gap that his hand lies familiarly at the bottom of her back.

When Gigi’s words finally intrude my thought, I look over at her—the look on her face tells me this wasn’t the first thing she’s said to me.

“She’s an assistant at the office. But I doubt she’ll be in that position long,” she tells me, “Her dad writes all those horror stories. You know, the ones they keep making movies of.”

My mouth feels dry as I try to open it, try to force the words out of my mouth—but it doesn’t work.

“Bradley Geier!” Gigi slaps the table happily, “she’s quite the talent too. A writer, a singer, an actress. It won’t be long until she’s in Hollywood, knocking on our television screens.” Gigi peels her eyes away from Abram and Colette; she looks at me and smiles in a way that makes my skin crawl. “She’s beautiful. Sylvia Plath beautiful, I’d say. Only, with less oven.”

My fingers release the tight grip on my fork and it drops onto the china with a loud noise, “I don’t know what you think you’re getting at Gigi—but I don’t take well to manipulations. Or threats.”

She laughs, leaning back in her chair, holding out her champagne flute for the waiter as he passes by, “If I were making threats, dear girl, you would know,” she nods, “I won’t have my grandson hurt again and judging by how close you two are, I doubt you’ve told him the truth.” She takes a sip from her glass, “We do not leave New York without Abram knowing the truth. Do you understand me?” When I don’t answer she smiles again, finishing off what was left in her glass, “That, darling, was a threat.” She leans over, pats my cheek with the palm of her hand and stands.

“Colette’s a simple girl,” Gigi starts, “She would be good for Abram. You’ve proved time and time again that you choose yourself over him, Elise. Abram doesn’t need someone like that.”

I stay seated long after Gigi left eyesight. Long after the last dance was called and only when the song was just about ending do I stand, unable to bear the sight of their bodies so close together any longer.

♡ ♡ ♡

@kempe are you mad at me???

@kempe elise?

@lislaire no.

@kempe sounds fake, but okay.

@kempe what didn’t I do to make you not mad, then?

@lislaire did you sleep with Colette?

@kempe wtf. You’re kissing me, right?

@kempe no. I did not sleep with her! We danced. That’s all.

@lislaire Gigi sure wants you with her.

@lislaire don’t lie to me Abram. I hate liars.

@kempe I’m not lying. I don’t care what Gigi wants.

@kempe you know I only want you.

@lislaire until you feel like you want Sylvia again.

@kempe Omg. Don’t start acting crazy.

@lislaire lmao okay, so I’m crazy? Night Abram.

@kempe oh my god. Elise.

@kempe ???????

♡ ♡ ♡

The veins in Cerise’s neck are bulging and her cheeks have gone past acceptable rosy to red as each moment ticks by. She’s silent, which worries me more than her yelling and my fingers tighten around each other as I do my best to slow my breathing, slow my heart.

“He didn’t come for you!” Anais shouts, throwing her hands up in the air, “I’m allowed a plus one, aren’t I?”

“Not my ex-husband!” Cerise yells back.

I shift on the bed, wishing I could lay back and disappear into the plush whites. As my eyes move from my mother to my aunt, I notice an amused twitch at the corner of Anais’ lips. A warning burns hot through my chest—I want to tell her to stop trying to light the fuse, she never has to deal with the outcome when everything goes up in flames.

“I’ve no interest in your wedding,” Simon interjects, “I came for emotional support for Anais and to see Elise.” He holds out his hands toward me, but I don’t move. Not with Cerise’s eyes starring daggers into me.

She scoffs then; a humorless hitch and I glance toward the window—half wondering if I could jump out and if the fall would hurt less than this moment.

“Emotional support, Simon, you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon.” Cerise says, “I knew you’d come—you’ve always wanted to destroy everything I had. My marriage, my daughter and now my wedding! Is nothing off limits to you?” She stops, a sob shakes her body and by the way she buries her face in her hands I know it’s forced. Looking toward Anais, I watch her chest deflate and she casts a glance toward Simon.

“Cerise…” Anais starts, holding her hands toward her sister, “I’m sorry, okay?” My mother had a sick way of manipulating people—a super power in her own right, I’d say. “We can leave, if you want us to.” Anais was too nice and my mother was too good at destroying this.

Dropping her hands, Cerise wipes at the faux tears beneath her lids, “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. But what I would ask is that I not see one glimpse of you,” she says looking at Simon, “for as long as my stay is here. I don’t want to see you—and I don’t want you to bother Elise, either.”

“Cerise.”

“Simon,” Anais holds up her hands, she then looks at my mother again, “He’ll stay hidden. I’m sorry, Cerise.” She says.

Leading them toward the door, she ushers Simon out first and then with minimal effort she hugs Anais. “It takes a big woman to apologize for her mistakes.” She tells her before shutting the door. Rolling her eyes, she runs her hands through her hair and looks at me, “What a pain sisters are,” she says, “Be lucky you don’t have any.”

♡ ♡ ♡

“You like her.” I look across the table at Jason. It’s the only real alone time we’ve had since shit hit the fan—and I don’t realize how much I’ve missed his smile until I’m staring at it.

He nods, taking a bite of his burger, “It’s more than that.” He tells me and gives me a look like I know—because I do.

“How long?”

“Always, never, I don’t know. It just sort of happened. It’s different with her.” He pauses, worry washes over his face and he begins shaking his head, “not that it wasn’t nice with you! I like you, too, Elise—it’s just with Sophie—we just—,”

“You don’t have to explain, Jason. I understand completely.” I tell him. Because I do. “Besides, a feeling like this, you can’t explain.”

Leaning back in his chair, “Is it it with Abram?” He asks.

I nod. “It’s it.”

♡ ♡ ♡

I knock on the door—once, twice, three knocks and as I ready myself for the fourth it opens. Abram answers dressed only in sweatpants and confusion. He rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand and his sleepy tongue gets in the way of him saying anything.

“I’m sorry, I was just awake and I wanted to see you. Is Malachi here?”

“He’s sleeping.” He manages as I move past him. “What are you doing here?”

Moving past him, I look around the pristine suite—whites and blues, the windows overlooking central park, I find myself longing for things I shouldn’t be longing for and I turn back around. “Jason’s with Sophie.”

“How do you know that? I thought he was with Sienna and the girls?”

The room Malachi is asleep in is the one opposite the living room and I make sure my shoeless feet step careful and with caution toward Abram’s shared bedroom.

“She called me at lunch to say she landed. Jason wanted a date. Cerise doesn’t know yet, but I think she’ll freak. Between her and my dad coming here,” Abram sits on the edge of his bed and I shut the door behind me, “They’re getting married tomorrow.” I fill the silence with the words we both were dreading.

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t want to be complicated, anymore. I want to be simple. Easy. I want to be like that Colette girl—with her, you know what you’re getting. There aren’t any surprises.” I want to tell him she doesn’t have demons lingered in the dark parts of her mind. Moving between his legs, I welcome his hands as they find my waist, fingers gentle as they bring me closer. I lean down, press a kiss to the top of his head and try to silence the hunger biting at my core.

“There are things about me—ugly things, things you don’t know and I’m afraid—I’m afraid that—,”

“When I said I loved you, I meant all of you. Not just that good, but the bad too. ‘Cause it’s really not as bad as you think,” Abram whispers against my torso, “I don’t want easy. If I wanted easy, you’d be the last person I went to.”

I try to wipe the tears away from my eyes, but Abram catches my wrists and looks up at me, “Stop hiding from me. I think I’ve proved to you that I’m not afraid. Whatever monster you think is hiding, whatever you think I’m going to hate, I want to see it. I want all of you, Elise. All.”

Leaning down, I cup his cheeks between my hands and kiss him—soft, like he deserves. I kiss him like it’s the end, because it is. Abram’s arms snake around my waist and pull me down on top of him. With legs on each side of his hips I look down at him.

“I only have one heart,” he says, “have mercy on me.”

“You are my heart, Abram Kempe.”

Again, I press my lips against his—deciding then that I was more afraid of not kissing him than the consequence from kissing him.