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gcthvile · 1 year ago

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You're losing me.

Pairing: Cole Lensherr (OC) x Helmut Zemo

Fandom: Marvel

Warnings: angst

Summary: Cole and Zemo's love ends when Zemo leaves, despite Cole's desperation to stay connected. Alone and hollowed, Cole mourns what could have been as his broken heart surrenders to the loneliness.

Cole sat on the bench in the empty public park, Zemo's call haunting his thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to forget his partner's words, that it was over, they had to part ways. But Cole knew that moment would come, as Zemo's quest for vengeance against those who took his family consumed him.

Zemo approached quietly, as was his way. Cole didn't turn, didn't meet his eyes, afraid of what he might see - or not see - in their haunted gray depths. "You've said your piece. Now say what you really came to say."

Zemo sighed softly. "There is nothing more, you know my path. But know that what we had..." he trailed off, as if the words pained him. Cole wanted to beg, to plead, but his pride held fast.

"Will you not even look at me?" Zemo asked. Cole turned then, seeing the conflict, the regret, but also the resolve. He knew nothing would sway Zemo from the course he had set himself upon.

"Some days, it's like I'm someone else," Cole said bitterly. "I watch you walk away, leaving me out here on my own, and it feels like you're taking everything. Guess I didn't realize everything means you."

Zemo reached out a brief moment, fingers brushing Cole's cheek, before dropping his hand once more. "Perhaps...when this is over..." he suggested, though they both knew that was a promise neither could truly make. With a sad half-smile, Zemo turned and walked away, disappearing into the gathering dusk as Cole fought the tears threatening to fall, feeling as though his heart was being torn from his chest with each step Zemo took, knowing he may never see him again but unable to call out, to stop him, pride and pain holding his silence.

"We thought a cure would come through in time, now I fear it won't"

Cole watched Zemo walk away until his figure was lost to darkness. A solitary tear finally escaped, sliding slowly down his cheek. They had believed, somehow, that Zemo's quest could be sated, that vengeance would salve the wound in his soul and set him free to live again. But watching Zemo retreat into the night, Cole knew with sinking certainty that would never be the case. The pain and loss ran too deep, and Zemo was drowning in it, lost to the dark currents with no hope of surfacing again. This parting was no temporary one, but a final goodbye, as Zemo gave himself over fully to the shadows and Cole was left with only memories, and the knowledge that Zemo's cure had proven fictional - the damage was done, and nothing would heal the scars on both their hearts.

"Remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light

Now, I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time"

Cole returned to the home he and Zemo had shared, now empty of all but memories. He sat in the darkness, not bearing to turn on the lights that had once illuminated their joy and intimacy. How many hours had they spent in this very room, talking late into the night by the fire or curled together on the couch, each taking solace in the other's embrace?

Now loneliness pressed down with suffocating weight. Cole glanced around at familiar furnishings that seemed foreign and cold without Zemo's vital presence to give them life and meaning. He thought of simpler times, not realizing back then how fleeting they truly were. Zemo had always kept his past and future close, sharing little of either, and Cole wondered now if some part of Zemo had known even then how brief their time together would be.

Was it time to let go, to accept it was over and face the empty house and hollow future alone? The shadows held no answers, only specters of the past that mocked his solitude. With a weary sigh Cole rose, unable to endure the ghosts of memory a moment more. He left the darkness behind, but it remained imprinted on his heart.

"Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?

I'm getting tired even for a phoenix

Always risin' from the ashes

Mendin' all her gashes

You might just have dealt the final blow"

Cole wandered the empty house once more, still unsure what to do with the remnants of his life with Zemo. So much of who he was had been entwined with the other man - should he simply purge it all, as if Zemo had never existed? But the thought of erasing their history together was its own anguish.

Yet staying here, surrounded daily by reminders of what was lost, threatened to break him further. Cole had risen from ashes before, reinvented himself when all seemed lost, but this loss cut deeper than any other. He was tired of fighting only to have hope ripped away yet again.

Zemo had done more than break his heart - he feared the other man may have destroyed Cole's very ability to heal and begin anew. Always before when battered and wounded, Cole had found resolve to fly once more. Now, he knew not if any power resided within him, any flames remained to be rekindled.

In the end, Cole decided to take one box of treasured memories, leaving the rest for another day. For now, survival would require distance from these rooms steeped in their shared history. Whether any ash-scattered phoenix could manage even that, Cole did not yet know.

"Stop, you're losin' me

Stop, you're losin' me

I can't find a pulse

My heart won't start anymore

For you

'Cause you're losin' me"

As Zemo spoke of leaving, Cole felt himself dying inside. He struggled to comprehend how the man before him, who had given Cole purpose and passion, could walk away as if what they shared meant nothing. Zemo met his gaze briefly but offered no true explanation or reassurance, only vague words that did little to quell Cole's rapidly intensifying terror.

Cole's heart pounded frantically, feeling as it if threatened to shatter within his chest. His pulse echoed in his ears, the only thing he could hear over the roar of blood and mounting panic. With eyes pleading, desperate to glimpse even a hint of doubt or regret in Zemo's cool gray stare, Cole reached out a trembling hand to grasp Zemo's wrist weakly.

"Please..." Cole whispered, his voice cracking. Zemo gently but firmly removed Cole's grasp, and Cole saw with crushing finality that nothing he said or did would change the inevitable. With that, the last flame within Cole's heart was snuffed out, leaving behind only the charred remains of what once beat strong and sure. Zemo was truly lost to him now.

"Every mornin', I glared at you with storms in my eyes

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'?"

As Zemo turned to leave, Cole grasped his arm once more. "Say it," he begged brokenly, the pain and desperation in his eyes cutting deep.

Zemo hesitated, knowing the words were but bitter ash now. Yet he owed Cole this final kindness at least. "I loved you," Zemo said softly. "More than you knew."

Cole laughed mirthlessly. "No, you didn't. Not truly. If you had, you would see what this is doing to me. Every day I stared at you hoping, praying you would finally see. But you were always too busy planning your vengeance to notice me slowly dying inside from keeping this secret."

Tears glistened in those stormy eyes Zemo had always admired, the eyes that now saw him with such anguish and betrayal. Zemo had no defense, no explanation Cole would accept in his agony. Some pains were simply too deep for words to soothe.

With a heavy heart, Zemo gently released Cole's hand. "Farewell," he whispered, and was gone. Cole sank to his knees amid the wreckage, shattered beyond any hope of repair.

"And the air is thick with loss and indecision

I know my pain is such an imposition"

Cole sank down on the couch, his body heavy and aching as if every muscle had been pulled taut to the point of snapping. Grief and anguish swirled thickly around him, almost a tangible thing he could reach out and grasp in his fist.

He knew his turmoil and distress must be weighing on others as well. How selfish he was being, wallowing in his own pain without thought for how his suffering affected those around him. Zemo was gone - they all lost something with his departure, and yet here was Cole drowning in his private sorrow as if it was the only thing that mattered.

It was an imposition, he knew, to expect others to bear witness to his unraveling or pick up the pieces of his broken heart. He should be stronger than this, carry his grief silently as Zemo would rather than make a public spectacle of his despair. But strength had fled, leaving only hollowed-out ruin in its wake. All Cole could do was succumb to the darkness steadily strangling him from within.

"And you know what they all say

You don't know what you got until it's gone"

Cole sat alone in the silent darkness, memories of his time with Zemo drifting bittersweet through his mind. He recalled lazy mornings waking in Zemo's arms, feeling sheer contentment in those quiet stolen moments before the demands of the day. Nights spent pour over old books or discussing philosophy and history by firelight, Zemo's passion for knowledge kindling Cole's own intellect.

Small touches and gestures that had simply been part of their everyday before now seemed precious - a hand guiding Cole's in a dance, fingers threading through his hair, the warmth of Zemo's smile, rarely shared but capable of lighting Cole's world when it appeared. Only now, through the harsh lens of loss, did Cole truly grasp how much he had taken for granted. These days of intimacy and understanding were behind them now, the realization leaving only emptiness in its wake. You never do know what you had, Cole thought sadly, until you find yourself with nothing at all.

"How long could we be a sad song

'Til we were too far gone to bring back to life?"

Cole recalled the subtle shifts in Zemo in the weeks and months preceding their parting. There had been an increasing distance in Zemo's eyes, a hint of darkness creeping into his gaze that hadn't fully lifted even in their most intimate moments. His smiles came less easily, and he seemed to pull away emotionally when once they had been open books to one another.

At first Cole had tried to draw Zemo back out, concerned something weighed on his mind. But Zemo remained resignedly silent and aloof, no longer willing to share the thoughts that so obviously plagued him. As the distance between them stretched each day, Cole feared he was losing the man he loved to some interior abyss he could neither name nor navigate.

Each morning it took more effort to rouse even a glimmer of warmth from Zemo's cold exterior. Cole wondered how long they could continue like ghosts drifting past one another, until the sadness encircling them became something inescapable, and the men they used to be faded beyond any power to restore. It seemed Zemo had walked that line and crossed over, leaving Cole alone on the near side, grieving for what was lost.

"I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy

And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier"

Cole sat among the debris of his shattered world, exhaustion like lead in his bones. Though he tried to hide it, Zemo had always seen straight through to his core - and what had he found there? Only a man straining under the weight of another's burdens, doing all he could simply to keep standing as blow after blow fell.

He had spared nothing in caring for Zemo, holding his fractured soul in gentle hands and easing what pain he was able. In turn, Cole's own seams had slowly begun to tear under the pressure, leaked agony seeping through the cracks in his facade of strength. Always he strove to remain stalwart, a solid foundation for the other to lean on.

But foundations can crumble under enough strain, as Cole had finally at length done. Now surrounded by ruins, he questioned all that had come before - had he truly offered solace, or only served as another burden for Zemo to bear? Perhaps in caring so deeply for another, he had neglected his own wellbeing until there was nothing left to give. Cole wept now not only for their lost love, but for all the ways he may have failed the one person whose regard had meant most.

"And I wouldn't marry me either

A pathological people pleaser

Who only wanted you to see her"

Cole knew that if he were to look within himself with brutal honesty, he too would not have chosen such a broken mate. All his value had been placed in another's hands, leaving himself neglected and wanting. He knew now that his endless deference to Zemo's every pain and need, however well-intentioned, had been borne not from pure caring alone - there were uglier motives entwined.

In pleasing Zemo so completely, in making himself indispensable, had he simply sought validation and purpose? Had he wrapped his own insecure soul in the guise of selflessness, so that Zemo's favor became the lens through which he viewed his worth? No wonder such a foundation proved perilously unstable, cracking under the slightest pressure once Zemo's regard began to waver.

"And I'm fadin', thinkin'

"Do something, babe, say something" (say something)

"Lose something, babe, risk something" (you're losin' me)

"Choose something, babe, I got nothing (got nothing)

To believe"

Cole knew Zemo was resolved to leave, yet in his eyes he dared to hope that some part of the man he loved remained, a part that could feel Cole's pain and be swayed. As Zemo turned to go, Cole's gaze bored into him with exhausted desperation.

"Please," Cole whispered, voice cracked and fraying like his ravaged heart. "If there is any part of you that can be reached...do something. Say anything to make this agony stop. Or if you cannot stay your hand, at least grant me some small sign that what we had was real to you."

A tear broke free, tracing the exquisite torment on Cole's face. "I have nothing left to sustain me if you go like this, without a word of comfort or care for what becomes of me. One word is all I ask to ease this void threatening to swallow me whole. Then I can let you walk away in peace."

Zemo met his pleading eyes but a moment. Some words passed between them, unspoken yet understood, before Zemo turned once more toward the darkness and was gone.

"Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me

I can't find a pulse

My heart won't start anymore"

His heart shattered beyond repair, Cole withdrew into a pain so profound he could no longer bear another's touch or kindness. While friends reached out in concern, their words and comforts seemed hollow echoes that could not carry through the dense fog enveloping his soul.

Each day Cole faded further, going through motions of living while inside he ceased to do more than merely exist. His vibrant spirit had been severed from this mortal shell it once animated; only an echo remained, drifting wraithlike through the ruins of what was.

No pulse of life or hope stirred in the ashen wasteland Cole had become. His heart, once so full of passion and longing, lay stilled; no force of will seemed capable of jolting it to beat again. And so Cole dwelt as one already dead, wandering a purgatory of his own shattered making, lost to all in this world and the next.

decided that one of our OG couples deserved a fanfic of how the things ended between them, so there you go!😁

tags: @missstrawbs2001 @jackiequick @blueboirick @cherrysft @meiramel @purpleprincessonfyre @ask-missparker @askstevella @therealdaydreamstark @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @rooster-84 @gaminggirlsstuff

#oc post #oc rp #oc rpg #marvel #marvel roleplay #marvel oc #marvel x oc #cole lensherr #helmut zemo

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satanicchristiancult · 1 year ago

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Heartstopper 7-30, and why it is that representation matters

Or: the perspective from a queer and mentally ill teen about figuring out your future and moving forward from the past, through an analysis of a singular chapter of Heartstopper

Alternatively: a queer, mentally ill teen projecting their issues and analyzing life itself through a comic about queer, mentally ill teens

Warnings: spoilers for all of the comic version of Heartstopper up until the most recent update (September 11, 2023), past self-harm, issues with self-image, and unspecified eating disorders (all of them both in fiction and in real life). (The last one isn’t really spoken about, but the topic lingers around this essay, keep that in mind).

It’s the second time I’m writing this. Bear with me. It’s long. You’ve been warned. Also, as you can see, this was written over the course of two days, and took multiple days for me to clean up and post. It’s no longer Monday 11th, so there are inconsistencies.

Today I woke up like any other Monday morning. Grabbed my phone at 5 am before getting ready for class. Today is update day for Heartstopper, as is every 1st, 11th, and 21st of each month. I looked up the chapter on Tumblr, read half of it, got ready for the day, read the rest of the update, and kept going with my day.

Usually, I wouldn’t think much about it throughout the day. I would think about it and re-read the chapter during the time between classes, or during lunch. Today was different. We’re in the middle of exam season. Today’s exam had to be done in a very small amount of time, only an hour. All of it was writing and analyzing. It’s 20% of the grade for the class. I spent 15 minutes of said exam just thinking about Heartstopper.

Here’s the thing about me. I have the tendency to fall in love with fiction. I will find something new, a book, a series, whatever, and consume all of it, engage with the fandom, consume all of it again, and repeat the whole thing until I find something new.

I engaged with Heartstopper a while after it had first been presented to me. Just like right now, it was the middle of exam season and I needed to get my mind off of things. I opened Tapas, which I often use to read things, mostly fan comics. I saw that Heartstopper was in there for free. I thought it was odd, but I was bored and tired, so I began reading.

I read the whole thing in two days, only three hours or something like that. At first, it became something like a comfort for me. A world that resembled the real world but made it its ideal version. Heartstopper presented me with a dream-like gay relationship, filled with self-discovery, varied characters, and, once again, an idealized version of the world.

It was so liberating at first. What if the world was like that? What if we didn’t have to fear people that much? What if life could be so filled with love?

Then it got dark.

Holy- then it got dark. It broke me, but I loved it. Gosh, I really did. I love stories about mental health. I love reading about how life can break a human being, but at the same time, how it can slowly and carefully put them back together. Sure, life is not perfect, and therefore, a person will never be fixed, and they will never be “how they used to be”, but life can persevere through darkness and pain. Life can get better. That’s what I chose to believe.

I’ve always related more to Charlie than to any other Heartstopper character, (aside from Tori, but she doesn’t really count as a Heartstopper character). We both struggle with similar issues, and we both deal with them in similar ways. Unhealthy coping mechanisms, baby~!

This arc of Nick trying to choose a university is significant to me, mostly because I’m having the same issues as him. I’m supposed to have figured out what I’m going to do, and I’m supposed to know where that’s going to be. I don’t know anything. I know what area I’m interested in, but that’s still not enough.

Currently, Nick is touring universities with his friends, trying to make plans for the future, while figuring out whether or not he’s willing to leave behind the people he loves for the sake of his education and personal growth.

That struck a nerve in me. I’m also terrified of leaving behind my friends, who are essentially my family. I want to be the best version possible of me. I want to have these new, meaningful, and life-altering experiences.

When I was younger, I used to think that I wouldn’t make it far. I thought that I would die young and I would be at fault for that. I found hope and comfort whenever I thought about college. I always thought/dreamed about leaving everything behind, going to the US, and living the “American Dream”. I never cared whether or not it was doable, it was my dream and it was going to happen one way or another.

Now I’m older. Somehow still alive. More bitter than before. Sadly enough, I don’t allow myself to dream about those things anymore and still believe that they can and will happen. Now, my perception of the US has been broken and I’m truly afraid of even going there.

Back to Heartstopper 7-30, Nick and the gang visit the University of Leeds. Nothing seems to particularly catch their eye, but they speak with a student, and things change.

Nick gets asked the question. That haunting question that almost seems to chase you down. “What are you thinking of studying?” Then comes the dreaded answer, “I’m still undecided.” Lucky for him, he doesn’t seem to take it in a bad way or overanalyze the situation.

How the social life is described to Nick attracts him to the university. He’s interested in the sports facilities, because he’s our rugby boy, so of course he would be. The person he’s talking to tells him that their partner is in the team, and that they are really enjoying it.

That’s the moment in which, even if isn’t consciously, Nick makes his decision. He turns around and sees a group of students playing rugby. One of them turns around and waves at them, signifying that they are the other one’s partner. The rest of the group just looks at them and smile.

They just seem to accept each other no matter what. They show affection between them and don’t even question it. That means the world to Nick. That’s everything he wants. A community. To be accepted. To be able to engage in one of his favorite activities, rugby, and not have to hide who he truly is. He sees himself as one of them. Straight up, imagines himself in their shoes, and he finally finds what he’s looking for.

A year ago, I started telling myself that I should figure things out. I went to a fair with multiple international universities that offered different programs for students from my country. At the end of the day, the dream never fully dies, I guess. I still want that god-forsaken college experience that appears in books and movies. That feeling of community. Anything.

I found this public university in the middle of nowhere, but it truly did captivate me. I don’t even remember why. Cool mascot, a nice ambiance. Good enough. I looked them up on Instagram and fell in love. Their posts were truly everything I had ever dreamed of. Community, acceptance, fun, pure joy, and happiness on that campus.

Then, what meant the most to me: an LGBTQIA2S+ organization. Queer-friendly spaces. Monthly meeting just to talk. I can’t stress enough how relevant this one was for me at first, a bingo game night with drag queens.

Where I come from, people know that you’re queer and you’re dead, honestly. You will never hear the end of it. We isolate ourselves because we know that otherwise, we’d have to fight daily just to be tolerated, to be heard. We’d have to argue why our existence is okay.

This idea of being out, the whole concept to me is wild. I genuinely never considered it a possibility. Being openly queer, alongside other openly queer people is something revolutionary in my head. I do mean it.

I understand Nick. Finally finding a place where you think that you could actually belong is such a liberating experience. The idea of “I could be there”, “I could be one of them”, “I could be myself and not have to worry”. It changes everything. It genuinely does.

I truly do hope that Nick finds himself at home in Leeds. I wish him only the best. May he figure out what he wants to do, and may he be happy doing it.

Now, time for. Charlie.

He barely even appears on this update, yet, his actions are incredibly relevant, both to his character development and to all of the people reading.

Charlie’s mental health has been all over the place, that’s something everyone who has ever interacted with Heartstopper knows. Most fans can also say that they relate to this. A pretty big amount of the fans of this saga would say that they consider themselves LGBTQIA2S+ and/or people who are currently or in the past have struggled with their mental health.

The beauty of Heartstopper is that we get to see these characters grow, not only grow older, but also grow emotionally. They get to learn about themselves. They get to battle their internal conflicts and win them.

Charlie means a lot to a lot of people. He means a lot to me. He is, in some way or another, a reflection of myself. My issues. My life. Which is really worrying, actually, but it does mean something. People relate to him. He is a good enough representation of mental health issues for people to be able to identify with him.

In this update, Charlie wants Nick to see him without his shirt on for the first time ever. This is such a big step for him. For his recovery. Charlie has many self-image issues, especially around his arms and torso. All of us readers know how hard this was for him, therefore, we know how much this moment means.

I love that it wasn’t like a gigantic revelation that was reacted to in an exaggerated manner. Nick, being Nick, just blushed heavily. He truly is the personification of ‘bi crisis’. Good for him.

Some of Charlie’s biggest insecurities, as seen in 7-13, are the fact that he’s skinny and has scars. The entirety of chapter 7 has focused on how hard this is on him, and how much it affects his daily life.

Him taking off his shirt doesn’t mean that he overcame this issues. Recovery isn’t linear. This action only means that he’s finally comfortable enough to try. That’s all that recovery really is. Trying, hoping, to get better.

As the audience, an outsider looking in, we have seen Charlie shirtless before. Something new happened this time. We saw something that we didn’t need to see, but some of us, me included, are glad we saw. We saw Charlie’s self-harm scars.

It could be stupid. It could be worthless, but it meant a lot to many of us. It meant a lot to Charlie.

Charlie finally feels confident enough with himself to show this part of him to his boyfriend. Sure, he trusts him with all of his very being. Charlie is well aware that Nick will never judge him for it, but his mind doesn’t see it that way. Charlie is in a fight of will against himself. He wants this, he truly does, but there’s a voice in his head telling him that everything could go wrong. Even if it’s illogical. Even if he knows that it is.

I love how Alice just subtly writes onto the story small details that will later on become important for the plot. They don’t even have to be really important. Them being there is enough. Every single time in which he holds onto his arm, or anyone touches that specific area, there’s always a reaction from him. Every time he feels insecure, he holds onto that specific area.

It could be because I’m an angst-loving fanfic reader/writer, but I always wanted to see those scars. It might be a morbid thought, but I really did want to. We didn’t need it, sure, but seeing them shows that they aren’t just a plot devise. We know that they aren’t only that, but it’s just one of those illogical thoughts that one might have.

Seeing them shows their severity. Seeing them shows how far Charlie has come.

To me, seeing them meant seeing someone like me in a book. On a published book. In the future, on a TV show.

It is one thing to read about it in fan fiction, in people’s blogs, on YouTube videos of people who are getting better, or anything like that. Anyone can post that. It being on something published in that way, something edited and checked by so many people, something that could be professionally translated onto other languages, something that at some point we may find in a library. It means a lot to me.

Alice Oseman’s book Loveless caused the same impact on me. My first time reading a book where there were asexual and/or aromantic characters, non-binary characters. There are people like me in media. In books. In my home country, as oddly homophobic and transphobic as it is, I can go to a bookstore and buy myself a copy of this book. It is real. I am, in fact, not faking all of this. Other people are like me.

Six years I’ve been hiding my arms from the world. I’ve spent my whole life hiding my legs, but three or four years ago I began hiding them for other reasons as well.

Six years ago someone finally asked me, in a worried tone, what happened to my arms. People had asked before, but no one ever asked as if they were concerned. Six years ago it happened for the first and only time. I haven’t worn a sleeveless shirt outside of my room in all that time. I don’t know if I ever will.

Charlie gives me hope. Maybe, one day I will. Who knows. I don’t really want to do that now, but if I ever do, I know that I could.

It is nice to see oneself represented in media. Small representation means something. A more relevant role means even more though.

As a child from a pretty ignored country, I found myself represented in Elena of Avalor, in Marco Díaz from Star vs. the Forces of Evil. Neither one of them was from my country, not even close, but it was as close as I could get.

Representation to me meant the beginning and sometimes end of the Jurassic Park movies, “Isla Nublar, 120 miles west of Costa Rica.” That island doesn’t even exist.

Nowadays, there’s an NCIS character who at some point talks about wanting to move to a beach in Costa Rica. I thought that was going to be it. She would retire, never be seen again on screen, but would still call every once in a while. I don’t regularly watch NCIS, but I pick it up randomly at times. Recently I saw that she didn’t even move to Costa Rica, so that’s that for my “representation.” I don’t know what has happened since, I mean it when I say that I don’t really know what happens on NCIS.

Representation can come in many different forms, in this case, it comes in the shape of a boy who only wants to belong somewhere, and another one finding his place, and finding comfort in his own body after struggling with it for so long.

Representation shows people that they aren’t alone. It shows how important it is to see someone like you on any type of media.

The mere acknowledgment of one’s identity or existence is an indescribable feeling. Seeing oneself in any type of media genuinely causes a great impact.

Representation is necessary, and it not only helps people feel seen, but it also teaches others about different aspects of life that they might not think about. People’s lives are different. Representation helps to put it into perspective.

-Mori (They/Xem)

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spacemagicandlaserswords · 2 years ago

Note

Pass the happy! 🌻🌈 When you receive this, list 5 things that make you happy and send this to 10 of the last people in your notifications!

Thank you! This is the second one of these that I've received and I should probably do them. It feels like one of those things or exercises that are good for you that psychologists encourage you to do. At least it feels like one that I've been given in the past. Not much makes me happy anymore but hopefully I can find enough things to list.

The Bad Batch. This is my current hyperfixation and I cannot put into words how good/relieving/happy? it is to have something that your brain can actually focus on and be occupied and enraptured and consumed by and not feel like it's slowly decaying mush that is past its prime.

Watching The Clone Wars for the first time. It's a little project I've got going on for myself to document my thoughts and reactions as I watch The Clone Wars (and then Rebels) for the first time. For various reasons I never ended up watching TCW or Rebels when they first came out. I am deeply enjoying watching it now and I can literally feel myself falling more and more in love with the clones. I adore them. I just want to clutch them all to my chest and protect them from the world and their fate. I just finished watching 2x10 'The Deserter' and I have so many thoughts and reactions and opinions because omg was it such a good episode for a whole multitude of reasons, the very top being REX CHEST. Watching the TCW is the only thing that makes me laugh these days. Cackling and laughing at my laptop at 2am as I watch this ridiculousness (affectionate) are my only moments of actual joy and if that's all I can ever find now then fuck it I'll take it.

Being more involved in fandom again. I'm really enjoying interacting more on Tumblr again. I didn't realise how much I'd missed it. It took a bit of prodding from my psychologist and it wasn't the project I had actually talked about doing but finally starting this little side blog for my Star Wars nonsense has actually given me something worth existing for again, as ridiculous as it seems.

Reading fanfic. Everything for fanfic writers, they deserve the world and more. They make these intricately crafted universes or tiny moments and vignettes, give us a world to wholly immerse ourselves in and sink into, provide us with an escape from the miserable existence of our hellscape and then give it away FOR FREE?! This is one of the reasons I've always loved fandom and why it's one of the few places (possibly the only) where I feel I can be the real genuine me and like I belong. So much of fandom is based on the love and passion of something that we adore so much and the free exchange and gifting of things to each other and complete strangers and the whole fandom at large that express our love for our thing (eloquent, I know). Fics, fanart, gifs, gif sets, screenshots, remixes, deep dive analyses, thoughts, reactions, theories, everything. Fanfic has always been the one that that best typifies that to me. I'm currently reading The Prime Override by @yukipri and omg is it just absolutely truly astounding. It is such a good read! Go and read it. You must. It is an absolute Must Read. Put it at the top of your To Read list/pile and then start reading it immediately.

Writing fic. I didn't think I'd ever do this. I have voraciously inhaled fanfic for probably over half my life now but I didn't think I'd ever be good enough to actually write fanfic. I've always been stronger and had more experience in academic writing and wasn't quite as good at creative writing in school. Poor little teenage writer me must've internalised this and taken it to mean that I wasn't good enough at creative writing. I've always had ideas for scenarios/alternate realities/fantasies related to various fandoms I've been in over the years but that's what they remained, ideas stuck in my head. Until I kept having more and more of them about the The Bad Batch and they kept lodging their claws into my brain and refusing to leave. I think it all just built up to a point and then one particular idea pushed it all over the edge (along with a few other things). Before I realised what I was doing I had basically just keyboard vomited a whole bunch of words into a google doc in an actually passionate and motivated haze that I hadn't experienced in years, probably close to a decade. I haven't had that feeling of actually, genuinely enjoying something and being so passionate and deeply involved in it that it feels like you can't keep up with your own thoughts in so, so, so long. The kind where you look up at the clock and somehow it's 2:30am in the morning and you have no idea how time had passed that quickly and for how long you'd been so deeply consumed by and focused on what you were working on. I thought it had been lost to me and that I'd never experience it again after everything that's happened. But writing fanfic has given it back. It's not the same, it never will be, but it's something similar, if changed, and related and I will take it and cling on to it for dear life for as long as it stays.

Well that got a bit more long and involved than I intended. I've always had a habit of rambling and blithering on in my internet typings so that makes sense. I'll try to keep the next one a little shorter.

#personal #ask #happy #list #5 things #5 things that make you happy #life

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kanyniablue · 1 year ago

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9 people you'd like to get to know better

tagged by @america-oreosandkitkats who for some reason tumblr no longer wants to link to

3 Ships: here i am burnt out on hetalia but i can't for the life of me think of any other fandom ships i hold strong emotions for. anyway, 1. rusame 2. ameripan (i just think The BoyTM is a very versatile projection device for multiple pairing dynamics, historical factoids, and messy personal relationships to the concept of 'what the fuck is a nationality what do you mean i have to be one because i was born here.' he can be you're angle or yuo're devile) 3. pruhun

First Ship Ever: i honestly can't remember--peter pan and wendy? jasmine and aladdin? the first i remember being invested in having one ship succeed over another available ship was danny phantom & valerie grey; i didn't realize you could have options after it looked like one ship was already lined up. also dual identities where they hate each other as one but are dating as the other are still 😘👌20 years later

Last Song: alien blues - vundabar

Last Movie: the pale blue eye (netflix, 2022). edgar allen poe (played by dudley dursley) and daniel day lewis (played by christian bale) solve some brutal murders at west point military academy. it's...fine. if you like historical-setting mysteries with some occult ritual stuff and slight blood & guts, it's a decent way to spend 2 hrs. the whole thing starts with a possible suicide that shows the body; & there's a semi-on-screen rape scene that didn't need to be there near the end--if you see the main mystery get solved and want to shut it off, go for it. the american accents are torturous but that's fair.

Currently Reading: crime & punishment (dostoevsky) at work; sewer, gas & electric (matt ruff, same guy that wrote lovecraft country) at home. the former is slow going but i don't mean that in an 'it's boring' way, just in an 'i need to reread that slowly and digest its meaning' way, and also sometimes in a 'three or four different people have similar names, which one's which again' way. the latter is very silly but fast paced and shiny; some of it makes me side-eye the author.

Currently Watching: my traditional new years binge of the twilight zone, although that was a few days ago

Currently Playing: mmmmnothing. been talking myself out of downloading the sims 2 because we all know that's a one-way trip to losing your precious free time into the void of micromanaging your pixel dollies

Currently Consuming: tomato sauce on everything. they tell you it's 'economical' to make your own but they don't tell you how quickly you have to start getting creative to finish it before it gets moldy (yes i could freeze it. you know when i'll ever unfreeze it again? never, that's when)

Currently Craving: meaning in life. also more content for this 5 year old podcast my brainworms have been gnawing on for the past month

Next on deck: ...i know it's counterproductive for this meme but i'm really not up for tagging people right now; if you see this consider yourself tagged

#ask meme #thanks for the tag!

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ziankenvirus · 1 year ago

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Twst oc stuff

Wanted to lore drop some stuff about my twst ocs, I took a weirdly different approach with them than the Fandom does, rather than having those based on tales and be residents of the twisted wonderland. All my twst ocs minus my Narnia ones are from one of my long existing worlds. And are often while based off of these stories, usually share only a few elements (minus some characters, particularly those involved with the fae.)

Ngl, nervous about posting them lmao. I get really nervous when talking about my OCS and their lore because I always worry people will think their weird or op or smth lmao.

Gonna drop the first part, this was inspired by his dark devices and the characters the same, alongside from Kinder- und Hausmärchen.

In the world, most people get a companion called Redgins. Creatures connected to them in every way to guide them through life, however can end up turning the person into something called a 'chain' if there's deep, deep emotional stress and emotions that have been bubbled up. Or even as simple as one singular incident in the past bubbling up again.

However there are other causes too, it's case by case. There are those however who are without one. Rather instead could be considered a Redgin themself, theyre able to purify those who turn into a chain; saving them from that fight. By ultimately consuming the miasma and separating the person from their Redgin. Albeit severing the connection permanently, and each time the miasma is consumed; apart of their life is removed and they're bodies forever and slowly show signs of the miasma.

Within the world fae human relationships are similarly strained, with fae being antagonistic and more accurate to the actual mythology. Humans and other creatures being at the mercy of their tricks and attitudes, changelings, etc etc. Because of this for those villages and residences close to where fae activity has been most reported; there is often suspicion between neighbors-and oftentimes people will refuse to interact with anyone with children. The only thought being 'Is that a changeling child, or truly human.'

If a human and fae form a friendship, familial relationship, or more. It's kept under lock and key; particularly if it's a situation of mutual attraction and pining. Usually, if any children come from these relationships, the human parent is forever separated from their child and lover.

Fae aren't the only creatures humans must fear, it was as if the world was created to cull humanity as there's many other creatures out for human blood. Most are what'd one would expect, a hungry or cornered animal, bacteria, mother nature; though in recent years odd creatures have been appearing with truly malicious intent towards the sons and daughters of Adam and eve.

They look like us, they act like us. Everything about them is so similar to humanity, but in the end-they aren't. Those soulless eyes, stretched out faces and smiles as if they aren't quite able to perfectly mimic what humans look like, people started to call them 'wiedergänger.' I'll put more about them and the world in another post, moving onto my fan dorm now lol.

Pulled from the ancient beasts and apexes of old, massive beasts capable of destruction in the old days. Survival was their only wish, their only goal; they'd snap their jaws tightly around scraps of prey no matter how small. Their home was gone, reduced to ashes and dust; a massive crater left behind forcing them to abandon their old ways.

Prehistoria.

Two carnotaurs, close siblings forced to start all over after the fall of the sky. Only to meet the one thing they feared, their death. Unable to speak the language of the herbivores; they were treated as monsters who's only goal was the destruction of the herd. A far cry from the truth, the two only desired whatever scraps of food they could find; one was crushed in pursuit of a meal that would've fed them both for days. The other; pushed off a cliff. Their deaths celebrated while the herbs lived on.

Fang and Claw. Twin carnotaurs, and the patrons of the Prehistoria dorm. A place filled with students connected those old beasts, ancestors, the creatures themselves, and other beast-men.

The dorm leader a blue scaled Zuchengtyrannus called Zucheng, the vice dorm leader a Calico velociraptor named Callie. The dorm prides itself on their rich history and being one of the first creatures to feel the rich soil between their claws. In their hearts they are survivors, living past the falling sky which wrecked their homes and families. Morality in this dorm follows the very core of nature and survival and sacrifice, exceeding their pride. Prehistoria is the very core of a survivor, Prehistoria is a family. They take care of each other to ensure the others survival, if that survival is threatened. They'll fight with tooth and claw to their very deaths; they've already survived this long, they aren't going down without a fight. Because of this, oftentimes members of the dorm are seen as the more feral type, letting their animalistic nature peak during struggles.

Zucheng himself is noted as one of the few who are a true embodiment of the dorms values. Despite the odds against him he crawled on his belly through the darkness until he peeked through the light, as a **carnivore**, those in his home of Pangea often avoided him and either ran; or picked a fight if they felt threatened. But who could blame them, they were herbivores in the presence of a starving apex. He lived most of his life as a nomadic loner, only occasionally working with others of his breed for food.

Pangea is a feral land, residents of it whilst still keeping up with the times; are still connected to their animalistic nature. Herbs avoid carnivores, carnivores hunt herbs. Rather than having a singular government residents are either nomadic packs, loners, pack hunters, and cooperative groups only together for the sake of food. The law of the jungle is the only laws every group follows, in times of crisis herbivores and carnivores are not allowed to fight at watering holes. Water is the ichor of life, a shared resource that should not be fought over.

Pangea has schools, it is one of the only other places where hunting and violence against one another is not allowed under any circumstances. Like outside of school, species and diets hang out with one another and do not mix-pack unless they are creatures known for it. It is actively encouraged and enforced in younger children who have a tendacy to make friends with everyone, being done as both a way to ensure a healthy fear of carnivores. And the fact that one day in the future, you might be fighting the other for survival.

Compys, albeit tiny and easily snapped. Are the enforcers of the jungle laws, for in large groups; even the largest apex can be taken down by the nips of these creatures. It is suspected their is another reason however, for these tiny creatures being in such high positions in a country that has no government.

That's all for now lol, will add more info about the world my characters outside the ones who were originally from the twisted wonderland and Narnia are from.

#twisted wonderland #ocs #twisted wonderland fandorm #dinosaur #send help

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ms0milk · 3 years ago

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the Hashira & their favorite pet names

| Hashira x reader

a/n: no Muichiro bc baby. the reader is fem-leaning

i swear i write for other fandoms, i'm just consumed by the power of these flamboyant fucks

Kyojuro

i obviously and firmly believe this man calls you one of three things

My Love

My Darling

Dear

(y/n if he’s worried)

kyo is nothing if not a gentleman

he thinks sweeping romantic terms of endearment are obviously the only way to address his partner-divine

there’s almost no argument to be had over this

he likes for you to call him by his first name

he thinks it’s so intimate

nothing fancy just

Kyojuro

it makes his heart dance

he was such an outgoing child that he wanted to call everyone by their first names and have a bunch of really good friends

which came on a little strong for the neighborhood kids, guests at the house, his father’s pillar teammates, strangers at the market— kind of anyone he was ever introduced to

so his parents told him

“kyojuro, when two people love and trust each other very much, when they’ve known each other for a long time, they use their first names. those are your closest friends, the ones who see you like your family.”

his eyes got all wide and he stared back at them and said, “like you two.”

here we are

i would stake everything i have for this man’s happiness. im a wreck

Tengen

in my head

this man

kind of talks like a mob boss

not quite but i don’t know how else to describe it

his favorite things to call you are

sweetheart**

**primarily

babe

princesses (derogatory)

he’s a bit of an informal guy but he’s got his husband priorities straight

using pet names shows the rest of the world you belong to each other

you and the wives are all warming up to calling each other by your first names

which is adorable

and tengen is trying to get the three of them to stop calling him Lord, since it makes him feel a little weird in his day to day, with neighbors and whatnot around

not needing to know all his shinobi business

he was never a Lord to you so this isn’t a habit you’ve needed to break

calling him Tengen so casually kind of made everyone’s head spin

in private though

i know this man is an animal

i just KNOW

he likes you calling him all kinds of “M’ Lord”

and speaking sweetly & formally

not always, just *special* occasions

Giyuu

this one’s not spilling his secrets to me no sir no how

hmm

my best guess is

honestly

your first name

if he’s feeling frisky

maybe a y/n ✨chan✨

but never over the top with this one

he’d much rather keep it simple; openly being in a relationship seems romantic enough for him

the fact that anyone knows anything about his personal life is a miracle

i WOULD LIKE TO CLARIFY

this does not mean the man isn't a f r e a k in other scenarios

that's for a later date

for himself, he much prefers romantic acts over cute pet names

even just calling him Tomioka in public seems a bit melodramatic to him

but when you lean in close to his ear

early in the morning over breakfast

in the thrum of the market

so he can hear you over the sound of a noisy corps party

or at night when you're tucked in together

and whisper

"baby~"

he sputters

Shinobu

she is a perfect

miserable

little menace

i'm in love with her

in public she'll usually either call you by your first name or call you Honey

H o n e y 🍯

my heart burns for her

also in the rotation is

Angel

pretty standard pet names

but just imagine her soothing voice saying them

not so standard anymore no sir

the menace behavior starts exactly where the sweet facade ends

when she brushes past you in the lab

or kisses you goodbye

she likes to tack on a little possession

"my sweet Y/n"

"goodbye my angel"

K.O.

she started doing this before you even got together

but even in a crowded room she always made sure you were the only one who could hear it

which made you feel like you were slowly losing your mind but that's besides the point

bc now you’re her's 🤷🏽‍♀️

she likes it when you're possessive right back!

"g'morning my sweet baby"

and you can really get her flustered if you say it in public

pull up to a Pillar party at HQ with a:

"Kocho! my darling, where should i put the snacks i brought?"

there's so few ways to get this girl off her game for a second

this is one

Sanemi

okay okay okay

not big on outward affection

but sanemi is a loving guy!

spends every day working hard so his brother can have a normal life

even if he commits manslaughter along the way

when it come to you though

loving ≠ sweet

he loves you, but he also quite likes you

which means trouble

joining tengen's quasi mafia club

when he's feeling soft enough he likes to be wickedly sarcastic

"c'mere dreamboat"

"oi sweet cheeks you're hoggin the bath scoot over"

he only calls you y/n when he really wants to fluster you

or if you're in trouble

or if you get lost at the market

and he always says it real calm

he likes one name the most though

Peach Girl

loves peaches

he's an ass man

he's also a whore

so when you call him by his first name

(which does not happen often)

he short circuits for a second

and he loves

L O V E S

it when you call him 'sir'

you technically work for him, so this a professional curtesy

until it is very unprofessional

but no matter the context it makes him feral

you have him wrapped around your little finger

you're playing cat's cradle w his limbs

Mitsuri

i Know it seems obvious

she LOVES pet names

duh

but you're not ready

for the absolutely outta pocket shit she comes up with

"sweet-chariot-who-pulls-back-the-curtain-of-night, where are you?"

girl

"my-heavenly-little-bug! i missed you"

"you look so cute ender-of all-sadness-on-this-the-sacred-earth"

GIRL

if someone's around when she's calling to you they always feel the urge to say a m e n

a simple "baby" will not suffice

although anything you call her, even Mitsuri, knocks her out for an entire afternoon

unconscious

sweating

on the floor

you had to talk to her about her over the top terms of endearment

it was a little distracting to hear a whole hymn in the breeze and try to figure out if it was a passing procession of monks or your girlfriend calling you downstairs for dinner

she she settled on a few unusual, but effective names

ladybug

dove

baby doll

and every now and then she's allowed a my-sun-and-my-stars

Obanai

everyone's favorite hardass

i'm gonna have to make a soft dom <--> hard dom list for the hashira, don't let me forget

bc this gentleman

this one

uses your name as a punishment

he's soft and sweet with his Love don't get me wrong, but much like Shinobu and Sanemi, he likes to use his words to get to you

he likes to work you up with low whispers while you're making breakfast or finishing up work late at night

he'll get your attention by calling your first name, then brush your arm and murmur something fully uncalled for

he's a very private individual tho

so never in public, even if you're alone

anywhere other than your property, he's pretty formal

but get him sleepy enough

he's all "sweetie" this "sweetie" that

he can even be a little whiney about it if he's exhausted

because he's strict about his demeanor in public and because you know how worked up he can be in private

you like to tease him where you can

maybe you'll "accidentally" call him cupcake when wishing him luck on a mission with his teammates

"accidentally" ask for Iguro when checking in on him at work

all to get him to say your name angrily a little later

otherwise

pretty vanilla when it comes to terms of endearment

he's also a huge self-loathing softie

so he LOVES it when you when you call him something sweet and a little silly

"Plum, do you need anything from the market?"

"good morning Sunshine!"

this extends to Kaburamaru

call that sweet snake "lovebug" one time and Obanai's whipping out the ring

pls love this gremlin softly

Gyomei

hmmm

i honestly don't see this man in a deeply sexual relationship like some of the other hashira

but in an otherwise romantic or personal relationship! this man's the goat

always asks what you prefer to be called and then never ever messes it up

he thinks names are powerful

gyomei does not trust easily, but once he's let you into his life he is deeply committed to your happiness

so we've got another first name lover over here

there's only a handful of people he's close enough to to call by their first names, so that in and of itself is special

he likes the same treatment

respect = respect

but that doesn't mean his heart doesn't catch in his throat ever so slightly when you say "hime..jima" for the first time

he doesn't even cry

life is mostly a righteous reminder of suffering to him

but when you slowly make sure you're saying his name right that first time

smiling

he feels warm

#hashira x reader #kyojuro x reader #tengen x reader #giyuu x reader #shinobu x reader #sanemi x reader #mitsuri x reader #obanai x reader #gyomei x reader #rengoku x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer hcs #kny hcs #hashira hcs

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milkovichs · 3 years ago

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okay, so i only just got into reading shameless fic during this past year (despite having watched the show since 2011 lmao) but i’ve managed to binge-read so many gallavich fics recently that i thought i’d share some of my favorites here! not all the fics listed are complete—those that aren’t finished are labelled (wip)!

— cooperative gameplay by grayola – explicit / 421.8k words

At nineteen years old, Ian Gallagher’s stuck. Stuck in a minimum-wage job he hates. Stuck in the same boring routine–sleep, wake, work, take your meds, Ian!, try not to lose it day after day after day. But after his little brother introduces him to MICK MILK, a frustratingly hot horror gamer he watches on YouTube, Ian’s life will never be the same.

[my notes: this fic is a fucking masterpiece! i started reading it around the time chapter five was posted, and oh my god let me tell you, waiting for each new update was glorious torture. the story starts with ian becoming a fanboy of the youtuber mickmilk, until their first meeting at a gamer convention goes horribly awry—flipping everything on its head and changing the course of both of their lives forever. @gallavichy truly never fails, this fic is gorgeous and evocative, and the characters are so well-written and fleshed out. anyway, i’m so sad this fic is finished and i already miss these boys so much. guess it’s time for another re-read!]

— like real people do by grayola – explicit / 213.7k words

At the age of 26, Mickey Milkovich gets his first apartment, his first wifi connection, and his first kiss. How he gets from wifi to kissing is a complicated story. (In which Mickey is socially anxious, Ian is a frustratingly lovable escort working through an app, Mickey downloads said app, and the rest is history.)

[my notes: this was my first introduction to @gallavichy’s incredible fics, plus one of the first fics i ever read for this fandom, and i have literally never looked back. essentially, mickey meets ian through an app, and subsequently falls in love. i’m typically not super into online dating aus, however this fic is so beautiful and tender, i pretty much consumed the whole thing in a day! also, there’s a sequel currently being written that retells the story from ian’s pov, and it’s fucking fantastic.]

— how i’m imaginin’ you by beebabycastiel – explicit / 135.4k words

Recently released from prison on a manslaughter charge, Mickey Milkovich isn’t looking for anything messy. He’s had enough messes for a life time with prison, his piece of shit dad, and his drugged-up brothers. He just wants to work forty hours per week to keep his PO off his back and make sure his little sister doesn’t have another breakdown. Keeping his new life as tidy as possible should be easy. Except there’s an annoying red-haired dancer at the club he works at who keeps talking to him, and nothing about Ian Gallagher is tidy.

[my notes: i love the way this author writes ian and his relationship with both mandy (their friendship is so sweet literally besties) and mickey (do i even need to explain it? they’re soulmates). this mickey is fresh off a stint in prison (for reasons that are slowly uncovered throughout the fic that i refuse to spoil!) and is living with mandy while working as a bouncer for the club ian dances at. and from ian & mickey’s very first meeting the sexual tension is just like. insanely fucking palpable. and the slow burn that follows! holy shit. you’ve gotta read this one for the description of their first kiss alone!]

— furlough by loftec – explicit / 34.1k words

Ian looks like he’s trying to figure him out, eyes searching and brows furrowed, he’s practically shaking and Mickey thinks he might be holding himself back for his sake, waiting for Mickey to give him permission to reach out, to feel, to touch. Mickey’s mind is fucking screaming for him to do it, but his body is still stupidly withdrawn. 1449 days since Ian last touched him. (Or: twenty-four hours of Mickey Milkovich getting some of the things he deserves.)

[my notes: okay so this fic. wow. it was published after 6x01 aired, so it continues the storyline where mickey gets locked up, but diverges from canon in that he never breaks out and escapes to mexico like he does in season seven. the fic begins with mickey having already completed four years of his sentence, however, mickey is granted a furlough which allows him to be released under supervision for twenty-four hours in order to attend terry’s funeral. it’s absolutely heart-wrenching, but with an incredibly bittersweet, yet hopeful ending.]

— someone to hold me up by westernredcedar – explicit / 37.3k words

Just beside the shattered front window is a man, lying flat on his back, a pool of blood growing from his left side. Ian shouts to Sue. The man’s been shot. More than once. It’s Terry Milkovich.

[my notes: whenever a fic explores an au post season six regarding mickey’s stay in prison (like “furlough”) i’m just. dead on sight. anyway, in this au, mickey only spends about a year and a half in prison before he’s released, but he doesn’t contact ian once he’s out, and the two don’t run into each other for another year and a half. ian’s been working as an emt, and his rig is the first to respond to a call involving terry milkovich as the victim of a drive-by shooting (love that for us!)—this leads to ian finally discovering that mickey’s been released. it’s been three years since the last time the boys saw each other and the pain! oh my god the pain. overall, this is a gorgeous story focusing on forgiveness and growth and a love that lasts a lifetime.]

— love is a ballfield by and_i_take_it – explicit / 158.7k words (wip)

Ian and Mickey are teammates on a Triple-A baseball club where they bond over their similar life circumstances. Neither of them want to chance ruining their shot at the major leagues so they attempt to keep their feelings for one another at bay. Until, of course, they can’t.

[my notes: this fic is absolutely iconic. it has amazing characterization, and the intense sexual tension between our boys is so perfectly done, it captures their incredible chemistry from canon and channels it into an au about baseball, of all things. admittedly, i know next to nothing about baseball, but the descriptions about the game/team somehow managed to get me to care for the sport (fictionally, at least). definitely give this one a read, even if you just want to imagine ian & mickey being sexy in locker rooms.]

— things beyond mistake by grayola – explicit / 130.5k words (wip)

In the 90s and early 00s, they were distant neighbors on a long, dirt road out in the middle of vaguely Georgia farmland. Ian and Mickey: two poor, closeted Southern kids with similar financial situations but very different families, harboring secret crushes that felt illegal and that manifested themselves as sharp words, punches, and self-loathing. In 2021, Ian, a high school teacher in need of a fresh start, returns to his childhood home after nearly 20 years to find himself once more sharing a lonely dirt road with Mickey, the boy he once knew and the man he’s desperate to get to know.

[my notes: this fic is so unique and breathtaking i honestly don’t know how to even describe it. once again, @gallavichy has rendered me speechless with her amazing gift for storytelling and prose. as it says in the description, the fic starts with ian & mickey growing up as neighbors in rural georgia until ian’s family moves, and then they don’t see one another for seventeen (17!) whole years. even just the premise destroys me because i’m such an emotional bitch when it comes to the passage of time, but couple that with a beautiful and tender story of two grown men in their mid-thirties reconnecting with their childhood crushes in their hometown? not to mention all the super compelling side characters and intricate backstories! holy shit. i don’t know how it’s possible, but i have a feeling that this fic is gonna destroy me even more than “cooperative gameplay” already has, which is just. wow. gray is truly unmatched.]

— intro to quantum dating by spoonfulstar – mature / 454.8k words (wip)

This isn’t what Ian expected of college. The movies had lied to him. (Or: another College AU.)

[my notes: i’m kind of obsessed with the dialogue in this fic? every conversation honestly feels like it could be taken straight from the show’s script, it captures the characters’ voices so well. i adore how low-stakes the plot of this fic is—sometimes you really just want to read about these boys falling in love and exploring their lives together! this fic serves the perfect blend of college fuckery and soft, tender moments between the boys (when they take a break from being their canon snarky, asshole selves, that is). also, as someone who’s super into linguistics as a field of study, having that be ian’s major was such a cool surprise!]

— since we’re alone by buffymilkovich & lethargicmick – explicit / 246.4k words

When Mickey Milkovich first got to the University of Michigan he had two goals; play hockey and get drafted into the NHL. But by his junior year, he’s at risk of losing his full ride scholarship because of his slipping grades. Enter Ian Gallagher, an ambitious and fiery redhead who takes his job as Mickey’s tutor way too seriously and seems determined on making his life a living hell. (Or: a college AU where Mickey is a hockey player and Ian is studious as fuck. They are everything the other one hates. Or so they think...)

[my notes: what is this? another sports-driven fic, you say? apparently i’m into sports now—seeing as “love is a ballfield” and “since we’re alone” somehow managed to get me interested in both baseball and hockey... i suspect witchcraft. anyway! i love a good enemies (more like annoyances lmao) to lovers trope, so this fic hits all the boxes for me. throw in jock!mickey & nerd!ian, a little bit of oblivious pining, plus a titillating journey to self-acceptance, and i’m good to go! truly, this fic is so lovely and beautifully written, i can’t wait for the rest!]

— muse by toraten – explicit / 35.6k words

Mickey thinks he’s hot, maybe the hottest guy in here tonight, but there is something about the glitter splattered across his perfectly smooth chest and the shaved legs that irks him. He’s wearing tight black bike shorts that make up for a lot, if he hasn’t stuffed the front with a sock or something, but the perfectly preened look just isn’t for Mickey. And yet, this particular dancer has already locked eyes with him now, and he’s looking at Mickey like he’s trying to make a point.

[my notes: this fic is so gorgeous i kind of can’t get over it. mickey’s an interior designer (groomzilla-era mickey! i miss you!) who runs into ian—a dancer at a gay club that turns tricks on the side in order to pay for his education. despite the fic being from mickey’s pov, not only does it explore mickey’s own emotional hang-ups, it also manages to deal with ian’s self-worth issues regarding his bipolar disorder & his experiences with sex work (both implied underage and in the present) super well. it’s left somewhat open ended, but it’s so beautifully done that it’s clear everything will work out. that’s just the power of love, babes!]

— ian gallagher and all of his mistakes by toraten – explicit / 218.4k words (wip)

Sometimes, on his early shifts when he starts at six a.m. and the guy comes in at six thirty, like a whirlwind with a dirt streaked face or a bloody lip or a black eye, but ordering his coffee like he doesn’t look like he just got into a car crash, Ian thinks he hallucinates him. This little guy can’t actually exist out there in the world, right? He’s not actually part of society, is he? Surely, this angry asshole only exists in Ian’s diseased mind? (Or: in which everything is about the same, except that Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich meet each other a little later in life—a little more mature, a little more stable—and manage to make a million mistakes anyway.)

[my notes: okay firstly, just as a heads-up, this fic hasn’t been updated for a little more than a year, so i’m not entirely sure whether it’s been fully abandoned or not. however, considering it’s basically a slice-of-life fic, i think the story could very easily be considered complete as it is (even if the author decides not to write anything else)—as of the latest chapter, ian & mickey have been together and happy for multiple years. either way, you should seriously give this fic a read! the dialogue, characterization, and laid-back plot of this fic are super reminiscent of “intro to quantum dating” (which i adore, of course), and who knows? maybe seeing all of the kudos/comments left on their fic will motivate the author to finish it!]

— let the bodies do the talkin’ by captain_jowl – explicit / 85.4k words (wip)

After combing the greater Chicago area, Mickey comes to the conclusion that trying to find a good fuck is a big pain in the ass, and not in a good way. And now this Gallagher guy, who looks like he cries during sex, keeps showing up at his work and making eyes at him. There’s absolutely no way that soft-looking motherfucker can handle Mickey.

[my notes: because of the description, i didn’t go into this fic expecting much plot-wise besides burning hot smut, and i ended up getting all that and more! not only are the sex scenes exquisitely written, but the emotional depth of the characters is fantastic. i especially love how the author represents mickey’s newly found comfort in his sexuality, and ian’s self-worth issues (regarding the objectification of his body). i can’t wait to see how it all works out!]

— gotta get you into my life by thrillingdetectivetales – explicit / 8.6k words

‘wyd firecrotch.’

Short and to the point in standard Mickey Milkovich fashion. Ian bit back a smile and tapped out: ‘babysitting, y?’ It wasn’t strictly accurate, but Ian figured it was close enough. He tucked his phone into his hand but didn’t bother putting it away. A few seconds later, it chimed with a reply. ‘4 real?’ Ian smirked and rolled his eyes. ‘ya.’

‘fuck that shit,’ Mickey sent back, so fast that Ian didn’t even have time to flip his phone closed before it was chirping again, three times in quick succession. ‘i’m outside. brought a joint. ur welcome.’

[my notes: i’m an absolute sucker for ian & mickey’s season one/two dynamic because there’s simply so much real estate to work with. this fic is a perfect example of that; it explores, through ian’s eyes, the obvious magnetism they feel toward each other—mickey literally goes out of his way to spend time with ian despite his canon, put-upon uninterested demeanor. not to mention the sex is really hot lmao. we love to see a repressed mickey finally getting dicked down right!]

— proof by pink_ink – explicit / 10.7k words

Ian and Mickey are reunited in Season Two.

[my notes: literally what did i just say—i love me some season two dynamic! this fits right into canon, somehow perfectly capturing the feeling of mickey’s tiny little look at ian after he says “whatever, liking what i like don’t make me a bitch” in 2.02, and condensing that specific energy into a fic. however, because it follows canon, you know bad times are coming their way, so the ending with mickey getting locked up lends the rest of a fic such a bittersweet feeling; that particular, aching brand of angst stemming from the fact that, unfortunately, these happy summer days don’t last forever. it’s honestly really beautifully done.]

— that ‘redhead babyface/fuck-u-up’ duality by whatthebodygraspsnot – explicit / 90.7k words (wip)

The absolute last thing Mickey expects when he goes to the bar is to get badgered into doing softcore porn, but the money sounds good. And this redhead won’t leave him the fuck alone until he agrees. And maybe partnering up with him for a couple POV shots wouldn’t be the worst thing on the planet. (Mickey’s smart enough to recognize a slippery slope when he wants to. But he’s gotta want to. And tonight the slippery slope is wearing body glitter and short-shorts.)

[my notes: truthfully, i’m not really into reading anything involving the porn industry in fics, which is why i typically steer clear of any aus about the boys as pornstars or whatever, but this is a such a refreshing take on the concept! it starts off with ian doing solo cam-work, then spotting mickey in a bar and deciding he would be the perfect partner for a scene. i think the fact that the boys aren’t having sex on a film-set surrounded by a crew (and that they are ultimately in charge of their experience together) is why this fic works so well for me—not to mention the gorgeous writing and constantly building emotional tension between the two as they begin to catch feelings. @whatthebodygraspsnot is an amazing author! i mean, the use of metaphor alone!]

— elevator music by gallavichsecurity – explicit / 75.7k words (wip)

He’s late, he’s covered in coffee, and he’s trapped in an elevator with the biggest asshole he’s ever met in his life. (Fifteen minutes ago, Ian Gallagher slept through his alarm—and things have only gotten worse since then.)

[my notes: this fic is the perfect meet-ugly! ian is clumsy and frantic, mickey is grumpy and stressed, there’s some spilled coffee and a stuck elevator and nothing about this moment is ideal for first impressions. at the same time, ian’s growing obsessed with running around chicago, on a quest to find particular street-murals, and mickey is begrudgingly becoming endeared to the pushy, redheaded emt living next door. i love the unfolding of this story, and i can’t wait for ian to discover the identity of the artist responsible for ian’s new favorite past-time.]

— apartment 4a by skiesbelow – explicit / 55.3k words (wip)

Two years after his diagnosis, Ian is finally stable, but feeling a little lost. When the chaos of the Gallagher home gets to be too much, he decides to move out. He answers a roommate ad, and gets more than he bargained for.

[my notes: i’m obsessed with ian’s immediate infatuation with mickey in this fic, it’s super reminiscent of his season one energy—heart-eyes for fucking days (even when mickey acts cold and indifferent toward him). i can already tell their push-and-pull is gonna frustrate the shit out of me (in the best possible way), which just means that all of the loving moments to come will be made even sweeter for it!]

— shut the door and let go by lyricallyharley – explicit / 8.2k words

“Was I just invited to a sleepover?”

“Fuck you, is what you were invited to.”

[my notes: i simply die for any fic focusing on the night before the dreaded events of 3x666, and this fic is just wonderful. i love seeing mickey finally embracing ian’s tenderness for the first time (and any story that headcanons ian as mickey’s first kiss gets an a+ from me.) also, not me reading this and straight up refusing to think about what’s to come in the morning. that shit doesn’t belong here, the gallavich sleepover is sacred ground.]

— a little bit of tender mercy by beebabycastiel – explicit / 34.4k words (wip)

“My neighbor keeps using my address to get their embarrassing packages delivered” AU. (Or: a story about healing, learning to trust, falling in love, and mail fraud.

[my notes: this fic has me asking so many questions right off the bat: why is mickey using ian’s address? what is he getting delivered? what is embarrassing about it? i’m so intrigued. as always, i adore me some cat-dad!mickey, and ian behaving all caring and attentive toward a skittish mickey (who’s clearly going through a hard time). it’s pretty early in the fic yet, but i’m loving it so far!]

#shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #otp: come here #fic rec #text #leila.txt #make sure you leave kudos!

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akaashisupremacy · 4 years ago

Text

Fated

Summary: You’re dating your ex-fiancee Gojo again, but your relationship hits a crucial crossroad. Do you stay or do you go?

Gojo Satoru x reader

Multi-fandom Masterlist || HQ Masterlist || Ao3 version

Genre: fluff, angst, exes to friends to lovers

“You’re hiding something from me.” Gojo Satoru confronts you as you step onto the hallway for spare rooms in Jujutsu Tech.

He is in your way. You try not to get irritated.

“No, I’m not.” you snap. It’s been a long day. You don’t need this. You push him aside and keep walking. Gojo is irritably good at sniffing things out.

He swiftly appears before you again and blocks your way, “What is it?”

“I missed my period.” You stop and cross your arms, “If you really wanna know.”

“Oh.” He mumbles softly. He looks incredulous, as if he is yet to be sure of what he just heard. You walk past him.

“Oh.” he repeats again, eyes widening as the weight of your words dawn. He turns to you.

You leave him standing there, arrested and head to your room. You’re too tired for this.

Gojo watches you enter your room and lie down. He tries to offer you something to eat since you look so pallid under the fluorescent light of the room.

“I’m not hungry. Just sleepy.” you yawn, waving dismissively.

Gojo feels obligated to stay. He looks at you quietly from the door, unable to leave.

“This really isn’t the most opportune of times,” he breathes in, “but are you seeing anyone else?”

“No.” you murmur, “I don’t have the time.”

He walks in to sit beside you, making sure to close the door behind him. You roll over to the other side of the bed away from his gaze.

Gojo knows he is not an easy person to be with. He’s your ex-fiancée for one thing, and he struggles with monogamy for another.

Being able to be intimate with you again was a chance only the gods could’ve intervened. And now that chance is starting to fade. He lies down beside you, his eyes towards the ceiling. At the start of your relationship, it was him who was hesitant. Things are reversed tonight.

“I don’t want to talk. Go away.” you cut in before he says anything, “I’m seeing a doctor soon to make sure.”

He nods understandingly and quietly, but slowly pads out of the room. The weight of the floor lightly creaks under his footsteps. The silence between the two of you dominates the hall.

————————————————————————————

There was a time when you were younger that you would visit Gojo in his family home. After dinner, you’d sneak outside to his family garden to capture fireflies in paper lanterns.

That was a much different time of course. Since then, you’ve been arranged to be married, broken up and begun precariously seeing each other again after ten years.

“Why are you wading around in the darkness?” he asks, sitting on a pile of rocks, his hands inside his pockets.

Neither of you are really kids anymore, but your fondness for fireflies remains. On your occasional stays in Jujutsu Tech for your sorcery job, you like to spend your down time in the gardens at night.

“I need a break from people.” you comment succinctly.

You’re both quiet from a moment. Gojo becomes too impatient for you to start the conversation.

“So what did the doctor say?” Curiosity overcame him.

You lower your lantern by your side, making sure to face away from him as you reply, “She tried to ask if I was married and if my family knew.”

You turn around quickly, waving your hands before he can react, “You don’t need to worry. I’m considering not keeping it...it’s too much time and work…and it made me think about us. I think we should just end things…whatever this is.”

Gojo knew that this day would come. Deep down, he already prepared himself for when your relationship would end. Yet instead of acceptance, indignance rises in his chest.

“How could you let me go so easily? How are you done with us?” he finds himself saying.

He knew his disinterest in monogamy would come to bite him back someday, but he hadn’t imagined himself in a deeply romantic and emotional relationship with you when it happened.

You shake your head. The sounds of crickets and cicadas keep the silences from being too empty.

“Every year I used to wait to see if this was the year we reconciled. If this was the year we would fix things, not necessarily be lovers, but to just be back in each other's lives.” You look to the stars, sitting in a large rock beside him, “I waited maybe 11 years to see it happen even if I didn’t know if it would come at all. And I can wait another lifetime to try again. But I think in this life, our time has to end. This isn’t going to work out, Satoru.”

Gojo feels as if his lungs will collapse. It hurts him even more to know that you do love him but you’d rather he be out of your life.

“Why would you wait another lifetime for me when I’m here now?” he murmurs.

“I can’t have you to myself.” you say simply, “I can’t take this anymore. Even if I’m not pregnant, I want to be the only one in your life.”

“You are the most important person in my life.” he grabs your hand to reassure you. You don’t resist.

You face him, tears running down your eyes, “Then I don’t understand how you can say that and still need someone else.”

Gojo feels his chest crushed with heaviness. The weight spreads to his back, his arms and neck. For the first time in years, he feels helpless.

“We knew this was coming.” you mutter, pulling your hand away to make your exit out of the garden.

Gojo does not chase after you. He notices his bandages are wet.

————————————————————————

Gojo walks around in a daze for the next few days. People always say that he is a man who has everything, but for now he is the man with only questions without answers.

How can he make you stay?

“Gojo,” Utahime nudge, “GOJO!”

She sharply jabs a finger by his side to bring him back to reality. He jerks back, accidentally hitting the wooden walls of the hallway with a resounding thud.

“Are you even listening to me?” she hisses. He hasn’t been paying attention at the school meeting and her temper is rising. How can he go around doing the bare minimum and still be so praised. She was ready to throw a fit.

“Well…we’re kind of expecting…but we might not keep the baby…and ahh…” he uses his full concentration to string together his thoughts.

Utahime stops in her tracks and rubs her temples. Every other conversation she has with him always sends her reeling.

She crosses her arms together, “Let me guess, one of you wants to keep the kid and the other doesn’t?”

“OMIGOSH YES!” Gojo raises his hands as if someone finally gets him, “How did you know?!”

Utahime looks slightly alarmed at his expression. Protective of your privacy, she looks left and right to see if anybody is nearby. She shrugs.

Gojo continues, “These past few days have made me realize how badly I want a family with them. I really want this! Except it made them realize they want a family with someone else…and I’m not sure there’s anything I can do to make them feel the same way.”

His voice softens towards the end of his sentence as he slowly sinks back into his thoughts.

Utahime takes a moment before dispensing her bit of wisdom.

“Having a child with someone is an incredibly huge sacrifice. If you really want this…then you have to make a sacrifice equal in weight. Whatever that will be…” she sighs, adjusting her kimono. “And I have a feeling you haven’t properly explained to her what an open relationship is.”

She peers at him from the side of her eye. His guilty expression confirms her suspicions.

Every now and then, Utahime feels envious of his power. However, today is not one of those days. He has some hard choices to face she would not want to deal with.

—————————————————————— “Hey!”

A week after your last conversation, Gojo spots you in the school and immediately rushes towards you.

In panic, you shove yourself into an empty meeting room and try to shut the door. He jams his foot between the ledge and determinedly peers you from the door crack.

“Oh no, you are not shutting me out. We are going to talk like proper adults.” he insists.

Your instincts kick in. You kick his feet and push him back. You bolt the door shut and slump down behind it. You’re safe for now.

“You can’t keep running away.” he breathes out from the other side, “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you quickly rebut, “Gojo, I have no family. There’s no one to help me. I’m going to be alone if this kid comes out of me.”

Your voice fades hoarsely as you utter the last few words.

“You have me.” his soothes in a contemplative voice.

You want to laugh. This relationship was doomed from the start. You were such a masochist for even trying. You must have been consumed with your attraction to him.

Gojo was no different though— he couldn’t help himself. You both want each other too much and now you both were paying the price.

You shake your head, “You’ll just leave me when things get tough. I’m tired of cleaning after your mess. Why can’t you just let me have my way?”

Gojo has no time to be taken aback.

“Because I don’t want a family with anyone else. I’m desperate to make this work with you.” he pleads, “ Don’t push me away. I have my own doubts about myself, and I understand where you’re coming from but I wish you believed in me more.”

You pretend not to hear him.

“I’ll be here for you and our baby, even if it's not always romantic.” he adds, his voice pleading, “I know you’re terrified that I’ll just leave you but…”

You interrupt him by opening the door. As if on instinct he hides his vulnerability from you. His posture leans back coolly, waiting on your next move.

“Gojo, I’m just frustrated to always be at the mercy of your choices. Don’t you understand?”

His lips part slowly, “If you’re not ready for a family, it’s fine. But don't you want to make this last longer?”

——————————————————

“Oh, Satoru, what have we done?” you quietly murmur, staring at the ceiling of his room.

It’s your first night in his faculty dormitory. You’ve never really been before. His room is too close to the principal’s for a casual date night visit.

Gojo’s long switched off the lights but neither of you can sleep.

“What do you mean? The baby or the wedding?” he chuckles.

You shrug, “Both?”

You shift around the sheets, the linen ruffling under your movement.

He crosses his arms and turns to you, “Well, we’ve established that the first one was an accident. The wedding—well—it’s mostly so you and the baby will be under the protection of the Gojo clan.”

Gojo promised to close his open relationship status until your kid is one and you take his word for it. It is perplexing that the wedding was his idea too. However there was something about his sincerity that you could not refuse

“How long till we regret all this?” you half-murmur, half-sigh.

“Honestly, probably every time we hit a rough patch. But we’re not meant to always be happy anyways.” he sighs lying on his arm. It’s an honest enough answer.

You sit up and put your arms around your waist, “Such optimism you have there. So tell me, oh all powerful Satoru, why are we here then?”

“For me, it's to be able to find and meet you.” he says simply.

He catches you off guard with the tenderness of his words. You reach out to touch the side of his face and gently rub your thumb on his cheek. He presses your hand on his cheek.

“If things fell apart again and you had to wait another ten years for us to fix it, would you?”

He asks so quietly you almost don’t hear him.

Your face flushes under the cover of darkness.

“…Yes, I love you too much. This was never going to be just an arranged marriage for me even when we were younger…then again, I think you already know that.” you admit in a shaky whisper.

Now that you've married him, you've given yourself permission acknowledge your true feelings to yourself. You have always been in love with him. And being apart did not changed that.

Propping himself up by the elbow, you realize his face is so close to yours. You can almost feel the wisps of his long lashes on your cheek.

“I know this isn’t your ideal wedding, but this is more than just a shotgun marriage for me too. You are my fated. And you are the only being I want to go through this with—sorcerer, curse or otherwise.”

You try not to giggle at the mention of curses.

“Through this life and the next?” you said with a small smile.

“Through this life and the next.” he assures firmly, squeezing your hand.

You smile widely and he looks at you fondly. These are your favorite moments with him, when you’re at the brink of losing each other in your gazes.

Gojo breaks your shared reverie.

“Can you kiss me?” he grins cheekily, “As your new husband…”

You kiss his forehead without skipping a beat. He flips over, still propping himself by his stomach.

“So what shall we do on our wedding night? Try for twins?” he smirks.

You roll your eyes extra hard to make sure he sees it. Gojo only laughs.

He shuffles out of bed and tosses you your coat, “Well if you really can’t sleep, we might as well go out and see the fireflies. They look bright tonight.”

You put on your coat and smile.

Another lifetime is too far away.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

I wrote this as a follow up for another Gojo x reader fic who used to be engaged. Check out the other parts!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

A/N: When I first wrote the original four chapters, I had already know that this was how the series would end (even though I didn't plan to write it all the way here). I don't know if I will continue writing. I have some extra material, but I don't really know if I'd like to write it out. If I ever make up my mind to do so, you will see me pop up in your notifs.

If not, I guess this is the end. if you've gone through all 8 chapters, thank you for joining me in this wild, heartfelt ride! Comment or message to be added to the taglist! Or write down some comments about your feelsssss

Series Taglist: @tokyo-love-hotel@samkysnks@herownescape@cherrianne192@shamelessdonutsludgebanana@kageyamakock@shirostrbl@luvang3l@cloudsinthecosmos@httpjungoo @saturnki @itstheee-ha-chan@gucci-froggy@soy1melk @dora-the-grownup @cherryonigiri @fiona782 @a--nonymousse @naturakaashi

If you’d like to continue being part of my taglist (JJK or Haikyuu), please let me know! I also write oneshots for both fandoms and soon I’ll be doing BSD too!

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zaffrenotes · 4 years ago

Text

To Ruined Friendships

Fandom: Westworld Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader Rating/Warnings: PG-13; spicy language, alcohol consumption, heavy smoochin Author's Note: This entire thing was inspired by a dream I had about one black hat cowboy who cannot for the life of him consume a drink without looking like he's going to inhale it. I tried to work on my other WIPs for an entirely different fandom, but my brain refused to focus on anyone other than Logan Delos. I don't have the energy to create a sideblog for this, so any Logan fans who happen to find this from the tags, please don't judge me for the other fandom(s) I'm in. I already know, lol. Word Count/Reading Time: +/- 2600 words (10 minutes reading)

hell if I know who to tag for this...if I ever write more and you want to get an update, leave a comment, I guess?: @the-blind-assassin-12 @ao719 @the-soot-sprite possibly @ofpixelsandscribbles @burnsoslow

Another night rubbing shoulders with the elite in a penthouse, and all you want to do is retreat into one of the half dozen empty rooms to rest your feet. Beauty always has a price, and tonight your feet were being sacrificed to the stiletto gods in the name of fashion. As a waiter weaves between guests, you deftly trade the empty crystal flute in your hand for a fresh one off their tray, the slim glass chilling your fingertips.

A tiny, imperceptible sigh slips past your lips as you look out at the wall of windows, city skyline twinkling in the distance. Glancing through the crowd, you try to find a familiar face of one of your girlfriends, when you feel someone’s fingers on your back, ghosting over the ink at the base of your spine. Over your shoulder, a warm, though somewhat world-weary voice makes your body tingle. “Hey gorgeous, I was wondering if I’d see you here tonight.”

You know he’s grinning before you even turn your head; a sly smile spreads across your painted lips when you see you were right, and you lean in to press your cheek to Logan’s in greeting. His beard tickles your face, and the movement is small, but you feel him pull you closer to him, pressing his fingertips into your smooth skin. “You know me,” you reply, gently squeezing his bicep for balance, noses nearly touching as you both move to kiss the other cheek. “Any excuse to squander part of my father’s fortune on a party dress.”

His cheek twitches up as he grins wider, and once more, the grit in his voice makes you want to find a dark corner and do unspeakable things with him. “Only you could make a napkin’s worth of fabric look like couture,” he teases, stepping back to admire your outfit. “I own pocket squares larger than what you’ve got on!” His gaze lowers appreciatively, taking you in, before settling at your feet. You shift your weight from one hip to the other; tilting your head back to take a sip of champagne, you’re surprised to see his dark eyes on you as you swallow and lower the glass. There’s a hint of something there, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Been here long? Why don’t we find somewhere quiet to catch up? You can let your hair down, along with… anything else, to get comfortable.” Were it not for the playful expression in his eyes, his proposition would warrant throwing the remainder of your drink directly into his exquisite face.

But you know Logan. You’ve known him too long for the invitation to be anything but amicable, much to your dismay. You’re well aware of the caliber of women he’s taken to the bedroom, and while you consider yourself attractive enough for the circles you keep, there’s no way he would ever see you as more than just a family friend. Knowing that doesn’t keep you from stroking his ego and taunting him at every opportunity, though. “My hair’s already down,” you tease, grinning as you roll your eyes at him.

“You know what I mean,” he replies, brushing your tresses over one shoulder. His thumb lingers on the strip of silk there, slipping between the material to rest on your skin, before pulling away. “We’ve known each other for years now, you’d think there would’ve been one night of indecency.” Before you’re able to respond, he glances up, noticing one of the other guests. “To be continued,” he says, raising his brows to you. He’s already begun to walk away.

“As always,” you reply, raising your glass to him.

You catch his eye more than a few times as you both make the rounds, catching up with friends and being introduced to new acquaintances vying for a way into social circles and business ventures. He winks at you before throwing back a drink, appearing as if he’d take a bite out of the glass to get every last drop of liquid from it. You nod as you pass by him while he converses with another guest, your arm linked with a friend’s as you walk off to powder your noses. You even catch him looking at you from across the room like he wants to ask you something, but the moment disappears when he pulls his phone from his pocket to take a call.

The evening goes on much longer than you anticipated. Even with windows of interesting conversation to pass the time, you begin to grow weary of the company, drowning out a discussion around you while you stake a claim on one of the pristine white couches. Your legs are crossed in front of you, one foot dangling in the air, while the one closer to the floor looks like it’s about to snap away from the rest of your leg. You’re balancing the weight on a sliver of one side of the heels, and you gaze out at the outdoor pool, wishing you could sit by the edge and dip your feet in the cool, chlorinated water.

Scanning through the guests once more, you notice Logan at the bar. He’s in the middle of a conversation with two gentlemen, but he catches your eye, glancing over long enough to notice your legs again. He flicks his eyes upwards to the rooms, tilting his head at an angle in silent question. You scoff and shake your head, blinking slowly to dismiss his invitation, and give up your position on the couch to go to look for the bathroom. He simply smiles as you cross the room, before returning to the conversation at the bar.

You’re outside on one of the balconies, forearms resting on the brushed steel railing as you lean against metal and glass, absentmindedly staring out at the city. The cool night air feels refreshing against your skin, now warm and flushed from too much champagne and not enough food; there’s never enough food at these things, and you would sell your soul for a plate of loaded nachos or even a tiny slider. Behind you, there’s a click and a hiss from the plate glass door opening. Jovial music and conversation from inside filters through the temporary break, and you sigh to yourself in preparation of putting on your party face to make idle conversation.

“That is one hell of a view.” An all too familiar voice fills the air after the door hisses shut. Logan.

You respond without turning around to acknowledge him. “Your family sure knows how to pick a party venue, I’ll give you that.”

“We do, but that’s not the view I was talking about.”

Body warming at his suggestive tone, you turn around to see Logan’s eyes fixed on your backside, unashamed of his blatant ogling. There’s a glass tumbler in his hand, with barely a sip’s worth of what looks like whiskey in it. “There you go again, getting a girl’s hopes up,” you tease, fidgeting with your hair.

“You know you’re fucking gorgeous, especially in that dress tonight.” His voice travels as he walks over to a darker part of the balcony, swirling the remnants of his drink.

Emboldened by the alcohol still coursing through your system, you play along, walking slowly towards him. “Let me guess, next you’re going to tell me it would look even better in a pile next to your bed.” You roll your eyes at him, but your heart begins to race at the idea.

He grins warmly at you, a tendril of hair knocking loose when he tilts his head and shrugs. You want to reach forward and smooth it back in place, and run your fingers against the side of his scalp. His hair’s longer than it was before; he’s been away at the park for a longer visit this time around. His unnervingly dark eyes are practically black in the shadows, eyeing you like prey. Extending a hand towards you, he reaches for the strap on your shoulder again as if to adjust it, but instead he lifts it and lets it fall off the slope of your skin, staring at the unblemished swath of flesh before him. You feel the material fall until it rests in the crook of your elbow, thankful to be holding up a glass to keep the silk from falling away any further off your body. “A dress like this? I’d have the decency to hang it up first.” He tugs at the fabric again, pulling it up over your shoulder to return your modesty.

“Keep saying shit like that, and one of these days I might believe you.”

“Should I keep talking then?” He chuckles.

You exhale, shaking your head with disbelief. He takes another step away from where you can be seen, and you follow him. “I’m not drunk enough to take you seriously,” you scoff, looking just beyond his gaze.

Logan reaches forward again, fingers landing on the base of your glass, and he pushes it up towards your mouth. “Then by all means, take another sip,” he grins.

“Bullshit,” you utter through a nervous smile, though you don’t stop yourself from tipping the edge of the flute to your lips and tilting your head up, downing half the contents in one gulp.

“Fuck it,” he whispers.

You swallow, and effervescent bubbles tickle the length of your throat so much that it takes you a second to register feeling Logan’s lips at the juncture of your jawline and earlobe. The way his beard brushes against you as you pull the glass away from your lips makes you lose your grip, and the flute falls to the ground, shattering near your feet. You gasp with surprise, unsure if it’s from the shock of dropping the glass or from the fact that Logan fucking Delos just kissed you.

In one swift movement, Logan wraps his unencumbered hand around your waist to pivot you away from the broken glass. His drink-laden hand blindly stretches out to set the glass on the thin metal railing, and he kisses you properly this time, impossibly soft lips on your open mouth and both of his hands are on your waist. He tastes sweet, smokey and woody from the whiskey, setting your lips on fire as he kisses you. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, gripping at his suit jacket as he leads you both towards an exterior wall. The shock of the cool wall against your exposed back makes you gasp again, and you push Logan away. “What’re you doing?” Your head is swimming, blood pulsing from the alcohol and the rush of emotions as you search Logan’s eyes for an answer.

“Might be ending our friendship,” he laughs wryly. His eyes land on your lips, before looking up to meet your gaze. “Want me to stop?”

The look in his eyes is intense; two black pools stare into you, daring you to continue. You tug the lapels of his jacket, pulling him close as your pelvis tilts forward to meet his. “Finish what you start,” you whisper, Cheshire-grin giving away your desire. He kisses you again, grabbing hold of the back of your thighs as he lifts you. You spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he presses you up against the wall, the pair of you kissing each other like it’s your last night on earth. There’s an urgency in your actions; if there’s a moment of hesitation from either of you, the spell will break, so you ignore the burning in your lungs to kiss him again. When you feel how hard he is pressed up against you, you tilt your head back and let your eyes flutter closed. He takes it as an opportunity to swirl his tongue against your neck, and you think about feeling his tongue elsewhere on your body.

Your back presses against the wall even more, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist tighter, pinning you in place. As you utter curses of pleasure into the night air, your feet feel relief for the first time all night, weightless as you destroy any propriety that existed with Logan Delos.

You can feel the sun against your eyelids, and the soft sounds of someone typing away at a keyboard. Between the dull ache at the base of your skull and your throbbing temples, you smack your lips together a few times, grimacing at the dryness in your mouth. You turn your face into what you think is a pillow, but determine to be a fleece blanket due to its soft yet formless design. There’s a faint aroma of coffee in the air, and you hope your roommate left some in the carafe. “Dear god, don’t let me drink that much ever again,” you groan, voice strained and scratchy from dehydration. “I made a complete ass of myself in front of Logan.” A minute passes without your roommate’s usual prodding; all you hear is typing now and then. “How’d we get home?”

You’re met with more silence, but your level of irritation is nothing compared to the hangover headache growing with each passing minute of consciousness. You’re about to ask for Tylenol, when you hear the click and hiss of a glass door opening, followed by the sound of someone splashing in a pool. The apartment you share with your roommate has no access to a pool, let alone a back door made of glass. Opening your eyes feels like peeling apart pieces of tape, but with effort you blink slowly and allow your eyes to focus, trying to ignore the glare from the midday sun. You realize the fleece blanket you were resting on was your arm, nestled in the sleeve of a plush bathrobe. It was the kind of robe often seen hanging in the bathroom of high-end hotels.

“That was a side of you I haven’t seen before. Good morning, sunshine.” The voice is distinctively, impossibly Logan’s, with a new note of lightness to it that wasn’t present during last night’s party. “Care to see something interesting?”

You push yourself off the sofa slowly, adjusting the robe on you - apparently you fell asleep wearing it, and you have no idea where your dress or shoes are - and sit up. Logan’s dressed casually in black, seated at a desk a few feet away, with multiple monitors in front of him. One looks to be running code or tracking stock market activity, but he disconnects the laptop in the middle of the desk and carries it over to the couch, taking a seat next to you. There’s a video clip paused on the screen, and he waits to make sure you’re alert enough to watch, before letting it play.

The video shows a clip from the hotel’s CCTV cameras, pointed at the infinity pool. The only lights are coming from the pool walls, and the timestamp reflects it was the middle of the night, long after the party would’ve ended. There’s a naked male figure treading water matching Logan’s build, and then an undressed woman appears from the bottom edge of the frame, preparing to jump into the pool with him. You gasp, covering your mouth with one hand, making out a tattoo on her lower back - your tattoo - before cannonballing into the pool and making out with Logan just before dipping under the water’s surface.

Logan pauses the video, beaming an annoyingly adorable smug expression across his face as he resists the urge to tease you right away. Instead, he leans over, pecks your cheek, and eyes the glimpse of cleavage availed to him between the folds of your robe. “Lady’s choice - I could fuck your hangover away, or there’s coffee in the kitchen. What’ll it be?”

#logan delos #logan delos x reader #westworld #zaffrenotes writes #apparently for more than one fandom now #is this a fluke?#cw: alcohol #cw: swearing #cw: mild citrus #more than a lime but less than lemons #I love the way Ben cannot drink or eat like a normal human #it's endearing and I love him for it #chomp chomp Bennie

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years ago

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Lying (Next) To You (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for violence + language Warnings: Blood-drinking/general vampiric shenanigans Summary: There is no goal other than escape. You want out of this castle, no matter what you have to do, no matter the consequences. At first, the solution seems to lie with one of the very women you want to get away from. But what happens when you find yourself genuinely caring for her? Length: 5,934 words

Merely surviving had never been your intention. From day one in this foul place, this unholy castle, you had strived to escape. No matter what, you refused to allow such dismal grounds to be your grave. But leaving wouldn’t be as simple as walking out an unlocked door. It required manipulation, agility, and the willingness to screw over anyone who got in your way. Even those who you would have once called friends, or the closest thing you had to that among the servants. Was that something you were willing to do? Absolutely, without a shred of doubt in your mind. Someday, somehow, regardless of what it took, you’d get out and never look back. For now, though, all you can do is scheme…

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Three targets, each incredibly difficult to get your hands on, each presenting their own unique challenges. Which would be easiest to charm? You were still debating that answer.

First was Bela: The eldest, most responsible, forced to be the “role model” for her sisters. A bookworm (a trait the two of you shared) who spent a fair amount of her freetime in the library. While not overtly cruel, she was still rather violent, especially in cases where she felt her family had been insulted. However, there were whispers that she had a secret weakness: Anxiety. None had caught her in the open throes of an attack and lived to tell the tale. But she had been overheard, more than once, quiet cries or shaking breaths. Trying to talk to her during one of these occasions could lead to gaining her affection- if you managed to do what no other had been capable of doing, that is.

Second was Daniela: The youngest, most excitable, eager to please and desperate to be pleased. Easily interacted with more maidens than either of her sisters, though not always in a good way. Getting her attention could mean getting pulled into her room in the middle of the night, for some “fun”, or it could mean getting drained of all of your blood. Sometimes she did one after the other. Like Bela, she was a bookworm, though she preferred romance novels as opposed to her older sister’s educational texts. As for her weakness? To you, Daniela seemed to be the definition of “undiagnosed ADHD”. Less exploitable for sympathy than her sister, but possibly useful in helping you trick her. At the end of the day, the largest concern with her was her inconsistent behavior, her tendency to flip moods at the drop of a hat- and a drop of the hat with her could feel a helluva lot like a drop of an axe (onto your neck).

Then came the third… the one you didn’t think was worth the risk, whatsoever: Cassandra. Middle child and acting just like it, she was hungry for her mother’s approval, attention, and respect most of all. Bloodthirsty as could be, with a mean streak eight kilometers wide, the truest monster you had ever met. Even her fondness for the arts manifested in malevolent ways. Supposedly, she painted in blood, and made sculptures from the bones of her victims, displayed proudly in her room as trophies. What could you possibly do to earn her affection? What could you ever be to her, other than a plaything or mid-afternoon snack?... Nothing, you assumed, and so you figured you might as well remove her from your list. Somehow you’d have to make do with one of her sisters. As for which one?... You decided to let fate decide, and go for whomever you found yourself with an opportunity to court.

—————————

Free time was a rare commodity in Castle Dimitrescu. While every servant did technically get one day off every week, it wasn’t uncommon to end up helping with something unexpected, even if one tried to hide away in the private quarters. For you, it was an opportune time to try and get closer to your targets. So far three weeks had passed since your “decision” to focus on Bela and Daniela, without a single interaction with either of them. Still, hope held fast in your chest, as you made haste towards the library. On this free day you intended to read as much as possible. ‘Twas a two-pronged goal: First, you would increase your chances of running into one of your preferred employers. Secondly, you could possibly learn something through what content you consumed, perhaps to be utilized in later conversations.

Or such was the hope. In truth, you did not make it to the library, nor even anywhere close. A quarter of the way there you were interrupted by an ever-dreaded noise; buzzing echoed throughout the hallway, first far off, but getting closer with every second. There was a particular ferocity to the vibrations that you knew meant danger was approaching. According to the other maidens, this was a distinction that everyone learned over time, assuming that they survived long enough. The smart thing would have been to duck away into an adjacent room in the hopes that whatever sister it was would ignore you. But your endgame weighed heavy on your mind, then forced your feet to the floor. For better or worse, you would be in the woman’s path, ready for whatever she may ask of you.

“You-” a voice snarled, as a hooded figure phased out of the swarm and into your vision. Her head was held high, eyes narrowed as they stared down at you, a snarl twisting her lips. Of course it was her. Cassandra Dimitrescu. The one daughter you didn’t want to encounter. Inside, part of you writhes in self deprecation, feeling as if you should have known better. How often did the other two buzz about so angrily?... Well, certainly a fair bit, but nowhere near as much as Cassandra. Fuck, you think, I’m probably doomed. “I’m hungry. Come here real quick,” Cassandra demands, beckoning you towards her with a single finger. In another life you would have blushed bright red at the sight. A life where she wasn’t a vampiric monster, that is.

Nonetheless, you are quick to obey, masking your anxiety as best as you can. Doing so gets much harder once your gaze meets Cassandra’s, and you see her lick her lips before smirking at you. As soon as you’re within her reach, she’s surging forward, grabbing you by your shoulders, then pivoting, pressing you hard against the wall. You can’t help but gasp at the sudden movements, which only widens her grin. Before you know it she’s running her tongue along your neck. Once more you gasp, this time softer, hating the way your body urges you to lean into her touch. Why couldn’t she simply get straight to the worst of it? Instead she takes her sweet time, slipping a finger beneath the collar of your shirt, slowly, carefully tugging it to the side. When she finally bites, it is terribly sudden. The pleasure comes before the pain, stronger than you would have expected, eliciting a sharp inhale from you that sounds more satisfied than you had intended. Even as a rush of pain follows, you can’t help the red that tints your cheeks.

“Enjoying this, hmm?” Cassandra asks, after licking away at your blood for a few moments, pulling back but not releasing you. Something in her eyes makes you need to respond.

“Y-yes, more than I’d like to admit,” you mumble, barely able to make eye contact. But she seems pleased by this, gently cupping your chin while she looks you over.

“Well then, if you survive… I might just have to drink from you again,” she whispers, before diving right back in towards your neck. This time her touch is far, far softer than before. It feels more like she’s kissing you rather than drinking from you. A strange, irritatingly familiar feeling springs in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t help but make more of those noises she seemed to enjoy so much. Hell, your eyes drift closed as you take in the surprisingly welcome sensation. When they reopen, however, you give a yelp of surprise, spotting a very awkwardly waiting servant. They were blushing, clearly not having expected to come upon this particular sight. Cassandra perks up at your shock, turning to follow your gaze, then giving an uncharacteristically resigned groan. “Damn it, Ava, is it urgent?” She asks, to which the servant gives a silent shrug. “I’ll be done in a minute. Now, where were we?”

Once more she resumes feeding, casting aside all traces of sweetness, sucking on your wound with reckless abandon. Behind her, Ava gives you a thumbs up before turning away. As embarrassing as the moment felt, you were grateful to xer, glad that xe seemed to recognize your desire for privacy. More than that… if xe hadn’t come along, would Cassandra have remembered to stop before your bloodloss became fatal? There was no guarantee either way. Yet xer intervention felt like a godsend, and you made a mental note to thank xer later. Soon enough Cassandra removes herself from you, pausing only to cup your chin for a moment, meeting your gaze with a smirk. Then she was turning away without another word, following Ava to some unknown destination.

A deep breath, then another, more frantic, the familiar sense of panic growing on the edges of your mind. Now that the feeding was over, you were left trembling with all the fear you had been so adamant about not showing before. How close to death had you come? How close were you now? Only feeling slightly more faint than you had earlier, it felt safe enough to assume you would be fine, if only physically. Inside your mind you were struggling with racing thought after racing thought. How the hell am I supposed to do this with either Bela or Daniela? You think, trying to breathe past the lump in your throat. And why did I have to enjoy that so much? They’re nothing more than means to an end, monsters undeserving of my kindness, of my joy. Your only comfort was the knowledge that this may very well have been the opportunity you had been waiting for; but only if you could shift your aim.

—————————

The difference was subtle, almost microscopic, to the point where it took you a full week to notice. But once you had? Everything felt different. You couldn’t spend more than three seconds in the same room as Cassandra without her eyes following you, watching your every move, sending a rush of both fear and excitement down your spine. Meeting her gaze only made her give the tiniest fraction of a smile. As soon as something (or someone) else caught her attention, however, you were forgotten in the blink of an eye. Yet it was nerve wracking nonetheless. This was roughly what you had hoped for, but you had underestimated the mental toll it would take on you. There was no way to tell whether Cassandra wanted violence, something softer, or her usual brand- a cruel mixture of both. Every second spent in her presence was a roll of the dice, a flip of a coin, either one weighted to put the odds against you.

But you persisted. Escape was not a dream, nor a fantasy, nor some far off cryptid. It was inevitable. Again and again you would swallow your fear until you reached your long-sought destination. No matter the cost, you think, no matter the consequences. Over time, that cost, those consequences, would grow. For now, it was a slice of your sanity. Next? More blood, it seemed.

“Casserole wants you to stop by her art studio,” the note said, cursive hand-writing ever-so-fancy and ever-so-difficult to read. Clearly from Ava, the mildly mysterious (but incredibly helpful) castle servant known for never speaking a word. From what you had gathered, xe was a confidant of sorts for the Dimitrescu family, trusted far more than the average worker. Alas, xe was loyal to the center of xer being, and was rumored to be impeccable at preventing escape attempts before they had even started. If you wanted out of this damn place, you knew you’d have to be careful around xer. Hopefully xe won’t interrupt this time, you think, before tucking the note away in your pocket.

Cassandra’s infamous studio wasn’t terribly far from your quarters, thankfully, though you weren’t even sure if you were supposed to arrive at a specific time. What if she wasn’t expecting you until later? Worse, what if she had been expecting you an hour ago? It’s a dangerous thought, one that could easily spiral into something far more drastic, and you try to reassure yourself, reminding yourself that Ava would have mentioned a time if it was important. In the end, you still found your heart racing as you stood outside the room in question. Pausing to take a deep breath, you center yourself, before raising a hand to knock. To your surprise, you get an answer before your hand even gets close to the door.

“Come in already,” Cassandra chimes from inside. Unsure of what terrible fate you were about to meet, you entered the room, somewhat reluctantly. Despite the myriad of unsavory rumors regarding the studio, there were no immediate signs of brutality. At the worst, the space was fairly messy, though not due to any, ahem, “misplaced” body parts. No, just an overflowing garbage bin, a few unfinished projects placed haphazardly wherever they’d fit, shards of glass in one corner, and tile floor splattered with a Pollock-esque layer of paint. In one word? Chaotic. Such was the type of environment that seemed to suit Cassandra best, the sort in which you imagined she would thrive. But you didn’t have time to examine anything as closely as you would have liked to. “Are you going to keep me waiting?”

“No, Lady Cassandra,” you reply, hurriedly, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. Then you’re quickly crossing the room, to what looks like a cross between a storage cabinet and a paint mixing station. In Cassandra’s hands, however, you find something less welcoming than a paintbrush: A needle and an empty blood bag. Well, you think, I guess I know why I’m here. At least there’s only one bag, right? “What do you require of me, my Lady?” While the answer was fairly obvious, you didn’t know the specific steps necessary, and it never hurt to be as polite as possible with the Dimitrescu family.

“Just sit down, roll your sleeves up, look pretty, and stay still. Try not to make any noises this time- as cute as they were last time, I have a headache,” Cassandra explains, gesturing towards the room’s only chair. Ignoring the way your cheeks heated up, you did as she asked, trying to get relatively comfortable. It was somewhat difficult to relax, considering who you were with. “Calm down, pet, I’m only going to hurt you a little. That’s more than I can say for most people who end up here.” Why did she have to use a nickname for you? Weren’t you already flushed enough without her teasing you further? Though your flustering does turn to confusion after a moment, as you wonder how she knew how afraid you were. You were under the impression that you were hiding it fairly well. Noticing your reaction, Cassandra rolls her eyes, before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I can hear your heartbeat. Normally I’d find this… exciting. But my head hurts and I wanted to finish this damn painting yesterday. So take a deep breath, little pet, and let me take what I need from you.”

Of course she had to say it like that, and put herself so close to you. You’re pretty sure that your heart skips a few beats in response, though Cassandra doesn’t react beyond a hint of a smile, merely returning to her prep work. First step was cleaning your skin. Admittedly you hadn’t been sure if that step was necessary, seeing as the blood was (seemingly) for art as opposed to testing, but it didn’t exactly surprise you. Besides, there was a chance she’d drink the leftovers, right? Next she double-checked that the needle was properly connected to the blood bag, and that the latter was resting securely on a small stand. With that out of the way, it was time for her favorite part.

“Since your heartbeat has slowed down a little… I’ll let you whimper if you want to- but only once. Consider it a reward for good behavior,” Cassandra purrs with a familiar grin. One hand gently cups your chin, while her eyes look right in yours, just long enough to turn your cheeks bright red. The moment ends as quickly as it started. Before you know it she’s turned stoic again, feeling along your arm for a vein. This isn’t the first time you’ve had your blood drawn, but Cassandra takes no time at all to find the perfect spot, likely from a mix of practice and, well, her vampiric nature. It’s not long before she’s gently gripping your arm with one hand, briefly making eye contact before pushing the needle into your skin. Does it hurt? Hardly. Do you take a shaky inhale, hoping to please your employer, the closest to a whimper you were willing to give her? Oh, absolutely. And does she react? Oh, absolutely. Her eyes light up for a second as she bites her lower lip. There’s something else in her expression that you can’t quite read, however.

“Enjoying this, hmm?” You ask, smiling, voice soft in the hopes of not aggravating her headache. It’s a risk, and one that pays off more than you’d ever expect. Cassandra giggles a tad, eying you with the least mischievous smile you’ve ever seen from her. If not for the needle still in your arm, you might have found the moment charming, or even… romantic. But you pushed the thought away as soon as possible, reminding yourself of your one true goal: Escaping. This was a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s what you had to keep telling yourself. Even as Cassandra ever-so-gently removed the needle from your arm, even as she carefully placed a bandage over the entry-point, even as she gave you a nod of approval.

“This should last until the painting is done, at the very least. I might need you to make another ‘donation’ next week, though. Except, hmm… your blood is quite nice,” Cassandra says. Her tone is smooth, almost sultry, but her gaze is focused on her work as she starts mixing the blood with… something? You weren’t familiar with this particular artistic process, nor did you want to be. “Maybe I’ll set up a nice schedule for you. Once a month you can be my darling little muse, and once a month you can be a refreshing snack. I’ll even make sure that my sisters don’t do anything that might spoil our fun. Assuming you continue to prove entertaining, that is.” You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried. In the end you settled for the former, chest thrumming with excitement as you felt yourself getting one step closer to your goal.

—————————

Three months pass by in an easy blur. Just as Cassandra had suggested, you find yourself in her company more often than before. Only twice a month does she take blood from you, for your own safety (which she pretends not to care about), but more and more you find her lounging around where you’re working, obviously by “pure coincidence”. Sometimes she even spoke to you! Teasing here and there, or asking you to do things that she normally did for herself, or scaring you just to hear you make one of your “lovely noises”. Honestly, you weren’t sure whether you were more surprised by how attached she had gotten to you, or by how quickly it had happened. Of course, you didn’t even know if she enjoyed your personality… or just your blood. Either way, you found yourself enjoying her presence more than you’d ever openly admit.

Eventually, when the benefits of your budding “friendship” became more clear, you started to enjoy it even more.

It was early in the morning, right when the castle residents tended to go to sleep, and when the night shift officially ended. Minutes prior you had been conversing quietly with Cassandra, dusting some shelves as you did. Now, with your duties done only slightly later than usual, you were making your way back to your quarters. Along the way you were caught off guard by the sound of distant crying. ‘Twas a sound you’d heard many times before, from many different maidens, but this time felt… different. An odd feeling of sympathy sparked in your chest, and you made the brash decision to approach the source of the noise. When you rounded that last corner, when you made eye contact with the trembling figure, you knew that your kindness could very well be the death of you. To think that you had once hoped for this encounter.

“Who’s there?” Bela Dimitrescu snarls through chattering teeth. She’s moving forward, phasing in and out of swarm mode, reaching a hand out to clutch at your throat. Well, you think, at least she’s stopped crying? More so out of being distracted, instead of feeling any comfort from your company. It’s not a terribly reassuring thought, but it’s soon replaced with a mental string of ???? as Bela pauses, grip loosening as she holds you up in the light. “You’re Cassandra’s new favorite. Damnit!” With that she drops you rather unceremoniously. Then she’s turning her back to you, sniffling before wiping the tears from her eyes. “Don’t tell anyone about this, or I won’t hesitate to string you up, no matter what my sister says. Now get lost.”

Except you can’t force yourself to move. There’s a small piece of you that remembers your original plan, another small part feels a twinge of sympathy, and a majority of your brain sees this as an opportunity. What was a little more risk?

“Would you like me to bring you some tea, Lady Bela?” You ask, attempting to keep your tone neutral, lest she think you were judging her. In response, she turns to look at you slowly, eyes narrowed, thinly veiled rage only outweighed by the remnants of her anxiety. Then she’s stalking forward with cautious, deliberate movements. For a moment she searches your eyes for any hints at your motive. Hoping to ease her worries, you elaborated on your offer, and the reasoning behind it. “I’ve read that holding something warm in your hands, like a mug of tea or coffee, relaxes the brain. I believe it had something to do with mimicking human touch?... Forgive me if I’m overstepping your boundaries, my Lady. I… I felt compelled to ask, to help in whatever way I can.”

“Oh?” Bela hums, the majority of the anger draining from her face. There’s a hint of genuine surprise behind her bright eyes. “Very well, if you say it might… help.” Before you can turn to leave, you hear her clear her throat, and say one last thing. “A little softer than I would have expected from a pet of Cassandra’s.” She certainly had a point. But you don’t bother responding, instead focusing on your self-given task. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you were really Cassandra’s “pet”, or if there was more to your dynamic. Why did you feel so weird about the idea of being a mere “distraction” to her?... Something to think about while you made that tea, you supposed.

—————————

When you assisted with serving lunch the next day, Bela refused to make eye contact, even as you set a plate in front of her, or when you refilled her wine glass. There was a stiffness in the room that you weren’t familiar with. For the most part, Cassandra is more welcoming, giving you a small nod when you meet her gaze. By the time the family is done eating and moves to leave, the sisters are grouping together to speak in hushed voices. While you clean up after them, you cannot help but wonder if they’re discussing the previous night, or if Bela was as adamant about keeping quiet as she had seemed. Regardless, you felt rather good about how the conversation had gone. Hopefully she’s feeling better, you think, surprising yourself. Not that it matters… unless she tells Cassandra, I suppose.

You don’t see her for the rest of the day. It’s a double-edged sword, in a way. On one hand, you find yourself missing her, unused to not interacting with her at all. On the other hand? All the sudden you’re realizing just how involved she’s become with you. Certainly that meant something? Progress towards your eventual goal of escaping? God, you sure hoped so. Thinking about the future, about your plans, lasts you the entire night, thoughts following you all the way into bed. Sleep feels a million years away, and you find yourself staring silently at the ceiling. Unmoving. Damn near unblinking. When there’s the sound of footsteps outside your room, you are more than welcome for the distraction.

“Wake up, little pet,” a voice calls, as your door opens, and someone quickly slips inside. Before you can even sit up, you feel them slide into the bed with you. “It’s too cold in my room. You’re much warmer, aren’t you?” Clearly your darling Cassandra come to entertain herself. Considering how late in the day it is, you feel like you should be upset, and yet you feel yourself daring to wrap your arms around her. For a moment she goes stiff, but she soon relaxes into your touch. “You’re getting so good at knowing what I want from you. Mmm, I think I’ve trained you well,” she teases, shifting onto her back so she can pull you onto her chest. Although you’ve been this close to her before, this is the first time you’ve realized just how cold her skin is. No wonder she wants to sleep with me, you think, blushing at your unintentional wording.

“Fuck, you’re freezing,” you mumble, curling up against her nonetheless. She’s laughing then, without any hint of her usual malice, and you can’t help but laugh with her. When had the two of you gotten so warm with each other? Why did it feel so natural? There’s anxiety gnawing at the base of your skull, threatening to build up into a headache, tugging you away from the softness of the moment. If Cassandra notices, she’s quicker to act than you would have expected. It feels safer to believe that her next actions are a coincidence. Feels… better, when you remember that you are playing her for cheap, that any friendliness is a mockery made for the most bitter of betrayals to come.

“That’s why I’m here, dear. Now hush, I need some rest. With how comfortable you are… I may even let you sleep in,” she teases, before pressing the gentlest kiss to the top of your head. Your throat dries up in response, blush overtaking your cheeks, and you are left unable to speak. The thundering of your heart seems to somehow lull your would-be lover to sleep, while you find yourself growing to love the contrast her chill provides. Somehow, someway, you end up sleeping more soundly than you have in years.

—————————

Another month passes. No opportunities to escape, no grand moves to make in this 4D game of chess, no clever plans to entangle yourself in. Yet you find yourself content. Happy. The work keeps you as busy as ever, but Cassandra often steals you away for her own desires. When she goes to drink your blood, she does so gently, with many soft kisses leading into the big moment. Afterwards she cleans your wound herself, touches as light as a feather, eyes sparkling with unspoken affection. At night, you find her coming to you for warmth almost every day. At first she provides little more than teasing excuses. But in time, she becomes more open, even being so bold as to kiss you on the lips every time, greeting you with quiet “dear”s and “darling”s. It gets to the poin that you cannot sleep without her presence.

Day after day, you find it harder and harder to remember why you were doing this. Was it so bad to enjoy your time with her? Was it so bad to find yourself leaning into her touches, kissing her back, gleefully awaiting your nightly rendezvous with her? Sometimes the thoughts were overwhelming, guilt and shame alike dancing inside your chest. Those days were the hardest to get through. Somehow, again and again, you go to her for comfort. To the very source of your conflict. Every last feeling was driving you towards an inevitable point. A conclusion written in stone, one that had been decided from the very first time Cassandra dug her fangs into your neck.

—————————

Screaming. Horrible, horrible screaming, somehow more pained than that of any maiden you had ever heard, echoing throughout the castle halls, achingly familiar in tone. You had never heard her scream before, and yet you knew that the sound came from Cassandra. Before you can even begin to process your realization, you are thundering through the corridor, towards the noise that rattled your mind so desperately. How could anything possibly hurt her? How often had you seen her push her siblings around, each of them taking hits that could break bones as if they were light shoves? As if the punches tickled? Horror overtakes your thoughts, imagination far worse than reality had any right to be.

When you at last reach your lover, you are frozen in your tracks, eyes wide as can be. There she is, howling with both rage and pain as someone repeatedly slams the butt of a rifle into her head. Behind the fighting duo is a sight you never thought you’d see: An open door. Wide open, enticing, leading straight into the world you had sought to rejoin. You want to leave. God, you want to leave so bad. This is what you have been waiting for- Cassandra has not even seen you yet, too busy grappling with her attacker, movements too slow to be normal. What was wrong? Why were her limbs such a strange color? Was that… frost on her clothes? Or… crystal? Your gaze flickers back and forth between her and the exit, as time seems to pause, memories of the past few months racing through your mind. Goddamnit, you think, this is what I want, isn’t it? Consequences be damned, right? I said I wouldn’t stop for anything.

And so you move, automatically, on autopilot, unable to think about anything other than what you treasured most: Cassandra. One moment you’re standing still in the foyer, the next you’re grabbing a poker from the fireplace. You’ve never done anything like this before, but the movements come naturally, as you surge towards the scrambling pair. In one swift motion you drive the metal rod into the skull of the intruder, hating the sound, hating the splatter of blood against your clothes, hating the feeling of resistance followed by a terrible, terrible give. But the man slumps almost immediately, allowing your girlfriend to shove him off of herself. Still unable to think coherently, you’re throwing yourself into her arms.

“Holy shit, holy shit, oh my god, I- I, fuck. Are you…? Fucking tell me that you’re okay, please,” you ramble, holding the dangerously cold body of your girlfriend close to you, refusing to let go. She’s crying, clinging to you as desperately as you cling to her. But she’s responding in the affirmative. Over and over, saying she’s okay, telling you that it’s okay. Before you know it, she’s the one comforting you.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Okay? Look at me, take a deep breath. If anyone should be freaking out it’s me,” she says, pulling back enough to cup your cheek with one hand. There’s blood on her fingers, making your eyes go wide, but she quickly wipes it off with a scowl. Then she’s caressing your skin again, soft repeating motions perfect for calming you down. “That’s right, see? We’re fine. You’re a fucking badass, darling, and honestly? It’s very attractive.” Now you’re both giggling, you a bit more than her. Because of course she’s flirting right now. It’s an incredible softness. One that you, quite frankly, do not feel you deserve. At first it’s a tiny voice in the back of your head, but it soon grows until it strikes the smile from your lips. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Shit, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, really,” you interject, as fast as you can, ignoring the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra isn’t convinced, however, and gives you a pleading look. Knowing that you cannot resist her, you close your eyes, sighing, then admit your wretched truth. “The door. Cassandra, the door’s open. I… I came down the hallway and I saw the two of you and I saw the fucking door and I… I hesitated. I hesitated.” There’s a mighty tremble to your voice, teeth and lips shaking. In the moment, you cannot bring yourself to meet her gaze, eyes instead glued to the bloodstained floor. It’s so quiet that you swear you can hear your tears hitting the tile. The air around you is filled with a looming heartache, a shadow over the two of you, hungry for your tears. But the rage you anticipate from Cassandra never comes.

For fuck’s sake, she pulls you closer. She takes you in her arms, making you rest your head against her chest, one hand gently rubbing circles into your back. Shock makes you unable to do anything other than linger limply in her grip. Thankfully, she has more than enough words for the both of you.

“Of course you did. All you ever wanted was to escape, right? And all I ever wanted was to see how much fun I could get out of you before you betrayed us,” she admits, coolly, as if the words didn’t break both of your hearts. At first, you merely start crying harder, realizing that she had seen through you this whole time. Realizing that all of her softness had just been sharpness covered in sheep’s clothing. Except she’s not done talking. “Now look at us. Couple of idiots who caught feelings. So shut up, because we’re in this mess together, now, and I don’t intend to let you go, understood? You-” she pulls back, looking you right in the eyes- “are mine. Besides… you just killed for me. I think that more than makes up for any hesitance, yeah?” Before you know it you’re kissing her. You’re pressing yourself to her, smiling through your tears, forced to pause to laugh at yourself. How ridiculous had this whole affair been? How had you convinced yourself, for so long, that escape was all you had cared about?...

All this time you thought you wanted out. But at the end of the day… you just wanted to go home. How could you have guessed that you would have found a new home, here, in someone’s arms? Despite the surprise of it all… you couldn’t be happier.

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra x reader #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #the soft to your sharp

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choicesenthusiast · 3 years ago

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This Week on Choices - Important Announcement

Well, I’ve always known I’d end up here.

Eh, choicesenthusiast, you dramatic bitch. This is what you deserve.

This week, the week of December 12, 2021, marks the two-and-a-half year anniversary of This Week on Choices. Which means for the past two-and-a-half years, I have put out a review for every single chapter Choices has released since June 24, 2019. That was since Chapter 12 of Wishful Thinking. I bet half of you forgot about that book. That’s over 570 reviews. Five-hundred-and-seventy. Like me or not, you have to admit that that’s really fucking impressive. No matter if you’re old or new to the fandom, you’ve probably seen them around.

In short, I am insane.

Sadly, I have decided that this is the perfect time for me to discontinue TWoC. Yes, that’s right, my reviews will be no more. I’ve been debating this decision for a long time (over six months now, actually), and now I’m finally acting on it. There are a few reasons for this:

I’m exhausted. That’s number one, and frankly, the most important. Don’t get me wrong, it’s so much fun to come on here and say my piece on every chapter, but after 2.5 years, even the most fun things take a toll on the best people (i.e. me, I'm the best). Believe it or not, I’ve sacrificed a lot for this. My free time, my sleep, my sanity, and my mental health; each review is time consuming as hell. It’s time for me to find a new fucking hobby, man. Something that I can enjoy, and something that will make me happy instead of wanting to shove my brain through a powerwash and a woodchipper. I hate to bring up the pandemic, but it did drastically impact my life, as I’m sure it did with all of yours. It’s a miracle I kept TWoC running through 2020, and even up until now at all. It’s unhealthy, and it’s high time I finally change that.

In a complete contradiction to what I said in Point #1, writing reviews is no longer fun. Not in the sense that I hate shitting on shitty content, but it’s draining to force myself to try and write about things I can’t really bring myself to care about. In the past six months, the past year, even, writing these has become a chore instead of a pastime. I’d look at my spreadsheet with all the titles and tell myself “just one more chapter, just one more week, just one more term (6 months)”, but now it’s gotten overwhelming to the point where it takes days for me to muster the motivation. Pixelberry’s given us nothing but shit, and it’s not worth the extra effort to give them anything more than shitposts and memes in return anymore.

PB’s money-making nightmare VIP business model. I think part of this lends to the fact that, not only has content been lackluster as of lately (read: the past year), but the hype around books isn’t there at all. With VIP getting access to books early, it comes as no surprise to anyone when weeks later nobody has anything to say about wide-released chapters. The two main purposes of the reviews were a) “I read this book so you don’t have to” (i.e. inform), and b) “me funny hehe-haha” (i.e. entertain). Part of the fun was watching everyone’s reactions, compiling them while adding my own commentary, and then some discussion and even theorizing around books. Now, that’s just not possible.

Simply put, my life is moving forward, and Pixelberry is not.

Bigger and better things, baby! I’m in a weird transition period in my life, going through a lot of big changes, and suffice to say, TWoC won’t be a part of them anymore. I’m not one to get sappy over anything, especially fucking Choices of all things, but it’s been a horrendously big part of my life for so long now that it’s even weird to let it go. I’ve literally built myself (this blog, choicesenthusiast) up around this. Looking back, it’s crazy to see the evolution from my very first review up to my recent ones. I have learned a lot about myself and my skills, both online and in-person since then, so if doing this regularly did anything for me besides slowly deteriorate my joy, at least it was that.

So here’s the plan: I’m going to continue until the end of Queen B 2, seeing that it’s on Chapter 13 and should be done in about 3-6 weeks, and then that’s it. Bye-bye, This Week on Choices. Who knows, maybe one day it’ll return, though I highly doubt it. Let me be clear, this does not mean I’m done with the fandom, oh no. Who’ll be here to rip Pixelberry’s assholes if I’m gone? Yeah, no, I think I’m too deep into this damn berry app to just leave. You’re just not getting my brilliant, awe-inspiring words of hatred as organized as they’ve been. Maybe a post here and there complaining about Pixelberry’s bullshit once again. Maybe an itemized list of every fuckup they’ve ever had… for the two people who know what I’m talking about… should I…?

Thank you to everyone who’s ever come across a This Week on Choices review, anyone who’s read one, laughed at one, responded to one, shit like that. You’re a real one. Really, this would have ended long ago if not for you. And to all those who will be popping champagne tonight, saying “oh, finally, the bitch is dead and done!”, thank you too. I am a spiteful whore, if anything, and your hatred for me has only fuelled me longer than it should have. Again, I’m being dramatic about this, tossing out thanks like I’m retiring from Hollywood, but, like I said, I’ve been doing this for a long time, and its end has been a long time coming. The end of an Era, that's for sure.

Goodbye, This Week on Choices. You did me good.

~choicesenthusiast

#this week on choices #playchoices #choices stories you play

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amysteryspot · 4 years ago

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Just Tonight - Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Requested: No

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: The Shelby boys had returned from France in time for Christmas, but as (Y/N) expected, things weren't that easy to deal with for none of them.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW/+18), swearing, mentions of drinking and death.

Word Count: 3027

A/N: Oooooooooooooookay this turned out a lot more angstier and smuttier than I first predicted for something that is supposed to be a holiday fic. This is loosely based on the storyline used on "Better with you" and "Out of time". It's better if you've read those first, but it's not required. I really, really hope that you enjoy it. As always, your feedback is highly appreciated.

Song recomended: Sober by Loreen

(Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname | (Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread by a beta.

If you want to be tagged in my stories, just send me a message.

(gif by @nofckingfighting)

It was Christmas again. (Y/N) couldn’t ignore the irony of it all. When the Shelby’s and her father had left Small Heat with the rest of the man to go to France, the promise was that they would be back before Christmas. Well, they did return before Christmas, just four years later than they believed they would.

She had lost the spark to celebrate the holiday after they left. In 1914, she and her mother had joined Polly, Ada, Martha, and the kids on Christmas Eve. The next year it was just her and the rest of the Shelby clan. Somewhere along the way, (Y/N) had lost hope that the boys would ever return.

Her fears had been proved wrong two weeks ago when Arthur, Tommy, and John stepped out of the train in Small Heat. And even as relief washed through her, it took (Y/N) a second to recognize that the men who came back weren’t the same who had left.

The past few days had been strange, hard to deal with. It wasn’t easy for the men to be back and it wasn’t easy for the women to get used to having them back around. Everyone was learning how to deal with all the changes and as (Y/N) had learned from a young age, the process wasn’t always smooth.

“Let’s say our prayers,” Polly announced as she sat down.

Tommy scoffed and (Y/N) nudged him with her knee, making him roll his eyes, taking her hand in his as all of them closed their eyes as Polly prayed.

It was strange, all of them sitting there, around the same table, eating, drinking, and celebrating when so many of them didn’t have the opportunity to return. Tommy had never been a man of God, especially after his mother died, and his father left, and after Greta. Certainly not since he signed his name to go to war. (Y/N) knew that better than anyone.

“It’s good to have you all back,” Ada announced, after a long moment of silence, eyeing her brothers from behind the rim of her glass.

“It’s good to be back,” John mumbled when his brothers failed to do so.

“This is a little bit different than what we got used to,” Polly commented, smiling.

In the past years, they had lost (Y/N)’s mother and Martha, the first two years weren’t all that good, so hunger was something they had to get used to. Now, with the betting shop going steady and the boys back, there was more reason to celebrate than normal.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine how hard it has been,” Tommy sneered, laughing sarcastically.

(Y/N) looked up at Polly who just shook her head.

“It wasn’t easy staying behind, Tom,” Ada reasoned, looking at her older brother.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine how hard it was. Staying here, in the comfort of the house, while we were…”

(Y/N) interjected before he could continue and make a bigger mess out of something that was already difficult, “It’s not a competition, Tommy. We know it wasn’t easy for you all out there, but staying here wasn’t easy too. One thing doesn’t erase the other.”

He looked at her then, nothing but ice on his glare, knuckles white from gripping the fork too tight, but said nothing in return, huffing his disagreement.

Silence fell on the table again, the only noises that could be heard were the ones from the cutlery scraping against the plates. This certainly wasn’t the celebration all of them had in mind.

Saying that the rest of the meal was tense would be an understatement. The children ended up easing up the mood, and (Y/N) thanked God if He was listening, for that little blessing.

After they finished, (Y/N) was collecting the dishes to go wash then when Polly stopped her.

“You did most of the cooking, let me and Ada finish the cleaning. Go sit by the fire with a drink and rest a little bit.

(Y/N) didn’t fell for Polly’s act even a little bit. She knew very well what the Shelby’s matriarch wanted—for her and Tommy to make amends over a drink by the fire.

John had gone home with the children, Finn was already with Arthur on the parlour, the oldest Shelby was probably already half-way drunk, considering the amount of alcohol consumed during the meal. She was a little bit tipsy herself, all of them were, in some way, except for the children.

Sighing, (Y/N) picked up her glass from the table, ignoring Ada’s complaints on the background, and headed to the place she wanted to avoid.

As she had guessed, Arthur was almost passed out in one of the couches, a bottle of whiskey by his side. Finn was curled up beside him, one of Arthur’s hand protectively on the boy’s shoulders, as the child dozed off.

She couldn’t contain the smile that appeared on her lips and faltered a little bit when she looked at the other side of the room, finding Tommy sitting there in silence, contemplating the fire.

(Y/N) ignored his eyes on her as she went to pour herself a glass of gin and chose to sit down on the armchair, instead of the couch. What she couldn’t ignore was the frown on his face as she settled down.

None of them said anything for a while, long enough for Arthur’s snores to take over the place.

“I should put Finn to bed,” (Y/N) said, putting her glass down on the center table, meaning to get up.

“Let them stay there,” Tommy’s voice startled her and she turned her head in his direction to see him getting up from the couch and placing his glass on the table, besides hers. “Common, let’s go upstairs,” he invited, extending his hand to her.

(Y/N) sighed, knowing that whatever ruffle started between them never lasted long, and silently accepted his invitation, letting him guide her up the stairs. They were both slightly drunk, but that wasn’t enough to prevent her from hesitating at his door—the room brought her too many memories. The last time they were there alone had been on the night before he left to war—the night she had given herself to him.

Tommy must have noticed her hesitation, leading her inside with a gentle pull, and closing the door behind them.

“Polly said that you wouldn’t enter the room for weeks after we left.”

(Y/N) hummed in answer, watching him sit down on the bed and pat the spot beside him for her to follow. She obliged, studying the peeling wallpaper for a moment.

“And then I wouldn’t leave it, ‘cause it smelled like you,” she admitted, choosing to ignore the little smirk that appeared on his lips, “Until it didn’t anymore and I stayed anyway because it was the closest thing I had of you.”

She looked at him then, to find his gaze already on her, a solemn expression on his face as he assured “You have me now.”

“Do I?” (Y/N) asked, blinking slowly as she felt his hand take hers in between both of his.

She wasn’t certain about anything anymore. They had known each other for all of her life, gone through terrible things that only brought them together even more. But since the day they said their farewells at the train station, (Y/N) wasn’t sure about their feelings for one another anymore.

“You always had,” he assured, not a hint of doubt on his face, “since the moment your mother put that tiny bundle of covers in my arms and you stared back at me with these bright (Y/E/C) eyes of yours.”

He smiled at her, one of those barely-there smiles that were Tommy’s Shelby signature, turning his body toward her, so they were face to face. “You’ll always have me, wanting it or not.”

“As if I ever won’t,” (Y/N) murmured, shyly, more to herself than to him.

Tommy smirked, bringing her closer, cradling her face in between his hands. “Good,” he praised, low and deep, placing a kiss on her forehead, and then a second time, louder and clearer, “Good. ‘Cause I have some plans and I’ll need you by my side.”

“God help us! Thomas Shelby has plans,” she jested as a way to lighten the mood. It only worked for a brief moment, as he smiled and shook his head, but his hands never left her skin as he came closer to her, their noses brushing against each other.

Looking up at him through heavy eyelids, (Y/N) said his name as a warning, one Tommy chooses to ignore, leaning in to extinguish the final bit of space separating them and bringing their mouths together.

(Y/N) doesn’t fight him. Don’t believe she has it in her to refuse him, not when she, herself, had been craving his touch since the moment they said their goodbyes before he left for France years ago. Since he had touched her, made love to her the night before he left. Since the moment he kissed her for the first time when she was fifteen.

She kisses him back, holding his wrists between her fingers, as hungry as he is to get a taste.

“Tommy,” she protests again, weakly, the feeling of his lips trailing down her neck to her collarbone fogging her mind. “Tommy, we shouldn’t.”

He growls in disapproval, lips never leaving her skin, as his hands trail down her body, catching her by the waist and hoisting her up to his lap.

She gasps, not yet used with this new source of strength that the war provided him with. Memories that she tried so hard to bury come flooding her mind.

“I need you,” he breaths against her skin, “Just tonight.”

Taking his face in between her hands, (Y/N) forces him to look at her. He looks lost, like a boat that was left adrift, desperately looking for something that can bring him back to the shore. The look in his eyes is more vulnerable than seductive as he just stays there, unmoving, gazing back at her, waiting for an answer, just as she did years ago.

(Y/N) gives in, nodding. His lips are on hers in a heartbeat, hands grabbing at her hips and bringing her flush against his body. They both moan at the slight friction as her legs tighten around his hips.

Desperately, they start to unbutton each other’s clothes in a hurry to get the skin on skin contact. When she is down to her undergarments, having taken pity on him and freed herself from the slip, his eyes travel down her body, taking in every inch of exposed skin.

She remembers their first time together, how he did the same thing, looking down at her as if trying to engrave the image on his mind and (Y/N) suddenly feels vulnerable.

Tommy doesn’t give her much time to think, spinning them around and laying her down onto the mattress. His mouth explores her skin like it was a map he has to memorize. He places open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone and chest, unfastening the brassiere to kiss, lick and nibble at her breasts, chuckling against her skin as she takes a fist of his hair in between her fingers, tugging it not so gently at the feeling of one of her nipples being dragged against his teeth.

He tortures her with his ministrations until he is satisfied with the writhing mess she’d become. Then his kisses move down, and down until they reach the waistband of her bloomers.

Looking up at her, hunger in his eyes, Tommy hooks his fingers on the fabric, bringing it down her legs, along with her stockings, leaving her bare before him.

Again, he takes a moment to look down at her through heavy eyelids. She is not sure about what she sees in his cold eyes, but whatever it is, it brings a shiver down her spine.

Partying her legs, Tommy lays down on his stomach, bringing her calves to rest on his shoulders. (Y/N) lets her head fall back, closing her eyes at the feeling of his fingers parting her lips and his tongue licking up a stripe from her entrance to her clit.

She moans against her palm, trying to muffle the sound, her other hand fisting the sheets as he chuckles.

“Patience, love,” he purred, “I’ve been waiting for that for too long, let me enjoy you.”

Her mind can’t register the words, not when his mouth was on her again, kissing, and licking, and nibling, making her go crazy. (Y/N) didn’t remember the last time that a man had willingly done that, much less if any had made her feel this way with just his mouth.

(Y/N) has to bite down her lower lip to prevent any sounds from coming out of her mouth as she feels one of his fingers slipping into her.

Tommy doesn’t seem pleased by it, “Common now, (Y/N/N), don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

“Your siblings are on the house,” she warns.

“From what I remember you weren’t worried about that the last time,” he retorts back, mirth dripping from his voice. “Besides, they’ve heard worse. John went back home with the kids, I’m pretty sure that Finn and Ada left with Polly, Arthur is too drunk to bother. You have nothing to worry about.”

She doesn’t get a chance to fight back when he adds a second finger to the first and licks at her clit at the same time. (Y/N) almost doesn’t recognize the sound that leaves her lips.

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, fingers curling inside of her and making her curse under her breath. “Don’t hold back, come for me. I want to feel you coming all around my fingers. Want to know how it tastes.”

It’s all too much for her to handle. Having him back home, safe and sound, the feeling of one of his hands holding her down as his fingers play with her, the sound of his voice praising her… Her eyes close, toes curling as pleasure washes over her body.

She comes to her senses again with the feeling of his lips on hers. (Y/N)’s hands find the back of his neck to bring him closer, savouring the heady taste of her on his tongue.

He breaks the kiss, getting rid of the rest of his clothes in a hurry as she watches, getting acquainted with this new version of him. She had patched him up enough times to distinguish his old scars from the new ones. He was stronger, had more muscle on his bones, looked sharper when he had been softer before.

There was no denying that the man who came back from the war wasn’t the same that left for it.

Joining her again, he positions himself between her legs, holding himself up on his elbows, as he kisses her again. Both of them take a sharp intake of breath when their bodies meet. He rocks against her, the friction making her hiss against his lips.

“Don’t tease,” she half warns, half begs.

Tommy smiles, parting her folds with one hand and rubbing his cock against her cunt, swearing against her ear.

“So wet,” he coos, rolling them around again, so she is straddling him.

He pulls her close, resting her forehead against his as she positions herself over him. Tommy’s strong hands guide her down his cock slowly. The feeling is better than what (Y/N) remembered and she has to fight the urge to just close her eyes and get lost in the sensation.

Maybe it would’ve been better if she had because the look of pure awe in his eyes is something that (Y/N) doesn’t know if she will be able to forget.

She lets him guide her at first. He is surprisingly gentle, waiting for her to get used to the stretch, setting a slow pace as he helps her move, dropping praises at her ear, of how good she feels, how wet she is, how well she is taking him.

It doesn’t take long for her to feel the familiar sensation of pleasure pooling down at the low of her belly, encouraging her to pick up a rhythm of her own. Hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage, (Y/N) rolls her hips more firmly against his, taking him all the way down, before increasing her speed.

“Fuck,” he pants against her ear, lips searching for hers as his fingers dig deeper onto her waist.

It feels too good, him filling her up, hitting so deep that it’s almost too easy to get lost in it. She grabs at his hair, tastes the sweat on his skin, traces the inked lines on his chest and arm while moaning his name.

“Just tonight?” the reminder comes out as a question, one that he answers against her lips, eyes locked on hers.

“Just tonight.”

Her chest tightens with his words but she doesn’t have time to delve into it, not when Tommy starts to thrust up into her and all she can feel is him, moving inside of her, lips on her skin as he groans her name.

She feels his cock throbbing and his release follows right after. He doesn’t relent though, sneaking a hand in between them to massage her clit while he moves her up and down his still hard cock. It doesn’t take long for her orgasm to hit her with full force, she is too far gone, becoming putty in his hands.

As the coil inside her belly snaps, (Y/N) gasps his name, searching for his lips in desperation. The pleasure is overwhelming, she doesn’t want it to end, doesn’t want to face him tomorrow morning and pretend that this meant nothing to her. A single tear escapes her eye, she feels his fingers brushing it off and opens her eyes to see the little frown on his face.

Kissing him again, she relinquishes the feeling of him still inside of her, trying to burn it into her memory, because she doesn’t know if he will still be there in the morning.

Taglist: @stressedandbandobessed7771 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @internalmess3 @giowritess @theshelbyclan @peakyxtommy

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grxywarxn · 5 years ago

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Revisiting Banana Fish, Almost Two Years Later.

*Spoiler warning for any new comers to the fandom.*

The Banana Fish fandom, to put it bluntly, is pretty much dead. I haven't been as active as I was when I first discovered the anime in October two years ago, but oddly enough, I think I still think about this series almost every day. I still think, even if only for a second, about Ash, about Eiji, about the impact their story, and all the other characters story, has had on me.

I'm really only posting this to ramble. To talk about the relationship between Eiji and Ash, and to of course, talk about the ending and Garden of Light. (Which was only in the manga for any anime onlys. I've also made a post on the ending when the last episode came out, but it was mainly manga focused and written horribly.)

I will begin first with the importance of the relationship:

Ash is a character who has been through a lot of shit. That much is clear from the first episode. (Papa Dino, trailing his hand down Ash's cheek with his possesive grip and condecending tone.)

Ash's story is difficult. Is it one of redemption? Yes, but no.

When Ash sees Eiji poll vault, when he sees Eiji fly through the air freely and gracefully, he too wants to do that. He wants to be able to let everything go and fly in the air, if only for a little bit. He is in awe of Eiji. In want of him.

*Gif credit: https://mobpsycho100.tumblr.com/post/175820001579?ref=weheartit*

Eiji is kind. And like Sing has stated, he finds a way to reach out to the lost people and leave some sort of imprint. Some sort of connection with them, albeit, unknowingly. But Ash is someone who needed someone like that to enter his life. Someone who could show him that there was an out, and if he wanted to take it, he could, somehow.

The beauty of seeing Eiji slowly help Ash out of the rut he's gotten himself in is something I was (and still am,) happy to have had the pleasure of seeing. It's Eiji Ash turns to whenever something happens. It's Eiji Ash immediatley thinks of when there’s trouble. And it's also Ash that Eiji is constantly thinking about. It's Ash Eiji wants everything to change for. He wishes constantly that things were different.

The relationship they have is this: equal. Sure, you could argue that it's not, considering the power Ash holds with the flick of his finger. But that power is never demonstrated on Eiji. The love and comfort they each have for each other is mirrored. I’ve never felt as if one loved each other less or more than the other.

One very important thing I want to talk about (this was a popular discussion among some fans when the anime was finishing it's course,) is that a loving relationship does not need to be sexual for it to be considered that; a relationship.

Sure, a common thing when people think of relationships is that. Kissing and sex. It's almost as though they need to be part of one for that relationship to be valid.

But you would have to be blind, or seriously stupid, to not be able to see the love Ash and Eiji have for each other. With their touches and the way they so clearly care for each other. It just confuses me so much how people could ever look at them and not think they were, in some aspect, romantically interested/with one another.

I just think it's really amazing to see something like that displayed so casually. There’s never any questioning among them. Never a moment when either expressed or wanted things to escalate and I think that’s so touching.

I will know discuss the ending, with a lot of aspects from my old post, but now with (hopefully) more concise thoughts.

The ending is this: heartbreaking.

Although I don't think I've seen a lot of this in the fandom, I know a common argument for why endings like Banana Fish shouldn't even be endings is that it shows there is no recovery from the life Ash has been through, and I disagree.

(This is not to say you can't have that conception.)

The ending is still confusing to me. No matter how many times I've tried to exam it. No matter how many times I've tried to argue with myself that, this is what it meant, I'm sure. I still can't come up with a clear answer that I enjoy.

There are so many questions: Why didn't Ash seek medical help? He would have known that those wounds weren't fatal. Why did he chose to let himself die? Was it because he couldn't bring himself to do this anymore? Was it because of an underlying guilt he felt for tying Eiji to himself?

One of the answers I often contemplate is this: Ash was tired. I think he really thought there wasn’t an easy, a foreseeable, out that would leave Eiji and him safe. That the offer Eiji gave him to come to Japan just wasn’t plausible. I think he really was just done.

I also think that when Ash read Eijis letter (that beautiful letter that still makes my chest tight,) he felt at peace. After reading, my soul is always with you (I’m literally having trouble typing this,) I think he knew that that was true. That wherever Ash went, Eiji would follow somehow. Eiji would somehow be tied to him.

I think in that moment, with it pretty much spelt out for him, Ash knew he was loved. And he thought that that love was enough. And that he could die, with the smile on his face, knowing this.

Lastly, although this will be very brief, I want to talk about Garden of Light. And how sad it really makes me that Eijin really did stick to those words: my soul is always with you.

Eiji has grown up, it has been nine years, his hair is longer, and still yet, he is back in New York and is still consumed by the thought of Ash.

It brings me immense amounts of pain to see Eiji still so stuck on Ash. Still not able to really accept what has happened. I even think him growing his hair out was a part of that.

Let’s compare it to Yut Lung, who grew his hair out in an attempt to stay close to his past. In an attempt to still be tied to his mother, the only person he was able (beside Blanca and Sing, who didn’t come until many years later,) to find solace in. But who left him.

Now with Eiji, the similarity here is this: Eiji was tied to Ash so strongly. They were incredibly important to each other (obviously,) Similar to how deeply Yut Lung and his mother were important to each other. (Although in different contexts.) But, I think he grew his hair out as an attempt to distance himself from Ash. To distance himself from that pain.

At the end of volume 19, Eiji finally played those photos from so long ago. He was finally able to find some way to accept what happened. Even if only a little bit. And this fills me with such intense emotion. To finally see Eiji cry because things can’t change. I’ll never come back from that.

I don’t think Banana Fish will ever be far from me. It’s been two years and I still think about it with such intense fondness and sadness. This was a series that greatly impacted me, and for that I am grateful.

#banana fish #bananafish #asheiji #ash lynx #eiji okumura #yut lung lee #lee yut lung #ash and eiji #eiji and ash #sing soo ling #studio mappa #garden of light #I think i'll go cry now #ash lynx x eiji okumura #I love them way too much #I really want that last photo as a tattoo #banana fish anime #banana fish manga

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