#i wonder if he will ever want to speak with me again.

[clarkeybabey]

❝ i wouldn't give these nobodies no sympathy ❞

# summary; somethings do really get under his skin

# playlist; luther - kendrick lamar (ft. sza)

# word count; 748

# note; ive seen some distasteful comments on our bf lately. leave my man alone, he's the chillest guy. #parasocial. lazy ending im so sorry

Arthur absolutely adores his job, who wouldn't just want to hang out with their mates all day or film themselves reacting to Reddit posts to pay their bills? None of this was on his life bingo card, but he didn't think he'd change a single thing about his current situation. That was until he started collaborating with larger YouTubers.

Their fans always found a way to make him out to be the butt of the joke 24/7. He's been on social media for a while now, and of course, he understood that being unreasonably disliked came with his job, he just wished that he could express his feelings without being seen as 'soft'. It's almost as if the more he tries to ignore it all, the more comments emerge.

Some of his friends who recently began to gain traction were nearly completely dodging the brutal comments and he couldn't figure out why. Not that he wants them to experience it, because it's awful, he wouldn't wish it upon his worst enemy, but what do they have that he doesn't?

When you return from grocery shopping, he's sat in his desk chair tapping a socked foot. You take immediate notice of the furrow in his brow he seems to be scrolling through something, "You okay, baby?" Arthur startles a bit, seemingly having not realized your presence, he hums wordlessly, not bothering to look up at you.

His lack of acknowledgment makes you frown slightly. You let your purse slide off your shoulder, landing with a thunk in a pile at the end of his desk. You place a hand on his knee, bringing his anxiety-riddled movements to a halt. Finally, he looks up at you just in time for you to speak again, "Tell me."

His reply comes out sounding almost offended, "Tell you what?" He's playing stupid, but it's not going to work, not even he's been convinced by his words. You've been to him before he even knew you were home.

Your head tilts to the side and you fold your arms over your chest and without another sound from you, he knows he lost, "Just people on the internet, that's all." He's bitter and hurt, which is very evident as he continues, "Don't think they realize I'm human too."

A glance at the glowing screen in his hands tells you what he's been doing since you left a half hour ago. You take the phone from him, setting it on top of his mousepad, taking a second to situate yourself in his lap, "Listen, I know you really wanna know how people feel about you." You pause momentarily to place a chaste kiss on either cheek, "We've talked about how bad it is for you."

"It's so difficult to pretend I don't care," He begins, stopping when he feels like his throat's going to close, uncontrollable tears dot his waterline, breaking your heart. "I wish I could understand more, but I just don't know what its like, 'm not sure if I ever will be."

Your index finger finds his stubbled jaw, stroking it as you do your best to console him, if only you could take everything he's feeling and place it onto yourself even if only for a day, he deserves a break. "Those people are nobodies, they're just jealous." He leans into your touch, "You'd think I'd be used to it all by now," he mumbles against your palm, pressing a kiss to it.

Shaking your head involuntarily as he pours out all of his thoughts, but when he says that it pisses you off, "Shouldn't have to be used to it, the internet's a joke. You're a wonderful, intelligent person with opinions and feelings that are allowed to be expressed," words tumble from your lips so fast you can't control them he just sits there, a hand on your side drawing shapes on the skin where your top had ridden up, taking in all you say.

"I'm a chronic people pleaser, but I think you have me beat," you say wagging your brows, playing with his hair, finally he cracks a smile. A sigh of relief escapes you at that, "Think we should lower your screen time."

"Yes, mum," he salutes you, and a loud laugh bubbles up through him making you giggle, he pokes your tummy, "or maybe we can just run away together," he suggests kissing the upturned corner of your mouth.

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

[fenya-scribbles]

U

♥--------♥--------♥

Pairing: idol!Bangchan x fem!Reader

Other Characters: none

Summary: You break up with Chan, but he won't let you go that easily.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort?

Content warnings: there's a break up happening, lots of heartache and crying

Word Count: 985

Screenshots: 3

A/N: *my life, my love is you* U is just a great song and it hurts me so good every time I listen to it. Also, this went through several rewrites, but I also didn't really proofread it lol. I almost cried writing it though because hurting Chan even in fiction is just cruel and it hurt my soul.

♥--------♥--------♥

"Well, I'm sorry my passion is such an inconvenience for you!", Chan yelled. He was fuming, restlessly pacing through his living room. "That's not what I was saying and you know it", you retorted from where you were sitting on the couch. You were angry as well, but more than that you were tired. This was the third time this week the two of you blew up at each other. Once again you'd felt neglected, once again he'd gotten lost in his work, swamped with appointments, too busy being an idol.

And it was thoroughly exhausting to fight with him. Because you loved him with all your heart, you did not want to fight. But you also didn't want to feel left on the sidelines, like an afterthought. Things had been going downhill for a few months now. You wondered how you'd ever managed to balance the relationship and his profession. He'd asked you to quit your job and just follow him wherever he went. But that was not fair, you thought, that you had to give up your own dreams to be with him.

"This is not working, Chan." It hurt you in your soul to speak the words, but you felt yourself reaching a breaking point. "We are not working anymore." He stopped in his tracks and stared at you. "You don't mean that", he said, all his rage suddenly deflated. "No, I do, actually. Look at us, we're a mess. All we do lately is fight." "So what, you want to break up? Throw us away?" You felt the tears coming, felt your heart clenching painfully in your chest. "I don't know, Chan. All I know is that I can't do this anymore."

Chan took a seat on the couch beside you and reached for your hands, but you pulled away. "Please don't make this harder than it already is", you whispered as tears started running down your cheeks. "Baby...", was all he said as tears also filled his eyes. "I'm sorry, Chan. We tried...I tried....but I'm exhausted." "Don't do this, babe", he begged, reaching for your hands again. You didn't pull away this time, letting him grip you tightly. "I love you", he said. "I love you too", you said, "but it's not enough anymore."

***

The following weeks were torture. You went into survival mode, functioning at work and falling apart at home. You barely slept, and if you did, you were crying yourself to sleep. After three days of total isolation, your friends started to worry and showed up unannounced at your place. They kept doing that, making sure you ate and took at least somewhat care of yourself. They tried to cheer you up, tried you distract you, but all you thought about was Chan.

Everyday you asked yourself if you did the right thing. Everyday you reminded yourself of why you left, why you had to break it off. Everyday your thumb hovered at least once over the "unblock" button in his contact on your phone. Everyday you felt less like yourself, less like a person, less alive. It was as if breaking up exhausted you far more than fighting with Chan ever had.

Three weeks went by like that. Three weeks of you walking around like a zombie. Three weeks of missing Chan with every fibre of your being, missing his hugs, his voice, his love. And then you couldn't take it anymore, your thumb finally hitting that damned "unblock" button.

You were swamped by messages from him.

Your heart lurched in your chest with every message you read. You had to go over it several times, rereading every line, eyes blurry with tears. And by the end you finally realised what he was saying, so you got up and checked your mailbox. There was indeed an envelope in there, your name written on it in Chan's handwriting with a heart next to it.

Hastily, you went to the living room, opening the envelope on the way. There was a USB Stick inside and a small note.

Y/N, I miss you so much. I made this song for you to show you that I'm willing to fight for this relationship. Please give me the chance to fix this. I love you, Chan.

You started at the note, thumb brushing over the handwritten words. A tear landed on in next to his name. You missed him so much. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, then you grabbed your laptop from the couch table and inserted the USB Stick. On it was one singular audio file: For Y/N

With shaking hands you opened it and the song started. You fill up my mind 24/7... It was beautiful, hauntingly so, the lyrics piercing your heart. When it was done, it just started over again, and you let it. You played it on a loop, again and again, your quiet tears turning into full on sobs, as you fell apart on your couch.

It took you a while to process the song. To process Chan's messages and the lyrics and the fact that he had dropped a USB stick in your mailbox just a mere hour ago, because it was the only way he thought to get the song to you. He'd been outside your door, so close to you yet so far away still.

When your sobs finally died down and your mind stopped racing at light speed, you knew what to do. You picked up your phone, Chan's contact still open, and pressed the call button. He picked up immediately.

"Y/N?", he said hesitantly. You stayed quiet for a moment, words stuck in your throat. "Please say something", Chan said, voice shaky. "I listened to the song", you managed. There was another pause. "Can you come over?", you asked. You could hear him let out a breath of relief. "Open the door."

♥--------♥--------♥

Masterlist

[tinum]

Can I request a fix where reader had heart surgery and they are kinda loopy after the anesthesia and just flirt with harumasa??? Ok it's not realistic to meet someone directly after surgery but I think it would be cute XD

Heartbeat - Harumasa x Reader

Warnings: Little bit of angst, probably incorrect portrayal of heart surgery, errors WordCount: 966 Notes: I felt like readers personality was closer to his in this fic but its okay because he was just worried!

When Harumasa first heard about your surgery from Soukaku, he could barely contain his anxiety. Thoughts of all the complications swirled in his brain, prompting him to reach for his phone with a shaky hand. He immediately texted Yanagi that he would not be going in to work for the day. She understood your situation, and though she wanted to respect your wishes, she knew Harumasa wouldn't back down. Not when it came to you.

Harumasa was no stranger to hospital visits; in fact, he was quite friendly with the staff. He knew the ins and outs, the sterile coldness, the checking in, the waiting. He sat for what seemed like hours, his leg bouncing in place and a deep pit in his stomach. Whenever a door opened, he would snap out of his trance, hoping it would be your doctor.

When the time to visit came, he was leading the doctor. The halls were practically mapped in his mind. A few turns down hallways and up an elevator would lead you to the recovery ward.

This ward in particular always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. The walls seemed to be painted with such a vibrant hope: to heal and never return. His eyes had grown used to the colors; they'd grown dull and hope seemed like a foolish notion. Could it really be classified as recovery if coming back was the only outcome?

"We already administered them pain medication so they should be resting. Try not to do anything that'll increase their heart rate," the doctor advised. He nodded, not fully listening. It's not that he didn't care about protocol; no, he quite understood the importance of it. He just couldn't bear another moment wondering if you were okay. "They're strong. A full recovery is likely."

It was as if the doctor could sense his worry. Maybe he noticed his shaky palm reaching for the doorknob, or he was just doing his job. Either way, he had to see you.

Upon stepping into the room, a wave of frigid air struck his cheeks. It was dimly lit, the only light coming from the lines on a nearby monitor. You were lying on your side, slowly twisting upon hearing someone enter the room.

"Haru?" Your voice was hoarse.

He cringed at the weakness coming from you. In a way, it was painful to see you like this: frail and sick. "Hey, how you feeling?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

"Like I just had surgery." He smiled at that, he supposed it was a good enough sign. You weren't the type to hide your struggle behind a cheesy joke like he did. He admired that about you.

A few moments pass before he speaks again. "I didn't know."

"I thought I hid it well enough. You weren't supposed to find out." You look up at him; his brows are furrowed and his eyes hold some sort of pain behind them. Maybe it was just the meds, but he seems more beautiful than ever.

"Soukaku told me," he lets out a sigh, "you can tell me anything, you know that, right?" Pulling a chair from the wall, he sets it next to your bed.

"I know. I just didn't want to worry you." Why at this moment did you decide to be selfless? Though he couldn't fault you. It was as if you had taken a page from his own book.

"I'd be worried either way," he murmured, letting his gaze fall under the weight of something tender. "I care about you."

"I don't get it, why are you so worried? It's just surgery." You laugh, a smile rising to your lips. It was rare that Harumasa was this soft. Usually, his tenderness would be waved off by an onslaught of jokes.

"I already said I care about you. You're practically family." His eyes analyze your face. He couldn't quite tell if you were being serious or just fishing for more heartfelt words.

You place a palm to your heart in mock hurt. "Ouch, Harumasa! Did you just family-zone me? That hurt more than the surgery!"

"Oh, c'mon. You know what I mean." His hand wraps around yours, nuzzling it into his cheek. He is warm, or the room is getting hotter. "I care about you. More than just a friend."

Harumasa doesn't miss the way your cheeks flare up or the sudden beeps from the monitor. He retracted his hand in a swift motion and stood up, his expression showing worry. "Are you all right?"

"What's wrong, Harumasa?" you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows at him. "Did you do something bad?"

Running a hand through his hair, he stares at the monitor. Your heartbeats slowed down and no doctors seemed to be rushing in. He was sure he was going to faint, the thought of possibly hurting you fresh in his mind.

"So, was that a confession?" You snap him out of his trance with your teasing voice. His eyes snap to yours, giving you an unimpressed look. You were going to give him a heart attack one of these days if you continued like this. The more he thought about it the more he didn't mind, maybe they'd put him in the room next to yours.

"You," He scoffs, flicking his finger against your forehead lightly, "need to get some rest."

"Aw, running already, Asaba?" As much as you tried to stifle it, a yawn slipped it's way out your throat. His gaze softened when he realized he was making the correct choice. You needed rest.

"Nah, just leaving before you make me do something that'll get me into trouble with your doctor." You didn't catch it from your angle, but his cheeks blushed with a quiet warmth of his own.

[buttercupblu143]

*clears throat* whale...it's something

Satoru's Psyche P3 - Psycho!Gojo x Nurse!Reader

(not gone cap chat, there's so many excerpt i could've pulled from this chapter, it was hard asf to choose so 😬)

“You just don’t seem like yourself today,” you say carefully, studying him.  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” he fires back, his tone light but threaded with a subtle warning, though it doesn’t land because your mind is already spinning, beginning to wonder…if something is actually bothering this impenetrable terror. If anything could get under his skin?  The silence between you is getting to you though, thick with unspoken tension and tangoing with his eyes that are duller than you’d like and make you look away. Your gaze drops to your clipboard, fingers softly drumming against its edge, the muffled rhythm failing to drown out your thoughts. Swallowing them down feels impossible when they keep burrowing in, clawing at your throat for answers until it feels unbearable, daring you over and over again to poke the bear and find out what’s been digging at you ever since you first heard your name and Satoru Gojo’s in the same sentence.  But don’t be stupid.  And don’t let whatever charade Gojo’s putting on fool you. All it takes is one wrong move or word to tip this delicate scale into chaos. You know the risks—will never shake off how heavy they hang on your shoulders—and yet you almost feel helpless to resist how it pulls you in like a magnet, drawing a shallow breath to push you through as you take the plunge anyway.  “We’re going to talk about the incident,” you begin, slow and steady, relaxing your body. “What do you remember about that day? What were you feeling?” His eyes snap to you and there’s a pause, the kind that makes your chest go tight. You might as well have said the name Voldemort, the question you’ve been wanting to ask slipping from your tongue after waiting the longest for it to appear on paper and give you permission to do so.  You hold your breath as his gaze drifts back to the window as if it holds the truth he doesn’t want to say aloud. “Did it feel good?” you press, cutting through the silence. “What did that power feel like?” You lean in just enough to remind him of the space between you and Gojo shifts, your voice coming more softly this time. “Do you still feel it?” It’s as faint as whisper, but he hears you loud and clear, and when his eyes finally meet yours again, his grin returns. But it’s thin.  He sits a bit taller, head cocking. “You’re asking all the right questions,” he says, his voice a shade darker than before. “But are you really ready for the answers?”

i wanna fucking tear you apart P2 - Vampire SuguChoso x Reader

“Well, well.” He circles you. “What do we have here?”  Oh, fuck.  You knew they were real but never imagined them looking like this. Feeling like this. The way he speaks, you’d think he was trying to seduce you rather than trying to eat you up like mere nano-seconds ago. He’s not just ominous—he’s radiating threat, his aura alone making you want to shrink into the ground and your blood turn to ice. You always knew you were a snack, but he’s looking at you like dinner, licking his lips, as your hands fly to cover your neck—as if that’ll help much.  But what could you possibly say that won’t end up with your blood splattered all over the cobblestone just seconds after finally reaching your destination? You made a deal with the universe, dammit.

ty for the tag Kali and making me stress about choosing the perfect excerpt as if i didn't have enough writing woes on my plate 😅. don't ask me why i didn't follow the rules, i can't read .-.|tags: @halohelene @nkogneatho @ryomens-vixen

silly wip tag game!◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

show us a paragraph, line or dialogue out of context from your current wip[s]. if you aren't a writer, feel free to share one from the last fic you read! ♡

these are from three different wips, the last one is something i wrote in december 2024 (those who remember me talking about nanami and a desi reader...yea), and the second one is something my aashi (@fushitoru) has been asking for since the beginning of time [hint: salaryman choso]

— npt: @gojocon @norikuna @sonnytoru @starmapz @aishi-toru @baepsays @gojosoups @indiewritesxoxo @madamechrissy + anyone else

[the-raven-and-the-tower]

Viago de Riva; forgotten son with a found family of assassins (a brief but angsty dive)

Born one royal bastard of many to King Fulgeno II of Antiva, Viago was born without a lot of choices, but one very large one;

Exile or the Antivan Crows.

VIago was the only one of all Fulgeno's bastards that chose the Crows, a choice that put him on a path of shadows and blood. Turning his back on the only home he has ever known for the ruthless world of the Crows, Viago had to forge his own house and find his own family, turning his back on a royal lineage that never wanted or acknowledged him.

Viago has walked in both worlds, where betrayal can come from any direction and alliances are often temporary - in either world, his survival has hinged time and time again on his vigilance and natural mistrust of others. More than once, the only thing that has kept him alive was the way he builds tolerance to poisons and insists on testing everything he eats. I have to wonder if Viago has ever truly rested, he's always alert, always keeping one step ahead of all the threats on every side - always in danger, both as a bastard who could be seen as a threat to the legitimate line and as a Crow Talon surrounded by ambitious assassins.

And then there's his relationship with Teia 💜

I love the humanity of Viago's struggle to love and be loved. As a royal bastard, he would have been inherently unwanted and constantly reminded of his illegitimacy - daily reminders to ingrain a perpetual sense of unworthiness and isolation into him. I love the honesty of how he struggles to open up and be vulnerable, even with someone like Teia from within the world of the Crows.

The two of them live in a dangerous world, where personal relationships can become weapons in the wrong hands. Viago has every reason to shy away from Teia (and sometimes does), yet that inherent need for perception and connection drags him out of safety and back into her arms, time and time again.

All of that to say loooooooooooook at this fourth draft of a letter Teia is helping Viago write to send to his dad about the situation in Treviso with the Butcher.

King's Draft: Action on Behalf of Antiva

As Seventh Talon, I give notice that the Antivan Crows have drawn a contract against the enemies of Treviso, the Antaam. (Teia)

Teia, the Seventh Talon, is writing to inform of the situation, rather than Viago (Fifth Talon). We don't know if she's stepping up to protect Viago from his asshole father or if Viago doesn't speak to the king often on principle (he does in prior Dragon Age content), or if this is simply how it is done - maybe there's an existing agreement among the Crows to avoid political complications by keeping the king and his son seperate. Any way the cookie crumbled, I like these crumbs.

It is not the Antaam. (Viago)

We aren't required to give His Majesty a point-by-point, but he's your blood, Viago. It is a courtesy to let him know we are going to war. (Teia)

"He's your blood, Viago." I don't know if this is a reminder of his unique ability to bridge two vastly different worlds or if it is just a reminder of political significance, but either way it struck me as significant. Despite his royal blood being a source of personal pain, it provides Viago leverage in ways that other Crow Talons could never wield, not even Caterina.

The occupying Antaam are strong, driven, fanatical. They cannot be reasoned with because reason is just a weapon to be resisted. They can be killed, of course, but removing a leader does not remove their desire to be led. They are a force we must contend with, but they are NOT Treviso's true enemy. (Viago)

A name, Viago. Contracts require a stabber and a stabbee. (Teia)

Teia (child street thief turned Crow) is the pragmatic and operational, focusing on fulfilling the requirements as a formality, while our baby boi Viago the Strategic is firmly honed in on reality and understanding the details. Teia wants to take the next step to move forward, Viago wants to understand the problem before making the next move. They are so different and I love the way their differences lend their relationship strength, rather than pulling it apart.

Teia, you know my doubts. The Butcher took the city too easily, and there is dealing with the gods there that I dread to know. But I fear that the true enemy of Treviso is not known because they ARE known, merely unrevealed. (Viago)

"The Hand That Leashed Treviso." Is that nebulous enough? (Teia)

I like this. Sarcastic, yet she's showing that she's listening to Viago's concerns and hearing them.

Yes, that is a series of someones we can eventually kill. But not something we can send my father. (Viago)

And he acknowledges being heard, but points out the impracticality of presenting such a target to his father. Again, I think it's fucking significant that he refers to Fulgeno as his father and not as the king. Whether he's tying himself verbally to his unique position, subconsciously reacting to his abandonment by the royal family or just responsing to Teia's "he's your blood" earlier, it feels powerful. Like the kick in the gonads I'd like to five Fulgemo.

On to draft five, then. Neri, begin again. (Teia)

It says a lot to me that they're having this entire conversation in front of their scribe. Doubtless someone sworn to secrecy already, it just strikes me as wholesome that they're comfortable having these disagreements in front of Neri. They may not agree yet, but they're committed to it. And their disagreement has no weight on their opinions of each other.

Viago de Riva, Fifth Talon Andarateia Cantori, Seventh Talo Transcribed: Neri de Acutis

[afyrian]

line seven - cold shoulder m.list

    atsumu sits in the station's break room, legs crossed on another chair as he sips on an espresso. the spike of caffeine is the only thing keeping him awake as he waits patiently for sakusa to get there. ever since his discussion with you, he's wondered what happened to the spark that sakusa seemed to carry. the way he joked with you, talked as if he knew your coffee order and how you made the bed. 

  sakusa sat across from him at the dinner, rather than beside him. he sat next to you, knees touching, hands brushing. and atsumu found himself watching the two of you around work the next day, both acting like you didn't know each other. so, all atsumu can do is wait patiently for sakusa to come and give him the answers he desperately needs and desires.

  he's tried messaging him relentlessly about the situation. 'why was she upset?' 'why didn't you make her happier?' 'what did you do?' atsumu always knew that sakusa wasn't good with getting close to someone. he pulls back and isolates himself so that he can't be hurt. but in the end, atsumu can always tell, he's hurt nonetheless.

  "what are you still doing here?" atsumu is pulled from his thoughts when he looks up to see sakusa standing in the doorway, hand holding a decorated mug.

  he gets up from the chair, tossing his empty cup into the nearby trash can. walking over to sakusa, he peeks out the door and immediately gets to talking, "waiting for you! what happened with y/n? you haven't been answering any of my messages."

  "i haven't been because it's none of your business-"

  "you're my best friend of course it's my business. you two looked like you were having fun, like actual fun! something you never seem to indulge in. and then all of a sudden you're icing her out?" atsumu watches as sakusa sets a pod into the coffee machine, setting his mug below the spout.

  sakusa's jaw tightens and he keeps his eyes on the machine, unable to look at his friend. "we did have fun, but it's nothing more. i'm telling you now, nothing happened. we just had fun for one night and now we're coworkers again," he finally looks over at atsumu, noticing the way he immediately laughs, unbelieving. 

  "you're a fucking liar, sakusa. a fucking liar. 'nothing happened' you do know i know you by now? that i know when you've pulled away?" atsumu meets his gaze, making sure the two of them are on the same level, that they both know how unbelievably scared he is. 

  "what do you want me to say atsumu?"

  "that you'll talk to her, give it a chance. you’ve closed yourself off for far too long and it’s time to actually indulge in your feelings… which i know you have,” he grabs one of the bags of chips off of the counter, popping it open.

  sakusa looks back down at his mug as the coffee finishes flowing. there’s a part of him that knows that atsumu is right. that that night with you made him feel so free to be himself. to talk about things that he normally wouldn’t discuss with just a coworker. and yet he can’t help that bewildering feeling that forces him to back away before it gets too serious. 

  “i’ll try.. if you promise not to say anything else. you speak a word of this to y/n and i’m never going to onigiri miya with you again. and i’ll convince osamu to stop giving you free meals,” sakusa grabs a hold of his mug, listening to atsumu dig into the chips.

  atsumu narrows his eyes and nods, “okay, but if you pull away again, then i’m gonna hound you again. i’ll even shout it to the whole office.”

  rolling his eyes, sakusa gives atsumu a short wave and heads back to your booth. he walks down the same hallway he always walks but there’s an energy to him that he doesn’t normally have. he can feel his legs carrying longer strides, eager to get back to his seat. sakusa’s hands feel jittery, like he’s already had the full cup of coffee. however, he knows it’s because he’s still scared.

  he’s still scared to get to know you, to break down his walls and finally let someone in. it’s terrifying. yet he knows how freeing it could be to finally have someone to love. his hand grabs the door’s handle, a static charge shocking his finger, not helping with how fast his heart was already beating. 

  entering the booth, he looks over to where you typically sit. and there you are, some notes sprawled across the desk as you scroll through your computer’s list of songs. there’s a way you look so intriguing when you’re focused. fingers holding up your head from your temple to your cheek, biting your lip incessantly.

  sakusa almost thought he got out unscathed from looking at you for far too long, however, you quickly look up and meet his gaze. “good morning,” he nods, pursing his lips before heading off into his sound room.

  you let out a short sigh, eyes narrow as you look back at him, “good morning…”

  he wants to pretend like your cold demeanor isn’t his fault. however, sakusa tends to get a moment of clarity after his closures, realizing just how cold he can be towards others. and now, he’s just receiving the same treatment. doesn’t mean that he doesn’t look up at you every few seconds. from the moment you start the show to when you take your first break, sakusa is sure that you can feel his gaze boring into your face.

  much to his dismay, it seems your response to leave the room as quickly as you can, avoiding him at any and all costs. “i have some making up to do…”

taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@jadeoru @yessimo @lale-txt @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sugacor3

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@ghostreader0307

[marshmellin]

Galadriel is a kick-ass, legendary warrior in Arondír's eyes. I suspect other rank-and-file elven soldiers view her similarly.

Every time (every. time.) Arondír is on screen with Galadriel, we get to see how much true awe he looks at her with. Arondír gives us the unique perspective of how Galadriel is perceived as a warrior among other elven soldiers. Gil-galad and Elrond (as well as Círdan and Celebrimbor) are all very familiar with Galadriel and her bullshit. They know her great deeds on the battlefield. In some cases, their in-show vibe has been like: Yeah, the darkness, the shadows, the evil. Valar, we know, you are older than the sun itself. YES, we will text you if the darkness returns, grandma, just staaaaaaahp fighting so much.

Arondír looks at her in a completely different way. He looks at her with the eyes of one who knows of her great deeds, and can not believe he is now in the same room as her. The look on his face, IMO, says she's damn near a mythical warrior at this point for him. (To get poetic and therefore less accurate with it; Galadriel's status to this rank-and-file elven soldier is: Athena. The Morrígan. Freyja. Ishtar. Durga.)

Arondír's face when Galadriel:

"So, Theo, m'boy, that is Lady Galadriel, commander of the Northern Armies, and she's here to save every Valar-damned one of us. I can not believe she's here, are you kidding me? She is a LEGEND. Put some respect on her name and heal her already, Elrond, why are you standing there like an idiot if you have a magic ring? Are all High Elves this insane?"

Arondír's face when not Galadriel:

I think there’s a deep beauty in seeing just how much Galadriel has inspired other elven soldiers, and how long she has been fighting. For Arondír to say her name like that, with such relief and awe in his voice, truly says something to how he — a normal elven dude who used to be a grower before he was hauled into mandatory watchguard duty or whatever the hell — views her.

I don't get the sense that he and Galadriel are work besties, so to speak. So that makes me think Arondír knows of Galadriel and her skill from what he has heard of her — her renown, her reputation. Potentially her magical hair color.

And this warrior respect she has won is highlighted again. Arondír knows her enough to trust her and listen about when to attack Adar outside Eregion. The man wants blood even if it's his own, and she talks him down. Galadriel is the reason he is alive rn, candidly. Her on-the-field advice to both him and Theo — to pause, to show restraint, to plan for tomorrow — is indicative of the type of leader she is.

This, to me, also makes the nearly-kinda-sorta mutiny when we first see Galadriel hit so much harder. If she is this near-mythic warrior and general known by all, and soldiers like Arondír know of her greatness from stories of what she has done — if she's THAT GIRL from a warrior and leader perspective and yes JRR did in fact make her that girl — then yes, that mini-mutiny at Gil-galad's order stings so much more. Not only that Gil took command of these five troops and said "follow her until you reach X and pull back regardless of her command." That sucks a lot. But I see additional pain there, IMO, because she could interpret that move as Gil-galad saying "her judgment as a warrior and leader can't be trusted. She no longer is the mythical warrior we need." A hit to her reputation in front of other soldiers, not just a censure of the actions she took. Yikes bikes on your timing there, Ereinion.

Bonus Trek Thought:

Truly, the first time Arondír said “Galadriel” with wonder to Theo, he instantly made me think of BOIMLER in the SNW/LWD crossover ep! He is bashful and giddy about meeting Number One on the original Enterprise. GIDDY. Every time he sees her, he is in awe. And it's because she was a legend to him. Her story inspired him to join Starfleet; set him on his life's path, literally. She was the coolest officer and fighter and scientist he had ever heard of.

his hero. and now he's meeting her.

An additional note: We can read the look on Arondír's face as romantic, too, don’t get me wrong -- ship and let ship. Would it be the Arondriel girlies (gn)?. But jokes aside, I don’t want to relegate Arondir’s closeness and warrior bond with her to romantic only. Miv has unstoppable chemistry and so does Ismael. Hot people are hot, more breaking news at 11.

[flawssy-227]

Fogwell’s pt.1 Matt murdock x f!reader

pairing: College!matt murdock x fem!reader

a/n: this is a repost from almost THREE years ago on my old blog! since the new daredevil is coming out soon... maybe I'll revisit my favorite hell's kitchen baby boy.

I will always do my best to leave the reader description as vague as possible (albeit female, but I am a woc, so will also always have woc in mind in my writing)

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: mention of beer, language

You remembered the first time you met him.

It was a Sunday at Fogwell’s, the gym was closed except for a private training session you had held earlier, some women from a hair salon in Hell’s Kitchen wanting to learn self defense.

You heard the little bell chime above the front door that signaled someone was coming in.

“We’re closed,” you called out without turning around. You were preoccupied with taking off your hand wraps as you heard him tentatively tap his way into the gym.

“Oh, sorry,” he started. “I was hoping I could speak with the owner.”

“You’re lookin’ at her,” you stated definitively. You took in his appearance, tall, somewhat built, a slight blush crossing his cheeks, and stubble you almost wanted to reach out and run your fingers across. He was cute you thought, as you tried searching his eyes before realizing they were pointed downward, a walking stick clutched tightly in his hands. “What can I help you with?”

“You don’t sound like the owner of a boxing gym in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen,” the man cocked his head to the side with a small smirk.

You scoffed a bit. “It’s my uncle’s gym, but he is on an extended vacation in Florida. Till he comes back, if he comes back, I’m the owner-operator,” you stated matter of factly. “You gonna question me or tell me what you want?” you said as you finished unwinding your hand wraps.

His small smirk extended into a full grin as he took a step closer to you and extended his hand for you to shake. “I’m Matt. I uh, I wanted to see if I could train here?”

You shook his hand, large and warm in yours. “Yeah, sure. We have open gym from 11-4, Monday through Saturday, kickboxing classes during the week at 5, boxing after that…” you trailed off. “What are you looking for?”

“Something more… private, actually.”

Now it was your turn to cock your head questioningly. As if he could feel it, he started speaking again.

“Even though I’m blind, I can feel people watching me. I know they’re wondering what someone like me is doing at a boxing gym, but I don’t need the judgement or little comments they make that they think I can’t hear. Plus my dad used to box here, way back in the day. I just want to be able to train in peace, privately. After hours?” he explained.

“After hours?” 

“Just a couple of days a week. I’ll stay out of your way. I promise.”

There was sincerity in his voice as you weighed your options. He seemed perfectly nice, innocent even. You usually stayed late in the gym most nights anyway, either looking over Fogwell’s books or training by yourself. Matt training after hours wouldn’t really impact you either way, plus, if you were being honest, you could use all the extra help financially.

“I’ll tell you what, you can stay today. I’ll be in the office, working on some things. Use the gym, do whatever you want, and I’ll make a decision after. Does that sound fair?”

Matt nodded his head, still clutching his walking stick. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“No worries, Matt.” You began walking your way back to your office before turning around again. “You’re a Murdock, right?”

Matt was in the middle of unzipping his jacket when he turned to look back at you quizzically. 

“You said your dad trained here. It was Jack, right? Jack Murdock?”

He slowly nodded back at you. 

You walked backward to your office, taking in the man in front of you. “Nice to meet you, Murdock.”

That was about 5 weeks ago, and Matt had been making regular appearances in your gym ever since. He would show up after hours a few times during the week and on weekends, sometimes giving you a call and begging, pleading you to come back and unlock the gym for him. You always would, knowing he would slip you a few extra dollars or bring you a 6-pack of beer to show his gratitude. You knew it wasn’t the only reason you would go out of your way to let Matt into Fogwell’s, but he didn’t have to know that.

You had a quickly developing crush on him. He was sweet, kind, and smart. Not hard to look at, either. He would flirt with you sometimes too, you were sure of it. Complimenting your perfume, praising your generosity. Sometimes you felt like he could read your mind, calling out your name or coming into the office every time you would daydream about him. You would always ask him to stay later when he brought you beer, too. Sometimes he would, and you two would spend an extra hour sitting around and talking about life. You really began to look forward to his calls, feeling a little lonely if you didn’t hear from him for a couple of days. 

There were other reasons you wanted to see him, too. He would do things, when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Things that made you question how much his disability really affected him. So, when he gave you a call at 9 PM on a Saturday, begging, no, pleading you to open up the gym for him, you immediately said yes.

He was waiting for you at the front door, body perking up as he heard you approaching.

“You got here fast,” he said.

“Murdock, you know I live upstairs.”

“I know, I know. I’m just surprised you didn’t have plans. It is Saturday, after all.”

You scoffed as you held the door open for him. “Here to make me feel bad or to train?”

He laughed as he made himself comfortable in the gym. He took off his hoodie and you made a sharp inhale at his toned stomach. Was it just you, or was he getting ripped?

“Can I ask you a question?” you asked, walking toward the ring in the center of the gym.

“Sure,” he said, rolling his neck and shaking out his muscles.

“You ever think about getting in the ring?” You hopped up onto the platform and lowered the middle rope to climb in.

Matt looked at you, a smile tugging on his lips. “Can’t say that I have. Might not be easy for me to see who I’m fighting, on account of the no seeing thing.”

“Humor me,” you said, trying to take a slow deep breath as the shirtless man made his way toward you.

Matt walked to the ring, reaching his hand out to feel for the platform before climbing into it himself.

You slowly walked around the ring while Matt stayed close to the ropes, trying to decide the best way to approach your theory.

“I’ve been watching you these past few weeks,” you started, centering yourself directly across from him.

His eyebrows quirked up at your confession. “Oh?”

You nodded your head. “You’d probably be a tough opponent. Natural ability, a lot of fight in you.”

Matt’s smile grew bigger, his chest puffing out slightly at your compliment. He was clearly about to make some clever, flirty remark back at you, as he always did, but you took advantage of his distracted state and slid your keys out of your pocket, throwing them straight at his head.

You watched as his brows furrowed, only slightly, his head popping straight up. You don’t know it, but Matt feels the breeze shift in the gym when your arm quickly moves to throw the keys, he smells your deodorant, the fragrance being released because of the little bits of friction caused by your movement, and he tastes the metallic of the keys as they fly through the air.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You had a feeling, but you were still surprised to see Matt clutching your keys directly in front of his eyes. He looks at you, eyes pointed slightly downward, a devilish smirk plastered on his face, knowing you caught him.

“I fucking knew it!”

would you guys like more Matt? I have a very very old angsty wip that I'm tempted to finish if anybody is interested!

[ryuzakemo128]

Ghoap x Female Reader

Content Warnings: Female reader is Italian and speaks Italian. Swearing. Cursing. Insults thrown around. Reader talks about their wealthy family ties. Philosophy talk about death and what it means to accept death. Car accident in somewhat graphic detail I guess?

Note: If you want more of this type of thing, let me know, and I'll whip up a part two in a heart beat.

Note 2: Camion is Italian for 'truck'. At least, I think it is. But please correct me if that is incorrect.

You were still unconscious from the car accident, you weren’t the one who caused this forsaken mess, and yet you were the one who suffered the consequences of somebody else’s actions. Doctors said you suffered greatly, but then again anyone who was railed by a camion would have.

The term ‘suffered greatly’ is absolutely vague and at this point? It felt almost deliberate. Who knew when you would wake up? Let alone wake up at all? The nerves bundled up inside the both of them. Unsure why they had insisted it was safe enough for you to go there alone.

As the rain hammered down upon the asphalt road. As the camion came beside you inside the car that was small enough to be crumpled with too much ease. You didn’t see it coming. Not that you would have now, would you? It wasn’t like you could predict the future and considering the past is set in stone. It wouldn’t do any good trying to change what already happened.

“I will not be subjected to your lack of taste. Nor do I expect you suffer from my own tastes.” You told them months ago about Italian opera and how much you enjoyed it. “Either way. What you need. You shall have. No strings attached and no favours required.”

You are far too ‘selfless’ sometimes. According to them. But you loved them for what they did for themselves rather than what they did for you. What good is assistance if they can’t hope to help themselves.

“Hey, I will not have you speak negatively about yourself or wishing death upon yourself either. Neither helps you and nor will it help you heal either. Just because can doesn’t always mean that you should. You told me that once and I think it should be said to you too.” You gently scolded them once.

You showed them your AGM-1 carbine, your Italian Bullpup Carbine, once, “Its nice. I quite like it.” You said to Ghost one afternoon. “Its one my favourites. Along with the Barrett M8A1 I use.”

Soap hasn’t stopped pacing around the hospital waiting room. He was sure you would be dead before the two of them got to start dating you. Couldn’t have that now can they? But much like life itself.

Moments like these aren’t fair. Ever. You told them life shouldn’t be taken for granted. Cherish the time you have now and mourn the people you eventually leave behind. You knew this more than most people. You studied it in subjects like Forensics Anthropology, Forensics Pathology, Thantology, and Archaeology.

“Death cannot be cheated, nor can it hope to be delayed. To think you can do just that is beyond naïve. Hopefully idealistic in the act of thinking humans could ever dream of immortality.” You told them once. 

“Unless you are like my lineage, I doubt your family is going to have their own homegrown cemetery attached to their own churchyard. ‘Can’t have the ‘common folk’ get anywhere near our dead or something like that.” You added in.

When you do wake because death had decided it wasn’t quite your time to leave the earth just yet. Denying you passage to death’s cold embrace. How long would it take for you to get used to your new arm you wonder.

Ghost still remembers hearing about your favourite flower being ‘Lilly of the Valley’. Shocking him because they were light coloured flowers and the total opposite of your aesthetic. You said it was because of the fact life gave them such light colours to such delicate things. It was your mother's favourite for a while, along with flowers like sweet pea.

You didn’t like them until she passed, and thereafter? Loved them completely. Roses were fine. You weren’t going to turn away from them completely. But the sentimental value from the light pink lilies were far more than any dark red roses could offer. It was like comparing a sunrise to a sunset. Both were beautiful, one had a taint of sadness captured in it that you found absolutely charming.

“I find them prettier than I did when I was younger. Perhaps it was because my mother valued them so much? I can only guess that was the reason I took a liking to them.” You told him looking back at him from looking out the window. The rain hadn’t stopped pouring down from the look of things.

You continued speaking after a brief pause, “Though I do remember bringing her red and white snapdragons on Mother’s Day one year. I didn’t think it would affect her so much, until she said she had chosen them for her wedding bouquet. Her mother-in-law hated it, said it clashed with the ‘atmosphere’ and yet she decided to go with it.”

“You should have seen her, inside of white, she wore a midnight blue with silver embroidered stars along the fringes of the veil and the dress’s long train. Like she was walking straight from the depths of the sky. I said it was like the moon was loaning her its stars in the attempt to woo her into staying with him instead. In her refusal he gifted them in remembrance.”

You didn’t speak about your family’s ludicrously magnanimous volume of worldly goods, nor did you want to. Why would you?

How do you put in plain words to someone that it was reaped by taking care of the dead? You know you didn’t have anything to be embarrassed of. But in what way does someone go about telling loved ones their family’s legacy lies inside the act taking caring of the dead or the ones about to die?

Even though it was your mother’s side who dabbled in such things and not your father’s. Your father’s side were the more pompous kind of rich, lavish, extravagant and excessive with their wealth. It was your mother’s side that was more grounded, more in touch with reality. Creating the overture combination of a rich girl with the heart of someone who knew of suffering.

Though parts of your furniture does seem odd. Like the Marc Held for Prisunic Moulded Fiberglass Bed, c. 1966. You had decided to place a waterbed mattress to it, just because you wanted to make it feel older.

The black silk sheets and crimson silk pillowcases were the things inside your bedroom. These things? They made it feel more 70's. You liked that era, you also loved the 60's and 80's. Which despite the gothic shades, tones and colours. It was like you were trying to hold onto a piece of your mother.

They didn't know how to cope when they first heard you were in a car collision with a camion, you weren't going too fast. You weren't intoxicated. You weren't high. You were just driving back home after a rough case, and fate decided it was time to throw you curveball. A fucking curveball no one saw coming.

Soap slept in your bed that night, inhaling your scent from the silk sheets and clutching your whale shark plush. The heavy blanket draped over him. The fur blanket made from real deer fur. You told him it was made from the first deer you hunted with your grandfather months before he passed.

You had killed it yourself. You remarked it was your grandfather’s way of making sure you respected the animal you slaughtered. Use every part otherwise its murder and not hunting. A beautiful blanket which has lasted longer than most things you bought. In colour it’s a deep, rich brown, almost auburn in the right lighting. Soft to the touch. Eerie to think it once was a creature roaming the forests freely.

When you woke and Ghost had been in the chair beside you the whole time? “What……what time is it?” you asked like you had rolled out of bed.

“Two in the morning. You’ve been asleep for seven days and eight nights.” Ghost answered calmly. Knowing the doctor told him to keep the excitement to a minimum.

“I don’t know why, but I jumped, panicked a little, thinking I had to wake up for work.” You mumbled, you are still completely out of it from the amount of morphine inside you.

[drrobctnik]

the silence was strangling. felt like it had a vice grip on his throat, threatening to close up his windpipe. great job being quiet, julius, you stupid piece of shit⸻ say something. SAY SOMETHING, FUCKING TALK⸻

"......i'm," his fingers shift, and he moves to rub a hand along the side of his own neck, not looking at stone as he says this, "i'm sorry you never got to tell ivo," that felt strange to say, "the things you wanted to." he felt jealousy nip in his chest and knew that was irrational and stupid. he barely knew stone after all. & clearly they were both lonely from, everything either of them had gone through. but julius wanted to throw caution to the wind and let himself feel jealous, want stone, want, want⸻ he always wanted but never knew how or if he should sate that wanting. if he had the right to.

what had stone called it? marinating? just marinating, coasting through life, he supposed. doing what he felt he had to. a death without dying.

he exhaled, not sure he had it in him to explain more. there was so much more he felt he wanted to say, it was conflicting. he was scared that if he didn't now, the opportunity might never present itself again. he wondered if that itself was irrational, or maybe stupid, or naive. too emotional, too sensitive. he also couldn't stand the silence. wanted to speak with stone, but didn't know how. was he afraid of judgment? rejection? stone recoiling?

was he scared more, maybe, of stone stepping forward to meet him, and accepting it? what would that mean? to be seen, accepted, wanted not in spite of his ugliness or his horrors or his darkness but because of it.

"...i want," he swallowed, inhaled shortly, exhaled, and finally looked at stone again, "i want to tell you. i do. i just... i don't know how. no one's, ever bothered to ask, before. to want to know," he isn't sure how to express that, so he, he just lays a palm against his own chest. as if to silently say 'to know me', all of him.

stone knew by the silence that seemingly yet again he'd said the wrong thing, and a small part of him was starting to grow irritated at that fact. he tries to do his best to listen and be reassuring but it's perceived as anything but, and he practically has to stop himself from letting out a frustrated sigh at the entire scenario.

he knew very well when to pick and choose his battles, and right now his annoyance was not needed nor welcomed.

so instead of speaking and potentially further souring things between them he just stands there, arms resting loosely over his chest as he watches julius stand up. there really wasn't much in the way of anything that he could say to the man, it seemed.

[hym-beaux]

.

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i know that when carlo suddenly decided that he needs to marry guy made a whole list in his head n like had a deadlines n shit. like it was some kind of a task he needed to do

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[pup-pee]

my father telling me how scared he was when i ran away from the house but i cant express how scared i was 2 b in the house

hey, whats up w/that?

[emmafallsinlove]

the fact that logan begged rory to ‘jump’ with him again while he proposed but also gave her a way out in their original jump in 5.07 but now he’s standing there, hopeful, begging her to say the words “you jump, i jump, jack” as she did 3 and half years ago when they just met but all she could give him is “i love the idea of being married to you, but i can’t” just breaks my heart and haunts me at night.

[sophiethewitch1]

www has a playlist? Please where can I find it😭

This link here is the mini playlist which is condensed and has like songs that I 100% have a reason for having on there and most of the songs where explained if they didn't have extremeee spoilers over on and this link here. here is the full playlist which I use personally (which you can tell because it has 1601 listens to it insert that one war veteran staring into camera meme here) but some of the songs are only like slightly associated.