#idk the drip is there i cannot lie

[virginstoner666]

we ran out of aprons at work and i had to walk around all day with a bar towel hanging out of my skirt.

[seresinhangmanjake]

What Comes at Night

Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Reader

Summary: Your heart broke the day your brother stabbed Feyd. You spent weeks believing he was dead. And even though it turned out that he survived and the two of you are now together again, nightmares of the day you thought you lost the man you love haunt you. Feeling him is the only thing that provides any comfort.

Notes: Feyd is soft…again. I just like it, idk. Same Feyd x reader from The Harkonnen’s Sweet Thing and The Harkonnen’s Claim. *Can be read alone. 

Warnings: some smut, so 18+

Words: 1000

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You can hear it—the splitting of his flesh from the knife penetrating his ribs. You can hear the drop of his blood that drips off of your brother’s blade onto the floor. You can hear his breaths getting thinner after he collapses. 

Foreign hands are everywhere; Fremen men holding you back from reaching him. Their fingernails are cutting into your skin, drawing lines of red down your arms and legs as you struggle to free yourself. 

Then suddenly, the floor dissolves beneath you and your legs sink into the sand of Arrakis’ dunes. The men disappear, your brother disappears, the emperor and his daughter disappear, and now it’s only you and him trapped in the dunes that begin to move up and down, ebbing and flowing like the stormy seas of Caladan. And like the sea, the waves are carrying him away, stealing him from you, and you can’t even attempt to save him because the sand has swallowed you to your waist. 

You can barely see him. Only hints of his black armor show. He's being pulled under, drowning in golden grains, and a couple of his fingers twitching is the last you see of him before he disappears completely. 

He cannot hear your hoarse voice calling for him. You can barely hear your hoarse voice calling for him. Sand is seeping into your ear canals. It brushes your lips and crusts the edges of your nostrils, sticking to the snot brought on by uncontrollable tears. You try to take in some oxygen, just a little, but then you wonder why because you’ve already lost him and you’re about to lose yourself. 

With a blink, the sun has set, and the underlayers of the dunes turn numbingly cold. You don't think of freeing yourself, you think that maybe surrendering is the only way you can be together. A kick flutters within your belly but you don’t care. You’re done. You’re weak and you’ve lost. You can’t save anyone, so you let go. 

Hands are on your face. You detect a voice, but the thick fogginess clogging your ears keeps it far away. “Wake up!”—Is that what it’s saying? Your shoulders are shaking, head bobbing back and forth from a loose neck. “Wake up!” Yes, that's it. It’s cutting through the fog, pulling you to the surface, but then you realize you aren't breathing quite right. You're still choking on gritty sand as tears stream down your cheeks. 

“I’m here. I’m here, ok?” the deep voice says. “My love, look at me,” it says, but you can’t, won’t. It’s a trick. A lie. If you open your eyes, it’ll break your heart because he’s not here. He’s with the dunes. 

The hands tip your head forward and a soft pressure meets your forehead. “I’m with you,” you hear. 

You fight the grip around your wrist. Fingers pry open your hand so that it is no longer clenched in a fist but flat and pressed against heated flesh. A thump pounds under your palm. Once, twice, and once more. 

“Feel me,” the voice demands. There’s another thump. Another. You gasp and your eyes open to find blue irises searing into yours. “I'm here,” Feyd says. 

A sob leaves your throat. “More,” you whimper.

“Ok,” he quickly nods. “Ok. More.”

He carefully pushes you onto your back and eases on top of you. One of your thighs is nudged wide, and then the other. His hand pumps under the thin sheet covering your bodies. He hardens. The tip peels apart your folds, and then you’re full. So full. 

You wrap your legs around his hips and secure your arms around his neck, squeezing every bit of him to keep him close. Then he kisses you because you need to taste him and he knows that. He knows that it’s the final piece to start bringing you back to yourself.

“Move,” you mutter into his lips. So he does. Dragging out and then thrusting back in, allowing you to feel each inch, each vein of the column. His hand slides down your body, from breast to waist to hip and he cups your bottom, holding you more firmly against him.

His motions continue at the perfect pace. A well-practiced pace. The exact pace you need. Little electric shots spark in your brain and the coil tightens in your belly. He moans as you bite into his shoulder and you love that sound because it throws you right over the edge. 

You taste blood as you come. And then he comes. And then lips are dotting around your face and jawline. 

He doesn’t pull out. There’s no pulling out—not in these moments—because pulling out means emptiness. Pulling out means a void of space where he’s missing and you’re left wanting, and you don’t do that here. Here, you don’t want for anything because he gives you everything. 

He lets the heavy breaths between you settle before he rolls onto his back, taking you with him so he can remain snuggly inside of you. Your head rests on his chest as he runs his fingers down your spine. 

“Same one?” he asks and you nod. “They’ll stop; I promise. Just give yourself time, my love.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” he tells you, and you believe him. You believe him because he had nightmares of his own during the weeks you were separated. Servants told you he would go on a rampage after waking and seeing that you weren't in his bed. Nothing was spared, from furniture to slaves, and you weren't surprised. Fear does many things to the heart and mind. It makes one feel powerless, and Feyd does not handle that feeling very well. So, in some ways, you suppose you're lucky. At least when you wake, he's beside you. He's here to calm you down. But his presence has yet to soothe your unconscious. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your hairline. “You know that.”

It's a statement not a question, but still, you answer, “I do.”

---

A/N: @midnight-serendipity thank you for requesting this <3

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

Based on all the whb kings dick size Levi is the smallest (he's 18cm which is still pretty big compared to human men but still smaller than the other kings)

so I was wondering if you could do a fic where MC teases him about it, like compares him to the other kings (you know really get his jealousy going) but he kinda likes it but acts like he doesn't and proves to MC that size doesn't matter *wink wink 😉 *

WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE how MUCH I LOVE THIS!!! Why is my new think cucking and teasing/torturing Leviathan??! (I mean he was the first card I got?)

Ok so like there’s a really funny quote that came to mind that I need to use for this but wanna share first!

So there’s SO MUCH POTENTIAL HERE!! Like he 100% doesn’t know he’s big to humans, so it’s a jab at his pride with every remark on his size bc the other kings 100% made fun of him of his ‘tiny’ cock.

(So for those who live where I do, 18cms is 7.087 inches…he’s 7 inches but 100% would make you state the exact size saying 7 inches is a ‘underestimation’)

And bc he’s so self conscious? When you were staring surprised at his size, he took it as he was ‘too small’ for you. He’d throw a fit…

(Idk when I toook this image but he’s so cute to me???)

-

Cw: slight cucking, lots of teasing, technically polycule, SDH

You couldn’t help it, Levithan was so easy to get worked up, he threw a tantrum when he realized you didn’t lose your virginity with him (despite him KNOWING you’ve needed devil energy…), and after being with Satan AND Mammon, he knows he can’t compare!

But here you were, chatting with him like you were gossiping with Paimon, while Levithan is sat in front of you, naked from the waste down, he was trying to tone out insulting remarks about his size.

“Seriously, what am I supposed to with this? After getting some prime meat from Mammon how am I supposed to use this? At least Satan is big enough to get half way in…” You say laughing a bit. It was so stupid, but Leviathan was fuming.

“Q-quit yapping, Decedent of Solomon! I’m plenty big-“ He squeals as you roughly grab his cock, squeezing it with your fingers wrapped around it, you keep squeezing until your finger touched. It was a stretch but Levithan look mortified.

“Pfft! The tiny human can wrap one hand around your cock!” You force out a laugh, but you know he can’t tell the difference. He doesn’t know your fingers are barely touching…

“No!N-no! I-it’s because I-I’m not fully aroused!” He blurts out. You can almost feel him scrambling to figure out what to say. He clears his throat as if that’s why he was stuttering. “I’m not at full mass, that’s why. It gets bigger…”

You can hear him trail off as if realizing he can’t just lie that it’ll get bigger…when he’s already dripping pre, it’s throbbing in your painful grip. You stifle your laugh.

“I’m sure it does…do you know how big Lucifer is? You looks like you got a clit in comparison!” You chuckle, you flash a toothy grin as he hisses in frustration. His cock tip is an angry red, almost matching his face! “So Levi let me ask…” You flash him toothy grin that makes him know your gonna say something…that will definitely wound his pride.

“How does it feel to know that out of all your friends, you have the smallest dick?”

Levithan’s eyes widen, he looks like you just slapped him, he even audible gasp! You almost worry you went to far but he whimper/shouts out. “T-then it’s a good thing I don’t have any friends!” He says as if that’s a better solution, he’s so worked up he’s shaking, his cock bouncing aggressively in your hand.

You laugh at that, you couldn’t hold it back, you could see shock on his face at your response, he blushes a deep red and whimpers. Finally release his cock, he loudly gasp at the sudden release of pressure, he’s so close….

“I-it doesn’t need to be big! I can show you…” Leviathan complains and quickly helps you remove your pants, using your undergarments as the only protection as he grinds against you. He keeps grinding against you, his ‘tiny’ cock rubbing against you like a personal massager.

You moaned teasingly, it felt great. “Ooh! You know how to rub it against things, that’s great, here, let me show how to use that thing…”

You pushed him down and grind against his cock, grinding down on it, it gave you little pleasure while he was clearly sensitive…

You can’t not keep teasing him! He’s clearly enjoying it with the way he’s leaking pre…

“I wonder if your subordinates are bigger than you…do you have the smallest dick in hell? You’re taker than Satan, shouldn’t your dick be bigger? Or at least less sensitive?” You tease, moving your underwear enough for his dick to tease your entrance. He loudly whines at the sight of your naked skin…

“It’s not sensitive. Humans just…don’t understand…” Leviathan trails off before looking away. “Humans are fickle things…demons enjoy the sentiment more than feeling…”

You can hear his constant pauses in his speech, he’s trying to come up with an excuse without admitting he’s…sensitive. You reach down and tease his cock head, earning a moan. “Shouldn’t humans be more sensitive then? But here we are, a demon trembling while a human grinds on his dick…what are you going to do if I tell you it’s too tiny for me to use?”

Leviathan looks like you just kicked him, he glares at you. He angles his hips, then the next slide back you feel his cock slip into you, granted your ready for it, but once sheathed into you, he seems to realize the situation. He can’t move under you, now you were just sitting in his dick…squeezing it…and he can’t do anything!

Leviathan growls. “Do something already! It’s plenty big enough for a tiny human like you! I-I can easily please any demon, now let me move…” He starts to groan and loudly complains. Out of mercy you lift your hips only enough to let him thrust into you.

As much as Leviathan wants to go fast, the angle isn’t exactly easy for him to thrust into you, he tries to voice something to you but it dies in his throat and he stops thrusting into you. He whimpers, a deep blush across his face.

“What’s wrong? Can’t even last as long as the other Kings?”

Leviathan hisses in complaint and lowers his gaze. “I don’t…know.Its…”

He whimpers and begins squirming under you, you feel him throbbing inside you…

He can take some more teasing.

-

[noyoyoy]

Bread with cheese!!!

You can do one of Ghost x Male Reader? , a story where Ghost returns home from a mission, very stressed. Well, he goes to the male reader and proceeds to fuck the reader too intensely until he is satisfied, relaxed and de-stressed.Ghost, let's say, can withstand many rounds and the reader only 1 or 2., that is, the reader was overstimulated to the maxGhost, let's say, can withstand many rounds and the reader was only 1 or 2, that is, the reader was overstimulated to the max.

((IF ANYONE KNOWS ME, I SWEAR THIS WAS PROPOSED BY MY DOG.😭😭😭😭😭

The Mask, The Man.

Simon “Ghost” Riley X Male reader

I cannot lie. This was supposed to be pure smut, then it turned into angst, and then fluff- I’m sorry if this wasn’t up to your standard or what exactly you wanted. I might have gotten lost in the heat of the moment.

TW: Smut. MDNI, 18+, EVERYTHING. IS. CONSENSUAL. Cursing, slight mentions of blood and murder, slight Somnophilia?? Idk m/n passes out.

It wasn’t often that Simon let you see Ghost. In fact, if you did ever see Ghost, the world was most likely ending.

However, you have seen him one time before, when Simon came home from a very long 6 month mission, you’d admit you were shocked when you ran down the stairs only to see your husband facing and leaning on the front door, his boots will on, his mask still on, and his back heaving up and down from how heavy he was breathing. He didn’t bother to change, much less shower before he be-lined to his truck, and driving off to his home where he knew his husband would be waiting.

M/n didn’t necessarily hate seeing Ghost, in fact it was Ghost that hated seeing M/n. Well, it was Simon who hated Ghost seeing M/n. He wasn’t acquainted with his Military life, not his friends, that godforsaken mask, or the blood and dirt from his missions. Every other time he came home he washed himself to a T, making sure he was clean before he came home, but even then he and his husband took a long bath together, M/n scrubbing off the mental dirt and blood that Simon could never wash off himself.

And thus here we are. M/n’s head shoved into the pillow, tears streaming down his face and his breath uneven as Simon was thrusting into his body, his hand buried in his hair keeping his head down while his other hand was wrapped around his waist with a grip he knew would bruise. He didn’t care. As much as he loved Simon, he missed Ghost. One taste was all it took and M/n constantly wanting more, silently hoping Ghost would step through that door again. Simon didn’t like hurting his dear lover, so he was always soft, and gentle with him. Though while M/n loved it, he also loved being roughed around a bit.

“F-Fuck! Simonn!” M/n choked out, the tears not stopping, saliva dripping from his open mouth and wetting the pillow below him. “That’s not my fucking name.” His voice was deep, husky, yeah, that wasn’t Simon. This was ghost, this was ghost in all glory. His angry, agressive, sexy, blood thirsty glory. “GHOST!” He screamed as he came for the 4th time that night, his dick sensitive and yet still painfully hard. “Shit.” Ghost huffed out as he rolled his head back, closing his eyes. He felt the coil in his lower stomach snap, his cum filling him again. It starting to spill out forming a frothy white ring around the base of his cock.

“Ghost! I- ! I can’t! Please please please~” It hurt. His hole was swollen, puffy, and red, his prostate no doubt abused to the fullest at this point. His body moved to have his hips pressed against the mattress, his face lifted by his hair as spit followed after and dropped down his chin, his dick now pushed fully against his belly and the thought sheets, gaining friction with every thrust Simon threw at him. But oh did I feel so good. His vision soon going dark to the feeling of Ghost gripping his hips and thrusting faster, letting his head fall down against the spit damp pillow.

•

Waking up, m/n noticed two things, one, every muscle in his body was aching, and his throat was sore, and two ghost now had his mask off as he laid his head on his chest. “Ah-” he gasped out and winced has he tried to sit up, eventually giving up and falling back down onto the broad chest below him. “I’m sorry..” he heard, now realizing Simon was back, and awake as well. “Hm? For what?” M/n muttered out closing his eyes still feeling sleepy after the very long night. “I was too rough. Your body is.. fucked because of me and my selfishness.” Simon felt horrible. He HATED hurting m/n. Especially during sex. “Mm.. it was great.” His husband lifted his head, then his body to crawl over his hips and straddle him. “Simon. It’s okay, trust me, I’m not made of glass you didn’t fuck up my body! I’ll be back to fine in like.. 4 days.” M/n said ignoring the burning feeling in his lower region.

“I hate it, I used you.. I felt you go limp and I still.. I couldn’t..” he couldn’t finish. He couldn’t bear to repeat what he did. Disgusted at the fact he kept going even after his lover fell unconscious. “Oh hush up. I told you many times already, I. Don’t. Mind. I find it hot when you use me!” M/n tried to fix his husband’s aching heart. “Now c’mon, we are nasty. It’s time to clean up and get some food in us!” M/n chirped as he sat up and pulled himself off of Simon and onto the floor, his knees almost buckling under him.

Simon watched his wince his way into the bathroom where he heard the water turn on. “SIMON!” He heard from the bathroom. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” He got up, walking into the bathroom and getting into the shower with his husband, cleaning all the dried fluids on (and in) M/n’s body.

And I’m done. My first time writing smut but I feel like I’ve read enough of it to do at least decent.

Open for requests, and criticism.

[unityrain24]

anyways was thinking of a thor ragnarok rewrite last night as sleep refused to take me. obviously it can't be exactly like actual ragnarok bc marvel/mcu's norse stuff is..nothing like actual norse lore but i figured it could still have some more similarities than what the actual movie did.

(also if i were to rewrite the movie this isn't actually what id do, this was just. idk. what i was thinkin about as i was desperate to actually falll asleep).

anyways i figured this rewrite would actually work best if it rewrote the end of tdw first- loki gets stabbed by kruse and passes out for a while (rather than being able to pick himself back up in secret like what actually happened) and in that time odin senses that loki isn't dead and sends some guards to collect him. since loki technically broke the law *again* (committed treason, escaped jail, etc), he can enforce even more punishment, especially now that frigga is dead and she can't do anything about it. That, combined with some prophecy from midgard (or maybe asgard, idk) as an excuse added justifying reason, he sentences loki to the worst thing he can think up: to be bound against a rock with a snake dripping venom on him, his lips sewn shut so he can never lie again, forced to be in his jotun form, for all of eternity. In the deepest dungeon.

Thor obviously doesn't know about any of this, because he thinks loki dead.

so loki is taken, bound to a rock (idk if it's really work to have him bound with organs tho, since he doesn't have children in the mcu. maybe it's his..pet's? or maybe just chain. idk.), a snake coiled above him, seiðr bound, lips sewn shut, and his æsir form taken. He is completely alone, save the guards outside the chamber.

i don't really ship logyn in the mcu, (bc she doesn't exist in the mcu and their relationship feels to me like it would span for several centuries prior, so just randomly introducing her in one movie would seem strange to me), but i follow some people who do, so i wondered how i could incorporate that anyways, and make it not seem too strange.

Sigyn is one of the guards who has a shift guarding loki's chambers. She feels awful about it though, and eventually decides she has to do something to help. She ventures into the chamber and decides to catch the dripping venom with her helmet.

She also tries to cut the stitches from lokis lips, but when one string is cut, it doubles and repierces the skin, now twice the strength. She tries again, cutting them all at once this time (rather than individually), and grabs them all at once and pulls them out before they can multiply and repair themselves (luckily this time it works). She almost regrets it, though, as now she has to hear loki scream himself hoarse, and she can't do anything else to ease the pain.

she stays for several weeks/months/idk, holding the helmet above loki, having to empty it every so often. Perhaps she gets to know loki in this time, perhaps she doesn't. Perhaps she notices a certain brand on his shoulder, perhaps she does not. Perhaps she knew loki vaguely before, and now muses to herself what could have possibly changed him. Perhaps she didn't know him before, and doesn't muse. I don't know. But eventually she decides she needs to find and tell thor.

as hard as it is, she leaves loki to suffer alone (she tries to see if she can leave the helmet or fashion some contraption to make sure the poison cannot get in his eyes, but she cannot). After some searching and asking, she finds the mourning sullen prince thor and tells him what has occurred. Thor, now filled with joy, rage, guilt, horror, and sadness, breaks loki out with sigyn.

Loki is a mess. He has gone blind- whether temporarily or permanently is unknown- and has visible burns from the acid venom. His hairs a mess and his skin sweaty and thin. You can see his rib cage with how thin he's become. He wasn't allowed much clothes at the start of his punishment, but what few he had have been burned by the venom as well. He can't walk. He's barely conscious, and what little bit he is is just filled with delirium. They basically have to carry him.

They hide away from asgard (or at least the palace). And then ragnarok gets unleashed and they have to fix it etc and in the end they realize that it wasn't literally loki's being freed that incited ragnarok, but it was necessary for him to be freed so they could help stop/fix it/lessen the damage etc idk i was pretty tired at this point i wasn't thinking of details. anyways

idk if that made any sense lol but i'll tag the logyn people i follow/was thinking of

@therese-lokidottir @jonquilclegane @cosmic0artist

[givehimthemedicine]

where does El's NINA blood keep going?

so I was talking about how the nosebleeds El gets inside NINA match her nosebleeds in the "memories" she's experiencing right then. I'm telling you those aren't just memories, but that's not the point of this post.

em just like you said about how that weird Henward closeup would be way too apparent if they had put the shots side by side, if they didn't keep cutting away to other stories in the middle of El's NINA scenes this would have been glaringly noticeable.

4x5

El has her bloody-hands-light-circle-game flashback in which she's bleeding from one nostril. this causes her such distress that she goes into cardiac arrest inside the NINA tank, where we see her also bleeding from the same nostril.

we cut away to other stories awhile and the next thing we see of El is this: getting shocked awake on the table outside the NINA tank. then she hits Brenner and makes a run for it.

what happened to her nose blood?

4x6

El has her post-bullying flashback, in which she sort of "catches" bloodstains from the vision of her little self in the mirror. and then she wakes up like this - clean - and says "I killed them didn't I?"

we aren't shown an in-tank view on this occasion, which I really wish we were.

4x7 - 4x8

One tries to kill El but she breaks out of it sporting a two-nostril bleed, which also appears in the tank:

once again we cut away, this time til a whole other episode, and the next time we see her she's being shocked on the table looking like this:

where 👏 is 👏 the 👏 blood?

occam's razor says the doctors merely cleaned up her blood in between the shots we're shown. but why?

aside from the fact that there's no reason for doing that besides cosmetic - having a little blood on her upper lip doesn't interfere with the seal of the oxygen mask or anything like that -

why would they take the time to do something so trivial BEFORE administering life saving measures? remember, the literal fate of humanity is riding on this girl's success. you can clean her nose to your heart's content, AFTER you make sure she's not dying.

and even if they did wipe her nose, they did it so well that there's zero residue. not even IN her nostril. it looks like she never bled at all.

where 👏 is 👏 the 👏 water?

something else that's bothering me now that I'm all up in these screenshots:

in some of these NINA wakeups El seems remarkably dry for someone who was just floating in water seconds earlier. I know, her hair is dry because she was wearing a cap, that doesn't count. but her suit would still be wet.

look in 4x5 look how wet the table around El is, and the puddle she leaves when she gets up.

compared to 4x6 and 4x8 where things seem pretty dry. granted her neck/chest skin looks a little wet, varyingly, but she could be sweating a lot which is a heart attack symptom.

look, you cannot lie on a table in a wet wetsuit without leaving a wet spot on the table when you get up. you also cannot haul a dripping wet person out of a tub of water and plop them down on a table without leaving some drips along the floor from point A to point B.

either more time elapses than we think - enough for her to dry - between the onset and treatment of El's heart attacks (which makes no sense)

or maybe it's straitjacket time: that's not the same girl.

we never do actually see them fish her out of the tank in any of these scenes. what if the El on the table isn't necessarily the same El as the one in the tank?

idk but there's something is weird about this part where Owens sees El having a heart attack in the tank and is yelling at Brenner to pull her out, and not only is Brenner not in a hurry, but he doesn't seem to want to at all. he never agrees. the scene just ends like this.

if they indeed just have this one chance to save the world, this one girl, why isn't Brenner in a hurry to preserve her life?

Brenner: "if you are lost, so are we all" also Brenner: sees Humanity's Only Chance having a heart attack and orders no action to save her

I'm back in my twingate era yall. except there might be like 4 of her.

[izacore]

I'm so tired of Harry. I don't hate him, I'm just really tired of his face, his shows, movies, scandals, girls, supposed boyfriends, weird interviews, pap walks, etc. At this point he's just a walking advertisement.All these big blogs that praise him for any crap he does just amazes me. I think part of this fandom has lost the ability to think rationally at some point. And that part of the fandom hates the other part that has a different opinion/ that doesn't pray to the ground Harry walks on. Thank you for not looking at the world through rose-colored glasses and always giving an honest opinion :)

hellooo! I think this is a perfectly normal and reasonable reaction to have to all the over-saturation of Harry that we have been experiencing the past few years. I agree that somewhere along the way hshq and well, Harry too, kinda lost it, and made him into a shallow brand that I personally struggle to connect with nowadays.

I don't really get the policing of people's feelings regarding this situation because for me, if somebody is able to compartmentalize and focus only on the good then great for them and I am jealous! But what is so hard to understand that others may not be able to do that, that they be more emotional and sensitive and just sad about whatever is happening. I am tired of hearing words and phrases like "entitled", "you hate closeted people", "take a step back" etc. all the time, tired that people can go all soft how cute it is hl cannot stay away from each other for more than 5 minutes and then in the same breath make fun of people who are sad they'll be apart like 90% of the year because suddenly it's "come on, it's a normal relationship, couples may not see each other and actually, their careers are what matters the most!!!". I don't know what is wrong with having discussions, as long as it's in a respectful manner that don't invalidates anyone's feelings or isn't hateful. Why is it suddenly being seen as hating hl? It drives me insane how the twitter total obedience stan culture is dripping onto tumblr.

Idk, like I said, it's a me problem and probably some parasocial issue comes into play here haha, but I just see them as humans first, musicians second, and I simply wouldn't mind if they took a break, disappeared and just lived a happy life together away from this. It's devastating if people around them made them believe that that's the only way to have what they have because it's the biggest lie ever, and they're walking through this hell simply because no one around them can admit they are so wrong.

So yeah, if that makes me entitled and hateful person just because I don't think that it's not wrong to not only focus on the good then so be it. HL's actual happiness matters to me most and it's sad that them having to live these lives and wasting time (that they'll never get back) have become so normalized.

[thatsuhboldchoice]

alright i think i'm diving back into shx starting with as you like it bc i want to watch the nt production with rosalie craig and patsy ferran

this office space is...a lot to unpack

i literally never remember the plot of as you like it

i remember there are multiple dukes and multiple brothers? but i cannot remember who is a love interest for whom

there's also jaques and touchstone and the exiled duke and corin who are very different characters but whom my brains insists on mushing together

not gonna lie every production i've seen of this show i've found mind numbingly boring but i'm like there's gotta be merit here i'm gonna find it even if it kills me!

okay the bonsai trees on the desk kill me

i am willing to watch whatever this production throws at me simply for craig and ferran

ferran has no right being that adorable like my little gay heart goes pitter patter whenever she opens her mouth

also my gay self wants craig to step on me

so failing all else i love them

and now we wrestle. right here. in the office. sure. why not.

celia's little pjs!

there are scenes i recall though and rosalind's banishment is one...it's such a brutal thing to come right out of the gate

also i forgot how loyal celia is to rosalind

and they're like hey we'll just run away! rosalind will dress like a man! we'll just steal the fool!

holy shit holy fuck holy what is this set doing

AHHHHHHHHHHH

jesus mary and joseph okay that was inspired

creepy forest of arden that's just like dripping hell yes i'm here for it

how they get this all back down neatly i have no idea

i'm in love with whoever is singing here his voice my god

i don't really get the point of jaques and tbh i don't think anyone else does either including jaques

he pulled off all the world's a stage really nicely though

super famous speeches are hard and that one's idk...not very active? but he thought through it in a compelling way

are these post it notes falling as leaves?

the SHEEP the FUCKING SHEEP how to win my love: do something like that

when one ate a post it leaf i lost it

oh no celia's gonna break my heart

rosalind's so excited and enamored and celia literally just leaves

i don't know if it's specifically craig's portrayal or if i'm actually paying attention to text but rosalind is so mean to orlando

and i love it

she's like yes i have a crush on this boy yes i will bark orders at him

every playwright's at their best when it comes to banter and ole willy shakes is no exception

the shit between rosalind and orlando is a+

oh right that's who celia ends up with

okay fine this play does pick up momentum it just takes so long to get there my god

straight up forgot about that deus ex machina warp up with fake duke becoming a hermit

you know sometimes billy shakes just says fuck it let's call it a night

okay i am not as allergic to this play now

it's still not my favorite and i think it's got quite a few messy and/or slower bits that take a lot of work to deal with

but i see the appeal

which is the sheer number of possibilities with those fucking sheep

[pervysenpaix]

Idk if it’s just me or not but don’t Bakugo give you “yea my nipples pierced. And what about it🤨”😭😭idk but I saw this pic nd chileee him with nipple piercings immaculate✨🤌🏼

No, love. They definitely are. And you love them. Always lurking in the shadows, hoping to catch him shirtless so that you can sneak a peak at his massive tits. Cause let's just keep 100, Kacchan has a nice fucking rack.

Sparring ? You're there. Morning Jog? Count you in. Getting a new chest tattoo? You're tagging along for research purposes!

Since you're all sidekicks at Endeavor's agency, Shoto decided to treat his friendgroup with a relaxing weekend at his penthouse. That's code for turning the fuck up and not giving a damn what you break because the rich boy's daddy is footing the bill.

Everyone is downstairs watching Midoriya crush watermelons with his thighs while you were off searching for Katsuki. I cannot begin to explain how strung out you are for this man who barely acknowledges your presence. That's a lie, you're friends and he gives you hugs. But, you don't want hugs. You want ✨cock✨

You find Katsuki in his room, (him, Shoto and Midoriya are roomates) he's stretched out in a starfish position with his hands behind his head while watching some random. The glow from the tv reflected off the steel bars pierced through his perfect pink nipples. The urge to latch on and call him "Mommy" was high 🌚

"Oi, what the hell are you doing in my room, idiot?" No bite in his words, just curious as to why you ditched the party. You shrugged, glancing between his tits and his face as you made your way in. "Just wanted to see what you were up to."

"s'that so?" Katsuki smirked, patting the empty space on the bed "c'mere."

Iida would cry if he witnessed how fast you move into that spot. He pulled you against his chest and rubbed your arm while the two of you finished watching the episode. Those perky bud were right there, taunting you, just begging to be licked. Whenever you rubbed your cheek against the steel bar he'd shiver, and you were salivating and creaming your pants at his sensitivity.

"Whatcha wanna do now?" He asked when the ended.

"I wanna jerk you off and suck your tits." you whined, circling your finger around his puffy nipple.

Katsuki choked, understandable since you'd just surprised the fuck out of him.

"O-okay" he cleared his throat, "maybe we should kiss first"

So you made out and it was hot and sloppy and everything you imagined when you were knuckle deep in you dripping cunt late at night. Then your head dipped down and you popped that pretty little bud in your mouth, flicking at it with your tongue as you pumped his supersized dick in your first.

He fucked you after he came. Then asked you to be his girlfriend. It was a pretty cool night.

Nasty Girls | @xogabbiexo, @plussizeficchick, @tenyaiidasslut, @namjoonswifeyy, @dabilovesme

[christallise]

hi! can i make a request for number 9 and christopher bang chan

istg this man--

also i looove the way you write!!! just like so idk sensual and sometimes so so sweet, melting me completely :(( so thank you so much for your writings!! they are amazing

thank you in advance!! have a great day/night

hello!! thank you for the req hehe it was very fun to write!!

also aaaa thank you so very much for the compliments!! i really worry that my writing is too much so this really made my day eeee

i hope you enjoy!!

9. “Does it feel good when I touch you here? Or maybe here?”

"What do you want?" It’s patronising and yet it fuels the coal fire burning in your stomach; clouding your mind with lust as dense as smoke. You writhe, you whimper, you choke through sobs — long abandoning any sense of dignity or decorum. All that matters now is how fucking close Chan is to you. So close, in fact, you can feel his breath on your dripping cunt. “You have to tell me what you want, pup," he repeats himself, lazily tracing imaginary circles on your bare thigh and you hiss. "I can't read your mind."

You can only sob in response, weakly grinding your aching cunt into the air, just to feel something. It’s in vain however, as a firm hand comes into contact with your thigh and you whimper.

"Chan, please." You sob once more, "D-don't make me say it, come on."

The man in question simply shakes his head with an impatient click of the tongue and just as he raises his hand for a second time, you mutter.

"What was that?" he says, still as coy as ever. "Speak up."

"Your tongue," you groan, cheeks burning hot and wishing the bed would open its jaws wide and devour you whole. Chan’s fingers return to delicately ghost over your skin, you suck a breath between your teeth and try to muster up the courage to finish your sentence. “My cunt.”

"There," Chan coos, leaning dangerously close to you now, "Was that so hard?"

Chuckling to himself, he gently parts your legs further, and stifles a moan at just how fucking perfect you are for him; so exposed, so vulnerable. He allows his index finger to slowly trace over your skin at an agonisingly slow pace and you whine once again.

“Does it feel good when I touch you here?” Chan smirks, barely skimming over your inner thigh and you want to scream; you want to grab a fistful of his hair and rut your pussy against his face so badly. “Or maybe here?” he muses, allowing his finger to dip into your slit, coating himself in your juices.

“Fuck, yes, please it feels so good.”

"Shhh," Chan’s faux comforting is just as patronising as before yet you cannot seem to get enough of it, it spurs you on.

“Please, please, please,” you babble as he brushes over your clit for just a second too short, “I need you.”

Finally Chan complies, hands holding your legs apart as he lowers his head to give an experimental lick at your clit. An explosion of moans erupt from your lips as Chan laps freely at your folds and God does it feel good. The talented tongue flicks gently over the opening; occasionally prodding inside and all you can do is lie there in blissful ecstasy.

"Such a good girl, aren’t you?," Chan half moans between licks, ”You just love my tongue in your little pussy, don’t you?"

You wildly nod, rutting your hips further in the air, desperate to feel the sinful, wet muscle lap against your cunt. When Chan begins to fuck his tongue in and out, curling it inside, a string of curses spill from your lips and your fingers wildly grasp at the sheets beneath you, knuckles turning a ghostly shade of white.

"Tell me how much you love it," Chan demands, bringing his index finger into the equation – slowly he pushes it past the tightness, still languidly lapping at your swollen clit.

“I love it so much," You whine, thrashing your head side to side while Chan begins to stretch you, it hurts but only just the right amount and soon the discomfort is gone and you’re begging for another finger.

"Look at you, taking two fingers so soon," Chan muses, scissoring your tight heat with a smirk. "You take it so well, don’t you baby girl.”

As much as you’d like to answer, you just can't – Chan had found the spot inside of you that sends jolts of electricity through your veins. Every inch of you burns hot and sweat pools at your forehead as he curls his fingers against your spot.

"Please," you beg through shallow breaths, "Please fuck me, Chan."

[weelittleweasley]

unforgettable (g.w.)

prompt: george cannot wrap his head around that fact that someone like you loves him.

pairings: george weasley x fem! reader

warnings: language, allusion to sex (blink and you’ll miss it)

word count: 2.9k

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff @harrysweasleys @gcdric @lumos-barnes @whizboingies @lumosandnoxwriting @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h @lol-idk-oops @Another-lonely-heart @starlightweasley @parseltongueswriting @shilohpug @peachypotter @spacexcowgirl @paintballkid711 @vogueweasley @gryffindcrghost @wand3ringr0s3​

George sat on the living room couch, the smile on his face persistent as he watched you lay on the floor, Ginny resting in your lap laughing, as you argued with Ron about Godric knows what about now. You rolled your eyes as Ron passionately exclaimed something about how body blowing should be considered a foul in quidditch.

“I’m not intentionally hurting anyone if I body blow someone, Ronald. I’m simply ensuring that they drop the Quaffle in a manner that’s not directly me hitting it out of their hands,” you explain as Ginny just cackles harder in your lap, making you chuckle at her hysterics and Ron’s frustration with the both of you.

Ron throws his hands up in exasperation before exclaiming, “But you do end up hurting someone, (Y/N)! For Merlin’s sake, it’s called body blowing! Meaning that you literally knock the wind out of someone from sandwiching them!” His frustration only makes you and Ginny laugh harder, clutching your sides as he groans out. “Whatever, you two are impossible.” 

George watches your amusement and his heart beats faster and his eyes glow with adoration. You nose scrunches up as you laugh, grabbing Ginny’s arms as the two of you come down from your fits fo laughter. You wipe tears from your eyes as you catch your breath, George lightly chuckling to himself before rising from the couch to enter the kitchen to pour himself a cup of tea. 

In the kitchen, Fred sits on the counter, sipping on a mug of his own tea as he watches George stride into the kitchen, whistling a happy tune to himself. Fred shakes his head and chuckles to himself, knowing the reason for his twin’s especially happy mood. “Enjoying yourself, Georgie?” he wiggles his brows as he takes a cautious sip from his hot tea. Georgie looks at his brother who has a teasing smirk on his lips, making George roll his eyes. “Don’t lie to me, brother. I know there’s a reason for the goofy grin.”

George shakes his head, pouring hot water from the kettle into a matching mug over a tea bag. “You would be happy, too, Freddie, if your girlfriend came home with you for holiday break,” he tells Fred. “I’m just happy that I can spend some more time with her away from school and all.”

Fred laughs, “Oh, I bet. No one to disturb you or inconveniently interrupt a tender moment.” George throws the spoon he stirs his tea with at Fred who dodges it quickly. “Temper, temper, my dearest brother,” he giggles as George slaps him in the arm with a tea towel, Fred taking the blow with a chuckle. “Alright, alright, I’m done. I swear.”

“Having fun without me?” you interrupt from behind the two boys as you walk further into the kitchen, George turning towards you with a bright smile. He opens his arm as you happily run into it, hugging his side as George plants a kiss on your forehead, smiling down at you happily. Fred mocks you by making gagging noises as you roll your eyes. “Jealous, Freddie?”

He hops down from the counter, placing his mug in the sink. “Oh, extremely. Who wouldn’t want to be cuddled next to my ferociously handsome twin? Oh, right. Me,” he teases as you laugh, George mimicking him sarcastically. “I’ll leave you two be,” he speaks as he exits the house with Ginny running after him outside, the two of them now racing to the shed to grab broomsticks for an impromptu game of quidditch.

You turn towards George, looking up at him as he wraps both of his arms around you. “Hey there,” he speaks as you chuckle. “Having fun?” 

You nod up and down. “Lots. Thanks for inviting me to stay here for winter break,” you place your hands on his, giving them a squeeze.

George smiles, “Please. Mum practically begged me to invite you. She adores you.” Your heart warms up at his words. George’s family was so welcoming and kind to you from the day you first met them. The Weasleys took you in as if you were their own and you couldn’t be more grateful to have your boyfriends family adore you as much as you adored them. “I’m just glad that we can spend time with each other outside of the castle,” he sighs as you smile, grabbing his tea cup, stealing a sip from it. 

“Agreed,” you tell him. Most of your time with George was, in fact, at Hogwarts. It’s where you met, where he asked you to be his girlfriend, where you shared your first kiss, everything. Hogwarts held a majority of your memories as a couple. Even though you loved school, it was nice to escape and make new memories outside of Hogwarts, especially somewhere as special as his childhood home. “Anytime with you is a special to me.”

Your words make George beam with happiness. The time that you shared together was precious to George. Each moment filled with love and tenderness that he wouldn’t change for the world. He hated not being around you, that’s the majority of the reason why he desperately begged you to come home with him for winter break. George knew that winter break would be simply unbearable without you near him. Sure, he could always visit you at your parent’s house, but he preferred having you at his side, sleeping next to him in his bed, sitting next to him at dinner with his family, running outside with his siblings. But regardless where you were, you were on George’s mind, nine out of ten times. To George, you were simply unforgettable.

George ducked down and placed a sweet kiss to your lips as you pressed yours harder onto his. He pulled away with a smile, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re special to me,” he retorts as you roll your eyes at his cheesy line, but nevertheless, it still made you swoon. 

The day rolled around too quickly for George’s liking. He wished the days could be longer so he could spend more time next to you, making you smile at him with that smile that could make him drop everything. But the nights with you were George’s favorite. It was when you two could be truly alone. Without Fred barging in on a tender moment, or Ginny dragging you away to hang out, or Ron pulling you into a conversation about quidditch. The nights where were George had your complete and undivided attention, just the way he liked it.

You stood in the bathroom, brushing your teeth in your fresh pajama shorts and t-shirt as George squeezed into the bathroom behind you. His hands placed on your hips as he pressed a kiss into your hair before reaching next to you for his toothbrush, joining you in your nighttime routine. The two of you stood in the bathroom, brushing your teeth, mouth foaming with minty toothpaste as you giggled as white foam dripped down George’s chin. You tried wiped it away, but he swatted your hand playfully. “I like it like that,” he teased you with a mouthful of toothpaste as you giggled. “Makes me feel sexy,” he insisted as foamy toothpaste spit out of his mouth and onto the mirror which only made you two laugh harder. 

It was absolutely childish, but that was the thing you loved most about George. He wasn’t afraid to be childish and laugh about something as silly as toothpaste being spat out onto a mirror. You spit your toothpaste into the sink, rinsing your mouth before George did the same. “Breath check. I don’t want to kiss dragon breath,” you tell him as he blows onto your nose as you sniff. “Minty fresh. Well done.”

“Your turn then,” he says as you mimic his previous actions, George sniffing the air. He contorts his face with disgust as you look at him strangely. “Ugh, better brush again,” he teases as you swat his arm, making him chuckle. “Kidding, kidding,” he retaliates as you walk out of the bathroom with a roll of your eyes. “I’m teasing you! Come on, give us a kiss!” George chases after you down the hall as you squeal, running down the stairs now away from your boyfriend.

Quickly, you divert yourself into Ginny’s room, running onto her bed as she shakes her head with a smile. “The two of you are ridiculous,” she huffs as you lay on her body as she tries to read a copy of the Quidditch Times. George then stumbles into Ginny’s room as she sits up straight, pointing a warning finger at him, “No funny business in here, I swear to Merlin. Out of sight and earshot, please!”

George walks straight to the bed and grabs your body in his hands, pulling you into him as you squeal in protest. “We’ll be out of your hair in just a second, Gin,” he winks before grabbing you by the legs and hoisting you up as you flop over George’s shoulder with a yelp. “Night, small fry!” he calls out as he leaves Ginny’s room, heading back up the stairs to his room.

While walking up the stairs, George passes Fred who makes his way downstairs. Fred groans, “This is really what I’m sacrificing my room for!” You laugh as George continues to walk up the stairs, ignoring his brother’s comment. “You’re really making me spend another night in Ronald’s room? The bloody kid sleep talks! You know what that’s like?! One minute being fast asleep and the next waking up to the sound of your brother moaning Granger’s name?” Fred huffs.

“Shut the bloody fuck up, Fred!” Ron bellows from his room as Fred rolls his eyes before disappearing back down the stairs.

You finally reach George’s room and George flops you onto his bed before shutting the door and crawling into the bed next to you as you giggle. George places a kiss to the tip of your nose, lips, and then chin. “Good evening,” you smile at George as he smiles, you running your fingers through his freshly washed ginger hair. “Ready for bed?” 

George shakes his head, “Eh. Not just yet.” He crawls off of you and sits up as you follow, facing him criss cross applesauce. George pulls you closer to him as you smile, kissing his lips quickly. As you pull away, the look in George’s eyes is so soft and tender, making your heart skip a beat. There was a look on his face that you have never seen before as you give him a puzzled look. What could he be thinking about? But before you can ask him, he opens his mouth and says, “Sometimes...I just forget that you’re mine.”

You let a breathy laugh escape your parted lips. “What do you mean? Of course I’m yours, darling. I’ve always been yours,” you tell him, placing a hand on his cheek. It was the honest truth. Even before you and George had been official, you were always his. Your heart belonged George before you even knew it. He was always the first person you thought about when you opened your eyes and the last one when you closed them. You went out of your way to “bump” into him in the halls or “accidentally” find him in the common room. George Weasley had you wrapped around his finger no matter how much you hated to admit it. But soon enough, you came around and accepted the fact that there was no one else for you but him.

The words spoken make George feel like he’s on cloud nine. When George met you, he knew you were special. Special in the sense you were a person George couldn’t forget. No matter how many girls he flirted with, how many activities he occupied himself with, no matter how he tried to distract himself, you were unforgettable. Never before has someone been more unforgettable. 

George gives your hands a squeeze before he tells you, “I mean you have always been on my mind. You’re never not there. And knowing that I really have you, all of you, is something incredible to me. It’s incredible that I have someone who is unforgettable. And that same person thinks that I am unforgettable too.”

With a happy sigh, you melt into George’s touch. As if he couldn’t get more perfect than he already was. The love that you had for each other was enough to move mountains and part oceans. It was a love that was so powerful, so immeasurable that it almost terrified you. You didn’t think that such a love was possible, but George made it easy. Loving him was like breathing. It was second nature to you. Involuntary even. “Georgie...” you trail off, gazing into those deep brown eyes that could make you melt into a puddle on the floor. “You’ll stay unforgettable forever. You’re my one and only,” you tell him, placing both of your hands on his jaw. He sighs and leans forever, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss as you inhale deeply, goosebumps erupting on your exposed skin. Kissing him was like the first time every time. It never got old.

George pulls away, pressing a quick peck on your lips again. “I could listen to you say those words over and over again,” he speaks with his eyes closed, smiling happily as you chuckle. With a dramatic sigh, he flops onto his back, “I’m living in a dream.” You laugh and shake your head, trying to pull him back up. “Shhh, don’t wake me up. It’s a lovely dream,” he protests.

“You’re so dramatic,” you huff teasingly as George peaks one eye open. “Come on then. We’ve got all night. What do you wanna do?” you poke his chest as he lays for minute, trying to think of something. 

George puffs his cheeks, lost in thought before an idea pops into his head, eyes brightening up with the idea. “Put on a jacket,” he speaks with a smile before jumping off the bed and opening his door and disappearing down the hall. 

You furrow your brows in confusion. What could he possibly want to do that required a jacket? It was the middle of December. It would be freezing outside. “What?” you speak to yourself before scooting off the bed and eventually following him down the hall.

In typical George fashion, he insisted that the two of you go for a walk outside. He claimed that cold winter nights were his favorite. “It’s freezing, Georgie. You could have at least told me to put on proper pants rather than have me in pajama shorts,” you tell him as you pull your jacket closer to your body, trying to keep in your body heat. 

George pulls you into his side, “Don’t be a cry baby. It’s so nice out.” You shake your head, mostly from exasperation, but also from the windchill. The two of you start on a short walk outside, a little ways away from the Burrow, but not too far. You had to give it to George. The moon beautifully illuminated the countryside, the Burrow standing behind you two in all of its glory. Suddenly, George darts away from you and starts running into a grassy part off of the road as you roll your eyes and follow him. In the grassy field, there is a small bush full of beautifully blossomed winter white roses. George plucks the most full rose from the bush with a smile and hands it to you. “A rose for my rose.”

You accept the gift with a blush and kiss his lips quickly. “Cute,” you tell him. “I didn’t know that roses grew wild out here,” you sniff the rose in your hand as George places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you away from the rose bush.

“They don’t,” he tells you as he quickens his pace. “That bush belongs to the house over there,” he points before he breaks out into a light jog. “So start running before we get caught!” he calls before breaking out into a full sprint.

“What?!”

“What are you doing on my property?” an unfamiliar voice calls out as you immediately start running, following George as he cackles. “Weasley!!!” the voice screams as George runs faster, you trying to keep up. Obviously this wasn’t the first time George had trespassed the property.

After running, George slows down his pace with a breathless laugh as you catch up to him, slapping his bicep. “Are you out of your bloody mind?!” you yell at him as he laughs. “You realize how much trouble we could have gotten into!”

George shrugs, “What’s life without a little trouble?” You roll your eyes before looking down at the gorgeous rose he had plucked for you. You sigh, giving in, and sniffing the beautiful rose again as George smiles proudly, knowing you had liked the token. He pulls you into his side and places a kiss to your forehead. “But I reckon we’ve had enough trouble for tonight,” he sighs as you both walk hand in hand to the Burrow, both smiling messes. 

As you walked back to his childhood home, you looked up at George. In the moonlight, he was breathtaking. George was really one of a kind. There was no one like him in the world and being loved by him was better than anything you could have imagined. Being loved by George was simply unforgettable. “Hey,” you stop in your tracks as George follows suit. “I love you.”

George smiles and cups your face in his hands. “And I love you. Forevermore.”

[lunaekalenda]

Congrats on your 500 followers!!! You really really deserve them and more!!!!!

For the game I"ll request 😂+👄+⚔️ with Levi!!! With one of the survey-corps-medic (idk if they exist on the canon universe but at least they sHouLd) love interest and medic gets annoyed whenever Levi arrives with another injury and Levi is basically dragged by Erwin because he cannot stand the pain of her disinfecting another wound.

yes! i hope you like it and thanks for participating! <3

comedy + enemies to lovers + canonverse feat. Levi Ackerman.

non-graphic description of stitching wounds, some bad words, suggestive, kinda sub levi, tying.

Goddess, him again.

Someone knocking on your door made you leave the man half stitched while you get up to check who the hell was disturbing you while you work. You favorite comedy duo was behind the wood door when you opened. Erwin had Levi’s arm between his big hand, the Commander faking a smile while Levi looked on pain.

“Can we enter?” the blonde says.

“Let me end with him first, Erwin. I’m treating Levi almost every day.”

“You see? Occupied, it will heal by itself.” Levi hated when you take those damn cottons full of alcohol. He has nightmares just thinking about it. It might sound ridiculous, how the strongest soldier alive is afraid of a cotton full of alcohol. 

Pathetic.

But, what annoyed the shit out of him was you. Not you in, like,  a concept, but you seeing him weak against a fucking cotton. 

You like it, you can’t lie. Feel his skin all sweaty and his muscles tremble whenever he sees the cotton dripping transparent liquid. But you feel guilty at the same time, how he looked at you as a lost puppy. You tried to make it hurt less but it was impossible, and he thinks you’re doing it on purpose.

You’re not. At least, not all the times. You always tried to not hurt him, you know that it is a painful sensation, so you try to make it as fast as possible. Erwin looks at you.

“Can he wait here?” you nod, pointing a bed near the one you’re using. He sits awkwardly. “This time, he has a cut on his chest. Please, help him. I’ll leave.”

Even when Levi looked at Erwin with panicked face, the blonde one just smiled at him before letting out a jokingly “It’s all good” and leave. Levi was sitting there, almost starting to feel bad. He just hates that sensation.

“Please, take off your shirt. I’ll be with you in a couple minutes.” You ask him. He nods and takes it off. All the marks of other wounds are on his pale skin. The new one is too big, almost painful just to see it.

“Damn, Levi, the hell?” you say. The soldier you’re healing is kinda concerned because your stitches are starting to look abstract. He sighs.

“Please, look what are you doing.” Levi asks you. You nod and try to recover the original path. The soldier just wants you to end and set him free.

“It was just a bad fall, I’m okay. I’m sure it looks a hundred times worse than reality.” he says. You shake your head when you see him trying to put his shirt on. You break the sew and let the soldier free, that is almost running out of your place. You move to Levi’s bed, the fucking alcohol bottle in your hands and the cotton on your pocket. He’s sweating.

“Y/N, I don’t need...” he tries to wake up but you’re standing in front of him, giving Levi zero space to move or escape. You smile.

“It will be fast, Levi.”

“Fast? Have you seen the fucking cut I have?”

“It is big, for sure.” you say, examining it. He sits with a sigh.

“Let’s end this as fast as possible.” He gives up, sitting. All his muscles in tension, his jaw more sharp than ever. He looks so handsome.

“Okay.” You put a cotton in the bottle, letting the alcohol wet it. You put the cotton next to Levi’s wound. He takes your hand.

“Wait, could you notify me?” he asks. You raise an eyebrow, but nod.

“Okay. Here I go. One, two...”

“Aren’t you supposed to count from three to zero and no from one to three?” he asks, stopping you again. You sigh.

“It doesn’t matter, Levi.”

“It does! If you go from three to zero, I know that once you reach zero you’ll end, but if you do it the other way, I’ll never know in which number you’ll end, brat.” he says. You sigh.

“Levi, please. I want to go home and sleep a little.” you beg him to stay quiet. How is it possible that this man who’s afraid of a cotton is the same one that yells at the cadets almost everyday, serious and never joking. “Three, two, one...”

“Wait, I’m not ready yet.” you’re starting to lose patience. That’s why you take his shirt and, tangling it to his wrists, you have a quiet and tangled Levi in front of you.

Looks kinda cute like that.

“Wha-what?” he says. His cheeks totally blushed with the realization that he is tied up and half naked in front of you. You smile a bit. “Don’t smile like that, you dumb”

“The view isn’t as bad as I thought...” He blushes even more, and you let out a laugh. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Even when he tries to move his body, the cotton touches his chest. He’s trying his best to not to yell. You appreciate his effort, caressing quietly his shoulder in a “Try harder” support. His jaw is totally tense. “This is torture.”

“Want me to show you what real torture is?” you ask. Levi lets a sarcastic laugh escape his lips.

“You have zero idea of torture.”

“You sure?” you ask. “Remember there are a lot of ways...” you say, but his voice interrupts you.

“You’re such a dirty-minded” he hisses between his teeth.

“I didn’t say anything, you figured what I was talking about by yourself, who’s the dirty-minded now?” he looks at you, totally done. 

“Touché.” his wound is almost disinfected now. You drop the cotton to a near bin. “Is it done?” he asks, hope shining in his grey eyes. You nod. “Fine, goddess. Can you untie me?” he asks. You smile.

“Hmm, maybe we could, you know, take advantage of the knot I made and looks totally impossible to untie.”

[hes-writer]

Trial (4)

Summary: harry and y/n face the truth

Warnings: angst, a tiny bit of fluff

Word Count: 4249 words

A/N: thank you so much for supporting this series !! @devilinbetweenthesheet-s. I will do the taglist later in the day :)

EDIT: idk why the ‘read more’ is not working. I apologize for the scrolling!!

Part 4 of the Tarnish series!

___

Harry was crying.

Admitting his feelings when he was younger was quite a task for him. Now that he was nearly in his thirties, the journey of being vulnerable with himself and with his feelings became easier with each emotion that he permitted himself to submerge in. Harry validated those emotions--he was allowed to experience them because it makes him human. It added texture to the ever-growing mosaic that painted who he was as an individual. Adding to the people that surrounded him, influenced by their kind-nature and the goodness of their heart to become who he was now.

And now, it seemed like his emotions increased tenfold. The clench of his abdomen and the harsh jolt of his chest forced his slouched shoulder to stay deflated. His breathing hitched as sobs threatened to take over, throat sore with the effort to keep it all in because Harry was smart enough to know that these emotions coursing through him right now were ones he wasn’t validated to feel. Paired with the latest information that that little girl being held by another man was his own daughter--and that the woman who was glowing with her caring, motherly-instincts was supposed to be his family; it broke him completely. 

Quaking thoughts circled his brain and punctured his muscles as if they were attacking him not only mentally, but physically as well in exchange for his past mistakes that he couldn’t quite place if he deeply regretted or not. Was it a mistake to cheat on Y/N? To leave her alone in the exposure of the public eye while she was carrying his child in her tummy? 

Harry should have known the day she fell sick and vomited in their kitchen sink. He was, sadly, too busy throwing a subdued celebration of finally having time alone with Camille. He should have noticed the way her face brightened with radiance. Or the way her cravings for strawberries and pickles either grossed her out or completely compelled her to consume more than she usually would. 

But Harry guessed that that was around the time his efforts went out the window because he didn’t have to pretend to care as much anymore. Camille appeared to be his one and only. With their relationship coming so close to being revealed and Y/N having one foot out the door, Harry let fate play out the rest. Don’t get him wrong, Harry still loved Camille; that was why his slashed heart still throbbed at the sight of her watching over her little cousin, yet knowing that the topic of children was still not a card on the table. 

The distress that he was feeling right now was core-shredding, heartbreaking grief that left a hole in his heart. The worst part was that Harry didn’t exactly know how to fix it or whether he even could. As he walked to his car with hands jammed into his pockets, he was grateful that the hood of his sweater hid his face and the tears sliding down the slope of his cheeks.

His senses were in overdrive, figuring out how to fix the mess he created. Wanting to run up to Y/N and ask her why she didn’t tell him, needing to feel his little girl in his arms. Pinching his skin to transfer the pain he felt in his heart because of the thought that he missed his baby’s first words, her first steps. Was it ‘dada’ that babbled out of her mouth? Did she reach out for Connor when she stumbled over nothing when she walked on stubby legs? Did Y/N mention his name to her?

“Harry!” 

He kept on walking despite the hushed call of his name, assuming that it was a fan that caught sight of him and wanted a picture. Harry adores them, but now is hardly the time to fake a smile or act like his life didn’t just flash right before his eyes--quite literally. 

The vehicle beeped as Harry pressed the ‘unlock’ button on his key fob, just about ready to pull the door open and shield himself from prying eyes. He flinched when a hand fell on his shoulder, “Harry,” 

He looked up to find Gemma panting, resting her hand on the roof of the car, “Are you. . .alright?” Her drifting eyes inspected his face, tinted a slight pink and moist with the salty liquid dripping from his tear ducts.

Huffing in annoyance, Harry clutched the handle to let himself in. Gemma followed his actions, shutting the door and locking it. The tinted windows of the car provided a semi-private enclosure that was filled with Harry’s sniffling and Gemma’s heavy breathing, trying to catch her breath. 

“H-her name is Halo,” Gemma began, gulping when Harry paused his ministrations, straining his ears to listen despite the dull thud occupying his vessels. “She’s almost two years old,”

“You said you didn’t know,” Harry’s gruff tone echoed. Gemma anxiously rubbed the ends of her palms against her jeans. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew all this time and y’didn’t tell me,”

“I-I was--she didn’t want me--” 

“Why would she tell you and not me? I’m the one that dated her,” He raised his voice with every syllable he spoke. The frustration he felt from seeing the woman he once loved living the reality they shared together, except he wasn’t anywhere in the picture and that reality was only a fantasy in his life now. “It doesn’t make sense,” He rested his forearms on the wheel, facing the car’s symbol.

“The baby is yours, Harry,”

His head quipped with speed, grazing his forehead on the rounded leather but that pain didn’t amount to the new wave washing over him. “W-what?”

“It’s really not my place to tell,” Gemma said nervously, making eye contact with Harry’s searing yet teary gaze. “She wanted to tell you but you were so happy with Camille. She was posting these things on her Instagram about your trips and Y/N called me crying because you looked so free and happy without her. Y/N didn’t want to ruin what you guys had by dropping this on you,”

"That's-that's my baby?" Harry stuttered over his words while tugging his head out of his memories. Gemma nodded in confirmation. “Then why in the world was she--Halo?--calling him ‘dada’? 

“Look, Harry, you’re not stupid. You know why Halo called Connor her dad,” Gemma spoke slowly, “This is a conversation that you need to have with Y/N if she lets you,”

At the mention of the man’s name, Harry couldn’t help but be filled with anger. He barely knew this man yet he received everything that Harry wanted in life. ‘But she’s my kid. I’m her dad. I’m the one who’s supposed to give her kisses and make her laugh,” He mumbled quietly as if his inner thoughts were far too strong to be kept in his mind

He was staring mindlessly at the numbers on his dashboard, hands gripping the leather steering wheel to try and ground himself. "But if that's my baby, how can she call someone who's not her father, dad?" He whipped his head towards Gemma, searching for validation that would make him feel better but the siblings were aware that he lost that title three years ago. 

“I think you know you lost that place in their lives,” She reached a comforting hand to pat his arm, feeling just how tense he was under the fabric.

Harry shrugged her off, pinching his brows and pursing his lips as sadness began to swirl down the drain only to be replaced with resentment, irritation and bitterness. The taste on his tongue was hot with anger and his ears felt warm as he wheezed air instead of opting to yell his dissatisfaction near his sister. 

“This isn't fair. She's m’baby too. Connor is not her father,” He spat with venom, “I am,” A pointed finger poked his chest. "She knew she was pregnant when she left me. She’s so fuckin’ selfish. How could she do this to me? 

Gemma was quick to remind him of his actions, "You cheated on her, Harry.” Gemma cowered back at Harry’s beady eyes glaring at her with an unreadable emotion, stone-cold. “Maybe you should go home. Calm down a little bit,”

“No!” Harry cut Gemma off, “Need t’a hear her say it myself,” 

Harry didn’t know what his plan was when he harshly slammed the car door behind him, practically storming on the patches of grass like a mad man. It wasn’t hard to spot the picture-perfect family sitting on a park bench which brought a scowl to his shielded face. He wanted to give Y/N a piece of his mind and it wasn’t necessarily the nicest thoughts that crossed his brain. 

Halo was sitting on Connor’s lap while he was feeding her a peeled cupcake. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting—-Harry felt like he was punched in the gut. The baked good was Y/N’s specialty and it had a lot of sentimental value to both of them. It was what she baked for their first year together. He could vividly see her frosting-dotted nose, aiming to splotch the cream on his cheek while she laughed. Harry wrapped his arms around her, hugging Y/N from behind and proceeding to kiss her sweet cheek, leaving the perfect opportunity to stain his skin with the frosting. 

But he didn’t care if he was smashed headfirst into the cake (as long as it wasn’t ice cream cake)—Harry just wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh heartily. 

Y/N was snuggled on Connor’s shoulder, fixing Halo’s hair as she made grabby hands at the confection. He cannot lie--Connor was a handsome man. Harry rarely felt intimidated or insecure, but seeing that this man managed to snatch everything Harry could ever want seemingly in a blink of an eye; Harry felt very jealous. 

He pouted, eyes rimmed red and lips quivering wishing that Cory or Connor--whatever that little shit’s name was would disappear so that Harry could take his place instead. Actually, it was his spot in the first place. Only if he didn’t mess up, he thought. He missed Y/N so much! Seeing Y/N in her element of niceness and bright-gleaming smiles sent a truck full of sand down his throat as he gulped his emotion below the surface. The closer he got to them, his vision tunnelled towards Halo; brown, flouncy curls and a cute dimple embedded in her cheek as she giggled, accidentally knocking the cupcake on the ground.  

If that wasn’t symbolism staring at Harry straight in the face; a sign that their so-called relationship really had no chance of reprieve. Harry chose to ignore it.

Connor clutched Halo tightly against him, crouching down with a napkin to clean up the scattered cake on the ground. Y/N was the first to notice him, her forehead creasing as her eyes bulged at the sight of Harry walking towards them. She subtly poked at Connor’s arm, hurting Harry even more because it meant that Y/N felt uncomfortable with his presence. 

He was close enough to read her pink lips, “We should go,” matched with Y/N’s frantic actions of packing the juice boxes and the Tupperware of cupcakes into the tote bag beside her. Connor searched the park until his gaze landed on Harry, protectively shielding Halo from him. 

Is he serious? Harry thought. That’s my own daughter.

Speaking of Halo, the two-year-old happily continued munching on her new cupcake, frowning slightly when Connor stood up, “Why we leaving, Daddy? Did I do somethin’ bad?”

Y/N sighed, they promised that Halo could play at the park all day and now it was cut short because of a certain someone. 

“No, you didn’t, bub. Let Daddy explain at home, okay baby?” Connor hitched Halo higher on his hip, hoping that she wouldn’t ask any more questions until the trio left.

“Who’s that?” Halo asked, pointing at Harry only metres away from them. Her stubby finger outstretched at the stranger in front of her, eyes bright and sparkling with curiosity. There was no sign of recognition painting her green orbs. 

Harry gulped, wanting so badly to scream “I’m your dad!” but he knew that Y/N will add that to the list of his mistakes he had made. 

“No one, angel,” Connor planted a kiss on her head, looking over at Y/N who had finished packing everything up. He tilted his chin in an attempt to scare Harry off.

But the thing was, Harry was already scared. He could feel his stomach in his throat but vomiting wasn’t the right word to describe it. His heart drooped deeper than the levels of the Earth. He was scared because his family was right in front of him but he couldn’t touch them or hug them in his arms. He was only allowed to look from the outside because there was a small possibility of being forgiven.

“Y/N. . .” Harry began hesitantly. The surge of confidence he had decreased with each passing second. He kept a close eye.

Y/N shrugged the strap on her shoulder, “Leave us alone, Harry.”

He felt his anger disappearing, a new emotion cascading his tear ducts and the blood in his veins. Harry looked back in retrospect; she really did mean it when Y/N said that she never wanted him around again. “I just want to talk. Please, let’s talk,”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Harry,”  Connor interrupted, grabbing the bag from Y/N and wrapping an arm over her shoulder, guiding them away from Harry. “She’s happy without you, mate. can’t you see?”

Harry kept his gaze trained on Y/N’s face, actively avoiding eye contact but drifted when Halo’s frown caught his stare. The little girl’s chin was hooked over Connor’s shoulder, squirming in his arms in an attempt to stop him from walking. Halo was smart enough to know that Harry’s expression screamed sadness and her mummy said that “you need to find a way to make them happy” if someone was sad.

“Wait!” Her shrill yell caused both Connor and Y/N to turn around. A piece of Harry’s heart shattered on the floor when Halo pulled Connor down by the nape of his neck, small hand leading his ear next to her lips. Then, she did the same to Y/N, pointing at Harry which caused him to straighten his stance, wanting to impress his daughter even though there was no point.

The couple shared a look before ultimately having Connor walk closer to Harry. Halo gripped her cupcake towards him, “‘ere y’go hawwy,’ She still couldn’t pronounce her ‘r’s’ yet. 

Harry began to sob. 

It was his daughter and those were the first words she had uttered to him. She didn’t know him yet Halo treated him with kindness and it ripped at his chest because Y/N must’ve taught her that. His palms became wet as tears streamed from his eyes, dampening the sleeves of his hoodie. He didn't care about looking foolish in front of them, not when his daughter saw him as a stranger and called Connor her ‘dada’. 

Halo recoiled at the sudden reaction, her lips curving downwards, “Dada, mama, he’s cwyin’,” She tucked her face at the junction of Connor’s shoulder and neck, scared that she made him cry. Halo didn’t mean to make him cry. She felt so guilty that she started spilling tears of her own too, her face contorting into a scrunched expression as her mouth wailed open sobs, matching Harry’s. 

Harry’s first instinct was to take a step forward and comfort Halo but he was rendered frozen when Connor shot him a glare, shifting Halo’s body out of reach and he could only see her face over the man’s shoulder. Y/N dimmed her eyes, brows pinching when she couldn’t help but let a smidge of sympathy wash over her. She muttered a few words to Connor, pushing him by the small of his back towards the parking lot. 

When they were out of earshot, Y/N faced Harry, “What were you thinking? Are you trying to mess everything up again?” He tried to cut in, “Isn’t it bad enough that we’re talking about this in public? Why must you ruin everything, Harry?” She whisper-shouted, trying her best not to garner them any attention. 

“N-no, Gemma told me and I jus’ wanted to see her--and you. Wanted to hear the truth come out of your mouth,” His large hands jammed into his pockets to prevent him from fiddling with them. 

“Look, you have no right coming here,”

“I know that b-but I--,”

She held a palm up, “I’m not sadistic like you Harry. If you thought that I wouldn’t let you around her then you’re wrong. As much as I hate to admit it, I do miss you and I wish that you were there for us when we needed you,”

“I had no idea--,”

“Will you let me speak?” Her tone carried irritation. “But we’re alright now and we don’t need you anymore.”

Harry never thought that those statements would ever come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Don’t you think I deserve to get to know her?” 

She sighed, “Deserve? Definitely not.” He nodded in agreement. “But I’d live in regret if Halo never got to know her real father. . .”

Harry’s expression lit up, hopeful eyes shooting glances at her, “D-does that mea--? Are you--?”

“You can see her. You can get to know her but only because you’re Halo’s father,” Y/N took a brave step forward, ignoring the way her heart throbbed as if she was being stabbed by a thousand knives. Painful memories drifted in and out of her train of thought until she shook her head to muster them out. It was in the past but she could never forget the feeling of hopelessness taking over her whole body. 

With a hand on his shoulder, she continued, “Anyone can be a father and you’re just that. Don’t think that you’re entitled to anything more. You will never be her dad. Connor is. Understood?”

Harry took a deep breath and swallowed a heavy gulp, “I. . .understand. Thank you, Y/N. For letting me back in when I don’t deserve it,” He glanced at the two tiny figures piling in the car. He could just imagine himself plucking little Halo into her booster seat, booping her nose as she asked for the hundredth time why she had to sit at the back and not at the front with them. 

“I’m not finished,” She deadpanned, “You are going to be there for her. Not for me, not for us because our relationship is over. You can hurt me as you did before and I can accept it but don’t you dare try to hurt her,” 

And it was true. Having endured his painful game once before, Y/N was stronger now. She could take heartbreak as agonizing as that but she wouldn’t dare stand seeing Halo’s teary eyes staring back at her, asking why Harry had left them. She was far too young to experience the feeling when a piece of herself is ripped apart. 

“I won’t hurt her. I promise,”

“I heard those words come out from your mouth years ago and look where we are now. Once you hurt her, it’s over.”

“Y/N, t-that’s hardly fair. I am her dad, aren’t I?” Harry cleared his throat at Y/N’s raised brow.

“No, you’re not. We just went through this, Harry.”

“Don’t call me that,” He muttered quietly because she only ever called him ‘baby’ or ‘h’.

“Will you stop? I laid out my cards. If you want to even have a speck of presence in her life, then you have to abide by what I said,” She crossed her arms in defence, “You will never be Halo’s dad, Harry. Connor is her dad. I don’t know how many more times I have to repeat this before it gets through you thick head,”

He opened his mouth to talk, “No wiggle room whatsoever?”

“No. Do I have to write a letter for you to understand that?”

In a moment of hurt and despair, Harry spat out, “Might as well, yeah? Waited over two years to tell me anyway,”

“Are you kidding me?”

His throat ran dry, realizing that he just ticked another box to favour against being a part of his daughter’s life, “I-I’m sorry. I didn't mean to,”

“Whatever. Are you willing to make the sacrifice?”

“This isn’t the place to talk about this,” Harry suggested, wanting to have some sort of foot on the ground so he doesn’t feel like he’s topping over with guilt and sadness. “Maybe you can come over to my house,”

Y/N shook her head, glancing briefly at her phone when it buzzed, “No. I will not step foot in that house again. If you really want to discuss it, you can come over at our place,”

“Your place?” Did they all live together? Well, that was another slap to the face. Not only was Connor playing dad to Halo, but he was also part of the household. Harry’s face must have contorted into a grimace because Y/N sighed softly. 

“Yes, our place. Meaning all three of us,” She gestured behind her. “I have to go. You can probably get my number from Gemma; you can text me then.”

“Yes, yes! Of course, I want to talk to you. . . about this, I mean,” Harry lowered his enthusiasm. The small voice in his head reverberating that this was not about him and Y/N; this was about Halo. 

“And make sure you don’t bring anyone else,” Y/N said sarcastically, subtly pointing in the direction of the paparazzi hiding behind some bushes. Harry was usually good at spotting them but today was just a puddle of hurt and confusion. “I don’t want her having to read nasty things like I did,”

What Y/N said may have been a side comment, but Harry couldn’t help but take it to heart. Was this a good idea? Sure, he wanted to be a present dad in Halo’s life. However, is it worth it to stir unwanted drama? If only he didn’t cheat on Y/N, all of this could have been avoided. 

With his mind in a haze, Harry barely noticed Y/N’s figure moving away from him. He jogged to catch up with her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Harry felt numb to the way she shrugged her touch off of her immediately, “Were you ever going to tell me about our daughter?’

Y/N stared at him quizzically, tilting her head a little bit sideways, “I thought I did? Wait!” A look of recognition plastered across her features, “I did try to tell you but you blocked me before the message sent through,”

Harry gulped with realization. He blearily remembered  bitterly blocking her number just as she texted “I need to tell you something,”

___

Y/N: Since you’re not picking up my calls

I need to tell you something

Y/N took a deep breath as her thumbs tapped on the letters slowly as if to withhold the news from him. She was not at all ready to reveal that she was pregnant and that he was the father but Y/N knew that it was the right thing to do. Despite the fact that he was currently out of the country on vacation somewhere on an island with sandy beaches with Camille. Y/N was aware that this spike of courage was rare and so, she had to do it now.

Y/N: I’m pregnant

And you’re the father

She locked the device as soon as she pressed the arrow to send the message, clutching the phone close to her chest and shutting her eyes so tightly that it hurt. Minutes passed with no response and Y/N was shouldered by curiosity to check if he had sent anything back or simply left her on ‘seen’. 

It was neither. The screaming red exclamation mark surrounded by a circle indicated that she had been blocked. 

___

The times when she left missed calls on his phone were for a reason much bigger than the two of them. Y/N didn’t call to beg for him back or to ask Harry to want her again. He was ashamed to admit that he had rolled his eyes upwards every time he clicked on a voicemail she had left, stating, “Hey H, it’s me. Call me back when you hear this. I need to talk to you,” which he deleted without a second thought. She didn’t text him endlessly to politely ask for her things packed and settled for her pick-up because Y/N could not bear to spend another second in a room with him.

It wasn’t that at all. 

Y/N was physically moving farther and farther away from him, settling herself into the car before driving off to hers and Connor’s shared house. Halo sat in the backseat, singing along to the radio.

Harry was surrounded amidst the joyful squeals of children and reprimanding voices of their parents.

He stood alone with no one but loneliness by his side and the brisk flash of cameras in his peripherals.

_____

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[robininthelabyrinth]

I need to know what u think of an AU where JC is the one who dies (sacrificing his life to save WWX) instead of JYL, he’s not as angry with WWX bc JYL is still alive so when he sees his brother about to get murdered he just steps in front of him while JYL and WWX see :) I don’t even know what I want u to do with this? Give me some headcanons? Is it a prompt? Idk I just want u to to see what u make of this (I promise JC is my fav but my mind likes to make me suffer :p)

1

It wasn’t a matter of conscious thought when Jiang Cheng threw himself between that cultivator’s sword and Wei Wuxian’s unguarded back, all his defenses down in the face of Jiang Yanli’s pleading, same as always; it was just instinct. Wei Wuxian was always the troublemaker, the crazy one, and Jiang Cheng always the one being dragged along; he’d long ago learned to spend all his time watching his shixiong’s back, keeping him away from dogs, away from angry shopkeepers, away from any harm. It was instinct, just as it had been the day he’d thrown himself out into the street to distract the Wens, and he’d always justified that instinct because he knew that Wei Wuxian would do the same for him.

Though – he didn’t know that anymore, not after everything that happened recently. Wei Wuxian had made him all the promises in the world, to stand by his side through wind and lightning, and he’d seemed to have no issue abandoning those promises, picking the remnants of the Wen sect over the remnants of the Jiang sect without a moment’s hesitation and not even the courtesy of an explanation.

The Yiling Patriarch was all but a stranger to him, and Jiang Cheng still didn’t understand why.

So it was probably stupid of him to react as if the person being stabbed at was Wei Wuxian, not the Yiling Patriarch – stupid of him to give up his life for someone who didn’t care about him nearly as much as Jiang Cheng cared for him.

But that’s why it wasn’t a thought. It was instinct.

He heard someone scream “Jiang Cheng!” as if their heart were breaking, and he thought for a moment that it was Wei Wuxian again, the one who loved him best. Wei Wuxian, not the Yiling Patriarch, who threw him to the dogs over and over again, put his sect at risk of utter destruction a second time over, just to indulge himself and his bizarre fixation on saving the Wens at the expense of everyone else. Who didn’t care about their duty to their sect, to their parents - who didn’t care about him at all.

Jiang Cheng’s heart hurt. It was probably just the sword that’d just been driven through it, though.

Hands grasped at his clothing, pulling him back; his sister’s face had lost all blood, and Wei Wuxian looked as if his world had ended – he wasn’t sure why. Jiang Yanli had her son to care for, a new life in Lanling that she refused to abandon even if Jin Zixuan was now gone; Wei Wuxian had his Wens, his new cultivation – perhaps it was some little regret, far too late, for the Jiang sect that would now come to grief, leaderless, the end of their family line and the disappointment of their ancestors. Jiang Cheng’s final and most absolute failure.

Jiang Cheng looked at them both, the ones he loved the most and who had left him without a single glance backwards, and found with his last breath that he had nothing to say to them.

He closed his eyes so they wouldn’t have to.

2

The battlefield was full of corpses, and Jiang Yanli didn’t care about a single one of them.

“Do you think he can be brought back, the way Wen Ning was?” she asked, holding the corpse in her arms as if it were still the baby brother she sang songs to as a child, the little crybaby who was so fierce on the outside and so soft on the inside. She had been able to lie to herself with Jin Zixuan’s body – he almost looked as though he were sleeping, head on the pillow beside her own – but Jiang Cheng had never slept well in his life, his brow always furrowed as if he was worrying about something even in his dreams, and the blank peace on his face was so wrong that she couldn’t bear to look at him.

She wasn’t asking Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian had only stopped the massacre when Lan Wangji, of all unlikely people, had bodily tackled him; everyone had always said that the Second Jade was like oil and water with her A-Xian, but he’d unexpectedly taken their side in this battle and was even now letting a barely-conscious Wei Wuxian sob Jiang Cheng’s name into his collar. He looked silently at her, his gaze a quiet reminder that her question was inappropriate – one Ghost General had already been enough to cause all of this tragedy, and certainly no one would ever accept another as a sect leader.

She looked steadily back at him, indicating in return that she didn’t give a damn about the standing of the Jiang sect if it meant she wouldn’t have to bury her baby brother.

Lan Wangji hesitated, looking down at Wei Wuxian. “You cannot stay at Yiling,” he finally said. “After this…”

They’d killed people from virtually every sect; no matter who had sympathized with Wei Wuxian before this or how much they felt he was wronged, they would have no choice but to raise up arms against him.

Jiang Yanli understood. They would be fugitives, condemned by all. She didn’t care. “Will you help us?”

He nodded and stood, Wei Wuxian cradled as gently in his arms as she held Jiang Cheng in hers.

“Will you come with us?” she asked. Anyone who loved her brother enough to defy his sect, to stain his untainted blade with the blood of his own kin, deserved a chance to court him properly, if she hadn’t misunderstood his intentions; she didn’t think she had, not with the expression so clear on his silent face.

“I will help you,” he said, and that wasn’t an answer, wasn’t the one she wanted, but it would have to do for now. “Let us go.”

3

It was Jin Zixuan who figured it out, oddly enough. Perhaps it was because he was an outsider, looking at the situation without affection to blur his eyes.

“You gave him your golden core,” he said, less than a week into his resurrection – Lan Wangji had been very efficient in his help, not only finding a new place to hide Jiang Yanli and the remaining Wens but also returning to Lanling to steal Jin Zixuan’s corpse and little Jin Ling before returning to his own sect at the first sign that Wei Wuxian would awaken from his coma. He hadn’t sent word since that time, whether from regret or other reasons; their only consolation was that there was no news of his death. “That’s why you couldn’t do anything other than demonic cultivation – is that right?”

Wei Wuxian looked at him through blood-red eyes. “Get lost,” he said; the phrase made up the majority of his vocabulary, these days, and because he refused to curse his shijie he mostly ended up not talking to her at all.

“Wen Qing was a famous doctor – she could have figured out a way to do it, and that would explain why you felt so indebted to them,” Jin Zixuan continued. “You never told him because you didn’t want to burden him. But instead you left him without any reason, any explanation: he must have felt that you abandoned him because you didn’t want him.”

“Get lost!”

“You broke his heart,” he said, and looked down at Jiang Cheng’s body – still perfectly preserved, but unmoving. The resurrection spell had already failed three times. “No wonder he doesn’t want to return.”

“I did it for him!” Wei Wuxian screamed, tears of blood dripping down his cheeks. “He didn’t – he wouldn’t – he has to come back!”

Jin Zixuan said nothing.

4

They ended up back in Yunmeng, rather unexpectedly; the new leadership of the Lotus Pier, a distant branch cousin who’d survived the massacre because he’d been night-hunting elsewhere, had all but begged Jiang Yanli to return. Against all odds her reputation had survived the massacre at the Nightless City; the loving wife, sister, and shijie that nearly sacrificed herself to save what lives she could and to banish the dreadful Yiling Patriarch who was never seen again from that day forth –  she was very nearly regarded as an incarnation of the goddess of mercy.

She had no idea where that ridiculous notion came from, but it did mean that she could live in Lotus Pier again, with Jin Ling by her side – she’d told Jin Guangshan to name someone else as his heir, or at minimum as regent; the Jiang sect needed her and her son more. It wouldn’t have worked if Jin Zixuan hadn’t snuck into his mother’s room to convince Madam Jin to throw her support behind it; officially he was still in his tomb, since Lan Wangji had been very subtle, but in fact he lived within shouting distance of the Lotus Pier, spending his days playing with his son.

They all did, actually, the whole lot of them resettled into a tiny adjacent water town populated largely by civilians that relied on the Jiang sect for their prosperity. As long as Wei Wuxian never did anything, which he didn’t, the illusion that he was gone for good in a cloud of self-destruction after his terrible massacre could be maintained; no one expected they could possibly be so daring as to simply go home after all of it.

Lan Wangji was in seclusion, they were eventually told; Wei Wuxian hadn’t believed it for one second, smuggling himself into Gusu to check – he’d come back unconscious, slung over Jin Zixuan’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Struck by the discipline whip,” her husband, the fierce corpse that wasn’t fierce at all, said, and didn’t comment when she instinctively reached out to touch Jiang Cheng’s body, to trace the scar he had; she often spent her days next to the bed that preserved his corpse. “Many times; his body is ruined. It will take years for him to heal – the Lan sect saying he was in seclusion was their way of saving face. Wei Wuxian wants to bring him back to the Lotus Pier to hide him.”

Jiang Yanli rubbed her face, thinking not for the first time that the world would be an easier place if only her two brothers weren’t so stubborn. One who wouldn’t wake up, his spiritual consciousness all in pieces; the other who wouldn’t give up – “The Lan sect wouldn’t accept that.”

“He wasn’t planning on asking. That’s why I knocked him out. Anyway, they’re distracted with the Xue Yang matter now – my father’s still insisting on protecting him, and the Nie sect gets angrier about it by the day; without the Jiang sect, there’s only the Lan to play peacemaker, stop there from being another war.”

Jiang Yanli, who was very nice but also very much not the goddess of mercy, tilted her head to the side; something of her mother was in her eyes. “A war would be a good cover, though, or at least the rumblings of one. If we were going to steal Lan Wangji away from his sect, that is.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll sneak into Lanling to talk to my mother, maybe see if I can follow Xue Yang and see what he’s up to. You go talk to the Nie.”

5

Jiang Yanli’s visit to the Unclean Realm turned out to be more fruitful than anyone had expected. The moment she walked into Nie Mingjue’s receiving room, her Jiang sect bell rang so hard that it shattered, which it definitely hadn’t done during the war – they both stared at it wordlessly for a while.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, averting his eyes. “You know my family history,” he offered as an explanation, embarrassment at the public revelation of his problem already turning to anger but suppressed by his strict adherence to etiquette.

“That’s no family history,” she said, bemused, as she crouched down to poke at the pieces. “The silver bell of the Jiang sect can steady focus and calm the mind, and the ones made for the family are the strongest by far; it would only shatter like this in the effort to resist a spiritual poison…how are you feeling now, Sect Leader Nie?”

He considered for a long moment, and his face grew black with rage. “Better. I feel – like my mind has been filled with fog, and a clear breeze has blown it clear.”

She smiled up at him. “Perhaps you should visit Yunmeng.”

He scowled, and she realized he must know about Wei Wuxian’s presence, though she wasn’t sure how; despite that, in the end, after a roaring argument with Nie Huaisang in another room, he agreed to go, even if the idea of staying willfully blind clearly pained him to the core.

Jiang Yanli quietly approved of his decision to put family over principle.

When they put their mind to it, the Nie sect  had an underrated talent for saying ‘I don’t know’ to just about everything. Neither brother blinked an eye at the Wen sect remnants that still teetered every time they went on a boat, very clearly not Yunmeng locals; they politely greeted Jin Zixuan as if he’d only been gone a while and not murdered; much to his older brother’s very evident irritation, Nie Huaisang even leapt over to give Wei Wuxian an enthusiastic hug while Nie Mingjue was still talking with Jin Zixuan about what it meant that Jin Guangshan had hidden away the still intact Wen Ning, who Jin Zixuan had found in a hidden part of Koi Tower during his most recent visit and immediately liberated.

“Definitely a case of spiritual poisoning,” Wei Wuxian said after a short examination, and the most reliable doctor they had left in the Jiang sect concurred. “The silver bell can help a little –” 

They’d already shattered seven of them, but Nie Mingjue had actually cracked a smile for the first time in months, to hear a sobbingly relieved Nie Huaisang tell it. 

“–but it can only help so much; that technique is really only meant for acute cases. And you really need to figure out what was doing the poisoning; there’s no point in curing you if you’re only going to get poisoned again.”

“A matter for a later time,” Nie Mingjue, who clearly had some suspicions that made him look as though he’d been stabbed in the back, said. “Now that we know it’s a poisoning, and my mind is clearer, I can take some action myself – the Nie have plenty of techniques to stabilize the spirit.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile was full of self-hatred, as it always was these days. “I don’t suppose any of those are designed to work on the dead.”

“Actually,” Nie Huaisang said. “Several are. Why do you ask?”

6

Jiang Cheng opened his eyes.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 1)

(Gif credit to @kikuthestrange​)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: As usual, mentions and descriptions of blood, death, torture, injury and people being burnt alive. Mentions or allusions to rape. If there’s anything else I didn’t mention, please let me know. Fair warning that the Reader Character may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but please give her a chance.

A/N: Um, idk. Hope you like this, and again, really sorry if this is OOC. That is one hell of an insecurity I have when I start writing for new characters, but I really hope I’m not messing Ivar or any of the others up.

You are focused on the blending of some herbs to help the pain of some of the warriors, when a round metal shield is dropped at your feet. You raise your eyes from the snake engraved on the old metal to the Saxon, giving away nothing except a small twitch of your mouth.

But you know what that symbol is. It is a mark of the Attics.

“Most of the Greeks are dead,” He states, certainly, viciously. Your eyes fall closed, and you heave a sigh. “And I will personally see that the survivors are hunted down.”

You knew this was going to happen. The Varangians cornered Stithulf into the confine of these walls and yet last night he sent a hunting party, the best of the best within his Arab mercenaries.

You knew he wasn’t going to try and kill Ivar the Boneless or his brothers. No, he was going to take revenge on the people he deemed failed him, the people he deemed owed him a victory.

And it makes the whole ground cave under your feet, the realization that it is done. That the last of the Attics lie bloodied on the unforgiving earth. That their faith in you, their love for you, was their downfall.

Just like Narses’.

“I always knew you Christians were just as bloody and cruel as the worst of us,” You say instead, looking down at the shield again and picking it up with trembling hands, “You slaughtered hundreds of innocents.”

“If you had fought for us…” He starts, but you interrupt him with a glare. Some things don’t change even if you get far from home: all it takes to stop an army, to make a man like Stithulf hesitate, is a heathen witch.

If only their God hadn’t taught him to fear yours, the world would be so different.

“We’d all rather be dead than slaves to a Christian.” You hiss out, curling your fingers over the cold and bloodied metal. And you mean more than this battle, this war not your own that regardless you lost; no, you mean Byzantium, and the home you left behind.

“You could have avoided all of this, Greek.” He insists, the scar that runs from his neck to his uneven sideburn stretching around the smile he offers.

For a moment you imagine letting your hand run a knife deeply through that scar, open it again and see it pour red and victorious blood. Trace with a knife over every scar, so that he only remembers the torment you brought him.

No, that’s wrong. Trying to hide the grimace at your own thoughts, you shake off the shame and stand up. Holding on tightly to the shield, you feel you carry the weight of thousands of Greeks on your hand.

And because you were taught speaking things helped make them real, you promise, “Our Gods live on, and the worship of them is not something blades and blood can smother. Quieten, yes, but never silence.”

“You will die for your pagan ways, you know this, don’t you?” He asks, stopping you for a moment at the…honesty in his voice.

“I do not fear death,” You answer, and when you walk past an open window that looks over the foreign and cold horizon you add, quiet enough that only the Gods may hear you, “I welcome it. Let Hades summon me home.”

“I have reached an agreement with the Vikings,” Stithulf calls out, voice loud and echoing in the halls. You grip the shield tighter. “There will be…negotiations tomorrow.”

Your mouth smiles and your tongue runs with dangerous words before you can stop yourself, “You will sit and talk with the same men you scoured the world trying to kill?”

“I know when I am defeated, Greek. Something you lack.”

You say nothing else, the defeat finally setting over your shoulders and all you can do to keep appearances is to keep walking and pretend the tears are not clogging your view as you walk past unfamiliar halls, on unfamiliar grounds, with the weight of unfamiliar and familiar ghosts over your head.

Spending the rest of the day, almost till the sun sets, taking care of some wounds and fevers, you can almost pretend to yourself that the life you give here, the damage you heal here; can start to make up for all the death you and your mistakes have caused.

You raise your head from your work on the stitching when strange rhythmic sounds reach your ears.

Metal on wood. Dragging sounds. Metal on wood again. Something dragged again.

The door to the barren and almost empty home you are using as a makeshift infirmary opens, and the silhouette of Ivar the Boneless stands on the doorway.

Your heart pounds in your ears, and the warrior with his injured skin under your fingers hisses a breath when your needle pierces deeper than intended into his skin. You mumble an apology in Greek, but keep your eyes on the King.

“You don’t need healing.” You quip quietly in his language, rising to your feet and motioning for the Greek you were helping to remain in his seat.

To be honest, you don’t know why you stand up, why you straighten your back and raise your chin. You can pretend to be as tall as you wish, as strong as you wish, but everyone in this room knows if the Varangian wants you dead you will be so.

“I wanted to talk to you.” The Viking offers, forced nonchalance as he approaches. His legs don’t seem to work normally, and the contraptions around them are like you never saw before. The healer in you notes they look…painful.

He gets close enough you can see his handsome face clearly in the candlelight, but far enough you don’t feel threatened. The King remains standing, straight and proud, by one of the wooden pillars.

His pale eyes, you note in the now clear view the candles provide you, switch to the warrior sitting a few feet behind and then return to you. You resist the urge to play with your fingers.

“Why?” You ask, retrieving with trembling hands one of the linens you will use as bandages for the wound on the Greek warrior’s back.

“I’m…curious.”

“So am I,” You reply, rolling the needle you use for the stitches between your thumb and forefinger as you study the man. “It is not every day that I find myself meeting with a Viking King.”

“So you know who I am.” He states, and you cannot know if he is disappointed, proud, or a mix of the two.

“Of course I do,” You answer without hesitation, “And I also know it is not me who you are supposed to be meeting.”

“I wanted to talk with you, witch.” He insists again, reminding you of a spoiled child, but also showing you that, either for the foreignness or something entirely him, the Varangian is uncertain on how to talk to you.

It almost makes a smile curve at your lips, and your impulsive heart wants you to send the warrior off and talk with this strange man, this…Ivar the Boneless.

“I…am busy,” You answer instead, returning to your stitching. If your hand trembles a little and you cause a little more pain than you intended as you finish up the last of the stitches, no one can blame you. “I must tend to the wounded, Varangian.”

“A smart woman would know better than to deny me.”

“I never claimed to be smart.”

“Are you always this insufferable, woman?” He snaps, anger rises in his voice, making the warrior you are standing behind tense under your fingers as they wrap a bandage over his back and ribs to keep the wound from infection.

But you, past the fear, feel a small smile start to curve at your lips when you find the pale eyes of the Varangian King.

“I try.” You reply with a shrug, but a growl is the only answer you get.

You watch with wide eyes as the Viking unsheathes a small knife from somewhere in his chest and, instead of throwing it like you would expect, he flips it so that he grabs onto the blade instead of the handle.

His fist clenches around it, eliciting a sharp breath from the King and blood that drips between his fingers.

“There,” He grunts, opening his hand and letting the knife clatter unceremoniously to the wooden floor. He returns his piercing pale eyes to you and his mouth almost bares in a snarl, his nose furrows in cold anger, as he speaks, “Now you have to tend to me.”

So the rumors were true, he is actually crazy. Although you doubt a man that can topple Aelle, that can conquer York, is crazy.

No, he is clever. If maybe too angry and arrogant, he is still cunning. That thought alone reminds you to keep your guard up.

A part of your mind begs you to be sensible about this, not to do anything stupid, but you finish wrapping the wound on the warriors back with skilled fingers, and tap his shoulder so that he stands. Ivar the Boneless keeps his eyes on you, defiantly and terrifyingly, as he watches you move. You turn your attention to the Greek and nod as goodbye, “Go, I will be fine.”

The man looks between the Varangian and you, before putting his right fist to his heart, his left arm bent behind him in a goodbye and a sign of respect to you.

“Anassa.” He mutters in farewell, and you watch him go wondering how many days will it take for him to also die because of your mistakes.

And as the door closes behind the Greek, you notice truly how engulfing the darkness and the defenselessness are. The city moves on around you, but all that reaches the small cabin you are in is the faint sounds of a stray horse or farm animal. The Saxons wouldn’t want the heathen witch to be near their soldiers, after all, even in a city that was never theirs with barely any civilians on it.

All that means you are all alone and defenseless, with a Viking known for his cruel and vicious ways. Gritting your teeth and fighting to keep your heartbeat from drumming away in your ears, you turn back to the Varangian and motion for a chair near you.

He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t, because no one in this cursed land listens to a damn word you say.

His hand still drips red to the wooden floor, and you pointedly look at it where it rests on his side and back to his face. The King only cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed.

“You speak many tongues,” The Varangian states, not even a question, “Our language, the Saxons’, but I don’t recognize the other one.”

“Greek,” You reply, “I am not from here.”

“I noticed.”

With a shrug, you state, “Probably why you haven’t killed me yet, isn’t it?”

But the Viking doesn’t answer. Instead, he limps towards you, but where there should be -to a sane woman, maybe- a threat, a danger, you only find your heart beating with the same fast pace it did when you were about to cross a dangerous and wild stream by Eleusis’ forests. A hint of fear, a hint of curiosity, and much more than a hint of freedom.

The rage of the stream deafened you, uncertainty beat quickly on your chest…but your bare feet still continued running towards the water.

You keep your eyes on his.

“You are…outspoken, witch. Are all Greeks like you?”

“You should lower your eyes when men are speaking.” He advises with more than a little anger in his tone.

You hear faintly of Sieghild’s mocking scoff, and you stand up from your chair and stalk to Narses in a few strides, keeping your eyes on him. A sick part of you is trying to test him, to dare him into laying hands on you to shut you up.

The lies would come easier if he did.

“I cower before no man, my love.” The endearment drips with poison, and the twitch in his expression tells you he is aware of it.

There’s rustling of armor, and out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of Lysander straightening to his full height, the mantle of the soon-to-be Anax of Sparta set well over his shoulders as he walks calmly towards you.

For a moment of distrust and panic, you think he will take the side that wants to silence you, but your cousin stands next to you, although slightly behind, offering you his support. His hand is comforting on your shoulder.

“You may do things differently in Attica, but in Laconia our women are not slaves,” Lysander promises, voice dripping authority and more than a slight threat, “Descendant of Theseus, aren’t you?” He breathes out a chuckle, “You will have to venture into the Underworld like your ancestor to make a woman of Spartan blood cave.”

You breathe out a laugh, “No.”

“So you are not afraid of me.”

You look into his pale eyes and wonder for a moment. What is there to fear? It is true his fame precedes him, even if you choose to ignore his name, his truth. Rumors of madness, ruthlessness, unpredictability, rage, cruelty; they all are kept safely in your mind, to torment you faintly with exactly the kind of beast you try to dance with.

But you remember the time that mad man in the flimsy boat offered to take you to cross the Aegean, and how the threat of pain and death and cold all hung over you like shadows; and yet the curiosity of what lay in the realm of what if made you still get on that feeble boat. You have a feeling it is the same kind of stubborn and reckless curiosity that makes you offer the King a small smile.

“I learned long ago not to fear any man, Varangian.” You answer, motioning with your hand to his injured one, hoping for response this time.

The Viking’s eyes are defying as they challenge yours, but you refuse to lower your gaze. He sits by you on one of the chairs, movements graceful and confident as he discards the crutch he uses to walk by the table.

After a breath, he offers you his injured hand.

You don’t hesitate, even if a part of you tells you that you should, and take a seat at his side, working instinctively as you start wetting a clean cloth in some water infused with honeysuckle and goldenseal.

Taking his hand and opening the rough fingers to your sight and touch, you clean off the blood and hope silently that you are not the one responsible for Ivar the Boneless getting an infection for a stupid wound on his hand.

“Why are you and your people here, if you are from the Mediterranean?” He asks suddenly, but it doesn’t startle you like it should.

With a deep breath and keeping your eyes on your work, you offer, “The obvious answer would be attacking your city, my King.”

“And retreating.” He points out lowly, not biting into your taunt.

Lifting your eyes to his, you search his pale gaze for a few moments. You offer him sincerity in exchange for his calm, “The Christians were going to surrender, we knew this the moment your army arrived. We had no interest in this war of yours.”

“Then why fight in it?”

“Obvious answer, my King?” You ask around a smirk, and the man’s eyes darken as he leans closer. A finger underneath your chin threatens you as much as a sharp blade could, and you swallow past a dry throat.

“Careful.” He cautions, and his lips curve around a smile as dangerous and poisonous as it is enthralling and tempting.

“Our commander agreed we aided the Saxons in exchange for their army’s help in our homeland. With my-…with the commander dead the Greeks were called to retreat.”

“But not you,” He points out, still uncomfortably close. “You didn’t retreat.”

You wish you had an answer to his unspoken question. But you don’t. You could have run with Galla and the others, you could have forged your own path with Sieghild away from battle, the Gods know you have done so before.

You could have, but still you fell back to the Saxon city as if survival was to be achieved only by acceptance of defeat.

“A lady ought to have her secrets, I’m afraid.” You answer instead, lowering your eyes back to your work. Although you can sense the young Viking wants to demand more, because of course he does, he remains silent.

______

Hi, thank you for reading! I really hope you are liking this so far, and that it isn’t boring lol

Again, thank you so much, and I’d love to hear from you!

[straighttohellbuddy]

World building is the best tbh. I’m forever world building and now I have several worlds to play in and my neurodivergent brain cannot stay still enough to focus on one lmao. SLOWBURN ROMANCES ARE MY LITERAL JAM LIKE PLS!!! I LOVE THEM!! Also!!!! Concepts!!!! Pls share!!!! I love learning about the worlds of my fave fics and I can hands down say right now that this fic will literally shoot to the top of my list of favourites which means you’ll occupy the top three spots. Sorry to hear that ur feeling rough, so am sending u the biggest hug. I’m not okay but I’m taking care of myself today so that I will be 🧡-🐈‍⬛

alsjfsldkjf i have too many worlds TBH, literally one of the best parts of my 2020 was writing for the classic rock fandom and writing one of my good friend’s ocs alongside mine, like there’s so many different worlds that our two characters have now, i’m like 26k deep into a high school au that i need to get back to at some point, and then i wrote a oneshot abt the high school au but they’re adults, and then there’s also the original timeline, and then there’s the present day in the original timeline where they have kids and i probably care too much about people who aren’t real...... hahaha

OKAY OKAY OKAY HERE WE GO I’LL GIVE KIND OF AN OVERVIEW OF THE ALBUMS AND A FEW SONGS BUT IF U WANT ME TO GO IN DEPTH ON ANY OTHER SONG JUST ASK!!!

yes i have a playlist for each, if you wanna hear how i interpret the vibes of the songs. if you interpret them differently, thats awesome!! i’d love to hear y’all’s opinions on them!!

testing one two - the first ep they release, the song titles are mostly themed (fast forward, press play, pause, rewind), but are mostly things y/n has been working on for a while but never got around to finishing, things they are rather proud of. i see you shiver with... is the first song they wrote specifically for the album, and it’s the last song on the EP because it’s a Rocky Horror reference; i see you shiver with...

a n t i c i p a t i o n - first full album!! the vibe is Hopeful But Hesitant it has all the songs from the ep, plus some new ones!! collabs with youtube musicians troye and dodie, and y/n’s label sets up a collab that turns into a genuine friendship. the breakout dance hit is what else is there to say ft. Troye Sivan, which is about not knowing what to make content about when it feels like you’ve already told the world everything. it featured the prechorus and hook

You, know, ev-ery-thing about me / gave it all for free / my life in HD / So, let’s dance, let me see your hips sway / we’re gonna be okay / what else is there to say?

So say that you love me, say that you love me, say that you love me / let’s die hand in hand. / I’ll tell you I love you, tell you I love you, tell you I love you / supply and demand. 

personally, i also conceptually enjoy srs bsns which is a really upbeat song about how they don’t care if people don’t take them seriously because they know in their heart that what they’re doing is good

hyperfocus - 2nd EP, a pretty substantial departure from their usual style, but also happens to quietly be Corpse’s favourite, and is actually y/n’s most polarising, because it has both the Grammy award winning HEARTBURN and the o brother where art thou which was written partially as a joke to capture a fond moment of them and 5SOS dicking around together in a hotel. written while on tour wit 5SOS, im writing the reader as having ADHD (because I have ADHD and i can do what i want), and the backstory is that they’d changed the medication/dosage they were taking, and as it’s their first full tour, they were under a lot of stress and were in a weird place mentally and emotionally, and hyperfocus is the result of that. i’m going through some stuff has HUGE agoraphobic vibes. 

HEARTBURN has the same vibes as Florence + The Machines’ Howl. It’s about being a demon without saying that or directly implying that unless you know demons real well. This is when the pressure for them to confirm their identity got real bad, and it was their way of working through those emotions.

tear in existence in the shape of a person / when i’m seeing clearly i can’t see myself / world can’t swallow what it can’t get it’s teeth into / got everything i wanted but i ain’t got my health

Got heart-burn--- / I’ll tear me apart / I’ll tear you apart / I’ll tear me apart. 

SCREAM gets rereleased as a remixed single featuring Fall Out Boy the following year. It won the MTV music award for best collaboration in 2018. 

In the time between hyperfocus and working on it, Y/N releases several singles, including a cover of Tell Him by The Exciters to be featured in To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. They also take time to sort out their health, do a little bit more YT stuff, and travel internationally to do festivals. 

working on it - is kind of a middle ground between their original stuff, and hyperfocus, like pop-punk meets horror-pop meets whatever you’d classify halsey as. the first three songs were mostly written before the fic starts, so before they’re getting back to YT, but the last three, nightmare scenario, designed to hurt (touch me), and not scared were all written after they’d started hanging out with sykkuno and corpse. 

in-universe, imposter syndrome was originally something else, along the same lines of tired that they’re hiding that they’re a demon, but after meeting corpse nd sykkuno and having people who know, and lowkey being influenced by corpse’s music, the song changes directions, and YO OKAY YO::

I literally am so fucking flattered, my darling friend @bingusmode​ wrote lyrics for imposter syndrome and I’ve been yELLING about them ever since i’ve read them!! (also bunnie is fantastic and lovely in general 10/10)

if you thought you saw me 

i’d think about it twice

cuz while i know i’m naughty

everybody thinks i’m nice

cutest giggles get me

places that i long to be

but it’s not long before

everybody hates me

when you figure out i’m fucked up

you’ll probably think that can’t be right

but babe my image runs to save me

cuz i’m ugly day and night

nothing good about me

not the angel that i seem

cuz i’m a piece of shit

and i’ll ruin your fuckin dreams

i’m an impostor babe

you better run for your life

cuz there’s a bloodlust runnin through me

and you’re dripping off my knife

there’s no one here to save you

cuz you ate up all my lies

so beg me while you can

and draft up all your goodbyes 

if any of y’all are inspired by anything i put out, feel free to take it and run!! you have my blessing!! i am so overwhelmingly flattered by people who like my stuff enough to create because of it, directly or indirectly! lyrics, art, songs, anything!! legit! I love you!!

okay so designed to hurt (touch me) has big House of Memories by Panic! At The Disco vibes, and YES it’s about Corpse. YES it sends mixed messages. YES it has greek myth imagery and YES that imagery is confusing. not sure if any of these sets of lyrics actually go after each other but also idk??

will my fall from grace be graceful / as each move i see you make? / propped up on pedestals side by side / beneath our feet they shake / i’m the only one to hear you ask  / “What have they done to me?” / My boy, your wax throne is sun-drenched / you’ll fall in the name of your legacy.

eyes like yours watched rome burn / while hands like mine lit the pyre / we both heard me say we’d go down in flames / now you’re turning me into a liar / since you smile like that, like you can’t feel the sting / and we both know i can’t feel the fire

been telling myself i’m designed to hurt / but, baby, aren’t we a sight? /

check your reflection, your angles, apollo / you’re icarus in the right light /

we’re on the edge, i’m not scared to fall / we’ll take refuge in the night /

been telling yourself you’re designed to hurt / but, baby, doesn’t this feel right?

also, albumtouralbumtour is a reference to Bohemian Rhapsody.

OKAY AND FINALLY

n o s t a l g i a - the album the reader’s working on during the fic.

literally as i was writing this, bunnie sent through some FIRE lyrics for how the light gets in, (@bingusmode) i am going to be thinking about these on REPEAT for the next MONTH BRUV

little bit of darkness, treat me like a toy 

i got my hopes up and got them destroyed

bitter taste of regret sitting heavy on my tongue

can’t believe i let you convince me that you were the one

sitting here in silence, fabric running thin

petals burning in my lungs and stealing oxygen

embers from a cigarette falling to the floor

god i can’t take anymore

so i stumble to the window and pull the shades

and the moon pours in like you threw a grenade

i can’t understand why

i keep trying

cuz i never seem to win

but having any hope is how the light gets in 

from there, moment before impact ft. Billie Eilish is a club anthem along the lines of bad guy or COPYCAT, bass heavy with a drop that’s out of this world.

powdered pain, i’m in your veins / i’m the sting, the drip, the thing / you’re craving, but you hate to see me misbehaving / i heard my breakdown got you high / it’s true, but baby i can’t lie / i never got that rush, that burn / that makes you feel alive, i had to learn / to pick the slippery slope down which i fell / plan my pitstops on the way to hell / to pick my padding before i spiral / so if i break it’ll be in style

watch my misdirect, now freeze, / notice you can’t see the forest for the trees / you’re so desperate for my demise / but baby, i’ll make you watch me rise.

this is the moment before impact

controlled chaos, crash land / take a breath, trust the plan / i know you hope i’m not okay / you get off on my audio misery

controlled chaos, crash land / take a breath, trust the plan / i need you to know i want it this way / my breakdown won me a grammy

and this is the moment before impact

ur my favourite - interlude ft. sykkuno is probably one of my favourites, it’s just really soft, just a snippet of a conversation between the reader and sykkuno, maybe one of them told a joke and they both just sound real happy and sweet. its nice. it’s a nice moment.

means something is also for sykkuno!! it’s about how good-strange it is to be open and honest with friends, and how they usually aren’t but they’re glad they can be open and honest with him!!

meanwhile, i don’t think about u - interlude ft. CORPSE is a phonecall between corpse & the reader right after they announce they’re going to feature on acting like that, where corpse asks if they do this sort of thing to spite him, to which the reader responds ‘do i consider you when i’m making decisions about my career? no, corpse, actually i don’t think about you at all’ which then directly contrasts the song that ends the album, which is (how it feels to be) beautiful fireworks, which is essentially ‘i know how hard it is to exist like this, to be the centre of attention, to give off light and bring people joy, even when you’re in pain. i’m here for you. i love you.’

okay, i swear im done now, i’ll get back to writing the fic! (also i cannot BELIVE i managed to figure out how to embed those playlists but im so happy) edit: it didn’t actually work when i posted the ask, so anyways im sorry but y’all are abt to be spammed with playlists because i care too much abt this fic