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aliypop · 1 year ago

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That's Alright for Such a Night

(Rewrite Chapter 3)

Word Count: 2.742

Writers Note: So far I'm enjoying rewriting this

Warning: mostly fluff / Historic Language and Values

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: During the Louisiana Hayride two breakout stars meet in a rush only to learn they've dealt their cards in the hands of fate.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Memphis, Tennessee,1955

"How would you like to consider headlin' for Elvis and The Blue Moon Boys?"Hank Snow asked. Cecelia had tried her hardest not to blow her cool. Besides, he was the second Hank she wanted to meet.

" Why do you ask?" Cecelia questioned, Elvis still standing by her side.

"Well, you're a crowd-pleaser if I ever did see one." He laughed, "Course, you'll need a bit of rebranding, a band even." He smiled at Cecelia as she looked at Elvis, who had a big smile on his face,

"So whaddya think Ms. Valmos, Mrs. Valmos," Hank looked at both women, waiting for an answer.

"Seems you've got yourself a done deal," Cecelia said as she shook Hank's hand.

"And I'll be there too." Midge merged into the conversation, causing Cecelia to groan. Did anyone think she was capable alone on her own?

Nashville, Tennessee, August 21st,

"TIME TO GO!" Midge shouted, knocking on the front door of Valmos Manor. It was two in the morning, but Cecelia was up and ready and dressed. Rollers were still in her hair as she had on her scarf, "Good morning Elvis..." she said, a bit sleepy, as she kissed her poster.

"STOP KISSIN THAT DAMN POSTER!" Midge said for all of Tennessee to hear from the porch. Great, now Cecelia was both tired and humiliated. Walking down the hall with her suitcase in hand, she made a trip to the guest room, which was where Rosa had still been

"Sleeping." Rosa softly shouted, turning again in the soft bed.

"Midge is waiting outside." Cecelia groaned, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Let her wait." Rosa laughed, "It's our tour anyway."

"One, it's not "our" tour. We're headlining. Two, we have a long drive, so get up!"

"Does it matter?"

"You'll miss Scotty naked," Cecelia smirked,

Rosa tripped on the floor, rushing to get ready. A naked Scotty Moore was all Cece had to say. Rosa brushed her teeth, washed her face, and doused herself in perfume. Midge, however, had been honking her horn non-stop, telling the girls it was time to leave.

Behind Midge were Scotty, Bill, and Sam, with Elvis in the passenger seat, combing his hair in the mirror. Sometimes, Midge wondered if he was vain or if he admired looking nice.

Midge looked at her niece, who had already been sleeping against the window. She had black hair like her mother, green eyes like her father's, and very light skin to the fact she was damn near close to passing, but those weren't the reasons she was sitting in the passenger seat. It was because she could play the bass fiddle and carry a note. Daphane was the secret weapon for the tour.

"There is no trace of a naked Scotty Moore," Rosa growled at Cecelia, who was putting her suitcase in the trunk and saying to herself it was too early for this.

"Please get in the car." Cecelia wailed.

"Okay, okay. Rosa threw her bags in the trunk, her head turned back as she heard a horn.

"Hiya, sweetheart." Scotty winked as Rosa waved back at him. Both Midge and Cecelia wondered what that girl saw in him.

"Do you mind if I help you with your bags?"

"I wouldn't mind at all." Cecelia gulped as she saw Elvis walk over. Even at two in the morning, the boy had the nerve to look so beautiful. Oh, how God cursed him to look so dashing.

"You look pretty," Elvis said. Even without makeup, she was an angel. And under the fluorescent street lights. How did God make such a beautiful girl, and how was he so lucky to gaze at her and smell her rose-scented perfume?

"You do, too. I mean not pretty, but beautiful, I mean handsome!" Cecelia's stomach growled as Elvis let out a laugh. She was charming, shy a little, but it was cute. When he heard her stomach growl, Elvis had pulled out a half-eaten sandwich,

"Would you like some? I wasn't gonna finish it, no way." Elvis had said, lying a little, but he could always eat. It was about appeasing this little lady that was more important.

"What's on it?"

"Banana's peanut butter and bacon," Elvis said, shrugging his shoulders. Cecelia was hesitant as she took a bite. Surprisingly, the texture wasn't bad, And the peanut butter leveled out the salt and sweet. Leaning over for another bite, Elvis looked at her, "You want the rest?"

"Yes, but I owe you breakfast." Cecelia smiled at him, taking the sandwich as they got in their cars,

"Do I even want to know who gave you that sandwich?" Midge asked, shaking her head. Usually, she'd lecture her about taking things from strangers, but the last time she checked, she wasn't Denise.

"It was Elvis Aaron Presley~" Rosa sang as Cecelia blushed, "Ooh yall are swappin' spit already."

"Can it, RoSa!" Cecelia blushed, flustered in the face.

The first few hours were peaceful. The girls were all asleep, and Midge was lost and alone in her thoughts. The radio was playing Only You, and the sky was still glittered with stars. Midge was in the zone. But behind Midge was the bachelor mobile, known as Elvis and the boys with their blazingly loud music. Elvis was strumming his guitar along to the beat of the song Speedo. Bill was asleep, and Scotty couldn't wait for morning so someone else could drive. After all, he could only actually see good out of one eye.

The sun was rising and hot, with a chilly undertone of fall. The girls all started to stir like little creatures, and Midge knew. They'd be hungry.

Arkansas, 1955

"Good morning, girls." Midge said, parking into a diner she had seen on an exit sign.Cecelia and Rosa took the rollers out of their hair. If she hadn't packed her makeup bag, she'd been putting that on too, but as the two were about to head out all they heard was a high-pitched scream.

"CECELIA VALMOS IS ON MY AUNTS CAR!"

"Midge. Who's this?" Cecelia asked, blinking a bit at how loud she was.

" Daphane Fontana, my niece and the third member of Cecelia and The Garnets." Midge shrugged,

"YOU'RE SO PRETTY IN PERSON AND I KNOW ALL YOUR SONGS AND-"

Cecelia applied lipstick while turning her scarf into a bow around her neck.

"Welcome aboard." Cecelia smiled, opening Daphane's door.

Rosa was already out linking arms with Scotty and peppering him kisses,

"We're going to jail," Cecelia mumbled,

"Oh, lighten up." Rosa grinned,

"Fine, but I'm not responsible for you if you get caught! It is 1954 you know!" Cecelia sighed, rubbing her temples, Rosa gave her the finger as Cecelia growled in anger, she sometimes cared way too much.

"Handful already?" Elvis asked,

"Rosa and her antics, not to mention Daphne, who's a fan of mine, and supposedly I'm responsible for making sure she knows every word and note in the songs." she groaned," Pres, I wanna go to sleep and eat until I combust," she pouted as she was lying in his lap. The breath in his body left him. He didn't know where to put his hands except for her cheek. Was that normal for a guy to touch a lady he was getting to know?

"Uh, Cece."

"Hmm." Her tired eyes looked up at him.

"It's kinda hot out here."

"Oh, right."

Elvis helped her up as they began walking into the restaurant. They had gotten stared down, but Elvis didn't Care. Of course, Arkansas was nothing like Louisiana or Beale Street, but it still shouldn't have mattered who he was walking in with. Besides money was green and everyone had it,

"We'll catch up with you after breakfast." Cecelia smiled. Daphane, Rosa, and Midge all walked toward the colored side of the restaurant,

"You sure," Elvis asked as Cecelia nodded. They sat down at the table in the back. Cecelia could hear the millions of girls screaming. A soft chuckle left her throat as she saw the look of the younger black patrons whispering to each other.

"That's Cecelia Valmos..."

"Cecelia Valmos...."

"Wait, and Rosa Calhoun..."

"Would you like an autograph or photo... They'll last longer." Cecelia asked as a herd of teenagers gathered around them,

"This is Daphne, by the way. She's a part of our new group, Cecelia and The Garnets," Rosa introduced her as she was signing menus, napkins, and even hands.

Looking over her shoulder, Cecelia had caught a glimpse of Elvis. Girls nearly threw themselves at him, and guys tripped to get to him. Midge saw the look in her eye as she knew what would happen. A riot,

"You're going to cause trouble, kid." Midge laughed, watching Cecelia fluff out her curls some more.

"Eh, sue me." she shrugged,

"CECELIA VALMOS!!!!!"

Who knew that many white teenagers knew of her existence? Elvis took a deep breath as he stood next to Midge. Exhausted at his newfound fame.

"This is your fault, Presley."

"I didn't do nothin..." He gave her, his charming smile as she laughed,

"I'm too old for you and married Casanova." Midge joked as he laughed with her,

"Do your parents know? I sing to you in your rooms every Saturday night." Cecelia laughed, flirting with the guys as Elvis's cheeks got red,

"She could sing to me every night."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that..." Midge laughed yet again.

"ELVIS PRESLEY !!!!!"

And there it was, the sea of black teenagers mixing in with the white teenagers, and suddenly, it was a notion of being asked to leave,

"Is this going to be my life now?" Daphane asked

"That's a great question kid." Midge shook her head,

"So, is that a no-go on breakfast?" Elvis questioned as Scotty groaned,

"Do you only think about food?"

"Sometimes I think about girls too." Elvis laughed.

"There's a McDonald’s, and when we get there, all you are staying in the car!" Midge grumbled.

As their journey continued, it was nightfall again, and they had a small one-night concert in the city. Daphane was going through music. and what outfit to wear. Rosa was somewhere necking Scotty in the dressing room, and then there was Cecelia, sitting outside looking at the stars.

"Nervous?" Elvis asked, sitting next to her, the wind blowing the scent of his cologne her way,

"A little." she sighed,

"Wanna tell me what's on your mind,"

"It's nothing, kid," she looked at him,

"Kid..." he laughed, "Cece, I'm probably older than you,"

"Oh yeah when's your birthday." she chuckled,

"January 8th, 1935," Cecelia gasped as her eyes got wide,

"What's wrong."

"I'm January 7th, 1935!" she grins, "Which makes me older than you by a day!"

"Eh, you're just one-day-old expired milk." He playfully rolled his eyes at her. The two laughed and carried on. She was amazing from what he had seen of her so far. She was gutsy, brave, classy, yet funny, all the things that made him fall in-

"Elvis..."

"Yeah, what's wrong..."

"What if I go out there and they hate us."

"Well, I don't hate ya, so there's that." he winked at her as she playfully shoved her.

"You're nervous 'cause you care about what you're doing."

"I guess you're right..." she smiled. Elvis booped her nose as she blushed,

" I know I'm right. If you didn't care about the music you do, you wouldn't be here." he smiled as his hand began tickling her ribs and she doubled over laughing. She was ticklish!

This was going to be a field day for him. He kept going as she kept laughing harder. Cecelia would get him back. Both of their laughter filled the great outdoors. Cecelia was on top of him, taking note of some of the skin of his stomach being exposed,

"Don't you dare..."

"Ticklish there, Mr. Presley."

"Very..." shit, why would he say that!

Cecelia took her soft hands and began to tickle him as he tried to hold back his laughter. Her thighs were on both sides of him as she focused on getting him to laugh, "Cece! Stop!" he kept laughing, tears in his eyes as he then went back to her hips, causing her to nearly collapse again in laughter. Their faces were nearly inches away. She could feel his wavering breath on her lips, and he could feel hers on his ear. The moon was full and beautiful. Stars shining. But all he could focus on was the angel on top of him. Elvis was a devil in disguise. Cecelia was now on her back, looking into his hypnotically appealing eyes.

"Hi there..."

"Hello..." she flipped him back over. She didn't know what was taking over her, but something told her she had to do this, Cecelia leaned closer,

"I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?"

"Cecelia, where are you? Ceceli- WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO -"

Both Elvis and Cecelia got off each other as Midge shook her head.

"Tickle fight!"

"Tickle fight my ass..." Midge groaned, "You're not even dressed."

"Earth Angel, Earth Angel..." Cecelia was in the dressing room singing as they were getting ready to head to the motel, "Will you be mine..." Rosa noticed how she was giggling,

"What's gotten into you?" Daphne asked.

"I might have, uh almost kissed Elvis..." Cecelia said to Daphne.

"You did what!" Scotty looked at Elvis,

"I didn't kiss her," Elvis blushed hard, "Well, we almost kissed," he smirked, fixing his hair in the dressing room.

"I mean, you can kiss your friends, right?" Cecelia asked,

"I mean... I've kissed Scotty in places that I would consider very friendly." Both Daphne and Cecelia gagged,

"I mean, I've kissed Rosa..." Scotty smirked as Elvis laughed,

"By kiss, you mean fucked her Scotty," Elvis laughed harder,

"Yes, mother, of course not mother." The concert was finished for the night, and both bands found themselves in a hotel, bought with the money Denise had stowed away. "Everything's fine. We should be in Texas by tomorrow, noon time." Cecelia sighed. She couldn't sleep, so here she was, taking a call at 4 a.m. in the hotel lobby.

"I'll be sure to get some sleep." She then hung up the phone. Curling up in a chair, Cecelia went back to reading her comic books while also reading the horrid articles Jet had said about her. It broke her heart.

"Can I join you?"

"Sure it's an open area." Cecelia shrugged until she saw Elvis tuning his guitar,

"You like comics?"

"Yeah." she looked up at him,

"Well, I got a question for ya then."

"Hit me with it,"

"Okay, so do you think Captain Marvel Jr. could kick supermans ass?" Elvis asked,

"Realistically, no, Superman would throw him further than the rock of eternity. Now, Batman, he could kick his ass!" she grinned as Elvis held onto his heart,

"That raises the question, Wonder Woman vs. Batman?"

"Wonder Woman. She's a demi-goddess, and Batman is human, but with that said, he has an advantage because he's human. But if we're talking, Jay Garrick for the win."

"Guess you got a point there," he laughed, "But I still think Captain Marvel Jr. Would win." She laughed hard as she looked at him,

"If that keeps you up at night." She shrugged,

"Say what's keeping you up at night."

"I don't know." She looked at him, "I'm a bit worried."

"Worried?"

"You wouldn't get it..."

"Try me," he was by her foot like a puppy,

"I guess I'm worried about how people may perceive me." she sighed.

"Perceive you?"

"Yeah, my mother wants me to have the girl next door image... Doris Day, but I like Peggy Lee," she smiled, "She's classy but edgy" Elvis smiled,

"I wanna be the Rita of music, or Lena Horne on camera, or gutsy and funny like Lucille Ball!" she sighed,

"I wanna be so many things but."

"But what, you wanna make a name for yourself, and be all those things, don'tcha."

She nodded,

"Well, I wanna be the next James Dean."

"I once got a kiss from him," she giggled, "I think you can do it!"

"What kiss ya better than James Dean?"

"No, be the first you." She looked at him, "I mean, you gotta follow that dream I guess." Cecelia smiled,

"You need to take your advice to Cece. You're so confident in yourself. And also not."

"That's not true!"

Taglist: If you wanna be tagged let me know!

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

MORE TO COME IN CHAPTER 4

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #romance #new #elvis presley #new series #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis the pelvis #50s elvis #50s #poc oc x elvis #elvispresley #elvis fans #fanfic rewrite

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themuseoftheviolets · 1 year ago

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i'm a haunted house

for @sapphicmicrofics august 10th prompt: haunted

pairing: lilylene / wc: 690

cw: murder

There is a ghost inside Lily's house.

It sits with her on the couch, crawls into her bed at night, wakes her up in the mornings. It's a comfort, this ghost, gentler now that it is no longer flesh and bones but simply a soul. A soul that Lily knows all too well.

She will stare at the ghost sometimes, the way she used to stare at the person it once was. Same brown eyes, same blonde hair, same crooked teeth and the same smirk on her lips.

Marlene. Lily's Marlene. Still tethered to her even in death.

⋆

They weren't good for each other. Mary had told them so one time, looking between her two best friends, saying that she couldn't stand to see them destroy each other.

Lily had rolled her eyes. They were younger then, and she didn't think that destroying herself could feel so good. She imagined it would feel like dying, wilting like the flower she was named after, rotting away from the inside.

And that was how she'd felt before Marlene, how Marlene had felt before her. It wasn't how they felt when they were together. No, that had come later. So Lily didn't believe Mary when she warned them that this would end badly.

She should have.

⋆

The first break came in winter, at the same time that the namesake flowers in her room began to die. They had been a gift from Marlene, and Lily had tried and tried to keep them fresh and beautiful, but she was holding on to something that didn't want to live.

They had a fight, but neither of them really remembered what it was about. They were always getting into fights. They were both too stubborn, too spiteful, mirror images of each other.

Twin flames, Marlene called them.

Mary just called them toxic.

It was the first time they had broken up and the next day Marlene had a pretty girl from her physics class on her arm, so Lily went on a date with a boy she had turned down a month ago.

It became a game of one-upping each other. Marlene made out with someone at a party, so Lily went home with someone else, and the whole time she felt her ribs closing in on her, making it so that she couldn't breathe.

She needed Marlene like she needed the air in her lungs. Marlene needed her like a drug, she said that she couldn't make it without Lily's hands on her.

They were crawling back to each other within a week.

⋆

They broke up and got back together many times after that. They fought, said things they shouldn't, used other people to make each other jealous, and at the end of it they were right back where they started, laying on Lily's bed, swallowing each other whole. It was hell, but they couldn't stop it. They craved the pain the same way they craved each other.

The rot spread with each break, slowly poisoning them both. Each time they were apart Lily would feel it in her soul, calling Marlene back to her, into her.

Holding onto Marlene wasn't enough, sinking her nails and her teeth into her gave her temporary relief, but in the end she still felt empty, like she was missing a part of her own body.

So maybe it was always going to end the way it did, with Lily's hands around Marlene's throat. Fate, or something like that. Or maybe Mary was right and they simply wouldn't stop until they had completely destroyed each other.

It didn't matter.

Marlene was smiling and Lily was kissing the life out of her, sucking it into her own body.

Come in, into me. Come inside.

She beckoned Marlene inside of herself, taking and taking as Marlene gave and gave.

I'm a haunted house.

She wanted to devour Marlene, eat her whole, have her live inside of Lily forever. She wanted Marlene to haunt her every waking moment, wanted her to appear in every dream and nightmare she had.

Say that you want me, come back and haunt me.

And Marlene did.

#sapphicmicrofics #lilylene #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #mary macdonald #lia's writing adventures #minifics

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wendydarlingfics · 2 years ago

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Well, summer slipped us underneath her tongue

And I snuck in through the garden gate Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh) And I screamed for whatever it's worth "I love you, " ain't that the worst thing you ever heard? He looks up grinning like a devil

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Cancel plans just in case you'd call And say, "Meet me behind the mall" So much for summer love and saying "us" 'Cause you weren't mine to lose You weren't mine to lose, no

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

Hot summer streets and the pavements are burning I sit around Trying to smile but the air is so heavy and dry Strange voices are sayin' (what did they say?) Things I can't understand It's too close for comfort, this heat has got right out of hand

We watch the season pull up its own stakes And catch the last weekend of the last week Before the gold and the glimmer have been replaced Another sun-soaked season fades away

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

Those days turned into nights Slept next to her, but I dreamt of you all summer long

You're wonder under summer skies (summer skies) Brown skin and lemon over ice Would you believe it?

Tastes like strawberries On a summer evenin' And it sounds just like a song

I want your belly And that summer feelin' I don't know if I could ever go without

Byler Week Day 4: Summer Love

The Louvre by Lorde Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift August by Taylor Swift Seven by Taylor Swift Cruel Summer by Bananarama Stolen by Dashboard Confessional Lover by Taylor Swift Betty by Taylor Swift Adore You by Harry Styles Watermelon Sugar High by Harry Styles

#byler #bylerweek2023 #will byers #mike wheeler #day 4 summer love

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sdarbvtterfly · 2 years ago

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Two Letters: The Sent One

I can't even begin to describe how I felt when I learned that there was an international letter waiting for me. After all these years, you were probably the only one who remembered me – well, half the blame lies with me, but you did find where I am in the end, didn't you?

As for me, I'm fine. America is an amazing country. You can always find kindred spirits here. In fact, when I received your letter, I had just returned from Niagara Falls, which you don't see that big ones in London: it was as if ten million white birds were struggling to fly down, and the cool mist of water flooded in a roar. I was standing right at the edge of it, thinking that even the best Quidditch player couldn't fly over it. There are plenty of waterfalls in this country, and Yosemite's is beautiful too, just not as spectacular as this one.

I'm already a professional traveler, Blaise. And I'm planning to do a trip to Antarctica – not this year, of course. It's already August, and I have to prepare for that for at least three months. Then it is September. September, you told me your kids are starting school, I believe. My Lyla is nine years old. She's a clever girl, but unfortunately she's nothing like me, except for her serene black eyes. Her nose is a bit like my mother's, and I guess she got her slightly dark skin from her father (I'll have to include a photo for you).

Okay, let me be honest. None of us saw Lyla coming. But she's very talented, and I believe her father was probably a brilliant wizard in disguise. Does that offend you, Blaise? If it were a few years ago, that might have made me ashamed for a while, but now? I'm half a muggle now, Blaise. My wand makes me weak. I can't keep myself from remembering how many unforgivable curses shot from her tip. And my hair is mostly white – that beautiful black hair that even you weren't fastidious about. I try to blame all this on the war, but I am also guilty. It was me who screamed that "Harry Potter" in the Great Hall, and also me who chose to flee the battlefield. I chose to avoid this trial…I waited for fate to claim its price from me.

I'm going to send Lyla to Ilvermornyin the future. Hogwarts is not for her. Lyla is too obsessed with magic, like a child obsessed with toys. And magic is more than toys, isn't it? Also, I'm sorry, Blaise, it's a little hard to talk about, but it does exist. My feet are afraid to set foot on the land of Britain. Like a deserter who doesn't want the scars on his back to be seen, I am afraid to face my former friends and professors as I fled timidly while they drew their wands to defend Hogwarts. On top of that, we Slytherins – and how evil should we be portrayed? No one can forgive us, Blaise, especially me.

I am still thinking, still resentful. I sink into the memories of the past. I dreamed of Hogwarts again and again, dreaming of us walking through the old and strong corridor, of the sunlight enveloping us like the fog in the dark forest at night, of the gentle, sad eyes of the women in the portraits. How can you smell the so-called ambition in these dreams and bad memories that have passed like water? All my secret thoughts are only about another person, who alone makes me sigh with no resentment…

I miss you so much, Blaise. If one day my destiny reaches its end, the only one worthy of my smile will probably be you, old friend. I often think of our first rafting trip on the Black Lake. D, Goyle, Crabbe and I were in the same boat. You and Theo's boat was next to ours. I was thinking what an arrogant and insolent brat you were, but I didn't think you would be a faithful and reliable friend, just as I didn't realize that the moonlight that night was one of the rare times in my life pure and bright.

Your sincerely,

P.P

Included: a stilled photo

#harry potter #pansy parkinson #blaise zabini #draco malfoy #slytherin #harry potter fandom #hp fandom #wizarding world #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #blaise x pansy #draco x pansy #dransy #pansy fanfiction

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becameundone · 11 months ago

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WHERE: single carrot theatre WHEN: 15th november (or something around that time) WHO: ziv boo ( @scyboo )

It was time for Tomo to face what he'd spent a week and a half avoiding. Or, maybe, he'd been avoiding it for months. It depended on where you drew the starting line, on his birthday when he'd been sent a script with a note or back in August when Ziv had originally made the proposition. Either way, he'd been living like a coward for too long now. At first, he'd insisted he was happy to keep working as a volunteer and he believed he'd meant it but the truth was that he'd been afraid of tempting fate. They'd put him on a forced hiatus, insisting he wasn't stable enough to keep working, and he'd always feared it might be true, despite the gaping void in the pit of his gut that grew and grew with each passing day.

But, now, Tomo had hit rock bottom again. Anybody who had seen him since that awful part could tell; the dark circles under his eyes and the unattended dark roots bleeding into scarlet hair were a decent giveaway. He could barely remember how he'd spent his birthday. The little brush with hypothermia had already kept him from feeling his best but the whole night had been twisted and distorted and screwed up by vodka shots and ecstasy. All he could remember was waking up at noon the next day, with a splitting headache and a creeping sense that he was barely even human anymore. And, then, his card payments had bounced. More money would trickle in eventually but his bosses, regardless of country, weren't exactly generous when it came to paying his residuals on time. He couldn't turn to his mother for help, not since she'd disowned him, and, although he'd been given the right to a decent chunk of his father's limited posthumous earnings, he was afraid to touch it for fear being labelled a nepo baby trainwreck. After all was said and done, he could go no lower so why not risk everything chasing what he loved? If he had to be depressed or whatever, he could at least try and act again.

"Hey, so, I gave your offer some more thought," said Tomo, marching into the room without so much as a greeting. He'd always been a very abrupt person but, in his defence, you never found time to overthink yourself into a hole if you skipped thinking altogether. If you needed any measure of how well he was doing right now, just look to the fact that, although they were indoors in the early days of Winter, he was wearing sunglasses. Tomo slipped into the seat nearest Ziv and slumped into a very casual position. A voice far in the back of his head tried to insist he looked as much a wreck as he felt. "I'm accepting it. I want to act. Here, with you guys." He wasn't a stage actor and the prospect of jumping to a new medium terrified him but the alternative, that swirling dark void of shame and dwindling self-worth, had become much more frightening. And, here's the thing: Ziv had asked him personally. That meant something. That meant a whole lot of something. "Only problem is... I misplaced the script you gave me. And, by that, I mean I set it on fire but, y'know, same difference." And he'd done it with a cigarette lighter, no less, during a particular lylow moment. God, he could use a smoke right now. But that was probably just the nerves speaking.

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 starter. 」#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 & ziv. 」#alcohol mention #drugs mention #idk how to tag for discussions of vague poor mental health but they're in here too #implied derealisation #this ended up way longer and way heavier (??) than i intended but SDFGHJ i'm just glad i've finally got this done bc it feels IMPORTANT

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katsukikitten · 2 years ago

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Synopsis: Summer is swiftly coming to a close and the only way you know how to cope is through drowning every sorrowful thought you have with a few white pills washed down with vodka at Chargebolt's lavish house parties. Bedding any cute soul that looks your way and the routine is getting monotonous, begging the universe for a change. And change comes in the form of burning ember eyes that sear into your skin. When you find out they belong to the notorious villain Dynamight you begin to question just how cruel fate could be.

Warnings: Blood, biting, scratching, smut, choking, spitting, diet pet play, throat fucking, 18+, major drug and alcohol use and themes, undertones of depression and yandere, NON CON/DRUGGING

A/N: just filthy smut written in an afternoon wc 4k

End of Summer Bash Collab Master List

The moon hung high in the sky, dancing in the ripples of the large in-ground pool, the mirror disrupted by the moving bodies in the water. Lightning bugs flickering as they blended in with the faerie lights overhead.

The usual symphony of crickets and cicadas that scream into the night is drowned out by the deep bass pouring out of the speakers. Loud enough to shake the glass of the windows when the beat pulses, trying desperately to keep up with the beating hearts of the crowd. Solo cups high in the air as they sway their bodies to the music, lost in endless drink and drugs. Air cool but far from cold as the smell of leaves drying lingers in between the vodka sprites and powdery white stuffed in noses.

Summer was dying.

And so were you.

Least it feels that way as you throw back another heavy handed drink only for the cute electric blonde to fill it right back up.

"Thirsty huh?" He shouts, passing your cup with your name scrawled on the front.

"Dying of it." You giggle back, giving him a wink as his smile turns devilish. Jumping right into the crowd, dancing and grinding on whoever was lucky enough to be behind you. Kissing whoever was in front of you as the summer cools on your skin.

You always spent August like this, the second the night dipped into cooler temperatures you dipped lower into the eves of your mind. Chasing the proverbial sun in the shape of a white rectangle pill. Swallowing all five letters whole. The men who passed them out to you like candy would smile like the two of you had just shared a well kept secret.

Like it turned them on, which sure spoke about the crowd you kept but who the fuck cares. You were young, here for a good time and hopefully not a long time.

Another year sets in summer for you and sadly your years are shorter than they are for others. Starting in early spring and stretching until summer could no longer keep its claws sunk deeply into early fall days.

Til those molten claws steamed and cooled into harden rock that was sure to freeze in the coming months.

Just like you did.

Frozen but not in time.

Never.

If anything it moved faster by the time you came to, realized just how much time was lost sitting by the window and watching the grass brown under harsh frost, the leaves turn to snow.

Born in winter but made for summer months.

The Gods were cruel weren't they?

Had a laugh when they made you, you who can only function for four months out of the year, five if you were lucky.

And just like a star you burned hotter when you realized you were dying.

Before the inevitable explosion that would force all of the heat out of your bones.

So burning through men, women, two pills and countless drinks was normal.

At least for you.

Any cute face that caught your attention got those half lidded eyes that seemed to seduce anyone. A beckoning of your finger and the siren call of your moan in their ear all night.

That'd be all they get though.

It's not unusual for you to feel eyes tracing your skin tight clothes. Black as you mourned the death of summer. Tight halter cropped top, fishnets a bit under your natural waist while black shorts hugged your thick hips and thighs. There were plenty of predators at house parties like this, teeming with men and women on the prowl for a good time and an even better fuck.

But nothing felt like the molten crimson gaze that raked down your skin as if he were committing you to memory. Even with your eyes closed you could feel him move around the room as he stalked you. It sent a jolt to your numb chest, a spasm that seemed to keep the creeping frost at bay.

Maybe he'd be your score of the night, not that you knew what his face looked like. Having only opened your eyes enough to make quick contact and by the time they opened again he was gone. Perched in another spot as if he were circling closer. Still you stayed where you were, uncaring if you were being hunted.

If you were prey, like a sitting duck in the wide open lake while a rifle was pointed at your back.

Let him pull the trigger if he wants to.

Someone has to put you out of your misery.

Suddenly smoking caramel wafts over you, a presence you cannot ignore pressed close you. Looming as it causes your throat to constrict but you keep your eyes closed and continue to dance.

Crushed solo cup in the air with all the others.

"Look so fuckin pathetic ya know." He growls in your ear, pressing your ass to his pelvis, "Sad in a crowd. Tragic."

"Hmmm?" A flirty lit, winding your hips into his growing hard on, "And how would you know huh? If I'm sad?"

"Been watching you," Rough tone and then his thumb comes and swipes at your cheek, "Tears are a dead give away."

It makes your hips stutter but like a true hunter he keeps you captured in his grasp. Hand keeping your hips glued to his as he guides them to the rhythm. When you turn to look at him, thinking maybe he's high, it's startling to see the stone sober sharp gaze that cuts you to your core.

When had you started to cry?

You don't have much time to ponder the question as he takes the flat of his tongue and swipes it up your cheek. Tasting the salty tears and the groan he lets out freezes you to your spot.

He felt otherworldly.

Most pros did, lurking around the parties Chargebolt held in hopes of sliding in between someone's thighs or lips. They needed ten times more the amount of pills, coke or vodka to feel anything. At least anything close to how plastered you were.

You were used to the rough possession that could come from Pro Heroes finally letting go but he hadn't had a drop or a gram. Eyes boring into yours as you try to rack your brain for where you've seen these poison bromine eyes before.

"Took ya two weeks to notice me." He glares down at you, "Not bad for a quirkless nobody."

His words cut deep, bone deep as they slash through your brittle ribs and rips the tender beating muscle beneath right open.

Fear tries to bubble up beneath all of the rectangle pills and clear burning liquid you used to wash them down but instead it morphs. Trapped in your guts as it turns hot.

Molten, like you want to be as it melts and pools between your thighs.

"You like being stalked though, don't you?" He chuckles and it sounds sinful and deadly, "Ya know how many times you've stopped me from ending one of these shit parties early?"

You shake your head and he presses his cheek to yours, making you look around the amassed bodies that bump, grind and long for something more than what they've got.

Drowning out those dark thoughts and impulses that lingered a little too closely to the service.

Seems like the man behind you didn't have to worry about that. Seems like he indulged them more than others. His fingers are hot on your cheeks.

"They should thank you really. Be kissing yer fuckin shoes." Suddenly he bites you harshly at the apex where your shoulder and throat meet. You let out a yelp but no one can hear you over the music or too riddled with stimulates or downers to care.

It hurts, it really fucking hurts how harshly he digs his pearly whites into your skin, when he pulls away there is blood coating his teeth. He makes a show of running his tongue over them and you feel his cock twitch against your ass.

"Thirteen." That smokey caramel smell grows rapidly in your nose pairing quickly with the heat at your rib. It hurts and you furrow your brow as you look at him, "Don't worry. I ain't gonna burn ya. Yet."

"I still wanna fuckin play." He reaches into his pocket and in his large palm is a small pill, "Ya like these don't ya?"

His expression sours as he grits his teeth when you don't respond, "Don't try to fucking lie."

You nod, tryin to bring back your usual flirty tone "Dying for it."

He pauses when he hears that, makes a nasty, sadistic smirk curl on his lips before he pops the pill into his mouth holding it between his teeth so you can read those familiar five letters embedded in the chalky rectangle. His tongue swirls over it pulling it into his mouth and when you think he'll swallow he leans towards you. Burning your exposed skin just enough you yelp and he can slip his tongue into your mouth. As he does you taste the familiar coating of the pill dissolving. He holds your throat now, tightly squeezing as he silently tells you to swallow.

Shit, shit, shit, this was going way over your normal dosage. In a matter of minutes the room was going to be spinning at the speed of the Earth on its axis and you'd be powerless to stop it.

To keep up with the wolfish man behind you.

"Come on pretty girl. I know you can handle it." He delights in the fact that he knows you can't. If he's been watching you as closely as he says he has then he would know your limits by now. You always stayed at the fringe of black out, never nose diving right into it.

At least not in the last few years.

It hits you as the vodka blurs your vision for just a minute, just exactly who you're standing next to.

The infamous Dynamight, the one who's blown up government buildings and hero's heads on live streams.

Your eyes flutter, another tear slipping down your cheek that he laps up.

Ironic isn't it? How you begged for an actually exciting party tonight and the universe was giving you exactly what you wanted.

"'M getting bored." He says after a few moments as he smiles, watching Deku come in through the back patio and Redriot shouting directions to Shoto on how to get here, "Sounds like we've got time to kill."

He presses you even harder into his erection, giving a lazy rut of his hips.

"Seen you give this pussy away like it's nothin. Bet it's special, huh? You never fuck the same person twice." He looks over the faces you've seen before too, "You must be like me, huh? Get bored easy?"

When you don't react he smiles, leaning down to look directly into your eyes as he tilts his head.

"Or you're too much aren'tchya? They can't handle this can they?" His voice is so fucking rough and it matches how harshly he cups your pussy. Another yelp and he shudders, "Lead the fuckin way."

He steps away from you but keeps one strong hand on your skin, sliding down your arm and lacing into your fingers. His palm against yours is electric, sending you down an even more confused spiral. Thoughts clouded with what he could do to you now, that fear ebbing away again.

Guiding him to the bedroom upstairs you always used, Chargebolt's because he had the best bed and when your bag for the night wasn't good enough Kaminari was a good fuck to wake up to.

The only man you've fucked more than once because he knew how to send a jolt of his quirk straight from his finger to your clit.

And Dynamight already proved his quirk control with how he burned away parts of your shorts but not your skin or hell even your fishnet tights.

The second the door closes he locks it, lifting you up by your waist and tossing you onto the bed. Leaning in to bite the other side of your neck harshly. It burns, but with what's in your system it feels more like the sun kissing at your skin in warning that you'll burn if you stay paralized in its bliss.

"Gotta give my baby a matching set." He says as he pulls away, running his tongue over his bloody teeth again shivering, "Fuck ya are a dirty slut huh?"

His mood switches again from playful to deadly, reminding you of an agitated lion, he bares his teeth grabbing your throat so harshly you think you'll pass out.

"I don't like a silent dinner. Speak."

"Woof." It's sarcastic and choked under his crushing grip but it makes his eyes widen. Makes him let up and laugh genuinely.

"Good girl." He growls, grabbing onto your shorts roughly at your hips and letting his quirk go. Little explosions burn away the thick denim and the warmth makes your cunt leak. When he gets to the fishnets he rips with ease and notices you don't have anything covering your pretty pussy.

You watch the lust morph on his face as he takes a slow blink like he can't believe it and the power rush it gives you is better than any high you'd had in a long time.

His dark eyes flicker up to meet yours and that sadistic smile is back.

"Fuckin knew it." He shoves two warm fingers into your cunt just to hear you yelp again. He loves the sound, loves the surprise and fear that rushes past your vocal cords. He finds that spongy spot in you with ease. As if he's explored you before. He keeps the pressure constant as he pumps his fingers in and out of you harshly. Reaching up to rip the front of your shirt to free your bouncing tits. The sight makes him growl as he ruts into the bed for relief. Leaning over, mouth hovering over your throbbing clit.

"Fuckin speak."

"Woof." Its whiny this time and he laughs into your cunt before he latches his mouth onto your needy sex and sucks harshly. Your fingers dig into his hair and scratch at his scalp, "Dynamight"

You slur his name and he humps the bed again. You're so close already, panting as your head swims unbelievably. Throat dry from gasping to catch your breath and suddenly you snap. Yelling loudly as he pulls two from you so quickly you can hardly think. He watches you squirm under him with delight and you cum again.

"S too much." You try pushing his head from between your legs as he continues to suck and pump into your cunt, easily he throws your legs wide open, coming off of your heat with a lewd pop.

"I say when it's too much." He growls, "Keep cummin on my tongue. You're fuckin delicious."

He withdrawals his fingers just to shove his fat tongue into your tight cunt, thumb swiping against your abused clit. You keen and cum harshly when he groans, legs shaking.

He climbs up you, his muscular body dwarfing yours before his giant hand finds your cheek. Letting his thumb slide over your lips before he grabs your chin roughly, forcing your mouth open as he presses the pad onto the wet muscle harshly.

He groans at the sight of your tongue curling around his digit, his throat bobbing as he gathers the sweet taste of your cum to mix with his saliva. Poetic in his twisted sense, how the two of you melded together so seamlessly, he needed you to know that.

To taste it on your own, not just the pleasure from his angel cunt but what it was like with a piece of him mixed in. Staring up at him as he hovers over you with his imposing size. Bromine eyes glow as his tongue peeks over his bottom lip slowly. The thick liquid drips from the tip before he spits it into your pretty throat.

It's salty, sweet as it dances on your tongue and makes you wither beneath him. He forced your plush lips shut, palm around your tender throat like a steel vice.

His eyes burn into yours with a silent command that you can easily read in his blown pupils. He feels your adam's apple move as you so obediently swallow.

Fuck you were so bad.

"Ya want this cock? Want me ta ruin fuckin for you?" He hums, after he swirled his tongue around your mouth, feeling how you swallow under his palm.

"Yes, Dynamight." You buck your hips into his and grind against the dark fabric of his pants. He groans, smiling down at you. At how perfect you looked already and how much better you'd look totally fucked out.

"Bakugou." He corrects and you nod, swallowing before you taste his name for yourself.

"Bakugou." You moan, "Please ruin me."

He takes pause and you say it again, thinking he didn't like how it sounded the first time.

And then again when he still doesn't move.

"Please, please Bakugou ruin me." You're twisting the sheets with how you fist them and move your feet, "Dying for it."

"Ya just might" He purrs, "When I'm through with ya, yer not gonna be able to make this pussy cream without me."

Removing his shirt and shoving his pants and boxers down, the grenades in the pockets of the black cargo pants jingle from the motion. He takes his cock and roughly rubs it through your sticky folds until it catches on your entrance for the third time, forcing his way into you in one thrust. Your sharp nails latch at his back, bringing deep starches into the toned skin.

"Harder." He hisses and you comply, even leaning up as best as you can while he moves the whole bed with his force. Sinking your teeth into his skin. He howls and the sound makes you cum as metallic copper explodes on your tongue. You give a rough suck to pull more into your mouth and he gently nudges your face away with his cheek. Voice different than usual, almost softer but just for a moment.

"Careful, my quirk makes my blood dangerous." He smiles at you, loves to see a part of him in your mouth. He gasps beneath him, panting as you run your tongue over your teeth like had before. Another genuine laugh

"Ya trying to fuckin make me fall in love haaaah?" He speeds up, feeling you clenching him so hard he could cum. He's breaking rules already. Stopping his plans way too many times just because you caught his eye. Time and time again he said he should just blow the house sky high, you inside or not. Because when had he fucking cared before?

But as your cunt keeps pulling him back in, begging for him to stay it's hard for him to think straight. It's not as if he planned to keep a souvenir from this endevor before he stalked you around Denki's house but now?

Now he just might.

"Fuck." He groans, pressing your legs closer to your chest, watching you stare up at him as if he were a God, his name thick on your tongue. Body limp as you cream his cock over and over, taking what the loving God gives.

His stomach clenches tightly with the urge to cum but he can't allow himself, not yet. Not when he wants to use that pretty mouth of yours as his personal cock sleeve. Abruptly he pulls out and when you whine in protest he smiles.

"I'm feeling generous, wanna give you another taste of my pussy." He leans away from you, pulling your ankles to yank you down the bed so he can come and kneel behind your head.

"Don't ya want another taste, pretty girl?" He taunts and that pill is kicking in as you blink up at him so slowly. Tongue lolling out of your lips to show how big your mouth could get. His cock jumps and eyes roll in his head.

You were going to be the death of him.

He takes his blunt nails and scratches against your scalp, making sure you won't totally pass out on him, even tests your consciousness by squeezing your throat gently and when your eyes blow wide like you need more he smirks.

Sliding in slowly until he knows his cock is at the back of your throat, giving an experimental thrust to see if he can feel his cock in your throat. When he can he thinks he's gonna cum when you swallow around him.

"Taste good don't ya?" You hum your affirmation around him before he ruts his hips. Low and slow, his fat sac tightening already.

"Gonna explode in this pretty mouth." Squeezing again and panting as he starts to chase his own high pulling out just enough he has to stroke part of himself as he cums on your tongue.

It tastes good, addictive as the spicy sweet heat of his cum comes in delicious spurts. Closing your mouth but he grabs your throat roughly before you can swallow. Tapping his hand with your finger he lets go as you try to get up.

"Lemme see." He growls and you open your mouth. Tongue twitching as the cum and extra saliva drips from the tip.

"Fuck. Wish I had my phone." Gently he closes your mouth, "Swallow."

You make a show of it, body weak now that he's cum, whining as you lean towards him. Nose pressed into the crook of his throat.

"Ya can't be here any longer." He warns, voice that weird soft tone again and you pout. Eyes fluttering from the weight of all the drink and pills, "Gonna end badly if you stay while I let loose."

But it didn't matter, you were already softly snoring against his tacky skin. He sucks his teeth, what did it matter if he did leave you here anyway.

He thinks he'll abandon you until he hears the window shaking bass come back to the forefront of his thoughts. He had time, had plenty of time. Besides the longer the party went on the more they'd smoke, drink, snort and fuck. The more vulnerable these assholes would be.

And the easier it would be to blow up the whole fucking house of extras, sending them straight to hell.

His lips curl into a manic smile at the thought and then the fan of your breath brings him to the here and now.

He gently settles the two of you down into a lying position, pulling the luxury blanket over the two of you. As he sighs out, what was he gonna do with the adrenaline rush he'd have after he killed all these people?

Fucking his fist couldn't be an option anymore now could it?

The onset silence startles you awake, only the sound of the cicadas echoes through the quiet house. The clock reads 3:33am in bloody red. Your head was pounding, your throat raw, and your legs felt like jelly.

What the fuck happened?

You look at the sleeping brute blonde and a shiver runs down your eyes as your sober eyes see so much more. His whole right arm scarred from his fingers up to your deep bite mark on his throat. Chest scared in the shape of a wound that should have killed him reading over his heart and two smaller ones in his other shoulder and hip.

What had this man been through?

It didn't matter, especially as his warning finally registered.

"Can't be here any longer."

Fuck

Shit

Fuck!

You don't even have any clothes to put back on, he ruined them all. You steal his cotton black t shirt and dig in Kaminari's drawers as quietly as possible for shorts.

Hastily jumping into them as you tiptoe to the sliding glass that leads to the balcony. It wouldn't be the first time you climbed down the side of this multimillion dollar home but with Bakugou lying just a few feet away shot your nerves.

Your hand wraps around the wooden handle to pull it open before a giant palm stops the door before slapping it to the back of your neck.

"Ya think imma let you walk out on me after I've had you barkin for me?" He holds your nape tightly and his other hand snakes to your ribs to pull you flush with his bare chest.

This time he doesn't just burn the shirt, this time the skin under your breast starts to bubble under his touch as he brands you as his. Starting at you in the reflection of the sliding glass door. Eyes deadly as that fuckin sadistic smirk returns.

"Speak."

Summer was dying

Tears fall down your cheeks and for the third time he presses his tongue to your soft skin to collect them, lips trembling around the word.

And so was a piece of you.

"Woof"

#bakugou x reader #villain!bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x fem!reader #tw non con #kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️#kitten writes bakugou #end of summer bash 🖤🐈‍⬛

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the-daiz · 2 years ago

Text

Where I stand | Kaeya

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst

Pairing: Kaeya x sibling!reader

Younger sibling reader

Warning(s): Diluc backstory spoilers, um, running away?

Side note: inspired by: In a house, Not a home. I rushed this ☹️ hope y'all enjoy

Posted on: 2/ August/ 2022 (oh my god its already August????)

Day 3. Today marks the third day of your escape. Your escape from the shackles of the warm abode you once called 'home'. Dawn winery, the house you lived in with your family, your caring father, and your two much older brothers, who both adored you more than anything else. That house is the chamber of your childhood memories, holding the most sacred and secular reminisces of the joyful past with your dear spouses.

Now that place was no longer home, it didn't feel like home anymore, only a lavish prison where all you did was cry in your lonesome bed. There was no loving father there to console you anymore. Oh, how you wished he'd suddenly appear out of thin air and offer solace. Pull you into his chest and hug you tightly while his gentle hand combed through your hair. Hushing you and whispering words of reassurance in your ear, not letting you out of his embrace until you've finally calmed down. Like he always did, like he always used to do.

It wasn't only your father who had disappeared. But your brothers as well. As you wept and wailed in his bed after witnessing his death, Diluc and Kaeya were out in the rain, surrounded by the gloomy forest and a suffocating atmosphere. The menacing glares they exchanged radiated a call for battle, urging them to draw their blades and end this fateful night with a signature occasion of despair and sheer regret.

It was only Diluc who returned back home that night. You hadn't the slightest clue where Kaeya went, however, you knew he was gone, you knew he had left, and you knew that you weren't going to see him for a good, long while.

Then it was Diluc's turn to walk out the door, to seemingly vanish from your home. From your life. You didn't even get the chance to exchange a brief glance with each other, and he had already bid his farewells to Mondstate. Leaving you. Alone.

You had practically lost your whole family that dreading night, a night where you all were supposed to be celebrating Diluc's coming of age together.

Elzer, Adeline, and the staff were much too busy taking care of the work Crepus had left behind and had little to no time to comfort you. Though, they did feel immense pity for you, having your life fall to shambles at such a young age... They couldn't even hope to imagine how you felt. So they tried to shower you with gifts instead, but it did nothing, all the gifts were left untouched at the foot of your bed, long forgotten.

You had spent most of your time in your father's room, sleeping on his bed and sobbing into his pillows, trying to convince yourself that he wasn't dead, that it was all but a long night terror. Alas, no matter how hard you tried to fool yourself, the fact still stood that he was gone.

You wanted to leave your house, it felt suffocating, it reminded you of the old days, when everything was fine. When you all lived happily together. It felt agonizing. But you weren't allowed to, Adeline had made it painfully clear. She was scared you might get hurt all on your own, and there was no one to accompany you. You tried to stifle your desire to leave by walking around the city of Mondstate, but it only made the ache in your heart worsen, with the way everyone glanced at you with sorrow flashing in their gaze, murmuring and Whispering words of pity amongst themselves. What made you shutter, however, was Kaeya's obvious and desperate attempts to avoid you. You really had lost everything.

That was the day you decided to put an end to your drowning. The day you decided to run away.

Now you sat down on the moist grass, your back against a sturdy tree as you examined the forest beyond the cliff. Capturing virtual images of every detail you eyed. The pigeon huddled with its children on a branch. How one of the branches on a tree was twisted unusually, resembling a heart. A group of three knights with oil lamps clutched in their probably cold hands, using the illuminating light as a guide to look for something someone.

You leaned your head back against the tree and smiled to yourself, relishing in the soft breeze brushing against your face. Those three tranquil days you spent venturing around the layouts of your home region, running around freely, and sleeping under the watchful gaze of the moon, were the best three days you've ever experienced in your life.

You couldn't feel the invisible hands squeezing your throat anymore. You felt like you could breathe again. You finally felt free.

"Excuse me?" A bright light shined from behind you, inching closer, in sync with the loud footsteps. You knew who it was, and you didn't mind. It was time for you to return anyway, you'll get another chance like this soon, you were certain.

"Yes?" You murmured, peering up at the tall Knight who now stood beside you, raising his lamp high, hence to get a clear look at your features.

"Are you (Y/n) Ragnvindr, by any chance?" He asked. After a few moments of wordless staring, you spoke, tearing your eyes away from the Knight's curious stare to look across the luscious green field one last time.

"Yes."

It was quiet. Eerily quiet. You're not sure what you had expected from the residence of the knights of Favonius, but you hadn't thought it would be so void of sound, especially these troublesome days where monsters were at every corner of the land.

You let out a soft exhale as you waited for something to happen. The same tall knight that found you earlier was now sitting before you, glancing at you from time to time.

"Um... when do I get to leave?" You muttered, wrapping the blanket tighter around you.

"A carriage is coming to escort you back home, soon." He replied, sending you a curt nod. You hesitantly nodded back, peering over at the office's window.

You both snapped your head in the direction of the door when you heard the sound of the main doors slam open, followed by frantic footsteps approaching master Jean's office, the one you currently sat in. The knight stood up with his hand clutching the heft of his sword.

The door slammed open, revealing a panic-looked Kaeya, panting heavily with lines of sweat tainting his face. Once he locked eyes with you, he leaped forward and wrapped his arms around you, securing you in a captivating hug. Your eyes dilated as he squeezed you tight.

"Oh my god. You're ok. You're ok. Thank Barbatos you're ok." He whispered, cradling your head with one of his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your arms slowly raised to reciprocate the gesture, your eyes now brimming with tears.

"I'm sorry I worried you." Your voice wavered.

"Don't apologize, please don't apologize." He inhaled sharply. "Just... don't scare me like that again."

#daisy loves platonic love #i love sibling dynamics #daisy loves kaeya #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x reader #platonic kaeya x reader #kaeya x reader platonic #kaeya x sibling reader #kaeya and reader #ITS ONLY YOUUUU AND MEEEEEE ALWAYSSSS AND FOR-EV-ER #hurt/comfort #kaeya fanfic #kaeya genshin impact #ragnvindr reader #L-H/C #diluc #Crepus #diluc ragnvindr

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leezlelatch · 2 years ago

Note

i saw an ask game and just had to 👀

Culpa

Zero

Mummy

Ghuleh

Macabre

???

HI THANK YOU FOR PLAYING.

Culpa - When did you first discover Ghost?

I heard Mary On a Cross on Tik Tok during early summer maybe? See, this part I am fuzzy on because I knew I had MOAC on my playlist, but it was like I listened to it a couple times and was like "rad" but it didn't go anywhere from there.

And then I kept seeing more Ghost content pop up around late August and I've always had a penchant for spooky old men, so I was immediately intrigued, and it all came together from there. Now, I feel like a damn fool for not realizing what MOAC really was and how wonderful Ghost's music is. I could seriously kick myself.

Zero - Have you been to one of their concerts?

September 20, 2022. Burned into my memory forever. It was just after I really became obsessed with the band that I checked the Imperatour and saw they were playing 3 hours away from me. It was past midnight when I desperately texted my sister begging her to go with me. I had to wait almost 2 weeks to buy my ticket and I kept my eyes on a specific set of seats the entire time, hoping that they wouldn't be sold out. They weren't.

Being there was completely surreal. It was like it didn't even happen, and when it was over, and I got to the car, I cried. I just couldn't believe it. It was the first concert that I have ever been to, and I will treasure that forever. I keep my parking ticket from that night in my caboodle.

Mummy - Have you ever attempted to cosplay someone from Ghost (or are planning to)?

I did Papa IV's make-up for Halloween!

Ghuleh - What’s your least favorite Ghost album?

I don't have one. And I'm not lying. I don't consider one particularly higher or lesser than the other? You'll definitely hear me say that I love Prequelle with my entire body and soul, but I appreciate and listen to each one differently, easily able to say that Opus is my "favorite" one day, or Meliora the next.

This is the first time I have EVER experienced this. My approach to music has always been...oh, I like this song, but I don't like this artist. Or I like this one album. My playlist on my phone has always been a pieced together mismatch of songs. Finding Ghost opened me up to a new world. I genuinely adore every single thing Tobias Forge has ever put out.

Macabre - Do you enjoy the interviews and the lore, or do you like sticking to just the music?

I absolutely suck every piece of content into my pores LOL such is the fate of a hyper-fixation. I try to keep up with everything as soon as it happens. The lore is so incredibly interesting to me, and I LOVE how the fandom takes it, molds it into their own, creates stories and art from it. Tobias himself has said that he thinks it's wonderful that we build on the foundation he's set.

#the band ghost #the band ghost asks #ghost asks #ask me anything #leezlelatch

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dnf-fic-recs · 3 years ago

Note

Any soulmate au recs? Maybe a slowburn?

After Fire by pinktintedskies - Brief Dreamnap, later Karlnap, platonic Wilburblade

In a world where you have matching birthmarks with your soulmate, Dream and George weren't soulmates. In fact, they couldn't stand each other.

Had Dream's family not been the host family to George, a foreign exchange student from England, they'd have nothing to do with each other. However, after months of throw-away insults and many rude gestures, George is approached by his host "brother" asking for a favor:

A roadtrip up the East coast.

stay (you are my soulmate) by Anonymous

Life seemed to shove Dream and George together, through universes and dimensions, like rubber bands knotted together, bands that always bounced back to each other, no matter how far they got pulled apart.

or, seven lives that dreamnotfound meet in.

inkling by alltimecharlo

Clay feels like he’s been living his life leading up to this very day, his eighteenth birthday, waiting impatiently for black ink to scrawl across his skin.

George feels like he’s been living half of his life, not having heard a word from his soulmate through their bond since his eighteenth birthday almost three years ago.

August 12th, their worlds finally collide.

[a dnf soulmate au where words written on the skin are shared between a soulmate pair]

sweet dreams, salty waves by luckylikeyou

George begins waking up every night on a completely desolate beach save for one unfamiliar stranger. He’s not sure where they are or why he’s meeting this man every night in his dreams, but as they quickly become closer, he wants to believe it’s fate.

Spoiler Alert by mini_puffs

“Man, I can’t believe Dumbledore died.”

Whirling around, he grabs whoever said it by the arm and turns to face them. “You,” he accuses, channeling years worth of disappointment and rage into his tone. He’s been waiting for this moment since the day he knew what his wrist read. “You’re the one!”

Or: The first words your soulmate will say are written on your wrist, but George has no idea what to do with his.

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monsoonblooms12 · 3 years ago

Text

Eumoiriety (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Four Years of Pooja Sharma's Birthday, from her first year as an Intern to her first year as an Attending.

Eumoiriety: Happiness due to state of innocence and purity💕

A/N: It's my baby's birthday and I went overboard. This is purely self indulgent and since I have zero to negative self control, this turned out way longer than I expected it to. Anyway, I hope you still like it💙

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Word Count: around 3.7K (I am sorry!)

Rating: General

Category: A bit angst, A bit fluff

Warnings: None that I saw.

Prompts: @choicesaugustchallenge Day 29 - Birthday

READ ON AO3

Intern Year:

She walks barefoot on the green floor as the dews clinging to grass tips, soothe her like the cold breeze on a summer day.

A few golden rays filter through the canopy that acts as a barrier to the shining sun overhead. When they fall on the grass, the view looks like gold intermixed with emerald.

She wears a white gown, which flutters behind her, as her heart dances with the bees going flower to flower to get their prize of nectar in return for their favour of pollinating them.

There is a calm spreading through her soul, an ease, a slow infusion of tranquillity with her heart beats.

A swish makes her turn. Her eyes capture a silhouette, drifting farther and farther, as if taking her calm along with it.

It's replaced by restlessness.

There is a cajole, a whispered cajole, that urges her feet to run, her mind to think, her heart to wonder.

She follows. One step, and another.

The scene changes.

There are no more trees, no more green with the sun's shine.

At a distance, the waves crash on the sandy shore, their meet with their shore echoing in the silent surroundings.

She looks around and sees it.

The silhouette, now apparent that it was a man, standing with his back to her. He looks unbothered. As if he stole her peace and gave her his unrest in return.

She tries to walk slowly towards, footsteps imprinting on the sand, but the distance never seems to lessen or end.

She tries running, but to no avail.

The waves continue crashing, the footprints continue to get imprinted and the man continues to remain still and silent.

The only change has been in the sky, which is now leaden, dark with humongous clouds.

The thunder begins to cackle.

Once, Twice, Thrice.

She closes her ears with her hands, eyes shut to reduce the impact of the thunderous noise reverberating through every single one of her bones. But the roar keeps getting louder and louder until...

Her eyes snap open, but the echo from her sweven doesn't leave her. She turns around to find her phone ringing, straining her eyes with incredulous bright light (that she forgot to dim). The caller ID is barely registered, but the voice gives away the identity.

It's her sister.

With a flash, all the haze from the peculiar dream gets lost and bubbly happiness takes up the emptied space.

It's their birthday.

The first one since she came here. She had been so busy unknotting the twisted knots of circumstances in which she found herself tangled, that she had forgotten about the once unforgettable occasion of her life.

Maybe she has really lost that childhood she held on so tightly to, she thinks.

But not without a hope. Of a chance to get it back.

Maybe differently.

But the want to relive those carefree days, where the colour of pens you get as gifts, and the decision of who gets the piece of cake with the chocolate masterpiece on it were the only things that held importance. All other worldly, societal woes were secondary, trivial, uncared for.

She wishes her sister and she wishes her back.

3..2..1.. Happy Birthday! To Us!

They scream-whisper together, carrying on the years' long tradition.

The only thing different? They were on their cellulars, ecospheres apart, instead of snuggling and shouting together, and annoying their brother for an entire day.

Subconsciously, a tee-hee escapes her. Thinking about her brother, she takes a look at the clock. Correct 12:03 am on 12th August. If she knows him, he is probably counting the seconds.

At 12:05 am to the dot, another shrill echoes through the silent apartment. Her guess is correct.

On the other side of the screen, sits Idhayan arranging the cake so that Pooja can see the eloquent buttercream designs he has hand made on it.

In the background, there is a blurry motion. It turns out to be Alekhya.

She jumps onto the couch beside their brother, putting an end to his steady concentration.

He makes an irritated face, while she laughs.

And Pooja just watches, giggling alone.

The pang in her chest reminds her, once & once more, about just how much she misses them.

How empty, monochromatic her life is, with all these miles between them.

For the past year, every time any event took a turn for the worse, broke her, or hurt her, she wanted to go back to her safe haven.

The place where the chronicles of her life begun.

Many times, she had found herself convinced (by others as well as her self doubting mind) that she didn't belong here. That she didn't have the calibre, the skills to strive in this fight of dogs, in this race of horses where she felt like a donkey.

Or maybe a snail.

She dreamed of sleeping in her mother's lap when she first found herself in the crossroads of feelings and reason. Making her muddled head clear with words that never crossed the barrier between dream and reality.

When Mrs Martinez died, she imagined herself sitting on the swing, her brother's comfort brownies reduced to messy crumbs, as she let the mountain winds take away the burden of dread that pressed upon her heart.

And the day when Landry's backstab became eminent? She visualized her sister ripping him down, shredding him with knives of words because that's what he deserved.

She knew her father would have made them both coffee like he always did when he came home during breaks from piloting. He would have said a mere few words, which would have been enough for her to see the path ahead.

The mini virtual celebration ends, and the silence settles again. Tendrils of sleep come and go, but never stay.

She is left alone with her thoughts and worries, and a fear of the unknown which is hidden by the curtains of the future.

--------

The day passes like a swift blowing wind in a desert.

It's quiet, too quiet.

And probably for the first time in her life, she adores it. To be away from the hustle of a celebration, which would have been a noise in the cacophony, given the situation.

To get a period of silence for her thoughts to drift away, to think about the unknown, to predict a make or break.

The pages are turned swiftly by her fingers, one of which is clad with a minimal gold ring, another old ritual of hers.

The library harbours the overworked interns, who are now pushing the boundaries of time to find a way to help their friend out.

Their tired eyes pain with the lack of sleep, coffee fuelling through their veins, and mind engrossed in picking up any clue, any line, any tip that could be supportive for them.

Hours pass, no-one utters a word. Pens run on empty notebooks, hands managing to create only messy scribbles. Black and Blue fill the white as if it never existed.

The clock strikes the end hour.

They all get up.

They go home together, for discussions and relaxation.

At the doorstep, everyone enters before her, while she stands still, too engulfed in worries to notice the happenings.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Confetti pops, her reverie is broken.

The smile shines like a jewel in a priceless necklace.

The arrangements are minimal, just champagne, cake and friends, but that's more than enough for her. To make her forget the dark fog of pessimism.

Maybe there is hope left.

-------

Second Year:

12th August.

The day that is drifting closer by the minute.

It has always been Alekhya's birthday for her.

On her phone, In her diary, In her mind.

People might regard it as a beautiful flaw of her nature, the flaw of always placing others before herself.

But to her, the instinct seemed natural, obvious. She had never delved into the whys, and she doesn't want to begin now.

For Alekhya, the circumstances became vice-versa.

And this was the beauty of their bond.

Strong, Pure and Selfless.

They never seem to realize that, though.

They hold onto the strings of simplicity, of sweet uncomplexity. And that is what helps them to bridge the gap between siblings and best friends.

After the tumultuous year, that very much resembled the completion of a voyage through the rough Indian Ocean, where storms ravage through days and endless nights, thunders crack, and waves that scale the heights between the ocean and sky to become mountains of water, crash on the feeble pieces of wood barely held together in the form of a boat, coming back to her origin, her hometown is a necessity.

Especially for her to find that normalcy again.

She survived.

Even though she fell, almost drowned, gasped for a breath more times she could count and nearly accepted her fate.

Until that is, the pale faces of the ones she holds close, the endless stream of tears that scale their cheeks, their breaking hearts, came to haunt her in her reverie and prevented her from closing her eyes & from letting that almost undetectable beat of heart stop.

The wishes from last year come back to her. This time, it wasn't virtual anymore. This time, it wasn't just painted in pixels, but written in buttercream letters, one which she could taste.

This time, the hugs weren't just virtual. They were very real, and very needed.

As she sits amidst the bushes of phenomenal florals, she lets her mind project in vivid colours, the extremities of the last year.

Her heart, breaking into tiny glass pieces, not perceived by the eye but sharp enough to draw blood.

The fear of losing and letting so many others lose along.

The coming close and going away, almost kisses and slide of unassuming hands, those which could easily be perceived as a mistake, but were anything but.

Competing in a nameless competition and almost dying in the process.

Getting the lost love back. Slowly, Gradually. (even if it felt too early to call it that)

And then... Her mind stops as the playful tunes start emanating out along with florescent light from the cellular, and the face of the one who has been a regular image of the thoughts that lull her to sleep.

On the other side, his voice is soft.

She can visualize him in the Diagnostics Office, leaning back on his chair.

Most probably on a break.

The new day hasn't even started for him, yet he remembers that it has, for her.

Their talks are interspersed with comfortable silence. For them, just the knowledge that the person on the other side is still there with them is enough.

All through the conversation, she waits.

In a hope that the irrelevant and unimportant date is written in faded letters somewhere in that brilliant mind of his.

As the line approaches its end, talks slowly halt, she feels a faint pang of sadness.

Maybe he doesn't remember it after all.

She bids her farewell, and as his finger hovers close to the end call button, she hears it.

Crystal Clear but still seeming unreal.

Happy Birthday, Pooja.

Her thanks are intermixed with a light giggle, unable to hold back the pleasure that erupts within her, along with the flutter called butterflies in her stomach.

Maybe there is always hope left, after all.

-------

Last year of Residence:

There have been countless moments when she has asked the time to wait, to slow its rushing footsteps that leave no mark behind.

Sometimes it's a beg, while in other vespertine hours, it's a mindless murmur.

This moment is one of them.

When a handful of sand is slowly released on a windy day, the swooshes and swishes carry them away, farther and farther, leave them with no choice but to fly along.

The minutes were being carried away by the same current, where they had no choice but to pass.

No one had the power to hold it, not even the mighties, the richest, the most supreme.

The conditions now extensively mimic the conditions during her first year.

Just this time, it was textbooks on internal medicine and medical procedure instead of ethics.

The wishes that day are hushed, the minimal party comprising of cupcakes and mug cakes and the gang, christened "The Invincibles" after they successfully tackle one hurdle and another but remain strong and together, in their PJs.

It must be one of the first nights since who knows how long when they spent their time doing an activity that doesn't involve colour coded tabs and complicated biological drawings.

And even though some of them make faux complaints about the wasted time, they all needed this break more than they could express.

The morning sun rays filter through the white curtains guarding the windows way too fast, making them unable to pinpoint the exact moment when the black of the night ceased to exist, when the sky became melanocrysus and when the golden took over the entire stretch.

A single text message pushes her to drop the blanket of laziness, the cocoon she inhabited. Getting up and placing a smile has never been as easy as it was now.

Come Over

------

The condo is inhabited by a stark silence when she reaches there.

She knocks. The click of the doorknob on the other side is almost instantaneous.

His hand wraps around her waist like a reflex deeply etched in his encephalon. For the first time in forever, their kisses are not chaste. Or momentary.

When he whispers a happy birthday wish against her forehead, that's what she would call intimacy.

The purity of the action touches her heart and makes it swell, with an emotion that she predicts will not remain unnamed any longer.

-------

First-year as an attending:

The celebratory vibes are in the air today.

Her stride is confident, heels playing a mellow harmony on the shining floors.

No one doesn't recognize her.

The intern who nearly lost her license to the Head of Diagnostics team, it was a journey that had thrown her off-road a million times.

Sometimes the barriers were pinpricks leaving no marks, and sometimes they were boulders crushing her.

And sometimes, one of these on-lookers would tear down her faith by stabbing her from the back, the cowardice of their soul, being mirrored in the blades of those knives of betrayal.

And yet she stands strong, her resolve unperturbed, as she faces the demons, those of others and those of her own.

It's a fight she has been learning to fight since she was eleven.

To curtain her tears with a glow in eyes, to hide the broken heart behind pretty lies. And just like practice makes one perfect, she has almost perfected the art of having to hide the real her inside.

As she passes the numerous congregations, amalgamations of patients and staff, she is greeted by wishes from old acquaintances whose kindness is apparent in their smile and by wishes of employed enemies, whose disinterest or sometimes blatant hate is too, completely apparent in their voice.

But they are not the ones she is worried about.

Interspersed between these two extremities are people who speak kind and in flattery lines with a sword behind their back.

Those who know how to hide their true intentions in the modulations of voice.

Every time she hears a wish where nothing is apparent, her heart stops for a while.

Strings of thought muddle her head and she tries to figure out the reality behind their words.

Sometimes she succeeds, sometimes she fails.

And sometimes she faces vehement opposition of her tired nerves who ask her to stop caring about those who are passing by.

But she never stops.

Her legs carry her to the Diagnostics office.

Her Office.

The swell of pride, of a fulfilment she last felt when she got into Edenbrook, make her head light.

She tries to stop but gives up the efforts soon.

If she has realized something through the twists of lawsuits and turns of almost dying, it is that if you keep waiting for the turns of the clock to approach a "right moment" for a chance to celebrate, you will probably keep waiting your entire life until your breath is being taken away and all that is left are regrets and missed opportunities of happiness.

So she twirls like a princess in her imaginary ball gown, beaming with satisfaction, and taking pride in giving herself the give of success.

Of making her loved ones and herself proud.

She gets so carried away in the train of thoughts, in which one bougie is connected by another, and one more, that she doesn't notice the person who preoccupies the room.

The halt is so sudden, that she almost tumbles upon the man. Almost.

She manages to get hold of herself, her hand on his back.

He turns, eyes meet.

If someone would have asked her what is cosmic, she would have said "The melt of glowing ambers into ice blue." Sure, she has looked into them more times than she can count or recollect. But every time their orbs meet, the reactions the action produces, she can only give the word seraphic to it.

When Ethan left for Amazon, she would often wonder why is she still keeping the lamp of hope alive. His absquatulation broke her, acted like a spark to her over-thinking mind. She would lie on her bed, eyes tracing the same lines on the ceiling above her over and over again, thinking just what she did wrong. She never reached the end of the path though, never really achieved the answer, even after meandering through a hundred courses of thoughts.

But now, she thanks her old self for living through it all. For not letting that lamp extinguish. For keeping it safe in a little corner of the labyrinths of her heart. Wordlessly, she hugs him, the plethora of emotions becoming quite too much to be expressed in minute syllables.

His whisper next to her ears, the innocently simplistic words induce a shiver in her spine.

But the last word.

4 letters, 1 word.

It hangs in the air like a diamond necklace around a maiden's neck. Like a tiny pendant that shines brighter than all elaborate jewels, all lengthy anecdotes.

It's enough, more than enough for her.

And as their smiles slowly spread like the slow rise of the golden sun, gently letting the rays spread through the humble earth. And those smiles, they shine together, brighter than the Sirius.

Happy Birthday, Love.

-------

Her casual gown, bearing floral patterns, flutters along with the soft grass, she feels a sense of wonder. Whether at the shimmering moon, the stardust spread through the stretch in the woods, or at the simplicity of her surroundings, she does not know.

Her unassuming footsteps walk slow, observant of her surroundings. After walking down the trail, she stops at the clearance.

At a distance, something shines under the silver moonbeams. Her mind beckons her to return back, but her intuition asks her to move on. She listens to the latter's plea.

A small cuboidal box and a bunch of white tulips lay peacefully out of place. She usually would have left it, just in case it was a trap.

But this time curiosity overtook reason and she picks the bouquet up. A small note amidst her favourite flowers.

I love you

No name. No initials. But she knew exactly who had written it. Not because he was the one who asked her to come here, in the heaven hidden amidst the chaos, but because those flourishes of his fanciful lettering would never escape her notice. Even if the only source of luminance was distant fairy lights on trees and the faint moonbeams.

Her eyes travel away from the articles. At a distance, the silhouette stands. The same silhouette from her sweven. But this time, there is no restlessness, no rush, no tension in the air. No thunder cackles and no waves crash. This time the silhouette waits for her, unlike the last time when it was her waiting for him.

He turns, only the shine of his orbs visible. And the shadow of the gorgeous smile that dances on his lips. The last time, his stone mask was too heavy, too powerful for any of them to break or move.

But this time? This time, the mask has fallen off, it has met the end of its existence.

He comes closer, the shadow now a clear image. He goes and picks up the cuboid and hands it to her.

"Open it" He whispers in a soft voice, that disappears as soon as it appears.

She takes it and opens it, as per his words. Everything is perfect and normal.

Except for the space in the middle.

Something sparkles, in silver lustre. Her first instinct is, Diamond? She decided to pick it up

It's a key.

She looks up to him, bewildered. Is it what she thinks it is?

Move-in with me?

She places the box of chocolates down, the key held tight in her fist.

And then she kisses him.

She doesn't have to speak a word, but he understands. After all, why would two intertwined hearts need verbal responses to know what the other one feels?

Only his home, can fill the brick walls of his house with love, and make it a home.

------

They both lay side by side on the lush grass, hands intertwined, hearts beating in unison, silence filling their souls like air fills their lungs.

They look at the stars and the moon. Or more appropriately, the gaze at the starry screen, but the mind plays significant moments from their time together.

Pooja's mind however thinks about the four of her birthdays since she set foot in Boston. The mundane softness of them, contrasting all the birthdays she has had in the rest of her years.

The photo frame of the interns from the first year. The group video call, her life from the second year. The PJ party from the third year. And the key from the fourth.

They are puzzle pieces of the saga of her life, the absence of friends from early years, the gap, the void now filled.

And after years of searching, she thinks she has finally found it. Hidden in the normality, the simplicity, the mundanity of life.

Happiness.

PS: If you are reading this, I am very grateful for you. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day🤎

Tags🤎 (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot you):

Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @izzyourresidentlawyer @phoenixrising308 @adiehardfan @quixoticdreamer16 @a-crepusculo

Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010 @headoverheelsforramsey @estellaelysian @shanzay44

Ethan x Pooja: @aleynareads @choicesaddict5 @stygianflood @mysticaurathings @jamespotterthefirst @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey @takemyopenheart @mm2305

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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kurosawa-family · 3 years ago

Text

The "August's First Love" Experience.

I want to give credit for this idea and a big thank you to @nutaella-kookie, their ideas, moodboards, aesthetics and writings are the reason I smile and keep doing things.

From a family full of suffering and violence, it's almost considered a miracle August turned out the way he did. A sweet, young man like him should not exist in such a family.

Meeting each other in a museum, he caught your eye. A tall, black young man with curly, dark hair and beautiful green eyes.

You talk to him, and he's shy, stuttering and trying to not look at you in the eyes. He's cute.

You two spend the rest of the day chatting, analyzing every single piece of art in there, and hearing his chuckles every time you made a joke about it... Wow.

“I assume you're not from here, are you? Since you talk to me so willingly...”

“No, I do not. What's your name, if may I know?”

“... August... Yours, my dear?”

That meeting was the first one out of a hundred. He loved you so dearly, he would have married you if he had the chance, but he's way out of your league... Or that's what he thought.

You taught him how to ride a horse, on one of those dates. He was holding himself on that horse for dear life, and it was funny to see him yelp and try to act all brave, failing miserably.

You two would go to the forest for silent, beautiful walks. Words weren't needed between you two, just holding your hands tightly, kissing your knuckles, your face, that was enough. Besides, the silent was, instead of awkward, comforting.

Duos at the local plaza's piano was a must. The people of the village would stop to hear you two create such beautiful melodies, even the angels would envy you two. Forehead kisses and touches from time to time while he looks into your eyes with that dumb look that just screams "I want to wake up at your side every single morning until the starts blink out if existence.”

So. Many. Love letters Jesus Christ. Like, you couldn't find anymore space to hide them, you ran out of space.

He had his way with words, though. Even the first letter made your heart jump every single time you read it.

Petnames were a must between you two. He would call you his darling, his beloved, his angel, his everything, his world. You tried to do the same but he was way too good and cute to do so. You called him "my little teddy bear". That petname alone would make him red.

Talking about a blushing August, every time he was blushing, he would use his coat or hands to try and hide it. He just couldn't take more than one compliment.

Tea and cookies picnics near the river was the thing you two adored the most, every single weekend. He just loved seeing you use his lap as a pillow while you were reading, and he did the same while playing with your beautiful hair.

Still, like I said, the story of violence and suffering was around his family like the plague.

Last time you two saw each other was at three in the morning, in a cold night of December. You ran into him when you saw him all bloody and hurt. He tried to warn you, to run, to hide, to please leave him but you wouldn't listen.

“A human?! You, my son, were seeing a useless human?!” a strong voice was heard behind him, but as soon as you looked who it was, your throat felt... Wrong.

The least thing you heard was August screaming your name, and just mere seconds before your eyes closed forever, you could see his desperate, crying face, trying to wake you up.

As soon as you died, his father took him by the hair and dragged him to their house on the mountains. Everyone in the village was awake, but nobody dared to go outside and do something. That beast, that monster... They couldn't fight him. Nobody could.

Tragic, honestly, to die for love. If he could, he would change your fate, or better yet, never have met him. You would be fine if you didn't.

But, what about you?

Do you regret loving him?

#diabolik lovers oc #diabolik brothers #diabolik lovers #diabolik oc #diavolik lovers #Ask The Kurosawa Family #kurosawa family #the kurosawa family #August Kurosawa #Kurosawa Moodboard #Moodboard #The Kurosawa Family Experience

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aphspain-pure · 4 years ago

Text

@hetaliamondaychallenge August 3: "The music is the language of feelings"

When they first knew they were getting married, the both of them felt empty. They didn't know each other well and it wasn't going to be a "love affair". It was politics; a simple political strategy.

There wasn't place for feelings; they were nations, after all.

Austria, more mature and less emotional, embraced that emptyness like an adult and let his discomfort aside. He closed his heart and became cold with the aim of ignoring his restless soul.

Months passed and the preparations for the Spanish-Austrian union under the Habsburg dynasty went on. During that time, he transformed into a machine. Even if he was never human since the beginning, his hummanity was nearly lost during those days. Without feeling, without living.

The spinet became his only way of expressing; the music, his only confessor.

But when the day came, and his future espose reached his territory, it happened to be a maximmun surprise.

He had been playing. When Spain suddendly interrupted his music, he had been crying out loud through the sound of music all his fears.

He had been alone, by himself, being human. And he had been caught.

He nearly went white. It had been foolish. Drowning so much in something as earthly as music wasn't meant for them. They weren't supposed to feel, and much less should they let their guard down and show themselves so openly in front of another country. Country who might be his worst enemy in the future even if currently was his dear future husband. It was just antinatural.

He, then, was going to stop playing when he suddendly looked to the other and frozed.

Spain had taken a lute out of his things, and had looked back at him with the most beautiful and pure smile he had even seen.

He had understood Austria's feelings without a word and even if Austria felt exposed and embarrased, he felt strangely in peace.

A strange sesation of having found a piece of Heaven on Earth.

The Mediterranean had started playing too, and his music comunicated everything: his own fears, his happiness... his hummanity. That made Austria's heart melt

Suddendly they looked at each other's eyes, and something began. Suddendly they weren't acquaintances anymore.

In his youth, both of them felt like human beings for the first time. Their own and self feelings were transmited and they could afford to, slowly, fell in real and deep love.

Real, sensitive, precious love.

The first and last.

Unspoken, only felt.

A love and union that lasted nearly 200 years, something very unusual between beings like them.

...

But, anyway, fate for nations is already set, and that human-like dream reached an end, and one of them was taken away. That's how it works. It's only natural. The odd thing had been try to avoid it.

Then they were separated, and History went on.

History doesn't forgive anyone.

( ... )

But, nowadays, hundred of years later, that feeling that wasn't destroyed still burns in the separated lovers.

Everyday at night, they still play music and remember when they were one. Their music, the language they only understood, the feelings they had shared for forever and a day.

#hetalia #hetaliamondaychallenge #aph spain #yaoi #aph austria #auspa #spaus

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goingsllightlymad · 5 years ago

Text

Blinded By Your Light - Part 1. On Meeting

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Y/N is the definition of ordinary. Studying at a medical school as far as she can get from her rainy hometown of Birmingham, she never expected to be shipped off the Flanders when the war was at it's peak. Much less to meet a handsome young patient with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had seen in her life who as fate would have it would fall into her lap.

Word Count: 5035 (I had to split this one up into two chapters because it was getting hella long).

Warnings: I have absolutely no writing skills.

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The sunlight on the windowsill was more depressing than it was bright. Wan and pale, you knew that you would find no warmth there in the light of that cool, indifferent sun, shining on a fate much more dire than even its own fiery glory. August had not been kind to either of you.

The last traces of summer were fading away, and everyone in the hospital knew it. Gone were the summery days when you could wake and catch the glimmer of hope that the sunshine had brought with it, the apple trees in the orchard laden with fruit and the last of the spring's bright blossom on their rich branches, the birds wheeling in the sky as though they could not hear, not far away, the rattle of machine gun fire and the sickening crash of bombs. In those clearer nights, sat upon your windowsill and gazing out at the unending sky, you could almost see the flames leaping from the wreckage of today's attack, the occasional flare shooting up into the sky in a sudden burst of bright green light, casting a lurid glow on the trees and fields below.

And now the cold was seeping in, with its grim promise of longer nights and the worst that was yet to come, and the war was far from over. Sometimes you had to wonder how many men were left, as through the doors to the hospital there came every day the steady flow of men half-dead and some already long since gone, draped in their funeral gowns of stiff brown uniform and the bloom of rich red blood like roses on their unnamed grave. This war would leave no man untouched, and you could see the poison as it crept into the eyes of those who made it out of here, chilling and colder than that false bliss that washed over the still faces of those who weren't so lucky.

It was the same routine as always - waking in the cool morning light to dress in the harsh white uniform and make your way to the dining-rooms for breakfast, eaten in silence in a crowd of sullen, sleepless faces, then working until late in the evening, all night if they needed you, as they did more and more these days. It was getting worse out there, though no one dared to mention it.

It would be an understatement to say that no day at Flanders General Hospital was without a new surprise, still today had to be an exception. Walking into the main ward at 6:00 in the morning, the last thing you expected was for the ward to be filled with bustling crowds of nurses in sharply-starched aprons and men carrying stretchers.

"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? (What's going on?)" You turned to another nurse as she made her way past you, busying yourself with folding a blanket over the edge of a bed and scanning the room for clues of whatever had happened.

"Il y a eu une explosion dans les tunnels la nuit dernière.. Un gros, clairement. Des hommes de partout. La directrice dit qu'il semble que nous allons courir pendant plusieurs jours. (An explosion in the tunnels last night. Big one, clearly. Men from everywhere. Matron says that it looks like we'll be running around for several days)." she whispered quickly, raising her eyebrows and gesturing wildly at the rows and rows of narrow white beds, already filling with bloodied men. You took in the pained expressions of the wounded men and the frantic ones of the nurses, and all at once you had to fight the urge to run away. You had never seen so many patients at once, and the noise was something that you knew you could never forget. The screams and wails and sobbing drowned all of your senses, and you wondered if Hell could ever sound so bad.

"C'est affreux... Que puis-je faire? Dis-moi que je peux faire quelque chose. (It's awful... What can I do? Tell me I can do something)." You followed her as she set off briskly down the ward, collecting soiled towels from beside the beds.

"Faites tout ce que vous pouvez voir qui doit être fait. Habiller les plaies, nettoyer les lits, transporter l'équipement. Tous sur le pont, vous savez. Ne les laissez pas vous voir rester les bras croisés. (Do whatever you can see that needs doing. Dress wounds, clear beds, carry equipment. All hands on deck, you know. Don't let them see you standing around idly)."

You sent her a quick nod as she ran off with her armful of towels, then turned to the bed beside you, where a man painted with soot and thick red blood was splayed across a bare mattress. Grabbing a basin of warm water from the bedside stand, you set to work scrubbing his tired limbs gently, eyes wandering across the thin and broken form. Reaching up to his face with the now-blackened washcloth, you brushed the heavy mass of matted blonde hair away from his face, swiping at the cracked skin underneath in slow movement. He flinched, tensing up involuntarily, and the eyes that flew open to stare at you were deep and hazel and terrified.

"Tu vas bien, tu vas bien. Je ne vais pas te faire mal. Sûr ... tout est en sécurité maintenant... (You're okay, you're okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Safe... all safe now...)" you murmured to him in your stumbling French, rubbing soft circles on his stained cheek with a shaking fingertip and wetting the washcloth once more. His whole body trembled and his eyes rolled around madly in his head like the eyes of a God forgotten. You wished you would never know what it was like last night.

For the rest of that day, you were rushed off your feet with helping the patients. More and more seemed to flood in from all directions, filling the wards and drawing the nurses in like a swirling cesspit of blood and gore and pain. Grime was washed away, leaving behind faces that were somehow worse, haunting in their shell-shocked horror.

By the time dusk rolled in through the windows high in the stark white walls, the ward was only beginning to quieten, the last of the soldiers carried in almost an hour ago. In a gradual tide of hushed movement, the nurses retreated once more into the dorms and the backrooms of the hospital, the last few remaining to sit by the bedsides and wrap and rewrap the same wounds in the soft glow of candlelight.

Sitting alone on the windowsill of your dorm, you tried again and again to read, your brain dizzying in some other realm of thought that was nowhere near those bleak black letters and the story you'd read before. You'd moved here in a hurry, leaving behind everything you'd known before, and the books were no different. In your carpet-bag when you'd left had been only the three small novels you knew you could never live without, and only enough clothes to last you your journey there and back. You were meant to be home by Christmas, with all the books you could ever hope to read, but as time passed it was becoming increasingly clear that Christmas was going to be a long, long time in coming.

A knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts, making you jump slightly and slam your book shut. You opened the door cautiously, and were met with the sympathetic face of another nurse.

"De quoi avez-vous besoin (What do you need)?"

"La matrone a envoyé pour vous. Il y a un homme dans la salle, anglais. Il est agité, il parle dans son sommeil. Vous êtes anglais, n'est-ce pas? (Matron has sent for you. There's a man in the ward, English. He is restless, he talks in his sleep. You are English, are you not?)".

"Je suis. De quoi a-t-elle besoin pour moi? (I am. What does she need me to do?)"

"Parle lui. Voyez ce qu'il a à dire. Il vaut mieux qu'il parle à voix haute plutôt que de déranger les autres avec son sommeil (Talk to him. See what he has to say. It is better for him to talk aloud than to disturb others with his sleep)."

You sighed, pulling on your apron, wrinkled and creased from the day's hard work, and stepped past the nurse into the corridor. She placed her hand lightly on your arm and gave you a small smile, directing you down to the west ward, where all the British soldiers were lying.

It was not difficult to see which one she was talking about. In the stillness of the ward, one bed was rocking slightly, the patient thrashing wildly in his sleep. His cries echoed throughout the room, piercing through the whimpering and sniffing that hung heavy in the air from all the other beds. A particularly loud wail stopped you in your tracks, and you wanted to throw your hands up to your ears and block out the dreadful noise, but you forced yourself to keep moving towards his bed, biting down on your lip hard enough to taste the hot, metallic blood gathering on the tip of your tongue.

You sat in the chair beside the bed, pulling the curtains tight around the two of you until there was only the bed and you beside it, and in it the man flailing blindly in his horror-stricken fever dream. His hands dropping to his sides to clutch and tear at the bed sheets, you used the opportunity to reach out and stroke his cheek gently, hushing him and pushing the hair back from his sweaty forehead. Over his eyes there was a strip of warm, wet cloth, and you didn't even want to know what would be there should you move it back.

"Who are you." his voice almost made you jump. Low and husky, with a thick Brummie accent, it filled the enclosed space around the two of you like cigarette smoke hanging in the night air. You had not sensed him waking up, but now his breathing was steadying and his body smoothing down against the bed.

"A nurse." you soothed him, still tracing the soft white skin of his face. He made as though to sit up, trying to push up off the bed with unsteady hands, and you pushed him back down lightly, "Shh shhh... Lie down, Mr Shelby. You're weak."

"'M not weak." But his voice was broken and uneven and you could almost hear the smoke in his lungs in the slight wheeze when he breathed.

"Soon, no. But for now let's just let me do the work." He relaxed into your hands, his hands falling back to the bedsheets and you rubbed the back of one of them with your own.

"Where am I?" he croaked.

"General Hospital, Flanders. We found you out by the river, near dead." you spat out the rumour that by now everyone had heard. Five of the men half-drowned, half-suffocated, lying on the riverbank in a pool of soot and blood that seemed to spill from within them, like the war was in their very veins. Five men with no homes to go to and no way to get to them, and four without names. Only Mr Shelby, a name you could swear you had known in some distant lifetime, had been identified, and only he out of the five had survived, although no one was quite sure how.

"Should have left me there." He stiffened, removing his hand from yours and trying to turn away from you, but his ribs ached and it was all he could do not to cry out aloud at the sudden movement. He made do with turning his head to the other side, and you caught the trail of dried black blood that ran down his neck and disappeared under the stiff collar of the white hospital robe. "Y' don't know what I did." His voice was hard and bitter, sad as you had never heard sadness before, but sad at himself, as though even the war was better than what he saw in the mirror every night.

"And I don't particularly want to know. But I can't just let you die, considering my job." you joked lightly, smiling a little at him to cheer him up and then realising that he couldn't see you anyway, and your smile faded away into the evening gloom of the hospital ward.

"Why don't you go save someone who actually deserves it."

"I am, right now." you persisted, and he didn't know whether to laugh or to scream at you or to break down and cry. There was something about you, know you as little even as he did, that drove him a little insane, listening to you challenge him and contradict him as no one had ever done before, and he thought perhaps he liked it. Liked you, but that was cruel and that was weak, and that was something that Tommy Shelby would never do to another soul.

"If you only knew the things I've done-" he chuckled lowly, bitterly, and you got the feeling he was laughing more at himself than at you.

"If I only had a pound note for every man who's come in saying that, I wouldn't be washing and fixing your filth, now would I." and it was true - war was the cruellest thing you know, and it broke men like nothing else. First their bodies, then their minds, then their very souls themselves. In a job like this, it was very difficult not to think about souls, but you were sure that, somewhere within the prison of his broken body, Thomas Shelby had the most beautiful soul that you had never seen.

"Would that you wouldn't, eh." He almost smirked - almost. His lips settled back into a grimace as he tried to laugh.

"I'd have bought meself a set of uniform and be standing in the trenches as we speak."

"So desperate to get to the front line?" He tilted his head as though studying you, and you had to remind yourself that he couldn't see you from beneath his blindfold, or else you were sure you would have squirmed under his scrutiny.

"So desperate to get away from it?"

"Need a way home. 'S work for me back there, and work must be done."

"Then," you spoke decisively, smoothing out his blankets and straightening his chest onto the mattress, and he wheezed painfully at the action, making you flinch instinctively, "I suppose you ought to lie back and let me help you, else you'll never be out of here." you tapped him on the cheek softly, a motherly thing that you hadn't even thought about but now seemed too close, too patronising and at the same time too affectionate. You stood quickly, anxious to run away before he could react and tell you that you were being unprofessional, but as you turned your back to the bed you heard from behind you a quiet chuckle, breathy and honest, and the shifting of bones beneath weary skin.

"Suppose I ought."

You smiled at that, and walked away.

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Early the next morning, they called on you again to make up his bed linen, ladling into your arms the thick reams of bleached fabric and shoving you in the direction of the west ward. As you saw him, lying on his back and grinning at you as you approached, staring into you with those unseeing eyes as though he had known all night that you would be coming back, you couldn't help but smile. You weren't one to pick favourites but this man was really testing your morals.

"You're back." his voice was still monotonous and weak, and his words hung heavy with exhaustion and a bleak, dark emotion that you hoped you would never feel, yet still you caught a hint of amusement. His statement seemed so decisive, like he had wished you back and here you were, just as he had wanted you to be. Even broken in his bed, Thomas Shelby had a curious power over you, and you hesitated to say you didn't like it.

"Are you so disappointed?"

"On the contrary, love. I quite look forward to our little chats."

"And what's on the mind of the great Thomas Shelby today?" you laughed, snaking an arm around his back and lifting his torso off the bed a little, then pausing as he coughed forcefully to cover up the whine of pain that had slipped out.

"Well wouldn't you like to know." he shot you a trembling smile as his body settled back into your arms. A thrill of pity shot through your heart and you pulled him a little closer into you, gazing down thoughtfully into his weary face and covered eyes. Somewhere between today and yesterday, those eyes had become the most important thing in the world to you, the only thing you wished to God you knew. Something deep within you was stirring when you looked at them, trying to make out the shape through the tough white blindfold, and you knew it wasn't good at all. Men like him weren't made for girls like you, and men with pretty eyes were only ever trouble.

"Well now, let's suppose I do." you pulled back the covers and folded them over the foot of the bed. Looking back at his uncovered form, you couldn't stop your eyes from roaming. From the scars on his legs to the blood that hadn't washed away, to the tired bones that jutted out unnaturally from under withered skin, Thomas Shelby was exhausted, physically as well as mentally. Beautiful, so beautiful, and irreparably fucked up.

You wrapped your free arm under his knees and pulled him into your arms in an awkward bridal position where you could smell the sweet, metallic blood in his skin and on his clothes and he could almost taste the harsh carbolic soap from that awful night before, you kneeling in the water in the darkness, scrubbing the taste of war from your skin again and again until your very soul could bleed white blood and the darkness within you seeped out through every breath into the darkness without.

You almost threw him onto the spare bed that had been cleared beside him.

"If you must. I'm thinking about you." he murmured thoughtfully, as though those words were much deeper than you could ever see, and you longed to see the meaning in his eyes as he stared, unseeing, up at you.

"Nothing too saucy, I hope." you joked, but part of you wondered if you really meant it. You thought perhaps you wouldn't much mind it if he did.

"Never! Get that a lot here?" He tried to gasp in mock indignation, but the breath ended up catching in his throat and he hacked and coughed violently, his eyes stinging with tears at the pain in his chest. Your hand flew out to grab his, and you rubbed small circles on the back of his hand reassuringly, holding him against your chest and rubbing his back with the other hand as he collapsed into you once again.

Once the coughing fit passed you pulled yourself away, trying to ignore as best you could the empty feeling that rushed into your arms in the space he left behind, and the way he tensed up again as soon as you had parted. A trick of the early morning light, and you were beginning to get the feeling that that was a common feature of this man, with all his tricks and secrets.

"Wouldn't be too surprised. Lot of lads missing their gals, and I'm just walking sex appeal. Or so I've been told."

"Bothers you, does it?" there was a cold edge to his voice, protective, possessive even. If you didn't know better, you might say that Thomas Shelby was laying a claim on you.

"Not too much. Flatters my ego, 's all. Got a girl at home, Mr Shelby?" and now it was you that was keeping secrets, trying to control your voice in what you told yourself was a perfectly professional question. Had to know if he had any emergency contacts, that's all there was to it. Still, as he let out a weak laugh and grinned up at you, you could not help but let out a long, shaky breath that you had not known that you were holding. Well, that was one thing cleared up at least, and you thought perhaps you might be happier because of it."

"Tommy." you tested the word, let it roll off your tongue and fill your lungs with its false air, stain your lips and taint the sanctity of that unholy mind. A name you wanted to shout, to scream and to whisper and to plead and to say into the darkness in places you knew were much less professional than this white corner of the hospital ward. It was a name you wanted to keep all to yourself, and it was so much more than just a name. It was a confession, and it was holy. Nah, nothing at home for me but cold and dark and office work."

"No family?"

"None at all." he said far too quickly and you knew not to push it any further. There was trust and there was Thomas, Tommy, Shelby, and something told you that the two didn't coincide much.

"Must be awful lonely." you almost felt bad for him, living all alone in his cold town with his dull work and his tiny little life, and you knew that you and him were not so different after all. For a moment it felt almost like you were lying in the bed beside his, and that these two worlds were somehow one. You felt united, and you understood, because this was a secret the two of you could share, and god, wasn't it domestic?

"I shouldn't say so. Look on the bright side - I'm lying in bed with a pretty girl next to me right now. Not sure I should be so excited to go home just yet." your heart sped up a little with the last statement, aching and leaping at once with the fear of him leaving and the knowledge that while he was here there was nothing you could do but stay by his side. You almost didn't want him to go home at all.

"Aren't you just incorrigible! What must the others all think of me?" you teased, pretending to scold him as you giggled and how long had it been since someone had made you laugh like this?

"Hopefully not what I'm thinking of you, love, else we might have a bit of a fall out." his smooth, easy words and comfortable tone made your smile falter a little despite yourself, and you wondered how many girls he had told the same thing to before.

"Been here too long. Bet you're just itching for a fight."

"Told you I was no good." he said, half-joking and half-sincere, and there was an unnerving depth in his words that really should have made you turn and walk away, back to the others in their little back rooms and the laundry that really did need doing now. But you were right - it had been so long since you had seen the light of a proper day that didn't dawn on the cold grey wards and chambers in a country you had never loved before and now could never stand, and in your bones you longed for a story to take you far away, so against your better judgement you stayed, and all the more thought none the less of yourself for it.

"And I told you that was bullshit." you chastened him softly, lifting him back into your arms and returning him to his now-made bed. You laid down his limbs carefully, straightening out his arms and legs and smoothing down his hair against the pillow as he sighed into the crook of your neck, thick, hot air that burned like kisses down your jaw.

"You should really watch you're mouth while you're working."

"Why don't you watch it for me?"

"Take this bloody thing off my eyes and maybe I will." he grinned, but this time there was an earnest, almost pleading note in it that had your hands already reaching up to his face, and to the cruel blindfold that had so robbed you of the truest beauty that you had ever wished to know.

With soft, tentative movements you peeled off the strips of adhesive that held the cloth in place, pushing aside the blindfold and, cupping his jaw with the other hand, tilting his head to look at you. Those closed, scarred eyelids, and suddenly they were twitching and fluttering, lifting heavily as he forced his eyes to open. And there they were - such bright blue stars that burned your blood and sent your heart to frenzy. And time had stopped around you, arrested in their brilliance, blinded by their light, and a bolder girl than you might say that this was all that there would ever be, for he was here and so were you and didn't it seem a lot like fate?

"Beautiful. Nurse (Y/LN), you've been holding out on me." he almost gasped, holding your hand to his lips and pressing a small kiss against the back, his eyes on you like you were all that he'd been waiting for and you wished, you wished, you were.

"Mr Shelby..." you blushed against your better judgement, and he hated himself for doing this to you. He wasn't entirely sure how it had happened, but somehow and so suddenly he was holding the hand of the most beautiful girl he had seen in a very long time, and she wasn't trying to run away. This was the most afraid that Tommy Shelby had been in his life.

"Tommy." he chided gently, and your smile widened.

"(Y/N)."

"So beautiful."

Your faces were closer than you knew you should be, the hospital far away and all around and you wondered if the others were watching you two now, pressed together and so close and still too far away. It was all you could do not to bridge the gap and kiss him, and in another world perhaps you would because then perhaps there was a chance that this could be something more than just a week in a crowded hospital in the grim hell of war. But as it was, you pulled away, closing your eyes so as not to see the light in his flicker and dim as you parted, a thousand times the worse to want his light.

"I should-" you choked out, and his eyes were large and pleading and Tommy had no idea what was going on but he knew that this was the worst that he had ever felt and he could feel his very heart splitting in two a little as you stood to leave.

"Or you could stay."

"I really shouldn't."

"Please." he whispered, and you wished and wished, and you began to walk away again, bed linen under your arm.

"Sleep. I'll be back tomorrow."

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It was not for him to know that, later that night when the other nurses had retired to their chambers and the dimly-lit backrooms of the darkened hospital, you crept once more out of the nurses quarters and down to the west-wing, where he lay, for once, asleep. Sitting by his bedside in the gloom, you longed to reach out and touch him, and knew that you wouldn't wake him for the world. He looked so peaceful while he slept, and you ached for him as you had for no other, wished that life would bring him rest like this again as you could not seem to bring him health no matter how hard he tried. Even now, in the purplish shadows of evening, he looked so small and thin, a ghost among his fellow men. He looked a world away from when he'd boarded his train to the front line, know that man as you did not. Something in him whispered that, just as it whispered that you should leave, and just the same you pushed it back and sighed into the palms of your hands, drunk with your bittersweet melancholy and the fear with which you loved him endlessly.

And of course it would not mean anything that, when he stirred in his sleep, early in the morning and you still beside him, and began to shake and sob, you rested your hand on his shoulder gently and, for the first time since this bloody war began, you let yourself sing quietly to him. Snapshots of memories from a lifetime that had come before, softening in the blurred blue darkness and painting the world around the two of you, and for a moment you could almost believe that there were only the two of you in all the world, playing at games of war and house that were too old and too dull to tie you down. You could almost spread your wings and fly away to greener gardens where days were meant for living and nights for dreaming dreams that did not wake you colder than you began.

To the sisters who would ask the next morning, when they caught you half-asleep in the chair beside his bed, you were afraid that he would have another nightmare and disturb the other patients, but even you knew that that was not the case. You were there because you wanted to be, and you wanted to be there because he was there, and there was no where else on Earth that you could breathe as freely as you did when by his side.

But you didn't need to tell him that, because he was Tommy Shelby, and it seemed he had problems enough on his own.

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A/N: so here it is! This was originally going to be a really long oneshot, but then I got really into writing the plot and making it more and more angsty so it kind of became the first part of a REALLY long series plan (I have no self-control, this is a problem). Just a warning, this is the fluffy chapter. Like, one of literally three or four or whatever chapters with no heartbreaking angst (I say optimistically, knowing this is all gonna be so underwhelming I swear to God). ALSO (this is the last thing I swear), this is gonna take me so long to update I don't even know any more, I have a shit ton of exams between now and July, so any of y'all that actually like my shitty writing skills ARE gonna end up hating me for this.

Taglist

@actorinfluence @captivatedbycillianmurphy @stressedandbandobessed7771

#peaky blinders #Tommy Shelby #Tommyshelbyxreader #fanfiction

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