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black-crested-jaybird · 5 hours ago

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I am an American Christian from a non-evangelical, "mainline" tradition. When I was young, my best friend was an evangelical Baptist, and for several years I really tried to fit into that culture - listening to Christian radio, attempting to read the bible and pray daily, and feeling pressure to convert others to Christianity. Fortunately for my conscience nowadays, I was terrible at it - my attempts at proselytizing pretty much consisted of wearing a "Jesus is awesome!" T-shirt to school once a month and feeling hideously self-conscious about it the entire time.

When I was in high school, a girl I was getting to know told me she had two moms. I distinctly remember consciously, if rapidly, weighing the Christianity I already felt uncomfortable with against my growing friendship with her, and choosing her. We soon became fast friends. Within about a year, I left Christianity entirely and joined another religion, one that doesn't proselytize.

But @jessicalprice is right - religion is culture. When my high school friend was killed by a drunk driver six years later, my grief led me to a church I had visited as a child. Just walking in and sitting down in the empty sanctuary filled me with such a strong feeling of familiarity that I burst into tears. Over the next few months, I started attending church again, even as I struggled to reconcile the feeling of rightness and belonging I felt there with the bigotry and oppression that pervades so much of American Protestantism.

Decades later, I am still grappling with the question of what ethical Christianity looks like, for me as an individual and in the context of a religious institution; just as I am working on recognizing and deconstructing racism, white supremacy, and colonialism in myself and in my society. I've learned about cultural Christianity and see it more and more clearly, just as I continue to learn what American culture is (once I got past the first lesson, which is that America has a culture at all, and isn't just the default setting for humans).

I often say that I have a similar relationship with my identity as a U.S. citizen as I do with my identity as a Christian: despite their many problems and the grave harm they have done and too often continue to do, they are my home. @jessicalprice has helped me to realize that this is not a similarity at all. Despite knowing about cultural Christianity, despite seeing it more and more clearly around me and in myself, I didn't realize until now that those "two" identities are really the same identity.

I don't have any earthshaking conclusions to draw from this. No grand unifying theory of culture. I only want to say thank you to @jessicalprice for helping me understand myself, and my Christian culture, a little better today.

ETA: I just read through ALL the notes. They were very interesting, and I just reblogged one particularly interesting set of additions. To avoid doing that AGAIN with this very long post, I'm adding in OP's book recommendation, which I'm hoping will help me and my church community in our work on becoming a better kind of Christianity: J. Cameron Carter's Race: A Theological Perspective.

culture isn’t modular

I did a thread (actually several) on Twitter a few years ago about Christianity’s attempts to paint itself as modular, and I’ve been seeing them referenced here in the cultural christianity Discourse, and a few people have DMed me asking me to post it here, so here’s a rehash of several of those threads:

A big part of why Christian atheists have trouble seeing how culturally Christian they still are is that Christianity advertises itself as being modular, which is not how belief systems have worked for most of human history.

A selling point of Christianity has always been the idea that it’s plug-and-play: you don’t have to stop being Irish or Korean or Nigerian to be Christian, you don’t have to learn a new language, you keep your culture.

And you’re just also Christian.

(You can see, then, why so many Christian atheists struggle with the idea that they’re still Christian–to them, Christianity is this modular belief in God and Jesus and a few other tenets, and everything else is… everything else. Which is, not to get ahead of myself, very compatible with some tacit white supremacy: the “everything else” is goes unexamined for its cultural specificity. It’s just Normal. Default. Neutral.)

Evangelicals in particular love to contrast this to Islam, to the idea that you have to learn Arabic and adopt elements of Arab culture to be Muslim, which helps fuel the image of Islam as a Foreign Ideology that’s taking over the West.

The rest of us don’t have that particular jack

Meanwhile, Christians position Christianity as a modular component of your life. Keep your culture, your traditions, your language and just swap out your Other Religion Module for a Christianity Module.

The end game is, in theory, a rainbow of diverse people and cultures that are all one big happy family in Christ. We’re going to come back to how Christianity isn’t actually modular, but for the moment, let’s talk about it as if it had succeeded in that design goal.

Even if Christianity were successfully modular, if it were something that you could just plug in to the Belief System Receptor in a culture and leave the rest of it undisturbed, the problem is most cultures don’t have a modular Belief System Receptor. Spirituality has, for the entirety of human history, not been something that’s modular. It’s deeply interwoven with the rest of culture and society. You can’t just pull it out and plug something else in and have the culture remain stable.

(And to be clear, even using the term “spirituality” here is a sop to Christianity. What cultures have are worldviews that deal with humanity’s place in the universe/reality; people’s relationships to other people; the idea of individual, societal, or human purpose; how the culture defines membership; etc. These may or may not deal with the supernatural or “spiritual.”)

And so OF COURSE attempting to pull out a culture’s indigenous belief system and replace it with Christianity has almost always had destructive effects on that culture.

Not only is Christianity not representative of “religion” full stop, it’s actually arguably *anomalous* in its attempt to be modular (and thus universal to all cultures) rather than inextricable from culture.

Now, of course, it hasn’t actually succeeded in that–the US is a thoroughly Christian culture–but it does lead to the idea that one can somehow parse out which pieces of culture are “religious” versus which are “secular”. That framing is antithetical to most cultures. E.g. you can’t separate the development of a lot of cultural practices around what people eat and how they get it from elements of their worldview that Christians would probably label “religious.” But that entire *framing* of religious vs. secular is a Christian one.

Is Passover a religious holiday or a secular one? The answer isn’t one or the other, or neither, or both. It’s that the framing of this question is wrong.

And Christianity isn’t a plugin, however much it wants to be

Moreover, Christianity isn’t actually culture-neutral or modular.

It’s easy for this to get obscured by seeing Christianity as a tool of particular cultures’ colonialism (e.g. the British using Christianity to spread British culture) or of whiteness in general, and not seeing how Christianity itself is colonial. This helps protect the idea that “true” Christianity is good and innocent, and if priests or missionaries are converting people at swordpoint or claiming land for European powers or destroying indigenous cultures, that must be a misuse of Christianity, a “fake” or “corrupted” Christianity.

Never mind that for every other culture, that culture is what its members do. Christianity, uniquely, must be judged on what it says its ideals are, not what it actually is.

Mistaking the engine for the exhaust

But it’s not just an otherwise innocent tool of colonialism: it’s a driver of it.

At the end of the day, it’s really hard to construct a version of the Great Commission that isn’t inherently colonial. The end-goal of a world in which everyone is Christian is a world without non-Christian cultures. (As is the end goal of a world in which everyone is atheist by Christian definitions.)

Yet we focus on the way Christianity came with British or Spanish culture when they colonized a place–the churches are here because the Spaniards who conquered this area were Catholic–and miss how Christianity actually has its own cultural tropes that it brings with it. It’s more subtle, of course, when Christianity didn’t come in explicitly as the result of military conquest.

Or put another way, those cultures didn’t just shape the Christianity they brought to places they colonized–they were shaped by it. How much of the commonality between European cultures is because of Christianity?

It’s not all a competition

A lot of Christians (cultural and practicing), if you push them, will eventually paint you a picture of a very Hobbesian world in which all religions, red in tooth and claw, are trying to take over the world. It’s the “natural order” to attempt to eliminate all cultures but your own.

If you point out to them that belief and worldview are deeply personal, and proselytizing is objectifying, because you’re basically telling the person you’re proselytizing to that who they are is wrong, you often get some version of “that’s how everyone is, though.”

Like we all go through life seeing other humans as incomplete and fundamentally flawed and the only way to “fix” them is to get them to believe what we believe. And, like, that is not how everyone relates to others?

But it’s definitely how both practicing Christians and Christian antitheists relate to others. If, for Christians, your lack of Jesus is a fundamental flaw in you that needs to be fixed, for New Atheists, your “religion” (that is, your non-Christian culture) is a fundamental flaw in you that needs to be fixed. Neither Christians nor New Atheists are able to relate to anyone else as fine as they are. It’s all a Hobbesian zero-sum game. It’s all a game of conversion with only win and loss conditions. You are, essentially, only an NPC worth points.

The idea of being any other way is not only wrong, but impossible to them. If you claim to exist in any other way, you are either deluded or lying.

So, we get Christian atheists claiming that if you identify as Jewish, you can’t really be an atheist. Or sometimes they’ll make an exception for someone who’s “only ethnically Jewish.” If the only way you relate to your Jewishness is as ancestry, then you can be an atheist. Otherwise, you’re lying.

Or, if you’re not lying, you’re deluded. You just don’t understand that there’s no need for you to keep any dietary practices or continue to engage in any form of ritual or celebrate any of those “religious” Jewish holidays, and by golly, this here “ex”-Christian atheist is here to separate out for you which parts of your culture are “religious” and which ones are “secular.”

Religious/secular is a Christian distinction

A lot of atheists from Christian backgrounds (whether or not they were raised explicitly Christian) have trouble seeing how Christian they are because they’ve accepted the Christian idea that “religion” is modular. (If we define “religion” the way Christians (whether practicing or cultural) define it, Christianity might be the only religion that actually exists. Maybe Islam?)

When people from non-Christian cultures talk about the hegemonically Christian and white supremacist nature of a lot of atheism, it reflects how outside of Christianity, spirituality/worldview isn’t something you can just pull out of a culture.

Christian atheists tend to see the cultural practices of non-Christians as “religious” and think that they should give them up (talk to Jewish atheists who keep kosher about Christian atheist reactions to that). But because Christianity positions itself as modular, people from Christian backgrounds tend not to see how Christian the culture they imagine as “neutral” or “normal” actually is. In their minds, you just pull out the Christianity module and are left with a neutral, secular society.

So, if people from non-Christian backgrounds would just give up their superstitions, they’d look the same as Christian atheists.

Your secularism is specifically post-Christian

Of course, that culture with the Christianity module pulled out ISN’T neutral. So the idea that that’s what “secular society” should look like ends up following the same pattern as Christian colonialism throughout history: the promise that you can keep your culture and just plug in a different belief system (or, purportedly, a lack of a belief system), which has always, always been a lie. The secular, “enlightened” life that most Christian atheists envision is one that’s still built on white, western Christianity, and the idea that people should conform to it is still attempting to homogenize society to a white Christian ideal.

For people from cultures that don’t see spirituality as modular, this is pretty obvious. It’s obvious to a lot of people from non-white Christian cultures that have syncretized Christianity in a way that doesn’t truck with the modularity illusion.

I also think, even though they’re not conceptualizing it in these terms, that it’s actually obvious to a lot of evangelicals. (The difference being that white evangelical Christianity enthusiastically embraces white supremacy, so they see the destruction of non-Christian culture as good.) But I think it’s invisible to a lot of mainline non-evangelical Christians, and it’s definitely invisible to a lot of people who leave Christianity.

And that inability to see culture outside a Christian framing means that American secularism is still shaped like Christianity. It’s basically the same text with a few sentences deleted and some terms replaced.

Which, again, is by design. The idea that you can deconvert to (Christian) atheism and not have to change much besides your opinions about God is the mirror of how easy it’s supposed to be to convert to Christianity.

Human societies don’t follow evolutionary biology

The Victorian Christian framing underlying current Western ideas of enlightened secularism, that religious practice (and human culture in general) is subject to the same sort of unilateral, simple evolution toward a superior state to which they, at the time, largely reduced biological evolution, is deeply white supremacist.

It posits religious evolution as a constantly self-refining process from “primitive” animism and polytheism to monotheism to white European/American Christianity. For Christians, that’s the height of human culture. For ex-Christians, the next step is Christian-derived secularism.

Maybe you’ve seen this comic?

The thing is, animism isn’t more “primitive” than polytheism, and polytheism isn’t more “primitive” than monotheism. Older doesn’t mean less advanced/sophisticated/complex. Hinduism isn’t more “primitive” than Judaism just because it’s polytheistic and Judaism is monotheistic.

Human cultures continue to change and adapt. (Arguably, older religions are more sophisticated than newer ones because they’ve had a lot more time to refine their practices and ideologies instead of having to define them.) Also, not all cultures are part of the same family tree. Christianity and Islam may be derived from Judaism, but Judaism and Hinduism have no real relationship to one another.

But in this worldview, Christianity is “normal” religion, which is still more primitive than enlightened secularism, but more advanced than all those other primitive, superstitious, irrational beliefs.

Just like Christians, when Christian atheists do try to make room for cultures that aren’t white and European-derived, the tacit demand is “okay, but you have to separate out the parts of your culture that the Christian sacred-secular divide would deem ‘religious.’”

Either way, people from non-Christian cultures, if they’re to be equals, are supposed to get with the program and assimilate.

You’re not qualified to be a universal arbiter of what culture is good

Christian atheists usually want everyone to unplug that Religion module!

So, for example, you have ex-Christian atheists who are down with pluralism trying to get ex-Christian atheists who aren’t to leave Jews alone by pointing out that you can be atheist and Jewish.

But some of us aren’t atheist. (I’m agnostic by Christian standards.) And the idea that Jews shouldn’t be targets for harassment because they can be atheists and therefore possibly have some common sense is still demanding that people from other cultures conform to one culture’s standard of what being “rational” is.

Which, like, is kind of galling when y’all don’t even understand what “belief in G-d” means to Jews, and people from a culture that took until the 1800s to figure out that washing their hands was good are setting themselves up as the Universal Arbiters of Rationality.

(BTW, most of this also holds true for non-white Christianity, too. I guarantee you most white Christian atheists don’t have a good sense of what role church plays in the lives of Black communities, so maybe shut up about it.)

In any case, reducing Christianity–a massive, ambient phenomenon inextricable from Western culture–to the specific manifestation of Christian practice that you grew up with is, frankly, absurd.

And you can’t be any help in deconstructing hegemony when you refuse to perceive it and understand that it isn’t something you can take off like a garment, and you probably won’t ever recognize and uproot all the ways in which it affects you, especially when you are continuing to live within it.

What hegemony doesn’t want you to know

One of the ways hegemony sustains and perpetuates itself is by reinforcing the idea not so much that other ways of being and knowing are evil (although that’s usually a stage in an ideology becoming hegemonic), but that they’re impossible. That they don’t actually exist.

See, again, the idea that anyone claiming to live differently is either lying or deluded.

There are few clearer examples of how pervasive Christian hegemony is than Christian atheists being certain every religion works like Christianity. Hegemonic Christianity wants you to think that all cultures work like Christianity because it wants their belief systems to be modular so you can just …swap them. And it wants to pretend that culture/worldview is a free market where it can just outcompete other cultures.

But that’s… not how anything works.

And the truth of the matter is that white nationalist Christians shoot at synagogues and Sikh temples and mosques because those other ways of being can’t be allowed to exist.

They don’t shoot at atheist conventions because there’s room in hegemonic Christianity for Christian atheists precisely because Christian atheists are still culturally Christian. Their atheism is Christian-shaped.

They may not like you. They’re definitely going to try to convert you. They may not want you to be able to hold public office or teach their kids.

But the only challenge you’re providing is that of The Existence of Disbelief. And that’s fine. That makes you a really safe Other to have around. You can See The Light and not have to change much.

What you’re not doing is providing an example of a whole other way of being and knowing that (often) predates Christianity and is completely separate from it and has managed to survive it and continue to live and thrive (there’s a reason Christians like to speak of Jews and Judaism in the past tense, and it’s similar to the reason white people like to speak of indigenous peoples of the Americas in the past tense).

That’s not a criticism–it’s fine to just… be post-Christian. There’s not actually anything wrong with being culturally Christian. The problems come in when you start denying that it’s a thing, or insisting that you, unique among humankind, are above Having A Culture.

But it does mean that you don’t pose the same sort of threat to Christianity that other cultures do, and hence, less violence.

#Christianity #religion #culture

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fungateshortcakes · 24 hours ago

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Personal attention ASMR

Don't ask questions just run with it

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: You use Logan as your ASMR model

Wordcount: 2.4k (this was supposed to be a drabble what happened)

Warnings/tags: none, english is not my first language, fluff, established relationship, reader is gender neutral but is described to wear acrylic nails, sharp or dull challenge, hair brushing, face tracing, nail tapping, face masks, implied that reader wifes Logan up in the future lol

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The cozy glow of a string of fairylights illuminated Logan as he sat in his armchair, a beer in hand, watching you fiddle with your - what did you call it? - ASMR setup? You struggled to get your camera into the right position on your tripod without knocking off the little hypersensitive microphones that extended from each side.

Logan sat there with an amused smile, but as his eyes wandered over the coffee table that was packed with various tools he couldn't name, facemasks that ran too pink and glittery for his liking- in that moment he thought, why the hell had he agreed to this? Your damned puppy eyes and sweet kisses, that's why.

"You're seriously gon' make me do this?" he asked you, standing up from his seat to stretch. "You agreed to it" you pouted before laughing. "Do I have to let you sign something next time?"

Logan rolled his eyes playfully at your words, shaking his head and lifting his hands dismissively "Nah, I'm kiddin'. I'll do it. But just cause it's you" he replied, helping you connect everything. You gave his rugged cheek a biiig kiss "You're the best boyfriend ever"

Logan chuckled and gave you back some sloppy, over the top kisses to your own cheeks until you were grossed out giggling. "I won't take the blame if your lil' fans don't like it though"

You shook your head. "I am sure they will love it. And you have nothing to worry about except being relaxed and looking pretty. I'll handle the rest" you teased him, smoothing out the thick neutral grey coloured blanket on your carpet in front of the couch, adding a matching pillow for Logan to rest his head on.

He shimmied into position on the ground so he looked directly into the camera hanging over his face. You made sure that his face was entirely in frame, fiddling with the contrast controls of the camera. The warm light from the fireplace contoured the left side of his face while the cold fairylights illuminated the right side of it, creating a interesting and aesthetical pleasing scene. This was gonna be great!

After everything was tuned to perfection, you knelt down over Logans head so you had all the access to his face that you needed. You had even gotten new acrylic nails for the occasion!

You rubbed your hands together "So, one of the most important rules of ASMR is no talking, only whispering. Okay? We want the ambience to be nice and peaceful" you explained excitedly to him. You knew that Logan knew what he was getting into - somewhat. The concept of ASMR wasn't too foreign to him. That comes with having a better half that does ASMR content for a living, but you still wanted to make sure.

Logan scoffed, snorting "Right. Peaceful. That's me"

You slapped his chest, shooting him a mocking glare in the process. "Shush now. I want to start" Logan blew a rasberry at you but quickly settled down after you switched on the camera for recording.

You showed your freshly manicured nails into the camera, tapping the crisp acrylic before slightly scraping them over Logans face "Welcome to another personal attention ASMR. My model for today is my beautiful boyfriend. He was kind enough to be of assistance" you whispered into the microphones, your voice soft and quiet.

Logan huffed at your words, only a small smile playing at his lips but he chose to not say anything and let you work. "We will be starting by tracing his face." you cooed gently, tapping the tips of your nails against his cheek with your left hand while your right hand mimicked the movements off-screen on a wooden board "Oh yeah, forgot to mention, he is a lumberjack, so he is more wood than man" you giggled into the mic, making Logans eyes roll at the corniness. But he couldn't deny that it felt nice.

You drew tingly patterns on his face, each sounding like scratching across crisp wood. You poked three dots under his eyes, drew an x on his forhead over and over again, traced over his frownlines and trailed your nail over his face in a continous line until you gently proded at his lips, making it sound like you knocked on them. He gave the tip of your nail a brief kiss, making you sigh out a smile into the mic. You tapped his face a few more times until you decided to switch up the trigger.

"Next, we will be playing a very popular little game" you spoke in a shushed tone, creating a bit of anticipation before you showed the camera two tools. One was a make-up brush, the other a kind of metal dermaroller with rotating spikes. You brought the tools to Logans head after you parted his hair to your liking "I'm going to touch your scalp with different textures. One is dull-" you started to explain, dragging the soft bristles of your brush over his head "-and the other one is going to be sharp like this" you ended, dragging the spiky roller across. "You feel the difference?" Logan nodded at your question, a low grumble sounding in the back of his throat.

"Good. I want you to tell me which one you feel, sharp or dull. Close your eyes for me, baby" you cooed quitely, humming as Logan did as he was told.

You angled his head a bit to have easier access, taking your time to part his hair neatly in a different location than before until you were ready to start. You stippled the brush against his head, waiting for an answer. "Dull" he whispered and for a second, you felt your chest tighten with joy. He was actually playing along and taking this seriously, it warmed your heart. When you said he was the best boyfriend, you meant it.

You switched the tool, drawing a line with the spike roller from the back all the way in front to his hairline, picking it up again and waiting for his reaction. "Sharp" he murmured and wow, his voice was very relaxing like this. You always found his voice soothing, but his deep whispers were another level. "Very good" you praised and a little proud smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. You decided to use the sharp roller again, letting it hit his skin only shortly before stopping. "Sharp" he replied, enjoying the way the tool made strong tingles errupt from the very top of his head all the way down his back. This was nice.

Your fingers raked through his hair, choosing another part of his head to part. You swiped the tip of your brush over him next, nodding as he whispered "Dull" to you in a hushed voice. You took your time to admire his face for a moment. It wasn’t tense nor taught, the usual frown line between his brows smoothed out and barely visible.

Another stipple of your brush "Dull", another turn of your roller "Sharp".

If you asked Logan, you could do this forever. He would prefer to be completely silent, though. And for you to only use the spiky tool.

To tease him a bit, you used both the brush and the dermaroller at the same time, softly giggling at the way his nose scrunched a bit in confusion. "Come again?" he whispered, a gruffness in his tone. You did, watching him lose faith in himself. As you repeated it the third time, he cracked open an eye and tried to keep his reaction as quiet as he could as to not mess up the video "That ain't fair, sugar" he said a little louder than intended, making you softly giggle into the microphone.

You put your stuff away, ready to move onto the next trigger. Your nails found his coarse beard, scratching along the thick mutton chops in circles while you explained what you were going to do next. "Now that we have messed up his hair quite a bit, I think it’s time for a bit of hair brushing" you whispered, cooing at the way Logan purred almost like a cat as you played with his beard. You kept that in mind for next time.

You sat back and got a neat brush, showing it off to the camera, tapping your nails against the plastic backside a little, before letting your fingers glide over the bristles slowly, softly whispering "bruushhh, bruushhh" over and over again.

When you started, Logan fought the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head. Your slow strokes just hit the spot, tingles and shivers exploding on his head. If the little spike tool felt like heaven already, then this was absolute nirvana. Now this was something you could do for the rest of his life.

Your gentle whispers of brushing fell on deaf ears as Logan tried not to hum at the feeling of the bristles scratching over his scalp. You combed through his whole head of hair multiple times, changing out the brushes and combs from time to time to not make it boring for the viewers and to give Logan different sensations.

When you were done, you settled on scratching his scalp with your nails instead, both hands under his head, massaging in deep circles. "Oh wow" Logan couldn’t help but murmur, closing his eyes for a second to stop them from trying to roll back. You could practically see the shudder that went through him at that, his mouth slightly agape.

As you stopped to get your next pieces of equipment, Logans eyes fluttered open, darting around as if he had just randomly woken up in the middle of nowhere, completely disoriented. It was cute.

"Last but not least, I have some face masks prepared for him." you muttered, presenting the camera a glittery, foaming face mask, swirling a brush through the bowl it was in, the soft crackling of the bubbles being picked up by the mic.

"But first, we will lightly prep his skin. Close your eyes for me, love" you whispered to Logan who gladly let his eyes flutter shut. You used a clear face primer, putting it on his face in little droplets all over before moving to get your sparkly water globes. You turned the globes in your hand, a satisfying glug glug glug emitting from them, iridescent glitter swirling inside. You brought them together at the bottom ever so gently as to not make them break over Logans face, a sound you either loved or hated coming from them as they bounced off of each other quickly.

Then you let the round, bulbous sides glide over Logans face to spread the primer and work it into his skin. At first he slightly jumped from the sudden coldness, but it didn’t take long for him to ease into it as the bulbs warmed up.

You were swiping the smooth globes over his skin effortlessly, removing the puffiness from under his eyes, massaging his cheeks in circular motions and easing any kind of headache as you glid over his forhead and temples. He could really really get used to this.

Like with everything else, you ended this treatment far too soon for his liking. And if he didn't know any better, he would actually start to protest.

The next thing he knew, he felt something cold and gel-like being pressed to his under eyes. Nurishing eye patches - sparkling, probably. Then he heard you rub your hands together, before your palms landed on his cheeks. The foam on your hands crackled loudly at the contact, the bubbles bursting and popping on his skin. You massaged it in, cooeing and making sounds with your mouth. His head lolled a little, too relaxed and sleepy for his own good. But he wasn't about to fall asleep, nuh uh, he wouldn’t fall asleep because of some ASMR stuff.

By the time your hands were back on his scalp to let the foam mask really sink in before washing it off, he was gone. Out like a light

At first, you hadn't even noticed, mindlessly scratching and massaging his head thoroughly with your nails and admiring his relaxed face, thinking about how lucky you were to have him. You had boyfriends before that laughed in your face when you asked them to be part of a video. When they realised you weren't joking, they got mad and lashed out, telling you that not even over their dead body would they sit there like a dumbass and have you whispering weird bulshit in their ear. You were disappointed, a simple no would have done it. But they were angry like it was something deeply personal. Not Logan though, he was a sweetheart.

He acted like he didn't want to, that he was only doing this because you batted your eyelashes at him, but deep down you knew he liked doing these things for you, seeing you so happy and excited was enough. If he was truly against it, he wouldn’t be in this position right now.

You liked to think he was secretly actually enjoying this - imagine your face as you realised he had fallen dead asleep, softly snoring as you wiped the foam mask off his face ever so gently as to not wake him up. "He has fallen asleep, guys" you whispered into the mic, the giddy smile could be heard from your voice even though your face wasn’t visible. You couldn't believe it. Your big, beefy teddy bear of a boyfriend fell asleep because of a little pampering.

You cooed softly, rubbing the last oil treatment onto his skin, being extra careful and gentle with him. "If you liked this video, leave a like, consider following my channel and leave a comment if you want to see more boyfriend content" you said in a hushed voice, coddling the face of your sleeping boyfriend. "See you next time, lovelies!" you whispered, booping Logans nose before switching off the camera.

Your boyfriend continued to snooze even after that, laying there unbothered with a glowy face. And it that moment you knew, maybe it was time. Just maybe, a few videos later, you could welcome your fans to another ASMR video with your husband.

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This idea came to me so randomly, i hope you guys still like it. Let me know in the comments please and leave a like, reblog if you want <3 I love to see it🎀

#logan howlett x reader #x men #hugh jackman #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x reader #logan howlett #marvel #logan wolverine #logan howlett fluff #fluff

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 hours ago

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Writing Notes: Adverbs

Conjunctive adverbs: accordingly, additionally, also, anyway, besides, certainly, conversely, finally, hence, however, instead, in conclusion, lately, likewise, moreover, namely, nevertheless, so, then, yet

Adverbs of frequency: always, usually, often, sometimes, rarely, never, ever, hardly ever, occasionally, seldom, generally, frequently, normally, once, twice

Adverbs of time: tomorrow, tonight, yesterday, now, then, today, already, daily, last, next, previously, after, afterwards, early, late, later, since, still, just, seldom

Adverbs of manner: well, fast, straight, hard, loudly, proudly, suspiciously, strangely, kindly, easily, rudely, neatly, quickly, generously, eagerly, accidentally, rapidly, hungrily, foolishly, cheerfully, really (can also be adverb of degree in sense of “very”)

Adverbs of degree: lots, somewhat, barely, very, much, most, nearly, too, extremely, enough, so, slightly, especially, just, almost, scarcely, virtually, fully, far, exceptionally

Adverbs of place: behind, above, nearby, backward(s), toward(s), outside, inside, around, over, overseas, close, away, upstairs, downstairs, here, there, everywhere, deeply, next-door

Adverb - a word that modifies a verb, adjective, other adverbs, or adverbial phrases.

The 6 common categories of adverbs are:

conjunctive adverbs

adverbs of frequency

adverbs of time

adverbs of manner

adverbs of degree

adverbs of place

One thing to keep in mind is that there can be some overlap or repetition across the different categories of adverbs, because words can have more than one meaning or use depending on the context.

For example, yet can be a conjunction, meaning “though,” but it can also be an adverb of time, in the sense “in the time still remaining.”

Conjunctive Adverbs

A conjunction is any word that connects words, phrases, clauses, or sentences. They express the relationship between ideas or parts of speech.

A conjunctive adverb is an adverb that acts like a conjunction.

Conjunctive adverbs are often set off from the rest of the sentence by a comma.

For example: We don’t have time to run to the store. Besides, you already have cereal at home.

Conjunctive adverbs can also go at the end of a sentence, in which case they don’t need to be set off with a comma, as in: I didn’t really want a pony anyway.

Adverbs of Frequency

Detail at what rate over time an action or event occurs.

They answer the question “How often?”

Generally go just before the verb they are modifying:

She always orders chocolate cake.

My brother will never get over it.

Adverbs of Time

Describe when things occur.

They answer the question “When?”

Are very flexible: they can go at the beginning of a sentence set off with a comma, right before thea verb or clause they are modifying, or at the end of a sentence. It depends on the adverb and how it is being used in the sentence. For example:

Tomorrow, the class is going to the zoo.

We last saw her before dinner.

Are you going to Paris next?

Adverbs of Manner

Manner here means “a way of doing, being done, or happening.”

Answer the question “How?”

Can go before or after the verb or phrase they are modifying. For example:

The students quickly ate their lunches.

Our mayor spoke loudly and authoritatively.

Adverbs of Degree

Describe intensity or quantity of an action.

Answer the question “How much?”

Typically go before the verb or part of speech being modified. For example:

We were too hungry to talk during the meal.

The little puppy was extremely energetic.

Adverbs of Place

Describe location.

They answer the question “Where?”

Typically go after the verb or other part of the speech they are modifying. For example:

I think your sister is upstairs.

Go toward the big tree, then make a left.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#adverb #writing reference #writeblr #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #dark academia #literature #creative writing #writing prompt #poets on tumblr #grammar #langblr #words #lit #writing #writing resources

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confusedshades · 3 days ago

Text

Jason and Dick were sparring in the cave when a portal opened up. Dick and Jason flipped to confront whoever it was that had summoned the portal while the Batcave alarms shrieked in the background about intruders. Jason however recognised the portal and stood down. "Hey Danny. Thought I wasn't due for another session until next month." Jason called out to the teenager? Young adult? Who floated out of the portal. Dick eased out of his position and walked over to the Batcomputer to silence the alarms.

The last shriek had barely faded before the cave door slammed open and Tim came bolting down the stairs while Bruce and Damian - who'd barely left for early patrol came screeching back in the Batmobile. "Friendly presence." Dick called out as he walked down to the lower levels where everyone was. "Jason's friend came over suddenly is all." Jason was still talking to the person and both had ignored everything around them, but hearing the questioning lilt to the word friend they both snorted and turned to everyone else.

"Hi, I'm Phantom." The - teenager? Young adult? Dick was having a hard time figuring out the person's age - person introduced themselves with a wave. "I'm the prince in training for the infinite realms and one of the duties I have is fixing time stream nonsense and ectoplasmic leakages, poisonings, etc. it's why I'm here."

Dick thought of Wally and Barry and winced. "If you're looking for one of the Flashes, they're not here; not sure what ectoplasmic leakages would even look like so can't help you there." Dick could feel Batman's glare at the easy share of information but he ignored it. If Jason trusted this Phantom, then that was enough for him.

Jason huffed a half laugh and shook his head. "Pits are ectoplasmic leakages. Phantom's been treating me for what we call Pit rage but is basically ectoplasmic poisoning. In exchange Ra's has been loosing his Pits throughout the world - some explosively some just mysteriously." For however freely the words were offered, Dick noticed how he kept shooting looks to Batman's grim countenance. He'd turned into a brooding looming statue where he stood. Given Damian standing almost shoulder to shoulder, the transformation was almost everyday now.

Robin had just nodded as if this was information he already had. "There are no Pits in Gotham Phantom. What brings you here today?" Dick mentally cheered - Damian's attack first ask questions later behaviour had been on the mend lately and everytime he was more polite and not aggressive, Dick took it for a win.

Phantom, Danny Dick suddenly remembered Jason calling him, just shifted. "Not here for a ectoplasmic leakage or one of the Flashes - Clocky can take care of those idiots himself. I'm here because Red there needs an anchor." When Danny gestured to Tim, everyone turned to look at him.

Tim for his part, blinks. "Uh what? I don't live on a boat anymore so if you're here for an anchor for that, I don't need it?" Dick frowned. He recognised what Tim was doing, he'd seen that technique of teenage naivete and misunderstanding pulled out at various social functions before he pulled off whatever maneuver he had planned to take the other party off guard. Businessmen, CEOs, rogues - they all fell to it. But the reason it worked? Tim always knew what they were talking about.

"Tim?" Dick asked. "Why would you need an anchor?" When Tim opened his mouth, Dick cut him off. "A non boat anchor?" Tim obediently closed his mouth and looked away mulishly.

Phantom coughed awkwardly. "Um, we can talk about it privately given the medical aspect of it if you prefer." When Tim nodded, he and Phantom went to the corner where all sounds were naturally deadened. While they had their own whispered conversation, Robin moved to Jason's side. "Has mother contacted you recently akhi?"

Dick left them to their own conversation and turned to see Bruce still scowling. "Oh come off it B. Jason recognised them immediately and you know Jason doesn't trust easily. If he trusts them, that's good enough for me."

"hn." Was the only grunt Dick got for his trouble, but after decades of Batmanese he knew it meant I don't like it but you're right.

----

"I'm not accepting an anchor Phantom. I told you last time too. There's too much to be done and getting older isn't going to help." Tim hissed as he crossed his arms angrily.

Danny just sighed. "Dude, if I don't do it soon, you'll become unglued. As in the next timeline shenanigans you get pulled into might turn catastrophic."

Tim just huffed. "So you've said. I've got contingencies in place for that. Do you have one for keeping Batman tethered?"

Danny scowled. "Yes I do. It's called therapy."

"Good luck getting him to accept it." Tim muttered.

When Danny Phantom appears in the Batcave, everyone expects he's there for Jason. Whether to cleanse him of Lazarus water, or pull him into the afterlife it depends on the person, but what no one expects is that he's there for Tim.

Meanwhile, Danny doesn't mind dealing with some ectopoisoning while he's in the neighborhood, but the real reason Clockwork sent him to Gotham is to retether Red Robin to the time stream so he can finally age to adulthood. He has spent way too long as a teenager, and no one seems to be noticing.

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piftamere · 3 days ago

Text

something real (wc : 1.4k)

secret santa fic for @eussstasss as part of the hq x reader secret santa by @/lale-txt, i hope you'll like it! i had fun writing it <3

synopsis : she asks her dear best friend, Suna Rintarou, to accompany her to her family Christmas party as her pretend boyfriend, too embarrassed to go alone another year. no ulterior motives.

content : suna rintarou x f!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, fluff

divider by @nectardaddy

Year after year, the questions were the same.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Are you still single?"

"Are you ever going to bring someone home to your family?"

And every time she had to disappoint them, forcing a smile as she replied she wasn’t seeing anyone. She could see their own smiles drop and their faith in her weaken.

This year, she couldn’t take it anymore. Something snapped. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out that she'd have someone accompany her to the family Christmas party.

The moment the lie left her lips, she wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Relief washed over her parents’ faces, her mother rushing to the phone to give her grandmother the big news.

She couldn’t shatter their happiness now, not when she’d seen how much it meant to them.

A few weeks later, she was slumped over her best-friend's couch, face buried in a pillow.

"I still haven’t found anyone," she whined, her voice muffled as she groaned in frustration. "It’s tomorrow."

Suna leaned against the armrest, amused. ''You sure you tried everything?"

"Yes, everything."

"And now you’re giving up?"

"Yup." She replied, defeated.

"So… no Christmas?"

"Nope."

As she was blocking out the mocking snicker Suna was making, an idea struck her. A desperate, ridiculous idea. She turned her head just enough to look at him, eyes pleading, peaking over the pillow.

"Wait…" she began hesitantly. She sat up, clutching his arm. "Do me this one favor. I’ll owe you forever. Please."

He raised an eyebrow, almost sure he knew what she meant, his lips stretched into a mischievous grin. "What?" He wanted to hear her say it.

"Be my fake boyfriend. Please."

"Why not just tell them you broke up with your imaginary boyfriend?"

She groaned again, burying her face in his sleeve. "I can’t. I can’t deal with the pity stares or them thinking i made it up. Please Rin, pretty please."

He wanted to reply that technically, she did make it up, but her desperation must have struck a chord because, after a beat of silence, he sighed, "Fine."

If she’d had more time to think it through, maybe she’d have asked why he agreed so quickly. Maybe she’d have wondered about that smirk on his face. But with the clock ticking, she ignored the signs.

She was going to regret this.

The next day, they were standing on the doorstep of her childhood home, a freshly bought pie in her hands. She glanced at the front door, now having second thoughts, her stomach tying itself into knots.

As Suna reached for the doorbell, he suddenly paused, his lips letting out a mischievous chuckle. "Wait a sec," he said, stepping closer.

She shot him a curious look. "What are you doing?"

Without answering, he slipped his arm casually around her waist, pulling her snug against him. She flinched, nearly dropping the pie.

"Relax," he said with a playful wink, his smirk slightly infuriating. "We have to sell it, you know?"

His hand rested comfortably on her hip, like it was the most casual thing ever. She swore she could feel the warmth of his touch burn her skin through the thick fabric of her coat.

Her cheeks flushed, both from embarrassment and the sudden realization of how committed he was to the whole thing. "You’re enjoying this way too much," she muttered under her breath.

"You begged me for this, remember?", Suna replied nonchalantly, reaching for the doorbell with his free hand.

Before she could respond, the door swung open, revealing her mother who practically dragged them inside.

It felt surprisingly good to walk around the house, introducing her "boyfriend" to her relatives. The warm smiles, the approving nods and whispers. She'd almost fall for the act herself.

If only she could ignore the strange, fluttery feeling settling in her stomach every time she looked at him.

At dinner, he played his part a little too well. In the name of being believable, his hand lingered on hers as it rested on the table. She had a hard time getting used to the soft squeeze of his fingers when he leaned back in his chair, cracked a joke with her father or complimented her mother's cooking. She blinked, taken aback by how effortlessly he seemed to fit into her family, like he’d been part of it all along.

She caught herself stealing glances at him, feeling peculiarly shy at this unfamiliar, charming side of him.

After dinner, they gathered around the Christmas tree to exchange gifts. The soft glow of the lights, the scent of pine in the air and the laughter of her family made this moment feel all too real.

Suna turned to her, a small, neatly wrapped box in his hand. She wasn't expecting this. How had he found the time to buy her a gift? She was trying not to read into it.

"Here," he said casually, holding it out to her.

"You got me something?"

"Of course. I’m your boyfriend." he replied with a small grin.

Their fingers brushed as he handed it to her, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Something in his gaze, something warm, playful, and maybe a little too sincere for comfort, made her heart thump loudly against her ribs.

It was becoming harder to remember this was all an act.

She tore her eyes away, focusing on unwrapping the gift in an attempt to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. Inside was a delicate bracelet, a thin chain with a beautiful charm that shined faintly in the tree's glow.

"So? Do you like it?" He asked, watching her reaction intently. He almost sounded nervous.

She nodded, "Rin… It’s beautiful. I didn’t think-"

"That I had taste? Ouch-"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, a smile still on her lips. "That you'd go this far."

Suna leaned in, his voice dropping just enough for only her to hear. "What can I say? I’m committed to my role."

Carefully, she took it out of the box. She was struggling to put it on, when he took it from her hands.

"Allow me," he gently wrapped it around her wrist and skillfully clasped it. His touch lingered on her skin, longer than necessary, but neither of them moved.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, but her mind was far away. Every stolen glance at him, every playful touch, only made the knot in her chest tighten even more.

A little lost in her thoughts, she found herself by the window, gazing out at the snow-covered yard as she mindlessly fidgeted with the charm on her bracelet. The calming view was a welcome distraction as she tried to untangle the mess in her mind.

"Look what we have here." Suna whispered, coming up behind her, his voice tinged with mischief.

She turned, slightly startled as her eyes followed his hand pointing to the branch of mistletoe over her head.

"Seriously?"

"I don't make the rules," Suna replied, stepping closer. He shrugged, raising his hands in defeat.

Fed up with how confident he’d been all day, she sighed and tugged firmly on his sleeve. He stumbled forward, caught completely off guard. Now impossibly close, he stared at her, wide-eyed. For the first time since they arrived at her parents’ house, he was dead silent. She couldn’t help but savor the moment of peace.

Maybe for a moment too long, because the surprise was wearing off, a playful glint returning to his eyes. "What? Lost your-"

"Oh shush." she cut him off, her voice firm. Before he could react, she leaned up and kissed him.

His lips were still, as if the shock hadn’t quite worn off. But then he kissed her back, his hand coming to rest on the side of her face. His playful demeanor becoming gentle.

When they finally parted, her cheeks burned. His usually half-lidded eyes glinted with something she couldn’t quite name, something intense, real.

A little breathless, he spoke, "You said you’d owe me forever, right?"

Her brows knit in confusion, her heart still racing. "Yes?"

His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. "Go out with me. For real this time."

She stared at him, her mind reeling. And as she looked back on today and their relationship, that always seemed tainted by something a little deeper than friendship, she realized the feeling gnawing at her insides since this morning wasn’t anxiety, it was hope.

And maybe it was time to stop pretending.

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leftoverghosts · 20 hours ago

Text

in the valley of shadow

hades!art x persephone!reader. past art x tashi.

"I'd rather hurt with you than be happy with anyone else."

warnings: dark obsessive art ala hades. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. not beta read.

nori says: sfw—i know i said blurbs would be nsfw, but obsessive art takes a lot of me!! crazy to get this same quote for him twice, but i had so much fun!!! as always, xoxo.

word count: 2,000?~

You were twenty three, freshly graduated and just beginning to dip your toes into the world of professional tennis. The bright lights, the buzzing crowds, the endless possibilities—all of it felt like a dream. But among all the faces and all the players, one stood out to you like no other.

Art Donaldson.

Seven years your senior, he was a legend amongst Stanford Alumni and seemed to embody everything you strived to become. His confidence on the court seemed unshakable. Yet, there was something about him that held a shadow, a darkness that made you wonder if there was more beneath that perfection his wife demanded of him.

You first crossed paths with him at a Donaldson Foundation event—an annual gathering where up-and-coming talents like yourself were invited to volunteer with children who had an interest in tennis.

You’d always admired him from afar, reading about his triumphs, watching his old matches, and marveling at how effortlessly he dominated the game. But meeting him face-to-face left you speechless. His gaze was penetrating, as if he could see right through you.

"How’s it feel to be the next big thing?" he asked with a knowing smile, his warm voice enveloping you.

It was a simple question, one you could have easily answered thanks to your media training in college. But as you looked into his eyes, something inside you stirred.

“I’m just starting out. Still have a long way to go,” you gesticulated wildly, trying to appear humble.

He chuckled, a sound that was full of harrowing amusement. “We all start somewhere, but not all of us get to where we want to go.”

You smiled nervously, but the words stuck in your throat. He was magnetic. Something about him made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt before.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

From then on, whenever you found yourself in the same vicinity as the Donaldsons, Art would make a point to seek you out. Your discussions were never long, but they always left you feeling exhilarated.

When you won, his compliments were overflowing. But when you lost, his analysis of your gameplay felt like a puzzle, filled with subtle warnings. You told yourself it was just his love for the game and his drive to push those around him to be their best.

It would have been easy to romanticize his intensity, to make excuses for the way his eyes lingered a bit too long or how his questions about your career felt overly personal, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

He was married, you knew that.

Tashi was always by his side, a constant presence that kept him grounded in the public eye. But there were moments when you could see the cracks in their united front. They manifested in the way he looked at you during the press events, or how he’d make a point of saying goodnight to you in crowded rooms when the evening grew late.

You convinced yourself that it was all harmless. That Art saw something in you, as a fan and a mentor of sorts. A fellow athlete who could understand the sacrifices, the pressures of the game.

He had a way of making you feel desired, whether it was a fleeting touch on your arm or a lingering look that made your heart race. You wanted his attention, and he gave it to you. But you were naive enough to believe it was just admiration.

It wasn't until later that you realized Art wasn't someone who admired from afar— he wanted to consume you.

There was a moment—a turning point—that you would look back on, your heart in your throat, wondering what you’d been thinking.

You were alone in a back hallway of a hotel during a tournament. Tashi was elsewhere, surrounded by other players and the media, and Art had found you, waiting for you just outside the elevator.

“I saw you play today,” he said softly, tenderly moving away the hair from your face. He was too close for this to be considered friendly, but you didn’t push at him. “You have something, you know. Something special.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks flush under his touch.

"With the right team behind you, you could be more than just a player," he continued, pressing you against the wall as his voice dropped even lower. "You could be everything. Let me help you."

It wasn’t the words that alarmed you. It was the way he said them, as if he had already planned your future for you. The weight of his gaze felt like chains.

“I don't need anyone's help," you blurted out before pausing to think. “I’m doing this on my own.”

Something shifted in Art's expression, for just a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. He wasn't just the fierce and intense athlete you idolized; he was human. “You don’t have to be alone.” He brushed his lips against yours softly, “I can show you how much more you can be. How much more you can have.”

And that was when it hit you—the real reason you were drawn to him. It wasn’t the tennis. It wasn’t the accolades or the fame. It was that, for the first time, someone powerful had noticed you. Someone who could offer you everything— success, the world, and something darker and more alluring than you ever imagined.

But before you could respond, before you could step closer to the edge of that precipice, a voice called from down the hall, pulling you back to reality.

It was Tashi, her tone commanding, and when Art turned to look at her, there was a fleeting trace of annoyance on his face.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he offered you a small, almost sad smile, and then turned to walk away.

You stood there, breathless, heart pounding in your chest.

You had slipped from his grasp. For now.

But you knew that Art was a man who didn’t let go easily.

And sooner or later, he would come for you again.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The locker room was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Another win on the court meant nothing to you, as the weight of failure in your personal life pressed against your bones. Your racket bag sat slumped against the bench, abandoned like a forgotten piece of yourself. You rubbed at your temples, exhaustion and frustration clawing at you in equal measure.

“You played well,” came a voice from the doorway, warm and unmistakable.

Frightened, you looked up.

Art stood there, leaning casually against the inside frame of the only exit. He was dressed impeccably, as always—dark slacks and a perfectly tailored dress shirt you had given him, made him look more like a businessman than a retired athlete. His piercing blue eyes, with that gorgeous speck of brown, were locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

In one hand, he held a bottle of pomegranate juice— your favorite drink.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice clipped, though you already knew the answer. Art was not one to listen to mortal things like court orders.

“I’m your coach, remember?” he shrugged, stepping inside as the door swung shut behind him. “It’s my job to be here for you.”

You stood up, putting the bench between you and the man who you hoped would soon be your ex-husband. “I told you I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you anymore.”

If anything, your words seemed to amuse him. “You’re upset,” he said calmly, as though addressing a child. “You’re not thinking clearly. I’ve done everything to help you—your sponsorship, your career, your success. That’s all because of me.”

Your stomach turned, upset that you were unable to deny those words in their entirety. “You manipulated me. You isolated me from everyone who mattered. I didn’t ask for any of this!”

“Those distractions?“ Art’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady, one of his eyebrows raised in question. “You think they cared about you the way I do? No one else would go to these lengths for you. No one else could understand you like I do.”

“This isn’t understanding, Art. This is control.”

“Control?” he echoed softly, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. He was a man full of contradictions—each calculated move wrapped in a smile. For every decision made without your knowledge, there had been a kiss or a whisper to try and soothe your apprehension. It had worked before, and there was no reason to believe it wouldn't work now. To him, this was a tantrum that he was tired of waiting for you to finish. “Is that what you think this is? No. This is love. Love that no one else will ever be capable of giving you.”

“I’ve heard this before, Art. You’re hurting me like she hurt you.” You did not have to say Tashi’s name to be understood by him. She had been the one before you, the one who had owned him, in a way that still haunted him, even now. The thought of her, the reminder that Art’s heart had belonged to someone else, made a bitter knot tighten in your chest. It wasn’t just about jealousy—it was about the fear that he would never truly be yours the way he had been hers. “You still think about her,” you accused, your voice trembling with inadequacy.

“It’s not her, it’s you,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m always thinking of you. I’d rather hurt with you than be happy with anyone else.” You sucked in a breath, upset that his declaration excited you and he knew—he knew the power he held over you, and he would never relinquish it.

He had already decided your fate. He was your captor, and you were his prize.

“I’m leaving,” you said, your voice fearful but resolute. “You can’t stop me.”

Art’s gaze flickered, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw something crack beneath his calm facade. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a chilling certainty.

“Try,” he said, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His voice, low and laced with menace, seemed to echo in the space around you. “You don’t understand, do you? This isn’t something you can just walk away from. Not anymore. We’re married.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap, the truth of them shattering the last vestiges of resistance in your chest. Art wasn’t just a man obsessed with you. He was a man willing to destroy everything in his path to keep you by his side. The world you thought you could escape to was gone. You were his wife, bound to him in ways you hadn't yet fully understood until now.

You frozen in place as he took a slow step forward, and watched as his gaze was drawn to the small but noticeable tan left behind by the missing wedding ring on your finger. His brand.

You could sense his anger just by the way his lips slightly parted as he reached for the bottle of juice and unscrewed the cap, taking a slow, deliberate sip before offering it to you. You gaped at the bottle in his hand.

A rush of panic flooded your chest, but before you could speak, Art closed the distance between you. His fingertips brushed against your cheek as he forcefully pulled you towards him, crushing his lips onto yours. The kiss was hard, demanding, as if he were pulling your very soul from your body. His tongue slipped past your lips, and you whimpered, caught in the web of his obsession.

The taste of pomegranate juice lingered on your palate, sweet but tainted, just like everything else Art had ever given you.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, his breath warm against your skin. "We are one. As we were always meant to be."

Your pulse raced, heart pounding, as you tried to regain some semblance of control, but his grip on you was relentless. He wasn’t letting you slip away again, not after everything he’d done to claim you.

And with every second you stood there, you could feel the walls closing in, just like the dark, silent underworld that had already begun to welcome you home.

#hades!art #nori's christmas gift #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #challengers x you #challengers fanfic #mike faist #noriwroteit

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jzprncess · 2 days ago

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the missing melody ♪

part 2 part 1

pairing : franco colapinto x singer!reader

faceclaim : various people!

summary: With the Grand Prix results in, Y/N returns home inspired, diving back into her music. Meanwhile, Franco, curious about the singer he met, follows her on social media. What begins as casual online exchanges soon hints at a deeper connection.

warnings : some singers do not exist in this au since i might take their songs!

note : MERRY CHRISTMAS!! here is your surprise, i know some have been waiting but ive been in a writing block. dont kill me bc its short! i suck at writing UGHHHHHH

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

williamsracing just posted

liked by yourusername, username2, and 535,290 others

williamsracing TEAM 💙 10 POINTS IN BAKU 🔥🔥🔥

An incredible drive by both drivers and we secure P7 and P8. GET IN THERE! 👏 This is only the beginning.

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username2 VAMOS VAMOS VAMOS 🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷

username4 this progress of williams is what’s giving me hopes for carlos next year 🥲

username6 🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷

username8 WOWWWW BRAVO 👏🏼👏🏼

username3 COLAPINTO2025

username5 STANDING OVATION!!! 🔥🔥

username5 y/n was the good luck charm! i’m telling you! 🫵🏼

username7 simply lovely

yourusername grateful to be here and watch the team score some points. it’s amazing to watch, might just have to join for another race soon. thanks again for letting me join in the paddock! 🇦🇷🔥💙

↳williamsracing we’re glad to have you y/n, can’t wait to see you trackside again! wishing you luck on your future endeavors! 💙

↳alex_albon appreciate it! we hope to see you soon!

↳francolapinto glad you could be here! i would love for you to come to another race, let’s make it happen. 💙

↳username5 now i need her to go to another race this season

third pov

As the Grand Prix weekend drew to a close, Y/N felt a bittersweet mix of relief and melancholy. The weekend had been a whirlwind, filled with the excitement of the race and the unexpected attention she had garnered from her appearance. The crowded paddock and constant buzz of conversations had left her mentally drained, but as she walked toward the car that would take her back home, there was a certain peace settling over her.

The world outside the track seemed quieter, more serene. She could hear the faint hum of the engines in the distance as the final laps were being completed, but for her, it was time to leave the chaos behind. The press, the cameras, the questions—all of it faded away as she slid into the front seat, the doors closing softly behind her, sealing her off from the world she had momentarily rejoined.

She pulled out of the paddock, and stared out the window, watching the lights of the city blur past as she made her way back home. The city was still alive, but she felt removed from it, as though she were floating in a different space. Her mind wandered back to the people she had met during the weekend—the 2 william's drivers, the fans, the connections she made. She longed for the solitude of her room, a place where she could decompress and regain the clarity she so desperately sought.

As the car rounded a corner, she caught a glimpse of the track once more, her heart stirring with a mix of admiration and uncertainty. She wasn’t sure what the future held, but for now, she was content to retreat into her own world and reflect on the moments that had left an imprint on her soul.

franco’s pov

I stood on the podium, the aftertaste of victory still fresh as my team erupted in celebration. My first points of the season—it wasn’t much, but it felt like a significant step forward. The atmosphere was electric, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything was falling into place. But even with all the cheering and the congratulations, my thoughts kept drifting to something—or rather, someone—that had caught my attention this weekend. Y/N. I didn’t know much about her, but I couldn’t ignore the way she moved through the paddock with such quiet grace. It wasn’t just her fame, though that was undeniable; it was something about her presence. She wasn’t demanding attention, yet everyone seemed to be aware of her, drawn to her in a way that made me curious.

There was something magnetic about her. It wasn’t just the way she looked—it was the way she carried herself. She didn’t seem to be seeking validation from anyone. She wasn’t flashy, but there was an air of confidence, a mystery to her that intrigued me.

I’d seen her throughout the weekend, but it was when I finally met her that everything clicked. We had a brief conversation with Alex, nothing too elaborate, just a few exchanged words, but it felt different somehow. The way she spoke, the way she listened—it was all so natural, so unassuming. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, and yet there was something about her that made me want to know more. Her smile, the subtle warmth in her eyes—it was like she was letting me see just a glimpse of who she was, without revealing too much. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just a casual interaction, but it left me wanting to understand what lay beneath that composed, almost guarded exterior. There was more to her, I was sure of it, and that curiosity lingered long after our conversation ended.

The more I thought about her, the more I found myself wondering what had brought her to this point in her life. Here she was, standing on the fringes of our world—famous, yes, but still somewhat distant, as if she didn’t quite belong to this chaotic universe we all lived in.

I read her Instagram post after the race, since I was already in the car on the grid, when she posted it. She had opened up about the struggles she had been facing, about stepping away from the spotlight and the personal battles she was fighting. It was raw and vulnerable, nothing like the polished image the world saw. It made me realize that the person I had met wasn’t the confident star I had expected, but someone much more complex. She wasn’t just another celebrity navigating the chaos of fame—there was a quiet strength to her, a kind of raw honesty that made me want to understand her even more.

Back in my hotel room later that evening, after everything had quieted down, I found myself scrolling through my phone. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about that brief moment when our eyes had met. I opened Instagram without really thinking about it, my fingers moving almost on autopilot as I searched for her name. Something inside me told me to take this small step. I followed her. There was no reason why I should expect anything from it, but I felt the impulse to reach out in some way, even if it was just this simple action.

I sat back on the bed as I hit “follow,” my heart beating a little faster as I did. I wasn’t expecting her to notice, but something about it felt right. I scrolled through her feed, each post revealing just a little more about who she was. There was an intimacy to her posts, the way she shared pieces of herself without fully letting anyone in. It wasn’t the usual curated perfection I saw from other influencers. Each photo seemed to tell a story, but only if you were paying close attention. I couldn’t help but be intrigued. Maybe it was the beginning of something, or maybe it was just a small, fleeting curiosity that would fade away. But as I followed her, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the start of something that could pull me into her world in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

y/n’s pov

As I stirred the sauce, my phone dinged from across the kitchen. I wiped my hands on a towel and walked over to check it. When I unlocked the screen, I saw Franco had followed me on Instagram. I paused, staring at the notification for a moment, a little caught off guard. My mind raced as I thought about our brief encounter, and I felt a sudden urge to message him. Taking a deep breath, I opened the app, ready to start typing.

messages

third pov

Y/N stood in her kitchen, wiping down the last of the plates from dinner, the sounds of the quiet house filling the space around her. She had eaten alone tonight, a habit she’d fallen into over the past few months. The familiar hum of the dishwasher was the only noise, but her mind was elsewhere. Franco’s face kept drifting into her thoughts—his easy smile, the way his eyes lit up when they spoke. They’d only met today, briefly, but something about him had stuck with her.

It had been a long day at the Grand Prix, full of excitement and noise, but when their conversation had veered into something personal, something quiet, it had been like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. She had felt a spark, undeniable and electric, even though she knew he’d be leaving soon. He was on his way to Mexico for the next race, already on the plane when she had sat down to dinner by herself, yet the connection lingered in the back of her mind.

Y/N sighed, reaching for her notebook that rested on the counter. As she flipped through the pages, her fingers brushed over old lyrics, half-finished songs, and abandoned ideas. She hadn’t written anything in weeks—no inspiration, no motivation. But tonight felt different. She had this restless energy swirling inside her, something she couldn’t ignore. She sat down and began to write.

The pen moved quickly, almost without thought. The words felt raw, like they were pouring out of her all at once. She wasn’t sure if it was the memories of the day or the faint pull of something more, but she couldn’t stop herself. The chorus took shape, the melody forming like a whispered secret.

“It’s all in my head / I’ll keep it to myself / I know that you’ll never see it / I’m just looking for a reason..” (the bottom by gracie abrams)

Her mind wandered back to Franco, and she found herself replaying their brief encounter over and over. There was something about him—something real and different from anyone she’d met in a long time. But he was leaving for Mexico, and soon enough, he’d be consumed by the fast-moving world of Formula 1. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever see him again, and the uncertainty gnawed at her.

But still, there was this quiet tug inside her, a feeling she couldn’t shake. Maybe—just maybe—this moment held more than she’d first realized. It was all in her head, she thought, but she couldn’t help but hope for something more.

As she continued to write, her hand moved almost instinctively, the words flowing faster than she could process. It was like the music was the only place that made sense, the only thing that could capture what she couldn’t quite say out loud. She smiled softly as the song began to take shape, feeling that spark of something inside her. It wasn’t finished yet, but there was a sense that this was just the beginning.

The quiet of the house was only interrupted by the soft scratch of Y/N's pen as she wrote, her thoughts wandering to the conversation she’d had earlier with Franco. Her phone suddenly buzzed, and she jumped slightly. Seeing Franco's name on the screen made her hesitate, but she quickly answered, trying to sound calm.

*start of phone call*

“Hello?” she said, her shyness making the greeting almost tentative.

“Hey, it’s Franco,” came his familiar voice, sounding warm and easy. “I just landed in Mexico. How’s your night going?”

Y/N felt a small smile tug at her lips, a slight relief washing over her. “Hi, Franco. It’s going okay... just writing. How about you? How was the flight?”

“It was fine, a bit long, but nothing I can’t handle,” Franco replied, his tone light. “It feels good to be here, though. Getting ready for the weekend.”

Y/N shifted in her seat, her fingers tapping nervously on her notebook. “Yeah, I’m sure it must be a bit overwhelming. But, uh, you’ve done this kind of travel before, right?”

Franco laughed softly, clearly amused. “You could say that. But every new race feels a little different. There’s always something new to learn. What about you? I know you’ve only been to one race, right?”

“Yeah, just today.” Y/N said, a little shy about admitting she was still new to the whole experience. “It was... a lot. But really exciting too. I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did.”

“That’s awesome. What did you think of the atmosphere?” Franco asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N smiled, remembering the energy from the day. “It was wild, in a good way. I didn’t really know what to expect, but the crowd was so into it. It’s different from anything I’ve ever experienced.”

“I can imagine. There’s just something about a race day, huh?” Franco said. “It gets under your skin.”

“Yeah, I think I get that now,” Y/N replied, feeling a little more relaxed as the conversation moved away from the work side of things. “It’s... thrilling. I can see why people love it.”

“So, what did you do after the race? Did you go back hotel?” Franco asked, genuinely interested in how she was spending her time.

Y/N shifted slightly, a little self-conscious. “No, I just came home. I haven't been, um... great with big crowds recently, so I thought I’d unwind for the night. I guess it’s a good thing I like being alone sometimes.”

“I totally get that,” Franco said, his voice softer now, almost like he understood exactly what she meant. “I’m kind of the same way. Traveling and being around people can be... draining.”

Y/N smiled faintly, feeling a little more at ease. “Yeah, exactly. It’s nice to just have a quiet night to yourself.”

There was a pause, and then Franco continued, “What do you usually do when you’re alone? Like, when you’re not writing?”

Y/N hesitated before answering, her fingers gently brushing over the edges of her notebook. “I, uh, watch movies sometimes. Old ones. And I read a lot too. Mostly books that... help me forget everything for a little while.”

Franco’s voice was warm, and she could tell he was trying to keep the conversation light. “I think I’d like some movie recommendations. I’ve been wanting to watch something different, but I don’t know where to start.”

Y/N smiled softly, appreciating how easy the conversation was flowing now. “I could definitely do that. If you like old films, I’d recommend some classic noirs. They’re... atmospheric, but in a cool way.”

“Sounds perfect,” Franco said, clearly interested. “I’ll have to try that when I’m not in race mode.”

“I’ll make a list for you, then,” Y/N replied, her voice lightening a little. “Maybe next time we talk, I can recommend a few more.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Franco said with a gentle laugh. “It’s nice just to talk about something that’s not... the race or the schedule.”

“Yeah, it is,” Y/N said quietly, feeling a strange sense of connection. “I didn’t expect it to be so easy to talk.”

“Me neither,” Franco agreed. “But I’m glad we’re talking.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a little more comfortable with the whole situation. “Me too. It’s... nice. I’m glad you called.”

“Glad I did too. Well, I’ll let you get back to your writing,” Franco said, though his voice didn’t sound ready to hang up. “But we’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied softly. “Take care, Franco.”

“You too, Y/N. Talk soon,” he said before hanging up.

Y/N set the phone down, a quiet smile on her face. She didn’t know why she felt so calm after talking to him, but somehow, it felt like the beginning of something she hadn’t expected. A spark had been lit inside her, something she hadn’t felt in a while. Her mind was buzzing, and for the first time in days, she felt truly alive.

She glanced at the clock—still early, though not for long—and something inside her stirred. Without thinking, she grabbed her notebook and walked out of the room, heading down the hall toward her studio. The house was quiet, still, but her mind was racing. As she flipped the lights on in the small room filled with instruments, sound equipment, and all the tools of her trade, it was as if everything clicked into place

The walls, once silent and stifling, now seemed to hum with possibility. She set her notebook down, reached for her laptop, and immediately pulled up her music software. Her fingers hovered over the keys, and within minutes, she was in the zone, the melody flowing almost effortlessly. Ideas she hadn’t known were waiting to be discovered spilled out of her, notes and lyrics coming together like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t known needed solving.

For hours, she lost herself in the music. The hours seemed to melt away, her focus unwavering as she crafted something new, something personal, something that felt like it was coming from the depths of her soul. She tweaked, arranged, and layered tracks, her mind guided only by the spark Franco had unknowingly ignited. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this inspired.

By the time the sun began to rise, Y/N was still in her studio, headphones on, eyes tired but exhilarated. She hadn’t noticed the time slipping by until she glanced at the clock again. The song wasn’t finished, but it was close. She smiled to herself, realizing that the night had passed without her even thinking about the exhaustion she usually felt. It was as though the music had become the one thing that could make her forget everything else.

She leaned back in her chair, taking a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she was grateful for this new, unexpected source of inspiration. And in the back of her mind, she knew this song was only the beginning.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

taglist: @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #f1 x y/n #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 smau #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto smau #franco colapinto imagine #fc43 x reader #f1 imagine #jzprncess

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supercimi · 1 day ago

Text

Your friend has always been a bit carefree

Whenever he gave you those gifts, he basically just shoved them into your hands as If giving you some candy or something

He liked to joke around and get you in dumb situations all the time, sometimes those shenanigans got you in trouble, other times it ended in a rather underwhelming repercussions, like the flower bed incident when you were small.

Lucky for the both of you, the neighbourhood community had already wanted to get rid of that flowerbed, so you only got cleaning duty for three months because of what you two did

Maybe because of this, he would sometimes give you these gifts? He is a trickster and gets in trouble a lot yea but not a bad friend, u know?

Just yesterday, he told you that his next gift was gonna be awesome!

But why did he need you to wait in the square park for that?

...

It's been so long now...

How many hours have you been waiting?! And you were just praising him! He should just wait until you are back!! You shall not have his back!

Trudging away in anger and saddled with annoyance you finally reached your home

I mean homes, you two are neighbours after all,

"Hey! Where did that idio-"

Just as you snapped the gate doors open, the sight before you sucked any words you had left out of your mouth

"Oh, ops I got caught huh?" Your friend sheepishly confessed

"...." your gaping mouth couldn't catch up with your brain fast enough to close, but that was the least of your concerns right now

"You don't have any questions? " that same carefree tone and face yet, just what was going on?

There in front of you he stood, shimmer by shimmer he was fading away,

Words could not form, thoughts would not churn.

You could only stare

"Hey now, don't make that face," he laughed sheepishly like he did when he felt at loss

Why? What? How?

You could not say any of that

You couldn't even close your mouth

".....h..w..what?...how?" You finally managed to let out

Looking at his stupid face you wanted to claw the answers right out of his mind

But you couldn't, you wouldn't, even if you could.

"....because I made lots of mistakes?" He hummed as if thinking to himself

"So what! Why would this happen?!" Your confusion ignored, but that ignited your still mouth, and it finally spun its cries

"Because i made up for them all!"he boasted cheerily as if he wasn't fading more and more

"Wha?" Your confusion only multiplied but your words lost their strength

The passing time was only proved by his fading eyes

"...please just tell me your reasons" you tried a final time your earlier annoyanc and grievance at being stood up long forgotten

Looking at you for the uptenth time tonight, quite and kind, he wasn't someone who would have such a gentle look

"....because i care," smiling widely he answered vaguely yet again.

Streching your arms to grab that stupid figure, you barely had your words!

"That doesn't explain anything you doofus!"

You cried as your hands caught air

Your friend wasn't here anymore

...

....

.." ghr..dang..it...you.." blabbering your words, you could not speak anymore

You only cried in confusion

And that's okay

Despite every reality we had, you were always there for me.

You always went along with me

You had my back even when you didn’t recognize me

Be it in the past ir the future, or even in the present

You were my family

My friend

My teacher

My partner in crime

My only constant in the world

When you were gone, my world was gone

I searched for you, countless worlds and times, but they all aren't you

Well, they are you, but not you at the same time... Maybe that's why eventually i gave their original friends back to them

Because they were not my friend whom i lost

Maybe because i did that, i found you again

One final time

I had my family again for the last time

If the price for that was my life, it didn't really sound so bad

I hope you live on much more happily this time

We only had one life after all

Farewell, my friend.

Your friend keeps giving you very random gifts at completely random times. It seemed like an odd but nice gesture, until you realise each gift has saved your life from any sort of incident some time after accepting it.

#writers on tumblr #writing prompts #i tried smth up >:3 #i was pretty inspired by the prompt #i got the idea to make the friend somrhow has thr ability to know about his friends' future accidents #and that by giving him these gifts he saved him but at the price of his own life #at furst i didn’t have an idea as to where all these abilities came from #but as i wrote i thought more! maybe by the power of grief the gifting friend found a way to travesr space and time to search for #his friend's soul! and whenever he did he would take over someone whose close to them to be qith his family again #but the more he did that #the more misfortunes he #caused for their worlds #and he couldn't keep doing that anymore #hurting all these souls for his selfishness #so he gave up his fruitless chace #and wandered space time eternally as a fading soul #maybe because of his selflessness in giving up what he wants #he ironically got it back #but not completely #he still had to pay back for all the misfortunes he caused #to do that he traded his time for the objects which could save his friend's life if that makes sense?#and so little by little #his dept was repaid #and his time was ending #his final gift was putting out a fire that could have ended his friend's life #he convinced his friend to go to the park just in case he couldn't do it #but he could #and he had to leave #he didn't plan for his friend to catch him just before he left thu #this might sound romantic but it's not intended as such btw its about family or found family in this case <3

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mika-no-sekai-blog · 9 hours ago

Text

One bed

Azriel x reader

Word count: 3000+

Summary: Due to unforeseen circumstances, you end up in the same room as Azriel

Warnings: none

I'd love to say I have solved the Frozen thingy, but I haven't yet. I've started writing part 3 and that's where I stopped because of the madness around. I was so close to making a solid plan for it. Unfortunately, the work happened, then Christmas at work baking f***ing chicken farm. Then husband got fever🙄and he couldn't live without getting someone else sick as well, so now son has high fever too and I'm the last one somehow surviving here. At least I have whole week of holidays next week. I hoped to relax and write more, but we'll see. Wish me luck🥴

Anyway here's something small and not so angsty that just popped up suddenly. Hope you enjoy it.

And for everyone who celebrate, have a peaceful holiday 💕

"I thought I've reserved enough rooms," Rhysand sighed. The last hour he was talking with the owner of the inn we were staying at, trying all possible tactics to persuade him to find us one more room. Impossible task from the very beginning as the inn was full.

We were on non-official official mission. At first, there were only six of us supposed to go as Amren declined, intending to stay with Mor in Velaris, protecting it. However, the two of them had yet another quarrel recently, which led to Amren suddenly appearing with a packed bag in hand a few seconds before intended departure. Nobody, not even Rhys, had balls to tell her no. And that's why we ended up in this situation. Rhys had everything perfectly planned, as usual, but he couldn't have known this would happen. And now we were one room short, but again - nobody dared to tell aloud whose fault it was. Amren was like hungry bulldog, ready to tear to shreds anyone and anything at the best of her days. Now, she was pissed off.

Feyre and Nesta took their keys, Feyre giving me an apologetic look. From the start, they were supposed to share rooms with their mates. This was also kind of vacation for us, so it was only logical they wanted to be with their partners.

That left Rhys with last two keys in hand. Amren snatched one and without looking at anyone or even a small mumbled sorry, she left. We exchanged look and whole group finally relaxed.

"Sorry," Feyre murmured as she headed to her room with sorrowful expression.

Before she left, Nesta gazed at me with silent question and I nodded. I would be fine, for sure. Cassian winked at me as he followed her. They both knew about the feelings I had for Azriel for quite some time, each supporting me in their own way. At this point, probably everyone around knew, except for the mentioned Shadowsinger and I didn't plan to be the one to break the news. I knew my limits and he was off them.

Rhys turned to me and Azriel with sorrowful expression, brows furrowed. "I'm sorry, Az, but you know.. Ladies first," he offered me the last key. Spymaster didn't even as much as blink, no protests at all. He looked as his usual self, unbothered by the problem at the hand.

"Thankies," I smiled, took the key and looped hand to Azriel's arm. "Come."

They both opened mouth in surprise, none of them expecting this from me. Rhys recovered as first.

"Enjoy yourself," he smirked and I rolled my eyes.

"Ha ha ha, how funny," I stuck out tongue at him. He chuckled and hurried after his mate, leaving the two of us alone. I raised brow at Shadowsinger who was still too shocked to speak. He didn't even notice Rhys' teasing.

"What? Did you think I would let you sleep on roof or what?"

"B-b-but," he stammered, his cheeks dusted with pink.

"No buts. Come!" I had to pull reluctant Azriel down the hallway.

"I can try another inn-"

"Nonsense! You would miss all the fun. Plus, I really don't mind. We are friends after all. I have nothing to be afraid of, right?"

I came to a sudden stop, realizing something.

"Wait! You mind staying with me in the same room?"

Before, it didn't occur to me that he could be against. I thought we were getting along pretty well, given the fact that we tended to seek out each other's company, sitting together and talking. The two of us even often hung out in the city, venturing cafes and bakeries. I thought he liked to spend time with me, but it could be only my mistaken impression. I knew I couldn't hope for more than friendship and I was fine with that as long as I could be close to him. He could feel differently though.

"No!" he hurried with an answer, eyes wide. "No, nothing like that. It's just.."

"What is it?"

"It's just.. you are female and I'm male."

I was so relieved to hear that, that I wanted to laugh, but I didn't. "That means that you will pounce on me like an animal as soon as door close?"

He flushed fiercely, averting his eyes. "You know I will do no such a thing. It just means that you might be uncomfortable because of that."

"I'm fine. Believe me," I said softly and took his hand. "So come on, silly."

He chuckled and this time, he willingly followed me.

The room, we got, was quite a nice one for an old inn, but it was rather smaller one. Most of the space was occupied by bed big enough to accommodate Illyrian wings. It was one of the reasons Rhysand chose this place, thinking about the comfort of his brothers. We were supposed to spend here whole week, maybe longer, so it was necessary.

Except of bed, there was only small table with two old chairs, hearth and connected bathroom.

After we settled down, the air had somehow thickened, both of us suddenly embarrassed. And so I did what I could to lighten the atmosphere a bit, but every try for a conversation died out soon after it started. At last, I gave up.

"It was long day," I stretched out, all my joints making a satisfying cracking sound and Azriel grimaced. He didn't like when I did it. "I'm tired. Do you want to use the bathroom as first?"

"No, go ahead," he offered and started to line up on table all the daggers he had on him. I paused and watched him, amazed. How could he hide so many? I thought he had only two, max three. He noticed me and smiled shyly.

"I'll clean them while you take shower. Don't worry, I'll put them away afterwards."

"I don't mind them at all," I mumbled, ashamed I got caught. "I'm just stunned you managed to sneak in the whole arsenal. Seeing it now, I would bet that not only do you have one for each of us but also even one spare."

At that he finally laughed, the rich sound warming my heart. I already missed that sound. Corners of my mouth curled into satisfied smile and I quickly gathered all necessary things and went to the bathroom.

When I came out, the daggers were gone from the table. Azriel was seated on the same chair he occupied since we came, pyjama in hands. He was staring into space, looking somehow troubled. Shadows gathered around his ear and he looked up at me, faking smile. Without a word, he stood up and hurried to the bathroom.

While I was waiting, I shoved my used underwear to the bottom of my bag and climbed to the bed, snuggling up in a warm blanket. It was quite cold here, old window hardly blocking the cold wind from outside.

Azriel took quite long to finish. By the time bathroom door creaked open, I was almost asleep. He rustled around for a while and adding big log to the fire, he turned off lights. I waited. The room went completely silent.

I opened eyes. "Are you kidding me," I sat up, sighing. "Az, I thought, we already talked it out." I glared into a dark corner by the hearth.

"Don't worry about me and sleep," he replied from his place on the old chair.

"You can't sleep on that old crap. It will most likely give in soon." The only answer was silence.

"C'mon, Az. It won't do you any good if you're sleep-deprived. To none of us in fact. What if something happens and you won't be able to fight because you are too tired and sore?"

Again silence.

"Do you want me to help you to the bed? I warn you, I'm going to drag you here not by arm but by ear this time."

He chuckled. His wings rustled and mattress dipped under his weight. "Fine then. Have it your way."

I tucked him in like a small child, mindful of his wings and settled down, heart pounding in my throat.

"That wasn't necessary."

"Believe me it was. And don't try to fake it. I'm light sleeper. I will know if you get up in the middle of the night."

"Fine, fine." He sounded amused. He was lying on his back, wings folded and tugged close to his body.

"Relax. The bed is enough big for both of us. Even if you touch me. I'm not made of sugar, I won't melt into puddle," I assured him as I curled up on my side of bed with back to him, taking as little space as possible so he had enough comfort. He made a sound at the back of his throat.

I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep at all with him being so close. But as bed warmed up with his presence and his calming scent wrapped around me as another blanket, I fell asleep in no time.

* * *

Azriel didn't even blink an eye. He was just lying there, stretched on his back, gazing at ceiling. He wasn't used to falling asleep next to someone. After she reassured him, he relaxed a bit but only his body. He was too nervous and excited at the same time. He was scared to even breath, not wanting to wake her up. How could she sleep so soundly? Didn't she feel the same? Didn't his presence stir her nerves?

Shadows curled on pillow near his ear, whispering. They described him in detail how she drifted off with sweet smile on her lips. Smile that she was still wearing. He wished he could see it with his own eyes.

He dared to turn his head to the side to watch her back, her shoulder slightly rising with every breath. Even at place like this in the middle of nowhere, she kept smelling like field of spring flowers, delicate and sweet. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the moment.

He felt so lucky right now and thanked the Mother for sending Amren at last minute, giving him this opportunity. For years, he was trying to get closer to Y/N. No matter how many times, he was ready to tell her about his feelings, he always gave up in the end, not daring to even suggest it. She was everything he wasn't, beautiful, kind and perfect. She deserved better.

He watched her entire night, mesmerized. It was strange. She was always so energetic during the day, yet at night she didn't move at all. It made him wonder whether it was because of him or it was normal.

It was after the sunrise when he finally calmed down and dozed off for hour or two.

* * *

Three days later, a knock sounded on our door. We were just finishing off the lasts of our breakfast. We looked up in time to see Rhysand's head peeking in. He held hand over his eyes with sassy smirk on his lips.

"Can I come in? I wouldn't like to see something inappropriate."

I rolled my eyes while Azriel bid him in, unaffected by his teasing. Honestly, everyone was making fun of us for no reason. After the first night, Nesta pulled me aside to ask me how it went and how I felt. I had nothing to tell her. At least nothing interesting anyway. I slept like a baby and not only the first night, but every night after.

Every evening, Azriel dutifully took his side of bed and I curled up on mine. No touching, only a pleasant small chat between friends. It was noticeable that he didn't sleep much the first night, however after that, he didn't seem to have such troubles. I was glad for that.

"I came to inform you that finally one more room is available. If you want, one of you can take it," he grinned and waited for our reply with one brow raised.

Out of the corner of eye, I looked at Azriel who was already eyeing me with unreadable expression. It seemed he wouldn't speak and it was up to me to decide.

"Well.. I don't mind to share room with Az at all. But if you'd like to have your privacy.." I turned to him.

His eyes widened slightly and his lips moved without making a sound.

"I don't mind, too," he managed.

"So," Rhys dragged the word. "You want to stay together? Really?"

We nodded as one man, not willing to give him what he hoped for. He was visibly disappointed.

"Fine then," he sighed, "as you want. I'll inform the owner."

* * *

A week later we were so used to this situation and each other's presence that we returned to our usual selves, rambling about anything, laughing, even touching lightly.

Our mission was over and this was our last night of sharing room. Azriel was spread on bed next to me, his wing gently touching my back. I was slowly falling asleep while we did small talk. Somewhere between dream and reality I got idea. Crazy as it was, my sleepy brain didn't find anything strange or wrong with it and my body acted on its own.

With closed eyes I rolled to his side, wrapped arm around his waist and rested my head on his chest. Azriel made a surprised sound and stiffened, but he didn't try to push me away. His smell filled my nose, his warmth seeping into me. Frantic but steady melody of his heart lulled me deeper into sleep. Last thing I felt before I completely drifted off, was his body relaxing under me and his arm holding me close.

* * *

Azriel was so surprised, he couldn't think straight. What was happening? He touched Y/N lightly, yet she didn't mind. She was almost asleep, relaxed and seemingly comfortable with him as her pillow. He felt her smiling into his chest and that gave him courage to wrap his hands around her. She hummed with satisfaction and dozed off completely.

Azriel gazed at her, unsure what to think or feel. Naturally, it made him happy, a dream-come-true kind of situation, but was it really okay? Was it really happening? It seemed to him just like a figment of his imagination, fed by amazing week spent by her side, so close to her.

He pinched himself, really painfully, leaving a bruise on his forearm. It was real. He swallowed hard. Slowly small smile spread on his face. He could get used to this.

When the initial surprise and embarrassment had passed, he found himself enjoying this. His heart was pounding fast, as he touched her hair and pushed them aside to see her face. He couldn't help it and traced a single finger down her face and jaw, mapping her full lips, lovely nose and soft arches of her brows.

He chuckled lightly. Y/N didn't even stir. So much to a light-sleeper.

As he watched her, his fantasy took over, offering him all kinds of imaginary situations that could lead to them ending up in this position; from innocent snuggling together for the night to them being naked, covered in sweat and spent after good sex. His heart squeezed in pain. He loved it and wanted it all. He didn't even realize that he was tugging her closer and closer, holding her so firmly there was no space left between them.

Despite everything, the scenario of innocent snuggling immediately became his favourite one. It held a certain kind of peace and warmth, something he longed for the most. He kept replaying it again and again until he fell asleep, too. The fantasy followed him even to his dreams where it became so real that it was unbearable.

* * *

I woke up unusually early at dawn. Still drowsy I looked around, not comprehending where I was. I was warm and comfy, so ready to close my eyes again, until I notice rising and falling steady flesh under me. That completely woke me up.

I looked up, finding Azriel still fast asleep. He was smiling sweetly, yet the tears rolled down his cheeks, soft whimpers leaving his lips. My chest tightened at the sight. It hurt me to see him like this. I reached up and gently wiped the tears off.

He slowly opened eyes and looked at me, still smiling.

"Good morning," I whispered.

"'Morning, Y/N," he replied, his deep voice raspy in the most sexy way. His thumb started to move up and down my waist in soothing motion.

"Bad dreams?"

"Sometimes dreams can be so beautiful that they make one cry," he murmured. He sounded so sad that I felt like crying too. Instead, I placed both of my hands on his chest and rested my chin on top of them.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I searched his eyes.

He shook his head and wiped off the rest of his tears. "I just wish I could go back and keep having the same dream for the rest of my life," he sighed, his eyes never leaving my face.

I propped up on my elbow and caressed his cheek. "You know that dreams don't have to stay dreams. They can became reality if you want them to."

His eyes widened and he swallowed hard. He seemed to be thinking very hard about something. Determination filled his eyes and he lifted up his head, stopping an inch from my face, waiting.

It was so sudden that I held my breath, but I didn't pull away. Watching me closely, Azriel leaned even closer and his lips lightly grazed over mine. I moaned, my body acting on its own. My eyes closed and I firmly pressed my lips to his. All the years of my suppressed feelings poured into this one kiss, not believing that there would be any more. He groaned and opened up, slowly moving, testing the waters. His fingers dug into flesh of my waist, holding me impossibly close.

It ended as suddenly as it started. He reluctantly broke the kiss and rested his forehead against mine, heaving.

"I want it to become real."

#azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fluff #azriel x you #azriel #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #acotar fanfiction #sarah j maas #acotar x reader

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librarygarten · 2 days ago

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I don't think I'm the only one who thinks Wars was an asshole? Like, is the reader supposed to have -known- they were actually controlling somone? The world they were from, the Links aren't real, right? And here he is instantly blaming them for playing something they'd only know as a game, cruelly making them cry and being just all around awful. I hope someone calls him out on it.

Sorry, nonnie :( Wars was indeed an asshole, but his game would probably one of the worst to live through. He had to watch his men die in a war that turned out to be some sort of sick entertainment for an interdimensional being. Add to that his whole... situation with Cia, and he's not thrilled with the idea that reader might have just. Over-written his free will while playing the game. Don't worry, Twilight will beat up Wars on your behalf <3

#2 Chain x Speedrunner! Deity! Isekai! Reader - Who's in Control?

Part 2 includes Sky, Twilight, and Legend Part 1 ✿ Part 2 (you are here) ✿ Part 3

When you first fell through the portal and joined the chain on their quest, you had revealed that they were only stories in your world. It had taken a while for them to understand the concept of a video game, and even longer for them to come to terms with the fact that some of the most traumatic events of their lives were reduced to children’s entertainment. However, as they talked with you, they came to another horrifying discovery: YOU were their “player.” Your actions in your world, the decisions you made while playing the games, directly influenced their own lives. What’s more, you were a speedrunner.

Sky

“Hey, Y/N?” Sky approaches you at camp, wringing his hands nervously. He won’t meet your gaze. “Did… did I do something to make you mad?”

“What?” You think back on your last few interactions. You hadn’t been treating him any differently. Unless you were somehow a jerk and didn’t even know it? You have been pretty sleep-deprived lately. “No. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that…” He trails off, clearly not sure how to approach this topic. He takes a breath and tries again. “You kind of controlled us during our adventures, right?”

Well, crap.

“I think so? I’m not really sure how it works.” Now you’re the one that won’t look him in the eyes. “My influence on you guys is still… weird to think about.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. Learning the existence of your free will was questionable at best was not a great feeling. “But you controlled everything we did, right?”

“Not necessarily!” You can feel the sweat dripping down your neck. “Talking to some of the others, maybe you guys could influence me, too? Like, Four said he felt scared during the final fight, and that’s the same time that I messed up with the controls!”

Sky hums, as if agreeing. It’s clear he doesn’t believe it.

“But you’re the one that made me jump off that post in Skyloft.” He says quietly. He’s not angry. He just seems sad, honestly. ��And then… Fi was there all of a sudden? I can’t remember exactly. Everything seemed so… out of order?”

You swallow the glob of spit in your throat. He was talking about the Back in Time glitch. How did he even remember that? It requires two save files and to move around while in the menu.

“You remember that?” You yelp. “Shoot, I’m so, so sorry. That’s a glitch to make the game faster. I swear, I had known you weren’t just a video game I would have never-”

“It’s fine.” He interrupts, giving a weak smile. “I’m used to it.”

“Used to what?” You ask, but he walks away. He disappears between the trees, and you’re left staring at the empty clearing full of camping equipment.

“...Used to what?” You whisper to yourself.

Twilight

“Y’alright?” Twilight asks you. He’d found you a ways away from camp, curled up agains the side of a tree. You sniff, wiping your eyes but not meeting his gaze.

“Peachy,” you say sarcastically, but your voice cracks, and it sounds more pathetic than anything else. He sits down next to you.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” He smiles. When you don’t respond, he leans forward, trying to get a look at your face. “You know you can talk to me, right? Or I could be Wolfie, if that would be easier? Dog therapy is a thing right? Wolf therapy is just a few degrees removed from that.”

“Don’t go transforming for my sake.” You snicker, finally turning your head to look at him. Your eyes are red and puffy from crying. “It’s nothing. No need for you to get worked up over it.”

“It is very clearly not ‘nothing’.” His eyebrows furrow. “Did one of the others say something? I swear if Legend was giving you grief again–”

“No, nobody said anything. It’s just a lot of things, I guess…” You explain hesitantly. “Like, I got sucked through a random portal and suddenly a bunch of game characters are real. And what’s worse is the things I did in the game actually happened to them? Does that apply to every game I’ve played? What about when I stopped playing a game? Or deleted a save file?” You thread your fingers through your hair, feeling more tears threatening to spill out. How many deaths and traumas were your fault? How many lives have you ruined?

“You couldn’t have known. Heck, WE didn’t know about you.” Twilight pats your back, bringing you back to reality.

“But didn’t you feel something was off? I was like,” you make claws with your hands, emphasizing your point “controlling you guys against your will or something.”

“Well, it was kinda weird when I stared at a rupee for fifteen hours straight.” He chuckles, “But like I said, you had no way of knowing. Nobody here blames you.”

“I’m pretty sure Wars hates me…”

“Well, he’s an asshole.” Twilight rolls his eyes. “I’ll give him a piece of my mind next time he’s bothering you, ya hear?”

“Okay,” you smile, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Legend

“Speedrunning? That sounds incredibly stupid.” Legend scoffs. You had tried explaining some of the strange things that he had encountered during his adventure, only to be made fun of. Honestly, you probably deserved it a little bit.

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing. People compete to get the fastest time, which usually requires glitches.” You chuckle nervously, scratching the back of your head.

“So you broke the very fabric of reality in order to win.” He raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t break reality!” You exclaim.

“I climbed up a ladder and just… kept going up, even when there wasn’t anything to climb on!” Legend throws his hands in the air. “I held a bomb above my head and floated across a room.”

“That’s not necessarily breaking reality,” you grimace. He’s honestly got a point, but you’re not about to concede like that. “People can fly. There’s a whole race of bird people called the Rito in the other timelines.”

“Do I look like a bird?” Legend motions to himself, showing off his very-much-not-a-bird-self. “You know what? Forget it. If all you’re going to do is make excuses, I’m done.”

He turns to walk away, but you grab his hand. His back is to you, so you can’t see his face. Hopefully he won’t hate you too much.

“Legend, I swear I would never have played the games if I knew I was messing with real people. I had no idea.” You sniff, tears threatening to fall. You’re so sick of this. You’re so sick of needing to explain this to them. “Your games were some of the first games I ever played. I remember coming back from school as a kid, excited to play them. I… I loved all the characters. I spent hours trying to find every side quest, trying to get everyone a happy ending. When I started speedrunning… I never could have known… I’m sorry.”

He turns around, his bangs half-covering his eyes. He looks ready to cry, too.

“You loved her too, huh?” He whispers, then laughs, regaining his composure and returning to the snarky Legend you know and love. “Just make sure you don’t, like, puppet me around now, alright? I can’t imagine what the others would do if I started backflipping through walls.”

You giggle at his annoyed expression. They were sure to be insufferable about it.

“Deal.”

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #linked universe + reader #linked universe x isekai!reader #lu legend #lu x isekai!reader #lu sky #lu twilight #lu twilight x reader #lu legend x reader #lu sky x reader #linked universe x deity!isekai!reader #linked universe x speedrunner!deity!isekai!reader

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the-voldsoy · 7 hours ago

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Alrighty it is almost the end of the year so, in no particular order, here are podcasts I recommend of the ones I've listened to this year! (let me tell you picking favourites for this was So hard) (Unfortunately I can't just do all of them because there are almost 50)

Hello From The Hallowoods: The world ended, but we're still here, and shit's weird. (Has made me cry; even the trees are queer; my comfort show<3)

Camp Here And There: Good morning campers! The time is 7:63AM and Cabin Magpie Moth has spontaneously combusted! Whichever one of you little woodworms can put it out first can come get a puffy sticker from me in the Nurses Cabin! (Is it a horror? Is it a comedy? I don't know, you'd have to check to be sure)

Wooden Overcoats: Funn Funerals used to be the only funeral parlor on the island. It isn't anymore. (Sitcom, the main characters are the most miserable wet cats you ever did see)

Re: Dracula: Maybe this year, they'll be okay. Maybe this year they'll all live. Maybe this year he won't go, and she'll be alright.

Magnus Protocol: TMA's louder, bolder, less serious younger sibling.

The Silt Verses: Oh boy. Let me tell you, you will look at crabs differently after this. (WET horror, genuinely the best pod I've ever heard)

Archive 81: Dan, a newly hired archivist, has to listen to and catalogue a set of old audio tapes. The tapes contain interviews conducted by someone Dan has never heard of. Dan is in an isolated bunker in the middle of the woods. Surely nothing will happen to our dear friend Dan. (What is it with archivists and getting snatched by The Horrors? Ignore the tv show it doesn't exist)

Red Valley: Just a couple of guys with an interest in research station Red Valley, whose focus was cryonics. It's completely defunct now. I wonder what happened. (Ethics? What's that?)

Woe.Begone: Some say it's about time-travel, some say it's about keeping yourself and those close to you alive, some say it's about online safety. All can agree on one point: What the fuck why are there cowboys now

Midnight Burger: Midnight Burger is a time-travelling, dimension-spanning diner. Dunno how it works or where it's going next. We open at six! (The episodes are an hour long minimum but it's worth it. Comedy sci-fi, lighthearted fun :)

Old Gods of Appalachia: The Appalachians are spooky y'all. (The narrator's voice is so comforting in this, it feels like campfire stories)

Dreamboy: Went into this pod being told it was made by the people who made WTNV and absolutely no other information. Let me tell you I did not expect the main character to tell us that he got a hard-on in the first episode. (The most sexually explicit pod I've listened to)

The White Vault: Nice little trip to Svalbard to check on the remote research station, surely nothing will go wrong :) (Holy Fucking Shit What Is That) (Recommend 1st season especially to The Thing (1982) enjoyers)

Camlann: Ever wished that you were apart of Welsh folklore or Arthurian legends? Or perhaps some of the last people left on Earth? No? Ah well, you'll pick it up soon enough. (Three idiots and a dog in Wales, fighting for their lives)

Breaker Whiskey: Imagine. Being the only person on earth. Just you. Just you, and someone on the radio. Just you, the radio, and a woman you absolutely do NOT have sexual tension with. (This one looks really long because it has 260+ episodes, but they're like 4 minutes long each so it's not really)

Ethics Town: Don't worry about it. (Cannot recommend enough, it is a mindfuck)

Tell No Tales: What if ghosts were a thing that could infest a place, like rats or roaches or mold? What if it was your job to exterminate them? And the million-pound question, do ghosts deserve rights? (I am waiting so so patiently for the rest of s2)

Remnants: You wake up in a place you recognise. You have always been there. You have no idea where you are. You see a stranger's life. You recognise them. You knew them once, you think. Discard or reshelve? You don't know what that means. It does not matter. Discard or reshelve, that is the question. (I am going insane over this pod)

Not Quite Dead: Vampires! Alfie is an overworked A&E nurse who does not have time for this shit. Unfortunately, he does not have a choice in this matter. (A really interesting take on vampirism, going into the biology. It is fascinating, and an exciting story)

Travelling Light: Space Quaker! Listen to the Traveller tell you about every new planet and civilisation they visit. Whattttt noooo they don't have a crush on one of their crew members what are you taaaalking abouttttt (Very comforting pod, beauty in the mundane in a way? But not mundane because yk. Aliens)

Someone Just Like You: Brilliant horror, just really well written. I don't even have words for it. So far there are only 6 episodes and the concepts/plots of each seem cheesy, but my GOD the execution.

The Bright Sessions: People with powers get therapy! Thank God, they need it so bad. (I love one particular antagonist so much, I need to put him in a microwave)

Poe: Evermore: It wasn't until I started this that I realised that Edgar Allen Poe would have had a Boston-ish accent. Reallyyy interesting story of his life, and I keep getting jumpscared by VAs I recognise. Faulkner Silt Verses what are you doing here.

Witherburn After School News: Your school radio host getting WAY more involved in the news than they should. Really hope they're still breathing. Love the folklore section though!

Before The Tone: Voicemails from someone who just got a job they probably shouldn't have. (Brilliant idea for the format, and great execution)

I Am In Eskew: What if you were trapped? What if you had a home, a wife and a child? What if they aren't real? Are you sure? Go and check. What if your city tried to kill you? What if it loved you very much, more than anyone else? (Horror but the narrator is the saddest wettest man you've ever heard)

Sherlock & Co: Modern day Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson is a true crime podcaster. Dear God I did not think it would be as compelling as it is.

#only going to tag a few from these because there are still 27 on this list and I don't want to clog up too many tags #hfth #remnants pod #ethics town #woe.begone #audio drama #fiction podcasts

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soleilapproves · 3 hours ago

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catalyst - chapter 5

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex. (sukuna x fem!reader)

fanfic masterlist / main masterlist

The frantic knocking on your door made you jump out of bed. “Sukuna, what are you—is that blood?” The tall man moved past you. You rubbed your eyes and followed him to your bedroom, body warm and still delirious from sleep.

You tried to grab onto his arm to get him to look at you, but the man was swift with his movements, shuffling around the room in flashes of pink and red. His leather jacket hanging off of his lean and broad shoulders. “Sukuna, what’s wrong with your face? There’s blood everywhere.”

“No time to answer. You still have my stuff, right?” You almost didn’t notice the duffle bag he was carrying. It seemed like he was going on a short trip.

“Yeah, but what’s going on? Are you okay?”

No answer. It was like he was in his own world, turning your closet-sized room into a hurricane while looking for his clothes. You felt like a lone tree standing within the storm, wavering with every gust of wind blowing through your branches.

Sukuna hastily shoved in whatever was left of his things and finally turned to look at you. Eyes blank, face battered. “Let’s end this.”

Your blood ran cold. Your roots were beginning to lift out of the ground. “What?”

“Let’s break up. We haven’t seen each other for weeks anyway.”

Your legs wobbled as you tried to navigate across the cobblestone, heels in hand, alcohol in your system. Everything was a blur after you ran away from the party. The last thing you remember is pushing Gojo’s smirking figure away while Sukuna calls you out. You couldn’t be near him. Not when he had been dangling a veil before you for so long. Underground fighter–when did he have the time to become one?

Seeking sanctuary in your old apartment was out of the question, considering that you had broken your lease to live with your ex/boss. So you decided to go to the next best place–the park next to Sukuna’s apartment complex, not near his space enough to be consumed by him but far away enough to comprehend the information you received.

You ignored the sharp nips of the cold December wind against your bare arms. The park felt haunted. At least, in the summer, you could hear the loud chirps of cicadas and crickets, feeling like you had company even when alone. But now, you could only hear the eerie sway of the leafless trees. You had forgotten to pick up your coat in your flurry of emotions. You hugged yourself, trying not to cry over how miserable you felt.

You thought being his girlfriend meant being important enough to know about his life's deep, intimate secrets, but apparently not. Not in his mind. Where your heart sought answers for his secretive behavior, there his mind pushed you further and further away.

You were hoping it was all just a ploy to shield you from all the violence.

“Thank God, I thought Sukuna was finally going to experiment with his new punches on me,” a familiar voice said as you were enveloped in jacketed warmth. Yuuji plopped beside you on the bench you were sitting at and wrapped an arm around you. “I ran out from a party for you. What’s wrong?”

“Sukuna sent you after me?”

“Yeah, told me you ran away from the charity ball like some kind of Cinderella. I thought you’d be somewhere here since it’s so cold. Speaking of which, I should probably text him that you’re safe,” he answered as he pulled out his phone.

Conflicted. It’s all you’d been feeling since meeting him after so long. On one hand, you resented him for pushing you away with little to no explanation, and on the other, you felt warm with glee, knowing that he still intensely cared for you. It made you want to caress that oh-so-tense face of his.

“I know you have many questions, and I can’t answer them all, but I will tell you one thing–these scars–” he points to the half-moon-shaped indents right beneath his bright eyes “–were caused by the people he was involved with in the past. He didn’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

Your heart clenched deep inside your chest. Yuuji was only in high school two years ago. Who could do such a thing to a young boy? There was a newfound respect for him in your heart. Not many could keep that childlike innocence in them after experiencing something so traumatic, but Yuuji seemed like he was just fine, even if it may only be on the surface. The only blade you touched was a scalpel during your internship at your local hospital, and you seemed more uneasy than him.

You wrapped a shaky arm around his shoulder and patted it with a maternal glint in your eye. Heart aching for the poor boy. “I’m sorry you had to grow up so soon.”

“I’m fine. I’ve made up countless stories about these scars. It’s a good conversation starter with strangers.” His light-hearted chuckle made you stroke his head. Yuuji was like your little brother, too. You had basically raised him along with Sukuna, and he had grown into a fine young man. Understanding and emotionally intelligent.

“Sukuna… had been thinking about coming clean for a long time. There are many things that you need to know, but it’s not my place to tell you everything.”

It was hard to imagine Sukuna, of all people, to be so tense. The man was usually aloof. At least his past self was. Never did you consider him to be so marred by his past.

“I’m gone an hour, and you’re already making moves on her?” You turn around to see Sukuna, disheveled, smooth tuxedo jacket in hand. The first few buttons of his shirt went back to being undone like it was earlier that evening, and his bowtie was back into its initial satin-string-like form. His hair looked like it had been run through a hundred times, and his face looked worse for wear. A frantic man in the flesh.

He yanks Yuuji’s jacket off your shoulders and replaces it with his. “I’ll give you a fifty to leave us alone.” You have to squeeze your legs to comfort the growing tension between them. Men with deep voices–no, Sukuna’s haphazard state was your weakness.

“I would’ve done it for free, but thanks for the extra cash!” Yuuji snatches away Sukuna’s jacket and jogs up to Sukuna’s building with a little pep in his step. “Weird kid,” Sukuna mumbles as he sits next to you, the sides of his muscular thighs pressed against yours, being explicit about his feelings. “More like a sweet kid, Sukuna.”

“You always coddled him too much.”

“Couldn’t help it.”

The silence that followed felt like holding a bottle full of lightning, glass confining something magical yet destructive. The lines between boss and ex-lover were already blurred, but at this moment, they felt nonexistent. You both were staring at each other through a chained fence–only it was made from thin cotton threads and not metal. You could smell the fence burning, each fiber of the fabric withering away as the flames consumed it and spat out ash. It was getting close to you both. You could feel its heat already.

You could feel it in the heat of his gaze as he turned your shoulders to face him. “Let me start from the beginning.” You took a deep breath to brace yourself. The knot in your stomach told you that it was not going to be easy to hear his story.

“It all started when I was working out at a friend’s gym. He liked boxing from time to time, and he introduced me to a few boxing clubs where I could earn extra cash by fighting locals. Nothing too crazy, just amateur fights. It helped me let out some steam and earn a little extra for Yuuji’s college fund.”

His big hands squeezed your shoulders. “During one of my fights, I didn’t know that I had very important people watching me–the Zenin family.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. “Zenin- you mean the family who owns Zenin Construction Group?”

“Yeah, they’re into sports gambling a lot. Boxing is just one of the pools they like to dip their feet in. The CEO or dad, Naobito Zenin, approached me after my fight to box for his ‘league.’ Little did I know it was just a team of brawny men who fought to the death in a musty basement so he could earn hundreds of thousands under the table. We, of course, also got a percentage of that. Not a lot, but it was still good money. Enough to pay for Yuuji’s first year. I could not let that chance go.”

You immediately grabbed his hands and moved them to your lap instead, holding them in place–a practice you had followed since the beginning of your relationship for some of the few times Sukuna was ready to drop his guard.

“Things were going well. You didn’t suspect much since we were barely meeting in person, and I was saving up enough. Until–” Sukuna gulped as his fists clenched in your manicured hands. Veins and bones popping up and again, reminding you about his sheer monstrous strength.

“I nearly killed someone,” he rasped out. “It was the most terrifying moment of my life. Had me thinking how far I was ready to go for money.”

Your heart sank in your chest. Your mind reeled about how often Sukuna probably had to make difficult decisions while fighting and how often it affected him. All of a sudden, in front of you, was sitting your lover from two years ago. A little skinnier, with a little more affection visible in his eyes. “Naobito wasn’t happy when I told him I didn’t want to box again because of that, so he attacked Yuuji. I was afraid you were next, so I knew I had to run away. I had to keep Yuuji safe, at least until he left for college. I was lucky that Coach Yaga was watching my matches. He let us stay with him and trained me professionally so I could actually learn how to use my gift.”

Your mouth was dry. What could a person say after being told that they were abandoned for their own safety? Every sensation of guilt enveloped you in that moment. “Sukuna, I’m so–”

“No. You will not apologize for the shit I did. All of that happened because of me. I don’t want you to blame yourself for hating me. I fucked up.”

“Can you stop? Do you even hear yourself right now? You did what you had to do to keep yourself afloat. I’m proud of you and how far you’ve come. I just–I don’t know how you did it all by yourself. You must’ve felt so alone.” You put a hand on his face, and he leaned his face into your cold palm like it was a visceral need. Your skin burned at the feeling of his lips. His large hands moved to your elbows and dragged them to your wrists.

“You have no idea. Every second away from you was torture,” he said before kissing the center of your palm. “Felt like I made myself go through all that for nothing. After we broke up, I realized that I needed you to survive. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to live for besides my brother.”

The thrumming in your chest was dizzying. Your breath hitched as he placed both each of your wrists on either side of his neck. It was almost laughable how easily he lifted you off the bench and onto his strong and firm thighs. He took your lack of objection and blushing face as acceptance and pulled you closer by your neck.

“Give me one more chance. I promise I won’t keep anything from you. I’ll be better. I want to be better,” he whispered in your ear, the puffs of his warm breath making you shiver, leading you to scoot closer to him automatically. Body basically flat against his. Rugged, muscular planes against your softness. You don't miss how he caresses the side of your thigh.

He pulls back, and you see something other than regret–want. Well, more like need.

You wordlessly trace the harsh black strokes on his face. His eyes close as your fingers get closer to his lips. “I’ve missed you too—more than you know,” you whisper, breath mingling with his deep one.

And for a moment, everything seems to stop. You can’t hear the eerie swaying of the trees, nor can you hear the mindless crackles of random flyers in the park or the distant rumbling of cars on the street. All you could hear was your lover’s deep breaths. Your hand went down to his chest to feel his heartbeat.

Fast. Just like yours. You didn’t want this moment to end.

Feeling impatient, Sukuna slots his lips against yours. At first, his lips move against yours like he’s unsure if what’s happening is real—praying that the woman on his lap is not just his fantasy. But then he soon grows confident as your hands move to his scalp and mess up his carefully styled hairdo. You began to come undone, as his lips began to kiss you harder. His hands move around your body like it was his last time touching you. In that moment, he mentally thanked the opponent who thrashed him to immobility, or else he wouldn’t be having this moment with you–pressed up and bothered against him.

He reluctantly pulled away as you used your forearms to slot yourself against him, catching your breath. But that wasn’t enough for the man, so he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. “It’s been way too long since we’ve done this. Let me hold you a while.”

—

taglist: @sukubusss @kyo-kyo1 @kensqueent @totallygyomeiswife @missthatgirl @iluv-ace @emoedgylord @miakxn @sunasgf1 @lolilewenk @clp-84 @sodapop182 @therealjustpeachesback @msanimeotaku181 @aerareads @rebels-rewrite @emochosoluvr

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ticklish-hanji · 2 days ago

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These light touches

Warning: This is a tickle fic. If you don’t feel comfortable with this kind of fiction, I’d recommend you don’t read it

lee: jisung

ler: bangchan

It was a normal day. Chan and Jisung had a wired autocomplete interview in a few hours and they were getting ready. Doing their makeup, wearing clothes that fit the HOP aesthetic and then left for the studio.

Once they arrived they sat down and chatted a little with the staff. Jisung turns to his hyung and expresses an issue he has.

“Hyung” he said, “I’m a little nervous. Do you mind us practicing English a little?”. Bangchan felt like he’d just been hit by a wave full of cuteness. He pets his first kid’s head and says “Of course, Jisungie. What kind of question is that?”, he says as he tickled his chin. Han lifted his head once the ticklish sensation took over his skin and let out a smile. “You really are sensitive to light touches, aren’t you?”, Han’s cheeks now had a beautiful pink colour, and the best part? It wasn’t his makeup. He was indeed sensitive and too shy that his weakness was known to every of his members.

The interview started not long after that and they reached the point of the questions that go like “Which is Han’s/Bangchan’s…”

It was Bangchan’s turn to hold the template. He rips off the last sticker which was hiding the following question: “Which is Bangchan’s weakness?”.

“Oohhh,” said Chan, giggling nervously. He wasn’t too open about his weaknesses, just like every person. “I think this is something Han should reveal.”.

Han looks at him and starts giggling mischievously. He looks at the camera and says “When we don’t pay attention to him. He sits in a corner alone and pouts.”

Although he didn’t say anything false and although Chan was proud of his English, that didn’t mean that the oldest felt exposed.

Moving on, it was Jisung’s turn. The first question was the same as Chan’s last. Han holding the template he rips off the sticker and reads, “Which is Han’s weakness?”, now he was a nervous blushing mess. He even felt a little helpless. He knew however that his hyung wouldn’t say anything that’d be too private. “Would you like to answer, hyung?”, he said, his (nervous) smile not leaving his face.

“Of course! We were actually talking about this before the interview started.”. Han was confused, he was trying to remember what they’d said, until he realised what it was.

“So, Han’s weakness is light touches. He can’t stand them, they tickle him sooo much.”, said, tickling lightly his neck, resulting Jisung letting out a small squeal and grabbing his hyung’s hand “DO NOT” he said, in his British-like accent. Chan laughed it off and they continued the interview.

Once it finished, they thanked everyone and got in the car to go back. Sitting next to each other, chatting, laughing etc., Chan suddenly pokes Jisung’s sides.

“AH! No no no, don’t start.”, Jisung said, smiling nervously. Everyone knows his ticklish he is, Chan knows that also. Better than anyone else. “Why not Jisungie? Are you ticklish?”, he says playfully. Han looks at him confused at his question. Did they live in a different dorm? Were they in different groups? Didn’t he an hour or so ago say himself that Jisung was indeed ticklish?

“Chan-hyung, are you okay? Of course I am, just like you”, he stated, trying to remind his hyung that even if he got him now, Han would get him back later.

“I know I’m ticklish, Han. Too much if you ask, but that doesn’t make you less ticklish, you know. I might be reaaally ticklish, but, man, you’re ticklish as HELL.”. He wasn’t wrong, he also knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to make Han feel vulnerable so the tickles he’d receive later on would have a stronger effect.

Jisung was now blushing, he knew everything Chan had just said was true, whether he liked it or not. “Stop it. I know. You are not any better though.”, he said, trying to get himself out of the trap he felt he was in.

“Actually I am. I know, I’m ticklish everywhere, but not at the same level as you. Where do you even want me to start? You neck? Your armpits? Your ribs? Your sides? Or your feet? And it goes without being said that you already feel ticklish at these spots, just by me mentioning them.” It was true.

“Hyung…”, he could see it in Chan’s eyes, he was about to get tickled and there was nothing he could do about it. He was too tired after all, he wouldn’t be able to fight it for long. After a certain point, he’d just have to bare it and let it happen.

Chan made an attempt to tickle Han’s belly. Jisung grabbed them both before he could touch him “Don’t” he said. He was smiling however and, even if he wanted to seem scary, he wasn’t able to. Chan made it out of Han’s grip and tickled him anyways. Han just felt his hyung’s fingers all over his stomach, being already sensitive, and fought with his life to protect the spot that was now being tickled.

“AHAHAHAHA DOHOHONT!”. Chan was in awe watching his baby being tickled, especially when he knew how ticklish he was. When he noticed that Jisung was too busy protecting his tummy, he moved on to his armpits, wiggling his fingers in them. That’s when Jisung absolutely lost it and all his powers left him. He was now in his hyung’s mercy. He wasn’t able to fight back, so he just let him do it. He knew after all that sooner or later everything would end.

“HYUHUHUNG IT TIHICKLEHES HAHAHAHAHA”, he said, hugging himself. “I know Hannie, I know.”, Chan said. He stops. Han looks relieved and takes a deep breath. He thinks that it’s over now, it must’ve been a century. At least that’s what it felt like.

“Are you dohone?”, he asked full of hope. Chan laughed like the question he’d just heard was the stupidest thing ever. “Of course not, my little quokka. You think you’d get away with 30 second of tickling? That was just the beginning.”. Now Han lost every hope.

Chan grabs Jisung’s right leg and puts it on his lap. Han panics. Chan takes off Han’s shoe. He panics even more, you can see the pure terror in his eyes.

Chan begins by tickling lightly under Han’s knee, making him jump and let out a squeak “No no no no no, don’t you dare, don’t touch me there. And leave my foot alone. I’m too tired to fight back.”

“Even better!” Chan locks Jisung’s ankle between his thighs and lightly tickles his soles. That alone was enough for Han to laugh so hard that tears started rolling down his cheeks.

“HYUHUHUHUNG PLEAHAHASEHE LEHET GOHOHOHO” he said, turning around, jumping up and down helplessly. It was too much for him. “Is my Jisungie really that ticklish?”

“IHIHIT’S TOO MUHUHUCH! PLEAHAHASE STOHOHOP IHIHIT! MAHAHAKE IT STOHOP!”. The fact that his foot was trapped made it 100 times worse.

“Be careful kids, and please a little bit quiet. I’m driving.”, said the driver, who was trying to concentrate. Chan stopped. Jisung started breathing heavily.

“How about I tickle you and you try to keep quiet? Let’s do it like a challenge. Remember like when you were a “statue” and Seungmin was touching you along with Felix and how that tickled you? You kept quiet, you only said “it tickles.” Chan suggested.

“How about you don’t tickle me at all?”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m ticklish, hyung. I really can’t stand it, especially now that I’m tired. It tickles way too much and I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”, he said, playing serious so Chan would really stop.

“You really are ticklish, aren’t you?” Chan said, sweetly smiling at his younger member.

“Yes, hyung, I am. I’m really ticklish and when you trapped my foot I felt the ticklishness taking all over me. Really, I can’t stand it. What else do you want me to say? Okay, listen here. Chan-hyung, I’m extremely ticklish and even the slightest touch can tickle me sooo much to the point I might accidentally kick or hit someone. That day with the “statue” thing, I was so ticklish i couldn’t even stay still, and Seungmin didn’t even want to actually tickle me. I just was ticklish. Jeongin is also ticklish, more that anyone I know. You are ticklish, even at the thought of it. Every member is ticklish, and so am I. I’m a human being and a sensitive one. Is that what you wanted me to admit?”

“Yes, it was. Without the ‘you’re ticklish too’ part, of course.”, he said.

“You are though”

“I know I am. Anyways, thank you for telling me. I hope you know that doesn’t mean I’ll stop tickling you, right?”

“I’m sure about that, hyung, but I don’t mind it. As long as it’s someone from the group and it’s not too much, I’m somewhat fine with it.”

The rest of the drive was nothing special. They chatted and joked around like before Han’s torture. Only they poked a little bit each other every 5 or 10 minutes.

#stray kids #tickle fic #kpop tickle #skz tickle #stray kids tickle #han jisung #bang chan

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derww · 19 hours ago

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Three small oneshots written on keys from people. First, @mapicccc and TA going groccery shopping, second, @happy-mountain-goats and Subz fixing his wings (apologize in advance for the errors/inaccuracies in the anatomical details), third, @nivalulu and 4C doing small differences.

***

– No, – Zam says sterntly, suddenly perhaps even to himself, as he throws a frozen pizza out of the cart. Mapicc rolls his eyes like he's dealing with a small child.

– Okay, genius. Then you choose. Just hurry up, we've been here for half an hour already.

– No problem, – Zam goes to the shelves and – as if completely at random – pulls out a package of frozen vegetable yakisoba.

– Absolutely not, – Mapicc snaps, – there's not even meat in there! I'm going to starve!

– There was no meat on the pizza either, – Zam retorts, waving the box.

– There was pepperoni in there! – Mapicc crosses his arms over his chest, determined to stand his ground. – It counts!

– It's not, – Zam continues to bicker, but he is stopped by a package of mac&cheese hitting him in the temple. He catches it, rubbing the bruised spot with his other hand and swearing under his breath, and then throws it back. Spoke catches it and mockingly puts it into the cart. He is sitting in the place where small children were usually put – with his height, his feet almost touch the floor – and is clearly laughing at their silly squabbles.

– You don't have to eat the same thing, you assholes, – Spoke chuckles, – it doesn't matter – in short, just throw anything, otherwise, we'll be yelling here until closing time. By the way, where is Ro? Terry! – He waves his hand aggressively, and Terry, who is a few meters away from them collecting an obscene number of pastry bags, turns around and bows his head in a silent question, – Terry, find Ro, we've lost him again!

– I think we all know where Ro is right now, – Terry replies with a giggle, dropping everything into their shared cart, – but I can go and take him, of course, – he yawns, – we can't send Mapicc or Zam to this. Zam will get lost, Mapicc will crash into a shelf.

– I'm not that hopeless! I'll find a way back! – Zam objects, but Terry shakes his head and slowly disappears around the corner.

– At least pretend you have something in your brain, – Mapicc mutters irritably, randomly throwing several more random boxes and freezer bags into the cart and pushing it forward in the direction Terry has gone.

– Who would say that! – Zam is indignant, catching up with him, – It was a terrible idea, next time I'm going alone.

– If you go alone, you'll only bring juice, a pack of chocolate croissants, and a half–eaten chipotle burrito!

– Last time you brought sriracha and 32 sausages! Who eats this for a week in a row!

– Relax, – Spoke drawled, – let's not argue about little things.-

Mapicc stops, and Spoke, too lanky for his position, almost falls out.

– You weren't given the right to vote, – he says, – you brought five original monsters last time we've asked you to buy shit. What is there to eat, the jar itself?

– Great breakfast! – Spoke answers calmly, giving Mapicc a thumbs–up and kicking him in the knee, – I don't know what you don't like about it... – he hurriedly turns around and, noticing something, starts shouting, - hey, Ro! - at first it looks like he's trying to distract their attention, but in the distance there really is a familiar figure looming. Ro holds a half-filled shopping basket in his hand. To his left is Terry, who has clearly regretted agreeing to go with them a hundred times.

– Hello, people, – once at an acceptable distance, Ro waves at them, – are you still arguing? Who should I calm down? Has anything been trashed yet?

When Ro gets even with them, Zam immediately reaches in with his hands into the shopping basket.

– Well, I can understand that, – he picks up tomatoes and sweet peppers without any pretense, – at least someone in this circus thought of bringing some vegetables... Also no questions, – a bag of spinach, celery, bananas, – let's say fine, but you'll be the only one eating it, – edamame, some hummus, – why the fuck do you need so much turmeric? – Ro shrugs his shoulders, and Zam rolls his eyes, but approves. – Is there at least someone in our house who drinks it? – a liter of soy milk, – I'll confiscate it, if you decide to get drunk, suffer for yourself, I have to put up with you all anyway, – he takes off a box of alka-seltzer, to which Ro squints suspiciously, and Mapicc says something remotely obscene... – my God, why do you need twenty-one ounces of olives? – Zam looks dumbfounded, first at the cans, then at Ro. Ro spreads his hands.

– He likes olives and eats them, – Mapicc calmly informs and shrugs his shoulders, – it's not for you to object. It's strange that you didn't know.

– It's all bullshit! – Zam objects, - he'd rather pour them down someone's neck than actually eat them!

– I'll go buy some bread and eggs, – Terry informs them meekly, but his words are drowned out by the hubbub of an argument starting again.

***

Okay, the problem is, his wings have been on the verge of breaking for a fucking eternity, but it's not like he could just take them off. Frankly, he had no idea how to solve the tangle of lost magic without ripping off his own spine. When he was sculpting the spell, he was sculpting hard and forever, and you couldn't fly on a Lifesteal anyway... before.

And, okay, the bases of his wings were in a mess, too, of course, but oh, well, not that he could do anything about it. The last time he checked, there wasn't any major damage, so it wasn't important anyway. To his personal surprise, his hind wings in general were not seriously injured in any way, only worn and torn at a couple of edges.

Do I really have to deal with this, he asks himself. It wasn't that important. They still will last a decent amount of time. And even if he falls in the middle of the flight, it's not a big problem. At last... He rolls his eyes and sighs. Friend agrees with him, humming approvingly. Well, or so it seems to him.

First, he has to make all the tools, because of course he doesn't have the right ones – he wanders in circles through the chaos of his base from side to side and over and over and over until he has everything he needs – or a replacement that will do. A brush has to be made very soft and delicate, small and fluffy, and then his hand cramps for half a day from small work, all sharp corners are cut off from the planed stick, leaving a smooth but thin tip, and the formula for the adhesive material is based on water and made as non-toxic as possible... At least he thinks it came out non-toxic... Well, if it didn't work out, then he'll realize the mistake when he can't fly. Or get a couple of chemical burns. Or get poisoned and die. What a cool perspective to have!

At least there is a directional lamp of the right brightness, and that's how he unfolds everything, in the middle of the corridor, holding onto the part of the hind wings that he can reach: first, he cleans off all the dust and dirt with a brush with unbearable care, first wet, and then dry. Some of the debris refuses to move away, and in the middle of the process he has to build forceps and, swearing under his breath, wield them as well. His hands can't reach everything, but something is better than nothing, and the elytras obviously turn out to be much easier to clean – denser and clearer, they soon turn out to be in an acceptable form. He refuses to reach the inside.

It's even more difficult with glue: apply it to the gap with slow movements – hey, and why did he kill the ancient god at all, if even his wings are tearing – and, having fixed it in the right position, leave it alone. There don't seem to be any symptoms of toxic shock. For now.

He's already putting everything together to put it in a corner and not see it for another hundred years when he hears a block breaking – almost a knock on the door when you live in an underground base without a normal entrance. Well, or breaking in with a chainsaw, if it's an enemy. With the garbage in his arms, he turns around only to see Red. Both of his hands are busy, so he just nods.

– Hi, dear friend. – Red drawls. – And what are you doing here?

He shrugs his shoulders disinterestedly.

– I was fixing the wings. They've been worn out all this time.

– So you can take them off? – Red wonders, – then why do you go everywhere with them?

Subz rolls his eyes.

– No, I can't, – he says, bored. – I fixed the part that I can reach.

– Well, – Red says dramatically, – it's a matter of your safety, Subz! You clearly need the help of a friend who will do you a favor in this difficult and painstaking task!

He makes a face and sighs.

– Yes, yes, of course, my friend Reddoons, – he mutters and resigns himself to the fate.

***

4C is familiar to people here as someone who is simple... exists. He doesn't hold grudges, doesn't maintain bad relationships, goes about his business, and lets the others do the same, and tunnel rats smile when they see him and pass him candies in gratitude to the founding captain. People don't attack him in battles, they don't bother him with arguments, they don't see any threat or danger in him, and he takes full advantage of it. He appears here and there, invisible in his routes, never having anything planned, and people shrug their shoulders and perceive him a little better than the moving element of the interior.

Sometimes it seems to him that he really is some kind of ghost: he cleans the bedroom and hall of the FOCUS base, not forgetting to change the linen and put fresh flowers in the vases, he takes care of the trees at the spawn and decorates the buildings for the holidays, he puts an elytra in the Spacewaffles chest and leaves three copper swords with colored handles in the chest in the tunnels, he waters the valley of daisies and wipes discs lying there from the dust.

He feeds pandas with bamboo and cats with raw tuna, he cleans empty houses and lights candles in churches, and he repairs doors and greases bolts. He lures wardens away from busy places and leaves them in ravines and gorges. He collects items from the corpses and leaves them in chests.

He builds a house at Zaun: he has to choose a simpler design, but it's still nice. Maybe one day I'll really be able to live here, he thinks with warm sadness, leaving only a crafting table inside. On the sign at the entrance, he writes: Home.

In 4C, there is no desire to be a good person, both for himself and for others, he is an invisible man, devoted to the grave, a worthy tunnel rat and keeper of secrets, someone who has laid down his life to avoid conflicts with people, not someone with at least some good or heartfelt motives, but something motivates him to continue. Sometimes he plants a new daisy, and it fills the void in him, sapling by sapling.

#lifesteal spoilers #d.fics #fanfiction #i keep messing up “in” and “at” lmfao

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lostreverb · 2 days ago

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is it new years yet?

(luke cooper x fem!reader) can christmas parties still be fun while heartbroken? kinda.

content: fluff, underage drinking, kissing

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays! here's a little present for you all (loosely based on 2x10 of the office and 'is it new years yet' by sabrina carpenter <3)

the dunder mifflin christmas party... was proving to be as boring as you expected it to be. the walls were half-heartedly draped in limp tinsel and cheap decorations that screamed 'we tried, but not really.' and as your aunt phyllis dutifully dragged you from co-worker to co-worker, you were forced to engage in the most awkward small talk. some of her colleagues were polite, while others were... interesting to say the least. the second you were done making the rounds you scurried off, finding a secluded desk in the back a perfect hiding spot from the draining festivities.

finally alone, you checked your phone for what felt like the hundredth time. scrolling through instagram, you were greeted with another post from your ex looking infuriatingly cozy in matching holiday pajamas with someone new.

"so which one of these sad-sacks are you related to?"

you nearly dropped your phone as you snapped your head up, meeting the dark, curious eyes of an unfamiliar curly-haired boy. his demeanor made him appear as though he only wandered into this tragically depressing event for the free cookies.

"uh, phyllis," you replied, thrown off by his sudden appearance. where the hell had he come from?

"venus? no way." he snickered.

"phyllis," you corrected, unsure how he even got venus from that. "she’s my—"

before you could finish, the boy’s response was cut short by the arrival of your aunt’s boss, michael, who swaggered over—santa hat crooked, digital camera in hand. he threw an arm around the boy’s shoulder.

"luuuuke! lukey luke, my duke!" michael exclaimed, with sickening enthusiam "sneaking around, huh? making out in the back room? classic christmas partayy"

you looked over at luke, who simply let out a nervous chuckle. "no we're not-"

"picture!" before either of you could articulate your protest, the flash went off, blinding you momentarily. "you guys keep it up and you might end up on the front page of the newsletter- naughty naughty kids!" michael beamed at his impromptu masterpiece, ruffling luke’s hair like a proud uncle before wandering off, humming an off-key christmas carol in search of his next victim.

"well, that’s who i'm related to"

"hmm?" you murmured absentmindedly, distracted by another notification. your ex again—this time, a family picture, the both of them grinning like they’d been handpicked for a hallmark card. "yeah uh-"

there was a sudden burst of cheering from the main party room, loud enough to shake the flimsy tinsel on the walls. you and luke exchanged a glance before heading over to investigate.

michael was at the center of the commotion, grinning like a man who’d just won the lottery, surrounded by a precarious pyramid of vodka bottles—fifteen of them, to be exact. it was hard to say where he’d gotten them or how he’d managed to sneak them in, but judging by the energy in the room, no one was asking questions.

the party had clearly turned a corner. people were singing, dancing, and chattering animatedly, the earlier awkwardness replaced by a chaotic, boozy camaraderie.

it sucked.

not the party itself, but the fact that while everyone else seemed to be having a good time you were still wrestling with the dull ache of everything you’d been trying to ignore. with a resigned sigh, you strode over to the pyramid and swiped one of the bottles, ignoring michael’s thumbs-up and exaggerated wink as you made your way back to luke.

he was leaning against the desk where you’d left him, arms crossed, a faintly amused expression on his face.

"i hate christmas."

"you ever watch die hard?" luke asked with soft laughter, eyeing you as you unscrewed the cap with a little more force than necessary.

"die hard?" you repeated, the vodka scorching its way down your throat as you took a swig. at least it distracted you from the other kind of burn. "like the bruce willis movie?"

"yeah. the bruce willis christmas classic" he said, leaning back like he was delivering a hot take.

"oh… i guess i forgot about that part" you handed him the bottle, watching as he tipped it back for a drink.

"forgot? it’s literally what the plot revolves around," luke lowered the bottle, giving you a look like you’d just failed a pop quiz.

"yeah okay whatever" you shrugged. "how old are you again?"

"twenty," he replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"perfect. i’m going to kiss you now."

his eyes widened, but only for a second. "what? uh—cool."

you leaned in, closing the gap between you, but just as your lips met his, a blinding flash lit up the room.

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx @oceanblvd111 @evanbabybear @vi0l3tluvsu

#luke cooper #luke cooper fanfic #the office #luke cooper x reader #evan peters imagine #evan peters #evan peters fanfic #the office fanfic #evan peters x reader

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