#make sure it doesn’t get into any trouble

[starlightshadowsworld]

Concept: Kindness does not come naturally to Atsushi.

He was raised in darkness. The orphanage didn’t value compassion. It was simply a thing that did not exist within its walls.

The kids learned quickly how to use each other for personal gain. They had no innate power and so they fought for everything they got.

They’d devise plans that would get others in trouble just to get a meal.

There was no trust. There were no friends or any kind love. They were abandoned by the world and were left to fend for themselves.

They learned very early on that the only one they had to depend on was themselves. And yet whatever struggles they went through, none of it compared to the hell that was Atsushi’s existence.

He had never known compassion because it was never aimed at him.

He knew how to scream. How to cut people with his words and where to strike them where it hurt. He knew how to take the beatings and bottle up his pain.

He didn’t cry because a kid like him was simply not allowed to do so. He crushed his own heart the moment he learned it was his greatest weaknesses. He ate his first meal in peace after crushing someone else’s.

And yet, despite it all Atsushi is kind. He saved Kyouka without a second of hesitation no matter what anyone else said. He surrendered to Fitzgerald’s demands when he bought up Margaret’s sorry state.

But Atsushi doesn’t believe he’s kind.

He spent his whole life with his teeth bared and claws drawn that he has to remember to retract them.

To remember what it was like to be small, afraid and alone and what he would’ve liked to happen. And not act in the way he was taught.

He’s cutthroat and blunt and he doesn’t realise he’s gone too far until it’s too late. Atsushi learns about apologises and tries to hide how foreign they sound on his lips.

He saved Dazai because he wanted to rob him. He saved Kyouka and yet hoped that saving the people on the train would validate his need to live.

A good person wouldn’t feel that way he’s sure of it.

Atsushi knows pain like an old friend. It was his one constant and he doesn’t know how to act in its absence. It fuelled his every action and now he has to pick and choose his battles.

Atsushi doesn’t understand working together but does so anyway because everyone else says to do so.

He expects betrayal at every turn because no one’s ever loved him enough to stay. He pieces together the heart he gave up despite it going against everything he was taught.

Everyone thinks Atsushi’s kind but he doesn’t agree. Because for him to be so is an active choice he makes every day.

[studiogrimm810]

Awakening Flames

pairings/characters: (pining) sam winchester x gn!you

summary: the smoke, the fire... it brings back memories of jess and awakens feelings in sam that you didn't even think he had for you to begin with

warnings: house fire, smoke inhalation, mentions of blood, metions of ptsd

word count: 3,619

A/N: goddamn, that picture of sam breaks my fucking heart

———————

Sam has always been protective, gentle, and admittedly a little clingy when it came to you, but you knew that with such a troubled past, it made sense. And it never created any real problems. Sure, he can be a little overbearing during hunts or a little obsessive when it comes to you being alone with even a whiff of danger in the air, but you just know it’s because he cares about you. And you also know that deep down, you can be the same way.

Although, in all of your years of hunting together you have never seen him panic like he had tonight. You have absolutely no clue what wire snapped in Sam’s mind that made him act like this. The two of you have been on plenty of hunts, fought dozens of different creatures and even had your fair share of close calls. It didn’t make sense why he was freaking out now.

It was routine, classic even. For the past week or so, you and Sam had been tracking a couple of demons wreaking havoc on towns along a stretch of highway in southern Illinois and you had finally cornered them hiding out in an abandoned apartment complex.

It was a tough fight at first but eventually the demons dropped like flies and it was left to one last poor possessed woman. You were close, so you tackled her, wrestling her to the floor and swinging your angel blade wildly in an attempt to slice any exposed skin.

But once Sam made it back into the living room with you and the last demon, it had already been done.

The demon had flipped you over, straddling you. She knocked the blade out of your hand and dashed out of the open doorway closer to the two of you, knocking over a bottle of whiskey in the process. The crash of the bottle mixed with an even sharper shatter of glass in the other room due to the demon's quick escape. The bottle, of course, landed right next to the lit fireplace and flames quickly crawled past the iron platter that the logs rested on. It spat out harsh heat that quickly climbed the rotted curtains next to the fireplace.

It all happened so fast, and now half of the room was swallowed in red and orange flames by the time you can get to your feet. The smoke clouds the room and you can hear Sam calling for you. You spin to find him on the other side of the room at the other doorway that opens into the hallway that leads out of the apartment. Outside. Where you need to be right the fuck now.

You cough and crouch down to try and escape some of the smoke. Sam calls your name again, “stay low! Hold on, I-I’ll get to you, just-,” he flicks back and forth, looking for anything to help him.

“Sam, go! I’ll find my way out,” you cough, turning to find out where the demon escaped from.

“No! No, don’t-,” Sam begs, his voice cracking in the process. You turn back to look at him and can see beautiful drips of flames falling up towards the ceiling, illuminating his face. He looks terrified. Because, what you don’t know, is what he sees is your face exactly like you see his. Exactly like Jess.

All you knew about Jess was that she was Sam’s college girlfriend who died at the hands of Azazel.

The smoke fills Sam’s nostrils and the heat pushes him mentally back onto the plush cushion of his once shared bed. His mind rings with ‘please’s’ and ‘no, not again’s’. He’s completely panicked and irrational and he doesn’t know how to save you.

He never knows how to save them.

Jess.

Madison.

You.

And you don’t know what’s even going on in his mind enough to level with him, because from here he still just looks rabid with fear.

“Sam, you have to trust me,” you cough, trying to ignore the burn in your lungs. You take a few steps back to see that your only doorway leads to a kitchen with a broken window and, if you’re lucky enough, a fire escape. “Go downstairs and around back, I’ll have to jump,” another series of nasty coughs falling past your lips seems to snap him out of his funk just enough to listen.

“I’ll be there,” he nods, his feet moving before his mind catches up with him and he has to tear away his eyes from yours.

Now you can just focus on getting out of here. The smoke has started to make you dizzy but you promised Sam. The kitchen was a mossy mess, a little slippery but enough organic matter to really kick this fire up a notch. You have to hurry. You make it to the window, ignoring the left over shards of glass stuck in the pane because the fire is only getting hungrier.

It’s a two story drop below but with no ladder or help to get down because apparently, luck is rarely on your side. Sam rounds the corner as soon as you fully access your severely fucked situation. He knows it too.

But you promised.

You have to jump, it’s all that’s left. Sam stands right under the window, his arms raised and his eyes still irrational, “I’ll catch you,” he nods, encouraging you to evacuate. The fire has claimed the first half of the kitchen already and your silhouette is lit up like a halo by the orange flames. Sam’s heart is racing in his chest, making each second feel like an eternity.

“Sam-,” you start to argue but he barks back.

“No! Just jump, now!” He demands, using a voice he’s never used on you before and honestly it makes your stomach flip at the authority. You let your brain just turn off so you can listen to his instructions thoughtlessly. You climb over the pane, holding onto the splintery wood and trying to avoid any loose shards of glass.

“Fuck,” you whisper after positioning yourself just right. You let go, your organs delayed with your body causing the worst roller coaster feeling to bubble about your stomach. You land into Sam, tumbling you both to the soft grass beneath you with a forced grunt. His hands quickly wrap around your form the second you hit into his chest and he makes a point to take the full impact of the fall. He swallows the grunt that threatens to erupt into a low whine of pain.

You quickly roll off over top of him to allow him to take full breaths because you heard the air get knocked out of him but his grip doesn’t leave your waist even with half of your body off of him. You still manage to sit up, having a coughing fit trying to catch your lungs up with your racing heart.

Sam sits up, a bit dazed but the adrenaline of almost losing you like that powered him like a sedan engine full of diesel, it was enough to damage him as he forced himself to keep pushing his limits.

“Are you okay?” His hands reach out, cupping your face to make you look at him. You try to resist the grip so that you don’t cough in his face but he doesn’t seem to care about that. As you now get a good look at his face you see a glossy well of tears about to spill from his eyes and your heart melts with aching empathy.

“I-I’m fine,” your voice is rough and aching, but you force out the words in hopes to bring him down just a bit. He looks you over, pushing hair out of your face and checking any exposed skin for burn marks.

“Your hands,” he breathes out, holding your palms up so he can inspect them closer. As you look down at them, only then does the stinging pain register. When you lept from the window, apparently you weren’t as careful with the pane as you thought. Both palms are scratched up and bleeding, speckled with a few loose pieces of glass or wood. He doesn’t have the supplies on him now to help, just now remembering the duffle he brought along for the hunt is gone, swallowed by the burning lake inside.

He looks at the window that you jumped out of and then back down at you, pushing out a shaken breath, “okay, I need to get you out of here, back to the motel and I can get you cleaned up.” He nods, his gaze fixed on your palms again. Before you have time to respond, he’s standing and pulling you up with him, keeping a firm hold on your waist as he leads you back to the Impala. He helps you get settled in the passenger seat and hurries to the other side, keeping an eye out for any trouble.

“Sam,” you start as he climbs into the driver's side and ignites the engine.

“Are you sure you didn’t get burnt? That was a bad fall. Your clothes are singed, you need fresh clothes,” he rattles off, speeding back into the direction of the motel.

“Sam!” You try again, louder this time and it causes a fresh line of sickening coughs. You hunch over in your lap, holding your chest and trying to settle your breathing but the thick smoke that invaded your nose has stuck along your throat and trickled into your lungs. It burns.

“Hey, hey-, you with me?” He asks, torn between pulling over or continuing his race to get you as far away from the growing cloud of smoke. You only continue coughing in response and he jerks the car to the side of the road so that he can give you his full attention. He just can’t help himself.

He puts the car in park and jumps out, rounding the vehicle to open your own door so you can get some fresh air that he hopes to god will help. The strangled coughs interrupted by the weak wheezing of each breath you took constricted his chest, almost replicating a singe in his own lungs. Almost.

“Okay, just let it out, focus on your breathing, you’ll be okay,” he helps you turn your body so your legs are out of the Impala and he pushes back some more of your hair. After a few more deep coughs that rattle your throat, you're able to take fuller breaths that are noticeably satisfying now. “Better?” He asks, his hand on your thigh, closer than he would usually get but you can’t seem to mind.

You just nod, not wanting to risk speaking again and letting it be followed by a string of more nasty coughs that edge Sam closer and closer to an early grave. You still can’t put together why he got so freaked.

“Good, now I really want to get you back to the motel so I can clean up those hands,” he looks back down at your blood-slick palms. You just nod again.

After getting back on the road, and going just 10 over the speed limit this time, Sam called in the fire to local authorities and slid his phone back in his pocket. By now, it wasn’t too far from the motel and you could already see the neon lights.

Sam slows down to make a safe, but still a bit jerky, turn into the motel parking lot and puts her in park. You’d reckon Dean would be at Sam’s throat for how he’s treating his baby. Or maybe Dean would be better than you and actually put two and two together as to why he’s so damn jumpy.

Sam ushers you towards the room you booked a few hours ago and leads you to the bed, resting you gently on the edge.

“I’ll be right back,” Sam’s eyes take in any detail of your face that he can in a desperate attempt to settle his nerves a bit, but he just cannot seem to calm down. With a weighted breath, he stands and goes back out to the Impala to get the necessities for post-hunt clean up.

You just try to catch up with the past 20 minutes of your life.

But before you can, Sam is already pulling up a chair to sit across from you as he gently takes one of your hands to examine again.

“None of the cuts are too deep, won’t even need stitches,” a quick smile perks his lips as he lets out a puff of air that you're convinced still contained some smoke from that fire from how tense he’s been. You watch him as his pinched brows frame such worry struck eyes. You can’t emphasize enough just how weird this is. “Should probably run them under water,” he looks up at you before helping you over to the bathroom sink to do so.

You don’t need more help walking but, Jesus, you don’t have the heart to push him away.

He makes extra sure that the water is at an okay temperature before introducing it to your palms. And you still hiss when the water meets them, no matter it being too cool or too hot, it still stung like a bitch and made you instinctively lean away from the faucet. Sam brings over a hand towel to wet before using it to wash away any blood from the uninjured surfaces of your hands, cleaning up all that he can so as to reduce your discomfort.

It’s quiet once he gets to work on removing the splinters and shards of glass, his hands steady as ever and his focus honed in on your palms. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He also gave you a glass of water to help with the dry burn in your throat, even making sure there was a straw so you wouldn’t have to pick up the glass. So thoughtful. You waited for your breathing to be easy enough for you to trust your speech before finally asking the question that itched the tip of your tongue.

“Sam?” You start, your voice still raspy and it aches as it rubs out of your vocal chords, but you push through. His head pops up and looks over your features to try and gauge what was wrong now because why else would you try to talk? His mind is still in panic-mode and he subconsciously readies solutions for worst case scenarios. “What happened back there?” You follow up before he can rush out another prod to how you’re doing or if something’s wrong.

His jaw clenches and he swallows whatever invisible mouthful he had and his eyes gloss over- not with tears this time but a momentary lack of focus. Like he’s thinking back to something. He looks back down at the hand which still has some shards in it but the tweezers don’t move. You would almost expect the gears turning in his head were about to supply you a fresh round of smoke to choke on, but then he speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Okay, that you weren’t expecting. Sure, maybe it felt like he was blowing it a tiny bit out of proportion, but it was still a life or death scenario, and his reaction was obviously triggered by something that he shouldn’t feel ashamed of. Your first thought was maybe it reminded him of his time in Hell. With Lucifer. The thought makes a tickle of bile rise up in your throat that starts to sting the already sore tissue.

“I just freaked.”

Under any other circumstance you would have laughed at his understatement. But the pain in his still unfocused, far away look stops the urge before you realize it was there in the first place.

“The fire?” It was the only thing you could think of, the only thing that was different from a usual hunt. He nods, eyes still unfocused. It really gave you nothing to go off of. You already figured it was the fire and you just wanted to know why.

He’s working his jaw, mulling over how exactly he wants to word this- if he even wants you to hear it in the first place. His shoulders slump and he sets aside the tweezers, running a hand down his face. The hand almost works like a magic trick- revealing the caught up toll that this night has taken on his mental state with one swift swipe.

“Jess,” he offers the name, just testing if his voice can keep from breaking. It doesn’t, but he keeps going anyway because he knows that he scared you and it makes him feel sick. Almost as sick as seeing fire frame your body like a mane. Almost as sick as the images of Jess that assaulted his closed lids when he tried to steady himself. Almost, but not quite, so he decides not to apologize again. “Dean ever tell you how our mom died?” Sam asks, not looking up to face you just yet.

Fuck. Of course.

“Oh,” you breathe out, remembering Dean mentioning that a demon set their childhood home ablaze, taking their mothers life with the fall.

“Jess died the same way. Azazel,” Sam continues, choosing his words carefully and selecting them out with proper timing so he doesn’t break too soon. “He pinned her to the ceiling-.”

What?

“And burned her alive above me.”

The fuck?

“Just like he did to our mom.”

Okay, those details were left out of Dean’s story altogether but you can’t really blame him for skipping them.

You’re speechless, unable to remember any words that you spent the last 30 some-odd years using. Of course he freaked out.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” and you are. Truly. You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to lose a partner like that. You’ve lost people but never like that. Never so… just out of your reach.

“I just couldn’t stand the thought of losing you like that too.”

That makes sense.

“I lost Jess, Madison, and I just couldn’t-,” he voice breaks and his head dips down as the words die just before his lips.

Wait, what? You really want this man to stop throwing curve balls and let you catch up to literally anything. But his words get you thinking. He was triggered by the flames, reminded of Jess’ death, but not just that, it was a fear of losing you. Comparing you to Jess and whoever this Madison was. What was he implying?

He sniffled before bringing his head back up, not looking at you just yet but you can tell that he’s trying to work up the nerve again. He hasn’t even realized his slip up, his choice of words that reveal deeper feelings that are buried under the fear that comes with this life and the effects it has on those you allow yourself to love.

“I just-, I thought I was going to lose you like I lost them and I freaked and I didn’t mean to scare you,” he finally gets his eyes back up at yours, reddened and wet. He doesn’t apologize again like you thought he would and you’re thankful that he doesn’t feel ashamed enough to do it a second time.

“I get it,” you assure, holding his gaze with the swirling subconscious thought of his choice of wording just a few paces ago. Thoughts that get slammed to the front line of your thinking as his eyes dart down to your lips- not scanning for signs of discomfort, but just to your lips.

“You didn’t scare me,” you shake your head, watching him as he watches you. Locked in this tunnel vision hooked between the two of you, growing shorter and shorter without either of you realizing it.

“I just need you to be okay.” He whimpers the words like a prayer. Like you’re the only being who can grant him his wish if he’s needy enough. If he begs enough. 

“I’m okay, Sam,” you only need to whisper now, the heat of your words hitting his lips that are so close you could practically taste him. He swallows, holding just your eyes now, his own not dipping down to your lips or your hair or your neck. Even if the last one would rile you up enough to make a move.

“Okay,” he whispers back, still a raw echo of words that tug on your heart. You want to ask him why- why he chose that specific wording, why he panicked in such a way that exposed himself, why the tension between you couldn’t back hacked with a fucking butcher knife. But you don’t. You don’t say a word as he goes back to plucking the foreign objects from your palm. As much as you want to be reckless and spontaneous and just take what you want to be yours- you don’t.

You don’t because the look that stains his face is one of utter exhaustion- mental and physical. This night has wrecked him more than you know him to outwardly admit to anytime soon.

You don’t because this isn’t how he would want it, and you fear he will take it as an act of thankfulness or obligation on your part.

You don’t because the man in front of you deserves better. He deserves the memory of the two of you to not be a tainted bond of his PTSD but of a memorable connection built from the years of friendship and love he’s already given you.

He deserves your best, and you’re prepared to offer him just that when he’s ready.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

[aeoredellia]

NOT THAT HE CARES | Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugo never wanted to be here. The bass is too loud, the air is thick with sweat and alcohol, and the entire place reeks of bad decisions. But you—you—had convinced him to come.

“Just for a little while,” you had pleaded, tugging at his sleeve with that damn smile of yours.

“Please?” He had rolled his eyes, muttered whatever, and somehow ended up here—leaning against the wall not too far away, arms crossed, watching you with a scowl as you laughed way too much at something your friend just said.

It was fine at first. You stuck to a couple of drinks, stayed close to your friends, nothing he needed to interfere with. But now? Now you’re swaying slightly, eyes glassy, your grin too loose. Your friends aren’t any better—one of them is barely holding themselves up, the other is too busy flirting to care what’s happening around them.

And then, of course, some asshole decides to make things worse.Bakugo notices him immediately. A guy—tall, shady asshole, dressed like he thinks he’s hot shit—zeroing in on you like you’re easy prey. He watches as the guy sidles up next to you, leans in too close, and whispers something in your ear.

You blink at him, swaying slightly. “Huh?”The guy chuckles, placing a hand on your lower back. “How about we get out of here, yeah?”Bakugo doesn’t think. He moves.In an instant, he’s at your side, stepping between you and shoving the guy a great distance from you.

“Back up!” The guy blinks, taking a step back. “Whoa, chill, man. Just making sure they’re okay.”he holds his hands up “she’s fine.” His voice is cold, sharp. “And she’s leaving dip shit.”

The guy hesitates, looking between you and Bakugo like he’s deciding whether it’s worth the trouble. But one look at Bakugo’s clenched fists and deadly glare, and he backs off with a scoff, muttering something about people being too uptight.

Bakugo ignores him, turning back to you. “We’re goin’.”You pout. “But—”“No buts.” He grabs your wrist, steady but firm. “You’re done.”You mumble something incoherent but don’t resist as he leads you through the crowd. Your friends barely notice you leaving, too caught up in their own mess.Idiots.

The night air is sharp against his skin as he helps you into his car. You fumble with the seatbelt, and with an irritated sigh, he leans over, buckling it for you.“You’re bossy,” you mumble, blinking up at him.

“And you’re a damn lightweight,” he shoots back, shutting the door before walking around to the driver’s side.The drive is quiet. You’re half-asleep against the window, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He glances at you, then sighs, grabbing a bottle of water from the cupholder.

“Drink.”You blink at it, sluggish. “Why?”“So you don’t feel like complete shit tomorrow.”

A slow, sleepy smile spreads across your lips. “You do care.”His hands tighten around the wheel. “Tch. Shut up.”Still, you take a few sips, mumbling a quiet thank you before closing your eyes again.By the time he pulls up to your place, you’re barely awake. He gets out, opens your door, and sighs when you don’t move.

“Oi.” He nudges your arm. Nothing.With a grunt, he unbuckles your seatbelt and scoops you into his arms, carrying you inside like it’s second nature.

Your breath is warm against his neck as he unlocks your door.“…Bakugo?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

He exhales through his nose. “What?”

“…You’re really warm.”His face heats up, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Yeah, yeah. Just go to sleep.”And maybe, just maybe, as he tucks you into bed and watches the slow rise and fall of your chest, he finally admits—just to himself—that you might be the only person in the world he’d ever do this for.Not that he cares.(Of course he does.)

[bomber-grl]

Percy Jackson x Child of Hera 🦚

Pairing(s): Percy Jackson x Gn!Reader

The first thought Percy has is just trying to figure out how you even came to be. It’s nothing like Athena, where her kids pop out of her head fully formed. No, for you to exist, there has to be a human involved—because, well, it takes two to tango. Plus, Athena’s whole thing is marriage and loyalty, so the idea of a glowing mark appearing above anyone’s head at camp—especially one that’s never appeared before—raises a lot of eyebrows.

Naturally, drama follows. There’s also some confusion among Percy and the other campers. In both Greek Mythology and Percy’s life, Hera has been an antagonistic figure. And he’s not the only one with strong feelings about her. You’re guided to the Big House where Chiron and Mr. D discuss your existence while some nymphs clean out the Hera Cabin. The fact that “Hera Cabin” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue should be proof enough that you probably shouldn’t exist.

Percy and Annabeth are there too and overhear the conversation. After some heated discussions, it’s decided that you’re a demigod (after much deliberation), and since you are, Chiron says you’re welcome at camp. Not everyone’s thrilled about it, though, and even Percy thinks it’s pretty unfair. Sure, your mom is probably the worst godly parent ever, but it’s not like you had any say in that. (Not that any of the other gods are any better, but still.)

Though you’re not exactly being embraced by everyone, some see you as a bit of a curiosity. Hera doesn’t have any powers that stand out, so no one knows what to expect from her potential demigod kids. Safe to say, you become a bit of a project and gain some attention—not always the good kind—and you’re quickly becoming well-known for not being too different from your mom in some aspects.

During a Capture the Flag game, your powers first show themselves. You’re ganged up on by a group of Ares kids, who Percy knows to be pretty close to each other. He figures you’re in serious trouble since – much like his first time participating in Capture the Flag, he wasn’t really mentally prepared– but then something weird happens. One Ares kid randomly notices the sibling on her right is wearing her favorite anklet—totally out of nowhere—and then, they both blow up in each other’s faces. The third one tries to break it up, but instead, they all turn on each other, leaving you the perfect opportunity to sneak away.

This keeps happening, and after a while, Percy finally starts to put two and two together. Annabeth, of course, is impressed by how long it took him to figure it out, and Grover had picked up on it a while ago. Turns out, you have the ability to influence people’s relationships, pulling out little resentments and using them to your advantage. You don’t just break up friendships—you mess with their bonds to get the upper hand.

Percy’s always liked his powers, but after watching you, he can’t help but sort of be jealous of yours. Then, realized this implied he wanted to be Hera's spawn ( not that being a big fat target of a Poseidon kid for monsters was any better.)

Soon, more powers started to emerge, and it was almost like waiting each Wednesday for an episode of your favorite show to air. First, there’s healing—or maybe protection? It’s hard to tell. Both? It happens during a training duel when you and a close demigod friend are sparring against another duo. Percy’s time at camp was always spent rushing around, but this time, he actually stopped to watch. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that you’re getting totally wrecked—like, it’s not even fun to watch anymore. Your ally’s shield disappears when one of the enemies strikes, and a sword is about to make contact with your friend. Quite literally almost drawing blood. Time seems to slow, but then he and likely the rest of the onlookers are pulled out of the trance. There you are, your wounds healing at an incredible rate, and even your friend’s injuries are disappearing too. The most impressive part? There’s an invisible barrier stopping the sword from going any further. You were kneeling in front of your somewhat fallen friend, shielding them from your opponent while drawing strength from it (rather your bond)

It ended in a draw, which Percy thought was total buttcheek. He doesn’t really care about it at the time, though. That opinion doesn’t become important until much later—when you two are already dating. I know, a big leap, but stick with me. It wasn’t long after the day you completely owned those arrogant Ares kids—fair and square—that they started scheming for revenge. They always did.

It’s late in the afternoon at Camp Half-Blood, the kind of quiet time when most campers are either training or lounging around the mess hall. Percy’s leaning against a tree, thinking of a way to tell Sally about what he’s been up to without worrying her out. He’s been on edge all day. The rumors about you—the one with the strange powers—have been flying around camp like wildfire. Some are saying you’ve got the ability to manipulate emotions, others think you can control the weather. Either way, no one knows exactly what you’re capable of, and that makes people uncomfortable.

Suddenly, the camp’s usual peace is interrupted by the sound of shouting—definitely not a good kind of shouting. Percy glances up and sees a group of Ares kids marching toward the training field, and standing in the middle of the group is you. You’re being dragged along, and your usual expression—slightly aloof, like you’re just there to observe—has been replaced with a look of annoyance.

Percy doesn’t have to guess what’s going on. The Ares kids have probably targeted you again, just like they did during Capture the Flag. He can already hear their more than lacking insults, Each one less cutting than the last. They don’t know how to deal with the idea of a demigod child of Hera showing up and making waves. Honestly, they’d probably prefer you were just a myth. Especially after you kicked their asses.

Without thinking, Percy jogs over to where the group is gathering. His first instinct is to stop the bullying, but as he gets closer, he sees something that gives him pause: you’re not fighting back, but you’re not backing down either. Instead, your eyes are focused on the ground as the Ares kids get closer, like you’re silently waiting for something.

Percy slows his pace as he gets within earshot. He’s not sure what’s going on, but he can tell something’s about to happen. It’s when one of the Ares kids, who Percy knows can be particularly nasty—steps too close to you, then it happens. Without warning, the person stops mid-sentence, his face a mix of confusion and... fear?

The others don’t notice at first, but Percy sees it clearly— his grip on his spear loosens, and he stumbles back, like he’s been punched in the gut. Then another Ares kid, this time a girl named, turns on her heel and starts yelling at him, her voice rising in anger. One by one, they start turning on each other, their camaraderie unraveling as small but vicious arguments break out among them.

It’s like they’ve all been possessed by their worst insecurities, and Percy can’t help but realize—this is what you can do. You’re pulling on the threads of their relationships, turning them against each other without even lifting a finger.

Before it gets too out of hand, Percy steps forward, his voice a little louder than usual. “Hey!” he calls out, making the group freeze. They turn to him, a mix of annoyance and confusion on their faces, but Percy ignores them and looks directly at you. “What’s going on here?”

You glance at him, your expression unreadable, but there’s a slight quirk on your lips. “You don’t know?” you say, almost too casually for the situation. “I just helped them... work out their issues.”

Percy raises an eyebrow, not sure if he should be impressed or worried. “That’s one way to do it, I guess.”

The Ares kids, now looking like they’ve completely lost their unity, begin to scatter. Percy watches them go, then turns his attention back to you. “You know,” he says, taking a few steps closer, “that was pretty impressive. And a little terrifying.”

You shrug, your nonchalance making Percy feel both confused and intrigued. “It’s not like I asked for it,” you reply. “It just... happens.”

He studies you for a moment. “Again?” He can’t help but grin slightly. “Can’t say I didn't see that coming.”

You meet his gaze, your eyes sharper than he expected. “Neither did I.”

Percy didn’t stick around camp as often as he could have, but every time he did, the two of you grew closer. Honestly, it got to the point where you both developed feelings for each other. It was a little weird for Percy to think of Hera as a mother-in-law, and on the flip side, you were more than happy to have Sally as yours. You two got along really well, and like Percy, she never held anything against you just because of who your mom is—or how, you know, terrible Hera can be. Percy was honestly just relieved that two of his favorite people got along so well.

But, on the other end? Well, that was a whole mess. Pardon my language, but it was absolute dog shit. While you were still figuring out how to balance your relationship with Percy, Hera kept a very watchful eye on you. There’s a definite possibility that she doesn't approve of him. Not to rule out her approving of him and giving you her support—though if that’s the case, it definitely creeps Percy out. It makes him question whether there’s something he’s missing or if she’s just being her usual irritating self.

And speaking of, Percy can’t believe he ever thought you might be like Hera, just because you were a little manipulative at times. I mean, really—it was just your power. It had nothing to do with your actual personality. And when the truth about how you came to be finally came to light? It was a major turning point. Likely figured out with a –one long and exhausting quest that helped you two get closer than ever– later.

[t00tsmcgee]

Rook as a companion banter episode six: Emmrich

Banter written with my Rook in mind. Read more about him here.

Part 1 (Neve) | Part 2 (Bellara) | Part 3 (Davrin) | Part 4 (Harding) | Part 5 (Taash) | Part 6 (Emmrich) | Part 7 (Lucanis) |

-

Emmrich: “So, Calais is it?” Calais: “You can call me Cal if you want, professor.” Emmrich: “Then I must insist you call me Emmrich.” Calais: “That will be strange, after having attended so many of your lectures.” Emmrich: “We are peers now, Cal.” Calais: “I suppose we are, Emmrich.”

Emmrich: “So Vorgoth raised you?” Calais: “Yes, I call him dad and everything.” Emmrich: “Strange to think of Vorgoth in that capacity.” Calais: “He’s a good father. Never pushed me too hard, let me make my own mistakes but was always there when I needed him. I owe him a great deal.” Emmrich: “I’m sure he’s very proud of you. He has every reason to be."

Emmrich: “So help me picture Vorgoth as a father of a very young Calais.” Calais: “He loves to talk about the time I was learning how to walk and waddled off into the forbidden section of the Necropolis library. He didn’t think I’d learn to walk so fast and so well. But I had help from a spirit.” Emmrich: “A spirit?” Calais: “Yes, a spirit of curiosity. She appeared to me as an old lady when I was little. She helped me walk by holding my hands and keeping me upright. I called her Nana.” Emmrich: “That’s incredible.” Calais: “Vorgoth didn’t like her much.”

Emmrich: “Why did Vorgoth not like that spirit? Nana, you called her?” Calais: *chuckling* “She was mischievous. That time I waddled off I was lost in the forbidden section for an hour before Vorgoth found me. I was only wee, so eventually my crying alerted him to my location.” Emmrich: “I do envy you, you know. Being able to talk to spirits like that.” Calais: “It has it’s perks. And its downfalls. But Nana always made me laugh.” Emmrich: “What happened to her?” Calais: “Nothing, she still roams the Necropolis. But she doesn’t visit me as much any more. She responds more to younger people, likes to guide them. But we do talk, occasionally. She tells me to mind my posture and eat more fruit.”

Emmrich: “Tell me another story of when you got into trouble with Nana.” Calais: “One time she helped me steal the cookie jar from the ration chamber. She distracted the watcher, and I snuck in to get it.” Emmrich: “Did Vorgoth find out?” Calais: “What do you take me for? Of course not. Myrna did though.” Emmrich: “What did she do?” Calais: “I bribed her with half the cookies. Vorgoth will never know.”

Calais: “This place (the lighthouse) is amazing. It’s so well crafted, so intricately woven into the fade.” Emmrich: “Isn’t it? The resonator in the main hall holds it all together so expertly.” Calais: “And it’s so in tune with it’s inhabitants. I discovered a whole section of books I’ve always wanted to read the other day, books that I’d never be able to get otherwise.” Emmrich: “Oh, which books are those?” Calais: “Captivating Hearts, Exquisite Encounters, Conflicted Yearning..” Emmrich: “I’ve.. never heard of those. Dare I ask what subject they cover?” Calais: “Stormy romances between beautiful people.” Emmrich: “I see.” Lucanis: “I would like to borrow them, when you are done with them, of course.”

Emmrich: “You’re a fan of romance literature then?” Calais: “I think tacking the descriptor of ‘literature’ on these books is perhaps a tad generous.” Emmrich: “I’m surprised you’re not a bit more interested in the more scientific books, given our shared profession.” Calais: “I read anatomy books all the time.” Emmrich: “Oh, pardon me. I never saw any in your bookcase.” Calais: “They’re all open on the coffee table so I can use them as reference for my paintings.” Emmrich: *fondly* “Of course.”

Emmrich: “Have you read the thesis of Lucian Herreford? It contains some very interesting theories about the weight of the human soul and about what happens beyond the mortal veil.” Calais: “No.” Emmrich: “What about the catalogue of death magics, by Viuus Anaxas?” Calais: “Eh.” Emmrich: “I’d consider that book a must read for every Mourn watcher. Did Vorgoth not give you homework to read, growing up?” Calais: “He certainly tried.” Emmrich: “I gather you didn’t care much for it. I’m surprised Vorgoth wasn’t more insistent.” Calais: “If you take issue with his parenting, I suggest you talk to him instead.”

Emmrich: “I asked Vorgoth about what we discussed.” Calais: “Oh? What did he say?” Emmrich: “That you were always easily distracted, especially when made to read subjects of a rather dry nature. So he instead took to reading them to you.” Calais: “He has a voice you can’t ignore.” Emmrich: “Are you really so easily distracted?” Calais: “I thought about five other things in the space of this conversation. Most of them involved my rats. And one was how I’m kind of craving ice cream.” Emmrich: “Huh.”

Calais: “Hey Emmrich, thanks for that talk the other day. It really helped.” Emmrich: “You’re most welcome. I enjoyed the time spent together. You’re far more talented than you give yourself credit for.” Rook: “What’s this?” Calais: “I’m training corpse whispering with Emmrich. He figured I could learn, given my talent to speak with spirits.” Emmrich: “He’s a quick study. A joy to have in class.” Calais: *laughing* “Well don’t say that, now I sound like a teacher’s pet!”

Calais: “I’m still trying to figure out how the particles respond to your intricate weaving pattern. I can’t get it down.” Emmrich: “It took me years to perfect. I’d be concerned if you mastered it straight away.” Calais: “You don’t understand, if I’m not immediately good at something, my inside voice tells me to just quit because I’ll never be any good at it, obviously.” Emmrich: “I believe we discussed what we say to this voice.” Calais: *Noise of agreement* “Shut up, Leonard.”

Emmrich: “You look troubled Calais.” Calais: “Leonard’s talking a lot these days.” Emmrich: “Ah. An unpleasant fellow, that Leonard. I don’t like him.” Calais: “Me neither. But I can’t shut him up today.” Emmrich: “I have a ritual I need to complete later, you’re welcome to come along.” Calais: “Alright. It can’t hurt. And maybe the distraction will keep Leonard quiet.” Emmrich: “Let’s hope so. If not, we can at least ignore him while we talk and tend to the dead.”

Calais: *shuddering and heavy breathing for a few seconds* Emmrich: “I recognize that expression. Are you alright?” Calais: *deep sigh* “Yeah. You know, just my crippling anxiety suddenly rising to the surface. No big deal. I’m good. I’m fine. This is fine.” Emmrich: “Deep breaths, feel your feet on the ground, feel how it anchors you. The soil tethers you to this world.” Calais: “Deep breaths, deep breaths..”*Inhales and exhales deeply. “Right. I’m here.” Emmrich: “I have smelling salt if you need it.” Calais: “You’re kind, Emmrich. I’m fine now. Thank you.” Emmrich: “You’re welcome, Calais. I know all too well how it feels.”

[vshiftsss]

THE FADE OUT, FADE IN METHOD - (made by yours truly)

hello everyone!

i’ve decided i want to shift tonight, and i wanted to share a method i made up not too long ago. this is my second time writing this, so apologies if what i’m saying seems rushed. it’s very late and i do want to get to the shifting part of my night!

just a couple reminders: everyone is wired differently. i came up with this on the spot while i was bored and meditating because i felt like it worked the best for me. but this method involves lots of visualization, so if you don’t like to visualize or have trouble with it, this might not be for you, and that’s okay! you can always tweak it to fit how you operate. as long as you’re happy, comfortable, and confident, i’m proud of you. remember: methods don’t make you shift. you do.

secondly, if there is a method that is similar to this one, please tell me! like i said before, i came up with this on a whim, but i don’t want to seem as if i’m plagiarizing or something like that. send me a message or an ask if this is too similar to someone else’s method!

now, let’s get into the steps of this method…

1. make sure you’re comfortable. i was laying down on my stomach, but you can really be in any position. it doesn’t really matter.

2. take ten deep breaths to relax your body. the number of breaths is really up to you, but the main point here is to clear your mind and set your focus on your intention.

3. take another set of deep breaths, but this time, visualize your surroundings fading out into darkness around you. this darkness is the void, so perhaps you could say an affirmation or two. “i am not bound to this reality” or “i am in the void.” something like that.

4. another set of breaths, but envision that the void is slowly washing over your body. i visualized the void taking over like the venom symbiote, but your take on it doesn’t have to be as spooky looking. just visualize and breath until your body is completely encased. by now, i would start the “i am” affirmations.

5. visualize your body in your dr fading in. focus on the details; what shoes are you wearing? are you wearing any jewelry? what color is your shirt? really focus on those things. while you do that, finish the “i am” statements with details about you in your dr.

6. visualize your dr surroundings fading in around you. take it one thing at a time. perhaps you could focus on the ground first, then a nearby object, then the walls, and then maybe a person nearby. the ceiling. whatever works for you.

and boom, you’re in your dr!

i’m gonna go try this now. if you try it, please let me know how it goes! i would love to hear your experiences. love you guys! happy shifting <3

[carisisrolledupsleeves]

“Could he make you feel as good as i do?” prompt for Sonny? Thank you! 🩷

Disclaimer: I wrote it as a sequel to my previous prompt because I was still inspired by it. also, its smutty

The sun is high in the sky when you wake up. It must be around noon already but considering the night you’ve had, it’s not surprising. You try to blink the sleep out of your eyes, and looking down at your left hand you feel a surge of guilt in your stomach. Even though you know you’ve made the right decision, he never deserved this. He never deserved the hurt you caused him last night. On what should have been one of the happiest days of his life. 

As Sonny tightens his arms around you in his sleep, the negative feelings are replaced by the overwhelming flutter of the clichéd butterflies; something you had always rolled your eyes at; thought of as overrated. And yet. When you left the party after that horrific but necessary conversation with your now ex-fiancé, when you ended up running as fast as your heels would allow it, when you knocked on Sonny’s door with dread, afraid that he would tell you to fuck off and reject him like you had him earlier. However in that moment he opened the door, surprised yet as if he had expected you - that was when the butterflies became real. 

You snuggle into him; his warm body feels so unfamiliar still, yet like a home that is welcoming you. His scent, so heavenly, you want to wrap yourself up in it, and you surely try as you press your face into his chest while your legs wrap around his under the blanket. Sonny sighs, holding you even closer and placing a kiss onto your forehead. There’s so much to say, so much to talk about but neither of you have been able to put it into words just yet. Even last night all you managed to say was a tearful ‘I’m sorry’ followed by his many ‘It’s okay’, followed by even more tears and kisses before you ended up in his bed, fully clothed. 

These clothes are in the way now. Your hand wanders underneath his shirt, and you can feel him shiver in response to your touch. This is the first time you’ve been this close and sober; that drunken night spent together an exciting yet blurry memory of lust and urgency. Now the need to make him yours isn’t any less desperate but you aren’t in a rush, both of you knowing that this is right; that this is you two together from now on. 

Your lips meet; a soft kiss that soon turns more intense as you press your body closer to his and it doesn’t take long before his hands find the zipper of your dress while you manage to shove his shirt over his head. You’re finally skin on skin. It’s kind of crazy how quickly you feel yourself getting wet, especially since you can feel his body having a similar reaction; and you both smile into the kiss, a slight blush on your faces. 

‘I love you.’ Sonny whispers, the first words spoken since last night, and the fact that it’s those three words makes you dizzy. 

‘I love you.’ you don’t hesitate for one second because the truth is, you’ve always loved him. 

You continue to undress each other and it feels like everything is happening in slow-motion. Yet all of a sudden he flips you onto your back and covers you with his body, making you giggle with anticipation. Sonny’s body feels so good, and you know you’re going to have trouble prying yourself away from him in the future. You want him so much. You know you’re going to want him all the time. How you’ve ever denied yourself of him, you do not know. 

His lips leave yours and kiss all over your face before wandering down your neck, lingering there as you moan at the contact. Instinctively, your arms wrap around him; hands all over his strong back tracing the muscles there, finger’s digging into his skin as you feel his mouth continue. He is for sure leaving a mark on your collarbone as he sucks on the delicate skin there. That’s right, let them see. Let them see I’m yours. All yours. You sigh his name at the thought, sigh his name again as his mouth finds your breast, sigh his name over and over as he scoots down your body, his lips stopping at the waistband of your panties. 

‘Dominick…’ your eyes are closed but you can feel him smile against your skin and he looks up at you as you open them. 

‘Can I?’ he asks and you have to control yourself in order to not nod too enthusiastically. His smile grows even bigger.

He pulls your panties off slowly before flinging them across the room, making you laugh. 

‘You’re beautiful.’ he says, pushing your legs apart gently, exposing your wetness, and turning your laughter into a shy giggle. 

All of that shyness is forgotten as his long, tender fingers brush over your folds, making you shudder. His lips are back on your skin, kissing the inside of your trembling thighs, inching closer to your core until you feel the flick of his tongue on your clit, sending an electric current throughout your entire body. 

‘More?’ Sonny asks sheepishly as his fingers continue to stroke you. 

‘More. Yes. Please.’ you reply, biting your lips.

And he gives you so much more. Oh, much much more. Soon, you’re a panting mess, your hands in his hair, tugging desperately while he eats you out. Dominick’s expert mouth is all over your pussy; sucking, licking, teasing as though he has been waiting his entire life for it. Come to think of it, it turns out you have, too. No man has ever gotten you this close to an orgasm in such a short amount of time. Your eyes meet as he fucks you with his tongue, delving into you, his thumb on your swollen nub. He knows you’re close. 

‘Please.’ you beg again. ‘Please, Dominick.’

He withdraws his mouth, letting his fingers continue by slipping into you, curling over your g spot, almost sending you over the edge. 

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asks and you shake your head before nodding instead. 

‘I want to be yours. All yours. And I want you to be mine. All mine.’ you answer, pulling softly on his hair. He understands. 

And within a heartbeat he sits up, his hands are on your waist, and he pulls you up toward him; you can only whine in response to his hesitation before he buries himself into you with a slow but firm thrust. Fuck. You arch your back at the sensation of him filling you up, stretching your already sensitive sex to a point of blinding pleasure. 

‘Oh my god!’ you cry out, giving yourself over to him completely.

‘Could he make you feel as good as I do?’ Sonny breathes, pulling back just to push into you again, deliberately hitting that spot inside you.

You shudder, hands grabbing at the sheets and at him. Truth be told no one has ever made you feel as good. As loved. As exposed. As vulnerable. As powerful. As sexy. 

‘No. And every time I was with him, I thought about you. I thought about our night together. And I’d cum, thinking about you.’ you admit, your voice shaking. 

He pulls you up so you’re in his lap, and kisses you deeply. His tongue slips into your mouth and you can still taste yourself on him, and your hands are all over him while he holds you, your hips pushing down harder against his thrusts. 

‘Cum for me now.’ Sonny purrs in your ear, his cock twitching inside you. He’s close too.

You can’t hold back even if you wanted to. Sinking into his arms your orgasm washes over you, and it’s earth-shattering. Nothing on your mind except him. Dominick.

And it turns out there will be a ring on your finger again in no time. This time forever.   

prompt requests

[yamamasjumpercables]

Cowboys Don’t Cry

(Chapter Two)

Pairing: Cowboy!Bangchan x Fem!Reader

A/n: Literally wrote this right after finishing chapter one

Summary: Y/n and Bangchan were childhood friends until he moved away to the big city, leaving Y/n heartbroken. Years later Chan comes back to town for good, now he has to fix what he broke all those years ago.

AU: Cowboy/Country Boy

Trope(s): Childhood Friends - to - Lovers, Grumpy x Sunshine, Slow Burn

Genre: Rom-com, Drama and Angst

Warning(s): 18+ rating (cussing)

The next day all I could worry about was the risk of seeing his face again. Changbin and Hyunjin came over to get my mind off Chan. They helped me with the horses and chicken. Taking most of load off me. Changbin reassured me that I wasn’t going to see Chan at all. So I dropped the thought of him, for now. After Changbin and Hyunjin left, I went to the bar. It may be too early in the morning to go to bar but I can’t resist their cheesy fries and blueberry lemonade.

I walked into the bar greeting the few people that were inside. I sat at the counter talking to the bartender Casey, he always knows my order so he already knew what I was in for. After about 3 cups of lemonade and 1 1/2 bowls of cheesy fries later I decided to leave. I set a tip on the counter for Casey and left. I walked outside seeing the boys coming out the town bakery.

“Hey you guys” I say waving to them before walking over to the other side of the road. “Hey Y/n, what are you doing here” I.n said giving me a hug. “Eating cheesy fries most likely” Leeknow says wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “You already know” I say rolling my eyes playfully. “But what are you guys doing here?” I say jokingly. “I- well-“ Han was trying to speak until Felix cut him off. “Listen we were just hanging out with Chan ok, don’t worry about seeing him we’ll make sure he doesn’t come around you” Felix says attempting to reassure me.

“If I see him all of you are dying from natural causes” I threaten, while glaring at them. “Leeknow is rubbing off on you” I.n says hiding behind Hyunjin. “I know right I’m so proud” Leeknow says happily. I rolled my eyes sarcastically, and walked to my car. Once I arrived home I washed up and went to bed.

I got up early the next morning to get a head start on the same over due farm work I still haven’t finished. I headed down to the town’s hardware shop to pick up some tools, chicken feed and rope. I walked in the store greeting the two owners of the store. A lovely old couple who has had this shop for generations.

I had gotten everything I needed, then I noticed guy in my peripheral, contemplating on which rope to buy. “Oh don’t use that rope it’s definitely no good, you couldn’t even play tug of war with it” I laugh walking up to him not realizing who I was talking to. “Use this one instead it’s way more sturdy” I say grabbing a different rope to hand to him.

“Oh thank you I didn’t know which one to- Y/N!?” “CHAN?!” I exclaimed. “Omg how have you been, it’s been so long” Chan said eagerly. “Oh I’m good” I say disinterested. “Oh I’m good too” Chan says chuckling embarrassingly, itching the back of his neck. I roll my eyes and walk away until I felt a tug on my wrist. I look back at him with a glare, snatching my wrist back from his desperate grasp. “Don’t touch me” I say as his cheeks turn red from embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to cause any trouble Y/n just wanted to let you know I was back in town for good” Chan says looking at me with hope.

“Great, I hope you don’t disappoint this town the way you disappointed me” I say smiling sarcastically, grabbing my rope. “Wait what, how did I disappoint you?” Chan asked, as he followed me to the front of the store. “Ugh you’re still here” I say taking the items from my cart placing it on the counter. “Uh yea I am, do you need help with that?” Chan asked me with concern, seeing me somewhat struggle with the chicken feed.

“I don’t need your help” i say trying to steady my hold on the bag. “Really? It sure looks like you do.” Chan says laughing. I throw a cold glare over my shoulder as I finally put the chicken feed on the counter. “Great you finally did it” Chan says clapping sarcastically.

I scoff, pulling his hat down then pushing him back. Chan chuckled walking back to me, smacking my hand away as I tried paying for my items. “Hey what the hell are you doing you idiot” I say pushing his hand back. “Y/n let me pay, I just witnessed you struggling to pick up some feed and didn’t help its the lease I can do” Chan says grabbing both of my wrists to pulling me behind him. “I can’t believe you really paid for me, I can pay for my own shit” I say pinching his arm. “Ouch! I was trying to be nice, I wanted to help an old friend out” Chan said putting his card back in his pocket. “Yea sure old friend” I say getting my items, walking to my truck. “You ok, you know you can talk to me” Chan says helping me with my stuff.

“That’s rich coming from you” I say sarcastically, putting the stuff in the trunk. “What’s that supposed to mean, I’m still the same person I was when I was here” Chan says putting the rest of my stuff in the trunk, following me to the drivers seat of my truck. “Yea you are still the same person who left this town, left your friends, and left me” I say getting into the drivers seat. “Listen city boy unless you want get beat down with your own boots, I suggest you stay away from me” I say glaring at him, driving away leaving Chan in front of the hardware shop. “Nice to see you to Y/n” Chan mumbled.

Chapter 3 coming soon….

[itsnesss]

Heyy, can you do a miguel diaz x drunk reader? He is holding her hair back, making sure she doesn't text people, and cuddling. love you bye!!!

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 | miguel diaz × fem!reader

summary | at the party, you get drunk and feel unwell. miguel, without judging you, stays by your side, taking care of you as you go through the discomfort and embarrassment of the situation

warnings | alcohol consumption and intoxication, vomiting, embarrassment, mild body discomfort, mild language

word count | 1.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You're at a party at Miguel's house. A party that started like any other, with laughter, loud music, and the smell of pizza in the air. But now, the atmosphere has changed. People have scattered, some are dancing, others are talking in small groups. You… well, you don’t even know when you drank so much.

One drink after another, and here you are, a little dizzy, your head spinning like it's floating in the air. You feel light, but not in a good way. Suddenly, someone’s laughter brings you back to the present, and you realize you’ve wandered off from the group without noticing. Miguel is nearby, looking at something on his phone, as if waiting for you to do something.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone soft and concerned, yet with that usual playful touch.

You try to smile, but what comes out is more of a clumsy grimace.

“Of course, everything’s perfect,” you say, but your voice sounds more like a dragged whisper.

He looks at you, clearly unconvinced, and gestures for you to come closer.

“Come on, let’s sit for a bit.”

You agree, because what you want most right now is not to be standing, and you follow him to the couch where you slump down like a sack of potatoes. Miguel sits next to you but doesn’t say anything, just watches as you take your face in your hands, trying to clear the fog in your mind. You laugh, because apparently, alcohol has this ability to make you feel incredibly clumsy and at the same time hilarious.

“You know? I never thought you’d see me like this,” you murmur, watching how the lights in the room shine strangely, like they’re part of a dream.

Miguel doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he places a hand on your back, a gesture that feels more protective than anything else. You feel safe, despite being completely out of control.

“Why did you drink so much?” he asks, his voice mixed with a slight laugh, but with some concern.

You shrug, too drunk to really give a coherent answer.

“I don’t know, I just felt… I felt good, you know…” you stammer, but soon you feel the dizziness intensifying. Something inside you tells you this isn’t going to end well.

Before you can do anything, the sensation becomes more urgent, and a wave of nausea invades your stomach. In a blink, you cover your mouth with your hand, but it’s too late. The impulse is too strong, and your stomach churns. Unable to stop it, you lean to the side, vomiting on the floor nearby.

Miguel reacts immediately. He doesn’t step away, doesn’t criticize you. Instead, he gently places his hand on your back, rubbing it in circles, while you hold your head with the other hand, trying to keep things from getting worse.

“Calm down, everything will be fine,” he murmurs, and his tone has that warm, comforting quality, as if it’s no trouble for him to take care of you right now.

Your breathing is uneven, and the nausea doesn’t subside. You feel a mix of embarrassment and discomfort, but somehow, Miguel makes you feel less vulnerable. Someone else might be laughing or criticizing, but not him. He stays there, patiently.

When the vomiting finally stops, you sigh in relief and lean against him, too weak to move. Miguel quickly gets up, grabs a towel from the table, and wets it before placing it on your forehead, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’ve got you, okay?” he says softly, rubbing your back as you settle back into the couch.

The lights keep flashing, but now, instead of seeming chaotic, they feel softer, as if the world has shrunk to just you and Miguel. You lie down a bit, seeking some relief, and the guy sits beside you, never moving an inch.

Sometimes, people get uncomfortable with drunk people. Some judge you, others walk away, but he… he’s just there, being Miguel.

“Do you have your phone?” he asks calmly after a moment of silence.

You force yourself to search for it, though your fingers aren’t managing to find the right way.

“I can’t…” you try to say, but your hands aren’t cooperating.

Miguel takes the phone from your hands, with the agility and care that only he knows how to use.

“Are you sending messages to someone you shouldn’t?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You frown. You don’t know why, but you feel the need to explain yourself.

“No… I don’t know, I think not…” you stammer, and although your words don’t make much sense, Miguel seems to understand perfectly what’s going on.

He checks your phone and smiles, as if he’s realized something you don’t understand yet.

“Don’t do it,” he says, showing you the message you just sent.

It’s a silly, nonsensical message, the kind you only send when you’re completely out of it. But you don’t feel too embarrassed, because Miguel is looking at you with a smile that’s warmer than mocking.

He takes the phone from your hands and puts it away, making sure you can’t do anything more with it. Then he turns back to you, and all you can see on his face is that affection with which he’s looking at you.

“I’m staying with you,” he says, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I don’t want you to do anything else foolish, okay?”

You slowly nod, and without saying more, Miguel helps you stand up, guiding you carefully to the bathroom. The air in the hallway is cooler, which gives you some relief. You don’t need to say anything; he understands what’s happening. Before you can process what’s going on, you’re already standing in front of the toilet, and a new impulse makes you lean over, your body rebelling once again.

Miguel doesn’t hesitate to follow you. As soon as you lean over the toilet, he’s there, behind you. With a swift movement, he holds your hair gently, moving it away from your face with the same tenderness he would use if he were caring for you under any other circumstances.

“Calm down, just keep breathing,” he says, his voice firm yet gentle, as if he were the only person who could calm you down right now.

The pain in your stomach is unbearable, but the warmth of his hand on your back gives you some comfort. You feel his touch like an anchor in the midst of chaos, a gesture that makes you feel safe, even when your body is struggling to maintain control.

Every time a new tremor shakes your body, he’s there, holding you, making sure you don’t fall into either embarrassment or discomfort. Meanwhile, his fingers keep rubbing your back in small circles, a soothing touch that helps you endure the pain and discomfort.

Time seems to stand still. Between the sounds of vomiting and the distant echo of the party music, the only thing you can hear is his calm voice, which somehow gives you the courage to keep going.

When the discomfort finally passes, you lean on the sink, breathing heavily but feeling relieved. Miguel stays by your side, with that understanding expression that never leaves his face. No matter how bad or embarrassed you feel, he’s there, never leaving.

“I feel so bad…” you murmur, exhaustion beginning to take over.

He looks at you and smiles, with a soft laugh that calms you down.

“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone at some point,” he responds, as if there’s really nothing to be embarrassed about. And in that moment, you realize he’s right.

He helps you get back up, guiding you to the couch, where you finally lie down, exhausted but more relieved than before. Miguel sits beside you, always close, always there.

“Don’t worry about anything,” he says, gently stroking your hair.

[shuggymaniac]

Shuggy Modern AU ((Featuring Shamrock but not in romantic way))

Based on @hayhenna fanart

Garling Figarland had always favored his son Shamrock over Shanks, not only because he was the elder twin but also because he was the only one of the two who would take things seriously.

During their early years, Shamrock would take interest in early learning while Shanks favored his toys and make belief games (Aka: Playing pirates)

When they got older Shamrock took his studies seriously as he did his best to surpass his classmates, Shanks however, would always get in trouble for skipping classes or get into fight. The embarrassment and dread he felt every time he saw their school’s phone number show on his phone screen.

As they became teenagers he forced them to learn swordsmanship as it is part of their family heritage. Shamrock dealt with his sword with elegance and ease while as Shanks swung it around as it is were a stick he found on the ground.

But it wasn’t only Shanks’s carefree and reckless nature that infuriated him but the fact that despite his actions Shanks still managed to be at the same level as his brother!!!

His grades always seem to be perfect!

When he dealt with a sword it came to him naturally as if he was meant to hold it!

And when facing the public he somehow manages to catch their interests!!

And despite that he still favors his lowlife people he calls “Friends” when he should be rubbing elbows with future heirs and nobles!!

That’s why he always makes sure to belittle him at any given moment, punishing him by forcing to stay home or take his electric devices, force him to go to social gatherings and make him take private lessons in etiquette.

Now when a father shows such favoritism and action towards his children, the children in question should naturally hate each. Right?

Not exactly….

Now Shamrock and Shanks do have a rocky relationship because of their father but that doesn’t mean they necessarily hate one another just find each other insufferable at times. But they still have each other’s back.

When someone pisses off Shamrock Shanks it there to insult the other person, who are mostly children of other nobles. Because everyone knows Shanks’s nature not a lot is done to him. But if Shamrock tried to do the same he will be severely punished, that’s why Shanks is there to take the fall.

When Shanks wants to sneak off at night to meet his friends Shamrock would be looking the other way or make excuse when their father asks, saying he was still sleeping or “Finally showering”.

Now as young adults a lot is expected of them especially when it comes to future spouses. Although Shamrock was searching for someone he can marry and have a somewhat business like relationship. Shanks had other desires.

Shanks: “Hey Sham look!!”

Shamrock: I told you a million times not to call me that! *looks at his phone* what you went to a circus and met a clown?

Shanks: *Le Gasp* he is not a clown! That’s my boyfriend!

Shamrock: ……. What?

Shanks, with a big grin: I got myself a boyfriend.

Shamrock: Father is going to kick you out of the house and disown you when he finds out.

Shanks: Promise?

Shamrock: *Rolls his eyes* anyway, this person looks….Strange, where did you find him?

Shanks: Buggy is not strange! He is beautiful!

Shamrock: Buggy?… so you’re in a relationship with a person who paints his face with clown makeup up and calls himself Buggy?

Shanks: he doesn’t “call himself “ that’s his name.

Shamrock: of course it is, what did I even expect of you. Just make sure you don’t risk bringing him home.

One of the things Shamrock learned when dealing with his twin brother is Never EVER tell Shanks not to do something…. Because he will do it just to spite him.

Shamrock: really?

Shanks: *His face and neck have smudge lipstick kiss marks all over*…..What?

Shamrock:…. Just make sure you wash your stupid face and get the clown of out your closet before leaving the room because Father is calling for you.

[Shamrock leaves the room and Buggy peaks out of the closet]

Buggy: how did he know I was here?

Shanks: Twin telepathy, who cares just let go back to what we’re doing. *sly grin*

Buggy:But you dad is calling you what if he came here and saw us.

Shanks: then we hope he does, might give him a heart attack that will be fun to watch.

Buggy: Shanks!!!

Shanks: Fine fine, I’m going.

[opashoo]

Do you have any advice on how not to get so overwhelmed when it comes to conlanging? I get overwhelmed way too fast with the information I read on the conlang subreddit David j Petersons book I have or YouTubers I just get burned out.

I start out on my phonological sounds and sometimes I add a new sound or get rid of a few I find unnecessary phonotactics is where I end up getting stuck/frustrated and stoping completely. I don’t know why but my brain just cannot compute when it comes to phonotactics no matter how many videos I watch of people explaining it or looking through Wikipedia just doesn’t register in my brain. I’m assuming this is happening because I’m autistic which is even more frustrating I’m so slow when it comes to learning or I end up comparing myself to others for understanding/learning things faster than me. I get motivated to make a language and then I get overwhelmed it’s just a repeat cycle to the point where I just want to give up. I’m not even sure if it’s possible for me to make a conlang at this point. And then I stumble across something I never heard before from someone else said and I stress about that too and I constantly worry I’m going to make a conlang I spent so much time on only for someone to point out that it’s a reflex and I need to scrap the whole thing and start all over :(

So I have two big pieces of advice that have helped enormously with this sort of thing and they are to work small (the big picture will come together) and to know your goals. It's gonna be a lot so I'm putting it past a readmore. I also talk a bit about my own project, but it's all the way at the bottom.

First, focus on one thing at a time and take small steps. As your familiarity with your own work grows, the bigger picture will start to come together, just focus on one thing at a time.

If there's a linguistic phenomenon or grammatical construction or concept or something that you want to explore but you don't understand it entirely, then just focus on that for a while. I like to make toy languages, really, really small and simple conlangs with extremely simply words and sounds that are meant to focus specifically on one or two concepts at a time. I don't worry about anything else but those concepts; no phonotactics, no worrying about how pretty or ugly the language sounds, I don't worry about naturalism or sound changes, I don't focus on any of these things unless those things are what I'm making the toy language to explore.

My current project, Yongasabi, has a consonantal root system inspired by Arabic, but understanding the concept in a satisfactory manner where I felt confident including it in a project that I plan on publishing took actual years. I made three separate toylangs, one of which I revised and overhauled three times before eventually using that as a basis for Yongasabi. I needed that time and work to focus on absolutely nothing but sound changes and how a system like this evolves in natural languages. While I was playing around with sound changes in one toy language, in another toy language I was also trying to figure out how a system of derivation like this could into systems of nouns, adjectives and verbs. I did not focus on anything else with those toy language but those core concepts because to do any more would be overwhelming and confusing.

It's the same when you're working on a more complete language project, you build it little by little. Focus on one aspect at a time, one concept at a time. As you become more familiar with your own work and you use and apply it, you will start to see the things that work and the things that don't, and you'll be able to make decisions accordingly. It'll happen over time, but you have to avoid stressing about the whole thing.

And if there's something causing you trouble that's stopping you from making the language, there's no one stopping you from avoiding it until you're ready. I never actually properly wrote down Yongasabi's sound inventory, assimilations, and allophones until the grammar document was at 204 pages because I hate working on that stuff. :huntershruggy: That's usually the first thing a lot of people like to work on for some reason, but I hate it and I just went by instinct for 204 pages and five months. If I let that stop me, I never would have made any progress. There were some things I had to go back and update because of it, and that took extra time, but extra work with progress is better than no work and no progress.

Second, understand your goals.

A piece of advice I got from David Peterson's videos and several other conlanging youtubers is to know why you're making your language and what your endgoal is. As long as you understand what your goal is, you can prioritize and decide what steps you need to take to get there. You need to understand what you want or else you'll never be able to work towards it, and you reduce the chances that you'll be happy with it.

For example, I've known some conlangers whose goal is to make some kind of secret, diegetically constructed language for a fictional setting, or maybe a secret language to use with their friends, but they get caught up on rules of naturalism and worry about naturalistic development. You don't need naturalism if the point of your language is that it didn't develop naturally. That's just a waste of your time.

Conversely, I've known some naturalistic conlangers who feel obligated to add every new concept they come across with the idea that "Well if it evolved in a real world language, then it must have some use to real speakers and thus belongs in this language" but they miss the point that a natural language doesn't need to contain every naturally developed phenomenon. In the end they're left with something bloated, hugely redundant, and incredibly disappointing to them.

I've also met conlangers whose goal is to make a naturalistic conlang for a fictional setting only to be hugely dissatisfied when they follow the rules of naturalistic development and it makes a language that doesn't sound the way they want, or it doesn't evoke the feeling they want, or they find that their progress is unnecessarily bogged down by learning rules they find boring, because they don't actually want a naturalistic language, they want an artlang that services their story.

In all of these cases, the authors of these conlangs didn't understand their goals. They did work they didn't like to make end products they were dissatisfied with because they failed to meet their real goals. These goals can shift over time, but in the end that's fine as long as it makes you happy. You need to be making your conlang for you and your purposes! You say that you've gotten stuck on phonotactics and that's stopped you before, but Yongasabi doesn't even have phonotactics outside of literally one single rule, and it's that there can never be more than two consonants in a cluster. I hate working with phonotactics too, so I made my language in a way that let me minimize that work. It doesn't interfere with my goal so I'm totally fine with that.

I know this is a lot but it really does boil down to those two points: work small so that you don't get overwhelmed, and know your goals so you can set your priorities. My goals with Yongasabi were:

Make a language that allows me to explore this fictional culture I made for the slugcats of Rain World

Derive sounds from Mongolian, Korean and Filipino (And a little bit of Vietnamese)

Explore grammatical concepts that I find cool from these languages and others (My main focus was converbs and agglutination in tandem with a consonantal root system, but in general there's a lot of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean in the grammar)

Make sure I like the sound of the language

My main guiding forces were:

Have a rough basis in naturalistic sound changes, but if it leads to sounds or situations I don't like, change it; the readers won't notice because they don't see the development process

If something starts to feel weird or stops fitting in with the rest of the language, don't be afraid to change it or get rid of it entirely because that in a way reflects organic change in the language (and extra work for progress is better than no work for no progress)

If there's an opportunity for the culture to express itself in the language, take it

If you want to judge how well I've realized those goals, you can check it out here (I'm making this post free to reblog unlike the last one because the link is hidden under all this text and 1st edition release is super close anyway I am so excited).

Anyway, good luck! I hope my advice helps!

[amcrtentias]

the muscles of lily's jaw become tense at james' reminder , forcing the rest of her body to not flinch at the sore recollection of any and every time she had been branded as anything but a witch. ❝ i certainly do , you are right . ❞ no matter how the single word never affected lily ( for she knew where she belonged in this world ) , she knew of james' character and how they weighed the responsibility of seeking justice on their back no matter the strain . that thought alone surges an unfamiliar pang in her chest - ❝ i would like to think there are countless more wixen out there that think the same as us , but we've - ❞ whatever the order of the phoenix was now ; disorganized and small . ❝ if they're organizing now , we should too , no ? you acting alone is not productive . ❞ nor safe , lily wants to say because as much as she would like to join in the fight , she did not have the same defensive training that james did . she knew the basics, but it would not get her far if there was a match . there , the pang twists and churns in the middle of chest once more as it begged for relief . when the two were head girl and head boy at hogwarts , the trouble was as mundane as discovering students breaking rules but now , it was terribly different stakes . ❝ i could never tell if you chased trouble like an old friend or if it always found you , ❞ she says with an ease only james could provide , even if they one of the greatest sources of affliction too . the nostalgia provides that very relief lily needed , eyes crinkling at the memories of how younger her had always worked herself up at the most odd things . ❝ and you wondered why i spent so many years exasperated by your presence . ❞ lily banters , recounting the numerous times she would complain about james , about their arrogance, their foolishness and everything else in between . the two were so opposite that it seemingly appeared the two were made to balance each other . ❝ not that i did anything to get out of her good graces , but i digress . it was absolutely infuriating to witness your charms work on her too . ❞ his gaze holds her tenderly for a long moment, the quick pick of her breathing forced to match theirs almost suddenly, especially now that her hand is cradled in his. even if there was still a part of her mind that was still plagued with paranoia, lily felt compelled to believe them. just sitting here did lily finally feel the safest she had felt for the previous hour . he had even thought of her best friend , lily thinks to herself , the one person she had promised to never leave their side and suddenly , she's sitting in the flat that belonged to another person that lily spent too much denying feelings for . ❝ - what ? ❞ her consciousness brings her back to the present , the charm he had on her suddenly vanished even if lily still didn't remove her hand from his . ❝ what kind of fireplace ? ❞ she asks , already feeling the laugh fall off her lips before they answer . lily felt bad for even drawing her thoughts away from her friends so fast , but james was looking at her with the upmost seriousness and - ❝ an electric fireplace ? ❞ she enunciated, only realizing what they meant to say when lily tore her gaze away and saw it on the other side of the room . no wonder if it felt colder in here - ❝ while i'm not particularly sure it'd support floo regardless, you haven't got it connected. a little power and you'd be able to have your cloak back.❞

Lily doesn’t flinch, but James senses the change in her anyway, attuned to so many of the nuances of her emotions after nearly eight years spent in her orbit (waiting, wanting). Perhaps he shouldn't have brought up the past, not when the memory of it clearly still hurts her, but in spite of everything else that's transpired between the pair of them, it's Snape's slander of Lily's character and subsequent betrayal of her trust that he finds most unforgivable. As if something so trivial as blood would make her anything less than... well, everything. "I hope you're right," he says with a frown, raking a hand through the dark tangle of his hair, "But if there are others like us, where the hell are they? Because, right now, the Order's never felt smaller."

“Bit of both, maybe?” James suggests with a laugh, “I think we might be made for each other - trouble and me, I mean.” But the other thing, too. What had started as a silly crush, a childish game to amuse himself, has long-since developed into something he has no hope of ever coming back from. Really, he should've known better - when has he ever done anything by halves? How could he ever have thought he'd be able to walk away from her with his heart still his own? "What, you mean you didn't find my endless smart-alecking and showing off charming? Evans, I'm shocked." It's behind them now, ancient history, but with the unpleasant side effect of ruining his chances with her forever. It would have been a fitting punishment, and well-deserved, had Lily not seen fit to grant him the chance to earn her friendship instead. Her capacity for forgiveness astounds him, sometimes.

For a moment there is silence, punctuated only by distant London traffic and the faint whisper of skin-on-skin as James runs his thumb back and forth across the palm of Lily's hand, hoping the gesture will reassure her, if his words aren't enough. In the end, it's his failure to internalise muggle vocabulary that brings a smile back to her face, and that's more than okay with him. "That's what I said," James says, blowing past his mistake with an airy wave of his free hand, "I dunno about leaving these things plugged in, though. I read in Muggle Studies that elektrikicity can cause fires, and I wouldn't want my flat to burn down - I'd lose my deposit, for starters." A quick glance around said flat reveals that none of James's appliances are actually plugged in. The fridge is kept cold with a glacius charm, his kettle is the kind you heat on the stovetop, and even his record player is a portable one. Magical solutions are just more convenient, and the fact that turning on the fireplace would mean Lily giving him his cloak back has nothing to do with it.

[kingofanemptyworld]

I’m still thinking about Umemiya’s team as well as everyone else involved in the AU but! For now! Take our beloved blushy boy!

Current Team:

Absol (Partner Pokemon)

Riolu

Eevee

Togepi

Pichu

To address the obvious theme here: friendship. Yes, they’re also all adorable and Sakura deserves cute things, but primarily they’re a good representation of his canon-typical character growth — as in, you’re going to see these babies evolve at crucial moments during Sakura’s journey, and almost exclusively to show he’s opened his heart to another traveling companion.

And then there’s Absol, my personal favorite misunderstood Pokemon. A so-called harbinger of disaster who’s actually vital to preventing loss of life and resources. It’s my favorite pick for Sakura because it’s just so damn fitting for who he is and how his friends come to see him.

I’m leaving the last spot open for now but I’m leaning towards having him run into Type: Null at some point (don’t ask me how, this is all vibes and no plot at this point). It’s another friendship evolution so it’s especially good for this line-up, plus I appreciate that its in-game relevance lines up with Sakura’s canon themes again.

[thebookishwallflower]

as a possibly autistic but definitely neurodivergent person i get cats, like goddamn

people always compare autistic people to cats as a joke but there are some real similarities that don’t actually mean anything in reality

it does however mean i look get along with cats really well and get really confused why other people can’t just learn to read some (pretty obvious, in my opinion) body language stuff and get along with cats too

like watch one video, read one article, for goodness sake look at an infographic, and you might learn some really useful stuff

like here’s where to let cats if you don’t know them, here’s how to approach them, also, they can get over stimulated when being pet so learn the signs and leave ‘em alone

‘i keep getting scratched and bit’ well mf the cat bristled, gave you a warning bat, was waving their tail anxiously, had their ears back, tried to back away, and hissed

you decided to keeping on petting the obviously in distress cat, like tf you except bitch??

anyway that’s how autistics are treated too

my mom treats cats and i the same way and one of us even has words. it’s not great, and it’s damn common too

[rosiereveries]

Regency!John Price who inherited his brothers duke title, because his brother died without an heir. John was the second oldest son, and he never thought about being the successor to the title, so he chose a military career.

He was a captain who fought wars and won them, not some lord who fancied balls and dressed in fancy clothing. But now he doesn’t have a choice. John comes back home after he has been badly injured in the battle, he was shot in his leg, and he had to use a wheelchair for quite some time.

When he comes home, to the new house and staff who pities him, he doesn’t feel like a man he once was. At the first ball he must attend he can see everyone eyes on him as he stumbles with his cane. He absolutely hates it. So, he makes a plane, he has to quickly marry some girl, make an heir and go live to the countryside where everyone will leave him alone.

You were on the other hand the youngest daughter of noble family. You weren’t rich, but your sisters and brothers married well, so you could keep good family reputation. Now it was your turn to marry, and as you were introduced to the society you quickly came to the realization, that you will probably end as a wife of some old man, who could be your grandfather.

So, when your cousin Johnny mentions, that his loyal friend and mentor John Price is looking for a wife you are interested. He tells you that John is a duke now and that he wants to get married as soon as possible. From Johnnys stories you know that John is a good man, who will hopefully respect you and treat you well.

You don’t get to meet your husband till the day of the wedding. The whole engagement is short and feels very official. He writes you a letter with things that you should know about your new home and your mother and sisters help you prepare for the married life.

When you finally see your future husband standing in the church, you’re quite surprised. He is very handsome, older than you, probably in his late 30s, but you’re sure that if he waited a little, he could find a better wife that you will be. John on the other hand is smitten by you, he also doesn’t understand why you would choose to marry him.

After the ceremony you immediately leave the town. He is very quiet the whole ride to his mansion and even thought you have many questions you stay quiet too. You arrive late in the night, exhausted from the long travel, but the only thing that concerns you is the wedding night. You heard a lot of horrible stories told by maids about their first nights with their husbands. The only thing that John does is that he shows you your room, tells you which butler to call if you have any troubles and he is gone. You’re left in the huge mansion alone and confused.

The breakfast takes place in the dining room. You sit at the table so far from John that you would have to shout to get his attention. He ignores you most of the time. At first you don’t mind it, you finally have some sort of freedom, you explore the land, the house and you find a huge library with many books you want to read.

But after some time, you start to crave his attention. The maids don’t want to be your friends, they think that it is highly inappropriate, you as a couple don’t attend any balls and there is no noble lady in the near distance you could visit and be friends with.

So, you start to write a diary, you write about how you feel and how would you like your husband to actually acknowledge you. Sometimes you also mention that you find him very attractive and the romance novels that you found in the library don’t help your imagination.

One time you forget your diary in the library and John accidentally picks it up. He thinks its some book that he hasn’t read yet. When he realizes that it is your handwriting, he knows that he should put it down, it is not right to invade your privacy. But then he sees his name there and he must know what you write about him.

He reads the whole paragraphs about how your meetings in the dinning room leaves you all flustered and how you crave his attention. He didn’t think that a young girl like you could find him attractive, and he wanted to be a good husband and leave you as much freedom as you could want. He didn’t want to pressure you into any kind of intimate relationship even though he was pressured by the rest of his family to have an heir. John leaves your diary where he found it, without any evidence that he read it.

The next morning, he invites you to eat breakfast with him in the garden. It is far more intimate, and you finally have a conversation with him. He asks you questions about your hobbies, your family and if you like it here.

It finally feels like he is courting you and you leave every encounter with him with rosy cheeks and butterflies in your stomach. He invites you on walks where he holds your hand as you tell him about your day or about the new book you just left. You spend the whole days together learning about each other.  

John tells you stories about the war, the battles he fought. His leg heals up perfectly and now, that he is healthy again, he takes you with him when he goes riding. When you ask him if he likes the hight society he tells you the truth. He tells you how much he despises the formal event and the balls and suddenly it all makes sense to you.

You finally understand why he wanted to marry so quickly and why you live alone in the middle of nowhere. You tell him that you loved the dancing and the beautiful gown you could wear at balls but now you don’t mind the quiet life. Now you have him and that is all that matters.  

One evening he makes a ball just for you. He invites a musician to play, he buys you an expensive gown and you pretend that you are at some formal event. It’s just the two of you dancing, laughing and drinking expensive champaign he bought for the ball. You dance the whole night and after he walks you to your bedroom he kisses you. It is a soft kiss, just your lips barely touching, but it starts a fire in you, and you want more.

When John realizes that you’re not pulling away he deepens the kiss. He knows that you have no experiences, and he wants to show you that he will treat you well. He spends the night with you, showing you in many ways how much he loves you.

And when you finally fall asleep, he thinks how lucky he is to find a wife like you. When you wake up and you see your husband sleeping in your bad you are very grateful that you accidentally left your diary in the library open on the page that mentioned how hot he was. Such a shame you didn’t come up with the plan a little earlier.

Masterlist

[wriokitty]

Sukuna who was never close to his twin brother and never cared about the pipsqueak runt of a kid who’s his nephew.

He doesn’t care and doesn’t want to be associated with that bullshit. His brother doesn’t take the hint ever and invites him to everything. “My sons’s birthday party” this and “my son’s kindergarten graduation” that. What sort of graduation is meant for a kindergartener anyway? That’s a load of nonsense. But Jin is as annoying as ever with insisting on keeping contact and trying to get Sukuna involved and he hates it until by some tragedy out of nowhere, his brother and sister and law are dead. Yuuji’s left an orphan and no one can care for that kid because there’s no one left.

No one except Sukuna.

They ask him, too. The social workers. They turn to him and say some pitiful script about being “the only family left to take custody of him.” He knows pretty well what’s going to happen to the pipsqueak if he doesn’t agree. The foster care system and the possible horrors such a bright (even if annoying) kid could face makes him question saying no for a second. He’s surprisingly conflicted.

And it’s out of sheer impulsiveness alone does he end up as a single, grumpy, begrudging uncle who’s got custody of a child he never really cared to know in the first place.

And then he meets you.

Sweet, bubbly, warm, and so weirdly happy. Dictionary definition of what an elementary school teacher should be. Yuuji’s absolute favorite person on the planet as he waves hello at you enthusiastically every time that Sukuna drops him off and goodbye every time that Sukuna picks him up.

“I heard his new guardian would be his uncle. It’s nice to meet you,” you murmur to him the first day he picks up Yuuji after school, a look of pure melancholy on your face as you stare at him with an unearthly amount of compassion and sympathy. “Yuuji’s parents were wonderful people. I’m really sorry for your loss.”

“Wasn’t that close with either of them,” he grunts out. You look over at where Yuuji’s gleefully playing on the slide of the playground. Too young and innocent to realize that’s been ripped away from him. Too naive to understand what it means to grieve. Too hopeful about the world around him to realize just how cruel it can really be.

“Oh,” you murmur, nodding slowly.

He thinks that your unnaturally kind demeanor will finally be broken for a split second of judgement. What sort of heartless bastard doesn’t feel an ounce of grief for his own brother’s death? Instead, however, you seem to look at him with some weird sense of wonder.

“You’re a good uncle for stepping up regardless,” you say softly, “it’s more than what most would do in your shoes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he clicks his teeth, unbearably uncomfortable with how weirdly sentimental this all is. “He’s just a five year old. How much trouble could he be?”

You raise a brow in amusement, eyeing him like he’s got one hell of a surprise waiting for him. He doesn’t like the vague way you hum, “Yeah. How could such a little human cause trouble, right?”

“I’ve got it under control,” he grumbles, a little annoyed that you seem to think that out of all things, a simple child would be enough to cause Sukuna any issues.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you smile.

Yuuji calls to you from the distance, squealing look what I can do! before he does a rather clumsy spin. Sukuna raises an unimpressed brow. You clap and praise him with an exaggerated gasp of approval.

It’s oddly endearing, he thinks to himself—you, not the kid. The kid’s barely tolerable.

“C’mon, you brat,” Sukuna calls. And then he looks at you and gruffly adds, “And I don’t need help.”

“Okay,” you grin brightly. It almost feels like you’re saying that a little sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ve got this parent thing down.”

Before he can even correct you that he’s an uncle, not parent, Yuuji comes running over on clumsy, short little legs and grabs onto Sukuna’s hand.

“C’mon, Uncle ‘Kuna!”

Sukuna doesn’t miss the way your eyes soften. Weirdly enough, he feels this odd sort of squeeze in his chest that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe he’s just getting old—that has to be it.