#no matter how many i've already eaten | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mydarlingclaudia · 4 months ago

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no shirt, no blouse

note : I've only ever written for Leon like, once in my life and no matter how many times I tried to fix it tumblr kept my blog and what I uploaded hidden, this is my third time trying this again so I'm not gonna be too surprised if the same thing happens. I'm sorry if Leon is ooc, this is just a Leon comfort fic

wc : 2k

desc : you taking care of Leon when he comes home from a mission. established relationship, fluff, comfort, Leon being kinda head over heels for you, mentions of injuries, re4r Leon (but not specifically his mission in Spain), pet names (baby), gn!reader, not proofread.

To you, Leon was always sweet.

In the quiet evenings when he'd come home from a mission, that's when his shell would break and he'd let himself rest. When he'd crawl under the covers with you and hold you close to his chest while he laid on his cold side of the bed that the two of you shared, that was when he knew he was officially home. Hearing you talk about how badly you had missed him and how happy you are to have him back as the tips of your fingers lightly run over any cuts on his face was like a dream to him.

His shirts would always smell a little bit like you whenever he came home, so would his pillow, he’d never admit to you that he loved it. By the time that you’d fall asleep, after the two of you ate and you washed his hair for him in the bath, he’d still be awake, despite the late hour. He’d sit and watch your chest rise and fall as you slept, his hands resting on your sides underneath the sweatshirt you slept in, the one you had stolen from him.

He had missed you, you knew that much. He knows that there’s always a possibility that he won’t be able to come home to you, or something that would keep him away from you for much longer than either of you hoped. But no matter how long it took for him to get back to you, or the amount of damage his body had taken while working, you’d always greet him with a smile. You push away all your questions and worries for the next day, content on just having him back in your arms, feeling his heart beat underneath your palm while he holds onto you tightly.

You would never be able to read Leon's mind, you thought it would be difficult to do even if you possessed that kind of power, but when his face softens as he looks at you while you help him wash away his aches and pains, you have a good idea of what's going through his head.

This time is no different.

You're sitting on the edge of your bathtub, combing your fingers through Leon's wet hair while he sits in the warm water. He hadn't said much since he walked through the door, just a simple, "Missed you, love you." You never pushed him to talk too much when he gets home, you just want him to tell you if he's hurt badly, which he hardly ever is.

There are bruises splattered across his body, all in different shades of purple and yellow. There were a few gashes that had been stitched up before he came home to you, thankfully no broken bones, just a few more cuts along his face and arms, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. You knew that the government would do a checkup on him after he finishes a mission, but you liked to look him over again in the odd chance that they missed anything or if he was trying to hide a wound from you.

He still hadn't eaten yet, but you wouldn't let it stay that way for long, you'd let him lay down in bed while you put some food together for the two of you. But he likes to sit in the tub for at least thirty minutes before he either decides he's hungry or the water's starting to cool down, you'd stay with him however long he wanted, though.

Leon shifted slightly in the tub, moving closer to you than he already was to rest his head against your thigh, the water from his hair seeping through your jeans while the soap clung to the fabric. He brought his arm up to rest over your knees, letting more water soak through your jeans while some of it ran down his fingers and onto the bathmat outside the tub. You smiled down at him, one of your hands leaving his hair to run down over the back of his neck and his shoulder blades.

You let your fingers trace over a bruise the size of your fist on the back of his shoulder, pressing against it gently. "How'd you get this one?" You whispered to him, watching as he rolled his shoulder slightly in response to your touch.

"I fell," He murmured against your thigh.

"You fell?" You giggled, letting your hand leave his shoulder and return to his hair while your gaze lingered on a few gashes on his back that had already been stitched up.

"It was raining and I slipped, sorry that I don't have a cool story to tell you." He huffed, nuzzling his face into the side of your thigh as he moved his arm back into the tub and instead let his hand rest on your knee, giving it a light squeeze.

"Do any of them have cool stories?"

"If you think me getting my ass kicked is cool, then yeah, I guess some of them do." You chuckled slightly in response, pulling your hands out of his hair to rinse the remaining shampoo off in the bath water.

"I'll ice your bruises for you later," You offered, bringing the cup you kept in the tub down to the water to fill it. "Tip your head back."

"Too cold," He mumbled softly, detaching himself from your leg and tipping his head back while you moved one hand to cover his eyes as you poured the water over his soapy hair.

"Yeah? You'd rather just let them heal for the next four days instead of three?"

"I can ice them whenever, it's no big deal."

"I get that, I'm just trying to take care of you." You say softly, removing your hand from his eyes and setting the cup of water back on the edge of the tub.

"I know, baby, I know." He quickly reassures you, laying his head back down on your thigh and pressing a kiss to your clothed leg. "It just doesn't need to get done tonight. Thank you, though."

"Yeah, of course." You nod, resting your hand on the back of his neck, letting your thumb trace over the skin that lays there.

"C'mon, let's go lay down." He pressed a few more kisses to the fabric of your wet jeans before he allowed you to stand, grabbing him a towel and holding it out to him as he got out of the tub. Leon dried himself off carefully, his body facing you as you leaned against the bathroom sink, watching him quietly.

Leon moves out of your way as you go to pull out the drain plug at the bottom of the tub, "What do you wanna eat?" You groan out softly as you stand back up, placing the bath plug down next to the cup on the edge of the tub. "If you want, I can make those little kraft mac'n'cheese microwave packages for us."

"Yes, please." He sighs softly as he wraps his towel around his waist, then grabbing you by the shoulders to place a soft kiss on your lips. "Don't take too long."

"I won't," You smile, leaning forward to kiss him gently. The kiss is only a second long, Leon chases after your lips as you pull away before he catches himself and freezes, you give his bicep a slight squeeze as you pull away and open the bathroom door.

You listen to the faint shuffling noises of Leon getting dressed in your bedroom down the hall as you microwave the small, plastic bowls of mac'n'cheese. Leon never asked you to put too much effort into cooking whenever he came home. Cereal, ramen, even just some slices of cheese and pepperoni would be fine for Leon as long as he'd be next to you in bed by the end of the night.

Leon was waiting for you underneath the covers of your shared bed as you entered your bedroom with your small dinner in each hand. He graciously accepts the food you hand to him, resting the hot bowl down on the blanket, watching you intently as you begin to change into your pajamas.

"I missed you," He mumbled to you, his eyes resting on your face as you adjusted your clothes.

"I know, you told me already." You smiled at him, sitting against the pillows on your side of the bed as Leon immediately moved to cuddle into your side.

"Thought you'd like to hear me say it again."

"I mean, I guess," You shrug jokingly, poking at your mac'n'cheese with your fork. Leon snorted slightly and rolled his eyes, leaning against you to press a kiss to your jaw before he began digging at his food.

Leon always watched you while the two of you ate in bed, focusing on the way your lips curled around your fork instead of focusing on the bowl in his hands. His eyes would trail from your lips to your eyes, patiently waiting for you to finish eating so you could pay attention to him again. There wasn’t a tv in your room, so you’d often fill the quiet void by telling him about your day or the things that you had done while he was away. He’d listen intently, even if what you were saying wasn’t all that interesting, he didn’t ask follow-up questions most of the time, instead focusing on the way your lips moved and the sound of your voice. Your days were mostly all the same; work was boring, you missed him, you went on a longer walk than usual and got a new treat from that bakery down the street, Leon loved hearing it all. He’d tell you a little a bit about his recent mission, leaving out most of the parts where he came too close to death, instead telling you about whatever scenery he saw that he deemed good enough for you to like and how well he fought.

Both yours and Leon’s bowls of mac’n’cheese are long finished by now, both of the bowls and forks left to rest on top of your bedside table until you threw them out the next day. You rested your head on his left bicep, tucked in close to his chest while you held his right hand in both your hands, your fingers running over his bruised knuckles. It was eleven, maybe eleven-thirty at night, you were well past tired, but Leon let you keep rambling on.

“I’m really happy you’re home.” You yawned, your grip on his hand and wrist tightening as you curled into him further.

“Me too,” He smiled, pulling your hands closer to his chest, he squeezed your hand back, shifting slightly to let you get more comfortable. “Go to sleep.”

“No,” Leon chuckled softly at the faint whine in your voice, watching as you let go of his hand and wrap them around his back, his hand that you were holding captive finding purchase on the skin of your waist underneath his old sweatshirt that you took as your own.

“I’m gonna be here in the morning,” He whispered as he kissed your forehead, running his hand up and down your side. “Just go to bed, baby. Don’t you need your beauty sleep?”

“Yeah, but I missed you.”

“I know that, I missed you, too. But you also look really tired right now and it’s late.” He squeezed your waist, moving his arm out from underneath your head to wrap around your shoulders. “I could listen to you talk on and on for hours, but right now I wanna fall asleep next to you. We can sleep in tomorrow, I’ll spend all day with you.”

“M’kay…” You yawned again, letting his quiet voice coax you further into your drowsiness. “You’re not hurt too bad?”

“No, you’re a great doctor.”

“Alright,” You nodded, lifting your head slightly to kiss him. “Goodnight.” You murmured against his lips, feeling him smile and run his hand along your spine.

“Sweet dreams, go to sleep now.” He whispered, tucking you back into his chest, feeling your heart beat against his chest as your breathing evened-out, signaling you falling asleep in his arms again.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader

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queensunshinee · 1 month ago

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His favorite toy- Part 4 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), our favorite toxic relationship is back.

Word Count: 6.1k

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

This one can stand on its own, but I recommend reading the rest :)

His favorite toy- Part 4:

"What are you doing here?" I tried to sound composed. My heart couldn't stop racing at a speed I never wanted it to beat again. A speed reserved for one person only. And no matter how many years passed or how out of place he would seem in my world, Art Donaldson entered my life like he was the boss. Like he was paying my salary. With exaggerated confidence and an aura that made me blush. A smile that made my lips tremble.

I was painfully aware that my mascara was smudged after a too-long day, and that I had taken my shirt out of my skirt after lunch. Painfully aware that I had taken off my shoes an hour ago because pacing around the room in heels made it hard to think. Painfully aware that he was seeing me in all my flaws now. Years after the last time we met, and he was just as smug.

"I was in the area, and Patrick mentioned something about you working around here..." he said, as if everything in that sentence made sense. As if the fact that I stayed in touch with Patrick made sense. I nodded, trying to somehow control this ridiculous situation. I'm not supposed to react this chaotically to Art Donaldson. I'm 28. I'm not a 19-year-old girl. I do morning meditations. I drink green smoothies and ginger shots. I'm a fucking queen. But I don't feel particularly royal when I remember the coffee stain on my shirt, or the half-eaten avocado sandwich I bought from the café downstairs. It was awful. Both the sandwich and the café. I’m pretty sure the regular barista hates me because once I corrected one of my orders. Ever since, he's been out to get me. It’s a nightmare. I've considered changing jobs more times than I'd like to admit because of it.

"That sounds... completely normal," I mumbled, and he chuckled in response. One of his legs found its natural place over the other, and his fingers played with one of his billion rings in a disturbingly nonchalant way. "Is a tennis player supposed to have that many rings?" I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, knowing how stupid it sounded. Hating myself a little for how stupid it sounded. "I don’t play with them, and they’re beautiful," he shrugged. "They’re ridiculous," I rolled my eyes, trying to recover from this topic of conversation. "Yours is ridiculous," he shot back playfully, looking directly at my ring. At the small diamond (Art probably thinks it’s too small- well, fuck him).

"Oh, this?" I asked, and now we were both looking at it. I liked it until about three seconds ago. Until he walked into the room and stared at it like it was filled with snake venom. It felt like it weighed as much as my entire body. It felt like it was burning my hand from the inside. My blood boiled beneath it, reminding me that all my plans just went to hell. A reminder that I was crazy to even try making plans. "It’s pretty, delicate," I could hear the mockery in his tone. No matter how many years passed, I would always recognize every nuance in his voice. Every rise and fall in octaves. Every unnecessary affectation. He smiled the way he did when he tried to get under my skin—five minutes hadn’t passed, and he’d already succeeded. How embarrassing. What a failure as a person. A failure as a woman. A failure to feminism. Sitting in my office with a coffee stain on my shirt, while my ex from college critiques my choices like some kind of fraudulent fortune-teller. Like God sent him to help me make some life-changing decision.

"Why are you here?" I asked again, trying to maintain control and not snap at him. After all, we hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. What good would it do to lash out at him? What would it accomplish to tell him about the therapy sessions, about the years I didn’t believe anything good was coming my way at all? About the fact that because of him, I didn’t believe I could ever be anyone’s first choice. "Why did you stay in touch with Patrick?" he asked, and for a moment, it sounded like his tough mask cracked. Like his defenses crumbled and his heart was laid bare. Like we were 20 again, and he was holding my face, explaining how scared he was to let me go.

"He insisted," I shrugged. The day after that party, Tashi's accident happened. Some would call it karma, but I’d say it was just bad luck. Because even though she hurt me without even knowing my name, I never wanted her career to end before it even began. And everyone was sad that day—Patrick, because he felt guilty, Tashi, because her knee twisted in the air, and Art, because he lost a friend and the girl who forgave him for all his bullshit. Aka me. But he won what really mattered. He got Tashi. Patrick found me that day in the library, refusing to wallow in my own misery, and somehow, he managed to entwine his miserable life with mine. He managed to secure a spot on my couch from time to time. He managed to impress me with lame jokes about his pathetic life, or maybe about mine.

And life didn’t turn out the way I planned. I didn’t discover a cure for cancer or make it to space by age 25. My apartment was crappy. So fucking crappy. But there were funny moments, and I only occasionally followed Art’s career. I only followed his love life when his face and Tashi’s were plastered on billboards. That could never have been me. It would never have worked. It wasn’t meant to be, I’d tell myself every time I was filled with self-pity. Every time I worked a temporary job selling skincare products or transcribing lectures for students. Every time I felt lost. I knew he wouldn’t have settled for someone like me in the long run.

He and Patrick made up two years ago, which was ironic. Because what’s the point of maintaining my friendship with Patrick if not to have at least one person in my life who understands the pain of knowing Art Donaldson? Of knowing that once, he was a part of your life, and it felt amazing. Almost unreal. Almost spiritual. But they made up, and Patrick promised me he wouldn’t talk about me with the smug bastard sitting in front of me right now. He promised and didn’t keep it. Well, here’s someone who’s never eating pasta at the restaurant near my place on my dime ever again.

"He insisted?" Art looked amused, and I just shrugged again in response. I knew he wanted more details, but I wanted him to take a headfirst dive into a volcano. Desires are ridiculous. "He insisted," I repeated, and this time he laughed. Actually laughed. "It's like you two have a contract not to tell me anything. How am I supposed to work with that?" He spoke as if we’d been friends for years. As if there hadn’t been a rupture, a break, and devastation. As if I didn’t have the image of him leaving me at that party seared into my brain. As if my heart hadn’t shattered into pieces because of him more times than I could count.

"I want you to handle my money," he suddenly said. "Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow, looking at him as if he'd lost a lobe of his brain. "You're a financial advisor, right? Be my financial advisor," he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, all while glancing at the pathetic office I was sitting in. "You don’t want me to be your financial advisor, Art," I almost snorted in disbelief. "You haven’t spoken to me in ten years, and now you know what I want?" he asked, allowing himself to raise an eyebrow in return. "This is a big firm; I can recommend someone who’d be happy to take you on," I tried to fake a smile. "I'll go to your boss and tell him I’m willing to let only you handle my account, and that you’re refusing. I’m sure he’d be thrilled. I Googled him—Albert looks like a guy who’d love to lose a wealthy client," and I saw that spark in his eyes. Challenging. Almost childish. The kind that said, 'Let’s see what you do. You’ll lose.'

"That’s a terrible idea," I declared. "Keeping in touch with Patrick and not me is a terrible idea. Managing my investments will give you some good money," he said, gesturing with his hands, and for the first time, I realized how big his hands were. "Are you bored with your life, Donaldson?" I asked, trying to figure out what I was dealing with here. "Come on, Peaches, you have to admit you missed me, at least a little." And for a change, his smile was genuine. He looked like every word I said could hurt him. "Like I miss my appendix," I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. "I’m looking forward to working with you." He suddenly stood up and extended his hand for a handshake, as if that wasn’t utterly ridiculous. "I’m looking forward to it like a deer looks forward to being eaten by a lion. It’s on my wish list," I said, and he just laughed again. A laugh that was too real. The kind that made tears gather in his eyes.

An hour after he left my dingy office, my heart was still racing at an unreasonable pace. The kind that made me wonder if there was a defibrillator in the building. I tried to remember if I shook his hand at the end of the meeting. I couldn’t. . . . As he left your office, Art felt like he does after a long tennis match. One that he won. A thought detached from reality, but he allowed himself those kinds of thoughts now. He was a new person. He believed in victories before they even happened. And seeing you after so many years in real life, not in blurry Facebook pictures, felt like a victory. You hadn’t changed much. The years had even given you a more sophisticated look—subtle yet full of curves. Your eyes still looked at him with that same spark. With a glimmer of something he could never quite put his finger on. But he wanted to conquer it. He wanted to win.

When Patrick and he reconnected, it was alongside the problems that only began in his relationship with Tashi. Alongside Lily’s birth, alongside the intrusive thoughts that had plagued him all his life, he wondered if it was a mistake. But Patrick was Patrick, and when he insisted on something, he got his way. And for Patrick, he and Art had to reconnect. So they did. Slowly, gradually. He wasn’t his best friend anymore, of course. But sometimes Art thought he was his only friend. Which was strange, because he was always surrounded by people. Tashi was supposed to be his best friend, but she never was. She made it clear more than once that it was a ridiculous notion.

One night, as he and Patrick were having beers at some sketchy bar, Patrick casually mentioned that you and he were good friends. Art looked at him as if he’d fallen from the moon. He wanted to punch him. He hadn’t expected that. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest and knocked all the air out of his lungs. Patrick got over Tashi and settled for you? You weren’t supposed to be a compromise. Art wouldn’t allow that. He’d go to war if he had to. He had no grounds for such a war, but you were too good to settle for Patrick. You were too good to settle for anyone, really.

He quickly realized that things between you and Patrick were platonic. Or at least that’s what the guy sitting across from him kept repeating, but Art wasn’t fully convinced. Everything was too mysterious. Patrick kept too much information to himself. He didn’t share anything with Art about your life, and the more Patrick kept things hidden, the more obsessed Art became.

And it wasn’t weird that he checked if you’d posted a new status on Facebook almost as often as he checked if his infant daughter needed anything. It wasn’t weird that he searched for you on Instagram. It wasn’t weird that he looked through the profiles of all 67 people you followed and hated most of them. Because you didn’t follow him, and millions of people did. You could have followed, and he wouldn’t have even noticed—allegedly.

"She got engaged," Patrick said one day, throwing it into the air as if he were talking about his grocery list. Art stared at him, blinking, trying to process the information. Who’s the person responsible for this? Who’s the person who took you away, and why do you think he deserves forever with you? What kind of thought is that—that someone else deserves forever with you? That someone gets to have a picnic in the park with you. To pick you up for dates. To share a house with you. There’s someone who’s going to be the father of your kids. Who picked out a ring for you. Who’s going to make sure your dreams come true. Art doesn’t know what your dreams are. But he doesn’t want to think about it.

"Is he a good guy?" Art knew that was what he was supposed to ask. That’s what social norms demanded. "I’ve sat with them a few times when they were together. He’s kind and funny, and I think he loves her," Patrick shrugged, as if that’s all it takes to be with you. "Well, I’m happy for her," Art took a gulp of whiskey, too big, letting the drink burn its way down his throat. Patrick looked at him like he didn’t believe him. His problem, Art thought. Let him believe whatever he wants.

That night, Art opened your Instagram while Tashi was asleep. There wasn’t a picture of a ring or a tag of some guy. Tashi got annoyed because of the phone light. Art apologized.

That was almost six months ago. Since then, his life had changed because he and Tashi decided to keep their relationship strictly professional. It was for both of their benefit, though he wasn’t entirely sure how much it benefited him. He was still learning how to function without her. He was still learning how to communicate effectively. He was still trying to bridge the dissonance that came with going home to an empty house, yet navigating press conferences as if he were happily married.

In two weeks, even that charade would end. And he wasn’t sure what he was even fighting for. Because they weren’t truly happy. And you were in his thoughts enough for it to count as emotional cheating if he were married. So he let Tashi go. He was much less broken than he had imagined he would be without her.

'I’m looking forward to working with you.' -Art- He couldn’t resist sending the message. Maybe ten at night was too late. Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe your fiancé was with you, trying to love you. Maybe Art was intruding.

He didn’t particularly care if he was. . . . "I’m going to kill you," I said into the phone, hearing Patrick's rolling laughter. "You're exaggerating—" he began, trying to save his ass. "We had one rule! Just one, Patrick!" I found myself pacing the bedroom while Alec worked in the living room. This was the day after the meeting with Art Donaldson. "He lives in New York and he’s divorced. I felt like a jerk not telling him where you work when he asked so nicely," Patrick’s voice sounded genuine. "He's not divorced," I rolled my eyes. I would know if Art were divorced. His and Tashi's faces are plastered all over this stinking city.

"They’re finalizing things in about a week and a half. There will be a press conference and everything. It’s going to be a big deal," he said, as if it were common knowledge. As if I should already know this. "Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up. That wasn’t cool," he added, and I could hear him biting into something, probably an apple. "We’re supposed to be a team. You can’t prioritize Art Donaldson’s interests over mine. I fed you when you were half-homeless," I declared. "I still prioritize your interests, drama queen," he continued speaking lightly, as if I had no reason to feel like my world was crumbling. "How is this prioritizing my interests? I’m going to manage his money. I’m going to handle his investments, Patrick. I’m going to see his stupid face every time he wants, as part of my job. Because of you! This is your fault!" I found myself stopping for a moment in the room, almost stomping my foot in frustration. Years of self-work going down the drain.

"Everything okay, Bunny?" I heard Alec's voice from the living room. "Yeah, I’m just talking to Patrick," I replied, steadying my voice into something more composed and responsible. So he’d keep thinking I had my life together. "Tell him 'hi,'" Alec said, and I could only guess he’d put his headphones back on. "Well, hi," I rolled my eyes, returning to the conversation with the chief idiot. "I’m sorry," Patrick mumbled after a few seconds of silence, and I hung up, sprawling on the bed like a starfish. He didn’t sound sorry.

I sat down next to Alec on the couch, wearing just my bra and panties with an open button-down shirt over it. Sexy enough for any stranger peeking through the window. A teenage boy's wet dream. I’m on fire. He kept staring at his screen, ignoring my existence. I started placing small kisses along his neck, trying to set the mood. Trying to seal the deal. Trying not to think about the one-who-shall-not-be-named. Trying to be a good woman. Trying to conquer feminism with mediocre sex, just like Alec and I know how to deliver. "I really have to finish this, Bunny," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, making me sigh, lean back, and roll my eyes. "How long will it take?" I asked. "You’ll probably be asleep by then. Watch an episode of your favorite show instead," he said without looking at me. "Can we talk about the wedding?" I tried another angle. "If I don’t have time to make love to you, I definitely don’t have time to plan the wedding," he said, slipping those hideous—massive—headphones back on, ending the conversation. I kind of hated that he never said "fuck" or "have sex" or even used the word "sex" in general. He always treated it like I was Princess Diana. I am clearly not Princess Diana. Sometimes I wonder if he even wants to marry me at all. It’s been over six months since he proposed, and he’s been dodging setting a date since practically the same day. It’s very frustrating. I need to meditate.

"Bunny," he suddenly said, and I looked at him expectantly while he removed his headphones after I’d already started heading to the bedroom, "you have a stain on your shirt." He quickly put his headphones back on, eyes glued to the screen. At least the soup I had for lunch managed to fuck me today. . . . "You can't just show up here," I said as I tried to finish chewing the terrible sandwich I’d chosen today. I think it had mold. "If you had answered my messages, we could’ve scheduled something without me showing up at your office." Art looked good. So fucking good. It was frustrating. Today was the day I decided to skip the contacts and wear glasses. God hates me. But on the other hand, God was trying to help me—making sure Art Donaldson never gets attracted to me. God is on my side. I knew she was a feminist.

"What do you want?" I mumbled in surrender, knowing he wouldn’t leave until he said whatever he came to say so we could all move on with our lives. "To talk business," he smiled from ear to ear. "I'm eating right now, come back in half an hour," I replied, "or better yet, schedule a meeting like a rational human being." I continued pressing my point. "Better idea, let's go grab lunch and talk business over food." He looked at me like a dad who just told his little girl what her next hour is going to look like. "Sorry, I can't—" "Art Donaldson! When I got your email, I couldn't believe it," Albert burst into my office excitedly. Sure, let’s invite everyone. Apparently, there’s free cookies being handed out. All are welcome.

Art kept wearing his unbearable poster smile while Albert went on and on about tennis and how much he loved Rafael Nadal. Albert is clearly a man with vast general knowledge. "She treating you right?" Albert asked Art as if they were best friends, and now they both stared at me while all I wanted was to finish my food-poisoning sandwich in peace. "She just agreed to join me for lunch to talk about my money," Art said, and if looks could kill, Art Donaldson would’ve had a stroke right there and disappeared from our lives as suddenly as he appeared. But no, looks don’t kill, and feminist God apparently isn’t on my side anymore because now I’m sitting across from this asshole at a diner. I ordered a burger because I knew he’d never allow himself to eat one and would whine for hours about how he wants to eat a burger every day but can’t.

"I hope that's okay," I smiled one of the fakest smiles I could muster, blinking as I took a bite of the slab of meat in front of me. "Mmm, it's amazing," I sighed, watching for a moment as he stared at me, mouth half-open, eyes sparkling. "You're cruel," he stated after shaking his head, as if shaking off urges. He looked different with short hair. I always told him he needed to cut it because it kept falling into his eyes, but his curls had a youthful playfulness that was clearly missing now. He looked defeated.

"So, what did you want to talk about? What are you looking to invest in?" I tried to focus on the reason behind this ridiculous meal while Art stole a fry from my plate and picked at the sad grilled chicken he had ordered. Maybe I should stop making those satisfied sounds when I eat. "You," he said, biting his lip like a kid who let a curse word slip in front of his mom. Testing boundaries. Watching as I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to let you waste my time, Donaldson," and we both knew I wasn’t just talking about business. Because honestly? Fuck business. Art didn’t seem like someone who was planning to disappear from my life anytime soon. He had shown up too determined for that to happen. "I have no intention of wasting your time, Peaches," he smiled, leaning back, relaxing a little after we established this basic ground rule. He continued stealing my food.

"So, tell me about him," he suddenly said after insisting I order an enormous ice cream that was supposed to be just for me. Every time his spoon got closer, mine heroically fought it off. "Who?" I asked, taking a spoonful of ice cream and leaving it in my mouth for a few seconds. His gaze immediately locked on my ring. "We're not that kind of friends, Donaldson," I said, watching as he inched his spoon toward my ice cream, and I quickly blocked him. No chance. "So what kind of friends are we?" he asked, smiling, looking half at me and half at our spoons, still battling each other. "I don't know," I sighed a little, finally lowering my spoon in defeat. There’s no point in fighting. It’s truly a lost cause.

The more Art Donaldson entered my life, the more Alec distanced himself from it. Art did it in a quiet way, almost eerily so. It started with deep conversations about financial investments he wanted to make. About charity events he wanted to be part of. A foundation he wanted to establish. He talked about his money as if it made sense to be this rich at his age. As if he and I were on the same level in terms of lifestyle. He never once acted condescending about it, even though I expected him to. Even though I had prepared arguments in advance. He never once asked why I didn’t continue in academia or why I gave up on medicine. He didn’t poke at that wound. Even though he could have. Even though it would’ve been easy.

It continued with stupid messages in the middle of the day about how he was hungry, tired, or wanted to go home. Messages about seeing a guy dressed as a bear in the middle of the street. Fucking New York. He’d ask questions about my day. Ask what I ate. If I ate. If I was drinking enough water. Never anything too deep. Never out of nosy curiosity. If I forgot who he was, I might’ve thought he cared about me. I know, it’s unbelievable.

One time, he called me at seven in the evening, talking such nonsense that I wondered if he was drunk. I wondered out loud, of course, because I’m not 19, and I’m not afraid to tell Art Donaldson what I think. He wasn’t drunk. He made dinner and decided to call. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Said it, and then went on about his day. About Lily. About how she was adjusting to splitting her time between his place and Tashi’s. He talked about Patrick and told me what he was cooking. It was domestic. Like I was a part of his life. Weird.

Alec and I were in the middle of a fight that made me wonder if I was mentally strong enough not to throw the vase that was sitting on the dresser. Not at him. I’m not violent. On the floor, to make a point. “Do you even want to marry me?” I suddenly asked. Because at that point, I no longer knew what was happening. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. “Of course I wa-” “To who the hell is it obvious? Do you know how embarrassing it is when people ask me about a wedding date almost a year later, and I change the subject?!” I cut him off. “Every time I try to bring it up, you’d rather talk about light fixtures or that time we randomly had an hour-long conversation about types of doors.” I reminded him of some of the truly bizarre moments we’ve had recently. “We do need to replace the door.” I shot him a look that should’ve made it clear that if he kept going with that sentence, I was breaking the vase on the floor.

“Why don’t you want to fuck me anymore?” I suddenly asked. Almost defeated after too much yelling. “What? Bunny-” he blushed. The question was too brutal for him. Too raw for his delicate soul, which couldn’t handle talking about sex. “I can count on one hand how many times we’ve fucked since you proposed,” I said it as bluntly as I could, enjoying his discomfort. “We don’t have to make love every day,” he mumbled. Last time I checked, to make love, there has to be love. I threw the vase. Alec left the house. . . . ‘You’re not at work.’ – A –

‘How is it that we’re back to you not answering me?’ – A –

‘Did you secretly get married over the weekend?’ – A –

‘Seriously, get back to me. It’s about the charity event.’ – A –

The bitter truth was that I was busy wallowing in the current failure of my life- Alec. I binge-watched all the seasons of The O.C. in three days and ate more ice cream than should be legal. But I didn’t feel the pain in my bones the way you’re supposed to when ending what was supposed to be the relationship. I’d once hurt more over losing someone who loved me less.

‘Are you okay? You’ve got our mutual friend worried.’ – P – He talked about Art like he was a spy. ‘Hey, could you stop being an idiot for a second and just answer to say you’re alive?’ – P –

‘I’m calling the fire department to check your apartment.’ – P –

‘This is concerning.’ – P –

‘I’ll call your mom. She’d love to hear from me after that time I burped in her face.’ – P –

‘I broke up with Alec.’ – (Y/N)–

‘You’re not going to die alone.’ – P –

‘I know you think you will, but you won’t.’ – P –

‘You can’t know that.’ – (Y/N) –

‘You’re an idiot.’ – P –

‘Are you okay?’ – P –

‘I mean, obviously you’re not okay, but... are you okay?’ – P –

‘I’m okay.’ –(Y/N)–

When I walked into the hall where Art Donaldson’s charity event for kids with muscular dystrophy, was being held, eyes didn’t turn toward me like they do in the movies. Everyone was too busy with their conversations and stroking each other’s egos. From the side, it almost looked homoerotic—the gentle touches on shoulders and the occasional pats. Almost sexy. Maybe I was seeing sex in things that weren’t sexy because my ex refused to touch me with more resolve than an ant carrying food that weighed more than its body. “You made it,” Art’s voice came from behind me. “You’re sharp,” I shot back as I turned to him, taking one of the champagne glasses he offered. “Is Patrick here too?” I asked. “No, he couldn’t come. He signed up for a Challenger in Malibu,” he replied, his eyes unapologetically scanning me. I felt completely exposed under his penetrating gaze. “So random,” I mumbled. Art’s hand gently pulled me by the waist, bringing me close to him while keeping his hand exactly where it was. I almost let confusion show on my face, but he introduced me to the man who had come over to talk to him, never taking his eyes—or his hand—off me. Not during the next conversation, or the next one, either. He presented us as a strange package deal. If someone wanted to talk to him, they had to talk to me too. Maybe he hoped it would drive people away. It didn’t. "Want to step outside for some air?" he whispered in my ear. After spending most of the evening standing so close to each other, it felt strange to pull away now that no one else was around. "Sure, why not." I shrugged, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Before stepping out, we each grabbed a glass of wine. "You raised a lot of money," I remarked, trying to break the ice. "You disappeared on me," he shot back, not bothering with small talk. "I’ve been busy." I shrugged again. "Where’s your ring?" he asked. "You’re obsessed with my hands, Donaldson," I said, unsure how to respond to this level of bluntness after being in a relationship with someone who was too scared to talk to me for years. "It’s not relevant anymore," I added, as his gaze didn’t allow me to dodge the question. "Good, it was ugly," he stated, stopping in his tracks, making me stop too and turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. His expression was challenging again, with that playful spark, inviting a debate. "It wasn’t ugly," I rolled my eyes. "It was pathetic, Peaches. You know you deserve better," he declared, leaving no room for argument.

And somehow, he was so close. Close enough that his breath, smelling of mint gum and wine, blended with mine. "I’m not looking for a rebound," I murmured. "Neither am I," his usual smug smile was gone. There was no trace of it. He looked hazy. Almost captive. "What are you looking for?" I dared to ask. "You," he replied. It was a good answer.

After an excruciatingly long hour and twenty minutes, during which I had two more glasses of wine, and Art spoke into the microphone—stopping me from downing a third—we arrived at his house. It looked a bit like a modern palace. "How is it that you live here?" I mused aloud, and his mouth found my neck as he chuckled. "What, this old thing?" he mumbled, his kisses as sharp as his words. "Don’t leave marks, Donaldson. We’re adults," I managed to say as I kicked off my heels, and he unzipped my dress.

"I want to do this from the moment you walked into the room today. Fuck, you’re so hot," he growled. It was throaty and masculine, almost animalistic. His eyes scanned me like a smoke detector picking up a cigarette. Within seconds, I found myself on the most comfortable couch I had ever been on. His lips traveled over me as if he was painting a map, as if he remembered all the sensitive points on my body. "I missed her," he said, giving a small bite to my right nipple, glancing at my face as I let out a moan. "her too," he added, moving to the left one. "Art, I need you." I tried to make it clear to him that I couldn't handle the teasing right now. That he should save it for another time. For someone else. For something else. I need him inside me.

"Peaches, have some patien—" he started, continuing to place deadly kisses on various areas of my body. "Art, just fuck me. Okay?" I almost pleaded, my voice lower than usual, filled with an inexplicable need. He looked at me for half a minute and nodded. "Okay baby, I got you," he said. And within seconds, his boxers were on the floor, and my panties disappeared too. He was inside me as if this was his home, as if he belonged there. "Fuck. Art. Thank you, there," I felt stupid, but I couldn't control it. I needed him so badly. I needed someone to fill the empty space. That Art Donaldson would fill the empty space.

He moved at a chaotic pace, almost as if he was trying to prove he could give me exactly what I wanted. What I needed. And he was right. I came after a few minutes, during which his cock filled me perfectly, and his lips found mine and refused to let go. He wrapped me from every direction and came right after I did.

"It's like we're teenagers," I muttered, and he laughed. "I usually last longer," he stated, not getting up, his body weight feeling almost comfortable on top of me. It was almost nice to breathe heavily. "So do I," I retorted. His hand drew little shapes on my shoulder. "Let's go to sleep," he decided, standing up slowly, reaching out his hand and pulling me toward him. Not forgetting to give me another kiss on the lips, a small one. As if it had happened a million times before. As if it were a routine.

"Your bed should be illegal, Donaldson," I said after he tossed a soft T-shirt he had in his closet over me. He lay down beside me, laughing. "I can't believe you're here. I was afraid it wouldn't happen," he said, with a seriousness that felt profound. "How long have you been thinking about this?" I tried to sound amused. "Since the moment I stepped into your office," his honesty was both terrifying and comforting. No one had talked to me so openly in a while. "probably before that" he added. "You can't waste my time, Art," I replied, looking up to catch his gaze. . . . Art took a moment to nod. He already had a ring for you. Even before you broke up with that idiot, he had bought the ring. He didn't know where life would lead you. He just knew he was going to spend every free moment proving to you that he loved you enough not to waste your time. Not when you were his favorite person.

How are we doing guys?!?!?!?! Can't wait to hear from you. That's my chance to remind y'all that English is not my first language and I might have some grammar issues. love you all, hope it was a good addition to the story <3

taglist: @lalalandofive @wild-rose-35 @theynothem @angelism13

#challengers fic #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #challengers #art donaldson smut #his favorite toy

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squinch-depraved · 1 month ago

Note

drinking games but taking edibles/parts of edibles instead

tedschlattreader gamenight? ted and schlatt ganging up on reader to make sure they get highest and take advantage of the situation

this came to me in a dream ☝️

ollie ur actually a fucking genius im gonna kiss u

CW: cnc/dubcon, intox

it was supposed to be a chill evening, you thought. playing games with your best friends was a weekly occurrence online, but the trip you and ted had taken to visit schlatt in new york for a while made the dynamics a lot different. for one thing, it was a lot harder to shit talk them when they were right in front of you. you never thought about how much bigger they were than you, but it was impossible to ignore now that you were around them for a week straight.

shaking off the thoughts you had about the size difference and how it made your stomach churn, you settled down onto your designated spot on the couch. you expected them to take their usual seats on either side of you, and they did after a few minutes of leaving you waiting. but they didn't come empty handed, and it was foolish of you to think they would.

they set a bunch of food items on the coffee table, arranging a spread that was beginning to look like a buffet. inspecting the labels carefully told you that every single item was an edible, and the realization earned a soft gasp from you.

"what the fuck are you guys planning?" you asked accusatorily. schlatt snorted and left the explanation up to the older man.

"we're going to play board games, like we usually do every week," ted started. "but instead of us taking shots or whatever when we lose, like we usually do, whoever lost the round has to pick one edible and either eat the whole thing or take a large bite, depending on the item. does that sound fair?" he glanced at you as he straightened up the countless gummies.

"jesus, how much did you spend on this shit??" you breathed, ignoring his question. ted didn't like being ignored, though, so he placed a large hand on your thigh and gripped it lightly but firmly.

"doesn't matter. i asked you a question. does that sound fair?" ted replied sternly. you nodded, unsure of why they were acting so different.

"don't act like you're the one who paid for this shit," schlatt mumbled as he sank back into the couch.

you giggled and relaxed as well, resting your head on his shoulder as ted went to grab the games. surprisingly, you felt pretty confident that you would be able to make it through the night with ease- you smoked a lot more than either of them, and that made you sure you would be fine, regardless of how many edibles you would end up taking.

but you were nothing if not a stupid, naive little slut.

it wasn't long before their plan became glaringly obvious: gang up on you to get you as far gone as possible. you were taking a gummy every ten minutes, and you had gone through at least two brownies by now.

"you guys are actually fucking evil," you muttered as you rocked back and forth on the floor. "what the fuck did i do to deserve this?" you asked them from your spot on the floor across the coffee table. you had eaten enough of the food that there was a good space for you guys to play a tabletop game now, and they had stopped trying to hide the fact that they were teaming up on you and were showing each other the cards they had so that they could maximize your punishments.

"nono, play that one, 'cuz i've got this, see?" ted murmured, pointing to something in his fanned out stack. schlatt nodded in understanding and plopped something on the table with a shit eating grin.

"take another one. we win," he bragged. you just hung your head in your hands and sighed deeply.

"fuck it," you whispered as you polished off a cookie the size of your hand. after finishing it, you clambered onto the couch and flopped face down, higher than you had ever been and desperate for some stability.

you heard ted and schlatt snicker before the older man joked, "look, dude it worked, she's already face down, ass up for us."

his words stirred you from your haze and you turned to face them, cheeks burning at how they looked at you.

"she's always ready for us, ted. our own personal little slut to share between us, she can't fuckin' help herself from showin' us her pretty little backside," schlatt teased cruelly, eyes locked on yours. you let out a strangled moan and buried your face back into the soft cushion, trying miserably to hide how turned on you were.

but they knew. they always know, it's their job to know. to take care of you when you get like this, to make you feel so good you can't speak. and you always let them. it's not like this would be any different because they got you belligerently high. if anything, it would make things much more pleasurable.

so when schlatt came up behind you and pulled off your bottoms, and ted pulled your head up by your hair so he could make out with you? of course you did nothing to stop them (how could you?). you let them manhandle you until you were nude on schlatt's clothed lap and ted stood up on his knees next to you, unbuckling his pants.

"dude, let me get her on my cock before you shove that thing down her throat," schlatt scoffed when the older man pulled out his length and scooted closer to you.

ted shoved him roughly, using one hand to keep you steady so he could slide his tip into your mouth. "shut the fuck up," he growled hungrily. schlatt whined angrily and watched as ted entered your throat inch by inch, admiring the bulge visible on your neck whenever he fucked deep into your face.

eventually, ted pulled out, smiling at the way you gasped and heaved, and gestured for schlatt to position you on his shaft, which he had brought out and was stroking at this point. he did so excitedly, groaning as you slid all the way down it before beginning to pump into you at a fast pace.

"easy, man, she's super high," ted warned him. schlatt just huffed and continued, picking you up and slamming you down onto him for a few minutes while ted watched and pumped himself in his fist. you were a wreck, wailing and moaning like they had never heard you before. your head lolled back after a bit, eyes rolling back into your head and fluttering closed as you sat there and took everything he was giving you.

soon, ted tapped him and signaled for him to help move you onto your hands and knees. it took a bit for them to get you propped up enough to be of any use, but once they did, they traded places. schlatt took your mouth, grabbing a fistful of your hair to use as leverage, and ted rammed into you from the back, harshly spanking you every now and then.

"fuck, she looks so pretty like this, doesn't she?" ted asked breathlessly.

"mm. looks like a slut," schlatt chided as he gripped your hair tighter. you whimpered for him and did your best to hold yourself up, but your legs were getting shaky, and you were about to cum for the third time.

"c'mere," ted leaned in, taking the back of schlatt's head and guiding it so they were locked in a sloppy kiss above you. the pressure of them leaning on you to be able to reach each other like that forced ted deeper into you, and you clenched around his cock as you sobbed through your orgasm.

you wished so desperately that you could see them making out above you, they knew how turned on it made you and it was truly malicious to deny you the simple pleasure of seeing them kiss.

ted pulled away and used his thumb to wipe the string of saliva that kept them connected from schlatt's lips. "i'm close," he grunted, thrusts intensifying until he finally slammed into you one last time and spilled inside you.

"my turn, move," schlatt grumbled as he withdrew from your mouth and shuffled to take ted's spot. a bit of cum leaked from your hole when ted pulled out and schlatt was quick to collect it on one finger and swipe it into his mouth. he moaned at the taste as he slid into you with ease and started pounding you relentlessly. his eyes screwed shut and he tilted his head back, letting the feeling of your pussy and his best friend's cum coating his dick take over him.

soon he was gripping your hips so hard bruises were beginning to form, and ted watched through lidded eyes as the younger man finally finished deep inside you with a loud groan. you collapsed as soon as he pulled out and ted immediately helped you to the bathroom, leaving schlatt to catch his breath.

once you were cleaned up, ted helped you find and change into some comfortable pjs and led you to schlatt's bed that they had decided beforehand you would all share tonight. he made sure you were settled with everything you could possibly need before returning to the living room to find schlatt staring at the ceiling.

"c'mon, man, come lay in bed with us," ted offered.

"it's my bed, asshole. don't invite me to my own bed," schlatt retorted.

"wouldn't be the first time," the older man chuckled before shaking his head and heading back to where you were resting.

#x reader #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #schlatt x you #jschlatt smut #schlatt smut #ted nivison x reader #ted nivison smut #ted nivison x you #ted nivison x y/n #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt x y/n #jschlatt x ted #schlatt x ted #tedschlatt #poly!tedschlatt

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starsinmylatte · 2 years ago

Note

Maybe Silco with a motherly Fem!Reader who adores Jinx? Something with breeding & pregnancy? Domestic bliss please?

Soft

Oooh, I do love some good domestic bliss... and I've always loved the idea of Silco's lover being a motherly figure for Jinx. Tbh, it would've solved so many problems in the show....

Rating: Explicit. 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

Pairing: Silco x Afab!reader.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Breeding kink, sliiiiight degradation, Silco fantasizes about pregnant reader, cockwarming, y'all already know what's up

Join my taglist here!

(By clicking read more, you agree that you are 18+. Minors DNI)

You were by far the softest thing in Silco’s life. The Eye of Zaun -the most feared kingpin in all of the Undercity- was not a man who usually enjoyed life's softer, sweeter things, but you were the one exception.

He could still vividly remember the day you showed up at his door, demanding to see Powder. Silco had wanted nothing more than to laugh. It was ridiculous, the way you showed up alone and completely unarmed to The Last Drop and demanded things from him of all people. Under any normal circumstance, you would’ve never gotten past his bouncers at the door, but he could barely get Jinx to eat or respond to him. Her door was locked, and the lock was reinforced from the inside…. he was worried about his new daughter, and you seemed to know her. So, against his better judgment, Silco took one look at the motherly concern you seemed to show for Jinx and brought you to her door.

He watched carefully as you knelt in front of the door and took a deep, calming breath. “Darling, I know it’s been so hard, and you’ve been so brave… could you please come out and eat something? For me?” The door flew open in a blinding flash of unkempt, neon blue hair, and Jinx was in your arms. The small girl was sobbing and clutching you so tightly, almost like she was afraid you’d disappear at any second. She was trying to say something, but her sobs distorted her words to the point they were unrecognizable.

You pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, picking her up as she buried her face into the crook of your neck. Silco watched in shock as you stood and turned to face him calmly. “What are your thoughts on soup?.”

In the span of five minutes, you had nearly kicked his door in to see Jinx, gotten her to come out of her room for the first time in a few days, and now you were asking him about…. soup??

“Excuse me?” He managed to say, a look of pure bewilderment still plastered on his usually smug face.

“She likes it, so I’m going to make some. You don’t look like you’ve eaten recently either, so I want to know if I need to make enough for three.” Your tone was soft but completely matter-of-fact as you stroked the young girl’s hair.

Silco nodded slowly. “Soup would be…. fine.”

Without another word, you simply turned on your heel and headed for the kitchen, murmuring words of comfort to the child in your arms.

_______

You were the brutally soft woman who had invaded Silco’s life and turned it upside down in the best way possible…. Which is how the Kingpin found himself in his current position: buried deep inside you, biting your shoulder as the thick, swollen head of his cock kissed your cervix.

The pain-tinged pleasure was almost blinding, but fuck, it was exactly what you wanted. It was enough to have you desperately moaning his name and your back arching. The Eye of Zaun kissed the column of your neck hungrily, trailing his lips all the way up to your ear. Silco’s warm breath caressed the shell of your ear as he nipped at the delicate skin before murmuring. “You’re sure about this, my lovely?”

“Silco, please.” You whined, voice barely audible over the sound of him fucking you. “W-we talked about this. I want a baby…. I want you to get me pregnant.”

Silco growled in response, reaching up to palm the swell of your soft, generously curved breasts. He had you pressed back across the smooth wood of his desk, all of his papers and work carelessly thrown to the side as he took you roughly, with an almost singular purpose. The gold-trimmed bottom hem of the dress you favored had been roughly shoved up around the curves of your hips to allow him more room between your thighs. He leaned over to kiss you hungrily.

“Such a dirty girl,” he purred, sliding one of his fingers into your mouth for you to suck on. Your tongue laved around it, eyelids fluttering shut in bliss as he pressed it in further.

Silco hissed at the sight, trailing his other hand up to caress the soft skin of your lower abdomen. He pressed down with the flat of his palm, making you cry out at the sudden pressure before following it with another gentle massage. “Wanting me to fuck you raw like this…. Such a pretty thing, and you want to carry my child.”

The thought of you pregnant was nearly enough to make him cum instantly. Your body would change… swell with the life he put inside you. Everyone would know it… Everyone would see his claim on you. Yes, Jinx would be getting a sibling, and Silco would be glad about that alone, but his true desires were much more selfish.

You whimpered as his clever fingers found their next target: one of your overly-sensitive nipples. Silco bit back a moan of his own, imagining your breasts swollen and heavy with milk. “Let me hear it again, lovely. Say my name.”

A particularly delicious thrust of his hips punctuated each word, and Silco’s name fell from your kiss-swollen lips. Your orgasm burned through your body as you fell apart beneath him, whimpering and begging him to finish, to give you what you craved most.

Silco’s beautiful green eye rolled back in bliss as his fingers forcefully dug into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises as he chased his own climax. His hips snapped into yours lewdly, and with one last strangled groan, the Eye of Zaun joined you in pure euphoria. The movement of his hips slowed, and you felt his warm seed fill you completely.

Your head dropped back against the desk with a soft thunk, your energy completely and utterly spent. Silco caressed your temple, raising one of your hands to his lips to kiss it gently.

“Beautiful…” he murmured, letting his gaze wash over you unashamedly and making no move to leave your warmth. You shifted your hips slightly, drawing a short, sharp hiss from your lover as you sighed contentedly, completely relaxed beneath him.

Silco dipped down to press more reverent kisses against your skin, his smooth, deep voice intensely comforting. “We are going to stay just like this for a few more minutes. It wouldn’t do for any of our hard work to go to waste.”

____________

Tagging some friends: @saradika @thefact0rygirl @babygirl-leon-kennedy @hereforthesunrise @eriseffigy @ashotofspotchka @thebeardedmoon @dont-mess-with-my-fandom @redflamesbaku @My-awakened-ghost @agatemermaid @shadow-pancake9 @zaunsin @warpedbands @kemeso25 @ironandglass @nyx2021 @amyroswell @tinybookworm16 @dendrophileunsated @cassandrablacker @aikoiya @lemmielem

(If you are on my tag list and your name is crossed out, then the info I have for you either needs updating, or Tumblr is being strange)

#lyria responds #silco #silco arcane #silco fanfiction #silco fanfic #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco x reader #silco x you #silco league of legends #silco smut #silco imagine #silco simp

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ohdeerfully · 9 months ago

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hi!! i absolutely love your writing, you write alastor so so well and i absolutely devoured everything you have posted... would you by any chance be open to writing alastor with a f!reader who has an eating disorder/anorexia? <3 it's a triggering topic so i totally understand if you'd rather not! 💖 i've just recently been stressed about feeling like i need to lose weight again despite already having lost quite a lot and it just feels. never enough, so i would much appreciate some comfort! thank you for sharing your writing with us! 💖

hi my love!! i know you requested this some time ago, and i hope youve been feeling better (,: i also struggle with this type of thing so i 100% dont mind writing about it, but just know that you are super beautiful and worth every sweet treat and meal you get!!! mwah mwah mwah i hope you like the story ^.^

Ma Moitié

Alastor x Reader (fluff/comfort)

TW: eating disorder!!! alastor is def OOC hes being a sweetie pie join my discord!

◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈

You always had a poor relationship with your body and food, in life and in death. You went through periods of weight loss, gain, loss again—some seemingly never ending cycle that no amount of therapy has managed to halt.

Your mind was currently weighing the pros and cons of eating the slice of cake offered to you by Charlie. She was celebrating the arrival of a few new residents, the first to arrive since the last extermination. The news really helped the hotel garner some attention, that plus the fancy new renovation Lucifer himself helped with… needless to say, Charlie was thrilled. So, she threw a little party. You had been standing awkwardly near the doorway, trying to find an opportunity to slip away from the small party. But you doubted you could escape without your absence being noticed; there really weren't that many people here to begin with.

You had accepted the cake out of sheer politeness, but you now just held the plate loosely in your hands, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you thought. You’ve been feeling particularly… susceptible to the calories in food lately. You considered the fact that you hadn’t eaten much today—or, honestly, the whole week for that matter. It shouldn’t hurt to just have one slice of cake. Just this once.

But… still…

You frowned down at the cake. Picking up the plastic fork, you took a tiny chunk from it and lifted it to your lips. Your lips quivered as the food touched your tongue, and you felt sick as you chewed. You managed to swallow after an unnecessarily long few seconds of chewing, and you continued to just stare down at your plate. You didn’t think you’d be able to handle another bite.

Niffty had seen the sickly expression on your face, and loudly started throwing questions at you. Were you sick? Did you hate the party? Why didn’t you like the cake she made? Her loud voice was growing in volume, and catching the attention of a few other demons in the room. You tried various ways to shush her, attempting to answer her questions politely, but you felt your heart rate pick up at the obviously growing number of eyes.

“I’m not incredibly fond of sweets myself,” You heard that radio-afflicted voice pipe up from behind. You couldn’t help but jump at the unexpected presence, but you turned your head with a light smile. Alastor was looking curiously down at Niffty and you.

“Ah, yeah, the cake’s great, I just… don’t like dessert that much…” You lied. You actually really liked cake, but it had been a long time since you were actually able to enjoy it without feeling intensely guilty about it. The tiny demon made a fussy comment about how nobody appreciated her and all of her hard work, stomping away. Her mood didn’t last, though, immediately getting caught up in cleaning something you couldn’t even see.

You turned your head to thank Alastor, but you saw his smile drop slightly as he looked at you. The demon bent at the waist to lean down, his mouth near your ear and his usually boisterous voice quieted to a whisper. “Is everything alright, mon coeur?”

You felt your face heat up, both at the words he spoke and the proximity. You and Alastor had been quietly ‘official’ for quite a while now, but you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the small gestures of affection from the Radio Demon. It felt weird if you thought about it too long.

“I’m okay, just…” You weren’t sure how open you wanted to be about how you were feeling. Alastor knew about your poor body image and eating habits, but he truthfully never really knew how to go about comforting you. Plus, you felt as if your personal struggles were trivial to a literal Overlord of Hell. You didn’t want to bother him with your own shit.

“I’m fine,” You finally decided. You could tell Alastor knew you were lying, with that furrow of his eyebrows, but he stood up straight and didn’t push. You sighed and gently placed the plate of cake down on a small entryway table by the door you had been lurking near.

“I’ll get us out of here,” He declared with a wide smile, and he strode forward to where Charlie stood talking to the group of new guests. She knew Alastor was approaching due to the look of horror that slowly crossed the new demon’s faces. You couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but it looked like she briefly scolded Alastor for being so damn intimidating for no reason.

They chatted for a moment, and you could hear the Radio Demon’s obnoxious laughter from across the room. He gestured to himself, then to you, to which Charlie looked in your direction. You shot her a small smile. She smiled back, nodded, and turned away to continue talking to the new residents—who all had been slowly inching away from Alastor. They looked incredibly relieved when he left the group.

He gave you a grin and wordlessly threaded his arm around yours, linking you at the elbow. You lifted your hand to give his upper arm an appreciative squeeze as you left the room. Your eyes lingered on the abandoned slice of cake as you walked away, feeling guilty in more ways than one.

Alastor had led you to your room, releasing your arm and leaning his body weight on his cane as he looked down at you. You glanced up at him, then back down, pursing your lips as you stared at anything else in the room.

“I hate when demons lie to me,” He said, eyes narrowed. Of course, you knew he wasn’t truly mad at you. Maybe frustrated. “What’s wrong.” It was more like a statement than a question. A demand.

You sat heavily down on the edge of your bed, fiddling with your fingers.

“I don’t know, Al,” You muttered. You hated this. “I just… You know how I get sometimes.” It somehow felt so silly, telling him about this.

Alastor had sat down next to you, his arm wrapped over your shoulder and a clawed hand rubbing up and down your forearm. You could tell his touch was light, awkward, unsure—but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. While Alastor typically had no problem overstepping boundaries and shoving demons around purely to aggravate them, he obviously had no real idea how to be intimate and kind. But he tried for you.

He took his other hand and slipped it under your legs, swiftly lifting you and pulling you further up the bed. He leaned his body against the headboard, and dragged you over to lay your torso against his own.

“I don’t understand why you worry about all this, dear,” He mused, his fingers threading through your hair. His other hand graced past your stomach, which caused you to subconsciously flinch away. You felt his hand pause, but he didn’t mention it.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” You responded slowly, your cheek squished against his chest. “But I’ve dealt with this since I was alive. I feel like it’ll never get better.”

“Dearest, you have a whole eternity here,” He mused in response. He placed a finger under your chin and craned your head to meet his gaze. “You need to be strong to survive down here; to stay sane. A healthy body leads to a healthy mind.”

Of course Alastor was always thinking about strength and survival. He was an Overlord, after all. You didn’t respond to him, but you kept looking at him as he spoke. There was an odd look in his eyes as he talked.

“Plus,” He continues. His words were slow, and his mouth moved as if the words tasted unnatural on his tongue. This uncertainty that touched the Radio Demon’s voice was… rare, to say the least. “I want to see ma moitié happy. I am… incredibly devoted to you.”

Your ear pricked when you noticed the radio frequency in his voice completely dropped when he spoke the words. That look in his eyes—you finally recognized it as some odd sense of passion and endearment. An emotion that you could tell confused him, with the strain in his brow as he examined you. He meant the words he said, no matter how unnatural they felt leaving his mouth.

You rested your head back down on his chest. You knew this conversation wouldn’t “cure” you or anything, but you hoped that maybe you could think back on his words everytime your hands shook as you held a fork to your mouth. Of all demons in Hell, Alastor’s opinion was probably the most important to you, and you knew his devotion wouldn’t halt because of a few pounds; Alastor had to be deeply, deeply passionate about you to even let you lay on top of him like this.

You only hummed in response, and simply rested your head back against his chest. You hugged your arm tightly against him to try to convey that you appreciated his words, but you didn’t really know what to say.

“Would you join me for breakfast tomorrow?” Alastor asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “I know this wonderful place that I frequent for coffee…”

You thought for a moment, again weighing the pros and cons; a habit that you struggled to drop when it came to meals. Your mind was buzzing with thoughts of what kind of food might be there, and if you should ration out the meals for the rest of the day. But, you felt the thoughts melt away when Alastor’s hand rubbed a comforting circle against your cheek, and then trailing down towards your shoulder in a light squeeze.

“Okay,” you finally said. It wouldn’t hurt to have a decent meal for once. You pulled yourself up onto your elbows again to look at Alastor. “Sounds awesome.”

His smile twisted up, his teeth peeking through a small gap in his lips. His head inched forward, but then paused, and you could tell his mind was racing with various thoughts. You waited for him to decide and, after a few moments, he closed the gap and lightly pressed his lips against yours. It was brief, as most intimate contact with him was, but you enjoyed it while it lasted.

“You will always be my only weakness,” Alastor admitted tenderly. “The most captivating demon in all of Hell.”

You couldn’t stop the shy smile that spread across your face at his words. You sputtered out some awkward response, to which he simply hummed and smiled at. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the headboard, his fingers still playing with your hair gently.

You followed suit, resting your head against his chest and closing your own eyes. You didn’t even realize how tired you were, too caught up in the rare intimacy with Alastor. You let your worries of breakfast fade away, choosing to just enjoy the warmth of his body so close to yours.

#ohdeerfully #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #fluff #comfort #eating disorder #TW: eating disorder #TW: disordered eating #disordered eating

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orange-orchard-system · 10 months ago

Text

One thing I find really annoying when I'm trying to explain my memory issues to someone is that they always, always underestimate how bad they are, no matter how I try to explain the severity of them. People hear "I have a bad memory" as you forgetting small details, maybe that you "don't care enough to remember", and "I have amnesia" as you joking or exaggerating, because they expect amnesia to be a total, one-time wipe of all memories.

My memory problems aren't that. They're more like...

Accidentally leading people to think I haven't eaten because I can't remember whether I have or haven't, and they assume that I would remember if I had.

Forgetting to do something I promised I would for someone else; feeling like a bad friend for it at best and getting scolded and punished for it at worst.

Going on autopilot because I don't remember what I was in the middle of and if I break whatever flow I'm in, I won't be able to continue.

Someone shows me something meant to give me nostalgia, but I can't feel nostalgia for a time I can't remember, so I just end up listening to them talk about their own nostalgic feelings, suddenly aware that I cannot share in what is a unifying experience for many others.

I'm given an assignment that asks me to write about a time in my life that relates to the provided prompt or topic. Outside of the past few hours, I can only recall the memories of three times in my life, so my assignment has less to do with the prompt and more to do with trying to make a memory I only half remember seem on-topic.

So much of how people define themselves is by their pasts, but I can't access mine, so I learn to define myself by hypotheticals. How I would feel if x happened, if I would prefer y or z – an imitation of the depth others have gained over lifetimes.

Being approached by someone who apparently knows me, and having no idea what kind of relationship we had.

Having a breakdown in a bathroom because I don't know where I am or what's going on.

People telling me the same story multiple times because I didn't remember hearing it before until they were already well into the story.

My amnesia is everywhere, if I care to look for it. And it's something I've come to accept, but... I wish others could understand it better, and didn't assume I was exaggerating (or whatever they think is going on) whenever I talk about it

#front soup.txt #plurality #pluralgang #actuallyplural #plural system #amnesia #did

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year ago

Note

I imagine that werewolf bodyguard reader has a big appetite so I'd like to think they'll cuddle up to anyone that offers them food, may i please request an affectionate wolfie reader?

Skipped lunch again... Something you shouldn't with strength being your most contributing factor, but with so many prying eyes recently you were dedicated to your post. You eventually crawled away with your tail tucked between your legs as the howls from your empty stomach alerted your fellow guards. You'd serve no use to the team in this state and thus you excused yourself to scrounge around for something quick to hold you off until you got off. You could probably eat an entire city with how your hunger pains clawed at the lining of your stomach - but a sandwich would do for now.

"Y/n! Come here for a sec, we got something for ya!"

The smell hits your nose before their whistle catches your ear. Mouthwatering chicken, hot out of the fryer. You sniff around, following your keen sense of smell to the bed of a truck where two of your coworkers sat with a large plastic bag between them. The bag was tilted on one side and you could see the bucket full of golden chicken within. You wipe the corners of your mouth as you address them.

"Need me for something?"

"Guess you could say that. We were just on break and saw this local joint was still open at this hour so we stopped by for a bite. Noticed you'd been on your feet all day and brought you a treat for your hard work."

The non-speaking party pulls out the bucket and places it on the floor of the trunk. It pains you to tear your eyes away. If you had one, you'd need it all. "Maybe some other time. I don't get off for another hour."

"Aw, don't be like that! Our wolf needs their strength. Just a couple bites, yeah?" The guard grabs a drumstick and waves it at you. You will your eyes shut, but the smell lingers and takes pilot of your feeble mind. You climb aboard the truck bed, squeezing between the two as you hold their wrist steady. You strip the bone of its meat in the matter of seconds, setting your head on the lap of its giver as you chew. Your arms hook around their leg; teeth snatching the bits of chicken they offer as their companion rubs your back; gently reminding you to chew before swallowing with a tap to your shoulder blades.

You swore you stop after one more piece. You had a post to return to and a boss depending on your loyalty. One turned into three til you'd eaten three quarters of what was intended to feed a family of six. You lay between the pair sluggish and a sponge for their soft pats and praise. It reminds you of being the runt of the litter being given extra attention - something you hadn't been in a long time. Couldn't say you didn't miss the treatment despite being bigger than most humans you'd met thus far.

When a hand comes to stroke your jaw you find yourself leaning against it as your head hangs from the weight of fatigue. Your lips rest on their wrist and you instinctively nestle into their warmth as your breathing slows. The heavy bounce of a heel on concrete drags you from sleep and towards the unamused, jealous gaze of your boss.

"Evening, Y/n. You two."

Crumbs fall off your face as you sit upright. "Evening, boss...."

"I believe I've told you before about spoiling them with junk food. In the car, Y/n. Now."

Expecting to be chewed out for abandoning your post you're surprised to end up at a fancy steakhouse after a silent drive. Sitted at the table already stacked with nearly every meal on the menu, the waitress sets a fork and knife in front of your boss while leaving you with no utensils.

"Um... can I get a fork too?"

Your boss cuts a piece of meat and holds the fork to your lips. "No. This is your punishment for skipping lunch and not asking me to bring you food first. You are not leaving this table until these plates are licked clean."

Your stomach grows. "I'm not sure if that will really be a challenge..."

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #werewolf reader #yandere drabble #yandere oc #soft yandere

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redhoodkisser · 2 months ago

Note

jason and dick who helps the reader w a bad relationship w food (hurt/comfort pls)

note ; note at the top this time because i've actually never written hurt/comfort before so i apologize if its terrible

food for thought

content warnings ; reader is suggested to have ed, it will be discussed in both character parts

jason todd

Jason notices a pattern with you and food. Now, don't get him wrong, he doesn't mind if you're a picky eater or not, what matters to him is that he knows you've eaten. But, he's always observed the way you were when there was food served to you. To him, it looked like.. you were struggling to eat? He doesn't know exactly, but he's going to get to the bottom of this. He's not gonna continue watching you starve yourself.

He catches you in the living room, so he settles down right next to you on the couch. He looks at you and squints his eyes at you. You were doing your work on your laptop, but when you realised he was staring at you, your typing slowed down and.. stopped altogether.

“Is.. everything alright, Jason?” You ask in a confused tone and expression on your face. Oh, but, you knew you shouldn't have asked that. That's the exact face he makes when he's about to interrogate you about a certain topic. So, you let out a sigh and immediately surrender. Shutting your laptop and putting it aside, you cross your arms against your chest.

“What is it this time?" Your tone was slightly irritated this time.

“I just had a question about you." He let out a small sigh, ”uh, do you have any.. problems with food? It's because I notice you struggling a bit when it comes to food, I just wanna know if everything's okay, baby. And, that if I can do anything to help. That's all I wanted ask.” He placed his hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing it back and forth.

You hated discussing this topic a lot during your teen years and you still do now. It made your blood boil every single damn time someone asked. “It doesn't matter, alright? I'm fine with food, I've always been!" You raise your voice a little bit, telling a small lie. He frowns slightly, “hey, now, when have you ever lied to me about these types of situations?–” “Because they're not just a situation, okay?!” You're now fully shouting at him.

He raises his hands in surrender, “okay, okay, sweets, I'm sorry. But, I just.. I just wanted to try and help. But, I don't know how I'm able to help if you're gonna be stubborn like this.” Tears were slowly building up in your eyes. “Oh, come on, don't cry. I'm sorry, okay? Come here.” You immediately went and wrapped your arms around him tightly, sobbing your heart out in his chest.

His hands were slowly patting your back, rubbing it back and forth a few times as he let you cry it all out. Once she had properly calmed herself down after letting it all out, she took a deep breath in. “I have an eating disorder. And, it's really hard to deal with it. It started all the way from secondary school, I just.. thought I wasn't pretty enough. Every time I ate, I would watch out for how many calories I ate in a day, even counting it all. I just.. wanted to be pretty like everyone else.”

He stared at you for a few seconds before moving his hands up to cup your face. “Babe, do you know how.. how perfect you are to me? I know I can't change your mind on this, but I can and want to try and help you with your eating disorder. I wanna help, 'kay sweets?" He plants a kiss on your cheek.

“..Okay, Jason.” You let out a small chuckle.

dick grayson

Dick's already discussed this matter with you a couple of times, but he still worries for you, you know? So, this is why he sat you down to talk to you about this.

His hands were entwined with yours, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. “What's going on in that pretty head of yours, mm?” He asked, teasing you a bit. “Nothing's going on, Dick." You tried to reassure him, but he wasn't taking it.

“I'm not convinced, come on, tell me what's wrong. Lay it on me, babe.” He also tried to convince you to tell him what was wrong, but you weren't budging at all “I know it's difficult to discuss this so many times, but I just wanna make sure you're okay. I just.. need to know you're okay at all times. Look, if you aren't gonna tell me, it's okay. But, I just want you to know, I'm here for you.” And, with a little push from his words, you let out a sigh.

“Okay, okay. I guess.. it has gotten a bit worse lately. I dunno, okay? I just.. really think I should lay off the food for a bit. I don't want to eat that many calories a day, and I want to go on this die–” Before you could even finish the word, he immediately pressed a finger on your lips, shaking his head.

“No, no, and no. You are not going on that diet again, you hear me? It's bad for you! Don't you remember the amount of times you've fainted? Because you only had a salad in the mornings only, which I'll remind you, is not healthy.” He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn't mad or upset, just a bit disappointed you were gonna take on this diet again without telling him.

He looked back at you again, “babe, I.. I wanna help. Please, tell me how I can help. I don't want to see you putting yourself through that.. nonsense of a diet.” You let out a shaky sigh. “It's not easy, okay? It's never been easy!” You didn't even realize it, but tears were streaming down your face. Dick pulled you for a hug, gently rubbing your back in circles and whispering words of comfort in your ear.

Once you had let it all out, he spoke, “I.. I don't fully understand how this works. You know, eating disorders. I've never experienced it, and I want to guide you through this. I know it won't go away, but if I can just help.. it's all I need to see you okay. Alright?" He says as he plants a kiss on your forehead, pushing away stray hairs sticking to your wet cheeks.

You nod, wiping your tears in the process. “..Thank you, Dick.” You thank him, sniffling. “Of course, babe, you know I'd do anything for you.” He smiles brightly at you, causing you to smile as well.

another note ; hii i know i said this was supposed to be out on the weekend but i had some personal issues to attend to :') sorry to anon who had to wait almost(?) a week for this, but i hope you enjoy it regardless<3

#dick grayson #jason todd #red hood #jason todd fluff #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson x reader #jason todd headcanon #jason todd imagines #jason todd x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson fic #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #comfort #hurt/comfort #hurt

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 9 months ago

Note

Would I be the asshole if I told my partner want to be their wife but not their bride?

INFO: I'm not even dating anyone yet.

I'm a queer adult (37F) dating for the first time. I'm an only child with one living blood relation I still speak to (my mom; she's great. everyone else is bigoted), and I've been clinically, life-ruiningly shy for my entire life.

I have twelve people that I could invite to a wedding, including the 3 plus ones. Of those, maybe 8 would make an effort to attend, and maybe 6 of them would have the means to travel to my city.

The thought of doing the whole wedding song and dance makes me feel nothing but pathetically alone. It makes me want to crawl in a hole.

And that's before we get into how much I hate parties, crowds, dancing, weird lighting, weird auditory ambiance.

Greeting the usual dozens of guests on my partner's list (and my single digit single table) with a customer service smile has me on the edge of an anxiety attack just writing it down.

When I think of weddings all I can see is how little I matter and how unimportant I am. How rarely I'm thought of or remembered. I've been invited to five weddings in my life. I've attended three. For two I was an afterthought invitation and for one I had to ask whether I made the list at all because I needed to start saving money to attend.

I'm not even dating anyone right now, and my dating pool is already so small. (Wants me, wants a long-term serious relationship, wants kids, but is ideally queer and polyam or polycurious, doesn't smoke or use weed or other drugs, nonreligious, politically liberal.)

But weddings are such a Big Fucking Deal, for so many people; if I throw this on too I think I might just reduce my options to 0.

Is it ever ok to ask someone to give up having a wedding for me? Because I can't do it.

I can't, I know what happens if I try, and it's me freezing up in the bridal suite and not being able to come out until everyone has left. Not in a "lol the nerves" way. In an "I am about to be killed and eaten alive by a bear but if I dissociate then having my organs torn from my body will hurt less until the shock kicks in and I die" way.

Except without the relief of being dead at the end.

And with the social consequences of ruining my hypothetical spouse's wedding for them and for their family and their friends and embarrassing them in front of their obligation guests.

And if it even is an ok thing to need, is there ever an ok time and place and way to drop the bombshell?

INFO: Repeat, I am not dating anyone at this time

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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mkmas · 11 months ago

Text

Take Me, My Beloved Villain - Jude Jazza

sorry for any mistakes 🙇‍♀️ also everything is owned by cybird, i only translated

Kate: Ju-Jude, please let go! I can walk on my own!

Jude grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me down the corridor.

Jude: You’re going to run away as soon as I let go. I have to be cautious.

Kate: I won’t run away! I will pay back what I owe you…!

Today is the 31st of December.

I had been helping Victor make preparations for the countdown party since this morning.

However, Jude suddenly appeared in the kitchen.

“Have you forgotten that you owe me for saving your life yesterday? I will have you pay me back in labor.” …….. Then, he kidnapped me.

(I’m grateful to Jude for saving me from almost getting shot last night. He saved my life)

(But…)

Kate: It must be hard for Victor to prepare alone…..

Jude: Ha, you’re worried about him? How kind of the princess.

Jude: But it’s useless to try to measure someone who is the Queen's aide by ordinary standards.

Jude: No matter how much you complain, it's already decided that you're going to help me with my work. Shut up and follow me.

And so, I was forcibly brought to the common room.

On the desk is a familiar typewriter.

Jude: Use it to transcribe the handwritten documents. The format should be the same as the sample.

Ellis: Jude, I got what you asked for.

Ellis, who came into the room after us, had his hands full of papers.

Kate: Thi-This many…..!?

I trembled, and Jude gave me a cold glare.

Jude: Can’t do it? Was your life so light that you didn't deserve a job of this magnitude?

Jude: Sorry….. I must have overestimated.

Kate: Life isn’t light, even for me. But….. It’s too much, I don’t know if I can do it alone.

Ellis: It's okay, Kate. Jude wouldn't ask someone who isn’t capable.

(….. Ellis and Jude are like carrot and stick)***

Kate: ….. I understand. I will do it wholeheartedly…..

Jude: Don’t put your heart into it. All I want is speed and accuracy.

Jude: If you miss even 1 letter….. Do you want to know what happens?

I began work with a twitch in my cheeks, sensing that it was more than just a threat.

———

Jude: ….. That’s enough.

Jude stopped my work at 7pm, a few hours after we started.

Kate: Eh…. But it looks like there are still some paperwork left to do…..

Jude: No matter how much progress you make, there's no point in reviewing if I can't catch up.

(But I think Jude's revision work is well on its way….?)

Jude: ….. What’s with that face? I told you to stop, but you’re not happy?

Kate: N-No. It’s not like that.

(….. That’s right. Jude said so, so let’s call it a day)

I've learned from experience that pestering him will only make him grumpier, so I decided to clean up my desk.

Kate: What kind of year would you like to have next year, Jude? Do you have any resolutions?

Jude: Resolutions? I have nothing like that.

Jude: The year changes, but in reality, there’s no actual real effect. It's just an arbitrary boundary decided by humans.

Jude: Last year, this year, next year, nothing I do will be any different.

(If I recall correctly….. Jude needs money to fulfill his promise to someone)

(That’s what you’re working so hard for, right)

Kate: Jude is pushing forward towards his goal.…. It’s amazing.

Jude: Flattery will get you nothing in return.

Kate: I’m not looking for anything in return, I really do think so.

It didn't mean anything, but Jude frowned as if he had eaten something he didn't like.

He waved his hand as if to tell me to get the hell out of the room.

———

Victor: Kate! Are you finished with the work Jude asked you to do?

Kate: Yes, he doesn't need any more help today.

Victor: The best timing, we were just about to eat.

Victor: I'm glad Jude kept his promise to me.

(Oh, by the way…..)

———

It was when Jude came to the kitchen to take me away.

Kate: Sorry, Victor.…. I have to help Jude.

Victor: Don't worry about it. I'll prepare everything for you too!

Victor: But….. With all these delicious food prepared, you have to get Kate back in time for dinner, okay?

Jude: It’s up to her to decide when she can go home.

———

(….. Jude, I guess you let me go because it was time for dinner.)

The timing of the work being stopped seemed unnatural, so it must be it.

Then, time passed as everyone gathered in the dining room to eat.

However, Jude never came to the dining room.

(I guess his work isn't done yet…..)

Curious, I kept looking at the door, but there was no sign of anyone coming in.

Roger: Kate, could you do me a favor?

Kate: Yes, what is it?

Roger: I want you to bring Jude some food.

Roger: Jude hasn't eaten anything since lunch, has he? If he dies, we'll have a lot of work to do starting in the new year and it will be troublesome.

Roger: He would get annoyed if I nag him so I would be grateful if the young lady can encourage him.

Kate: …..! I understand!

Having found a good reason to visit Jude, I put some food on the plate and left the dining room.

Alfons: ….. Saying you’re worried when you’re really not, how shameless.

Roger: It’s not really a lie, is it? Well, the biggest motive was that the young lady was worried.

———

I came to the common room with a bowl of hot soup and a loaf of bread.

(Huh…..? Jude isn’t here. He left his papers here, so he’ll probably be back soon)

There, my eyes fell on the desk that Jude had been using.

(Ah….. I knew it, it was a lie that the revision process couldn't keep up)

The paperwork I had finished producing had long since been reviewed, and another new set of work documents was spread out on the desk.

(From the moment we met... Jude has been mercilessly and arrogantly cornering me.)

(So why does he sometimes give me kindness that is hard to understand?)

Is it just a whim, or is it to win me over and use me.…. or is it something more?

(….. I don't know what Jude's true feelings are, which is why I'm so curious and want to know)

But, even in the midst of uncertainty, there are certain things.

I hope Jude’s dream comes true one day, those are my feelings.

(That's right! Let's make a wish for the New Year!)

(I think I'll use.….. this wooden desk that Jude used)

Kate: Touch wood…..

While whispering, I tapped the desk lightly. It's a spell that has been passed down in England for a long time to ward off evil spirits.

Jude: ...... What are you doing?

Kate: !?

I heard a doubtful voice behind me and turned to see Jude standing there.

Kate: Wh-When did you get here…..!?

Jude: Just now. …… So, what’s up with the princess?

Jude: Muttering to the desk with a grim look, were you trying to put a curse on me?

Kate: It’s the opposite! I brought dinner, and gave Jude a good luck spell.

Stuttering my words, I explained that I had no malicious intentions.

Jude: I don't need silly wishes like "I hope my wish comes true".

Kate: N-No! I didn’t wish like that.

Jude: ….. Oh?

Jude raised an eyebrow in interest. I felt like he was urging me to continue, so I opened my mouth again.

Kate: ….. Jude says if you owe something, you should pay it back.

Jude: Loans exist to be paid back.

Kate: If the loan is to be paid back…..

Kate: In that same sense, I hope your efforts will be rewarded as well.

Jude: …..

Kate: That’s why….. I wished that Jude’s efforts would be rewarded.

Jude: ….. What a childish wish.

Jude's reaction was as cold as I expected, but that was okay.

Whatever I wish in my heart, is my choice.

Jude: And yours?

Kate: What is?

Jude: Resolutions, resolutions. I'll have to pay you back for your questionable spells. It's a pain in the ass, but.

I never thought that he would give back what I had wished for on my own.

This kind of discipline may be one of the reasons why Jude has been so successful in his work.

(My resolutions for this year are…..)

Kate: ….. I would like to get to know Jude and spend more time with him.

Jude: Spend even more time with me? Come on, you don't have to make that your resolution.

Kate: Eh…..?

Jude: You owe me a lot, remember?

Jude: You don't think you can pay back in a day what you owe me for saving your life, do you?

Kate: Eh, it’s not right!?

Jude: You said it yourself, life is not light. It's not even close.

Jude: Don't even think you can leave me until you pay off all your debts.

(Then that means….. I can spend a lot of time by Jude's side?)

Jude was probably just stating the obvious, that I owe him and I should pay him back, and that there is no special meaning to this.

(It bothers me that I'm treated like a labor force, but still... I don't know why... I'm happy)

The fact that I wanted to be by your side and was allowed to do so even for whatever reason warms my heart.

Jude: ….. Respond.

Kate: Ye-Yes…..! Next year too-

At that moment, as if timed perfectly, a bang sounded.

When I turned around, I saw large fireworks going off in the distance from the common room window.

(….. Oh, it's the New Year already)

Kate: ….. Let’s get along well this year too, Jude.

Jude: Haha, what a gentle and polite bow….. Hopeless.

Jude removes his gaze from mine to resume his work.

It was a new year that came without a countdown, but that didn’t bother me.

Maybe it's because I'm looking forward to being by Jude’s side this year.

***carrot and stick (飴と鞭) or candy and whip = combination of reward + punishment.

#jude jazza #ikemen villains #ikevil #i always do these late at night so mistakes are inevitable #also.. what happened to the soup.. :(#i just learned what touch wood means ^^

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amyispxnk · 11 months ago

Text

My Sunshine

Summary - Things are getting bad again and you know Joel would be there to help you in the blink of an eye, but you can't help but feel guilty for even feeling this way - so burdening him with your emotions is out of the question. You try to hide how you feel from him, but you know you can't. He knows you too well.

A/N: SO. i am positively struggling at the moment. with life and just everything. and my lonely ass is in need of some comfort, especially when i feel like.. yk, shit. and feeling like doing shit to myself which is not very good 😊. but i could not find a single comforting fic about self harm, and i get that it’s a very sensitive subject - but my god i need this comfort so please let me indulge for a moment.

And going back to how self harm is a very sensitive subject - please heed the warnings and tread carefully. this entire thing is about self harm and comfort when struggling with it, so please be cautious.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (could possibly be read as gn but I've used things like sweet girl and his girl so)

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: self harm (not explicitly described or anything, but reader struggles with it), fluff, comfort, established relationship, angst, one mention of drugs (i used it as a.. simile, or whatever, nobody’s taking or has taken any drugs!), crying, kisses, pet names, bad thoughts, questioning the purpose of life, brief perspective change, INCREDIBLY BRIEF MENTION OF SMUT (one word.)

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Joel opens the door with a sigh, toeing off his boots and calling out your name as he walks into the living room, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around you, breathe in your comforting scent and bask in your equally comforting embrace after a hard day of work. Normally you’d be in the living room, watching TV, maybe reading a book, or in the kitchen, cooking dinner, baking something new you’d found on the internet. But you weren’t today. It’s eerily quiet and he calls out your name again, breaking the silence with his loud voice as he walks up the stairs.

“Dariln’?” He asks as he pushes open the door to your bedroom; you’re not there either. He’s ready to start panicking since he’s checked just about every room of the house when he hears your voice coming from the bathroom.

“Just a minute!” You say, and he exhales with relief when you walk out of the room and up to him, giving him a small smile. It’s one of those smiles which doesn’t make your face look brighter or your eyes crinkle at the corners, no, it’s one of those smiles which you offer to him quickly to reassure him that everything’s okay, please don’t worry about me when you’re probably so stressed already.

“How was work?” You ask as your arms come around his neck and you hug him, breathing him in, holding him a little tighter than usual.

“Was a little tiring today, our supplier messed up the size of the headers and- Sorry, probably don’t mean nothin’ to ya.” He trailed off with a sheepish smile as his right hand came to the back of your neck, tilting your head back a bit so he could kiss you.

You melted into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in it. No matter how many times you kissed him, you’d never get enough of the feeling that came with it. Joel's kiss was like a drug, and you were addicted.

His hands skim up your sides but you pull back abruptly, wrinkling your nose. “You smell, Joel. Go shower.” You chuckle weakly and hit him playfully on the chest.

“Mm, I thought you like ‘em a little dirty?” He teased, making you scoff and shake your head as a smirk crept onto your lips.

“Not today. Get.” You told him sternly, still smiling nonetheless as he walked past you to go shower. The smile slipping from your face with ease as the door slides shut behind you.

A few hours later, showers have been taken, dinner made and eaten, and the both of you are now sat on the couch. Joel decided it was a good idea to watch a movie, putting on his favourite - Curtis and Viper 2 - much to your dismay. You swore that you’ve seen this damn movie so many times you’d be able to quote the entire thing word for word, but he still put it on, insisting that it was a classic and it wasn’t like you had any better ideas anyway.

You'd both come to learn that during movie nights, you'd always end up either falling asleep on his shoulder or you were both fucking before even the halfway mark.

Tonight you were curled into Joel's side, silently watching the movie with him. Well, not really watching the movie, just kind of watching the screen. Staring at the pixels and letting the sounds of the film and the world around you in through one ear, out the other.

You were lost in your thoughts, that was happening more often nowadays, mindlessly picking at your nails as you pondered on questions that were far too heavy to ponder this late at night. What's the point of life if we're all going to die one day? Why am I always so hopeless? Why can I never find the purpose in anything? Why am I getting worse at hiding these bad feelings? What if I get too miserable one day and Joel stops loving me? What if I'm just a burden to him?

The final two questions hit you hard, making you do a sharp inhale as you suddenly sit up, startling Joel in the process.

He turns to face you wearily, eyebrows furrowed. “Baby? What's wrong?” He asks quietly, arm coming around you and pulling you back into his side as he kisses your hair.

“‘s nothing. Sorry. Just tired- I think I'm gonna go to sleep.” You mumble, gently extracting yourself from his hold.

He frowns deeper. “Y’ don't wanna stay with me and finish the movie? Even though I know you weren't watching.” He attempts to tease lightly, wanting to lift the mood.

“No, um- you stay and watch it, that's okay. I'm gonna go to sleep now. Goodnight.” You say hurriedly, forgetting to even give him a goodnight kiss before you're up the stairs and in the bedroom, closing the door a little too quickly and praying the slam of it didn't further his concern.

Your back is pressed against the door as you grip the handle tight, eyes squeezing shut as you try to slow your breathing. It's not working, and you just want it to stop. You don't want to be upset, you don't want to feel like you're drowning in your own emotions again, you don't want Joel to find you crying upstairs in your room.

And the only thing you can think of doing is harming yourself. It's been on your mind a lot recently, as your sadness starts to get a little bit too much and you can't find any way to extinguish it. It feels like it's consuming you and you can only think about the last time things got like this. About how you dealt with it.

It would be so easy. You knew how to do it. But you couldn't bring yourself to. You'd be failing him, you saw how upset he was when he found out what you were doing last time and you didn't want to make him feel bad ever again.

You just didn't want to be a burden.

The door slams upstairs and Joel’s frown deepens. His hand goes for the remote, turning off the TV. He's seen this movie enough times, he thinks.

He slowly goes up the stairs and makes his way to your bedroom, wanting to make sure everything's okay.

You were definitely a little off tonight, zoning out and not being as talkative as you normally were, giving him a reason to already be a little concerned. Then you practically ran upstairs a minute ago, seeming panicked and making him worry even more.

He's at the door now, gently coaxing it open, and he's met with darkness. Darkness and silence.

He whispers your name, closing the door behind him as he flicks the light switch on, jumping slightly when he sees that you're right there, sat on the edge of the bed.

You turn to face him and he immediately notices how your face is wet with tears, eyes swollen and red, hair slightly dishevelled.

His heart effectively breaks at the sight of you.

“Baby- what's wrong?” He asks, concerned as ever, as he rushes over to you.

You rub at your eyes furiously, blinking back any further tears as you swallow.

“Nothing- nothing's wrong, Joel-” Your voice wavers as you speak and there's clearly something wrong - why you try so hard to hide it from him is beyond him.

He gently pulls your hands away from your face and holds them together in your lap.

“There's somethin’ wrong, sweetheart. I can see it.” He says softly, his thumb brushing away another tear that’s slowly trailing down your cheek.

You're completely silent, lip quivering.

You don't want to be a burden. If you tell him, he'll get upset and then he'll try to help you, even though you feel like nobody can. You'll just end up being a burden.

You shake your head, squeezing his hand as you do.

“Baby please. Talk to me.” He pleads with you, cupping your cheek and looking at you with so much care and worry that it makes you want to sob all over again.

“I just feel like shit.” You mumble so quietly he almost missed it. “I-” you start, but you just sigh frustratedly, digging your nails into your palms. “I feel.. really bad, again. It almost feels worse this time and it just makes me want to hurt myself. To make it all stop.” You say through clenched teeth, upset and afraid and so, so angry with yourself for admitting how you feel. You do it so much easier now but only because you and Joel had worked so hard to get rid of these defensive walls you'd built around yourself, walls that forced you to conceal your feelings and bottle your emotions.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He frowns, sitting on the bed and turning you to face him a little more. You don't want to look at him. You don't want to see him getting upset and worrying about you. You can't bear it.

So you keep your eyes clamped shut and continue talking. “My thoughts were just getting so.. so loud. And I don't know how to make it stop, and I almost- I just thought it would help.” You're shaking, he can feel it. Little shivers across your entire body, making your breath tremble as you exhale and inhale shakily. “I'm so sorry, Joel. I'm sorry.” You start to sob and he feels like doing the same, because he hates seeing you like this. If he could take all the pain away, force it onto himself so you didn't have to bear it, he would.

He pulls you closer to him, into his lap as he cradles you and rocks you slightly, pressing soft kisses to your forehead and resting his head there.

“Baby, please stop apologisin’. You aren't doin’ anything wrong and.. I know it's hard. It's hard to stop yourself from relapsin’, but you've done so well. ‘m so damn proud of ya, because you've gone so long without hurtin’ yourself. And it's doin’ good for ya; you might not realise it but I do. You’re so much happier now without it, ya like a fuckin’ ball of sunshine.” He teases, making you let out a watery chuckle. He pauses for a moment to brush away your tears, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I love you. So so much. And I don't want to see you in pain like that ever again. I don't want my sunshine to go away, and I don't think you want her to either.”

You nod slowly, rubbing at your face as the final tears slip past your eyelids, looking up at Joel again.

He held you and you both talked for what must have been hours after that. You discussed what was really bothering you, how you could try make it better. Distractions helped, you decided. Joel proved to be a good distraction, as you ended the night listening to him talk about just about anything from the new diner that opened up in town to that one story from his childhood which made you snort with laughter every time (one which consisted of little Joel falling ‘head over heels in love’ with a girl when he was in elementary school, deciding to profess his love to her by writing a sappy poem for her and reading it to her in front of quite a large group of people.. only to be turned down. Naturally, he would've been, considering she was a fucking 16 year-old!)

He knew that that story would be the one to make you crack a smile, even if it was a small one, he just wanted to make his girl happy again.

You did a little more than smile, giggling so much you went red because that story never really gets old.

“There she is.” He murmured affectionately, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear and kissing the tip of your nose, then your cheek, then your lips.

It was a brief, yet loving, one, as he pulled back from the kiss and stroked your hair as your eyes fluttered shut.

Joel pulled you closer to him, your head now resting on his chest as your eyes fluttered closed from his soothing touch.

“G’night, babygirl.” He murmured, unsurprised when you didn't answer since you had already fallen asleep.

He stares up at the ceiling and he feels happy despite everything that happened tonight, because he feels good knowing that he can give you that solace and comfort that you just need so desperately sometimes, just like he gave you in the hours that passed. He'd do it a million times and more if it was for you.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you.. enjoyed? Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and requests are open. 💞

Note: My heart really goes out to you if you struggle with self harm. It's not easy to deal with and even harder to stop doing it once you've started, but you're not alone. Even if you feel like you have no one to talk to, there are countless places and websites you can look at which offer things like helplines and anonymous chats if you're struggling, and also give healthy solutions and alternatives etc. to self harm. You're so loved. Things might seem impossible but never give up. It will get better one day.

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bobbydagen24 · 8 months ago

Text

Trolls overall has a Big problem with the idea of Holding people accountable for their actions.

here's a numbered list of examples of what I'm talking about.

Cloud Guy in the Tv shows not only because he Harasses Branch most of the time with no consequences but also because Poppy goes out of her way to defend him even when his actions cause trouble for many other people.

like when he flooded the village just out of spite because Branch wouldn't do what he wanted anymore and not to mention how even when she found out that he also Harassed other people from each of the Troll Tribes she still took his side and got mad at them when they stood up for themselves and "" upset Cloud Guy "".

which even if it hadn't been revealed that it was all an act by him just to mess with them it would still make Poppy look bad since she Refused to do anything about his Blatant Bullying yet got mad at his victims when they stood up for themselves.

and not to mention made excuses for why his behaviour wasn't so bad making out like he only Harassed them because he was trying to help them which is just all kinds of wrong.

2. a lesser example but still a bad example imo is in the Trollstopia episode where Dante uses Branch as his muse and he stalks him breaks into his home and disrupts his daily Jobs which he does.

and when he goes to Poppy for help she makes out like Dante's behaviour is reasonable and tells Branch to suck it up.

and after Branch does something to get Dante to back off Poppy then gets mad at him when Dante isn't able to come up with any music ideas like that's somehow Branch's problem?

Dante needed help but Rather than ask for it he just went ahead and took it by invading someone's privacy.

and breaching their trust and then Poppy made out like Branch was wrong for setting down Boundaries with him which is just iffy to be honest feels like this episode was written by Joe Goldberg or something lol.

3. and there's Creek as I've said in the past I love him lol but I do agree that his Return in TBGO could have been done better where he could have had a little arc of slowly earning back people's trust maybe over the span of a few episodes.

4. some people like to go on about the Bergens being forgiven too easily and I agree to an extent but given how Gristle Jr couldn't exactly punish the majority of the population I don't think they really had much choice in this matter.

I feel the only problem is them acting all chummy with the rest of the Bergens like letting them off for killing their species is one thing but acting like friends with them is a whole other like staying friends with Bridget and Gristle is fine given their history and the fact that they were too young to have eaten any Trolls prior to the escape.

but acting friendly with the rest of them feels a tad insensitive like in the opening of TBT we see Branch and Poppy acting all chummy with Random Bergens and Branch even High fives a couple of them and I was just thinking to myself

"" dude they probably ate someone's loved ones in the past how would you feel if you saw other Trolls giving Chef a friendly High five? ""

5. anyway moving on there's Barb who enslaved countless people destroyed their homes and tried to wipe out all other kinds of music and she was let off in the end.

its not even like she had a last minute change of heart she literally just got beaten and that's the only reason why her plan didn't succeed and afterwards she was just instantly forgiven.

6. Bro zone I've already talked about them in Depth in the past but yeah unreliable selfish insensitive and at worst cruel not to mention they never truly change their ways.

they keep on doing the same crappy behaviour and they don't show that much remorse for their past actions yet they still get forgiven in the end Despite everything.

because yaaaay family is amazing even if they Treat you like shit over and over again.

the films message feels like it was written by a toxic parent to please other toxic parents to be honest which judging by how this film won over general audiences I'd say it worked like a Treat lol.

so yeah Despite my love for it Trolls overall as a franchise has a serous problem with actually Holding people accountable for their crappy actions and Behaviours I feel the only exception is Veneer as even tho his turn at the end felt Rushed and out of nowhere imo.

I was pleasantly surprised that the movie didn't just let him off the Hook and he still got arrested and accepted the punishment for his crimes in the end.

I feel the same thing should have happened with Barb given everything she did.

anyway if you've made it to the end of my post thank you you have the patience of a saint lol anyway what do you think about this aspect of the franchise?

#trolls branch #trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls brozone #trolls band together #branch trolls #trolls dreamworks #branch #brozone #trolls 3 #Trolls #Trolls Branch #Trolls Bro zone #Trolls Brozone #Trolls bro zone #trolls deeper analysis

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writingquestionsanswered · 5 months ago

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So whilst I know you're not a therapist or psychologist, but you're a damn good writer with great advice; what can I do to tackle this? Could I know your own process? When you develop a plot and get to a part that needs something new - what do you actually do? How do you brainstorm effectively and... trust your decisions? I think my issue is a combo of autism (like going down a research rabbit hole just for shopping new things...) but also feeling distrustful because of past bad choices... 2/2

My Plotting Process

I think part one got eaten by the Tumblr goblins, because I couldn't find it anywhere. Unless I already answered part one and it isn't obviously related to this one, but I'll do my best here. :)

Just as there are people who can hop into the car with no map and no planning, and just drive across the country to some destination, there are writers who can sit down without an outline or plan, and write a story that somehow manages to hit all the requisite plot points. I'm not that person, in either case. I used Google Maps today to get to a place less than two miles from my house that I've been to twenty times, because I wasn't 100% sure exactly where it was or where I needed to turn for it. I'm the same way with writing. It doesn't matter how many novels I write, I still need the damn map. That's why I always outline and use various story structures as reference, according to feels right for the story I want to tell.

For people who are ND like you and me, and for other people prone to falling down rabbit holes, outlines have the added benefit of keeping you on track. If you're following a road map that tells you to stay on this road for two miles and turn left at the intersection, you're much less likely to turn down random roads and end up inadvertently exploring hidden neighborhoods and back country lanes. Outlines work the same way. If you know exactly what scene you're writing, what's going to happen in that scene and why, and what major plot point it fulfills or helps build toward, you're not going to get lost along the way.

So, when I get a story idea, the first thing I do is write out an exhaustive beginning to end summary with everything I know. Then, I look at Save the Cat! and start plotting out the story according to the plot points. Quite often, when I get to a plot hole, I can fill it out based on the previous or upcoming plot point. If not, I'll start looking at other story structures to see if that jogs something loose. Sometimes I'll realize that structure just works better for the story I'm trying to tell, and I'll replot the whole thing according to that structure. I might plot my story using three or four different structures or a combination of a few before I settle on one that works for the story. Once I have the structure hammered out, I start making a list of necessary scenes to encapsulate, build-up to, or ramp down from the various plot points. Once I have my scene list, I write out a beginning to end scene summary for each scene so I know what has to happen. I think about things like conflict of the scene, how it begins, what happens in the middle, and how it ends. I think about the character's goal in the scene, and how the scene builds upon the scene before it and leads up to the scene after it. And, with my scene list in hand, I'm usually good to start writing. If I hit things that don't quite work out or need more fleshing out, I might refer to other story structures, or I might even write out my scenes on scene cards and see if moving things around makes a difference. The important rule is I never let myself feel limited by the structure I'm using or have created. I know it's just there as a guide, and it's okay to stray from it if need be. I always follow my gut, and knowing when to trust my gut is just something I've learned over many, many years of writing. You'll get there, too, but you have to take calculated risks before you can build up that sort of trust with yourself.

I hope that answers your question well enough! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

#wqaadvice

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anachronismstellar · 1 month ago

Text

I'm awake and I WAS ABLE TO WRITE even tho idk if I'm happy about this scene I think it's time to tell y'all how our dear Mobei-Jun is doing

He's...... Well. Here we go.

-----

Mobei did his best to avoid the food and water, but the chambers were not a laughing matter, the sequence of battles disrupting his recovery, forcing him to feed instead of meditating and gathering energy. They have gotten progressively worse, to the point of him finishing the last one with a cold to his bones so intense that made him swear to buy the softest carpets for Qinghua when he got back.

Because he would be back. Not if, when.

Another problem had been time. It felt like it ran differently inside the weird temple; he would look at the running numbers on the floating parchment, fight for hours, glare at it again and see that a few minutes had passed by. He was tired, but certainly not enough to lose time? But the other option would be the shapeshifter being capable of manipulating it. Then, how long has it been since he saw Qinghua? Weeks? Months?

He mustered all his energy to put the dark thoughts aside, head throbbing, arm numb. This time the Thing had made him exhaust his shadows, the roaring beast of his ancestors’ power eerily subdued.

He was ready to fall face forward on the bed when the sound of clapping made him turn around, an ice sword at ready.

“Oh, I apologize. It wasn't my intention to startle you,” the Thing said as kept Its distance, hands still clasped together.

“What. Do you want.” Mobei kept his sword pointed at It, muscles burning from tension. It was like a river of fire was coursing through his veins, making him hyper aware of his vulnerable state.

“I've came to congratulate you.” The Thing took a step to the side, then other, then one more, starting a wide circle around Mobei. “Your progress through the chambers has been remarkable. Better than expected,” It stopped next to the table where all the foods and drinks were served, most of them untouched. “However, your strength still is not up to your normal standards.”

Mobei had to force his body not to react, to not attack and kill the Thing and be done with this farce of kidnapping once and for all. It was provoking him, baiting him into being harsh. Even so the grip on his sword tightened, the ice not cracking purely because of it being made by Mobei himself.

“I don't understand what you mean by that.”

The Thing picked up one of the many berries, turning it side to side before eating it with a blank expression. Then It licked Its fingers, staring at Mobei.

“Would that suffice?” The bowl was pretty, translucid jade carved with drawings all over the rim, a piece of beauty that seemed to have been stolen from the Heavens. He could easily reach and grab it. He was wise enough to ignore the offer. Instead he kept his eyes on the Thing, considering his chances.

If Mobei attacked It, he would die. He was too tired and using a portal would be impossible at the moment. He considered running to the door, but what would be the chances of it being unlocked? Slim to none.

He might not have another opportunity, but it was most certainly a trap-

“What do you mean?” he asked instead of acting, the tip of his sword scraping the jade bowl, tapping it to the side.

“I've just demonstrated that the food is not poisoned. I have no intention of harming you, that would make this entire interaction pointless. If I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead.” It said with a small tilt of Its head to the side, picking up another berry, slowly chewing it as if having to count the bites. “You've been maintaining the bare minimum to survive the chambers,” the Thing made a noise that Mobei guessed it was supposed to be a sigh. “However, to have accurate data you need to be at your full strength. Which means you have to eat.”

“I have eaten,” he snapped as he shifted his foot, talking the smallest step towards the door. Many years ago, the possibility of even considering running away from an enemy would be unspeakable. Now? His husband had taught him more than once the advantages of living another day to fight back.

He couldn't- he wouldn't die here, away from Qinghua.

“Not enough,” the Thing moved Its fingers as if plucking the air, the clicking sound of a lock settling in place making Mobei let a curse through his teeth. “Consider this an incentive. The more you postpone having proper meals and rest, the longer it will take for you to return to user UV001.”

Again with that cursed title, as if Qinghua were a thing instead of a person, as if he were an amusing toy and all of this has been a ploy to make his husband dance in circles trying to find Mobei.

“Why do you call him that?” He didn't want to keep talking with the Thing, but he recognized an opportunity to gather information when he saw one. “Why not call him by his name?”

“Why would you want to know?” the Thing asked after eating Its third or fourth berry, bright green eyes focusing on Mobei-Jun as It started walking back towards the door. “This information is not relevant to you or to your progress in the chambers.”

This wasn’t his type of battlefield, and Mobei wasn't good at improvising. Politics and thinking fast on his feet had been Shang Qinghua's skill. It was what made them a ruthless pair. When his husband's honey words weren't enough, Mobei was there to be his sword and see that his will was done. And when Mobei ice and shadows couldn't reach the minds and hearts of enemies, Shang Qinghua was there with a whisper and a smile, ready to turn the tables to their favor.

It wasn't as if he were bad at court machinations, he had been raised by his uncle after all. He just preferred not to deal with it. And by letting Qinghua be responsible for most of the paperwork in the past years, he might have become a bit rusty on these types of confrontations.

He didn't close his eyes, but still he threw a prayer for any Gods that might hear to lend him the brains to beat the Thing in their game.

“Shang Qinghua had many names during our life together,” he said slowly, buying himself time to think. “But you call him by a title this one has never heard before. Makes this one think that you've known Shang Qinghua from somewhere else.”

“Ah,” It walked towards Mobei, offering the food one more time, a stilled smile pulling Its face, baring Its teeth in a poor imitation of kindness. “Good to see that your mind is sharp even with your levels of exhaustion. However, this information cannot be given freely.”

“And I'm willing to pay a price for it,” he took the bowl from the Thing's hand, eating one of the berries in a demonstration of good will.

The Thing's eyes glowed as they became unfocused, staring over Mobei's shoulder. The silence dragged, heavy as a serpent-boar from the southern valleys, the Thing static, as if It had been frozen.

It blinked, the image of Its face shifting like a spectral shadow, overlaying for a second, worsening Mobei's headache. The unsettling smile; that It had dropped while staring at the wall, came back with vengeance as the Thing pulled too many of the magical parchments up, the crackling magic giving It a maniac air that sent shivers down Mobei's spine.

He swallowed dry, as if a heavy stone scratched his throat and sunk down on his stomach, the taste of berries turning into ashes on his mouth.

“Let's make a deal, then.” It said as It touched one of the parchments, moving Its fingers over symbols that Mobei couldn't comprehend. “For each chamber you complete using your full strength and energy you will acquire a number of points. You can trade these points for answers. As a reward.”

“Very well,” he agreed with a sharp nod, holding back a flinch when the cold fingers touched his forehead, right on his demon mark. “Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations. I hope you enjoy your beta user experience!”

Then It vanished, leaving Mobei with the feeling of having sold his soul for a meager price.

-----

This System thanks Mobei-Jun for his efforts

#scum villian self saving system #svsss #moshang #mobei jun #shang qinghua #airplane vs the system #this is getting ridiculous #why I keep adding stuff send help #fr it has 60 pages already #someone rescue me

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sensitiveheartless · 7 months ago

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What’s A Rose in Fairyland about?

Thanks for the asks about this one @azapofinspiration, @duodipersponsh, and anon!! Alright, the original story, hehehe >:D I have been having a lot of fun plotting this one out! The basic premise is:

Right on the very outskirts of Fairyland, there is a small village of humans. Now, the forest of Fairyland is known for being very very bad for humans, as in "if you go in you'll never come back out", so they really shouldn't be living there — but in their defense, their village was not always on the edge of Fairyland.

Fairyland has been growing. Very rapidly. And it is now consuming their village, and no one knows why.

Most people in the village flee, but by then some of the residents have been infected by the roots of the forest. This means they cannot go too far from Fairyland, or else they'll become rooted in the ground and turn into trees, thus expanding the forest even further.

Pretty soon there's only a scattered group of people left in the outskirts of the village, both infected and not, watching their old houses be consumed. They know they can't survive there forever. Even if food weren't an issue (most of their farmland is now forest), there are monsters in the woods. Living too close makes it all too likely that they'll end up eaten.

So the main character of the story, Rose, decides to venture into Fairyland herself and figure out what the hell is going on with the fae.

...Unfortunately, Rose has all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and cannot pick up on subtext to save her life.

You can imagine how this might become a problem when facing a forest full of tricksters.

But yeah! Most of the story is gonna take place in Fairyland itself, and there's going to be some mystery elements, as well as character stuff — also, I have been really enjoying figuring out how the ecology of Fairyland is going to work! Fantasy ecology is so fun to mess around with (magic as an additional energy source!!)

I'll put an excerpt under the cut (since this is already getting a bit long lol), as well as some art I've been working on of Rose :D

Rose pushed through the brush, ignoring the tug of briars at her cloak, and emerged into a clearing.

It was brighter than the surrounding forest, but only slightly. The sun was still filtered through layers and layers of greenery that turned the light heavy and liquid, oozing down from above like honey. The few sunbeams that made their way to earth illuminated circling insects, their threadlike wings catching in the light as they whirled about in the air.

The clearing seemed entirely empty, but the surrounding trees appeared almost uncomfortably close to being a perfect circle. Rose thought about the fairy rings spoken of in childhood tales, and narrowed her eyes.

Still. It was the most direct path to take, wasn’t it?

The moss covering the ground was so dense and damp that Rose’s boots sunk into it with every step she took. She avoided stepping on the many mushrooms pushing up from the earth, remembering Martha’s warning about disturbing them. Rose really didn’t need her feet turning to wood while she tried to walk.

Suddenly, she paused.

Inside her lantern, the salamander had begun behaving oddly.

While before it had been peacefully curled around the candle’s wick, slumbering away, the creature was now crawling in rapid circles, seemingly in a panic.

“What’s the matter?” Rose asked, raising the lantern up to eye level so she could study the salamander closer. “You want out now?”

She crouched down and unlatched the front glass panel to free it, but the salamander didn’t take the offered exit. Instead, it dove straight into the flame itself and huddled there, quivering, its big eyes reflecting the fire as it stared back at Rose.

“Hmm,” said Rose.

She relatched the panel and stood, holding the lantern close to her chest. Then, with her free hand, she drew her sword, and held it before them both.

It felt a bit silly to be brandishing the blade at thin air — nothing was moving, aside from the lazily drifting insects. Still, the salamander had to be frightened of something.

“I’ll protect you,” she told the bundle of anxious flames, and strode forward with grim determination.

Before she had gone more than a single step further, she was caught around the waist by an arm, and yanked backwards against what felt like a human chest.

Without looking or thinking twice, Rose thrust the pommel of her sword back over her shoulder with every ounce of her strength.

The blow must have hit its mark, for she was released at once, and whatever had grabbed her let out a startled yelp of agony.

“Ow,” the voice said emphatically.

Rose whirled around, ready to strike again, only to find a human-shaped person there, doubled over and clutching at their face.

“By all the ancient wealds, what a prickly human!” the figure laughed, voice a little strained. “A little quick on the draw, aren’t you?”

When their hands lowered from their face, Rose could see the person was wearing a mask made of bark that hid all of their features, save for a rough pair of holes for their eyes. They were taller than her, and clad in an oddly fine-fabriced tunic and breeches of earthen tones.

Most importantly, however, their ears were long and pointed, standing out from amidst their long dark curls. An elf.

Rose leveled her sword at the elf, scowling. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Ah, not even a hello? How impolite,” the elf bemoaned. Then they swept a deep bow, apparently fully recovered. “I am Silvian of the Luminescent Grove, or as some might call me, he who wanders. And who might you be, little human?”

“Why did you grab me?” Rose asked, ignoring the question.

Silvian paused, then pointed a rather long spindly finger behind her towards the center of the clearing. “...There’s a swallower pit just ahead,” he said plaintively. “You were about to walk straight into it, so I thought I should stop you.”

Rose glanced behind her at the seemingly empty clearing, then at the salamander in the lantern, still shivering away in the fire.

Oh. Maybe that was what scared it.

“But you needn’t take my word for it,” Silvian added, leaning down to snatch a loose twig up from the moss. “Behold!”

With that, he chucked the twig past her, landing it straight in the middle of the clearing.

In the next instant, a broad chasm opened up beneath the twig, and what seemed to be a hundred spines erupted in a circle around the hole, barely an arm’s length away from where Rose stood. She jumped back at once, hiding the lantern and salamander in her cloak, and watched with wide eyes as the many spines dove inwards on the twig to drag it down into the dark depths of the earth.

Once the twig was gone, a small fountain of dirt spewed up from the hole, filling it back in at once. It looked a little like a mole hill—but it sank in on itself rapidly, moss growing back across it at an unnatural pace, until the center of the clearing was just as still and peaceful as before.

There were a few less insects in the air above the pit, but the rest of the bugs seemed unperturbed by the loss of their comrades.

Rose waited a few seconds until her heart had stopped racing. Then she sheathed her sword, turned back to Silvian, and bowed. “In that case, my apologies. I acted hastily,” she said gravely.

Silvian’s head cocked to one side, as though surprised by this. Then he laughed, and his eyes twinkled at her from behind his mask. “Don’t mention it! If you wish to make it up to me…why not give me your name, little human?”

“I’m—” Rose began, then stopped.

Thought for a moment, remembering Reuben’s words.

Whatever you do, don’t give a fae your true name.

“—Me,” Rose finished firmly. “I’m myself, and I’m not falling for that.”

…Nevermind that she almost had, the very moment he asked her. Hmm. She would have to be more on guard, it would seem.

(And here is my WIP of Rose and her kinda fucked up sword)

#while plotting this one out I have come to the realization that some of the later plot elements are uh—#possibly the meanest I've ever been to my own characters #so that'll be fun to write lol #anyway thank you for letting my ramble about my oc plot this was very fun to write out :D #this is the first original plot I've made in a while where I actually have a solid plan for the entire thing! I am excited aksfjksdjf #senhart's writing #original story #a rose in fairyland

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