#once again i'm physically unable to write something short

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 5 - Better

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Hi! I'm sorry this took so long, work has been kicking my bum lately and I haven't had much writing time. But it's here - the final part! I hope you like it. Thanks to everyone who has reblogged/commented/engaged with this story - it means so much. Thank-you!!

💔

One week later…

You were cleaning tables when you glanced at the diner’s clock and realised it was almost 9am. Friday was here once again…

…Would he be in as usual?

It was raining heavily outside, throughout the early shift your regulars had rushed in and shaken the sogginess off their coats and umbrellas once they were safely over the threshold of the diner. You’d chatted with them, commiserating with them about ‘this damn weather’ and promising to warm them up with coffee and breakfast.

You’d spent your time off this last week popping into the hospital to see Lou. He was doing well, making progress, but the road to recovery was long. He needed to make major adjustments to his lifestyle and potentially engage in physical therapy as they think he’d also had a small stroke. He got his personal mail delivered to the diner and asked you to open it and keep him updated with anything pressing. The medical bills you’d seen were already dizzying and his insurance only covered part of it, but you couldn’t bother him what that just yet – he didn’t need the stress on top of everything else. You’d figure it out. You always did.

Lou had made you acting manager to pick up the slack while he was gone. You were pulling extra hours, working overtime to ensure the ship remained afloat while the captain remained on the shore. It was tough, but you couldn’t deny you loved the buzz of being in charge – of keeping everything moving.

You hadn’t seen Bucky since that night at the hospital. He’d insisted on driving you home after you’d said goodbye to Lou, ignoring your protests that the subway was perfectly fine…

“The subway, doll? Fuck no. Not on my watch”.

You’d rolled your eyes, knowing you didn’t have the energy to fight him after the evening you’d had. He knew it too. You’d merely sighed and hopped into the back of his SUV as you gave him your new address, giving a little wave to Clint who was driving.

The two of you sat in the back in silence for the entire journey, you watched the city flying past you from the window and it felt strange that the outside world was just continuing around you like normal while yours had almost collapsed.

The car rolled to a stop in front of your building, and you turned to Bucky. He seemed to be studying you carefully, concern drawn across his features. Even after all this time and distance, the beauty of his face still took your breath away at times.

“Thank-you…for the ride. For dinner. For showing up…all of it,” you said softly.

He nodded stoically, “always. Look…no matter what happens between us, I’ll always show up for you if you need me. Any time, any place. And Lou is going to be just fine, alright?”

Almost instinctively you found your hand sliding across the leather of the seat towards him. He looked down as your hand moved to find his. You clasped your fingers around his metal digits, the cool sensation against your skin was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. They in turn wrapped around yours and the two of you sat holding hands for a short while. You didn’t speak or look at each other, just both existing in the moment and concentrating on the feeling of your hands entwined. You paused, wanting to say more – but unable to quite find the words.

Eventually you couldn’t bear the strange tension in the air. You gently withdrew your hand and cleared your throat as you shuffled across the seat towards the door.

“Well, thanks again. And for the ride, too”.

“Anytime. Nice building…” he peered out of the window at your apartment block.

“Ah yeah, thanks,” you said proudly.

“You doing okay, living there?” he asked quizzically in his Brooklyn-lilt, his brows furrowed.

“Mm…I mean, it’s not as fancy as your place,” you chuckled, “it’s kinda cramped and small, but it’s cosy and warm. And it’s mine,” you told him with fondness.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “My place was yours too, you know”.

You chewed on your lip, you hadn’t intended it as a slight against him. “I-I know Buck…but…you know what I meant”.

He nodded reluctantly. “Yeah…that’s good. I’m pleased for you, really”. His nose crinkled as he looked at you fondly. It was a little mannerism of his that you’d missed.

You shared a small smile before getting out of the car and heading inside. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to look back at the car, a storm of emotions fighting to escape you. Your fatigue mixed with your anxieties about Lou, confusion about this sudden shift with Bucky now swelling. You could tell from the quiet behind you that the car hadn’t pulled away yet, no doubt waiting until you were safely off the street. You put your key in the door and quickly moved inside.

That was last week. You hadn’t spoken to him since, although you’d wondered if you should reach out. You thought he might’ve been in touch – a text, a call, but nothing. It was nice, he was leaving the ball in your court and not crowding you, respecting the boundaries you’d established. But part of you couldn’t shake the small sense of disappointment that lingered, too.

The fact was you couldn’t deny that something was stirring. Bucky, who you’d long written off and blacklisted for his betrayal, had started to be on your mind more and more. He had crept back into your brain.

You didn’t believe the old adage that time healed all wounds, but it had certainly helped. The space you’d had from him a year on from the incident had allowed you to find yourself again, the parts that you hadn’t realised you’d lost after diving headfirst into your relationship with Bucky. You still felt immense pain when you thought about what happened…but you also thought about how he had been true to his word. He hadn’t tried to force you back, not aggressively pursuing you or trying to talk you round. His weekly mornings at the diner had never felt pointed or manipulative. You believed that he was just happy to have you in his life, like he’d said. You’d since found your own place, started therapy and looked at your own issues, thrown yourself into work. Remembered who you were before you were ‘mob boss girlfriend’. You knew that what had happened with Bucky was not your fault, it wasn’t your job to reflect and change accordingly – that was all his. But still, having the space and time to work on yourself…it was refreshing. One small silver lining on this ugly, black cloud.

You’d also been on a few dates over the last few months. Nothing to write home about. A few nice guys, a few less than nice guys. Nothing had truly sparked for you; nobody had piqued your interest enough to want to really explore more than a few dinners or coffees. Maybe it was because of how things ended with Bucky, or you just hadn’t met someone right for you, or maybe you were just off dating altogether…But it wasn’t something you felt real enthusiasm for at this point. But that was okay. It had been fun to dip your toe back in the dating pool, and you weren’t averse to trying again when the moment was right, or you met the right person.

Unless of course, it was because someone else was on your mind.

Your slow burn friendship with Bucky had crept on you, taken you by surprise. The man who had once broken your heart now had a new place in your life. It was strange, but in some ways, you knew him better than you had when you were together. Despite your previous connection - your conversations had opened territory up you’d never covered together before, previously too caught up in passion and heat to dive as deeply as you had now.

And most importantly, he had shown up for you that night at the hospital, been there for you without you needing to ask. He had brought you dinner and stayed by your side without a word, because he knew you needed not to be alone – needed support. You were touched by his care for you, his willingness to clear his schedule for you at the drop of a hat. It meant a lot. It meant everything. He had intuited how you felt and acted immediately. He was there.

You didn’t know what it meant, if anything. Something had changed, the safe barrier of diner breakfast chats had been crossed. Part of you was panicking – no! Don’t let him get close, not again! Remember what he did! But another part of you had missed him deeply, longed to hold him again and wake up to him each morning. Your thoughts were a spiralling mass of contradictions and conflict, nothing made sense.

You weren’t sure if you could ever truly forgive him for what happened.

But could you try?

Roscoe snapped you out of your thoughts as he passed you the latest batch mail on his way by. You thanked him, flicking through the junk mail until your attention was caught by the hospital logo on one of the envelopes. You winced, tentatively ripping open the paper as you braced yourself for the latest bill.

You cursed under your breath as you unveiled the total figure, a stupid amount of money. You spiralled as it sank in, wondering if Lou would have to sell the diner in order to settle his debt. You knew he didn’t have anywhere near enough in his savings. You thought about all the jobs that could be at stake, including yours, and your heart ached most of all knowing that the restaurant was Lou’s baby. It would break him to give it up.

Maybe you could call them, sort out a payment plan…something?

You tried to calm yourself down, thinking about what your therapist would say about your immediate jump to the worst-case scenario. Relax. You can fix this. Remember your mindfulness exercises. Life would find a way.

The opening of the front door pulled you from your catastrophising. You glanced over, making eye contact with a rather damp Bucky as he entered the diner. He sighed, shaking the rain from his coat as he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“A lovely morning…” he muttered, deadpan.

You smiled, stuffing the hospital bill into your apron pocket and going to grab the coffee jug, “Morning, Buck. Get a little wet?”

“A little,” he gruffed, slotting himself into his usual booth.

You chuckled as you filled up his mug.

“How’s Lou?” he asked, shaking the rain from his hair.

“He’s doing better, thanks for asking. They’ve got a whole treatment plan worked out for him - so that’s positive”.

“Good. Glad to hear. You over here running the show while he’s out?”

“Something like that,” you smiled, then shuffled on your feet as you realised you needed to talk to him. “Bucky, I-”

A loud clatter and exclamation from the kitchen cut you off, causing you both to look over at the disturbance. You sighed with exasperation.

“Ah. Duty calls…I’ll put your order in while I’m in there”.

You rushed off to sort out whatever mess waited for you in the kitchen as Bucky smiled playfully at your annoyance.

He noticed something had fallen out of your apron as you dashed off. A piece of paper. He leaned over to pick it off the floor for you in case you needed it. Before he realised it was private and had a chance to look away, his eyes were immediately drawn to the monstrous sum at the bottom of the page. Ah. He grimaced as he quickly put two and two together, folding the paper neatly and leaving it on the table. He took a sip of his coffee.

You appeared a little while later with his order, sighing heavily as you placed the plate in front of him.

“Sorry about that…Roscoe and Ron were fighting about if the bacon was too crispy, and some trays got caught up in the carnage. Never a dull moment around here…”

You suddenly noticed the paper on the table, your words trailing off as your eyes locked onto it. You snatched it away quickly, shoving it into your apron.

“That’s not…that’s-” you floundered, embarrassed for him to have seen it.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop. You dropped it, so I picked it up and then realised what it was,” he explained softly.

“It’s fine. I’m dealing with it,” you shrugged, desperate to appear nonchalant.

“Sit down, doll”, he said sternly.

You scoffed, “Bucky…I’m busy running a restaurant here…”

He paused, looked up and bellowed across the diner, “Roscoe! Ron! Handle things while your boss takes a break!”

You rolled your eyes, turning to see Roscoe and Ron nodding furiously as they scattered and suddenly started working harder than you’d ever seen them. They had always been afraid of Bucky. You stifled a laugh.

“Problem solved, now sit,” he gestured.

You reluctantly sat down opposite him, “Bucky…”

“We’re gonna talk”.

“I don’t need-”

“No. Let’s do this”, he said sternly.

You folded your arms in front of you, fully aware that you resembled a petulant teenager but not caring enough to stop.

Bucky cleared his throat, taking a sip of his coffee before picking up the letter. “Now, I don’t want to overstep…but I can take care of this you know…”

You shook your head. “No. Thanks for the offer, but no,” you told him firmly.

“Alright. That’s fine. So, Lou has enough to cover it?” he asked, “all of it?”

You nodded a bit too quickly, “mmhmm”.

Bucky caught it immediately, your lie. You noticed the quirk of his brow and the subtle rubbing of his lips together. Damn him.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he sipped his coffee again and ate a few forkfuls of his meal, then wiped his mouth with a napkin and tilted his head quizzically. “Guess it’s all wrapped up, then”.

You nodded again in agreement, but knew he wasn’t done.

He took his time, casually taking a few more bites of his breakfast and sipping his coffee. You knew his relaxed demeanour was a careful façade…you had somehow found yourself at the centre of a famed Bucky Barnes interrogation.

You tried to appear relaxed, as if you had nothing more to add.

“Because…” he started.

Ugh.

“…because, if he didn’t have enough. That would be a problem, wouldn’t it?”

“Mmm. It would. But it’s not…so…”

“Right”, he cut you off. “But if he didn’t – great eggs today by the way – if he didn’t, that would be putting this place at risk, right? All the staff here and their jobs. Your job?”

“Right,” you replied, your voice a little strained.

“And of course Lou himself…he loves this place. It’s his baby. I’m sure he’d be devastated if he had to give it up to pay his medical bills. Especially as the last thing he needs right now is more stress and financial worries on top of his ill health”. He paused again to eat, not even looking up.

You nodded; your eyes now slightly cloudy now.

“Yep…” you said meekly.

He looked up at you, his eyes intensely locked onto yours, gesturing towards you with the fork. He was in full swing now. The diner suddenly felt much hotter, you could feel tiny beads of sweat forming on your forehead and the back of your neck.

“And I hope it would be known, if that was the case of course, that my offer would have no strings attached. Because I could imagine someone might decline it out of pride, or concern that it would have conditions and that person would then be in some sort of debt to me…either financially or emotionally. And if that was the case, I’d want to reassure them that it would only be a friend looking out for a friend, helping because I want to, and I can, and God knows I should do something nice once in a while to even out my moral scales…”

The barrier broke and your tears finally escaped, the stress about Lou and this intimidating bill, and your confusion about how you felt for Bucky, all finally coming to the surface. You cupped your face in your hands as you quietly sobbed.

“I’m sorry, I just…I…”

Bucky moved like lightning, whipping around to your side of the booth as he swung in next to you.

“Hey…hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to be clear what my offer entailed; but I understand why you’d be reluctant to accept my help”.

He pulled a few napkins from the dispenser and tenderly wiped away your tears.

“It wouldn’t be a loan, doll, and you wouldn’t need to make nice with me to say thanks. You could call me an asshole and dump these eggs on my head, and I’d still pay in full with a smile. There’s no expectation here, no contract – legal or implied”.

You sniffed, looking up at him blearily, “you’d really do all that for me…but…why?”

He paused, then very delicately used his thumb to collect the tears forming at the side of your eye.

“You know why,” he said plainly.

Your heart panged, and you looked down at your hands in your lap, clutching at one of the now-soggy napkins he’d given you. You sniffed again as you regained your composure, suddenly feeling exposed in front of him. The two of you stared at one another for a few moments and you were so desperate to tell him everything, but you couldn’t form the words. You hoped he would elaborate and fill in that gap for you, but he didn’t.

He quietly got up, putting on his coat and placing some bills down on the table to cover his check. He leaned over and kissed you on the crown of your head, then used a finger to tilt your chin up to look at him.

“You don’t have to decide anything now,” he told you as he looked into your eyes, “Think it over. I’ll be back here next week like always”.

He smiled at you, then disappeared out into the street. You heard the roaring of the rain outside as the diner door opened, the little bell above the frame chiming to announce his departure.

You missed him already.

You looked down at the hospital bill in your hands, the total at the bottom practically screaming from the page.

He’d hurt you so badly, you weren’t sure if you could ever fully forgive him for that fateful night. You understood it had been his insecurities, you understood he had lashed out after he thought his worst fears were realised – but that had only even explained his actions, not justified them.

Although…he’d always been there over the last year. Slow and steady, but he’d taken the time to rebuild his relationship with you platonically. He’d let you manage the pace, never tried to force anything more than you were willing to give him.

…and he’d been there for you.

He continued to be there for you.

It wasn’t about the money. He wasn’t trying to pay you off to win favour. He was just trying to be there for you, and this was something he had the power and resources to help you with.

He was your friend.

He loved you. He’d continued to love you…

“Are you back off break, boss?” Roscoe rudely interrupted your train of thought, “Ron said that the fryer-”

You were pulling off your apron before your brain could even catch up with your body.

“Nope,” you shot back, firing out of the booth at full speed as you tossed the apron at him on your way out, “a little longer…”

You left Roscoe gawping in your wake as you sailed through the front door. You yelped in shock as you stepped out into the downpour, you’d forgotten about the mini storm happening beyond the restaurant doors. It was so dark outside it looked more like early evening than the morning hours. You looked down at your immediately soaked uniform, your work shoes flooding as you traipsed through the puddles…

Focus!

You surveyed the street, your eyes catching a brief glimpse of the SUV turning the corner. The instantly recognisable JBB107 plates drawing your focus in the split second before they vanished.

And so you ran.

You sprinted after the SUV waving your arms, shouting for it to stop. A concerned elderly lady asked if you were okay but you sailed on by. You must’ve looked utterly insane.

You rounded the corner and rushed up behind the SUV as it slowed. The back door flew open, and Bucky suddenly appeared out of it, a look of horror on his face as the vehicle pulled over.

“Doll! Jesus Christ, what the- are you okay??” he shouted to you as you approached.

You didn’t answer, just flung yourself inside the car as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Bucky slid across the seat to give you room. The divider screen was up so you couldn’t see the driver. One less person to witness your mortifying display, at least.

“Fuck…you must be freezing,” he muttered as he pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders and leaning over to close the car door behind you.

You were, your teeth chattered. Your hair was wet and matted, your uniform soaked through.

“Bucky…” you said hoarsely as you dripped all over his plush car interior.

“What is it, doll?” he asked, his eyes wide and alarmed, “what’s going on??”

You couldn’t find the words so you acted purely on instinct, you cupped his face and kissed him. Kissed him hard. Kissed him longingly. He caught up quickly and kissed you back, his fingers tangled in your soaking hair. It was desperate, messy. Your teeth clashed and your cheeks bumped. It had been so long that you’d lost each other’s rhythm with this. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. You couldn’t have waited any longer.

He pulled away, gawping at you incredulously as he held your face in his hands.

“Doll…does this mean?”

“Let’s go slow,” you whispered, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. The effort you’ve put into rebuilding us from the ground up…for being my friend…for never pushing me…for Lou…but I’m not sure I’m ready to jump into this headfirst…whatever this is…”

He nodded, “of course, anything you want”.

“I’m not sure if I can…fully forgive. But I want to try,” you told him softly as you pressed your forehead to his.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as he sighed. A sigh of long held tension, of relief.

“Thank-you for giving me a chance…I didn’t think you ever would again,” he admitted.

“Yeah…well neither did I,” you laughed,

“What changed your mind?”

“Well…. how you showed up for me with Lou has made me rethink a lot of things. Plus…the money”.

He laughed, “the money? Really? This whole time I just needed to pay you off?”

“No…”, You rolled your eyes, “it was more that you offered, but you didn’t force anything, and you made it clear it was no strings attached. It’s like…you want to help me, but you trust me to make my own decisions and don’t just try and fix it all for me, like you used to. I just…it made me realise how much I’ve missed you. But it’s gotta be different this time…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…like…I want to stay in my apartment. And I want to keep my job,” you said firmly.

He nodded, “yeah. Of course”.

“Maybe I’d move back in with you one day…but I want my space”.

“Okay. You got it,”.

You smiled, “yeah?”

He smiled back at you, the smile that still made you weak at the knees. “Doll? If it means you’re by my side…Of course ‘yeah’. Anything you want. And I have some conditions too…”

“What?” you frowned. “This isn’t exactly a two-way negotiation, Buck…”

“Just…listen. They’re conditions for me. I promise I’m going to trust you entirely, and to communicate you with you properly – not let my emotions get the best of me. I’m a different man to who I was the last time we were together. I know how lucky I am to get this second chance with you. I’m not fucking it up. I'm gonna be...better”.

He spoke earnestly with such conviction that it was almost aggressive. You nodded gently, squeezing his hand. You believed him.

“Alright…well, let’s give it a shot, shall we?”

He grinned, “I can’t believe you’re here…”

“Me neither. But…I’m sorry I’m dripping rainwater all over your car”.

He shrugged. “Fuck the car”.

And then he kissed you again.

Maybe you did believe in happy endings.

THE END

There we have it! I hope you liked where it went. I know some of you didn't think she should ever forgive him and I understand, and I'm sorry if you're disappointed! But in my eyes he had shown her he was willing to change...and she wasn't trying to rush back into anything heavy. Thank you for reading!

If you liked this story, please consider supporting me with my Ko-Fi link 💐

[drunkenlionwrites]

Spawn!Astarion x reader after the events of BG3

Warnings: g/n reader, has mild nsfw part, ptsd mentions, past sexual abuse mentions, also spoilers of the ending, obviously.

Astarion is still afraid of depending too much on you - now being unable to step in the sun once again. Sometimes counting days, then weeks, then years holding on to the thought of you getting tired of him and his complications in the back of his head.

Has flashbacks, and occasional visions of Cazador or Godey torturing him when he meditates from time to time, covering his anxiety with the usual bravado in front of you, not wanting to bother you all the time.

Still, he is as open with you as he can get, opening the darkest parts of his life as a spawn to you carefully and slowly.

Now that he’s his own person, there’s only three things he’s pursuing: finding a cure for vampirism, you, and having as much fun as possible, of course!

He likes to spend some nights with you, visiting taverns and showing you with a devilish smile what a good vine is at last. Giddily waiting for your reaction as he watches you bringing the goblet to your lips.

He relishes catching glimpses of him and you while being among people, proudly parading his lover around. Astarion is genuinely admiring you and your beauty, being happy of being seen in your company.

Some days he’s very clingy and handsy, begging for your affections, while other days he might still avoid any physical contact with you. All he needs is more patience, and of course, you have a never-ending well of it when it comes to him.

Totally appreciates when you go hunting with him, whether it’s a wild boar (lol) or an occasional criminal, loving to be able to be seen as a person, not as a monster by you and not afraid of making you feel repulsed by him, though sometimes he still wonders why.

I also can see him occasionally indulging in feeling like a knight in shining armor and a savior of wronged and weak, definitely immensely enjoying cutting throats of people exploiting others in any way.  

NSFW

Now that he’s his own man and he can explore his sexuality freely I believe he’s more into being tender and loving things when it comes to sex, contrary to the popular opinion.

Not that he can’t get freakier on some days. And if you want him to bite you in the process? Who’s he to refuse his darling?

Enjoys hearing your little yelps of pain followed by moans of pleasure when he sinks his teeth in your thighs, wrists, or neck. Wherever is your preference.

He definitely leans more into being a top, not because he’s in the role of seducer, but just preferring to maintain control of the situation.

He also oh so loves the fact that he’s the one that makes your body weak for him, enjoying pulling out all sorts of pretty sounds out of you, enjoying the way you pliantly take everything he gives you. Making you a pouting begging mess, tearfully asking him to give you more, to allow you to come at last not being able to bear his teasing anymore.

Not that Astarion denies you showering him in your tender caress and spending the whole day/night being the one taken care of this time now that he doesn’t have to always be the one to pleasure someone. It’s a novel concept for him and he still feels too bare and vulnerable sometimes, but he learns how to say no if he’s not up to something. It’s so much easier now that you’ve proven to him time and time again that you’ll always listen to him and agree with whatever he wants.

I've been in love with this man for two years since I've started playing EA, but wanted to postpone writing anything until I see all of his layers. And it's been the best decision ever. I'm such a sucker (😏) for this elf and I still am astonished how nuanced and beautifully portrayed his character is. This is just my first touches of writing him, so it's pretty short and not really explicit.

[planetdream]

Heyy

I don't know if you're taking asks right now so if you aren't, don't need to answer :) I'm here mainly to say I appreciate your writing and I'm a bit biased by.. no, I'm in a Lee Know fever lately and I've seen a lot of thoughts and things about being sub, bratty sub and stuff but I don't think I could be it, since I'm inexperienced lol so I thought of Lino with a flirty s/o on the outside but shy and inexperienced on the inside. She just wants to please him and be good for him but she doesn't know how :(( I wonder how Minho would react to a very subby s/o, who just wants to love him and shower him with love but it's too shy to do it by herself:(((

(again, you don't need to answer if you don't feel alright by anything and no hurries <3)

I don't know if I'll be here often but you can call me anon spring 🌼 :)))

Stay well and healthy 💪

Love you writing , bye bye:)))

hiii <3 hehe thank u sm for sending this!! ur ask rlly inspired me so i wrote something short and sweet and i really hope it's a little similar to what you asked for 🥺

warnings [implied smut + d/s dynamics. shy/inexperienced!reader. possible typos.] 747 words

Minho isn’t used to this. He doesn’t let you notice that, though. You’re on your knees for him, peering up at him with wide, interested eyes, ready for Minho to lead you. It’s not innocence behind your glossy eyes, but rather, inexperience; a hesitation that you’re biting down on, a rising fever of heat within making you want to pounce on Minho—but you don’t. You stay just as you are, hands on your thighs, blinking up at Minho. 

“C’mon pretty,” Minho whispers, hand caressing the flesh of your face. “Told you I can’t do anything unless you tell me what you want.” 

He pouts, blinking back down at you all prettily. This isn’t the first time in your relationship that you and Minho have been physical—he’s eaten you out and fingered you before—but you want to go further. You want to experience all that Minho has to offer, and more, you want to be able to please Minho. Provide him with a euphoric type of pleasure that he’s never experienced. But you’re stuck, unable to find the courage, let alone, the words to explain to Minho the plethora of thoughts that are running through your head. 

He’s careful in his approach to get you to speak. “Baby? What’s in that pretty little head of yours?”

You speak. “I don’t know.” Your thoughts are speaking to you all at once, it’s practically impossible to get anything comprehensible out. 

“You don’t know?” Minho frowns—it’s fake, though, behind it rests a smirk—then continues. “Can’t do anything if you don’t know.” 

“No,” You stall, trying to search for the best possible way to explain what’s on your mind without embarrassing yourself. Though Minho constantly assures you that you can tell him anything, embarrassing or not. Minho’s brow raises, encouraging you to speak your mind. His hand comes back to your face, thumb stroking beneath your cheekbone; an attempt to soothe you, to clear your mind. “Want to…” 

You trail off again. Fear and embarrassment making a home within the pit of your stomach. You know Minho wouldn’t judge you—after all, he did once make an offhand comment about how he’s into some very strange kinks himself—and he might even enjoy what you have to say, indulging in whatever you truly want to do. You’re in safe hands, literally. 

You speak again, in a whisper at first, until the volume of your voice rises. “Want to make you feel good… and I want to be good for you. To you.”

Minho’s heart could shatter into a million tiny pieces. To you, vocalizing it all felt equally as awkward as it felt freeing; you’ve never really had to express what you wanted, causing you to pick your words carefully, fearing that you might be perceived differently. However, from Minho’s perspective, you’re a complete angel; unaware of how alluring and enchanting you are. The sweetest words said in what Minho views as the sweetest possible way of saying them. The way you said it, the small dip in your tone—almost as if you were begging him to let you please him—the way your lips curl into a small smile as you try your best not to hide within yourself. All of it drives Minho so crazy that he could devour you. But he holds back. He has to play it safely, for now. 

“You’re always good to me. For me. Always making me feel good.” Minho whispers. 

“Want to make you feel even better,” You respond, some of your nervousness now behind you. 

“And how do you want to do that?” Minho pushes. You are yet to respond though, fingers picking at whatever they can reach, avoiding the burning gaze of his big brown eyes. 

Minho persists, taking the lead. “Maybe I’ll let you use your hands,” Minho reaches for your hand, the tips of his fingers pressing against yours before he clasps his hand to yours. “Or maybe you can take me in this pretty little mouth of yours.” Minho’s thumb runs from your top lip, dipping into your mouth where your tongue eagerly swirls around the flesh, wanting to suck him in, before said thumb drops down to your bottom lip. 

His eyes trail up from your lips to gaze into your eyes. Minho has the softest chocolate brown eyes but his stare is rather piercing, dominant, like he could force anything out of you if you look into them for too long. “Hmm… Think I want your mouth on me.”

[nodus--tollens]

ii. A Caress of Poisoned Petals

I'm still not sure if I'll keep writing it but I shall try my best.

Part 1 (epilogue) is here, all interactions are appreciated!

It had been a few months since Jayce first stepped into the apothecary, and by now, he had become something of a familiar presence, lingering like the bittersweet trace of dried rosemary tucked into the shelves. One might even call them acquaintances—perhaps edging toward the quiet comfort of friendship. His first visit had been purely practical, a task handed down by Viktor to retrieve herbs for a medicinal prescription. The second and third visits followed the same pattern, businesslike and purposeful. But the fourth visit was different. This time, it was of his own accord.

He carried on his face a shy smile, sweet and fleeting, like a Night-Blooming Jasmine that saved its beauty for the quiet of the night.

– Did Viktor send you again? – The apothecary's voice carried a quiet amusement, their body leaning toward the front desk as they rested their hands gently on the smooth mahogany surface.

It was strange, yet undeniably true—there was no falsifying the facts. Jayce's presence had become almost routine. Every Tuesday at precisely 6:35 p.m., just as the soft yellow glow of the golden hour filtered through the large windows of the small shop, casting its warmth across the room. The light touched every surface it could reach, transforming the space. The herbs, once dry and lifeless, now shimmered like liquid gold, their colors deepened by the fading light. And Jayce, with his hazel eyes, became something otherworldly—his gaze now like the purest honey, rich and sweet, the kind one could only dream of finding and paying for, dripping with a warmth all its own.

– Not this time, no. – His voice was steady, though there was a slight shake to his head, as if the words themselves carried a weight. His appearance had changed too—his hair, once short and always slicked back, had grown longer, now parted in the middle with the sides softly falling over his face. His beard, which had always been neatly shaved, now grew longer, if he hadn't been here just last week, one might have thought he’d been gone for months. – I need something for myself, something for pain.

– What kind? – A frown formed itself on the apothecary face, their gaze sharpening as they studied the man across the desk. Their eyes, usually so calm, now searched his face with quiet intensity, as if looking for something beyond the surface. – Physical, emotional?  

– I suppose it’s a bit of both. – Jayce stepped closer, settling into the empty chair with quiet deliberation, his elbows resting on the hard wood surface. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, the sound like a Black Hellebore wilting at the edge of a forgotten garden, its once-dark petals now lost in the shadows of time. – Think you can help me?

– I suppose I can help with the physical part more than the emotional one. – A soft chuckle escaped their lips, light but genuine, as if the weight of the request was somehow eased by their calm. Turning slowly, the apothecary’s body shifted with a fluid grace, the rustle of their robe cutting through the stillness of the room. The sound of their boots meeting the stone floor echoed through the space, a rhythmic tap that resonated against the quiet, adding a grounding note to the air like the earthy scent of sandalwood.

The sound of cabinets opening and closing punctuated the air, each movement adding another layer to the symphony of quiet sounds that filled the room, not all heard yet acknowledged. The mortar and pestle ground fresh herbs, the soft crackling of dried stems breaking under pressure resembling a lullaby—a comforting hum that lingered in the stillness, like the quiet song of someone unable to fall asleep in the dead of night. Parchment paper was carefully placed on the scale, the rustle of its edges faint but deliberate, like wrapping gifts just before Christmas day. As dried leaves and herbs were added, their weight produced a muffled metallic sound against the faintly cold surface, followed by the soft whisper of thread being tied and secured, the ritual complete with an almost reverent finality.

Jayce’s eyes followed each movement with the attention of someone watching a shooting star streak across the sky during the Geminids meteor shower in December—quick, fleeting, yet impossible to look away from. He observed the way their fingers moved with precision when tying each small package, the way the thread got slightly caught on the corner of their nails, how the dark green, almost black robe shifted with every subtle motion. The light from the window caught the glass vials, their surfaces shimmering briefly, only to reflect off the apothecary’s hair and skin, casting fleeting glimmers of gold and amber. It was hypnotizing, like witnessing a delicate dance where every shift of light seemed to pull him deeper into the quiet rhythm of the room.

Walking back to the front desk, the apothecary placed fourteen small parchment packages carefully on the surface, all named accordingly, each one settling with a soft rustle, the crisp edges of the paper folding slightly under their weight. Alongside them, a small tin was placed, its metal edge making a quiet, gentle cling as it met the smooth wood of the counter.

– This is enough for one week. – The apothecary explained, their voice steady and clear as they gestured to the packages before them. – Willow Bark and Turmeric tea in the morning to help with muscle pain, Chamomile and Passionflower tea at night to ease whatever keeps your mind from resting, be it small or big. – Their fingers gently tapped the small tin beside the papers, the nail touching the lid with a light, rhythmic clink. – The tin contains Arnica and Peppermint cream. It should help relieve any pain you have, whenever you need it.

– Thank you. – He whispered, a small smile on his face, his eyes that held tiredness seemed to come to life for a brief moment, like the soft bell of a Lily of the Valley, delicate and sweet, yet fleeting.

– You really don’t have to thank me. – Came the soft reply, the words almost a gentle murmur.

The transactions were made in silence, the only sounds breaking the stillness being the soft clink of metal and the rustle of parchment as it was folded and placed in a bag. Outside, the wind had nearly ceased, leaving the air still, while the gentle drip from the spout came to an abrupt halt.

– I’ll see you again next week, my dear apothecary. – He said, his voice as sweet as the soft hum of a spoon stirring honey into warm tea—smooth, soothing, and full of quiet comfort. It was the first time he had said "see you again" instead of the usual fleeting goodbye.

Before they could reply, he had already gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The room darkened as the golden hue of the setting sun seemed to slip away with his departure, leaving only the gentle rhythm of their breath and the faint, lingering echo of the bell. It was as if the room itself sighed, the soft sound of its fading chime the last trace of his presence.

– I’ll see again then, Jayce. – They said softly, the words carrying a warmth that seemed to linger in the air, like the final notes of a familiar lullaby.

[pseudoartistpostsstuff]

I'm not sure if you've seen the hype around sky being in his undershirt and being ✨pretty✨ in the recent update, but could I please request reader fawning over Yan!sky in his undershirt or some general hc's for him?

Thanks for requesting!

Notes: This is the actual request, but I'll post some headcannons later for him as well!

Anyways, I, in fact, wasn't around when the whole hype happened, however after a quick search I was able to actually see what all of this was about.

Idk if this can be considered self indulgent, but my immediate idea when it came to writing this was that the reader liked those types of clothes from pinterest. Hopefully I'm not the only one, but those types of clothes just scratch a very specific itch in my brain.

I did not plan for the random suggestiveness at the middle of this oneshot, actually, I never plan, this just came out somehow.

The headcannons!

TWs: Light yanderism, slightly suggestive, the Links being creeps and clothing thievery.

Yandere! LU! Sky x Reader

This is a robbery, not romantic.

The hot, rocky ground has absolutely no respect whatsoever for your shoes.

Out of all the places you had to walk to in the past, along with these guys, this volcano had to be on the top 3 of the worst places you've ever visited.

Walking up the volcano certainly had you sweating, however, you felt like the drops of sweat could barely reach the fabric of your undershirt before they evaporated due to the sheer heat. You weren't even halfway up the path yet, but your legs were already disagreeing with the rhythm the group had adopted to advance as fast as physically possiple. In short, you were slowing down everyone, since the Links refused to let you walk anywhere that wasn't in the middle of them, so that if anything happened, you'd be protected.

A was a distant memory of yours resurfaced in your brain, something about some discovery channel documentary you had watched a long time ago about elephants and how they kept the weaker elephants in the middle of the herd when traveling, the weak being youngins, elderly or sick elephants. 

Frowning, you couldn't help but wonder in which category of weak you fell according to them.

Legend, who was staring keeping an eye on you through the whole trip, as he always did, noticed your struggle and elbowed Warriors, causing the man to let out a choked sound of surprise before Legend gestured to you with his thumb, scowling with his eyebrows furrowed, the same expression he always made sure to put on when something related to you in some way, covering up the softness of his eyes with a hard glare and a grimace.

Warriors, upon analyzing your stance for a second, was able to easily pick on how tired you were, and after taking into account how everyone else was, even if it wasn't as important as your well being, in the end he lifted his hand in a silent gesture for a break.

Nothing in that moment could rival or even equal to the feeling of fresh water coating your tongue and dry throat after so much of that burning sun and heat.

Your feet felt sore already, at this point it was like walking barefoot would be better than walking with those hard-soled boots. Then, you frowned once again, looking down to the bottom of one of your boots, it seemed like those boots were made for strolling on the soft grass, not hiking up a rocky mountain. Worst of all, the heat was so high you were sure you'd get burned as soon as your bare foot made contact with the ground outside the small cave you and the guys were sitting in, so you had no other option than just keeping the shoes on, even if you felt like the damn thing would just melt at some point.

Today, your mood had been dampened considerately, your face unable to catch a break from your constant sour expression. You felt as if you were Legend's replacement for a day.

After checking the really small cave and it's surroundings, the Chain finally seemed to deem it safe for now in a silent agreement between themselves. You were already sitting against some rock and letting the tension flow out of your body much before that.

Others joined you in sitting against rocks or the walls of the cave.

With a quick glance to Time, and a small amused scoff paired with a nod as response from the elder, Twilight was off most of his clothes, keeping only his bottom clothes on.

It was as if a domino effect had taken place, the rest of the Links around you began shedding their layers of clothing, the silence being disturbed by the sounds of fabric and other articles of their attire shuffling and eventually being either dropped or carefully placed on the floor, close enough to be quickly put back on incase something happened. Chatter began traveling around the group.

You had half the mind to move to do the same, your hands and eyes drifting down to the hem of your tunic, beginning to pull it up. 

The chatter suddenly seemed to die down, only one voice still talking. Your hands paused when your mind registered the sudden almost silence, your eyes slowly drifting back up to glance around, noticing how everyone was just… Staring at you…

Even for someone oblivious, the hunger eagerness in their gaze was undeniable.

Naturally, your eyes searched for Time, seeking some kind of refuge, surely the elder would have something to say about this, right?

Wrong. Time's only functional eye was half lidded, trained on your form with the same desire interest apparent in his gaze, you felt like a mouse under the watchful gaze of a hawk, his head tilted as his cheek rested on his fist, the hints of a smug smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

This stare of his felt almost physically uncomfortable, unnerving in a way, like his glare, but worse.

Confusion settled over both you and Wind, who only now seemed to notice that despite all of his talking, he wasn't receiving any response. Looking up just as confused as you once were, his eyebrows furrowed as he traded baffled glances with you.

"What happened? Why the hell is everyone so quiet?" Wind asked, a confused pout settling on his features, his arms defensively crossed over his chest once he noticed the attention of the group was on you, he didn't like one bit how they were looking at you, his "I'm ready to throw hands" stance made that obvious.

The thought made you internally chuckle. Easing up the tension present in the cave as you let the fabric fall back over your tights, releasing it and giving up on the idea of taking it off. This seemed to finally awaken the others, making you grateful for Wind's brotherly protectiveness, your unease fading a bit as they went back to normally talking along with friendly bickering from Warriors regarding Wind's tense figure.

"Goddesses, I didn't remember Eldin Volcano being this hot!" Sky groaned from somewhere on your left, making you turn to look at him.

He still kept his undershirt on despite shedding all his other top layers, seemingly still too shy around you and the others to get that bare. 

You took a moment to admire his shirt and how pretty it looked on him. You just had to take a picture of him in that shirt to post on pinterest later, such a sight surely belonged there.

That was for later though, you didn't have any signs of internet just yet.

"Who gave you the right." Your voice sounded more like an affirmation than a question, your face blank, void of any emotion as you uttered those words, leaving Sky unsure of how he should respond or even react, should he respond at all? The way you spoke confused him more often than not.

"Hah- Uhm… Hylia…? I am not sure I know what you are talking about exactly…" Shy responded slowly, stuttering a bit. The almost apologetic expression on his face made you want to both retreat and smother him with hugs, you know those moments when you find something so cute that you just want to squeeze it as hard as you can? That was how you felt right now.

Sky felt lightly threatened by your blank expression.

It was quite funny to you, his reactions. He'd hardly ever know how to respond to your kind of humor, but his awkward answers and bashful smiles made up for it, making you either grin along or just flat out laugh, as if he had actually responded correctly to whatever random stuff you had just sprouted with a fully straight face. Your reactions to his reactions made him feel embarrassed but also happy, very much glad your attention was on him.

"Who gave you the right to be so pretty?" Your eyes softened, your blank expression falling as a starry-eyed one took place, the way you were looking at him made his heart melt, warm blood being pumped up to his cheeks, a redness taking over his face and the tips of his ears, almost spreading to his neck. Sky was stunned into silence, he didn't even try to speak, he knew from past experiences that trying to speak in this state would lead him to stumble over his words, only embarrassing himself further, like he was a teenager once again.

He resorted to slightly covering his reddened face, his hand coming up to scratch at the side of his head as it tilted down a bit, an timid yet flattered smile tugging at his mouth. His teeth dug into the soft flesh of the inside of his cheek, trying to keep the smile at bay as to not grin at you like a maniac.

Just a simple compliment and he already felt like he had been reduced into a puddle of himself, melted and absolutely compliant to you, how you didn't see his adoring gaze up at you was a mystery, it wasn't like he was doing a good job of hiding it anyway, unconsciously trying to make himself smaller than you all the while trying to appeal even more to your eyes, puffing out his chest. His gaze dropping to your mouth every now and then, your lips looked absolutely delectable framing that ethereal smile of yours.

His cheeks burned brighter at the mere thought of sealing his lips against yours.

"You should definitely wear it more often." You blurted out, too busy ogling at the shirt to notice you said it out loud, too busy to notice the amused and flaunted closed lip smile taking over his grin. 

"I mean, I kind of do wear it everyday…"  A soft snort left his nose, filling your ears as his voice followed, smug, he had definitely seen you looking, making you scoot back once you realized where you really were, leaning into Sky's personal bubble and reaching out to touch the fabric of his shirt not that he minded anyway. "It's just under my clothes most of the time." 

He chuckled quietly, watching with great interest as rich shades of red flushed your face, your cheeks gaining a whole new coloration with his teasing.

The change in dynamics wasn't unwelcomed in any way by him, in fact, Sky found it nice that he wasn't the one flustered this time around.

You, however, were wondering whether you liked the shirt more or the way the shirt fit on Sky. God only knew how badly you wanted to feel that fabric, it was probably cotton, and hand made according to Sky's measurements, meaning it was made to fit him perfectly, way more than it'd fit on anyone else. Yeah, you could see that.

Without noticing, your previous grimace and sour mood had been replaced by a stupid smile on your lips. Sky had this type of side effect on you.

"You know what I meant." Your reply came out in an embarrassed huff, frowning jokingly with your arms crossed, trying to conceal the blush in your face so it would, hopefully, go away, that is, if you were lucky.

You weren't, not really.

"Yeah I know." He replied, a cheerful yet sweet smile on his face, still eyeing your blushy complexion. "I'll make sure to 'wear' it more, at least in situations where we're not being attacked by a dozen of monsters." He joked, rendering you unable to keep a shit-eating grin off of your face.

Sky shyly smiled back at you, mindlessly smoothing out any wrinkles in his shirt while you kept staring, him gladly letting you do as you pleased, drinking up in your attention.

The heat only seemed to grow as the day progressed into mid-day, the sun directly above the cave you guys were in. You'd managed to take off your tunic and gear by now, and it had already helped with relieving some of the suffocating heat, even if you kept your undershirt in place, on your body, overly aware of the multitude of eyes lingering on your form every now and then.

As a result of that same heat, Sky finally succumbed and took off his undershirt, the pretty one you adored, and simply placed it on the dusty, dirty floor, just like that, not treating the white shirt with any respect, completely ignoring the possibility of it getting stained or wrinkled, which pulled an indignant gasp from you.

His attention was once again brought to you by your gasp, puzzled until his eyes really landed on you and processed just what exactly you were doing.

In a quick movement, you snatched Sky's shirt from the floor, forgetting about how tired and sore your feet were in order to dash to the other end of the cave with the shirt clutched in your arms. Despite his recklessness with his clothes, you had to thank Sky for leaving his shirt so easy for you to just kidnap.

The blond's shock faded after a bit, prompting him to spring up and chase after you, not necessarily mad, but definitely not used to having his clothes stolen.

Even so, his mirthful laughter rang out, serving only to fuel you in your attempt to flee from your chaser, still clutching his property to your chest.

[modern-inheritance]

How do you come by most of your inspiration, if I may ask? Most of mine just… appears, or I see/hear something that triggers a chain reaction of thoughts and ideas. How does it work for you?

Heya! Thanks for the question!

So, for me, a lot of it is similar to yours. I also have a random little list, so let’s see here, uh…

1. Constantly muttering dialogue to myself. I say this frequently and it is not a joke, about 80% of my time alone I am muttering things the characters are saying to each other and if it fits and sounds right then I chunk it out in a document and build around it. Examples are the Nasuada and Arya conversation in Understanding, nearly every story in the 'For a Future Story' shorts, and quite a few more I can't remember at the moment.

2. I try to write what I know, which means if I find a sensation, typically tactile, that I latch on to then I can probably find a way to work it into a fic. Other times it's things that I've experienced physically. That creepy Durza story, Grip? I was remembering the time I tried to breathe through a precordial catch after I got another one after years of not having any. I felt like I was straight up dying, and I was stupid enough to try and breathe in again and spent a good minute laying there unable to move or breathe at all. Fun stuff! But also delightfully inspiring for torture and yes, before anyone asks, I indeed have had my head examined, and I am fine, if just a little bit...odd.

3. Chatterboxing with my coworker/friends. Some of them do indeed let me stream of consciousness talk about MIC and stuff. Some ideas come from there, though they mostly ignite the random 'omg what wait' posts rather than full blown stories.

4. Rereading the books on occasion helps! Reunion and this current MIC wild phase began there. Also, other media! The Escape series idea was originally started by a scene in the Halo web/miniseries 'Forward Unto Dawn' where Chief punches an ammo storage cage and rips it off its hinges.

5. I'm curious. If I have a question, no matter how strange or out of place or wild or disturbing, I go looking for an answer. Rabbit holes! I learn so much about the body, psych and physical reactions that I can't help but put them somewhere after I learn them. I am always trying to learn new things, and once I've learned of them, if they're something that applies, I go looking for first hand accounts and experiences to learn how other people go through them or feel them, because no one is all the symptoms, no one is all the same, ya know? AskReddit is, funny enough, a wonderful tool when it comes to that.

6. Yes, Arya lives rent free in my head. Sometimes Brom, Glen, Durza, and Islanzadi join her and they have conversations. Eragon and Saphira not so much, Murtagh is mostly absent due to his absence in the war, but they show up still. I've been recently informed this is called Brainrot, but it's only mildly contagious and not always detrimental, so I've held off seeking medical help.

7. Long time ideas. There are ideas and concepts and stories that I have been unable to fully write or get down for well on seven years now I think. Oh god, wait first iteration of MIC was in...2014/15, so...Oh god, I feel olllddd. BUT! These ideas never fully materialized at the time because I just don't have the right feel, the right things to connect them, or just not the right flow at the time. The Escape series was one of these! It took me YEARS to finally get a random spark at work that connected everything together and set off that hell of a ride to 12k+ words. That spark was, hilariously, boiled down to two words: Durza Parade.

8. You!! and people like you!! People who ask me questions about MIC make me think! And that's wonderful for ideas!! You guys make me think about the things I don't typically think about! I learn new things trying to answer! So thank you! For asking questions!

9. Congratulations, you made it to the end of list, so you get my biggest, baddest, TMI'est secret to how I go through bursts of inspo and writing: HORMONES. I have a form of birth control that allows me to choose when that happens and when it stops. If you ever see a lul in MIC and then a sharp spike in me doing the cat gif of scitterscramblezoomies on a bed, then you probably know I'm complaining about taxes on hygiene products but also hanging from the ceiling yelling things about torture and ptsd and recovery and everyone doing stupid slice of life and funny things and cuddling. And/or the hormones are back in the system and it spikes everything that way instead of with Shark Week. *Fingerguns* Which is what is currently going on. Had absolutely no effect going through Shark Week, currently losing my mind going back to regularly scheduled programing.

That's mostly it, I guess. Sorry I went overboard. Sorry for the TMI but honestly if anyone who has stuck with MIC the past year or two looks at the blog activity they could probably track that shit. Which I find fucking hilarious. I write about torture, I'm not shy anymore. Sorry.

Thanks for the ask, and thanks for the interest!! Hopefully you'll stick around for more stories and shorts and wildness to come!

[onyourowndaisymae]

blog update

hi! it's been awhile since i've posted anything substantial. some of you might have noticed that progress for the "when they fall in love" series has halted, that only little drabbles or shitposts have been posted as of late, etc etc-- i want to say my peace and get it all out there.

to make a long story short, blog posts will be slowing way down to accommodate for my declining health, but i am still looking to post drabbles and such until i am healthier. kink/flufftober prompts will be pushed back to a do-over kink/flufftober when i have the energy to do so. my "personal" blog is @oopsiedaisymae and that's where i'll be moving most of my reblogs, likes, mutual following, etc etc so follow there if you want to see my nonsense. this blog will not be shutting down. y'all are stuck with me.

to make a long story long... (cw for chronic illness, nausea, unintentional disordered eating, american nonsense)

last year, during finals season in college, i got sick as fuck with a stomach infection. since then, i have quite literally never been the same. i went from being a normal student to being plagued with abdominal pain, constant nausea (and i'm emetophobic so that sucked SO much ass) and being unable to leave the house some days. i've had ups and downs with my health since-- some days i can eat semi-normal, other days i'd be completely unable to stomach anything solid. as of now, we're on the worse end of that spectrum.

also around this time, i lost my health insurance. so the entirety of this calendar year i haven't had insurance, and although my primary care clinic is cheap, my issues are beyond what a primary care clinic can provide. because i'm in america, an uninsured trip to the ER would quite literally bankrupt me. so i've been waiting on insurance to get said proper medical care. i'm hoping that'll come sooner rather than later-- my birthday is next month and i'd like to not be in the hospital when it comes around!

with all of this, i have (understandably) not been eating well and have lost a significant amount of weight. eating hurts, and trying to eat a healthy amount makes me incredibly nauseated and in pain. the question every day is: do i want to not be in pain but be unable to think, or do i suffer physically to have some mental capacity for the day? it's a lose-lose situation.

this has really upset me bc writing has always been a place to escape to as my life falls apart, but now even stringing together words is hard. i want to write. before this most recent batch of hell i was stringing together a masterlist for kinktober, but i can't even finish the pieces i was already working on bc i can't think. shit sucks.

anyways. all this to say: once i get proper medical care, it's over for you hoes. i will start posting full-length fics again once i am able. in the mean time, expect little drabbles here and there. i will be hosting my do-over kinktober and flufftober events when i am able, even if that shit means i'm posting in may or something. i will be dicking around on @oopsiedaisymae, my personal blog, in the mean time. oh, and i'm into twisted wonderland now, too. so expect content for that when i come back in full swing.

i think that's everything. if i have anything else to say, i'm sure i'll mention it. in the mean time, feel free to explore my blog or my mutuals' blogs to get your writing content fill. thanks for sticking around :) mwah.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

I can’t get over the idea of playful moments and more lightheartedness for Curtis and honey! I have my own gentle giant. To everyone else he is tough as nails hard ass but to those that know him he is the biggest ball of fluff well still letting me/us close to him know he does it because he loves us. I love play fighting and the physical affection. I know I’ll lose and he does it anyway and indulges me. Every once in a while even letting me come out on top. 🫠🫠 It makes me so warm and fuzzy to have you entertain the idea for Curtis and honey! I love the whole story I recently re read it start to finish! Thank you for sharing!

I want to give them all the playful moments. Those happy feel-good memories will make up their lives together, and I have to let them have them, among all the other stuff they will experience. I really love that you have such a person in your life. And I bet he would tell us how lucky he is to have you.

Thank you for rereading! It makes me so happy babes that you took your time to read them all over again. Made my entire night! Your ask made me inspired to write out a little scene. I hope you enjoy.

Curtis and Honey Drabble: Bet's On

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet Masterlist

18+ Only. Mention of giving head.

The noise filled the house, Ella and Edgar down in the living room trying to teach Timmy the sheer joy of playing the original Mario game.

"Look at that screen, how can you even tell what Mario is?"

"Kid this is the epitome of entertainment, hush up and pay attention." Ella sassed at the kid, her whole body leaning forward as she was taking her turn.

Timmy lounged on the couch, with a brow arched in doubt. Nearby Edgar was sorting through the other games, pulling out Mortal Combat next. "Oh lets play this one next."

You were just coming into the living room, swatting at Curtis's hands that were extra touchy that evening. "Curtis, you gotta stop." You harshly whispered over your shoulder, biting at your lip to keep from laughing.

He was having no such thing, his hands cupping your ass and giving a firm squeeze as he pulled you back into him, your back pressing against his chest. You just knew that he would have that smirk as the bristle of his cheek skimmed along your ear. "Pretty Girl that's not what you were saying earlier."

Your cheeks heated a bit at his words, grabbing at his hands and wrapping them around you, letting him hug around you, trapping his hands in place, whispering back at him. "Wasn't it something along the lines of wanting to deep throat your cock later tonight?"

You heard a muttered curse behind you, his fingers clenching against your belly but you tightened your hold to keep him there, unable to run his hands on you. You did feel his hips bump behind you though. "I want you all out of the house now." He practically growled loudly from behind you.

Timmy twisted to look over the back of the couch to look quizzically at Curtis and you. You gave an innocent shrug to imply you didn't know what Curtis was talking about. Ella rolled her eyes at her cousin while beating the level she was working on.

"Ignore him. He is just worried I will kick his ass in Mortal Kombat, again."

Curtis wrinkled his face with disgust back at Ella, shaking his head while letting his hold on your stomach lessen slightly, sliding from your grasp to rest his hands against your waist. "Um, I don't know which house you think you're in kid, but you're in my house. I'm the reigning Nintendo champion here."

"In your dreams." Ella challenged while Edgar held out the other controller for Curtis to take. You felt him tickle up your sides quickly, claiming one last tease without giving you a chance to retaliate. You squirmed free from his hold while he fell to the floor next to Ella.

"What's the prize?" Curtis asks as he starts to go for his character.

"If I win, you have to pay for Y/N and I to go on a day trip into the city. If you win... uh..."

"When I win, you gotta go get the Camaro washed and waxed."

"The Camaro?! That thing gleams now, why does it need to be washed and waxed, you are wasting your prize." Ella gave a shake of her head. You curled up on the couch next to Timmy, all three of you watching the cousins debate about the quality of their possible prizes.

"That's what I want, shut up and focus." Curtis snapped while scootching closer to the tv.

"Can't see Old Man? Isn't it nice being the young one here." Ella smirked as she lounged back a bit. Edgar settled next to you on the couch.

"So whose your money on?"

You gave a shrug, completely at a loss of how competitive they would get with each other. "I don't know." Curtis gave you a mock glare, the hint of his mouth turning into a smile towards you. "Curtis! obviously Curtis." He broke into a full smile.

"That's my girl." Mouthing 'I love you' just for you.

Timmy gave a shake of his head. "Nah, it's gonna be Ella. She is really into this."

Suddenly Curtis's attention snapped at him, scowling as Ella leaned over to high-five Timmy. "Just wait, you are gonna regret those words."

[axewchao]

A recent ask got me thinking about references, and I could not, can't stress this enough, COULD NOT do anything other than work on this one ref for Real Worlder!Dal. Will probably end up doing Koopa!Dal next, if my itty bitty little pea brain refuses to let me focus on anything else =w=

~~~

Relaxed, patient, and observant, Dalex is more of a lover than a fighter, but that hasn't stopped him from becoming the third hero of the Mushroom Kingdom alongside Mario and Luigi. First arriving from the Real World at age 8, then returning again at age 15, he gained the title of "hero" after rescuing two children (whom he just so happened to be babysitting) that found their way to the Mushroom World and were captured by Bowser soon after. 

Dalex tends to be very shy around new faces, often resorting to an old, ingrained habit of waiting to be spoken to instead of starting a conversation on his own. He starts with brief replies, becoming more expressive and talkative as time passes, but also tries to stay polite in order to avoid any verbal (or physical) aggression. Others consider Dalex a good listener and are more likely to discuss personal topics with him due to his gentle demeanor.

At heart, he's a caretaker, and prioritizes the wellbeing of those around him before himself, particularly when it comes to children. He’s highly attuned to the suffering and/or pain of people around him, and will instinctively want to ease or heal their pain however he can. Of course, he’s well aware of personal boundaries, so he won’t reach out towards a stranger or acquaintance as much as he would a dear friend, child, or family member. Even then, he doesn’t want to be a meddler, and will back off when asked. Should he fail or otherwise be unable to help when given the chance, he may take a little too much responsibility and self-deprecate as a result.

Dalex has a near-crippling phobia of losing his own temper or setting off someone else's, which took root after he violently attacked a school bully at age 12. Things like anger or envy is damn near deadly in his eyes, and considering that he managed to hospitalize someone as a lanky 12-year-old kid, there's no telling what he might be able to do now that he's naturally older and stronger at age 22, even if he doesn't include his Shade Sprite and paintbrush, both of which are magical artifacts. It takes a lot to actually make Dalex snap, but once he does, take cover.

Trivia

He was born with brown hair and brown eyes, but they both turned purple after his Shade Sprite appeared at age 4. It's still unknown how it appeared in the Real World or who might've given it to him. The color change is actually a harmless side-effect of being exposed to unfamiliar magic for a long period, rendered permanent because Dalex always had it on him.

His eyes lacking pupils is from his dad's side of the family. Everyone in the Rathmore bloodline can see 'something' that's normally hard or otherwise impossible to see. Dal's "special sight" is Pain Perception, as hinted above. He isn't aware of this and believes his eyes are duds.

The single earring he wears is also from his dad. Said father, Luka Rathmore, wears the other earring on his right ear.

Originally, his Soul Sphere was another gift from the same person that gave him his Shade Sprite, but I'm considering rewriting this part to say that it's actually from his mom, who may have one of her own. We'll see ;3c

Dalex is considered the arch nemesis of Ludwig Von Koopa, but this is mostly one-sided on Ludwig's end. When the Koopaling in question isn't actively trying to antagonize him, he's very cordial, even willing to work alongside or otherwise help Ludwig depending on the situation.

He likes writing in his spare time and often makes up short stories depending on what he's experienced recently. Also keeps a dream journal. And a regular journal. And some extra blank journals so he never runs out of paper.

He always cries when he gets angry.

[sapphire-weapon]

Sending this so you have smth to answer that isn't racist children (as a black girl,,,,man these people are too comfy online)

ANYWAY i can't get the idea out of my head for a fic from Ashley's pov where she's incredibly lonely and doesn't trust that anyone actually wants to be around her for her but rather for her status/who she is, and that's why she's super distant with Leon to begin with.

And throughout the game her and Leon start bantering and getting closer and she's like well okay maybe he actually likes me for me, he's already got status, but she's not fully trusting

and then they get flirty and shes like oh god oh fuck i LIKE this guy???? and is like mildly panicky about it (im imagining she's never had an actual relationship bc of the trust issues, slept with people but never anything more) so she like awkwardly flirts back while freaking out about this + the whole, you know, mutant thing

and she convinces herself he's not actually into her and is just trying to keep her mind off everything/insecurities flare up UNTIL we get to the bit where Leon breaks free of Saddler's control for a second and drops to his knees trying to stop him touching Ashley. and she's like ?!?!!!?! oh god this is real he actually cares but it's too late now to do anything bc we're gonna DIE and she thinks all this while unable to move and watches him get thrown into the pit.

if i were to actually write this I'd make it SO angsty and maybe end it at that point lol I love to put my faves in Situations. i probs won't write it so here's an idea if ur interested lol <3

Anon we must be plaga'd or something, because I have had a very similar fic idea in my head for DAYS, only with the roles reversed. Because like... I was thinking about how many times Leon whiffs with his attempts at flirting with Ashley throughout the entirety of the game (he really doesn't actually "crack the code" so to speak until the dining hall convo), and I was like

When was the last time Leon actually got laid?? Why is he so rusty at this, why is he so bad at it at the start when he clearly has game once he, like... remembers how? Why's he out of practice?

And then I started thinking about my headcanon of how Leon probably went out with other guys from the army to pick up girls and stuff and how that probably stopped within a year or two, and I realized... the last time Leon got laid, he probably looked completely different. He was probably still, for the most part, his lean but cut RE2make self, and there's a non-zero chance he has a really minor sense of body dysmorphia because of how much he's changed physically in such a short window of time.

And I was like... you know, there's a shitton of fics of Leon helping Ashley cope with the aftermath of what happened, but I don't think I've ever seen it the other way around. I've never seen a fic where Ashley looks at Leon and goes "you're crazy for thinking no one would want you or want to be with you." And have the whole thing sort of tie back to how Ashley brings out his RE2 self again, and make it so that she helps him just feel like a person again.

And now I get your ask and I'm like

What if I combined these ideas?

What if there's issues on both sides for them to work out together? Ashley's trust issues + Leon's self-worth/self-image issues.

I actually did want to try to explore my initial idea through fic this upcoming weekend (today is my Friday! So I have the next two days off) and now having this to flesh it out more is like 👀👀👀 maybe I got something here.

I'll try to keep u guys posted!!

[maurofonseca]

I don't know if you talked about it before, but how much do you have planned out for your own comic idea you've posted parts of before? Or generally how do you prepare and outline your own story ideas?

both too much and not enough, if you learn from me do so only to learn what not to do lol

Gonna ramble a bit, so adding a read more.

I've got a lot of ideas and concepts, enough to do like 5 years of continuous monthly comics, but I can't really do that, I'm physically unable to, need to pay rent etc. So I've got a lot of ideas around in word documents, on sketchbooks, etc, and then a rough plan in my head- a starting point, and the decision to make it into short stories, something I can do in a few pages and be concluded, rather than launch into "this is going to be my 1035 chapter manga" and then be unable to continue just one chapter in (as has happened in the past).

So, end of the day, what does this mean. I've got a roadmap in my head of the immediate first three chunks, think of it like "years" though again, I can't really do this consistently enough for that to make sense. I know I want to do the story of the Tournament that was mentioned in my small comic I did to intro the characters; I know I want to do a few stories first before that, leading to it; and I know I want to, aside, do the stories I was planning to do with Public-Domain-Mickey, and have them also lead to the tournament, a crossing of two different comics in the same setting, basically.

So, where's any of this going? Well, I've had a lot of Sonic comic work, so not much of anywhere. My plan for most of this year was to put the "lead to tournament" and "tournament" arcs in the backburner, maybe for 2025 and 2026, and focus on the Public-Domain-Mickey story first. The plan was to draw it by now, I had the breakdowns done, I'd roped a friend to help write, I was gonna do it in about 40 pages, etc.

And then I realised that worldwide law is not just different from US law, in this case it's VERY different, and outside the US Mickey will only be public domain decades from now. So now I need to rework that stuff, make substitute pastiche characters, and the urgency of "have it done by Jan 1 2024" is gone. So now I'm thinking different formats- maybe do the full-page short stories with Lalla etc, and the not!Mickey ones as a newspaper strip format?

And of course, again, it's easy to plan forever and do nothing, or to bite more than you can chew. So now my plan is again to just sit down and plan a 12-or-so page "pilot" story about Lalla Shepherd, Jackie Pollard, Lily Rock, etc, the start of it all. If I can do that, then I'll think what I do next. But the plan is to keep it focused on short things- not huge 150 page graphic novels, small amounts of pages, preferably divisible by 4 so they're easily postable in social media like Twitter or Bluesky, etc.

As for how do I plan it and draw it proper etc- I follow the advice of a pretty terrible man whose youtube I used to follow, and I divide the story in 3. Beginning, middle, end. I quickly assign an idea to each of those elements. Then, subdivide- the beginning, middle, end of the Beginning; the beginning, middle, end of the Middle; etc. Keep doing it like this and you'll have enough pages eventually

That's the theory. In practice, of course, it's not as easy. I don't do well writing directly- I do that to organise ideas, but to make comic pages proper, my brain needs visuals, so I start doing thumbnails, and getting a feeling for "this can come here, this can come there, this is taking too long so I can remove this page, I need a page here".

Once I'm happy with that, I can start going into pencils; but also, I start thinking dialogue. I add dialogue to the thumbnails (now resized up, of course) so I can have a feel for how much text per panel, etc. Now, I've got a lot of complexes about language. I want my characters to read naturally like the language they're speaking, or are supposed to, which is a problem for me when writing characters that're mostly either from fantasy-Britain or fantasy-US. So by this point I consider my dialogue just a rough draft, and I get friends from those nationalities to go over it, make them feel natural, etc, and I assign it to characters in specific- asking US friends to verify the dialogue of fantasyUS characters, but not of fantasyUK characters, etc. And then for Lily, since she's fantasyPortuguese, I write her dialogue in Portuguese and translate it to English, to intentionally leave any bits of odd grammar or turns of phrase. It's me projecting my own insecurities on my English lol

Dunno. End of the day, I've not written that much stuff myself. I've mostly in my life been either an illustrator or a comics penciller of other people's scripts, so I don't have the most experience here. Hoping this helps something, and hoping I can finally in 2024 justify all this bluster with having actual comics for reading and sale.

[selfdiagnosedeyemotif]

Chapter Five (Aestia), pt. 2:

Aestia bursts through into the final cavern to find the Pontifex, Fabian, and a group of robed figures

Something is already underway. They’ve already begun.

Aestia begs to know why the Pontifex is doing this. She gladly obliges.

“This is a world riddled with flaws, little girl. Orsa and Finis shaped it from this very point, but they were unable to do it perfectly. Death haunts us for every moment of our lives, and it… displeases them. They do not care for death. We are made in their image, and they are beyond death. Why should we too not join them? Well, today, that ends. Today I shall remake the world as they would have wanted it.”

Aestia knows instinctively that this is wrong

I have too much tired to write a whole speech but like. The human capacity to grow. The fate of stagnation that immortality brings. How one stops doing anything for the world after too much time spent alive

But there’s something that Aestia finally here realises

After too much time spent alive one stops doing good in the world, but before reaching that point, one can do so much

To cut one’s own life short through wanton recklessness, even if it has a noble cause, is still a crime

“Mine is a soul that shines like the stars… I can do so much good in this world before I go… and I needn’t put my life on the line to try and protect everyone…”

“I need not face this alone.”

“I know you can’t hear me anymore, but Mal… ride with me into this. I’m sorry for throwing my life away.”

The pontifex responds with some classic “fool, now you face your doom” type way, For Them All roaring to life in the background, and suddenly…

The drums kick into the track for the first time since the Secret Study

“You won’t face it alone, Aestia.”

Flanked by the townsfolk of Riseridge, Sister Lylah Ilibria of the Order of the Sacred Flame charges in, as the drums come into full swing

A piano is added to the track as the rest of your party joins you (Remember how you needed a full party? Here’s where that pays off)

The final touch, the horn that Mal Cheshire once played, joins the score as well as Aestia turns to face down the final challenge

“Let us face this storm together, friends. Now, RIDE WITH ME, FOR ALL OF QAMARIA!”

The Final Boss: Pontifex Victoria Inaméa

Battle opens with a message: Your Talent Self-Sacrifice has had its HP cost halved and now applies to all skills!

Three lackeys once again: two Zealots of the Makers and Fabian, the Hand of the Church (more on him in a sec)

Zealot of the Makers: focus on moves that defend/buff the Pontifex but will not hesitate to stab need be, each lock weaknesses

Is a real bitch with switching around weaknesses but always stays weak to Wind

Fabian: does not lock weaknesses but does take two actions a round (don’t worry the pontifex only takes one turn a round in this phase)

Has lots of Silence and Poison shenanigans that can be very annoying to deal with

Hits HARD but is low on HP

Has a fallen sprite rather than disappearing

Back to the pontifex I'm definitely giving her Plukk's "Get 'em, boys" action where she focuses her lackeys on one member of the party

Might take some cues from Mother with buffs that mix with a debuff

Has healing spells. Screw you.

Each time you break her the pontifex is consumed more with flames

They lick at her sleeves, burning holes, then at her face and her skin

Her cheeks turn sallow under their heat if she survives long enough

She also physically holds a hand over a large stone engraved with markings glowing iridescent green (it's floating and about the size of her head)

Now it's time to detail the second phase cutscene (it stays on the battle screen)

The pontifex screams something about it being "finally complete"

Bursts into monologue

"Mother Orsa… Father Finis… you whose hands shaped the world… today I fulfil your dream for this world, your ultimate vision… TODAY WE ARE QUENCHED IN FIRE AND BORN ANEW!"

Fabian stands up if he was downed and the two transform into their final forms as we enter…

The Final Phase: Divinity-Filled Palimpsest

Floating in the air, feet together, arms spread Mattias-style is what used to be the pontifex

Floating above her head is the stone, which has fully cracked open at parts and is emitting green light

Her body is fully featureless and uncovered; imagine a mannequin fully made of skin

She is wreathed in green flame; at the stone, the vague outline of two heads - those of Orsa and Finis - are visible

Fabian, now named the Greater Vessel, has a similar appearance, just in the same pose he was in before and without the stone or heads

Finally introducing the gimmick for this one: just a real simple HP/SP drain that's constantly in effect, nothing too special

Not a gimmick per se but both the Divinity-Filled Palimpsest and the Greater Vessel are immune to fire damage, hitting them with fire attacks raises their Elemental Attack (DFP) and Speed (GV)

And now. Welcome to Shield Hell.

Remember the gimmick that Eldroy, Ablaze had? Yeah we cranking that up to eleven

The Divinity-Filled Palimpsest, before its first break, has fifteen shields and regenerates three each turn (never goes over fifteen)

After the first break the regen stops but it still has fifteen shields

You better be messing with that BP if you want to have a hope of breaking it

The Greater Vessel, on the other hand, remains frail and hard-hitting, but ditches Poison for Terror (The pontifex also LOVES inflicting Silence and Terror. It’s a whole thing)

Not much on it so back to the pontifex

Will switch between the Aspect of Orsa and the Aspect of Finis after each break

Aspect of Orsa has one action, focuses on buffing the Greater Vessel and launching AOE attacks

Aspect of Finis has two actions, focuses on single-target debuffs and attacks

After the Greater Vessel goes down, both Aspects gain one extra attack as the text “Insolent brat…” appears on the screen

The DFP also talks a LOT during the fight

Rather than having the text appear in a normal text box, they’re a little freak about it and have it appear shakily on the top and bottom of the screen

It does not stop the battle, they just scream from every direction every now and then

In-universe, this is represented by the fact that the Palimpsest itself is not speaking but rather the walls of the cave

After the first break Lylah runs onto the battle again and says that she’s going to try and do something about “that accursed rock” aka the thing that seems to be binding Orsa and Finis to the Palimpsest

I had an idea for the Boost Mode Attack that was called Finality and just. Removed one of your party members from the fight. But that was a little TOO broken even for this.

[beantothemax]

part one of hopefully only two

And Now, Back to the Finale:

Aestia bursts through into the final cavern to find the Pontifex, Fabian, and a group of robed figures

Something is already underway. They’ve already begun.

Aestia begs to know why the Pontifex is doing this. She gladly obliges.

“This is a world riddled with flaws, little girl. Orsa and Finis shaped it from this very point, but they were unable to do it perfectly. Death haunts us for every moment of our lives, and it… displeases them. They do not care for death. We are made in their image, and they are beyond death. Why should we too not join them? Well, today, that ends. Today I shall remake the world as they would have wanted it.”

Aestia knows instinctively that this is wrong

I have too much tired to write a whole speech but like. The human capacity to grow. The fate of stagnation that immortality brings. How one stops doing anything for the world after too much time spent alive

But there’s something that Aestia finally here realises

After too much time spent alive one stops doing good in the world, but before reaching that point, one can do so much

To cut one’s own life short through wanton recklessness, even if it has a noble cause, is still a crime

“Mine is a soul that shines like the stars… I can do so much good in this world before I go… and I needn’t put my life on the line to try and protect everyone…”

“I need not face this alone.”

“I know you can’t hear me anymore, but Mal… ride with me into this. I’m sorry for throwing my life away.”

The pontifex responds with some classic “fool, now you face your doom” type way, For Them All roaring to life in the background, and suddenly…

The drums kick into the track for the first time since the Secret Study

“You won’t face it alone, Aestia.”

Flanked by the townsfolk of Riseridge, Sister Lylah Ilibria of the Order of the Sacred Flame charges in, as the drums come into full swing

A piano is added to the track as the rest of your party joins you (Remember how you needed a full party? Here’s where that pays off)

The final touch, the horn that Mal Cheshire once played, joins the score as well as Aestia turns to face down the final challenge

“Let us face this storm together, friends. Now, RIDE WITH ME, FOR ALL OF QAMARIA!”

The Final Boss: Pontifex Victoria Inaméa

Battle opens with a message: Your Talent Self-Sacrifice has had its HP cost halved and now applies to all skills!

Three lackeys once again: two Zealots of the Makers and Fabian, the Hand of the Church (more on him in a sec)

Zealot of the Makers: focus on moves that defend/buff the Pontifex but will nto hesitate to stab her need be, each lock weaknesses 

Is a real bitch with switching around weaknesses but always stays weak to Wind

Fabian: does not lock weaknesses but does take two actions a round (don’t worry the pontifex only takes one turn a round in this phase)

Has lots of Silence and Poison shenanigans that can be very annoying to deal with

Hits HARD but is low on HP

Has a fallen sprite rather than disappearing

Back to the pontifex I'm definitely giving her Plukk's "Get 'em, boys" action where she focuses her lackeys on one member of the party

Might take some cues from Mother with buffs that mix with a debuff 

Has healing spells. Screw you.

Each time you break her the pontifex is consumed more with flames

They lick at her sleeves, burning holes, then at her face and her skin

Her cheeks turn sallow under their heat if she survives long enough

She also physically holds a hand over a large stone engraved with markings glowing iridescent green (it's floating and about the size of her head)

Now it's time to detail the second phase cutscene (it stays on the battle screen)

The pontifex screams something about it being "finally complete" 

Bursts into monologue

"Mother Orsa… Father Finis… you whose hands shaped the world… today I fulfil your dream for this world, your ultimate vision… TODAY WE ARE QUENCHED IN FIRE AND BORN ANEW!"

Fabian stands up if he was downed and the two transform into their final forms as we enter…

THE ENTIRE TOWN JOINING YOU!!!! LYLAH RETURNING!!!!!! MAL’S HORN IN THE SCORE!!!!!!! EVERYTHING COMING TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!! THE FUCKING LEITMOTIFS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AESTIA’S LATENT POWER CHANGING!!!! I AM GOING TO EXPLODE

[king-finnigan]

14. Bodyguard, and 63. Everyone mistakes them for a couple, geraskier.

Okay, not gonna lie, this one was a bit harder to write a drabble for (mainly because I was torn between canon compliance and modern AU)

***

It had all started when one slightly deranged fan had broken into his house. 

Really, no biggie, he had told himself, when the cops had arrived. Sure, it had been a bit scary, but really, all the girl needed was some psychological help. She meant no harm. So, he had decided not to press charges.

Which had gotten him into a lot of trouble with his manager and dad, who had yelled at him that oh my god, are you stupid, Julian? You could’ve gotten hurt! She won’t be the last, mark my words! 

The conversation (if you could call it that) had ended with his dad resolutely telling him he was going to hire his son a live-in bodyguard who would be by his side 24/7. Jaskier had protested, a lot, really, because what the hell is he supposed to do with a stranger in his house? Who even invented live-in bodyguards? What the hell was that all about?

His dad hadn’t taken no for an answer.

Which had led all the way to now. As Jaskier walks off the stage, he is immediately flanked by said bodyguard, Geralt. 

“Good show,” the guy mutters under his breath, one hand softly pushing against the small of Jaskier’s back, the other stretched out to ward off fans that are getting a little too close to be comfortable.

Jaskier scoffs, when they finally reach the private area of the concert hall. “Don’t lie to me, I know you hate my music.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s a bad show.”

“Alright, alright,” he pushes himself away from Geralt, his back burning in the spot where his bodyguard’s hand had been mere seconds earlier, “that’s enough, you don’t need to guide me as if I’m some lady from the 40′s who’s about to faint, Christ, dude.”

Geralt shrugs. “Just doing my job.”

Jaskier sighs, as he pushes open the door to the side alley, where his driver is waiting for him. Of course, he knows it’s Geralt’s job to make sure he gets to where he needs to be safely, but he also can’t stand the way the guy always looms over him with his big hulking form in a way that makes blood rush to his face and other, much lower parts of his body.

He stops dead in his tracks, halfway between the door and the car. Shit. He’s bloody attracted to the guy. 

Great, way to keep it professional, Jaskier - he tells himself, as he shakes his head and sighs, opening the door of the car, sliding onto the back seat. Geralt, as always, sits next to him, the ride home quiet.

He looks out the window, watching as the lights of the city flit by, smiling as people bustle around the never empty streets of London. He spots the park where he and Geralt had once taken a stroll. His bodyguard had been forced to hold his hand as to make sure he stopped straying away from the path to give anyone who recognized him an autograph. He had also accidentally fallen into the fountain that same day, and Geralt had given him his jacket to make sure he didn’t catch a cold, and he had bought Jaskier icecream after to cheer him up.

He smiles at the memory.

Half a mile later, he sees the bar they had once gotten absolutely hammered in - at least Jaskier had. Geralt had just rolled his eyes, and had eventually picked Jaskier up, carrying him outside over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t give himself alcohol poisoning. He remembers how weirdly comfortable it had been, being carried by Geralt, and how he had whined like a puppy when his bodyguard had put him down.

When he sees the bakery they get bread at every morning, he knows they’ll be home soon.

Really, despite his initial resistance, it had been fairly easy getting used to Geralt’s presence in the house. The guy was a great cook, honestly, and though they had avoided each other at first, they had eventually fallen into a comfortable rhythm, eating all their meals together, watching a movie or tv show on the couch every night, chatting, laughing, getting to know each other.

And he would never admit it to his dad, Geralt, or anyone for that matter, but he’s not so sure he wants to live without Geralt anymore. 

Finally the car stops in front of his- their house- no, his house. There is not ‘their’, there is no ‘them’, it would be completely unprofessional, and Geralt is exactly the kind of guy who is anything but unprofessional. And of course, Jaskier is a bit of a wild child, he’s never going to settle down. 

So why does he feel a pang of disappointment shoot through him as he realizes he and Geralt could never be a thing? Since when does he even consider the possibility of them being a thing? Since when does he want that?

Oh god, he realizes, as he gets out of the car, walking to the front door, acutely aware of Geralt’s presence behind him, I’m in love.

Fuck.

He sighs again, opening the door, letting Geralt in before he closes and locks it again for the night. He honestly, more than anything, would love to take a shower to wash the sweat of the performance off, but his eye is caught by a bunch of magazines lying on the table next to the door. 

Huh. His dad must’ve delivered them earlier that day, judging by the folded note on top of the pile of magazines that reads: “Julian.” His dad is the only one who still calls him that.

He folds the note open, frowning at the single sentence that is written inside. “This needs to stop.”

He cocks his head, laying the note on the table again, picking up the first magazine. On the cover is a picture of him and Geralt, that day in the park. They’re holding hands, and Jaskier frowns at the giddy expression on his own face as he looks up at Geralt, who has a small smile on his face. “Pop sensation Jaskier finally settling down?” it reads next to the picture.

Wait. 

They think Jaskier and Geralt are a couple.

He shrugs, putting the magazine down again. What’s the harm of a few people spreading rumours around? Could be worse.

Except the next magazine has a picture fo him, from that night at the bar, hanging over Geralt’s shoulder, giving the camera a dopey grin. Then, right next to it, a picture of him leaning against Geralt’s arm, once again looking up at the man with an expression that could easily be interpreted as adoration. Once again, Geralt is smiling. 

“Night out with new boyfriend?” it says next to the pictures.

Oh, okay, maybe two magazines are spreading rumours, what’s the problem with that?

Except the pile is at least fifteen magazines thick and Jaskier has a growing suspicion that they all have the same sort of front page. 

His suspicions are confirmed when he looks through the pile. Every single cover is adorned with a picture of him and Geralt, walking hand in hand along the Thames at night, at the bakery a few blocks away picking out pastries together, of Jaskier leaning on Geralt’s shoulder, of them smiling and giving each other looks that could barely be interpreted as anything other than loving.

And each and every magazine thinks they are a couple.

Well, shit.

And what’s even worse is that he wants the rumours to be real. 

He looks up when he feels eyes boring into him, and spots Geralt, now only dressed in a shirt and sweatpants, leaning against the door to the living room, arms crossed. “What’s that?”

Jaskier smiles weakly, holding up one of the magazines for a second. “A lot of people seem to think we’re a couple.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.”

Jaskier cocks his head, putting the magazine back down on the pile. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

Geralt shrugs. “I thought you knew and didn’t mention it because you didn’t want to make it uncomfortable.”

“Well, you’re right.” Jaskier looks down at the pile, eyes caught on the way he adoringly stares at Geralt in the picture, and the way his bodyguard smiles back, “not about me knowing, but...” he shrugs “I don’t want to make this uncomfortable.”

“This?”

“Whatever...” he points between the two of them “Whatever it is we have going on.”

Geralt sighs, pushing away from the doorframe, running a hand over his face. “I don’t think I can be your bodyguard anymore.”

Jaskier’s heart cracks in his chest, and he doesn’t even try to fight to keep the hurt from his voice. “What? Why not?”

Geralt walks forward a few steps, stopping a foot or so from Jaskier. He sighs again, avoiding eyecontact, hand scratching at the short stubble on his jaw. “Because I’m in love with you. Which is highly unprofessional. That’s why.”

And, by the gods, Jaskier could kick and kiss this man at the same time. But, he decides his feet aren’t exactly a match against Geralt and he would probably only end up hurting himself if he were to kick the guy, so instead, he moves forward, cradling Geralt’s face in his hands, kissing him.

After a short moment of hesitation, Geralt kisses back.

He pulls back after a few seconds, Geralt’s face still in his hands. “Hmm,” he mutters, “guess I’ll have to find a new live-in bodyguard.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Geralt says, pulling him in for another kiss.

***

Send me two tropes from this list and I’ll write a short drabble for them!

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

ASG - Part Three: You Did This

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: Yes! - anon(s)

Prompt: Bird is expecting Elvis over for a date, but his plans are different. He wants to break up, but not because he doesn’t like her. Because he loves her too much. [ Fem!OC ]

TW: Cursing, a really minor moment of assault, self-hate, ANGST

Rating: Pg-13    ||     Word Count: 3111

A/N: this was physically painful to write. i'm so sad now, but i'm not that evil. there will be a part 4, and i got so excited for birdie + elvis to get back together i literally already started writing it OOP

This is Part 3 of ASG. Find the rest of the series here!

🦋 mila

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She smiles to herself as she steps back to look at the positioning of the pillows. She's cleaning up around the house before Elvis arrives. They've been hanging out a lot recently and officially started dating about a month ago. Since he's opened her eyes to the possibilities in life, Bird has felt so much happier to be alive. Although, she still isn't ready to tell her father about her relationship yet, knowing that he'll probably murder her. She figures, worst case scenario, she can marry Elvis and then tell her daddy. What'll he do at that point?

As a result, she's been scheduling their dates and time together whenever she could do it secretly, usually in private places or at times when her father isn't at home. Like right now. She knows that her father will be at the Church for a few hours on Saturday night, so she's told Elvis to meet her at her house.

She's been in the living room, rearranging the furniture for the last twenty minutes. He wants everything to be perfect, even though Elvis has already been to her house more than once. Just as she reaches to move the pillow again, there's a knock on the door. She hops over to answer it and greets Elvis on the other side.

“Hi, handsome. I was wonderin when you’d get 'ere,” she says, smiling sweetly.

Her happy expression fades quickly when she realizes that Elvis isn’t sharing it. His face is stern and expressionless. He stands in the doorway, not moving, completely stationary. He looks especially handsome in a blue short-sleeve top with the buttons half undone and the sleeves rolled up onto his biceps.

“Can I come in?” he asks dryly. She nods, feeling the anxiety starting to rise in her chest.

“Is…somethin wrong, Elvis?” she asks, starting to ring out her fingers.

He says nothing, so she sits down next to him on the couch. His elbows are splayed on top of his knees and his eyes are trained on the ground as if they’re stuck in a trance. He looks pale, almost like a statue in a museum. She feels guilty and somehow wrong when she reaches out to touch his back.

“You know ya can tell me anythin, right? If somethin is wrong?” she says, gently rubbing small circles on his back.

He drags his hand over his face, tugging at the skin with his fingers. The less he speaks, the more anxious she grows.

“We…well, I…I…”

“Please spit it out, Elvis. You’re scarin me,” she says quietly.

“Lil Birdie...I don’t think we should be…together no more.”

She had a sneaking suspicion something like this was coming when he walked in the door with his fallen face. Even though she might have been aware of the possibility, nothing could have prepared her for the pain that comes with his words. She releases a breath and slowly removes her hand from his back.

“What do ya mean, exactly?” she asks, giving him the chance to change his mind.

She feels like her entire body is functioning in slow motion, unable to catch up with the meaning of his words. The panic and desperation she might be feeling are currently buried under a thick layer of doomed hope and disbelief.

“I mean we should break up.”

“Should,” she clocks the word immediately, still lingering in that state of disbelief but teetering dangerously on the edge of panic. “How bout you explain to me why exactly we should break up, Elvis?”

“I jus think that we…well, I-”

“Maybe you should actually come up with a reason or two before ya break off a relationship with another adult,” she says sharply. “Now, what I’m hearin is that you don’t actually want to break up with me but feel like you should.”

He says nothing, but his silence only confirms her theory. A moment of tense quiet passes as she tries to stay calm and figure out why he might be saying these things. Her brain starts to run through all of the things that have changed since they began seeing each other. No matter how hard she tries to think of something else, only one singular image comes to her mind: a fat, balding man with an unplaceable accent.

“Did Colonel Parker put ya up to this?” she asks, although she already knows the answer.

“No, no, no,” Elvis responds, too quickly and too passionately for her liking. “No, he didn’t have nothin to do with this. I-”

“Okay, then,” she interrupts him again, feeling angry now. “Gimme a reason.”

“What?!” he asks incredulously, throwing his hands up

“Gimme a reason,” she says in a voice that is aggressive, hard, and sharp. It's a tone that demands answers and it's gonna get them. “Gimme one real reason why we should break up.”

A few seconds of silence pass, and she can see his eyes frantically moving back and forth as he tries to come up with an answer that she'll buy. She can tell that he doesn’t have one.

“Our interests are different.”

“Lie. Next,” she cuts him off before he can even say anything else. He knows that isn’t the truth. Her anger continues to grow and her patience continues to thin.

“I’m gonna be very busy wi-”

“Not good enough. Next.”

“God dang it, Bird!” he shouts, standing up. He towers over her now, finally looking at her. She suddenly feels very small, but no less powerful with the anger coursing through her veins.

“We’re breakin up because I said so,” he says loudly.

“You ain't the boss of me. You don’t tell me what to do,” she retorts impishly, folding her arms over her chest and flopping back into the couch. She is taking a chance, her anger and desperation for the truth controlling her. They are stronger than any fear she might feel when looking at Elvis.

He clenches his jaw, scratching his fingers up through the roots of his hair and pulling on it. She blinks hard as images flash in her mind of the time they spent together at the lake when she had been the one pulling on those gorgeous black curls. She sees him hovering above her, sweating and moaning her name. But she banishes the images from her mind, trying not to let them draw her out of her anger.

“You’re startin to piss me off, Lil Birdie,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Why can’t you just accept this and move on?”

“Because I want ya to be happy!” she finally shouts. “And I like to think that I make ya happy. And because I don’t want ya to do nothin you don’t wanna to do. If you're gonna break up with me, it better be cause you want to, not cause ya think you should or because somebody else told you to.”

“What the hell difference does it make?”

“It makes all the damn difference in the world, Elvis! Don’t even gimme that!” she's yelling at the top of her lungs now. She's also used a curse word and cursing isn't something Bird does often. “Why won’t you just admit that the Colonel is the one who wants this?”

“Because he ain’t telling me what to do! This is my career, my life, my decision. But I can’t do everythin on my own. I gotta have help, and the Colonel is the only damn person on the planet who cares nuff about me to help me.”

She buries the quick pang of pain in her chest as his words hit her ears. As silence falls, she considers not hitting back, but the anger in her chest turns to wrath and she can’t stop it.

“How dare you!” she yells. “How dare you act like you’re alone! Like nobody cares bout you, when you know damn well just how many people do. Let’s forget about how much you jus insulted me, but what about everyone else in your life, Elvis. Your friends? People who continue to support you. Your bandmates? Who’ve given up their own chances at fame to sit behind ya as you get big. Your parents? Who have literally sacrificed everythin for you. Your own mother, Elvis! Who has devoted every second of her wakin bein to give you a better life. How dare you disrespect all uh those people!”

A second of silence passes, and she can see him straining to control his anger. His fingers curl back into fists, and his nostrils flare as he heaves out angry breaths. She's only a few inches from his face, her fists now clenched, too. She should stop speaking, but the words that have been floating around in her head for the past two months are coming out, whether she wants them to or not.

“Ya know I was keepin my mouth shut, but I can’t do it no more. The Colonel is bad news. He’s a con man and a manipulator. And all he’ll do is ruin ya!”

Not a second passes before his hands fly up to wrap around her wrists. She struggles for a moment, but it’s no use. He pulls her against him, his fingers digging painfully into the skin around her bones.

“Listen here, lil one,” he growls, his accent thicker than normal,“the Colonel’s supported me so far and done nothin but help me navigate this crazy business. He’s like a second father to me. And he ain’t fuckin tellin me what to do. I’m breakin up with ya cause I want to. Cause I want to.”

She looks into his eyes. Even though his tone and mannerisms are fueled by anger, it hasn’t reached his eyes yet. They are still soft, a bright beautiful blue. He softens for a moment, his grip becoming more comfortable on her wrists.

“I’m tryin to do what’s best for my career, here, Birdie,” he continued. “You can understand that, can’t ya?”

“I understand. But I still don’t see why I can’t be a part of it. I can help ya, Elvis. I know people. I’m organized. I-”

“You just don’t fuckin get it, do ya? I am breakin up with you! It’s over!”

“Why?” she yells back immediately, angrier than ever. She hopes that her quick response will catch him off guard and make him answer honestly.

“Cause I love you, goddamnit!”

As he shouts, his grip returns stronger than ever, and she winces at the sudden discomfort. She goes silent and pale. She doesn’t know what to say or do. She'd been right. He’s answered honestly, but it isn’t the answer she has been expecting. At first, her stomach lurches with butterflies, but a horrible and overwhelming sense of dread follows it. She's suddenly very attuned to every morsel of pain coursing through her body. The one that burns her heart and the one that stings her wrists.

“People don’t break the hearts uh the ones they love,” she says softly, tears gathering in her eyes. They burn, but she refuses to let them fall. “And they don’t hurt em, neither.”

Her eyes briefly look at his white-knuckled grip on her wrists with wide eyes. His gaze follows hers and he immediately softens, the angry expression gone from his face as his fingers carefully release her wrists. She pulls them back into herself, running her fingers over the sore muscles. She also takes a step away from him, partly because of fear but mostly to make him feel guilty for hurting her. He sinks onto the couch and drops his head into his hands. A few moments of awkward silence pass, neither of them knowing how to continue.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers so quietly she barely even hears him. When you don’t move, he looks up at you. “I’m so sorry, Lil Birdie.”

She approaches, sitting down next to him on the couch. Her fingers gingerly take his hands in hers, and she brushes some hair off his forehead. He looks up at her, and his eyes are glistening with tears. The blue irises are more gray than usual. He gulps.

“I can’t put ya through this.”

“Through what, baby? Talk to me.”

“Through who I’m about to become. What, I’m about to become.”

“Elvis, honey, I don’t care bout that none,” she says, turning to place her hands on the sides of his face. “I wanna be with ya no matter who you are. Cause at the end of the day, in your heart, you will always be my Elvis.”

He shakes his head.

“Ya too naive, Lil Birdie. I know myself and I won’t be able to stop. I’ll be on stage every day, all day. As often and as much as I can. There’ll be women, so many women. And I don’t know…I can’t promise ya that I’ll always be able to…”

“Resist,” she finishes his sentence in a whisper. She retracts her hands back into her lap. Silence settles again.

“You never said it back,” he says quietly.

“What?” she asks dumbly.

“I said I loved ya and you didn’t say nothin back,” you watch his body straighten as he prepares to ask the question. “Do you…love me, at all?”

The desperation in his voice breaks her. She can’t meet his eyes and feel tears welling up in her chest again. She wants to answer, but…

Suddenly, everything everyone had told her about Elvis floods her head. She hears her father’s disciplined, harsh voice telling her — no ordering her —to find a good Christian boy and to stay away from men like Elvis. She sees all of her Church friends, laughing and using words like ‘dangerous, player, greaser’ when she tells them about Elvis. She sees her mother’s face, pale and sweat-sheened, telling her to go easy on her father. It’s just the two of you now…

By the time her crisis has passed, Elvis is standing. He's avoiding her eyes but she can still see him wipe a tear away. Everything in her body is screaming to move. To jump up, grab him, pull him to her, hug him tight, hang onto him, say something. Anything as long as it will prevent him from leaving her.

But for some inexplicable reason, she can’t bring herself to move. She's frozen.

“Well,” he says gruffly, in the same tone that her father always used to express his disappointment in her. “I guess that solves that problem. It was a pleasure knowin ya, Bird. I’m sorry for everythin.”

He starts to leave and her body finally jumpstarts. She desperately grabs onto his arm, tearing on his sleeve.

“Wait, I…” she's decided to say it, until he turns around.

When his eyes lock onto hers, and she can see the need in them, her words grow dry and evaporate. He pulls her close slowly and wraps his arms around her. One of his hands gently strokes the hair on the top of her head while the other holds firmly onto her waist. She inhales his smell, and it makes her dizzy. She shuts her eyes tightly, squeezing the tears out.

“I’ll miss you, Lil Birdie,” he whispers into her hair before he presses a kiss to her head. “So much.”

He gives her one last squeeze and then pulls away. She holds on, suddenly panicked at the thought of losing him. He grasps onto his clothes, trying to pull him back to her, but he’s too strong. He leans away from her.

“No! No, no, no, no wait!”

“I gotta leave baby,” he responds. His eyes are glistening again with tears, and his voice is cracking through the sadness. “I can’t stay.”

He gives himself one last yank and the force pulls her onto the ground. He glances back at her one last time and she sees him wince from the emotional pain before slamming the door.

The sound of the door slamming echoes throughout the house. Her eyes fall to the ground below her, tracing every thread in the carpet. She's on her hands and knees, her breath uneven and shaky. Her whole body begins to shake. Her breath quickens and she feels the pain of tears rising in her chest again. Curling her fingers into the carpet slows them but nothing is powerful enough to stop the flood that breaks through the dams of her eyes.

She makes no sound at first, the sobs wracking her body back and forth. She shakes silently on the floor, and the tears burn her dry eyes. Finally, her shaking builds up to be too much and a pained whine escapes her lips.

Again, her mind starts to flash through images. This time of Elvis. She sees him shaking and wiggling around on stage, giving her butterflies and making her laugh. Then, she sees his face light up with a smile when he realizes who she is. She sees the dark lust and the insatiable passion shining in his eyes at the lake. She sees his beautiful smile and hears his laugh. The peaceful and happy expression on his face whenever he sings. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s really, genuinely happy.

All the small things that only someone in love could notice. Each new image is like another blow to her gut. And each brings on a more violent and painful wave of sobs as she replays the last moments over and over again in her head. Somehow, she manages to get herself up the stairs and into her bedroom. Closing the door to deter her father, she climbs into bed. She doesn't bother to change her clothes and pulls the covers over her face. She's hot and her clothes are too tight and uncomfortable for sleeping in. Snot is dripping down her nose, making her lips slimy. But she doesn't do anything to stop it or clean herself up. She doesn't fight it.

She deserves it. All of the pain, the hideousness, the discomfort. She deserves to be uncomfortable, to be blubbering her eyes out. The whole ordeal is her fault. Elvis may have suggested the idea, but she had plenty of chances to change the outcome. He gave her a chance to tell him the truth and get him back. The chance to show him, to tell him that she wants him. That she loves him.

But she didn’t. She just sat there like a stupid idiot, incapable of functioning like a human person. She grips her shoulders in anger at herself and screams into her pillow. She's the only reason she's lost him.

It is your fault, she says to herself. You did this.

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[hurricaneonanesthesia]

Since requests are open I’m gonna try my luck, Can you please write a small ff on yoru x reader where reader is a competetive ballet dancer and when they loses they just completely over works themselves so yoru has to step in and try to convince them, but reader just lash out on them?

Warning(s): mentions of overworking oneself, unhealthy mindset if that makes sense????

Genre: angst

Pairing(s): Yoru x GN!Reader

Authors Notes: Hey guys! Sorry for the lack of requests, my program is just about finished so once I get access to my laptop, I'm gonna be doing my best to try and push out as many requests as I can! Love you all!!

Yoru can understand not wanting to lose, I mean who likes the feeling of utter defeat? It bothers him when he sees that you're overworking yourself yet again because you got second place in a competition. Though he won't outwardly show it, he worries about you.

He takes it upon himself to try and prevent you from spiralling into mentally and physically exhausting yourself from spending hours upon hours trying to perfect your form. In his eyes, youre already doing amazing(even if he wont say it outright) and he honestly couldnt give two shits about what place you got in a competition. While its nice to get 1st place, its just a title and doesnt define you as a person.

"Y/N."

You look up from your position on the floor, feeling the exhaustion settling into your bones. You want to stop, but...you can't. You need to keep going, be faster, be better. You move to stand up but collapse back to the floor on your knees, unable to move. Your chest heaves from exertion and you watch as your sweat drips onto the floor.

You feel a gentle pair of hands on yours, the rough leather from his gloves rubbing against your skin. "That's enough, you've pushed yourself to your limit. Any more and you'll..." Yoru trailed off, unable of finishing his sentence.

You feel your hands tighten into fists, your teeth clenched. "What do you know?" you questioned him coldly, your voice even, "You're always trying to find the easy way out of things, how the hell do you know what it's like to push yourself to your limit? Do you have any idea how hard I've worked only to fall short? The sacrifices I've had to make? No...you wouldn't because you're a coward," you spat out, pushing him away.

Yoru stared at you, left completely speechless. The hurt expression morphed into a cold stare as he stood up brushing off his legs. That was when the weight of your words hit you. "Yoru wait-" you scrambled to get up, but given how exhausted you were, you could only watch as he held a hand up, stopping you, a scowl on his face.

"Save it," he sighed, "I'm not in the mood right now. I think it's best if I just left you alone." And with his last words, he left the room, head hunched, refusing to look at you.

Reminder that my requests are open once more! Be sure to send something my way if you’re interested! Requesting Rules are here!

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