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angeart · 9 months

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And 29!

--from ao3 wrapped [writers edition]

29: Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

this is a very interesting question! and also very difficult, given the amount of things i've written in combination with my bad memory. so of course i went and dug through things, overthinking this, even though, really, i know exactly what to answer. still, let me take the long route. (because i'm an idiot and there's no other way.)

so first i'll ramble about things i like.

starting with the phrase that always makes me weak, and i don't think i use it enough, but characters just dissipating into giggles—that exact wording. like. c'mon. that. whenever i get to use it, i'm so happy. it's such a lack of control and overflow of joy. the best thing ever.

but if we move into specific passages... (i go on a bit of a tangent, so the rest is under the line-) (dancing scene at the end there and a bit of a hmtb spoiler/sneakpeek/preview for you guys)

i looked over the cursed forest au fic (even with death haunting your footsteps, your flowers will bloom again), looking for pretty sentences, and the problem is, that fic is full of pretty sentences. (i honestly don't know how i did that, but it does make me happy.) something about words like the warzone of his good intentions, you know? (i had more. i'm trying to be concise.) (i promise.)

but really, there's one phrase in that fic that i do think about sometimes still. so it needs to be mentioned. here:

It still hurts, to be treated so gently, but unlike everything else, it hurts in a way he thinks he might be able to survive.

------

i also want to bring up a sentence from Elegy that lives in my head rent-free (this is from chapter 3, which i'm aware is unreleased as of now, but shh):

The grief is a guillotine, and he’s bending forward, hair falling away from his neck, baring skin and bracing for impact.

there's just something about that that refuses to let me go.

------

but! i also enjoyed writing happy things. (shocking)

especially this passage from these flowers will wither (like you and me), but they're not dead yet was very fun to write:

Grian grins at him, something bright and cheeky. “Do you want to try that again?”

There’s a pause when Scar attempts to recalibrate. (He fails.) (He absolutely fails.)

He tries to grab something rational in him, tries to tell himself that Grian means dancing. But his traitorous heart supplies a wholly different answer to him.

Scar pushes himself up and, with fingers sliding along Grian’s jaw, he presses his lips to Grian’s.

(They’re warm. They’re chapped. They’re Grian Grian Grian Grian.)

He feels the vibration of Grian’s laughter against him before he really registers the sound.

“That’s not what I meant,” Grian scolds, but there’s no bite in it; he sounds entirely too pleased and amused, even as he piles a handful of sand on top of Scar’s head in playful revenge.

------

and this honestly now brings me to hmtb. which is where we anchor.

believe it or not, there is a happy scene that i can't stop thinking about (just the sheer power of it, across all the pain and messes and saddness—scar making grian laugh like this.)

------ hmtb chapter 49:

Scar looks at him innocently and presents his question: “What is a romp, Impulse?”

Grian bursts out laughing.

A big, toothy grin spreads across Scar’s face at the sound.

Impulse’s eyes briefly flit to Mumbo and he feels his face get hot. “I— What— That’s not fair!” he whines. “That’s not a truth, that’s a, Scar, I’m not a dictionary!”

At that, Grian laughs harder, bending over. His giggles tip over proper cackling, a bit breathless around the edges, and Scar thinks it’s the most wonderful sound in the whole world.

------ and of course this moment from chapter 47:

Neither of them can help it; their lips treacherously stretch into smiles where they’re pressed against each other, before they both helplessly dissipate into giggles, feeling lightheaded and high.

“What are we doing,” Grian huffs out through his laughter.

“Kissing,” Scar replies cheerfully and demonstratingly places three kisses along Grian’s jaw.

It’s the best thing in the world.

------

bet you didn't expect me to pull out the happy scenes out of this mess of a fic. ha.

but also! one the things i really like and enjoy is throwing anything to do with explosives, tnt, fire, etc, at scar and grian. like this:

Skin tingling and heart feeling like TNT on the verge of explosion, Scar moves to follow him, blindly, willingly, the way he’d follow him anywhere.

and this:

Watching him, Scar laughs quietly. He thinks of the sound the flint and steel makes, of the little click, of the hiss of TNT as it readies itself to cause damage. It sounds like his heart feels. He thinks of sparks that catch on leaves and grass and bark, a tree going up in flames, the catastrophic heat spreading violently to anything it touches, and he wonders if that is how Grian’s heart feels.

------

now, since i'm already rambly. there is one bit of hmtb i keep thinking back to constantly. and it's a particular conversation from chapter 21 (the talk in the middle of a crisis). this bit in particular:

“He wasn’t afraid then. He knew you could kill him, but he wasn’t scared. And you know what, Grian? You didn’t kill him,” he finishes softly.

“I… didn’t kill him?” Grian repeats, dazed and wobbly.

“He wasn’t scared, and you didn’t kill him”

(you guys should keep this in mind too. it might get a callout sometime, uhhhhh, around chapter 100 or so at this rate—)

(don't worry about that, ofc.)

and now for the real answer. (wow.)

because here's the thing. you're asking what's my favourite passage. and really, i love all those other things too, but there's one particular bit of writing that hits closer than any other.

the dancing bits.

the heartachy, complicated, painful dancing bits.

and yes, this ties to the whole fic i wrote about them dancing in the desert, but listen. the purely-hmtb bits? those? those. okay?

here we go:

------ hmtb chapter 37: call of the desert

Scar sighs a little and says: “I miss it.”

“Scar,” Grian’s voice is absolutely unsteady.

They haven’t really talked about the desert, not since it was over.

Nobody ever talks about life games, if they can avoid it.

But now Grian sits here and he has to forcefully remind himself that the skin over his knuckles isn’t torn raw and that Scar’s blood isn’t coating his hands and he has to accept that Scar misses the desert and Grian also misses it, in a way, and it’s all so dizzying, it makes him lightheaded.

“We used to dance,” Scar says thoughtfully. “Why don’t we do it anymore?”

“I forgot how,” Grian barely manages to get out. He didn’t forget. In fact, he remembers every step Scar taught him. He remembers them stumbling together into a fall, a small giggling heap on top of the warm sand, limbs tangled. He remembers the moment when Scar grinned wildly at him, joy bright in his eyes, as they completed a couple of steps without a hitch for the first time. He remembers how they laughed and danced, giddy and high on life in a world that promised nothing but death.

He doesn’t want to remember. It hurts his heart.

“I can teach you again,” Scar suggests softly.

The pain in Grian’s heart just gets worse.

Scar reaches for Grian’s hand, then. Even if they’re both sitting on Grian’s bed and they can’t dance like this, he still slides his fingers underneath Grian’s palm and brings it up, in exactly the same way he held it when they danced. With curved lips, he hums a melody.

Grian looks at him, absolutely wretched. His hand twitches in Scar’s grasp, but he doesn’t pull it away. “Scar,” he half-whispers, in a miserable tone. He meant to say stop, but he can’t bring himself to. So he just pleads, using Scar’s name itself, hoping the other man will get it.

Scar studies Grian for a second, before he lowers their hands. He huffs out a small laugh. “It’s okay. We can leave it for some other time.”

Grian purses his lips. He doesn’t say there won’t be another time. He doesn’t say he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t say that something in him desperately wants this, actually, please Scar please.

------

but, you know what. it isn't over.

this answer has been long enough. i know. i know. (i appreciate and love everyone who bothered to read this far <3 ) but. but there's more.

there is more, and it's so closely related, these scenes are entwined and live snugly side-by-side in my heart. but. here's the thing.

this next bit is 1,2k long, and it's from a chapter that, as of now, hasn't been released yet. for the curious, greedy, hungry souls (love you all to bits), here it is:

------ hmtb chapter [unspecified]

Scar blinks and recalibrates under the scrutiny. His eyes dart to the jukebox and he lets a smile spread across his lips, as he reaches out a hand to Grian. “Hey, G, you wanna dance?”

Grian’s eyes widen a fraction, thrown off by the abrupt suggestion. “I’m… not sure,” he manages to say, eyes dropping to Scar’s invitingly outstretched hand, palm-up and ready for him.

His emotions wrangle in him—a need to be close, to give in, to accept everything Scar’s giving him, pushed violently against the sharp memories of sand and desert, something happy tiding over into blood and pain and misery.

He flexes his fingers, pulls them into a fist and then stretches them out, trying to unknot the tension and release the slight tremble that courses through them. His throat feels dry, all of a sudden.

“It’s okay,” Scar says in the softest tone that never fails to tug at Grian’s heart. “I can lead.”

The music turns mildly cacophonic, askew and sick. It buzzes and pitches and tilts, in a way music isn’t supposed to be able to. And Grian realises that he’s told Scar before that he forgot how to dance.

Scar taught him all the steps, back in the desert. A lot of hours spent in the stifling air upon sun-warmed evening sand, stumbling and laughing and holding onto each other. Their skin was more tanned then. Their eyes were brighter, their souls wilder. They felt unstoppable.

Grian feels anything but right now.

He doesn’t know if he can take it.

But Scar’s reaching out to him and Grian finds that he cannot turn away from it, his body shackled and chained, unable to resist. And so even if everything in him screams no, he still finds himself reaching back, meeting Scar’s hands with his own trembling fingers, trepidation sinking its teeth into him.

Scar’s smile brightens and oh, maybe it’s not trepidation that Grian feels.

He feels Scar’s fingers take hold of his hand, secure and warm; they pull at him, but not in a destabilising way. It’s the opposite: they tell Grian exactly where to be. Scar’s other arm finds Grian torso and seamlessly slides across to his back, sending shivers down Grian’s spine; his wings stretch out and shudder, before they fall back, feathers lightly brushing over Scar’s skin.

Everything about this is electrifying, and it’s driving Grian haywire.

He thinks maybe he needs to stop thinking. Maybe he needs to give in to the part of him that wants to let Scar have control of the two of them now; the part of him that wants to trust and believe that he’s safe; the part of him that craves affection with ugly, hungry desperation.

Scar leans closer and with a rumbling baritone wrapped in velvet, he checks: “Ready?”

Running on nothing but instinct, Grian squeezes at Scar’s hand.

With a low chuckle, Scar lets go of Grian’s back and Grian almost gasps at the abrupt loss—but all Scar does is guide Grian’s free hand to his waist. “Like this,” he murmurs, his voice just a step away from purring, and then his hand slots back against Grian’s spine.

A trembling breath leaves Grian’s lips and he dips his head, leaning forwards, inching closer to Scar. He feels the response in the way Scar’s touch on his back turns firm, accepting the new closeness with reverent neediness. He can’t see Scar’s face, but he can tell Scar’s lips are curved in a smile, cheeks slightly dimpling.

He almost wishes to look, but he can’t, he can’t, it’s too much.

He takes a deep breath though his nose. The air isn’t dry and hot. The ground doesn’t shift underneath his feet.

It hasn’t shifted underneath his feet in ages, but right now in this very moment, a part of Grian distantly thinks that it should. That if they’re going to dance, it should be atop a mountain, feet sinking into sand.

They’re standing on carpeted floor, and the music disc is one they didn’t have in the desert, the sounds of it wrapping around them in a rhythm completely discordant to the fast beating of Grian’s heart.

With gentle and deliberate move, Scar directs them to sway. Their feet shift, steady on the solid floor, something learned and simple. Scar leads them in careful, basic steps, the ones he used at the very beginning to teach Grian. Back when even that was too much, and Grian kept stepping on his feet, and Scar kept catching him.

Scar doesn’t need to catch Grian now, because Grian knows these steps. They’re imbued in his muscle memory, something sunken and anchored, a part of his soul that’s reserved for things that feel like home.

Testingly, Scar throws in something more complex. He pulls Grian along, turning them in circles, every step confident and filled with joy. The music is the background rhythm, but they’re both locked somewhere else, in a fragment of a memory—something that used to be; something that Scar believes could be again.

With a curve to his lips, Scar hums and remarks: “You said you don’t remember.”

Grian’s breath hitches and it’s only now that he lifts his head to meet Scar’s gaze. Despite that, his feet do not stumble; he doesn’t need to watch where he steps, he knows it all by heart. His gaze anchors in green eyes and something rises within him so tidally and overwhelmingly that he feels hot wetness blur his vision all of a sudden. “How could I forget?” he manages past the lump in his throat.

Scar gently lets go of Grian’s hand and instead reaches to touch Grian’s jaw, brushing his thumb soothingly over Grian’s cheek as he takes in the raw, ravaging emotion in Grian’s eyes.

Grian moves his suddenly free arm around Scar, fingers finding purchase in the fabric of Scar’s shirt, digging into it until he has a firm grip. His lungs spasm in his chest, his heart stutters, his wings droop then lift and spread. A loose feather drops to the floor and Scar sidesteps it expertly, as if it was somehow too precious to damage.

“You remember,” Scar murmurs, an odd inflection to his voice.

Grian’s skin buzzes where Scar touches it; a tingling, warm sensation spreads from Scar’s fingertips and robs Grian of breath. “Of course,” he murmurs, quiet, destabilised.

Scar’s eyes crinkle in joy, lips spreading into a bright, toothy smile that ends in dimpled skin as he looks at Grian. He makes no attempt to call out Grian’s earlier lie; he seems content in knowing that this is the truth, warm and alive underneath his fingers, guided by his steps. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind teaching you again, but this makes me so happy!” he admits openly, fractionally heightening their tempo as he leads them in spinning circles, everything in him attuned to the music even as it becomes nothing more than a background noise.

Grian isn’t ready for those words. Nor for the way Scar looks at him.

He feels like he’s drowning, and Scar’s both his sea and his oxygen.

Scar starts humming in tune, the happy expression lingering on his face, and it’s only then that the discordant rhythm of the song disentangles and starts making sense to Grian. It’s only the reverb of Scar’s voice that puts coherency into Grian’s existence; into their steps across the carpet that doesn’t give underneath their weight; into the way the room sways around them, full of warm shadows and flickering flames and muted colours not quite matching sand.

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enderon · 1 year

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Okay, there's an asspect of one of my favorite Phineas and Ferb episodes that I need to take a second to explain and complain.

The episode in question is 'My Fair Goalie', the one about playing Football X-7 and Lawrence's brother and family coming for a visit, that ultimately ends up being a commentary on Ferb's cultural heritage as his English cousins give him grief for not being 'British enough' after living in America so long only to end with one of my favorite Ferb lines, "Actually chaps, I'm not a brit or a yank, I'm just Ferb".

Anyways, my issue comes from both how Phineas refers to the cousins and the whole introduction section.

For one, at the start of the episode, Phineas refers to them as Ferb's cousins, saying, 'Ferb, your cousins from England are visitng'. Here's the problem with that. In the narrative, the Flynn-Fletchers are a completely blended family. Outside of the first episode and very rare occasions, we don't hear any mention of 'step' in the family explanations and both sets of grandparents are just referred to normally by all parties as grandparents, it is a completely blended family. Meaning, Phineas should not be calling them 'Ferb's cousins', cause they're his cousins too. Maybe not by blood, but that has been shown to never be a concern in this family in this show.

And another issue, the fact that apparently this is the first time Phineas and Candace are meeting Lawrence's brother and his family. What??? We know that Lawrence and Linda have been together for quite a while, 5 years at the least, since that's how long they've had Perry. So plenty of time for them all to meet. Also, they're married. Are you telling me Lawrence's brother and family didn't come to the wedding? And for anyone that might argue that maybe they just don't have many opportunities to travel to the states, we see the Flynn-Fletchers visit grandma and grandpa Fletcher in England more than once in the span of the single summer of the show. Surely if they can go over seas that often, they can take some time out of one of those visits to see Lawrence's brother and family.

Just feels weird, cause as great as the show can be in representing a perfectly blended family and respecting step-family as full family, this feels so off and not fitting within everything else we see about this family.

#phineas and ferb #am i overthinking things #perhaps #but i notice details like this #esepcially in a show like this that is actually pretty good about continuity

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paramorearchived · 5 months

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April 5, 2010

Transcript:

Morning world!

Hey guys, it's been a ridiculous amount of time since I've popped in here. The tumblr journal is going well... and I've found it really easy to update with pictures and mp3's and all the random stuff I'm not computer savvy enough to post here on LJ. Anyways, what am I using capitalization for?

so... the weather has been nuts here in franklin. in a week, i've seen just about all my friends and partied hard (if coca-cola and buttloads of ice cream really qualify for a party). i've been to a freaking wedding! (unbelievable!) and actually cleaned out miss anne's interior (miss anne is my car, ya big perv). it's been nuts. non stop. i've even been writing a lot. and now, i think i need to slow myself down. any time we're off tour, my time is divided between two things: 1) go nuts and eat everything and don't take care of myself cause i don't have to work. 2) recoup from being nuts. start eating healthy again, get sleep, don't talk as much... boring stuff. if i wasn't hoarse, i wouldn't be starting part 2 for at least another 3 or 4 days. but i had sweet cece's frozen yogurt 5 times in the past 4 days and talked until i can't talk anymore and i think it's time to grow up just a smidgen. the word smidgen is cringe-worthy. had to.

you know when you leave a hair band on your wrist and when you take it off it hurts?

so, keep an eye out for a couple pics from the wedding. (i didn't take many, mostly cause i forgot. wompwomp). some pics from my time at home... and as soon as we start rehearsal... which i think is like a week from now... i'm going to post a "menu" of our new merch items. all of this will be on the tumblr blog so i can easily organize all the attachments. the new merch is awesome. we're pulling designs from many of our friends and quite honestly, it's the best and most cohesive line of merch we've had in a long time. i'm proud of it, for sure.

and while i'm getting started about this next tour. let's discuss. i'm pretty sure you've heard of Relient K. (if you haven't, don't tell anyone and run - don't walk - to their myspace). those dudes are awesome. and i am a long time fan of their records. i remember someone giving me "Two Lefts Don't Make A Right... But Three Do". and singing songs about chapped lips and chapped stick on my way home from school.

and opening the shows for the tour is a band called fun. their name couldn't be a better summary of what you are going to experience when they take the stage. their debut record "aim & ignite" is just ridiculously good. if you like incredible vocals and creative arrangements... or the sound of gods making love... then you will like them.

good music happening this year. everywhere! and a lot of good music on tour with us. we're a very very lucky band to have so many talented friends to share the stage with. i noticed a post on the LJ community asking for new music suggestions and a lot of you suggested some seriously good music. it feels like we're all growing up together and discovering (or re-discovering) a lot of music that maybe we wouldn't have been into 5 years ago when all of this started. so i got to thinking... how could we discover more music together? apparently, at old hardcore and punk shows, there would be a bucket at the door where kids could drop mix tapes in and take one out. it was a way to pass music along cheaply and easily. not to mention, a great way to strengthen your scene. think about all the local bands in your town that you want people to hear or your favorite song that you always always have to put on all your mix cd's. would you guys want to do this at our shows? i figure, the next tour is super short. all of 14 shows. it would be an amazing way to test run this whole thing. i've talked to fueledbyadam and johnny minardi about it before but it's been a good year since that conversation happened. i wanted to bring it back to you guys and figure out if you're into it or not.

here's how it might work: we'd put a box or bucket at the merch table with Aaron Holmes (merch man of the stars)... and you'd bring either a tape, a CD, or a USB/memory stick thingy, with all your favorite songs on it. let's say about 10 songs, to keep it simple. you drop one in at the beginning of the night... and if you wish to, at the end of the night you take one out on your way out the door. i think it could be awesome. maybe we'll even put our own mixes in the box every now and then. the point is to share music that YOU love. we don't get enough PHYSICAL swapping of music anymore. it's always online. "here's a link to this" or... "go to their myspace"... and now maybe we have a chance to relive something that we almost missed!

let me know your thoughts in the comments.

i'm also going to start doing band bio things on my tumblr for all the bands that come out on tour with us. so that people start getting a better idea of who they're seeing on stage. ooh! i could even try to get interviews with those bands and post em up. so many possibilities. here we go.

can't wait to see you guys in a couple weeks :) hayley

#paramore #hayley williams #2010 #livejournal

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arielmagicesi · 2 years

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3, 6, 17, & 29 for the AO3 wrapped ask?

I have been so sick and forgotten to respond to this lol... ok let's see:

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

It'd probably have to be "we'll never have problems again". I love my Marwa series in general and that one focuses the most on Marwa and her character development. It was just really fun to take this incredibly minor background character and imagine a whole story for her set in the silly sitcom universe I know and love.

(I also love "if you ever need a favor in twenty years, call a camp kvetcher girl" which is my CXG/Community crossover, but that has less of an audience due to it being a crossover of two shows that are both no longer airing)

6. Favorite title you used

Obviously I loved using Crazy Ex-Girlfriend song titles a bunch loooool so probably just all my CXG song title fics. I also thought "Good Night, Staten Island, and Good Mental Health" was a fun way to combine the two fandoms in that crossover. Oh and I liked using a Starkid song lyric for "now my only wish is that our plots may intertwine". Idk can't decide

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

Oh I can't decide... Probably Nadja because she's just such a treat to write. She also showed up in my fics the most.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Oh I have a huge ego when it comes to my writing and I wrote 12 fics this year so there's not a chance I'd be able to choose that... I did really love the scene in "i'm the villain in my own story" where Laszlo comforts Guillermo after his breakup with Freddie- it was maybe a bit more serious than the tone of the show merits but I put a lot of my own feelings into that and it was interesting to explore the relationship between those two characters. Same deal with the passage in "we'll never have problems again" where Marwa ruminates on what she learned from her mother and father- again, too serious for the show, but I also borrowed from thoughts about my own family. I guess it's short enough to share here:

Her mother, during these evenings, would shuffle back and forth from the kitchen, carrying hot and heavy plates of rice and kebab, silver bowls of nuts and fresh fruit. She always smiled, and when Marwa’s father asked her to sit down a while and listen to his stories, she would always oblige, lounging peacefully and laughing along to his jokes. At night, though, once everyone was asleep, she became something else. Marwa had seen it once, when she’d gotten up in the middle of the night and thought to get herself a glass of water, and seen her mother, skirts hiked up and hair tied away from her face, on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor with a ferocity Marwa never would have guessed of her gentle, people-pleasing mother. Then she’d stopped, wiping her forehead, and Marwa had gotten a glimpse, for just a moment, of her face- tired, worn, bitter.

Just as she listened to her father’s stories and riddles, she listened to this lesson, too.

and in terms of funny passages, this one from "the one with the secondhand embarrassment" is probably my favorite:

“When did you meet this new guy?” Nandor said. “Why haven��t you told me about him? I thought friends tell each other these things.”

“I haven’t really told anyone,” Guillermo said. “It’s still sort of new, I met him in London, so I haven’t even told my mom. I mean, she’s still sort of shaky about the gay stuff- I do want to tell her, though, eventually- But I guess if I’m going to tell anyone first, I’m glad it’s you guys. At the end of the day, you really are like my family-”

“Yeah, great, who gives a shit,” Laszlo said. “How big is his package? Stop me when I reach it.”

He started spreading his hands apart.

Guillermo sighed.

“I actually should probably go check on Colin,” he said. “Thanks for, uh. Being so supportive, I guess.”

He headed out of the room. Laszlo, whose hands had now extended to about a yard apart, raised his eyebrows.

“The chap’s got quite an impressive wang,” he said.

And yeah I have a bunch of other passages I'm proud of because like I said, I'm very fond of my own writing lol, but I'm not gonna share all of them. Anyway. Thank you for the ask!

#written by me

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 9

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language + mentions of sensitive topics Warnings: Referenced past abuse. Does not go into detail. Notes: Longest Serenade chapter yet at 4k+ words! Bit of angst, majority is fluffy fluffer fluff though. Next chapter is maximum h*rny, with two versions depending on reader, uh, equipment. EDIT: Forgot to put title, like dumbass. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato

Chapter 9: Berceuse

(Berceuse: A lullaby. Generally slow and undulating.)

One moment you’re playing the piano, lovingly demonstrating a song you’d like Daniela to learn, the next you’re blue screening as she places a teasing kiss to your neck. It takes all of your willpower to keep playing, improvising a way to end the song right then and there. Then you’re turning to Daniela, eyes wide, blushing hard. She’s giggling. When she regains her composure, you give her a confused expression.

“I’m pretty sure this is the first time you’ve made real eye contact with me all morning. What gives?” She asked, frowning slightly. Awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck, you avoid her gaze, doing little else than proving her point. This frustrates her, and she lets out an aggravated sigh. I should probably tell her what happened, you think, dreading the idea. Still, the two of you had been making an effort to communicate better. What kind of partner would you be if you didn’t tell her about her mother’s intervention?

“Okay, okay… I wasn’t sure how to bring this up, but if I’m being this obvious about it anyway…” You started, trailing off anxiously. In response, Daniela places one of her hands over yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. Though your face somehow gets even redder, the action gives you the courage required to continue. “I had another progress update meeting with your mother yesterday. I was worried, since this was the first one where you weren’t present, but I didn’t- I mean, er… Fuck it, she knows you’re interested in me. Doesn’t think we’re already together, thank God, but she told me, and I quote, that my response should be ‘swift and uninterested’. What are-” before you can finish you’re cut off by a loud groan, followed by your girlfriend cradling her head in her hands. Yeah, you think, this is about what I expected.

“Of course she did! I can’t have anything nice,” Daniela snapped, having gone from ten to sixty real quick. You’re just glad that she wasn’t taking it out on the piano. “How would she even know about us? I only stare at you when she’s not looking!” Oh? Since when did she stare at you? Certainly if Lady Dimitrescu had noticed, you would have as well?... Then again, the few times where all three of you were in the same room usually involved you working while they chatted or ate together. Still, the idea of Daniela making heart eyes at you from across the room was enough to make you blush again. “Look, she’s probably making some assumptions. There’s no way she knows as much as she thinks she does, at least not about us. So let’s just be careful- ugh, I sound like Bela- and otherwise keep doing what we do. Alright, songbird?”

“If you’re sure, then so am I. Let’s try to focus on our lesson for now, though,” you replied, doing your best to sound confident. Hoping to add in a little reassurance, you give Daniela a quick peck on the cheek. Unsurprisingly she ‘dodges’, instead kissing you on the lips, but you hardly mind at all. When she pulls back she’s got a huge grin on her face.

“Lesson now, fun later, got it. Speaking of later… You and me, inside the library, right after lunch. I’ll tell mother we’re going over theory and key recognition, but really-” she leans in close, mouth barely an inch from your ear “it’s a date. Don’t worry about getting caught, I’ve already made sure that neither Bela nor Cassandra will interrupt.” Your heart skipped a few beats at her suggestion, and you had to admit… you were beyond excited for this. When was the last time you had gone on an actual date? Years ago, just a month before you left your hometown and moved to the village. That had been a date you’d spend the rest of your life regretting… then again, it was what made you leave in the first place. And if you hadn’t left, you’d have never met Daniela.

Maybe it hadn’t been that bad after all.

————————————

Four minutes past one in the morning, you shuffled nervously towards the library, with note cards in hand. Even if you weren’t really going to help Daniela study, you wanted to be prepared in case you bumped into anyone along the way. After all, this was the night shift, when most of the servants were up and about, accomplishing any tasks deemed ‘too noisy’ to be done while the manor occupants slept. Thankfully, the fact that lunch had just finished meant a fair amount of workers would be busy cleaning up the dining hall. In the end, you only passed one other servant, but it was the only one you hadn’t felt confident about running into: Daphne.

Despite your long-standing friendship (having known each other in the village, and being brought to the castle within the same week), you had yet to tell her about your relationship with Daniela. Which by itself wouldn’t have been too bad, if not for the fact that she could tell you were hiding something from her. This had, understandably, put a damper on your friendship. From her perspective, there was nothing you shouldn’t be able to tell her. Even you weren’t sure if you should be more honest, all things considered. There was no way she’d ever tell someone else about your situation. But if one day you got in trouble for lying to Lady Dimitrescu… and somehow someone figured out that Daphne knew too, well, she’d be just as fucked as you, if not more so. After all, there was a chance that Daniela’s affection for you would lead to a lighter punishment. Not that being exiled into the forest was much better than being flat out killed.

So when you saw Daphne heading towards you, you tried to get by with a simple smile and a brief wave.

“Aren’t you even going to say hi?” Daphne asked, tone stiff but filled with disappointment. It catches you off guard, to the point where you drop your note cards. Immediately you’re squatting down, gathering them up, taking the excuse not to look at your friend. She doesn’t move to assist, instead pausing in the hallway to watch you. “We were supposed to stick together, you know? But it’s like becoming Lady Daniela’s little plaything made you think you’re better than the rest of us. Better than me.” That last part was barely more than a whisper, and you freeze in place, hand still hovering over one of the cards. “I shouldn’t have said anything, it doesn’t matter. Just try not to get yourself killed, alright? I don’t want to be the one to clean up your corpse.”

“Daphne, wait, please!” You said, finally moving to your feet, blocking your friend’s path. When she looks at you, you can just barely make out tears in the corners of her soft blue eyes. “I’m sorry, really. I… I can’t tell you what’s going on because I can’t risk getting you in trouble. You’re my best friend, Daph, and I don’t want anything happening to you just because I was doing something reckless.”

“Do you really think I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you?” Daphne questioned, with a bitter laugh. She’s shaking her head in disbelief, even as you stare at her, shell shocked. “Maybe the others haven’t caught on yet, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and I’m not oblivious to the way you talk about her. I figured you’d tell me eventually… It’s been weeks, though. More than that, I mean seriously, don’t you think I’d go down for you in a heartbeat? There was a time where I was sure the two of us would do anything for each other, ride or die when the dying part was a guaranteed end to all of this. Something tells me that’s not the case anymore.” Now she refuses to meet your gaze, instead staring down at what few note cards still lay on the floor.

“That’s still the case, I promise. It’s hard enough to look past what our employers do to strangers. If they hurt you? I’d never dream of forgetting, let alone forgiving them,” you explained. It’s enough to make her look back up, but she’s far from smiling.

“If that’s the case, maybe I’m looking at the wrong signals. But I’ve got to go, and I assume you do too. Take care,” she said, before slipping past you as quickly as she can. Then you’re left to gather the last of your note cards, mind whirling. Cruel as the thought may be, you hoped that this wouldn’t ruin the mood for your date. The best your mind could do to cope was focus on one thing at a time…

————————————

“Are you sure this is safe? I can’t even remember how many times I’ve been told to keep this door shut, under the threat of, you know, losing my life,” you called out, hanging out in the doorway. Beyond you by a few meters was Daniela, who twirled about with laughter, reaching out to catch a few falling leaves. This was the entrance to the garden, as far as you could tell. Not to be confused with the vineyard, which was larger, as well as on a completely different side of the estate. You had never been to either, seeing as only a select few servants were allowed to leave the manor. If Daniela hadn’t made it seem like you’d be staying in the library, well, you probably would have protested a little, regardless of how badly you wanted to go on a real date. Even when you had met up with her, she hadn’t told you any details, just laughing and asking you to follow her.

“Don’t be a baby! We’re still a few weeks away from autumn, and besides, you’re here with me! What could possibly go wrong?” Daniela asked, sending you a cheeky grin before dashing off into the garden proper. For a moment you’re left on the threshold, a picnic basket in your arms, wondering what the season had to do with your safety. Then you sigh, figuring that it couldn’t be that bad. Hadn’t your girlfriend mentioned this to Bela, anyway? Certainly the responsible older sister would have stepped in if something genuinely dangerous had been suggested? Well, you hoped as much, at least. With that in mind you close the door behind you, then dashed towards where Daniela had gone. Even as you round the corner, you don’t see her, and suddenly you’re nervous as hell. Before you can call out to her, the sound of rustling leaves catches your attention. Suddenly something jumps out at you! “Rah! Gotcha, babe!”

Ah, of course it was your girlfriend, clearly pulling a leaf from Cassandra’s book. You playfully smack her arm in response, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded. Humorous intentions aside, she had legitimately scared you, and you had nearly dropped your basket in response. Before you can say as much, Daniela’s hooking her arm in yours so she can pull you further into the gardens.

“You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute, firefly,” you muttered, a tad grumpy now. Most of your irritation was false, however, intended to tease your girlfriend. For a moment she doesn’t seem to realize that, and she stops in place. Once her eyes meet yours she understands what’s going on. Then she’s grinning, sticking her tongue out at you, and continuing down the path. Soon enough you’re approaching a paved brick circle. All around it, minus where it meets the walkway, are various flowers in bloom. Past the flowers are bushes, and past those are trees, whose branches provide a canopy for the circle. “Wow… and I thought you were pretty,” you teased, admiring the view.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Daniela lets out an offended scoff, before taking the basket from you. Wordlessly she opens it up to grab the blankets within, spreading them without sparing you a glance. Now it’s your turn to wonder whether or not her anger is just a joke. Hoping so, you help her smooth out the blankets, making sure the two of you have ample space to spread out. At one point both of you reach for the basket at the same time, and she just grabs your hand instead, squeezing it. Next thing you know she’s pulling you down onto the blankets, rolling on top of you.

“Come here often?” She asked. Then, unsurprisingly, the two of you kiss. Both of your arms wrap around her waist, holding her as close as you can. One of her hands cups your cheek, the other resting on the ground to support herself, for ‘optimal makeout angles’. It’s a minute of bliss before she has to pull back for air. Instead of pulling away entirely, she shifts down a notch, resting her head against your chest. “Mmm… so comfortable. I could just… fall… asleep…” Daniela murmured, pretending to be sleepy. You can’t help but laugh, chest obviously shaking in as you do. “No! Pillows aren’t supposed to vibrate.”

“Are you sure about that?” You asked, only laughing harder.

“They don’t talk, either,” Daniela replied, huffing as she does. When you keep laughing, she rises to a sitting position, much to your disappointment. “So you have chosen death? So be it. I’ll just eat these candies myself, then.” With that said, she digs into the picnic basket, retrieving a bag of chocolates. Pouting, you reach out to try and yoink one away from her. Rather deftly, she pulls them away, sticking her tongue out at you before tossing a couple in her mouth. Determined, you surge forward, trying to catch her off guard, only to (somehow) end up face down in her lap. “Exactly like I planned, songbird. Now get comfy, alright?”

One of her hands trails fingers through your hair as you semi-awkwardly roll over. Now you’re facing up, watching your girlfriend practically inhale a few pieces of chocolate. But now she seems more inclined to share. She plucks one more from the bag, offering it to you by holding it in front of your mouth. Gladly you open up, and she drops the chocolate, before giving you a small ‘boop’ on the nose. Both of you laugh, then, a sound that sparks warmth in your chest. This was… nice. Relaxing. Not only were the two of you allowed to be as open with your affection as you wanted, it was the first time in ages that you had actually been outside, able to enjoy the sunlight.

Several minutes pass by like this, with Daniela feeding you (and herself) candies, both of you taking time to appreciate the scenery. Eventually the bag of chocolates becomes close to empty, and you see your girlfriend have an ‘oh crap’ moment.

“I was going to save some of these for you to smuggle into your quarters, damn it… guess you’ll just have to refuse to share, babe,” she said, shrugging a little. Then she sets the bag aside, now devoting both of her hands to playing with your hair. “Guess I’ll just have to find something else to keep my tongue occupied. Know any volunteers?”

“Hmm… I would, but it’s reeeaaaaaallllllly comfortable down here,” you teased in reply. Suddenly her hands are taken out of your hair, and you can just barely see that they’re positioned on her hips. She’s pouting at you, very similar to how you’ve seen her mother do, yellow eyes betraying her mischief. What exactly did she have planned?

“Really, songbird? I take you out, give you a wonderful place to rest, hand feed you chocolates… and you won’t even kiss me? When was the last time you even got to do something like this?” She asked, perking an eyebrow. The question is innocent enough. The answer, however, is not. Even with your head in her lap, you cannot fight off the brief sense of panic as your mind flashes into the past. It takes a deep breath, a few blinks, and a reassuring touch from Daniela for you to calm back down. “Songbird?... Hey, hey, it’s okay, I didn’t- I don’t know what happened. But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, we can just…” She trails off, sounding unsure of herself, and you feel a pang of guilt. Was it finally time to come clean?... Yeah, yeah it was.

“It’s fine, I promise. I just… I need to sit up for this,” you explained, begrudgingly rising out of her lap. But she doesn’t let you pull away entirely, a hand guiding you to sit right up against her. Then she gently wraps an arm around you. Leaning into her touch, you rest your head on her shoulder, closing your eyes for a few seconds. “It’s kind of a long story, firefly… But this has happened often enough that I need to tell you. At least part of it. So, well… When I was younger, I, uh, I read a lot of romance novels, watched a lot of movies. Not even the good ones, really. And I didn’t- I couldn’t think through them. Couldn’t analyze it the way I needed to. So I didn’t get a good grasp of what a healthy relationship looked like. My, uh, my folks weren’t keen on demonstrating one for me, either…

“Before I came to the village, I was, well, uh, the thing is you might not like this part? And you’re not gonna like the next part, either. Just… listen to the end, please,” you pleaded, waiting for an acknowledgment before continuing. “I was engaged, as in to be married, to a woman I had known for most of my life. We were neighbors, and had gone to school together, and everyone thought we were the cutest couple. Hell, for the longest time I thought that. We weren’t, though. She was-” Daniela tenses a bit, though remains silent- “manipulative, sometimes aggressive. Anytime there was an argument, she made herself into the victim, told me that I was crazy. She wanted to make all the decisions about our relationship for me, and I just… I didn’t question it. Not even after she proposed, when my only reason for saying yes was because we were in public, with friends, and she clearly assumed that I’d agree. I tried to tell her that I wasn’t ready, that maybe we were going too fast, but she tuned me out.

“I didn’t even think about running until our final date. That was the first, and the only, time that she ever… that she ever-” a few tears spill from the corners of your eyes- “got physical with me. She’d broken things before, for sure, but I never thought she’d hurt me.” Daniela rubs your back gently, her breathing a little shaky. Evidently she hated hearing about this as much as you hated talking about it. Somehow that made it a little easier to talk through. “The next day she had to work early, so I just packed up my things, went over to my parents’ house and told them what happened. For once they actually agreed, if you can believe it. Told me to get the hell out of town, said that they’d deal with my fiance, and our relatives, so that I didn’t have to worry about anything when I came back. It was less than a full day before I drove away from everything I had ever known, promising my folks that someday I’d be back. Didn’t settle down until half the continent was behind me, not ‘til I was here at the village.”

There were a couple moments of silence as Daniela waited to make sure you had finished talking. Then she’s kissing the top of your head, shaking a little more noticeably now, murmuring reassurances that you can’t quite understand. Again you lean into her touch, indescribably thankful for her comforting presence. Fuck, you think, I probably ruined the date… so much for spending quality time with my lil firefly. When the silence breaks, it does so softly, slowly, a careful opening rather than a forceful push.

“Why would you give me a second chance? After what I did to you?” Daniela asked, voice barely audible, her head still resting atop yours. It’s not the response you expected. Not in the slightest. You pull away slightly, to look her in her eyes, heart aching at the tear stains on her cheeks. Even though you want to give her an answer that will bring her peace, your mind draws little more than a blank. Why had you given her a chance? You had wanted to be with her, without doubt, even before Cassandra and Bela intervened. Even after every time that she reminded you of your past…

“I-I don’t know. Maybe I haven’t learned anything from what’s happened,” you started, uncertainty clear in your tone. “Or maybe it’s because you looked… regretful. You didn’t enjoy what you did, and I saw it in your eyes. And… and then you did something about it. If you hadn’t shown remorse, or if I genuinely believed that you might do something like that again, we wouldn’t be here right now. I mean, in that case your sisters probably would have killed me for turning you down, but that’s not entirely relevant right now, is it?” You’re rambling a little, stuttering over your own words. Still, somehow it makes Daniela laugh, and relief floods your chest. Soon enough you’re curled up against her once more.

“Hey,” she said, after a minute of comfortable silence. “Thank you for showing me what romance is supposed to be.” Then she’s leaning in for a kiss, and you’re responding eagerly, unable to stop yourself from smiling. This time it’s your hand that runs through her hair as you pull her in as close as you can. To your surprise, she does pull away a tad earlier than usual. But there’s a grin on her lips, and she looks satisfied as hell. “Definitely more of that, soon. There’s just one more thing we have to do, to make this date perfect, you know? I may or may not have, kind of, written you something? You’re not allowed to laugh, though!”

“When have I ever laughed at you?” You asked, teasing, literally laughing as you speak. In response, Daniela scowls, making a point to look away in feign protest. “Joking, joking… I’ve just, you know, never had someone write me something before. Kinda don’t know how to react, really. Other than blushing real hard-” which you were doing- “and trying to play off my excitement with humor. But I promise I won’t laugh, even if you start with something like ‘roses are red, violets are blue’ or end with something like ‘just us in bed, doing the do’. Please tell me that’s not what you wrote, though?”

“Now that you mention it, maybe that should be what I recite. Sounds exactly like the sort of thing that would get me laid,” Daniela joked, rolling her eyes at you. Then she’s tugging a loose piece of paper out of the picnic basket, unfolding it to reveal a well-worn surface and hand-written text. She hesitates for a moment, glancing up at you, before taking a deep breath. When she speaks it’s clear just how nervous she is. But with every line she gains a measure of confidence, by the end acting her usual confident self.

Step from the shadows, weary corners of my mind Encased in old thoughts, brought into new life Like ashes rising from tombs housing the divine

Spinning webs as I descend, from the cradle of heaven From the dead I have risen, blessed be the gift I’m given Only from your haunting call do I embrace living

Catching the corners of my lips turning up All my years I’ve felt, but never this much Quietly writhing, begging for your softest touch

The pursuit of unintentional romance left abandoned Whispering love-locked tales to be consumed Sweeter than every facade I have ever imagined

Come closer now, into my arms, heart embraced Trailing fingers over scars, sewing lines traced Tell me love, “we shall last until the end of days”

At first, all you can do in response is stare at her, expression filled with affection. Inside your chest your heart was racing, and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this warm. Reaching out, you take one of Daniela’s hands in your own, grinning as soon as her gaze meets yours. Both of you are blushing rather hard. Then she sets the poem down, eyes never leaving yours for even a second. You try to stutter out a few words, but find your tongue tied, and so you settle for placing your forehead against hers. The two of you stay like that for a few loving moments. When you part, it is only to come back together, this time in a tight hug.

“One helluva date, yeah?” Daniela asked, looking incredibly proud of herself. You can’t help but nod enthusiastically in response, honestly happier than you had felt in years. “Well, I will have to let you get back to work soon, unfortunately… but we have a few minutes, at least. Besides, having to part will only make tonight all the more sweeter.” At that you pause, confused, tilting your head to the side. Realizing that she must have gotten ahead of herself, Daniela blushes before elaborating. “You, me, my room. Tonight, right after your shift ends.”

You could hardly wait.

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #please tell me if the poem is any good #seriously pleaaaaaaseeeee #or just tell me what your favorite line from the whole chap is #that's always what I want to know #feedback wise

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turquoisea · 3 years

Text

Family reunion

Pairing: Dabi/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dub-con, Degradation, Brother/Sister Incest, Manipulation, Guilt-tripping, OOC, Smut

Contains manga spoilers. Minors DNI.

Words: 4130

Synopsis: You was kidnapped while on your way home from work. Turned out your kidnapper was someone you knew.

A/N: I don't own any of the characters. Please read the warnings before continuing and we're gonna jump straight to the scene after (y/n) had been kidnapped (because i was too lazy to write the former part OTL)

==============

Unable to escape from the kidnapper’s tight rope around your wrists, you helplessly let him carry you to somewhere that looked like an abandoned building. Not like you could exactly tell where it was, given the fact that your eyes had been covered ever since he captured you until you two “arrived” at the destination. Either had you been able to scream or to call for help, “If you decide to be a naughty little girl and make a fuss, or to even let a single person know about this and hinder my work, I can and I will burn your whole workplace while letting your watch every single second of it.” – the kidnapper had threatened, making panic surged within your body; the only thing you could blurt out to answer his “Is that clear?” was a simple “Yes.” Not wanting to involve any of your aquaintances, you decided to keep your mouth shut the entire time. You thought that it was a better idea to wait until you could learn about what he wanted, his motives behind this before trying to escape.

He placed you down on the floor after carrying you into a small room with the action being a little too gentle for a kidnapper, you thought and opened your eyes only to be met with a pair of turquoise gazes, slightly hidden behind his spiky black hair. Those reminded you of Shouto’s left eye color but they had a rather.. captivating effect, making you unable to tear your eyes off them. More like Touya’s eyes – the recollection passing your mind was quickly brushed off, given the harsh reality that Touya has been dead for more than 10 years. You cautiously opened your mouth to ask, still keeping eye contact.

"What do you want?"

“…What do I want?” He repeated the question before slowly taking off his black face mask. The way he did it was deliberate, elegant even, as if he was putting on a show to reveal what’s hidden behind the mask. In front of you was an abnormal façade: Purple skin lied under his eye bags, his lower cheeks and lower lip, all the way down to his collarbone; connected together with the normal parts of the skin by surgical staples. An audible gasp escaped your throat the moment you realized that the man who abducted you was the wanted criminal you saw on TV.

“League of Villains.. You’re.. You’re Dabi…”

“Dabi? Ah yes, people call me that now. But I thought you would recognize me now, you’re my family after all..” He trailed off at the end, as though he was rather hurt by your comment.

“Family? Stop joking now, we don’t even know each other!”

“You sure? Even when you used to call me Touya-nii with that sweet voice of yours?”

“I said stop!! Listen, I have no idea why you know about Touya but he’s not alive anymore, don’t bring him into this!” Your shaking voice resounded with rage. In the past few years you’d partly moved on from your brother’s death, even learned how to stop tearing up whenever someone mentions him. To say you was mad was an understatement, since the kidnapper crossed the line, pulled out those emotions that you’d tried so hard to hide them away. You couldn’t stay calm anymore. This villain and the audacity to even mention Touya, let alone making such an unbearable joke about him.

“(y/n)-chan,” The way he called your name was too familiar “you still have the habit of defending me after all this time.”

“Wh..What.. do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember? You were always there to patch me up every time I went out training on my own. Those nights that distress and hatred consumed me, you were the only one who was willing to give me a shoulder to cry on, to hear me rant about that stupid family. You were the only one who didn’t refuse to look at a “failure” like me while our father focused all his attention on that “masterpiece”. You made me feel like I’m not useless, (y/n)-chan. Sure you haven’t forgotten, right?”

“You’re.. lying.. Touya-nii is..”

“Yes, yes. Everybody thought so.” He interrupted. “But I escaped from the fire and as you can see,” He raised his hand to touch the staples. “I’m still here. If I’d died in that fire, I would have become a ghost, an evil spirit to haunt the hell out of Todoroki Enji.” The explanation ended with a snort.

But not for you, you couldn’t possibly laugh about it the way he did. You were nothing but speechless. The big brother you once thought wasn’t here, could never be here with you anymore was still alive and kicking. Thoughts of how Touya had managed to live since that day started to emerge your mind and probably because of the invisible connection, the blood connection between you two, you could feel his pain, his suffering, the dull ache that never go away in every single staple on his body… It must’ve been hard for a thirteen-year-old child to manage by himself after crawling out of a literal hell, you thought, mouth still agaped with astonishment. Tears neither stopped welling up, nor did they escape your shiny orbs when you looked at him through your blurry vision. You had so many questions to ask, but none of them could be voiced.

“But that’s the story for another day. Now, we have to celebrate the happy reunion of brother and sister, right?” He interrupted your thoughts before slowly approaching you. His tall body hovered over yours, enhancing the feeling of being small and helpless as your hands still being tied behind your back. He gripped your jaw with one hand, the other started to work on the buttons of your shirt while Touya’s slightly chapped lips met your own in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly turned passionate, sloppy with his tongue chasing every corner of your mouth.

“Touya..nii..” You panted between his kisses, trying your best to stop him from doing what you think he was trying to do. “We shouldn’t.. You shouldn’t do this.. We’re siblings..”

“Ah yes, you’re my favorite sibling after all, one more reason why we should do this, right?” His stapled mouth stretched into a huge grin, then he leaned back to take in the view of your body.

“My little sister has grown up.. To be honest, I didn’t have any of these dirty thoughts when we were children but now, I just want to fucking ravish you until all you can think of is me and my cock.”

His dirty talk sent a shiver thorough your body and you started to feel heat coiling up in your core. As if amused, turned on by your reaction, Touya grabbed one of your breasts and gave it a squeeze, causing a soft moan to escape your pump lips.

“What was that? Don’t tell me (y/n)-chan is aroused by her very own brother, hm? I’ve been stalking you for a while, my little sister. ‘Twas hard to find you since you don’t live at that house anymore. Can’t believe behind all those innocent act is a little whore who gets aroused easily by her Touya-nii.” He spat out, specifically emphasized the phrase you used to call him. Blue eyes looking down at you as if you were indeed what he said – a slut waiting to be bred.

“Touya-nii.. Please stop it.. I don’t want this..” Looking up at him through your wet lashes, you said with a whimper, begging him to stop.

Little did you know it had no such effect for Touya. Seeing your vulnerable face in a helpless state only boosted his ego; he felt as if he was the only one you could rely on, the only one who was able to decide your fate and damn, he could never get bored of this.

“What a pity, (y/n)-chan, because I, in fact, DO want this.” Touya murmured between kisses, leaving red spots blossoming all over your breasts, your shoulders, your collarbone. “Don’t you want to make your Touya-nii happy (y/n)-chan? You see, there hadn’t been a single day in which these staples stopped hurting me whenever I move. My tear glands were burned ever since the fire. I couldn’t cry because when I do, it hurts and blood flows out of my eye bags.” His fingers indicated the purple skin underneath his eyes as he continued. “I've lived with emotional numbness ever since. Your big brother doesn't feel anything anymore, (y/n)-chan..” Touya trailed off.

“But you, the only one who didn’t refuse to look at me... Having you here with me really makes me happy, and the kind little sister I know wouldn’t want to take that happiness away from me right?..” Turquoise orbs looked up at you through black strands of hair. As if wavering, as if pleading, as if he was asking you for your consent.

All to hide the fact that he guilt-tripped you into this.

And with him being a quick-witted, perceptive man, Touya’s tactics were never fruitless. He could tell your conscience would be troubled if you’d turned him down, especially when he phrased the words like that. He took advantage of the shocking state you were in, making you feel pity for him and overlook his immoral behaviours.

Touya waited with bated breath, eye contact still maintained.

“I..I want Touya-nii to be happy..” – your reply after a moment of thinking only caused a chuckle to escape his mouth and it’s almost like this was all he had been waiting for, all in his anticipation. This was the exact reaction that Touya wanted and as your best big brother ever, he couldn’t possibly put off anymore without his hands as your bra, nor could he wait any longer to secure this “happiness”.

“Knew my favorite sister would say that.” Touya couldn’t hide his triumphant expression when he quickly made his way down to your skirt, lifting it up so he could see what’s underneath. Gently, he palmed your groin before dragging his middle finger between your clothed slit only to find that your panties was already soaked.

“Oh? I already knew you were a whore behind your innocent façade but didn’t think you would be this shameless.. Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “Getting all nice and wet for your own brother. You said you wanted to make me happy but in truth, you just need to feel nii-san’s cock inside your hole right? Shameless slut.”

You groaned in exasperation and opened your mouth to protest but before you could even say anything, he ripped your white panties apart, making you squirm in awe. The rough pad of his thumb dragged over your clit while his knees spread your legs wide and held them in places. Touya’s finger slowly rubbed your clit in a circular motion and you couldn’t help but wanting more of those frictions, your hips involuntarily bucked forward.

“I was going to eat my favorite little sister out, but it seems like you can’t wait any longer huh? Look at this little pussy..” He said while using his index and middle finger to swipe at your entrance, gathering your juices on them, his eyes didn’t miss the way it clenched around nothing. “You must be so, so desperate to feel anything inside your pathetic hole, right? Will my fingers be enough to satisfy it?”

“Touya-nii..”

“Don’t be vague, (y/n)-chan. Sure you don’t want to hump a pillow like a dumb slut with her hands still tied while watching me masturbate to the sight of you right? Because if you don’t use your words now, I might let us do that for real.”

“Please, Touya-nii, I don’t want to! I want.. to be filled up by you instead..”

Upon hearing your words, Touya started palming the large bulge of his pants before unzipping the fermeture, gently pulled his boxer down to show you what’s underneath. Your eyes widened at the sight of Touya’s veiny cock. It was not as big as what you usually see on movies (not that you don’t know the porn industry isn’t anywhere near realistic), but rather thin and long as it was hard, practically throbbing in his palm whenever he stroked the shaft. However, what made you surprise was the shiny Prince Albert piercing located on the glans, signaling a hard time in the near future for your cervix.

Seeing your face expression only made Touya’s smirk grew wider and he looked like the cat that got the cream when he continued making you use more of your words, making you beg for his cock.

“And you want to be filled by what?”

As hesitant as you were after seeing his cock piercing, the way his fingers ignited sparkles of fire inside your core had your pride, your uncertainty wavering. You’d rather be fucked until your mouth can’t even form a coherent sentence than be left naked and needy while watching him masturbates until he cums anywhere that’s not inside your pussy. So you used your words, like a good girl should.

“By your cock, Touya-nii! I want you to fuck me hard!”

“Sure thing, my cute little slut.” He cooed. “Who am I to refuse to give my sister what she needs? I’m a good brother after all.”

And as a “good” brother he was, Touya even slide his fingers inside your wet pussy to prepare you for his cock. Despite having a fire quirk like your father, his fingers were cold and were only warmed up by the heat inside your core. They smoothly pumped into you, scissored you open, sometimes even curled up on purpose only to slightly brush against your soft spot, leaving you wanting more. His other hand found its way again on your clit, rubbing and circling along with his continuous fingering until you were nothing but a moaning mess, begging for your release.

He decided that he’d prepared you enough and retreat his fingers just before you could reach your climax. You whimpered loudly when he took the orgasm away from you, legs instantly wrapped around his hips to pull him closer. You had never felt this touch-starved before and all you could think of was only your Touya-nii, his captivating blue gazes, his touch, his voice and his pierced cock that somehow fits perfectly on his slim but toned body. You needed to feel him and you clumsily rubbed your pussy against Touya while trying to break free from the ropes tying your wrists together. But all that you could do wasn’t near enough so you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“Touya-nii.. Please.. Please give me your cock.. I can’t take it anymore, I need your cock inside me..”

“Fine, since you asked so nicely.” Touya sneered as if he wasn’t the one who purposefully denied your orgasm before holding his cock, rubbing the swollen red tip at your entrance, feeling your juices mixing with beads of his precum then thrusted it all the way in. You both winced the moment you and your brother became one: you from the depth that his cock could go and him from the way your walls clenched around it.

“(y/n)-chan.. Your little pussy feels so tight.. Not that I mind how many people you slept with but damn.. This pussy's a keeper for sure..” Sighing with a shaky voice, he pulled out slowly only to slam back in ruthlessly. His hands used the dagger from before to release your aching wrists then started to rub small circles on them as if to soothe the pain. With your hands now free from bound, you wrapped them around Touya’s neck to pull him even closer, your lips moved under his to meet them in a kiss.

"Touya-nii.. Please move.." After a moment long enough for your pussy to stretch to his size, you broke from the passionate kiss to whisper to him; your tongue softly licked his lower lip, feeling the rough texture while your pussy clenched around his cock. You lifted your hips, inviting your big brother to bury his hot member deeper into you.

"Eager, aren't we?" To your plea, he only chuckled before moving his hand to grab a handful of your tits, squeezing the soft mound, toying with your swollen nipple. "Your wish is my command, my baby sister. Nii-san's going to make you feel really good now." His voice sounded so sensual when he moved his mouth close to your ear, whispered honeyed-words then nibbled at your earlobe, causing you to clench your pussy even more.

Touya's hands traveled down to grab both of your asscheeks, held them tightly in their places before he started thrusting his pulsing cock. "So good.. Touya-nii.." You moaned in rhythm with his hips whenever he bottomed out inside you; his cock piercing rubbed your walls every time he moved. The friction felt heavenly that you could feel your legs started to shake as if you couldn't control them anymore. He was different. His cock was different from anything you'd ever experienced. Touya filled you up so well, both physically and emotionally, making you feel good, feel loved, making tears well up in your eyes.

He let your legs rest on his shoulders as he continued claiming your pussy to himself, each thrust was hard and deep 'til the point that Touya's tip touched your cervix whenever he sheathed his full length in you. It hurt, but it hurt so good that not only did you not want it to stop, you wanted more and more of him, you wanted to indulge longer in this sinful pleasure.

"Fuck.. You're so tight around me.." He groaned as his pace became faster. A hand retreated from under you to hover above your neglected clit before he started stroking it softly, rubbing back and forth, drawing repeated circles onto your bundle of nerves.

Touya didn't leave anywhere on your body untouched: your tits, your belly, your inner thighs, your asscheeks, your clit, your core. His name fell out of your lips between heated moans like prayers and the pleasure kept building up that you felt like you're about to burst into bliss. Everything was so intense and you started to you wonder, is it because he denied your orgasm before or because his cock could actually bring you heaven? Those thoughts crossed your mind but you didn't know the answer. He'd fucked you dumb and now you couldn't think of anything else other than him and the tension deepening in your lower belly.

"Touya-nii.. 'M wanna cum.. Please.. Please let me cum.." You whined when you felt like you couldn't take it anymore, afraid that he would deny it again if you don't beg.

"Cum on my cock baby, let me feel you. And you should be.. Fuck.. grateful that I let you do it.." He didn't stop his assault on your clit as he railed you hard and fast, his thrust grew sloppier when your pussy clamped down on him. Wet noises echoed in the abandoned building along with your whines and the moans that Touya tried to hold back.

"Thank you.. Thank you Touya-nii.. for letting me cum.." was all you managed to choke out before you threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut causing tears of pleasure to fall out and your pussy clenched around him as you released your pent-up pressure.

"Attagirl, nii-san loves you.. Gonna officially mark you now, 'mkay? Gonna breed this little sister's pussy, gonna fill you up with my cum and put a baby in you.." Touya leaned over to whisper into your open mouth, planting chaste kisses all over your face while sloppily humping your body like an animal. You could feel him burry himself deep inside you when his brows furrowed and he muttered "Fuck" before Touya came inside your pussy. His thick ropes were hot as they spilled into your womb, painting your walls with his colour.

A moment passed with nothing but pants as you both tried to regain your breaths. You closed your eyes, basking in the afterglow with his cock still plugged in when you heard the clicking sound of a camera. Your eyes immediately shot open only to find Touya holding his phone in hand.

"Touya-nii.. Did you just.." You warily asked.

"Oh? Did I forget to tell you?" Touya casually looked up from his phone, a smirk tugged at the corner of his stapled mouth and he suddenly looked so strange, as if the person in front of you and the one who just came inside you was two different people.

"You see, there are two possible ways to completely break Todoroki Enji." He began explaining, his voice distant. "One, is to kill his masterpiece Shouto right in front of him by the own hands of his 'failure'."

"And two," His eyes locked with you as his smirk grew wider. "is to let him see his pure little angel being corrupted by the abandoned son." Touya finished his short speech, his hips pulled back so his now limp cock fell out of you with a wet pop. White cum slowly dripped out of your used pussy, all captured by the camera again.

You could see the flame of anger burning in his eyes when he mentioned your father's name and the tone of disgust in his voice when he spoke lowly of himself. There were so many problems that you didn't know where to begin with. All you could do was hang your mouth open, speechlessly watched him typing something on the phone.

"There, all done." Touya cheerfully informed. "Don't worry a thing, my baby sister, no one will get to keep those pictures except for me. I sent them to the old man using Vanish Mode, he'll see them for a few seconds before they disappear forever, just like how his little angel vanish from his life. Oh how I wish I could see his expression when he opens my messages."

You were absolutely stunned. You never thought your dead brother was able to come out alive, let alone to even have a detailed plan to destroy your father's mentality. There were so many things that your mind couldn't process in an instant.

"So you.. So you fucked me just for this?.." Your voice came out shakier than you expected. Your hands unconsciously moved to cover yourself as you hugged your own body, the world starting to crumble in your eyes.

"Partly, yes. But I wasn't lying when I said I love you." Touya planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

"E-Enough with all of this. I'm going home!" You raised your voice and wriggled out of his touch.

"Can't let you do that (y/n)-chan. The world doesn't know me as Touya, you're the first, the honorable one. Can't risk you leaking my secret right? And I plan to torture old man's mind repeatedly with more images of you, just like how he projected everything onto me when I was young." He tilted his head and laughed, and suddenly you couldn't tell whether his laughter was genuine or was an act of mockery. Probably both.

"Besides, I'm a little.. disappointed that my favorite sister actually wants to part so, so soon, especially when we just had a rather.. emotional family reunion, no?" His mood seemed to light up as he continued speaking.

"What.. do you mean by that? Just let me go already! I promise I won't tell anyone!" Tears started to form in your eyes as you slowly realized what the man meant. You were uncomfortable with the room's atmosphere; it's overwhelming you and you didn't want to stay any longer. You looked behind him, trying to figure out an escape path.

"Now, if you wanted to go so badly," - your actions couldn't escape his perceptive eyes - "I'm gonna escort you to a better place, 'mkay? They're gonna track down this place soon enough since I texted him with my phone. But don't you worry, nii-san won't let anyone hurt you, my (y/n)."

Touya had an almost-innocent smile when he approached you with his arms open, as if waiting for you to give him a hug. You backed away, but as stubborn as this Capricorn man was, he still wrapped his arms around you.

Ever since your childhood, Touya's body was warm, Touya's embrace was always comforting. But now, everything he did chilled you to the bone, making you start to shake uncontrollably. Suddenly you felt a sharp prick on your skin; followed by your consciousness slowly slipping away. Your vision started to grow blurry and all you heard before you drifted off was his voice, whispering to your ear.

"Now we won't be alone anymore."

The End.

A/N 2: I hope you enjoyed it! English isn't my first language so please be gentle with me QwQ. Thanks for reading!

#my hero academia #my hero fanfic #boku no hero fic #boku no hero academia #dabi x you #dabi x reader #todoroki touya #todoroki touya x reader #mha #bnha #when i was writing this i was like what is the synonym for d!ck #💀✋🏻#pls breed me touya-nii #i love this man #grr grr arf arf

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dreams-of-yunho · 3 years

Text

my aurora

idol! yunho x reader

rating: m

genre: fluffy and smutty

w.c.: 2k

warnings: unprotected sex!!!, oral (fem r)

summary: Interrupting your reading, Yunho proposes a game: Eat you out while you sing his group's new song, Aurora.

__________________________________________________________

The dim glow of your book light shone brightly against the pale moon’s gleam. Laying curled utop the fluffy mattress and pillows, the smell of fresh detergent and new book hung in the air. Yunho told you he would be late tonight, that they were finally going to finish recording, that you shouldn’t wait, but you weren’t still awake for him. These were the final hundred pages of the last book of an eight book series-- a lot of hours lead to this moment. It was bitter sweet, these last pages. You were speeding through them to finally finish the plot but, after this, it would be over. But you had to know how it would end.

From outside the bedroom, you could hear the opening and closing of the front door followed by heavy footsteps. “Baby,” a deep voice called.

“Yeah,” you half heartedly replied, still engrossed in your novel.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, coming through the bedroom door. “I could see your reading light; it’s almost 2.” You could see him in your peripheral vision: he stood tall, hands on his hips, loose clothing hanging off his build frame.

“I’m finishing this book,” you said, trying to remain focused on the words on the page.

He chuckled lightly, his voice a little raspy from the recording session he had just finished. “Aren’t you tired?” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“No,” you replied.

“Hmm,” he hummed and you could hear him walk towards the closet, the dull sound of clothing falling to the floor behind him.

He emerged from the closet as you turned a page. “Hey,” he stood in front of you: shirtless and divine.

“What?” you rolled onto your back to read more comfortably.

“What do I have to do,” you felt the bed cave as he climbed on. “To get you to look away from that book?”

You didn’t respond as things in your story were finally coming together.

He sighed heavily against the skin of your lower leg.

“Yunho,” you giggled as he began to kiss up your legs. “I know you’re excited about the song, but I really want to finish this book first.”

“Come on,” he crawled up your body, leaving kisses on your collar bones as you held the book above his head. “It’ll be fun,” he said with a cloy tone.

“It’s always fun,” you said, rereading the same paragraph for the third time. “It’ll be fun in thirty minutes.”

“No,” he came face-to-face with you. “I mean fun fun. I have a game.”

Your eyes froze on the page behind him. Yunho was a fun loving guy both in and out of the bedroom. Sex with him was always carefree and full of love but-- a game? That was new.

“A game?” You asked, keeping your eyes on the page though not reading the words.

“I knew that would get you,” he breathed against your neck. “Yes, a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“Ahh,” he tapped a finger against your jaw. “You’ll have to put the book down to find out.”

Damn your curiosity; you dropped the book without even saving your page.

“Hey, sexy” he winked.

“Gross,” you pushed his face away. “Now tell me the game.”

“You’re gross,” he muttered but sat up next to you. “So, here's what I’m thinking: I'm going to eat you out while you sing a specific song. If you sing the whole song, I’ll make you come.”

Blood definitely rushed into your cheeks. He said it so nonchalantly, like he was ordering a coffee. And what was that if part?”

“If?” you asked. He had never held an orgasm from you. He was selfless during sex, always about pleasing you.

“If,” the syllable rolled off his lips. “You can’t finish the song, I won’t let you come.”

“What do you get out of this?” You asked, confused by his motives.

“Nothing but your taste and voice.” The look he gave you was almost sickeningly sweet. And he always looked at you like this before he went down on you: such anticipation and excitement, like you were his favorite flavour of ice cream on a blistering summer day. “So… yes?” His eyes softened into his killer puppy dog beg. Oh, those eyes, you always wanted to kiss him when he looked at you with those eyes.

He leaned into you as he noticed your gaze on his lips.

“What song?” You whispered as the gap closed.

“Aurora,” he spoke against your lips.

“Hmm,” you hummed, having a feeling of foreboding from this song choice. He seemed too cocky as he smiled into the kiss. But this kiss was so intoxicating and the feeling of his hands on your hips so perfect. “Okay,” you broke away.

“Okay,” he said with immense satisfaction, trying to conceal the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

His hands gripped your hips tighter as he pulled you down the bed, resting you now flat on your back. He sat on top of you, his weight pressing down on your thighs. Delicately, he placed his lips on yours as his hands hungrily groped at the skin beneath your sleep shirt. Warm hands tugged at the fabric and pulled it over your head. His wet tongue fell to the valley between your tits as his hands reached for the waistband of your shorts. With one sharp tug, your shorts and panties were on the floor.

As he came up from your breast to kiss you, you reached for the bulge in his pants but he quickly pulled away. “Uh uh uh,” he spoke disapprovingly. “That’s not part of the game.”

“Can we make it part of the game?” You tried to mimic Yunho’s puppy eyes.

“Nope,” he responded before you even finished your sentence. It never worked on him. “Start singing.”

You opened your mouth but your breath hitched as you saw Yunho lowering his face to your pussy. “I won’t do it if you don’t sing.” He looked up at you with a smirk.

“You go first.”

“Okay,” he chuckled and you could feel his breath against your clit making your walls clench. “Fine.”

His lips were warm but chapped. They moved gently as he kissed pepperd butterfly kisses on the lips of your pussy.

Shakily you took a deep breath and began to sing. You weren’t a particularly good singer but, Yuhno always loved to hear your pitchy voice-- especially if it was his group’s song you sang off key.

You were half way through the first verse when he added a finger, causing you to moan loudly.

“Keep going, baby, or you’ll have to start over,” he spoke against your clit, leaving you squirming from the vibration of his voice.

“I-i,” you struggled to remember the lyrics as pleasure muddled your thoughts. “I don’t remember where I was.”

“You’re going to have to start over then.”

You would have wriggled away from him if his forearm wasn’t pinning you to the mattress, his breath made you see stars.

His tongue swiped over your clit as you choked out the first lines again. His pace quickened with each line leaving you tongue tied. You barely made it to the chorus-- 나를 감싸줘 My Aurora, leaving your lips as nothing but a whisper.

“y/n,” he raised his chin and you watched with shaky eyes as he licked his lips. “I can’t hear your beautiful voice. Are you going to sing louder?”

You nodded your head eagerly, continuing where you had left off with the chorus.

A second finger entered you as you began the second verse, forming a knot in your stomach. The words couldn’t come to mind and the only thing that escaped your lips was a low, continuous moan that came from deep in your chest.

He removed his lips and raised his dark eyes to meet yours, dull nails lightly grazing the outside of your upper thigh. “Start over, baby,”

“Yunho,” you desperately ran your hands through your tangled hair, terribly frustrated by this little game. “I can’t think straight. I don’t even know the lyrics without your mouth-”

“앞에 펼쳐진,” he cut you off, dropping his head back down between your trembling legs.

The original confidence you had when he walked through that bedroom door and proposed this little game completely melted into the sheets you fisted in your now white hands. These first couple lines you could handle, they were Yunho’s lines-- he sang them all the time: in the shower, doing the dishes, folding laundry. And now, he sang them against your vagina. Yet, the lyrics melted your brain, you couldn’t even register the sound of your own voice. Though, you imagined you weren’t saying much of anything.

“Yunho,” you gripped his hair, pulling his head up. “Please, just fuck me. I can’t take this anymore. I’ll never remember all the lyrics and you’ll eat so much of me you’ll never want to eat me out again.”

“But, y/n,” he pouted. “I would never be sick of you.”

“Please,” you flashed the puppy dog eyes again and, this time, it worked.

“Okay, baby,” he said, climbing up your body.

As fluffy as ever, he smiled as he kissed you. “I love you, y/n,” he placed his forehead against yours.

“I love you too, silly boy,” you fiddled with the hair at the base of his neck. “Now, please fuck me so I can finish my book.”

He laughed, leaning back on his heels as he pulled down his pants.

He eased into you slowly, your walls already clenching from the extreme arousal. “I don’t think I’m going to last long,” he said with a moan. “You feel too good.”

“me neither,” you whined, not even able to relax enough for Yunho to bottom out. His dick throbbed too deliciously against your walls.

“I’m going to move,” his hips shuttered as his head fell to your chest.

“Please, move,” you moaned, now digging your nails into his neck.

His pace started out slow, a light gunt leaving his lips with each thrust. Your hands entangled in his hair, tugging lightly, desperate for his lips.

You pulled at his hair but his lips remained fixed on your collar bone. “Yunho,” you whined.

Lustfully, he licked up the side of your neck, his lips coming to rest on your jaw. His hips became erratic as he sucked on your jaw.

“Yunho,” you grabbed at his face. “Please kiss me.”

He mumbled something against your skin as a hand reached for your leg, pulling it up his back, shifting the angle of his thrusts.

“W-what,” you choked.

Tears began to well in the corners of your eyes, the pleasure almost unbearable. Your climax was fast approaching as the knot grew so tight, it could snap at any moment.

“Come,” he said, crashing his lips onto yours.

Your walls were painted white, his hips continuing to fuck the warm cum into you as he kissed you. Fluttering fingers met your clit and your orgasm tore through you like a lightning bolt, leaving your mouth hung in a silent screen. A shiver ran through your whole body when he pulled out.

Yunho dropped to his side, face still buried in your neck, hot breaths against your skin as he caught his breath. “Are your legs okay?” He rubbed your lower stomach lovingly.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “But,” you pulled your legs up, the pain making you wince. “Could you carry me to the bathroom, please?”

“Yeah, baby,” he shifted and stood, reaching his arms under your sore body and pulling you close to his chest. You could feel the cum leak out of you and down his forearm.

He helped you clean up and left you sitting on the bathroom counter to brush your teeth as he changed the sheets.

It was a warm night and Yunho slept shirtless and you could hear the echo of his heart beating like a drum against his ribs. “You’re not going to finish your book?” He asked, stroking your hair as your head laid on his chest.

“I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Me neither,” he sighed.

As you drifted to sleep, the gentle sound of the fan and the soothing melody of Yunho’s voice cooled your body and stilled your mind.

#ateez yunho #jeong yunho #yunho smut #yunho x reader #yunho scenarios #yunho fanfic #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez x y/n #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #yunho fluff #ateez imagines #kpop smut #kpop fic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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collisiondiscourse · 4 years

Text

say amen (bkdk drabble)

(a little drabble based off of one of my favorite posts that ive ever made)

Katsuki’s not a religious man.

Yeah, okay, he believes in deities and goes to temples, the blond will admit that much. The existence of a higher power isn’t really that far from the realms of possibility when he regularly interacts with people who have the head of a bird or engines for legs. He celebrates the holidays, and on days where he’s feeling especially magnanimous, Katsuki even buys temple charms and sends out a quick prayer to whoever might be listening.

But he isn’t religious.

He doesn’t like feeling like he’s indebted to someone. That somehow, somewhere, there is someone Katsuki should be grateful to for giving him all his successes. He worked hard to get where he is now all by himself, thank you very much. The idea that everything is somehow predetermined or controlled by someone he can’t even see is one that makes the blond break out into hives.

A man with any dignity such as Katsuki’s is too proud to kneel to any god.

But then again… Izuku Midoriya is no such god.

He’s very much human, Katsuki would believe despite the seemingly endless strength his short and stocky figure possesses. He’s freckles and sunburns and scars and toothy smiles and everything that used to make the blond’s blood boil. Deku can’t dress himself nicely to save his life and sings All Might show tunes in the shower when he thinks no one can hear. Katsuki’s seen the boy throw up on his dumb red shoes and laugh so hard he scared himself with his own snorts.

He’s seen Deku at his worst. Crying and crumbling, body all bloodied and torn up after giving it his all. He’s seen him angry--borderline murderous even--with rage consuming him and leaving him gasping for breath as he saddles closer and closer to the line betwean life and death. He’s seen Deku broken and hollow, unable to eat for days and smelling like a decomposing corpse because the demons in his eyes had all but haunted him from even getting up to shower.

The point being, Katsuki knows that Izuku Midoriya is flawed.

He should, at least. Having seen these cracks and imperfections over and over should’ve cemented the idea that Deku was far from perfect. He sees sides of Deku that even their best friends, let alone the public have never seen. Bakugou knows that Izuku Midoriya is not a God--and is in fact very far from one.

But fuck if he doesn’t worship him like he is.

When Izuku confessed to him in their second year, Katsuki thinks that he learned what it feels like to die.

As dramatic as it sounds, it’s true. Watching those green eyes peel away from their locked gaze on his red ones to stare nervously at the ground causes Katsuki’s heart to jump. His palms were sweaty and blood roared in his ears, deafening him from all sounds except Deku’s voice. He’d initially thought that this was it. This was Deku preparing to tell him that he couldn’t stand being his friend anymore, that no matter how much Katsuki tried to atone for himself, Deku finally realized that Katsuki would never be worthy of his love.

It built up and up until Katsuki couldn’t breathe, willpower alone keeping him from gasping for breath as he awaited Deku’s rejection. The sun set in a brilliant cast of oranges and purples, but neither boy on the rooftop could stand to appreciate it when the sights in front of them were far more important.

“Kacchan,” he blurts at last. A sliver of his pink tongue peeks out to lick at his chapped lips. Katsuki’s chest constricts with want. “I like you.”

And it’s at those three words that Katsuki truly believes in an afterlife.

His heart clenches and stops for a different reason--a different feeling entirely. The world tilts on its axis and his breaths come up short, yet Katsuki’s never been happier to have been wrong. Parts of him shrivel up. Shudder in anxiety. Embers of raw anger and determination (leftover from years of scars and charred notebooks) tell him that he’s not worthy of Deku. That Katsuki is yet to even deserve to take the hand that has been waiting for him for his whole life.

Admittedly though, Katsuki Bakugou is a selfish, selfish man.

He stares at that freckled and blushing face like it’s a reflection of the universe itself. Green eyes that mistakenly take Katsuki’s silence as rejection grow watery, and yet as Katsuki stares into the molten pool of emerald and moss, he thinks he may see his entire life in those pretty eyes.

“...Kacchan? It’s okay if you don’t, uh, like me back. I u-understand if you feel uncomfortable or no longer want me be your friend even if it kinda s--”

“W-well really, it’s more of love. I... love you. Like, a lot. Have for a while I mean and I tried really hard to hide it but I’m sure it was obvious from the beginning and well, Uraraka said I was really bad at lying so I wasn’t really sure...” he mumbles. Stutters, because he’s human and very much not a god.

Katsuki Bakugou kisses Izuku Midoriya for the first time.

He kisses Izuku Midoriya because he wants all of him. He wants the sorrow and broken bones. The awkward laughter and nervous tics. Katsuki wants those green eyes to never stop looking at him and that mouth to never stop muttering the most inane nothings. He wants the beautiful and the ugly, the victories and the losses. He wants and he wants and he wants and he wants, and now that all of it is within his reach dear god is he never letting go.

The blond pours his soul into the kiss. Mouth harsh and unyielding, ever determined to prove to anyone watching that he’d throw away his life for this boy in a heartbeat. The desperation in their kiss practically daring anyone to try and pull them apart. Katsuki wants the kiss to say everything that he, in his weak and human state, cannot even begin to phrase. That somehow a single kiss could show the other that Katsuki loves him so much it breaks him inside. It’s so good that it’s painful. It’s painful and excruciating but fucking hell if Katsuki pulls away for one moment he thinks he might actually truly die.

They’re training to be pro-heroes, so of course their pain tolerance is higher than most. They’ve been taught to fight in any environment no matter what—could probably fight five people underwater for an hour without breaking a sweat. All of those hours of training somehow still mean nothing to Katsuki in the brilliance of the storm that is Izuku Midoriya.

Because as they kiss and breathe in each other’s air, Katsuki forces himself to pull away with a gasp.

Izuku thinks he’s hurt the blond accidentally, somehow. That he’d been too rough or pushed Bakugou into it or even just took his breath away from him in the literal sense. What the green-haired hero didn’t expect was the sheer devotion in ruby eyes.

(It would’ve scared him, if it didn’t make his knees shaky and heart rate speed up in exhilaration.)

Meanwhile, Katsuki’s drowning.

He’s drowning so deep in emotions that he’d never let himself feel until now. Drowning in his insecurities and greatest desires. Drowning in emotion and vigour. Drowning in the feeling of kissing Izuku fucking Midoriya. Part of him screams in agony, protesting this weakness as it fucks with his mind and squeezes at his heart.

The rest of him lets it happen.

Bakugou pulls away, gasping for breath. It’s too much and not enough, because he loves this boy so goddamn much that it actually hurts. He’s crying, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. So undone by a single kiss that tears streak down his face while white spots appear in vision of ruby eyes. A man so weak--so overcome with emotion that he can’t help but sob at the torrent of devotion that overtakes him. His heart throbs painfully and he struggles to take gulps of air, because Katsuki doesn’t truly love many people but there’s something about Izuku Midoriya that destroys him so thoroughly.

Ever understanding, ever patient, and ever too good for his damned, hell-bound soul, Izuku holds him close. He lets Katsuki weep into his jacket and runs scarred fingers through pale blond strands as the other boy tries to stifle his sobs. He hushes him with a light kiss to his temple and listens patiently as Katsuki whimpers every variant of ‘I love you’ under the sun.

Izuku Midoriya is no such god, but Katsuki Bakugou worships him like one nonetheless.

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op-imaginesandmore · 3 years

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How would Issho/Fujitora, Doflamingo, Smoker, Arlong, and Gin react to their s/o dying in their arms? (human s/o for all of them including Arlong) Sorry there are so many the posts you've made so far I've enjoyed immensely. I love your style of writing! (:

I know it’s been *checks notes* actual years since I have touched this blog, but I kinda wanted to try my hand at a few of the asks I have in my inbox. I’m going to do just Smoker, and with each of the asks with multiple characters I will pick the one I am most comfortable with writing and go from there. I hope you like it! And also, to anyone who reads this and likes it, thank you! But my ask box will remain closed until…idk, probably a long time. I don’t want to get any one’s hopes about about anything.

Pairing: Smoker x GN!reader

Warnings: Angst, character death (you asked for it), mild descriptions of injury, mentions of blood, implied smut (mildest of spice), unbeta’d if that is a warning

***

The OP was supposed to be a simple one. Get in, do reconnaissance, stay under the radar, come back with what info they needed on the pirate crew, get out.

No one thought Big Mom herself was going to recognize Y/N, because you were good at your job. You had been spying for the government for years, you’d worked with Smoker as one of his subordinates, had infiltrated countless pirate crews, revolutionary bases, treasonous scum that thought they could get away with anything, and had always succeeded in your job.

Lay low, go unnoticed, get the info, come back to him. It was a perfectly organized system that was like clock work, each gear turning for the purpose of civilian protection, and justice.

Until now.

Blood soaked the beach he was kneeling on, who’s it was, he had no idea. Could be his, was probably the pirates’ that were scattered around the Vice-Admiral like debris after a storm, but what infuriated him most was it was most definitely yours.

Wheezes, broken and wet, escaped from your lips, swollen eyes looking up into stoic grey that was like looking into twin hurricanes. Anger, righteous and intense, swirled around with frustration, concern, grief, and an emotion you knew from your quiet moments between soft sheets and the hard planes of his body.

So gentle you barely felt it, he lifted you from the sand like something precious, your blood dripping down his arms and pooling beneath your broken body. Your eyes, swollen and bruised, squinted up at him and a soft smile cracked painfully across your lips.

“Hey handsome” you rasped, a cough that was soaked with blood spurting out. Smoker put a large hand through your matted hair, jaw clenching as he tightened his hold on you.

“I’m gonna get you to the ship’s infirmary” he seethed through his teeth, the usual multiple cigars he kept there like pacifiers long gone. He made to get up, but the cry that came from your lips was shrill and heartbreaking. He immediately stopped, holding you to his chest in a hold soft enough for a newborn.

“I know it hurts, but you need-“

“Do you remember Alabasta?”

Smoker stopped, looking down at your broken body that had the audacity to be giving him the smile that always managed to make his heart flutter in his chest like a crushing school girl’s. He swallowed thickly, not trusting his voice and opting for a nod.

“You were such a baby about Strawhat, I thought you were going to implode when he had his crew mate save your life.” You reached a trembling hand to his face, stroking the rough stubble of his jaw. Almost involuntarily, Smoker leaned into the soft touch, turning his head to kiss your palm as memories of their time on the desert island came to mind.

It had been the first time you had ever yelled at him, calling him reckless and blind. Telling him you were thankful for Strawhat, grateful he had saved his “stupid, sorry, ass” so you had the chance to give him a piece of your mind. He had retaliated with a practiced speech about being your superior, about how you should worry more about your job than what he was doing, how you shouldn’t talk to him like that.

Then you had the nerve to yell at him that you didn’t have a choice but to worry about him. When he yelled at you back about the why, instead of answering him you kissed him square on the mouth.

Their first kiss was in the moment, it was all teeth clacking and sudden and Smoker had been blindsided, but also hadn’t been. The two of you had been flirting with the line between officer and government agent for months at that point, subtle glances and bold, shameless flirting on your part had morphed into soft and subtle touches and hours of listening to you talk about everything and anything.

When the shock of it had worn off a second after you started kissing him, he hadn’t expected for himself to kiss you back. He had adjusted your chin, softened the kiss, and wrapped his arms possessively around your waist and lifted you, your legs wrapping around his own waist in a way that sent chills down his spine as he carried you to his desk. He set you down upon it, gentle as can be, but your legs stayed around his waist, his hips grinding into yours in a way that had him growling. Your lips had been like soft, plush, velvet on his own chapped ones, tongue sinful in its exploration, running against his to beg for entrance.

The two of you broke apart, you were panting, your face flush as you put your head on his chest and listened to the quick thumping of his heart. He smelled like a cigar, a hint of sweet fruit in a haze of earth and smoke that always managed to make your head spin. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you licked the taste of him from them.

“I worry about you because I care about you Smoker” you looked up at him, your eyes twinkling in the soft glow of the sunlight coming in through the porthole of his cabin “probably more than what’s appropriate for a working relationship, but I don’t want to hide it anymore.” You put your hand on his face, stroking the apple of his cheek in a way no one had ever dared touch him before “if you don’t want this though, we can stop right now and never talk about it a-“

Smoker was kissing you again, softer but with a passion that turned your whole body into jelly that molded into his. It was brief, too brief for your liking but he was looking at you with a smoldering gaze that promised more.

“We do this, we tell no one.” He said with conviction “I can’t have my subordinates thinking I have favorites, and fraternizing could get me and you in a lot of trouble.”

You nodded, understanding alighted in your eyes as you coyly bit your kiss swollen bottom lip.

“If that means I get to see your smoke powers at work in the bedroom, I’ll take an oath of silence”

He felt his body react, his hardened length against your thigh making you squeeze your legs together, bringing him impossibly closer.

Smoker’s chest tightened at the memory.

“I’m glad” you said, swollen gaze growing distant “that it all happened the way it did. The last year and a half has been the best of my life” another cough, violent and cracking in its intensity that it had you whimpering into Smokers chest, and his eyes were burning with the tears that were inevitable now.

“Y/N-“ Smoker started, the deep rumble of his voice cracking “baby, you’re gonna be fine, let’s just-“ he took a breath, steeling himself to try and lift you up again, but your head falling limp against his chest stopped him, made the breath leave his lungs and, for the first time in a very long time, Smoker felt true terror grip his careful self control.

“Y/N?” His voice, so unlike the commanding bass it usually was, soft and broken as the body he held “Y/N? Sweetheart c’mon, wake up” he shook you, your head lolling to one side and then the next awkwardly, before it rested back on his chest and Smoker realized your uneven breathing had stopped, the rasping, painful breaths gone quiet and the only sounds to be heard on the bloodied beach were Smoker’s own uneven hyperventilating “Y/N please! You-you can’t do this! Baby, c’mon-open those pretty eyes, please! Y/N? Y/N!”

He held on tight to your body as he slowly broke down, the tears running rivers down his face that had smudges of your blood on it from holding your body up to it, his face buried into your hair as if he could revive you if he held on a little tighter, begged a little harder to whatever god or devil would listen. His cries broke through the silence, their only companion the lapping of water against the sand and gore. He rocked back and forth, clinging to your lifeless body like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

That was how Tashigi found her Vice-Admiral, sobbing into your hair as he begged you to wake up. Her heart shattered into a million pieces, but she had to keep him moving, had to remind him of the duty he still held.

“Vice-Admiral Smoker?” She breathed, caution in her tone, heartbreak threatening to pull her under when his breath caught. He looked up at Tashigi with a tsunami of emotions that she had never seen him display. Heartbreak and grief worked in tandem to make the ever stoic and statuesque officer crumble to his knees.

“I’ve gathered the survivors of our platoon, we’re awaiting your orders, sir”

There was a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch for an eternity, Smoker looking down at his dead lover, the emotions that had been raging across his face draining from his being, and was replaced once again with the careful stoicism that his position required of him.

He got up slowly, you still cradled against his chest as he looked out at the horizon. It was another long moment before he spoke.

“We bury our dead, then we take the fight to the one who started this.” There was a fury in his words that struck fear into Tashigi, a fear for how reckless her Vice-Admiral was about to be against a Yonko.

“But Smo-“

“Did I fucking stutter?” He whipped his head around, the grey of his eyes burning with an unbridled rage that seemed barely contained “I’m not gonna rest until every last piece of filth that carries the name of Charlotte are wiped from every ocean from the East Blue to Raftel.” He glanced down at the body in his arms, a soft, broken look before the rage hit again.

“They’re gonna pay for what they’ve taken, I’ll make sure of it personally.”

#smoker #one piece #Smoker x reader #Smoker One Piece #angst #crying #character death #tashigi

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seaside-writings · 2 years

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Hello, all you wonderful people!

Now as a few of you may know one of my favorite shows on Earth is "Criminal Minds" and yes I know how unrealistic it is, but I've been watching it since I was young and I'll keep watching until I'm an old lady lol.

Now because it's one of my favorite shows I've decided that later on down the line I'm going to make a few prompt lists dedicated to my favorite quotes from the show both from the characters and from the people the quote themselves at the beginning and end of nearly every episode.

But if you've looked at the title cover yet, you'll see that this list isn't exactly going to be like that, since this prompt list is dedicated to two of my favorite characters! And those two are my favorite duo in the entire show Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia!

Yes, I know the title isn't very creative, but sometimes I'm not very good with titles as you've seen me rant about lol.

Back to the topic at hand though, I just love Morgan and Garcia's whole relationship, and the chemistry they share.

With this prompt list, I'm gonna try to include a lot of the sweet and fun things they say to one another alongside the more hurt/comfort and angst things.

And yes, some of the quotes you see here today might be added to the other prompt list, but I don't know for sure yet.

These are just two of my favorite characters I wanted to post something for them since I've been watching a lot of "Criminal Minds" lately. And though this might not be the best prompt list I've ever made, I still had fun making it.

Now as always, I have changed a few things in the quotes to make them fit a little better into different stories, but I tried to keep them as close to the original lines as possible.

I really hope you all enjoy this list, and that if it does nothing else maybe it will help you write a small scene in the future.

I hope you all stay blessed and safe throughout your day.

Lots of Love & Wishes: Celia 💙

Prompt List:

"Hey, baby, you're on speaker. Behave. "Or what you'll spank me?" - "I thought I was calling the Office of Supreme Genius," "Well, gorgeous, you’ve been rerouted to the Office of Too Friggin’ Bad," "Thanks anyway," - “Hey, baby,” “I’m putting you on speaker!” “Aww, you suck!” -

"Hey Dollface, ready to work some magic for me?" "Challenge me, Wonderful," - "Yeah?" "Isn’t this spooky?" "Isn’t what spooky?" "That right now you were thinking about me, and out of the blue your phone rings? And it’s me. Huh? How’s that for a spiritual connection?" "Umm… Do I know you?" "Why do you hurt me?" "Ha!" - "Okay, you know how on Star Trek when Captain Kirk asked McCoy to do something totally impossible and McCoy says, “Dammit, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker!”?" "Hey, what are you telling me? Not to expect a miracle?" "No, I’m saying I’m not a doctor," "That’s my baby." - "Hey, baby," "We need to talk, Doll," "PG or NC-17?" "You’re on speakerphone…" "I charge extra for groups," - "Are you lonely in the Lone Star state? And are you wearing chaps?" "Only in your dreams, baby," "Oh, not necessarily. I have Photoshop," - "And one more thing, I had better never find any Photoshopped pictures of me on your computer," "Oh trust me, my vision, you will never FIND them," - "Look at his little witty bitty nose! Don't you want one of these?" "I'll stick to practicing," - "Please tell me you brought some breakfast," "Oh, trust me, sugar. You are not going to want to eat when you see what's in here," - "Oh, one last favor. Look up the words "sexy" and "brilliant" in that computer of yours, and tell me what you come up with," "Would you look at that, it's me," "You are a vision, baby. Ciao." - "Well, good. Smart move. Something was definitely wrong with him," "Wow! You are some kind of oracle, you could tell how wrong he was from what little I told you," "Sweetheart, I didn't mean to..." "I wonder was it that he was too handsome or too interested in me that tipped you off on how wrong he was?" "Baby, I..." "Just because you wouldn't cross a crowded room to hit on me does not mean that a more perceptive, less superficial guy wouldn't. Hey, Sweetie, you want snappy? You suck!" - "Did you know I was sent flowers?" "Really?" "Jealous?" - "Good morning, baby," "Good morning," "Pump your brakes," "What?" "Every day I say good morning, and every day you say "I'll show you a good morning, Hot Stuff." every day; not today?" "Hmm, I hate how well you know me, do you know that?" "I do, now talk," - "I kinda love you," "I kinda love you too," - "Gotta go. Bye." "Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. What, no snappy rhetoric? What's goin' on?" "Garcia: Not in the mood," - "I'll tell you what you are to me," "And what's that?" "You are a God-given solace, baby, and you promise me one thing, whatever happens, don't you ever stop talking to me," - "How often do I tell you, I love you?" "Every day, it's implied," - "Hello?" "Hey, how’s smart and sexy doing today? "Fair warning, cupcake. As much as I love you and our witty banter, I’m all out of witty and banter, and I’m struggling with love," "What’s wrong, baby?" "I’m standing at the crossroads of 31 lives and what I see is a train wreck." - "Hey, Babydoll!" "... Babydoll? "Ah.. forgive me I didn't..." "It's fine... I've been called worse," - "Hey, baby, it's me, you're on speaker," "Oh, honey, I don't care who hears, it's always been you," - "Hey, you know I love you right?" "I love you too," - "You make me feel super brave," "And you make me feel safe," - "This is the first time in my life that I don't have anything to say, except that I'm here for you okay? I'm right here," "Yeah, I know," - "Nobody does it like you and me, baby. Thank you!" "That never gets old," - "Does she fit the profile?" "As snugly as I fit into your chiseled arms." - "I'm sending it to your phones, you're welcome," "Your majesty, you are the best," - "Baby, you have no idea what's going on, so I'll tell you wh-" "No, I'll tell you what, why don't you call me back once you've gotten off the self-absorption train, and decide to be a real hero again," - "Thank you, my sweet," "You're welcome, my love," - "You're right," "Of course, I am. I'm always right, and also, you're secretly in love with me," - "Can you just talk to me?" "Uh, yeah, about what?" "I don't care, just... just talk," - "Good stuff," "Damn straight, now get our friends back, baby," - "Guess who's getting a gold start?" "Oh, that would be you, Doll, if you've got some good news for us," - "I'm gonna find out who did this to you," "Sweetheart-" "And I don't give a damn what they do or don't want me to do," - "Hey, do you know who Frank Miller is?" "Frank Miller. Um... it sounds familiar," "He's a graphic novelist. 300? Sin City?" "Oh. Right, right, right. Cool movies," "Yeah, anyway, he said something once and it makes me think of you." "What is it?" "The noir hero is a knight in blood-caked armor. He's dirty, and he does his best to deny the fact that he's a hero the whole time."

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gallavichthings · 3 years

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After a short break for Gallavich Week, we’re back with the Writer’s Spotlight, this time bringing you an interview you won’t want to miss with the delightful Jackie ( @jackieq ) aka J_Q, author of dozens of Gallavich fics, including PikUp, Cubicle Wars, Paradise City and the Holding Out for A Hero series.

GT: Could you tell us a bit about yourself?

J: I'm...a college instructor, teaching technical writing, critical thinking, and public speaking.

I have two teenagers and one husband...and (poor @wehangout will be envious) we just got a puppy. She's a 9 week old terrier/shih tzu.

I live in western Canada and I've been in this fandom, my first ever fandom, for 4 years this month.

GT: Those sound like classes everyone should have. Picture of the puppy, please! Make us all jealous.

J: Yes, those are the classes that are mandatory for all the program areas. Students love me because I make them do lots of public speaking. (jokes)

That's Willow.

GR: Tell us a bit about your history with fanfiction. When did you first come across it and what fandom was it for?

J: I came across fanfiction for the first time after watching Shameless season 5 in early 2017. I honestly didn't even know it existed, and while Googling Gallavich stuff to soothe my soul, I happened upon a fic by 09cityskylights who I adore and miss. I basically started writing my own happy ending for them the moment I knew people did such things. ;0

GT: Did you start watching Shameless in 2017?

J: Yes, I watched episode one on Valentine's Day 2017 and binged that sucker...until season 5 when I put the brakes on to deal with what the hell just happened.

GT: Did you watch all seasons or skip ahead to the last ones?

J: Just the GV scenes after season 5 for the most part. I enjoyed the whole show but I just wasn't up to watching Ian with other guys at that point and didn't know when I might be forced to witness something I'd rather not. It was a fragile period of my life (this half in humor and half not). I'm still not quite sure what set this whole "shipping" business in motion...but I feel I could place a lot of blame on the club kiss!

GT: I'm right there with you, I stopped watching as well. And that kiss really was a game changer.

Who are your favorite characters aside from them?

J: Depends on the season. Seasons 1 and 2 it was Lip for sure...and wait for it...Debbie! Clearly my opinion has changed on that one. But Lip, while being a dick a lot, was just so cool. I literally adored the way he rode that bike around the SS following Frank. I miss Sheila and Mandy and who doesn't love Iggy...oh and now we'll add cousin Lou to the list (all 3 seconds of him). Really though, I miss those early seasons.

GT: Those were the best! And I'll always love Sheila.

Do you write about other characters as well or just Ian and Mickey?

J: The stories all center around Mickey and Ian, but I often/usually include other characters. I wrote an entire season 10 filler fic, so that required appearances by a lot of characters such as Ian's prison buddies and Larry, the parole officer. ;0

GT: What about OCs, do you include them as well?

J: OCs...Yes, since I've written 35 stories, several of them quite long, I've created many OCs. Sometimes just "walk-ons", but also key supporting characters. I've never written a multi-chap where Mickey doesn't have someone in his corner. For example, in Paradise City, it's his bodyguard; in Cubicle Wars, it's his partner; in PikUp, it's the other cab drivers. And now in Enemy Lines that I'm writing with stars_fall_on, we've given Ian a couple of buddies. So unlike Shameless, I believe the boys can actually make friends lol.

I actually remember the very first OC taking me by surprise. I was writing a scene where Mickey and Ian were in Panama looking for Lip and this young woman just waltzes into the scene, fully formed with a personality and a bit of backstory. She started talking and the scene moved the plot forward. It really felt like I did not participate in it other than to type.

GT: Do all your OCs come to life fully fleshed like that? What are they commonly based on?

J: Mostly they come to life like that. Slava is Mickey's partner in Cubicle Wars and he originally was based on Svetlana if she were a man; however, the moment he first appeared at Mickey's cubicle, Slava was way more playful and easy going than Svet would ever be so that was that. Right now, I'm drafting a scene for Enemy Lines with Mickey and an OC who had a very small part earlier in the story, but now she's got a long conversation with Mickey. My co-writer, Julia, and I know what we want the result of this scene to be, but we didn't really have a plan for how to get there. So I just started typing and let the character decide, so to speak. That used to freak me out though! But so far it always seems to work. I suppose that's what happens when writer's block kicks in. It doesn't come to you when you need it.

I also have a dozen one shots based on a world where Mickey and Ian raise Yev but in this world his conception was just an accident not a horrible experience. Anyway, the Yev I used is 100% my son. His obsession with order and dinosaurs. His mannerisms -- the way he shapes his fingers into long neck dinos who eat the food off his plate. <3

GT: I've never co-written a fic with anyone. How does that work?

J: For me, it starts with having a rapport with someone before the story-writing. I jive with them in conversation and then an idea shows up. Sometimes I've split the fic with the other writer -- I do a chapter/scene then they do a chapter/scene. Sometimes it's messier than that and we each write as the scenes take shape for us and we help to fill in missing spots. Sometimes we have a pretty clear outline to follow, and sometimes none at all. The most interesting collab was Coming Soon, which is 20 chapters/20 different writers and we NEVER had a plan so each chapter went wherever it went and you had one week to get your chapter done when it was your turn.

The most important "lesson" I guess, is that there is no way to do this kind of thing if your ego takes over or if you need your vision to be the final vision. But honestly, I've had no problems. I've enjoyed every collab I've been in (hopefully my co-writers can say the same!!).

GT: That's very interesting! Thanks for sharing!

In your opinion, what's the hardest thing when writing Gallavich fics?

J: Well at first, I hadn't read many fics so I was hesitant to write from either character's POV. Getting into their minds was intimidating in a way dialogue never was.

That's not a problem anymore. Now it's a matter of not straying too far into "touchy feely" type writing that to me doesn't feel authentic to the original characters, not that we are bound by that of course but I try to keep it consistent when I can.

GT: Do you have a preference for writing Ian or Mickey?

J: Not really no...I actually think it's the dynamic between the two that makes it interesting to write them. I've never even considered writing them separately. They're a package deal in my mind.

Mickey, however, can be a tad more fun since he's more colorful and you can take him to extremes that aren't as "charming" if Ian were to behave that way. ;0 Writing Ian often feels more familiar to me; his reactions and behavior are more universal in some ways so that makes it easier I think. Like he worries about basic things I worry about and he's more aware of outside opinions, more accommodating in that sense.

GT: What's the most fun thing about writing them?

J: Finishing a story lol. It's hard work before that! Well, I love writing dialogue between them, and I love how happy they make each other. Can't get enough of that!

GT: What kind of fics do you write the most?

J: I took a look and I've written 9 multi-chapters (some with a co-writer) and almost 30 one shots. There's some canon filler/fix-its, but many others are canon divergent or canon-ish. Even though my current co-fic, Enemy Lines, appears to be VERY angsty, I wouldn't say angst is my go to, but I do have some in almost every fic because that's generally where the plot thrives. I have several domestic one shots but my favorite genre is adventure/action. Jungle adventure with a Colombian cartel or security experts and a jewel heist...that kind of thing. I include sexy time but it's always a part of the overall plot. Probably what's most consistent through all the fics is humor. That's where I'm most comfortable.

Check out He's Married? It's just one big pile of humor.

GT: Gotta love a humorous fic! Where do you get inspiration from?

J: For the most part, I think of something --let's say asparagus lol-- and my next thought is Mickey and Ian and the many directions that combination could take us. There isn't ever a short supply of ideas, just a short supply of time to produce stories.

For specific scenes or characters though, a lot of that comes from real life. My husband and I have done our share of bickering. ;0 The rest comes from RESEARCH. I capped that because I do a lot of research. My daughter borrowed my phone last night and said "I love how my mother's last Google search was how to blow up a vehicle." Good thing she didn't borrow my phone after my "extreme restraints" search. ;0

GT: Oh, goodness! Wouldn't want that!

What does your writing process look like? Do you outline? Do you post as soon as the chapter is done or do you accumulate chapters before you start posting?

J: Maybe 70% of the time I have a basic outline, which consists of key moments that I use to ground the story. Sometimes it's those key moments that are the reason the story even happened. I see the scene then build outward from it, putting it into a universe. Sometimes I just have an opening or a job or a can of asparagus and need to see where it goes. Like I said, this used to be really scary but now not so much. (I actually do have hundreds of cans of asparagus as a plot device in Holding Out for a Hero ;0)

I definitely build up chapters before I start posting because I like to be able to post a story fast. Holding Out for a Hero I posted the whole thing at once. Cubicle Wars and PikUp, a chapter every day. Enemy Lines with Julia, the plan was three chapters a week. I've finished everything I started (Enemy Lines is at 46/50) except Panama Red which I started last year as one of your Gallavich Week entries. I was trying to post a one shot for each day but only managed 5/7. Panama Red was supposed to be a one shot but then I had more ideas and added a chapter but since then I've written two massively long, complicated multi-chapters so I haven't gotten back to it yet.

GT: You have no idea how happy it makes me to see people producing content due to Gallavich Week or the other events I host. This is what they're for, to encourage everyone to participate.

What's your favorite Gallavich fic that you’ve written so far and why?

J: I think about you all the time and all the hard work you put into giving us a common space and I love you for it.

I was just talking to Mary2 today about my favorite fic, Paradise City, because she is my Russian translator and it was the first fic she translated of mine. She likes the tone of the story, and perhaps that's one of the things I really like too. It's also set in the mid 70s through the 80s rock scene to the beginning of the grunge movement. I was a teenager when rock took a hit from the grunge bands. So for me, the music backdrop is wonderful.

Interestingly, it's also my least "popular" fic. It's based on a prompt to rework the Stacey Jaxx character in Rock of Ages into Mickey Jaxx, and I'd tried to get it posed for GV week 2018 but some longer stories need a hiatus before they can be finished so I didn't end up being able to post in time.

GT: What kind of comments do you most like to get?

J: Well definitely not the one Julia and I got last week calling us shit storytellers lololol. But ya know, I like 'em all. The quick little "loved this" to the long, thoughtful analysis. Bookjunkie once commented that she read my fics 80% for the fic and 20% for the comment section because I try to make it a conversational space. While it feels great to be told your work has touched someone or entertained them, I also just simply like chatting with fandom members. I don't really do any social media, so that's the space where I connect.

Recently, moonlight_inn [@ms-moonlight-inn ] and I wrote a tiny ficlet in the comment section of Enemy Lines. We did not know each other, but one comment let to another until we'd fully challenged each to keep it going until the story ended. Actually, there's a fic under my profile called Closest to a Kiss, and it was also something created in the comment section between me, nickrenkel, and RedStarFiction on one of RedStar's stories.

I've met all my best buddies in the comment section. (Right, Doddz? Holy shit that's one big snowman!)[inside joke]

GT: That's lovely. What are some of your favorite fics and/or writers in the fandom?

J: That's a tricky question! If I get started, then I will want to make sure I don't leave anyone out. There are so many writers I appreciate, each in their own way. When people ask for recommendations, I ask what their preferences are then suggest based on that because it's all so personal and changes with time.

I used to only read canon filler/fix it because that's what I needed while Mickey and Ian were separated. That's how I came across 09cityskylights, the first A03 writer I found. She wrote the Manifesto of Mickey Milkovich which followed him through his time in prison and across the border. That's some heavy angst there! But she also wrote Crush, which is as sweet and fluffy as it gets and I could live in that fic. She is also Canadian and I requested a scene of GV at Tim Horton's <3.

After the angsty canon spree, I discovered a treasure trove of one shots where Mickey was being treated so well. Classics like Floating by anomalously, Red Hands by romanticalgirl, and Lines by dragonspell to name a few.

By six months in, I was writing a lot so I've had to be picky about what I read, and for the most part since then, I only read what my friends post and I click on people who comment on my stories to see if I can return the love. I enjoy using the floating A03 comment box to leave long comments. (Thanks to @captainjowl for hooking me up with that timesaver.)[you can find that on this post]

I don't fully understand how popularity works on A03 but I've discovered so many damn good stories that fly under the radar that I actually prefer to give my time to those. You just never know when your comment might make all the difference. <3

GT: Ok, now I need to read about them at Timmy's.

I love the floating comment box! I'll see if I can find a link with instructions for those to leave it on the post. I sometimes even postpone reading a fic when I want to make sure to leave a long comment so I can read it on my computer instead of my phone.

AO3 popularity is a mystery to me as well.

What are your favorite tropes?

J: Same! It is nice to lay around with my phone reading but you can't leave a decent comment with a phone--or I can't anyway.

Canon related (divergent, filler, fix-it, etc) is still my favorite overall trope, but not necessary post s11 or maybe I just haven't gotten to that stage yet.

With canon-ish fics, it's the depth of their relationship I enjoy. With other fics, it's the new discovery of each other that's delightful.

I like some angst with a happy ending. I love action, adventure, hero-y type stuff. Humor is great in whatever form it takes. Historically based stories are good too. Domestic fics are good if they are examining how damn hard life can be with a significant other/kids.

I think it's more about writing style than about an specific trope as I'll read most tropes aside from ABO, mpreg or those types of things my brain can't wrap itself around. lol

GT: What are your favorite season and episode of Shameless?

J: The scene in the pilot where the Gallagher kids are pitching in to pay the electrical bill and the scene where Fiona walks in on chaos and yells" Ian, what the fuck?" are my favorite Shameless scenes. Season 4 has the overall best GV scenes. My favorite scene of all is Sorry, I'm Late (although bathroom sing-a-long is now up there.)

How about you?

GT: I totally agree, the first seasons were so good! The sense of family and unity was what made it so great for me.

If you could change one thing about Gallavich in canon, what would it be?

J: This concept was the basis of the first fic I wrote. I changed on small thing in each of the first five seasons, but none of it ultimately changed the outcome.

Initially, my thoughts are either not having Terry walk in on them in 3x6 or not having Ian's Bipolar so severe (or exist). However tragic these were though, they are the events that make the story so compelling and make their love seem so strong.

In contrast, Ian not visiting Mickey in prison/talking poorly of him through s6-7 was just plain frustrating and felt "off" so I'd probably go with that rewrite. Although I really hated that Ian said nothing while they lay on the blanket on the way to Mexico too. Damn it, there's too many lol.

GT: There are definitely way more than there should be, but these are not some people usually mention. You're right, those were out of character.

What did you think of the ending?

J: Considering we spent a few years wondering if we'd get endgame, the ending we did get is excellent. They're together, committed, happy. I feel like that in itself is a miracle. I've never been as concerned with what we did get throughout the seasons as what we didn't get. The plot holes in the story are the thing that I'm still harboring a little ill will over. I'm happy to do my own meta but too often it feels more like doing my own screenwriting. But all in all after several months, it turns out I can live with how it all came together.

GT: How do you imagine their future?

J: I'm not going to settle for anything less than them being together for the rest of their lives. I suppose they end up with a kid or two since the show was pretty clear about that in both season 10 and 11. I also imagine them moving back to the South Side, just the gravitational pull of the familiar and comfortable. Although the show seemed to suggest that the South Side was on the verge of becoming yuppie lol. But I think with kid(s) they'd want the support and babysitting options, and they'd want their kid(s) to hang with their cousins.

I really don't know about work and jobs though...maybe they keep building the security business (as long as they get rid of that stupid ass stolen truck; talk about having to suspend disbelief) or maybe Ian finds his way back to something EMT related. Mickey probably just rolls with whatever's going on at the moment, maybe becomes a stay at home dad for a bit...not sure. As much as I'd love to see some of these things play out on the screen, I'd spend the whole time terrified of what the writers throw at them.

GT: Oh, no, I was very happy to see the show end! The fandom will take it from now on, thank you.

J: My thoughts exactly!! Unhand the show!

GT: What about your fics plans? What have you got cooking?

J: Julia and I have a few more chapters of Enemy Lines to finish. I'm hoping to have one or two short fics for Gallavich Week. I was hoping to have a several, but the current fic went way longer than we thought it would.

The rest of my potential list contains finishing Panama Red (that's a for sure), another one shot for Timeless in which Mickey and Ian are trying to parent during the pandemic, a follow up epilogue to Cubicle Wars, a promise to two ladies to bring their prompt to life, finish the s11 filler fic, and two ideas I've had for quite awhile: one set in Vegas and one in a historical setting (damn it those are two of your GV week themes this year...I'm still going to tag them GV week lol). I guess we see which ones win. ;0

GT: Hahah, feel free to tag them, no matter when you finish them!

That's so much content, that's exciting!

J: My final words are for you. Thank you for putting together these fandom events and posts for so many years! <33

GT: It's my pleasure. 😊

#gallavich #ian x mickey #shameless us #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless #gallavich fanfiction #jackieq #writer's spotlight

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ourmondobongo · 3 years

Note

My favorite number... 7 please :)

Hey ya, gears-and-glasses!!!

Tysm for the ask!!!!

7. Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?*

The Ackerbond theory.

I used to like because the Ackerman bloodline really got me interested while Kenny was talking to his grandparent, and Yams interviews talking about it sounded intriguing. There are elements really nice in triggering acker-instincts, and being able to use the power of the Titans as well as past knowledge, and devoting their lives to do something greater than what they previously thought was the end of the line for them.

All three - Kenny, Levi and Mikasa - can very well show the powerful transformation of finding meaning in life when the world is nihilistic, harsh or a trial for them. And devoting themselves to fulfill their purposes (personal dream, duty, and love respectively) is remarkable.

However, with so many takes forcing all Ackermans to necessarily be in love with the person who got them to realize what they could do as the bearers of the Ackerman blood clan is such a let down that it just makes me dislike the whole thing.

You know, not all relationships between people HAVE to be romantic love to be strong, and relevant, and life changing. And, above all, romantic love doesn't have to be the main savior or focus of everything.

Or at least, if it's going to be, then take care to at least don't overboard the amount so try opening the path to the conclusion on the last minute. There is something very appealing on reading narratives depicting the unique powers of relationships growing. Imo, the biggest part of the romances on snk in the later arcs were kinda thrown at our faces...

And, yeah, I know people may think this sounds hypocrisy coming from me, a open shipper, but I would go well fine without Levi Han being a possible pair in canon material. (The major things that got me are still the IFKK thing + Hanji blushing, because, goddammit, you tell me Yams didn't do that on purpose but then writes 132 + 133 + 136 + 139. And when you pick all the past things they lived together plus the fact snk is surprisingly popping up with couples everywhere plus the repetitive patterns of canon couples mottos then it's pretty hard to not see the construction of their relationship lol)

STILL, inside canon material, I've also said awhile ago - I see Levi Han as more like the perfect complementary duo of heroism, dedication, hard-work, and selflessness in snk than just a possible paring (and I thought Yams was going for it too). And this comes from the very first time their personalities were presented together (S0109 or chapter 9.5), to their equal relationship through the whole series, to match injuries, to the clearly Wings of Freedom representation at the "Dedicate your Heart" moment in chap 132. And don't even talk about the plane and the scar on chapter 139......

Resuming, what I mean is, I didn't get into snk bc of love relationships/ships - I did it because I needed to know what who would survive and what the titans were (and the OST haha)! And I stayed because I needed to see Eren + Levi + Hanji + Zeke's personal conclusions. Thus, it's a let down for me that things turned out the way it became.

And in the end too, snk was a bittersweet ending for me because while Eren and Hanji's narratives were mostly great (and painful), their very end disappointed me. On the other hand, Levi and Zeke's were great from the beginning to the end. And it's just their conclusions that are still making me cling to the whole animation of the end.

Then, I will just do to snk as Eren said to Mikasa:

"Throw this away and forget about it"

#answering devoted hearts #having fun with mutuals #ty so much for the ask!#sorry it actually became a whole rant lol #salty fandom asks

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fangorl-trash · 4 years

Text

In the Dark

The Mandalorian x fem!Reader

Summary: you and din have an intimate bonding moment...in the dark.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: SOFT. SHY. MANDO. uhh... slight mentions of a dark past, but it’s vague af, like not even warning worthy BUT JUST IN CASE LOL. curse words. there’s no smut, but if yall want a part 2, lemme know ;) if i forget anything, lemme know lol

A/N: first of all, this gif makes me FEEL things jfc wow i adore din. secondly, hi there lol! this is definitely a self-indulge piece lmao, but i hope you guys enjoy nonetheless! i can promise there are no season 2 spoilers, cause i’d like to think it takes place between the two seasons. aaaand this was all based off a brainrot hour i had (you can read it here, if you really want!) so...yeah lmao. Enjoy y’all! :)

The night before was just like any other night. Chuckles and giggles and stories whispered and shared back and forth. Hands itching to get closer, to connect wholeheartedly, but never having the courage to do so. The calm before tomorrow’s storm of bounty hunting.

A small, yellow-tinted light above the shared cot illuminated the two. She thought he looked like a guardian angel, the way it shone off of his armor dully. He thought she looked like a goddess, the soft light giving her a halo.

They were hopelessly in love.

Y/N and the Mandalorian. A dynamic duo, of sorts. Two different puzzle pieces from two different puzzle sets, yet they somehow fit together perfectly. She loved him for his tenacity, his fierceness in battle, and his big heart he only showed to her. He loved her for her kindness, her empathy, and the way her eyes sparkled when he came back to the ship after a long day.

They were hopelessly in love with one another, yet neither has said it. Maybe to both of them, saying it was not enough; the actions and moments shared between the two was what truly defined it all. The way he purchased antique books for her to read, because she mentioned it once. The way she grabbed extra blankets from the closet because he got cold at night easily.

The night before was just like any other night. It was calm and quiet and pleasant; almost too pleasant for Din’s liking. In the line of work of a Mandalorian, pleasant never lasted long. But Maker, he swore that time stopped when he saw you that next morning.

When he looked over to see your sleeping form, his breath hitched in his throat. The yellow light above you was dim, but showcased your features brightly and beautifully. You laid on your side, arm tucked under your ear and other hand laid at your side. Your hair fell over your forehead and cheeks.

You looked like a dream.

His gloved hand reached out and tucked a strand or two behind your ear, so he could see his beautiful girl. After all you’ve been through...you were still Y/N and Din. Din and Y/N.

A feeling of gratitude overcame him suddenly as he gazed upon your angelic form. You deserved everything good in this world. The prettiest of jewels, that sparkled in the starlight. The largest of feasts with your favorite intergalactic meals and beverages. Whatever novel that you craved to read next.

He would go to the ends of the galaxy for you. Anything to see that smile.

He prayed everything he did for you was enough, even if it was all so small and minute. You deserved so much better than what he was giving you.

His gratitude took a negative, insecure turn. He knew what you really wanted, what you really deserved that he couldn’t give you: physical love. He can’t kiss you. He can’t hold you. He can’t look in your eyes and tell you how much you meant to him.

He thought of himself as selfish. He wanted all of those things and more. He wanted to feel your lips against his. He wanted to look in your eyes, and your eyes only. He wanted to hold you close without beskar separating you. He wanted to feel your skin against his fingertips, because holy fuck, you just look so soft and so fucking warm.

With a soft sigh, his leather-clad fingertips brush down your cheek and over the curve of your arm. Dank farrik...what he would do to hold you. Hold you properly.

Something clicked in his brain all of a sudden. Why is he being such a pussy? He’s THE Mandalorian, for Maker’s sake. He knows just the solution.

~~~

That night, you dreamed of your past life. Before you met Din. Before you both met the Child. Though your dream wasn’t a nightmare, it was still dark and dull. You honestly couldn’t wait until it was all over.

And then you felt lips on the inside of your wrist. Slightly chapped and slightly wet, with small hairs tickling you as well. A gentle hold on your fingers. The kisses slowly trailed up the inside of your forearm, curving against your elbow before continuing their trek up the rest of your arm to your shoulder. It tickles, you thought, shifting under the stranger’s hold.

Your eyes fluttered open with a soft groan. A blanket of pitch black overwhelmed your vision. Panic struck your heart. What in the world is going on right now?

“Good morning,” a voice spoke, breath fanned across your exposed shoulder. Shy, but certain. A low grovel, but not due to a helmet’s voice amplifier.

“D...Din,” you mumbled, fingers grasping his tightly. Your heart skipped a beat at the feeling of...of him. “Wh-What...what’s going on? I-I can’t see.”

He took a pause. “I turned off the lights.” Another pause. “I just...wanted to...”

Even though his voice trailed off, you knew exactly what he wanted to say.

This was new territory for the both of you. Neither of you were scared, per say, but...nervous, cautious. Your voice and your actions matched how you felt. After you sat up and crossed your legs, you reached out with your vacant hand on bated breath. “M-May I?” You requested quietly, hesitatingly. Your eyes scanned about, but you couldn’t find him within the dark ahead of you, even though you were barely a foot apart.

You learned that in certain situations Din’s silence meant yes.

Your fingers made purchase with his bicep, but you backed away just as quickly as you touched him.

Okay, so maybe you were scared. Just a little.

You both sat there silently, slowly counting the moments before one of you made a move. The ship thrummed around you two, but the blacked out bunker was quiet overall. After the bounty hunter released a shallow breath, he lifted the hand that held yours, bringing it to his cheek with a Din-like grace and sureness. A smile stretched both of your lips at the feeling; the feeling of you actually touching. Wholeheartedly Connecting.

His stubble was a pleasant surprise. It felt scratchy under your soft fingertips, but it felt...it all felt like home. Your fingers cupped the back of his neck tenderly, your thumb brushing against his cheekbone. His own fingers brushed against your left upper arm and shoulder delicately, feeling your goosebumps rise slowly as he brushes against the strap of your tank top.

You shuffled a bit closer to Din, now in between his open and bent legs. You didn’t know you were holding your breath in until you let it out, shaky and soft. His own breath reached your forehead, delicate and quiet. Your other hand lifted up, hand finding its place on his chest. Once again, you were pleasantly surprised to touch his bare skin; soft and warm to the touch. Your fingertips yearned to travel, and before you could stop your curious thoughts, your middle and ring fingers brushed against a rough scar. It was a jagged, diagonal line, only about three inches in length. Dry, scabbed-over skin, a story untold. You suspected he had battle scars galore, but actually feeling one was...shocking.

The reality of this man’s career suddenly hit you like a shot from a blaster. This man...this man that you loved.

How many of these untold stories were near deaths? How many stories would have ended without Din back in your arms?

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat before your fingers continued their journey, a confident spark behind their actions. They ventured across his beautiful canvas, blindingly mapping out the divets, marks, and bruises of his skin. Your hands gripped and caressed at his shoulders and arms, your fingers brushed against his cheeks and jaw. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and the banging of his heartbeat. You couldn’t help but smile at that. Other than the fingers on your arm, Din remained unmoving under your touch; if he was being honest, he had no clue what to do.

You finally smiled as you felt his hair, fisting tufts of it gently. It was coarse and curly, but you didn’t mind. “What color is it?” Your voice was hoarse, crackling softly in the dark room.

“Brown,” he said after a moment, a small smile of his own. His own fingers made their way up your arm, past your shoulder, and cupped the back of your neck like you did to him. His pointer finger rubbed back and forth in a small motion, a small habit the bounty hunter grew over the months. It was...very different, to feel you under his touch like this. He’s held your hand and stroked your hair and cupped the back of your neck tenderly, but..touching you this way was new territory for the Mandalorian. It was scary, in a way, especially for him.

He ventured on with a brave face.

His other hand found it’s way to your calf, slowly and carefully kneading the skin. You wondered if this was the first time he’s...he’s felt skin since he was a child. You wondered what he was thinking in the moment, if he thought you were beautiful or not. You dismissed those thoughts to the best of your ability. This was your moment, and you’ll be damned if your own brain ruined it. His hand cupped the back of your knee, his whole chest craning down to press a sweet peck to your knee cap. His eyes closed for a brief moment, embracing the feeling of your skin on his lips in the brief moment they were in contact. A shiver ran up your spine; now you remained unmoving, frozen solid by Din’s hot, pillowy lips against your skin. His hand then trailed up the outside of your thigh to your hip. He skirted over your cotton shorts to your waist, gently caressing...you.

He thought you felt enchanting under his touch. You were absolutely perfect. And he loved you so much.

Nerves pierced his heart. His small smile fell. He lifted his hand to cup your other cheek, both of his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. Your hands stopped in their tracks, the nape of his neck under one palm and his right shoulder under the other. “Can I...may I...”

You didn’t let him finish. The way you leaned in was carefully calculated, nerves an underlying color of it all. Din sat straight-backed, unmoving once again. He was so scared to mess this up for you. I mean...your first kiss shared. He imagined how much that meant to you. It meant a lot to him, too.

You proceeded to lean forward until your lips were pressed against his as your eyes fluttered close. Just as quickly as you two connected, you were apart once again. A small and short kiss, a test for you both. Din leaned forward this time, without anymore hesitation, capturing your lips as he pulled your body into his.

You weren’t surprised Din’s first real kiss was going to be...well...Din-like. Methodical. Purposeful. Caring underneath all of the layers. You were surprised at the fact that Din’s first kiss felt...like destiny. Like this moment was written in prophecies years ago, and it’ll be written in history texts for years to come.

You were surprised because his lips moved against yours like he knew what he was doing.

Your arms found their way wound around his neck, and his wound around your waist. His kiss was patient and sweet and really fuckin’ good. His mustache tickled your top lip, but you didn’t mind one bit.

Right before he pulled away, his cheeks quirked into a smile against your lips before falling to their neutral state.

“I, um...” you began, eyes sparkling in the darkness. You wondered if his baby browns shone the same way, tracing your figure in the darkness. Even though you had so much to say, your voice became stuck, lodged deep in your throat. Tears sprung to your eyes.

He did this for you, didn’t he? He turned off the lights in your guys’ bunker. He took off his helmet. He...he kissed you. Dank farrik, he just kissed you. And he let you touch his hair and his face and...him.

Even though the pair of you weren’t doing anything particularly sexual, every bit of this moment that you shared in the dark felt more intimate and vulnerable than you could ever hope for, dream for, ask for.

The cotton in your mouth expanded slowly, ridding you silent and helpless in the arms of the man you loved. Of the man you would sacrifice everything for. Does he feel the same? Would he do the same for you? A tear tugged down the apple of your cheek as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around him tighter. You sniffled softly as his hands caressed your back and hips.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He questions, holding you close to his chest. His right hand rubbed small circles in your back and he sat patiently awaiting your response, but the cotton continued to expand into your mouth.

“I...I, uh...” You begged the cotton to be rid, you prayed for your tongue to move and say the words. The three words that have been dancing around the two of you day and night, for months now, being said over and over again in your mind.

Somehow, Din knew what you were going to say. He was positive you could hear his rapid heartbeat, but if you did, you didn’t show it. He craned his neck down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Then, he leaned down to your ear and kissed your lobe, his breath hot against your skin. The lumps in your throat melted away.

“I love you,” you finally said.

The buzzing energy in the bunker seemed to still and quicken all at once. The humming you heard before silenced. Din pulled you closer to his chest, his arms tightening their grip around you. He didn’t say anything for awhile; you were sure he fell back asleep, leaving your confession unheard.

“I love you too,” he said.

You couldn’t see his eyes or his mouth forming the words. But you could feel his love, feel his dedication for you. Under his fingertips, in his arms. It was all love for you. Tears returned to your eyes. You hugged him even tighter, burying your face into his shoulder even more. Anything to bring him closer to you. Anything to feel him more.

The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like hours. You actually fell back asleep, filled with more content and love than ever before. Din put you back to bed quietly and carefully, tucking you under the wool blanket you pulled from the closet the night before. He lifted one hand to cup your cheek, craning his neck to plant a lingering kiss on your other.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to get back in his armor. He wanted to lay here, beside you, mask off and lights on. He wanted to see your smile as his eyes reached yours. Responsibility tugged at his heart and his brain. He knew what he had to do, what he was born to do, even if he hated it in this very moment. This is the way.

When you woke up again, you were alone in a dimly lit bunker. A hefty sigh fell past your lips. Maybe it was all a dream. You touched your lips with the pad of your fingers as your eyes fluttered close. You thought to yourself, if it was a dream, then why did his lips feel so real?

You changed into your normal garb and climbed out of the bunker. After lacing up your boots, you climbed the ladder into the cockpit. Like every morning, the Mandalorian was at the helm and the Child was in his designated seat. Din pressed buttons and steered the Razor Crest stoically, and the youngling played with his small metal ball. You approached the child with a smile and a pat to his head, in which he gurgled and grinned at your touch.

You then walked over to the Mandalorian’s right side, boots slowly and softly padding against the metal floor. His head remains forward, even when you place your left hand on his shoulder. Cotton fills your mouth again. What are you even supposed to say?

It takes you a moment before words form on your tongue. “Thank you,” you say softly. “I...I care for you...a lot. I...I love you. And I appreciate you. Thank you.”

His head turns now, looking right at you. You wondered if his baby browns were looking into your eyes right now, calculating what to say and what to do. Din lifts his left, gloved hand to your cheek. Underneath the leather, you can feel his warm, delicate touch that you were able to feel this morning.

“Anything for you, my love.”

#athena writes #the mandalorian #mando #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #mando x reader #mando x y/n #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n

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bakugotsundere · 4 years

Text

Hating Him - Bakugou Katsuki (1)

bakugo x (black) fem reader

( still can read if you’re not)

sorry if it bothers you, i just felt that my black readers weren’t feeling black as they were reading y/n stories cause i for sure wasn’t.

Warning: none

Summary: Bakugo and you have hated each other ever since you met, being on the same track team and having the same friend group didn’t make things any better. you 2 have to act like you like each other for the benefit of the friend group until one day you and him are forced to have movie night with the others and you both have had enough of each other’s shit.

in this chapter: you get invited to the movie night and bump into bakugo

The morning smell of outside filled your lungs as you stepped out your house. It was exactly 5:30 in the morning. The streets were not busy and there was barely any noise, just faint sounds of dogs barking and truck drivers in a distance. It was the perfect time to go for your daily run. The chilly air made you happy, it gave you more of a challenge. you zipped your nike training jacket up. It fit you tight, tugging at every curve of yours. The sky was a foggy blue, a few clouds started coming in, along with the sum.

You walked down the steps of your house, stretching your legs when you got to the sidewalk. You looked ahead and yawned as you walked onto the street. Your neighborhood was fairly nice to say the least. Everybody minded their business, especially since your house had been secluded. After your grandmother died, she left one of her houses she owned to you, making it easy for you since you dreaded the idea of having to share a dorm with someone, let alone having to get an apartment.

you placed your airpods in your ears and played Apparently by J.Cole. J.Cole had been your favorite rapper since you were 12 years old, you missed the days where your 12 year old self would dance around your room to his music, now you’re grown and responsibilities are becoming more than just making sure your chores were done. You stretched one last time before taking off.

...

Once you were done, sweat dripped from your face. your breathing was heavy and the cold water bottle in your hand had been long awaited. The sun was now out. The birds chirping got louder and the old lady from across the street was sitting in her chair with her small cat in her lap, you quenched your thirst, swallowing every last drop of water. “Good morning Y/n” She chirped. You wiped your mouth with your wrist smiling, turning towards her, “Goodmorning Ms. Rodriguez.” you reply as you waved.

You finally go back inside your house, feeling at ease. you take off your black vapor max at the door and go to your kitchen, grabbing a nutrigrain bar, you ate it before going upstairs to get ready for your classes. you took your curly hair out of its messy bun. the roots of your hair were finally breathing and it felt good. you scratched your scalp in satisfaction. you looked in the mirror, loving your features and your brown/caramel skin. you never felt the need to put yourself in the 3 categories because to you there was no need to, everybody in the community was black so why separate it into groups.

you placed the shea butter your mother made for you on your face. you took off your semi-sweaty clothes throwing them into your dirty clothes hamper and looked at yourself in the mirror. your body was perfect to most but you didn’t see what everyone saw. your thighs were too thick for your liking, especially since you did track. your breast were too big to you, they sometimes got in the way while working out. you had a 4 pack from the working out, everybody told you that you had an hour glass body but you hated it. if this what a hour glass body was, you hated it.

you took off your panties, replacing your old ones with Tommy Hilfiger ones. You grabbed a pair of black nike sweatpants that fit your thighs perfectly. You took off your bra, letting your breast breath and put on another sports bra, putting on a white t-shirt fresh out the pack. you ran chap stuck along your plump lips, they were more than plump actually if you like them so it didn’t matter. you picked out the roots of your hair leaving it’s on it’s curly state. you had dyed your hair a ginger color, which made you look like sza a little. your fro was like hers too, very big and curly.

You wrapped your apple watch around your wrist and put on some whit nike socks, along with your white air force ones. Your phone started dinging and it was the gc, you had been in with your friend group.

Mina :) > goodmorning whores. Time for class before you become drop outs.

Denki ⚡️> good morning Mina ;)

Midoriya🥬> Goodmorning everybody, i have a big test in Mr. Aizawa’s today so i have to get to studying, talk to you guys later.

Kirishima> Mornin. It’s beautiful out today, isn’t it and i’m not a whore mina.

You> yea, kirishima i’m pretty sure you got caught with cami in the janitors closet.

Iida> Mine was too, you guys need to stop texting and get to class.

You> sure, see you on the track field lida. this gc is getting deader by the day and it’s embarrassing to watch.

(seen by kirishima, Mina, and Bakugou)

lida> typing...

You shut off your phone with a smile, knowing that got him heated. You didn’t even care for his response. you loved messing with lida, it was funny, you sprayed a little vanilla perfume on your body and you were off to a place you dreaded.

...

You were now in the library studying with Mina. Mina was like your best friend, you told her everything and she told you everything. “Have you seen that picture of trey songz you know what?” she asked and your eyes went wide, in shock that she was talking about this in the library. “yes, but i can’t go crazy over it, he made the shit so corny. the whole post he made afterwards had me cringing at my phone so hard. i was like “boy what the fuck” he too old for that shit.” you told her and she giggled.

“I’m having a movie night with the rest of the group this saturday, you have to come. you never come to things with us anymore. Ever since bakugou started hanging out with us, you’ve been avoiding us. i’ve noticed some type of tension between you 2, i hope it isn’t sexual?” she stated and your stomach churned at the thought of that stuck up dummy.

“No, i just like staying to myself, that’s all. i think i’ll come Saturday as long as it’s not going to be a lot of people you know how busy i am with track and stuff.” you stated in reality you hated being around bakugo. especially since he always felt to make rude remarks towards you when everyone wasn’t around. He was normally mean to everyone, but you got it the worse since you had the shortest running time on the team. When track practice would come around you and him would argue with each other every second. you hated being yelled at or talked to badly and your mother sure didn’t raise a bitch so you talked to him just as reckless as he did to you and he hated every second of it since you were the first to ever test him. your personalities didn’t mix well at all.

“it’s only gonna be, denki, bakugo, kirishima, todoroki, asui, uruaka and deku but that’s if bakugo doesn’t mind.”

“yea, i’ll think about it.” you said softly.

...

you were now at practice and the death stares you received from bakugo made you just wanna slap the fuck out of him. His eyes followed you as you warmed up. You could see him start to come towards you and you sighed. His tall figure stood in front of you, blocking the sun, his body shaded you. “You draw too much attention.” He stated as the boys that were on the team stared at you. You were the only girl on the track team so you learned to get used to it. “I know, why are you telling me this?” you asked and he gritted his teeth, “All of those boys are practically eye raping you.” he states, taking in your appearance and you sighed, “I don’t know what to fucking say. these are the only sizes in shirts they have and if my curves happen to show then so be it. it’s not like the whole thing is out.”

Sweat dripped from the side of his head, he had on a white tank top and some nike shorts with some white vapor max. a towel hung over his broad shoulders. your eyes scanned his body, you never thought bakugo was ugly, he was perfect when it came to looks. He was very tall with a slim, muscular build, and a fair skin tone. He had short, spiky, ash-blond hair that looked soft. His eyes were a sharp and bright red in color that showed his hostility. his looks fit his personality though, very cocky.

“Why do you care?” You asked and his cheeks turned a bright pink and anger came upon him, this line made him mad, “I don’t.” he replied angrily. “Well then stop telling me things i already know. All you do is bother me.” you told and his lips curved into a smirk, “Your existence bothers me, imagine how I feel.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing past him aggressively. He can be so fucking annoying. Imaging having to be on the same team as someone you hate. It’s really irritating, especially when the person is somebody as arrogant as he is. He needs to be humbled.

...

You and Bakugou were the only 2 left after practice, your coach was mad at the both of you because of what happened last week with the sub coach. Bakugou had been bothering you that day and you snapped and then you two decided to have a race on your own which didn’t turn out so well since bakugou got mad that you won in the end.

So now you and him were being forced to do “after practice workouts” with each other. You were now lying on the ground of the track floor, exhausted. Bakugou was right next to you, your chest rose up and down, your breathing heavy and your legs worn out. You looked over at him, and he looked over at you. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just wouldn’t hate me so much and accept that i’m faster than you.” you stated and his red eyes stared at your light brown ones. “Can’t blame this all on me. You hate me as well and you don’t know when to shut up. You don’t have to respond to everything i say but you do.” He said and you placed your hands at your stomach, “I’m not about to let you walk all over me like you do everyone else. Your ego is too big and i’m doing nothing but lowering it.”

“Is that what you think?” he asked and you sighed softly looking him in his eyes trying to search for anything but anger but there was no other emotion but that, his pupils did dilate once he noticed how hard you were staring into his eyes though, “It’s not what i think, it’s what i know.” you said. “i don’t understand why you are always so angry all the time. I don’t even know how you have the friends that you have. obviously that means they see past it but i refuse to. i can’t. sorry but that’s just how i am.” you stated sitting up, he sat up with you staring at you, “i don’t understand how you have friends, you are very competitive and just avoid me then. We can always hate each other from a distance.” he stated and you smiled shaking your head as you stood up.

“Can’t do that when we have the same friends and are on the same team and i’m only competitive when it comes to track. So i’ll just hate you regardless and plus you always keep your enemies close. It doesn’t matter though, i’m still faster.” you added on that last part trying to make him mad and you could hear him start to yell as you walked off and a smile came upon your lips.

There’s no way you could ever be friends with him so why even bother trying. Something about him makes your blood boil.

#bakugou smut #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x black reader

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jesuisgourde · 3 years

Text

My favorite bits of Peter Doherty’s (non-lyric) writing:

This is under a readmore as it’s quite long because I’ve just gone through all the places his writing has been published/posted and copied over all the bits of text I’ve highlighted or marked as something I really like. There’s a section for each book/forum/et cetera.

(also, all typos and weird spellings are Peter’s)

BOOKS OF ALBION (Book) 99-07:

Who will sell me a lie?

A cup of tea, Chalky Dean, to ease your misery Your war, your family, your new flat in Kilburn - been there since ‘73 since ‘83, on your own The England designed by you can’t be found, and you feel so much on your own The England life gave to you, is long gone away and you have never felt so ready to leave and look for it. So out you go The Stoned Englishman

Freddy was a fusion. The rags around his minds were torn patchwork quilts of youth cults, forgotten grooves, visions and unprintable politics, with the odd bloody bandage of High Art and an aesthetic to grind away the gap between deep black dub & Oscar Wilde.

He fell from the sky, never to land - never a sound: just words, ‘Every blues song in the world has the answer - I’ll tell you in the morning.’

Made my way home with a hoover, carrying it around my neck like the arm of a drunk friend.

Can be here, there, anywhere I choose as the century turns, and I must let my curiosity reach for the pen, camera, microphone. I must record all that excites me & captures my imagination & senses for a second.

My memory is a jar, my sight is blind, my hand has little feeling. The jar is huge, but the hole is tight and rarely can I fit my whole hand in and really rummage.

I delight in the sight of unison for any purpose - a gang in the street, soldiers, relay races, uniforms, uniformity: what a challenge to the artistic soul, what a joy for the ancient, animal instinct still screaming away in our DNA.

You can love a girl you will never see again You can love a girl you have never seen before but never can I love a girl I can’t see there and then and when a sigh continues the conversation, with no words, only the distant roars of love’s traffic

pillars straight with aesthetic malice

I must make note of all that happens - great insights & mind-altering experiences are no more significant to a diary than everyday tittle tattle. All the better if the tittle tattle is of radical proportion.

My perpetual lateness has got the shoes squeaking in the corridors of power & the toe within will certainly strike me should I be late once more.

Under this dandyish, frivolous, artistic exterior sits a pensive, ordered fellow - under whom lies an even dandier, camper chap.

Senses frayed, screeching bones of metal on the tracks.

Is this communicating? You must get em all round here. uniformed society. The rod used by the rod. This is wrong, look at this.... violence breeds violence. Keep a level of violence, a gas glow, burn slow - tell the russians, we surrender & we’re not playing soldiers. Everyone looks the same, we all do, don’t hide. Did you go to the do’s? It’s still there. If you can remember it, it wasn’t there. They’re all drugged. Hypocrit - you are, critic & a hypocrit sucking on your finger, plastic bags under your eyes.

To abandon morality for all eternity is a challenge only for the brave - no hope, no fear

What is this face So murderous in its strangle of branches? Its sneaking acid kiss. It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults That kill, that kill, that kill. sylvia and tabitha no more

Scraps of identity, a warped & oppressive system that was sidestepped, and I spiralled untangled embracing rushing air & new sensations, fears & opportunities for the rampant imagination.

Wales greets me, we are in the hem of the Brecon Beacon’s shirt.

Clambering over wonky miles of line headlong the tumble in rhyme a jumbled jungle of ill thought 2bob endeavours we’ll crack the jackpot riddle together gazing out of goaties window, one eyed willie besides on this rolling vessel unto Arcady & all tumult & woe to overcome. Woe the registration, overtaken on the long grey stretch before us. Autumn barricading itself in subtlely in colours mixed and matched, steady days like a yawn, the nights silent stillborn cry for the very dawn. Bales of hay strapped up on the M4 broken bones on the roadside, weathered by the years cars crossing lanes like crabs. Biggles stirs in his sleep coughing. Again: a time for valour. A time of whispered events. Now faded with the passing years.

Thief steps I went down with the stairway which sulked abysmally into the darkness below. A chaos of sordid galleries echoes of hostile silence whose curse I did not discover. The past & the future are contaminated with doubts & nostalgia. The inseperable oblivion was voluntary, & my escape so unpleasant that I swore to forget it....and a pattern emerges, a cycle...

wonky old lamp and its lampshade hair-do leaning over the rusty coloured sofa. There are but 3 books in the room... something perhaps to do with the wide open fireplace, with its canopy of burnt bricks and a mouthful of soot it burps out as windy days & cold nights whip down the old chimney pot for a burn.

Stumble do we through & across kingly cross streets & alleys streaked with gloomy yellow lamplights & hypnotic red bulbs spelling ‘vacancies’. My vacant desire is neck & neck with a gaunt & grinding sullen teeth sucking sadness.

I never could my voice like a throat in a frog my lungs shattered, heart battered

Patches of grass and rubble stacked like promises.

Butter pervades the kitchen & a nutter is in the hall days stutter in the sunlight & my heart flutters so in the voices of a summer evening

Yes come the coffin and carry off the loneliness, less all days are known only for the boney rap of vice on my window and the pony and trap that is the snap, crackle & plop of the papplenazi & the ilk in the rotton milk media that sours the sweet soup of ours and cuts down towers to the size of mice and men are pecked by two faced diseased hens shuffling their weird trotters along the all the way like so many shit lumping fetters hoofs of haunted yesterday.

Tell doom to ‘do one’ if you’re on for another reckless turn on the rivers apocalypse of rocks & rushing waters The throat burnt up dry as you nearly drown in frozen over tides Trust yourself like metal trusts rust: in a simple formula

nominally in disorder / in a fashion commonly nowt in this pressing matter not sort of unignorable pressure - abusive selfish conversations with the blank dirt that glues the corners of my backwards minds intogether outside the high walls levering the face off with the sticky oil of gluey tears. They dry and rip the sense out of the skin’s mask. In past lives I was blank... actually deadly sleepy and convinced by my corrupt reasoning that I was wide awake and ready to break into a running jump. As it turns out I fell off a small step and ruined my jumper.

ideas flashing like sparked fellas in raincoats through my mindless ways

This time next year this lone salty tear that falls may yet reach the sea, drowning in rivers lost under London like Victoriana.

‘where the bee sucks, there suck I in the cow-slips bell I lie’ Ariel says so, and a can ariel snapped off do I use to gather the honey through the machine neck & blaze into smoke to toke & choke my remaining mornings. Mourn I the tempest in duller days... indeed or they would not be duller days. I do not feel any desperation, sat alone when I’m not alone, because I’m just picking up the pen again since my love blurted ‘the end’ where we begin, and the fever returns me to the canal....... waters that do not flow et in Arcady ego

oh so you are not here now and so I greive in the salty, sopping eventide with a mess of feeling & reeling around the forest clearing in time that tears afford me. Salt blind I stumble into the night & pile heartache upon confusions. Alas I am last to understand my minds instructions.

My rotton guts clinging to the acid of itself and crushing the time in bile. The label has come off myself and I am bound to the train of love’s bullet train that screams by me and sends all my things flying til I’m in the ditch soaked, cursing & crying my soul dry of feeling, my senses fraying and my whole nerve praying for god to give the ghastly gits & ghouls of suffering a right pashing soon enough couldn’t be sooner or better still & soon.... my love to take me in her arms & love me as my soul so desires.

The sky is shy, hiding behind the curtain ignoring me when I ask the time

Nicotine fingers coiled to grasp the purple smile.

I lay upon my spine-cracked bed lost high upon the numbness London sirens spin me to sleep & my rattling chest lunges at breath

Sweat dripping on a dead cigarette’s blood

I reside in pandemonium’s parlour, half-lit, half-dead.

You can’t be sometimes but neither are or are not close to heaven or heavens even so the singular light and clearly the colours sharply cut half cut morning though my thoughts come out blanker than colours, emptier than my heart. Oh godless era this lost dear priceless night of invisible surrender & duress of deranged features & diabolical wantings do this or that well & save your reputation from ‘Darling Crackhead’ to little beauty & take the next year off.....

Up & down & inside out without flesh or mind find youth about your deaf to blind the sight of shout of pouts parading kindly mouth

Meeting melody is the victory of the empty, spiralling nightmare.

My heart and lips are somewhat numbed by the push & pull-me of my head’s rowdy scheme & sentiment traffic flow & stutter, that the once fulfilling & sustainable life of that whimsy & luck & pop mythology triumphantly & benignly reigned over & upon.

One million at least many holes in the fire blanket cover the plastic and stare in and out of the cell window it covers against regulations. 3 times they came in the yesterday. Villein is still and static cold and 26. Did he somewhere along the way become more approachable - given the heavy horse’s chaotic creation. I’ll let you a merry dance sick legal banter out on the vines where song lick slang is slung like dead bed sheet snakes from cell to cell.

Old films are like nick really.... You see the same old faces with a strange routine laced in nostalgia. What does Watney’s brown ale taste like - wondered Villein - and how like the read read is the red on the old reel that we see the buses move along in, and the phone boxes sit still in.

The shadow of a long metal gate prolongs itself across the forecourt and across the yards of morning.

the fucking jangle of keys strangles my dreams

though beautifully little book of hearts will your pages fall open upon ready (or as good as) sentiments rave & revealing the much clouded blank page.

This is the long way to ruin but things must fly by if your loneliness must make the dead-end clear

opposite us Eyeless A-list? wreckless and for now (he lies akimbo) rockless & (st)roll the darker witch demi-monde which means less than some sense fractious six kids & a suburban green park. Restless forgotten beneath reasons & demands what is on offer is something neither musical nor revolutionary. Celebrate: pages & pages of senseless mostly & unfortunately true to life. Written for its own wasteful existence

The sun warmed his upper body & a bead of sweat ran down the groove of a scar and popped itself on a plastic spike that stalagtited off his prison rosary.

my days are spent swerving prangs like old bill in a jag but reality keeps on like a nag “stop it stop it stop it before you cop it” cop it being worse things than a sting....cop it being worse than verses that appear in the morning too minging to sing, and there’s not much worse than this except perhaps death. cop it is death, a blood red card from God if he were a ref.

Rhyme & reason are all wildly out of season & it’s spineless treason to our kinship that allows this violent silence to part us

wide-eyed boy in freefall, through the clouds and oh good I’m impatient sort us out, missus, eh?

The boiler room is my close noisy neighbour & like the wind (my other neighbour) she thunders up at the mutual wall every now & then with dreadful interruptions.

Sometimes it becomes impossible to conceive of even the most common-place of actions (such as standing up and going inside to warmth and a drink with a splendid array of characters)

Her timing is impeccable as always tapping in time to silence which paralysed weather look north pathways to gate

some ennui hustles its way into the small angular room, the pen is lead heavy and doubts and depressing notions guide my hand across the page like the credits in bold white that fall down the screen, a black & white picture of a chewed on wedding cake.

BOOKS OF ALBION (Internet) 99-06:

[I went through these in alphabetical order so the quotes are not in chronological order at all]

To hold you, to heal you, to kill you yes & roll over you in Teesdale St. Loyal and jealous the night, play a record. If you will I will anyway feel this hollow or sick. loyal and sick to the back teeth of that awful taste. You’re the model of my love, hardened in the fire, so soft to touch, so warm to the blade, you hurt me & I hear you cry out in pain.

Lungs all one cavern, softened to the mossy fur of smoke that warms me & rolls me away like under stones.

I heard your education was very expensive (is that where you learnt to stick cruelty up a frock) my education was fairly comprehensive (kicking balls against walls + reading ‘Brighton Rock’)

what’s that awful silent carnage pummeling at my nerve.....the whole of yesterday’s horror webbed and plummeting in my little head.

riddles are the insane architecture of the feeling of being unworthy

the space in between was like energy trapped in a jar. velocity, anticipation.

Sensations are fragile and tangible as towers of cards, any second they disappear into flat chaos, nothingness. Feelings and emotions are light headaches, cars with quiet engines.

Oh but won’t there be another song where I can find it again? I don’t want to lose my soul from my pocket.

Me & the old clock gambling with what? With that which was already sold. Like telling the tale that was already told. Gravely we stood like stones and mourned the present.

The old clock doesn’t for a second give a tick or a tock if you can spell but knows anyway how to decipher all the inky or carved scrawls that unto Arcady infinite wit, wisdom, or wild fury (or fuck it) even whimsy that remedies another meaning to another empty mothers day full of promise, dust & sunlight.

Awake in a haze, twisting screwing my carcass under the covers

Sonny do not go through that door the light ain’t through that door self unmade man

You know I’m alright I don’t even care I like it when they stare and stare Call me queer, dear oh dear A million things & what I wear He’s real hard when he’s with his mates But I saw him again and he was too late

I’ll never desensitize, god knows I’ve tried. There’s no meaning or comfort and I’m stuck in this role.

There’s one cluster of lights through the mass of grey. Aaah, it’s gone now. Saw them kissing in the sea.

Now there’s a long shadow coming across the horizon, flashing tail on the plane wing. Under that shadow iron in the fire orange strip. Above it a blurred golden masking tape round the rim of the sky. Now it has become lava, clouded all furnaced. What will happen? How far is the end. Sky is tracked now all yellow its shirt lightening up & dark again. There is no night or day now.

down the wooden stairs slow melancholy walk heavy jumper thin man so harsh his tongue & hard his life but he crumbles alone behind closed door on its hinges again

Along concrete veins pulses this wondrous pure poison / all Arcady under soft moss vision clear All these new cars shooting past globules of regret, unpleasant to eye & countryside

But I remember that girl when she only slept & I remember that boy when he only wept

Imaginations orchestrated, dull or deviant Libertines and their very destinies. Footsteps echoing through ghostly chambers, the click of the lighter and the clink of the spoon on fine china. Melting sugar harmonizing with a hairdryer. The fluid in the human that promotes balance after disorientating spinning & spinning & spinning

like sound in slow motion waves - spreading out in shapes reminiscent of expanding & contracting molten plastic, touching random films bound together by love (by drink & drugs).

not lobotomized celebritize wannabes never wills fund celebrity’s lobotomy livin’ up the wannabes tread lightly on this drifting ice

we made our urgent pilgrimages to the kingdom - to the bodies urgent delight her white shoulders like south americas out of the remoteness, near to the sea’s curling cliff this islet of the known universe, a liverpool full of cripples in sportswear and naked princes

I been on trial been in denial but now I walk with a smile cause I’m not afraid to frown I’m sorry and I love I’m not sorry to love you I stole all the words ‘From Calliope’ But you know I know and you know I know my principle curse shame at mounting dues I have come to owe A devil of verse and nothing’s so pure as I first thought and all I was taught compared to your loss amounts to nought yet oh why am I so easily caught in the trap that you laid for me, so openly, all could see I was sold, I was bought

Seems to me to be a chase for Liberty - reflected in this my reality - chasing open-backed buses and leaping on in search of....... the bus I suppose.

Breaking into heaven that’s what dreams are - so how’s about waking into hell with a thick heavy chest and sniffle.

Or them truly days sketching into Arcady, castle like country stone houses with churches in the chapel and true love over the beautiful orchard of flowers. Racing an old car across the open fields, old barns with amps & guitars & drumkits & stepping down secret staircases to burn ancient cushions in rages & fits of love

Imagine somehow poison being proved not to exist in someone’s heart. Imagine being unlocked from this cell.

Clean European flesh in Thai monasteries, statues of giants or giant statues? Have you moved away? Or are you there still, pretending to be dumb, feigning asexuality My flesh is warm and soft I’m all ears feigned regrets & tears

The toxins that seep out of my pores have been painted on my body by the sun. The monks have assured me it will disappear but I know it’s there for keeps now, pigments of the pigman.

so I thought: ‘... (something can’t remember)

The joke is on humanity God is self explanatory Irony in agony Given to imaginary Phony personalitys and Parodys, a savage anxiety a wayward calamity

It was a Tuesday footsteps heard in my old room returning to the stream of rhyme the tears of lonely scenes apparently you snap back into your body returning from the astral plane at last he heard clearly the

Can we make silent old & long remorse that lives & feeds & writhes like worms upon a corpse as grubs on verdant grows

I swallow the bait and choke on the line I have to have none & have to all the time. The walls breathe, bulging satchels of torn up people, eyes lock & my shiftless workers reap of the harvest you can’t change us we mug you as we hug you chuggin the vision pluggin the now brightened gloom new life is given & strife is driven away I pray forever and a day that the glow will stay and in blood I won’t pay for the mistakes I made the fakes I played the rakes I enslaved then copied I’m clothes for the dandy’s swagger I’m a kind hearted feet & a bed bound blagger now I’m stopping all was filling mad hall everybody stop look listen and parse I’m out me mind fighting my shadow’s shape levitate & never will I break the promise I made with my soul enslaved to savour the flavour of liberty’s grave response.

time: James says ‘play with me a bit’ and so I fill the analogy with water from the glass tankard. Cartoon ghosts dye suspended suspended by salt in the water. 15 minute fire - 15 minutes of flame.

All the time is the same (of the hour that realms past the second had a voice in the past - the voice is behind) that was the sound of me.

The ice has melted the fingered heart on the window now, and the day is broken.

Rode in on a Trojan Horse trampled over my dreams but that’s par for the course

falling over ain’t dancing it ain’t funny honey

Words, long ago, building a dream what’s worthless to the past is priceless to the last

I love without the use of any organs

Issues don’t concern him - he grinds away at the state on the rare occasions but still with the lust of a libertine he allows the free hand of the market to fist him ceremoniously. Smiling of course - writhing delightedly with his injuries on the velvet wasteland of his glossy imagination.

He chanced his arm, took a risk, hitched another free ride, (this time in the bosom of fate - that syphilitic mistress)

afternoon - windows crusted with dry summer’s flake and a lonely fly, all a scene ignored by the viewer who though facing it, stares and stares straight throughout his silence.

Can it be true that you after so long you’re strolling into view I’ve missed you but you know I can be stoical and struggle on with lost limbs a plenty

wearily weary we lay back & break the lease idly in idolatry I look god in the eye cawing & crowing of swooping birds weeahh weeaaahh high pitched screeches near lowland estuary beaches by the window bars a pale man reaches to god with both hands

warped mirror of my malady differing shapes of the face that gazes nearly upon itself

oh, you’re an ill-formed magician’s wand

Sometimes your hard-faced, makes me wanna hold you tight & kill you till you’re at least pretending to smile. At least pretending that the smallest ever thing can ever be made right. Not living in a pantomime fragile thing cigarettes appear out of thin air

I you loved him when he was on the dole & when he was the king of rock n roll & you’ll love him when he’s buried in a hole.

her body contorted, androgynous gaze in the spotlight... a familiar desire to have & to hold, the toned frills white shorts shrieking animal noises from the speakers in this suddenly sinister theatre looking like blood in her palms

thoughts encircling like smugglers by a gap

a tatty crossfire of plasters hold the end of my right index finger together

How do you suppose, supposing you’d ever bother yourself with supposition on or about such super fucking pointless & tragic waste of lives

Days running into themselves, nights attacking the rigid structure of conventional subversive. Do we make ourselves sick in the soul, lungeing into long spirited long long sequences of repeated oblivion.

my shame costs the same as bargain basement fame the person that they let ya be has a detachable personality day glow smiles & detachable arms cut out wit & stick on charms the sale starts today at half past 2 so go out & buy me while stocks last wooh!

safety pins - they that hold my life together - bend and contorted rusty sticks that don’t glint cuz there’s no sunlight to glint ‘em

Sirens over present today flinching me, luring me onto or away from the rocks. It may hap that these are they: the devices that spark & fizz & whizz bang pipey smite the night’s fatigue.... string it out until the soul bleeds & the atmosphere heeds the siren’s warnings. Disintegration is the proof of the unconnecting of the connecting lines that’s all the coils & jacks that link my mind & my whole heart & soul with the facts of the most dubious matter of reality & the debt to humanity that selfish acts stain the day with.

Lordly ol’ corruption tucks his ransom sack buttons his dirty mac bottles the crack & discreetly tucks the smack into the inner lining of his waterproof pack

I can’t continue with the sorry & pain as I blankly stare at the morning sky the webs & bubbles awash on the pane as the rain spits at the window and my tears flood the tracks of my gaze and I stumble blindly through the days and obliterate my ghostly nights with £200 worth of brown & white

Television on, curtains drawn, spectacles wonky but welded & working not so bad....Brady allowed peace to enter his life albeit for a moment - for an afternoon film. ‘Get stuck inta that’ he said to his cat, laying down a wobbly plate of jelly & rabbit chunks on the kitchen floor. The cat frowned & staggered away from the food. ‘Oh now what’s your matter?’

on the path of dalliance tread lightly his new friends are all but one unsightly it’s the way it is to be on the drifting ice you must tread lightly & remember not to fight me remember I’m your friend & shall be so till the very end but I know how my memory clings quips about clippers & posers but if if you should fall I resolve today to pay tomorrow the debt you owed to sin & sorrow

Straight card faces can’t read anything in them but the well met loss of meaning

Strangers familiar with the art of snatch & grab grabby armies squatting to squander their dreams for dreary routine, filles more innocent that you and I flitting with the dusk in piles of leaves.

Time flicks knives into the present, slicing up the meridian pie & the day is classified, gone & dusted to the dawn. Sidewinder: elongated hours twisted into references points by ancient authorities

personally I live off mysteries The milk that arrives mysteriously every morning, I suppose it brings us life, but if trouble comes it’s been put there - or the bottle it comes in have done - by the devil.

Sleeping rough on the stony grass at the railway station. Stone me what a life. I’m parched & warped by the trials of this day. I shall sleep here at Folkestone West. The crickets chirp & sky ocean is red, sprawling above me.

The morning cracks open the sky - the upwards sky - and a rattling fence & damp, cheerful birds sound the dawn. Close my eyes and invisible trains rampage feet from my trunk and head. there’s the drums & a wonky old piano that sounds like a cow mooing.... & a wobbling saw. Short sharp snatches of twisted mirth. A cartoon gun shot, bubbling pot of stew. Moogs & wurly burly’s. Stuttering guitar & crazy punks barking melody.

Feel reality slipping through my fingers I died on a Tuesday born on a Wednesday I was just calling to say how much I loved you back on the dirt farm with the chickens & the schizoids Now I’m leaving this place on the very next train You can wait for me if you like but I won’t be coming back again

Stick your vanity to the page.

Strings piling up like bodies behind the rhythm

what of the world? it rests a little on the side there, & just there

But then how long until the next gruesome example of my own soul. In those bleak few hours I age 30 years. I’m now over 2 million years old. Closer to 3 million actually.

And of her I shall speak to the scraps of paper, inserts of lips, inside covers of old penguins, back of fag packets & bus tickets the damp walls on the staircases of tenements - there it was The Albion. One can’t adjust

Peeping mute to my Liberty’s core, drop your eyes, acute, sore

Still I’m a waif & stray lost & found endless journey homeward bound bound & gagged & cued & slagged

These walls have ears.... if only they had north & souths what marvels & mysterious they could spotlight & unravel

Still, it’s reassuring to note that actual genius does exist here. Each man-child & girl does possess a sobering, decadent talent in some form or another.

Night swallows the day. Dawn suckles the night, reborn & milky. The cruel afternoon chews up spits & shits out the leftovers of the morning light. Grey is upon us like funerals.

I smell like old socks & inconvenience.

I’m blind with mascara & dumb with lipstick

There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy, clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced, & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face. He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses..... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.

I sensed doom shadowing across the room like a heavy cloud of scurrying rats.

The blemish luminous with blistering blood.

such grasping times we never saw

FORUM POSTS 02-09:

carlos blinded by hair on his all white bed spreadeagle like a born again lustful jesusir he is as ever a elegant and sweet bawd of romantic notion and thoughts too fast for the tongue raising precious stakes and splintering.

Gary saved me from ninjas and I ended up just at dawn's ankle stepping up the tenement steps to the wolfden wherein the grip of calm shook me by the lapels

I remember he lived above a furniture shop in Mortlake with a different Peter and he sit by the fire watching David Niven films staring at the abundance of lovelorn letters she sent him wondering how he could never write back: scrawling heartbloody replies and casting them into the flames.

Tonight we play Bologna, the last leg of the Italian leg of the lamb of arcady that we returned to pasture after so long hemmed in like a crashing boar between archers and lemonade.

you`ve got me all welled up in the dark

I watched awhile then approached the sullen prince of exhiliration. I asked him "How did we arrive here" I cannot describe his look, and he turned away and drank from a glass made of stars.

I present myself openly, tearful, ravaged to the bone.

The confusion and pride and squalid aggression in (un)holy pockets and the misinterpreted gestures.

ring him? you'd have more luck getting through on the phone to jabba the fucking hut. and even if I did, say what 'oh I'm a broken hearted and cannae see for floods and we both know everything about everything about it all and you hate most of our fans and your a rude arrogant fake where were you doing karaoke when there was a wonderful roof and real people who love our music to play for and you'd said you'd come and I love you with all my oh my and you're a judgemental, paranoid, twisted mumbling snob fuck'

something or anything or all the greedy guts stir in me well of ********** (loneliness) not such a dirty word if it means all of sweet nothing and ungracious fallen feeling that had no such as dear grandeur in the heart of the matter.

Some alarm all inside me when a young boy threw himself down the stairs when I would not play pool with him. that'll sink in soon: I mean the expression I'll re etch and trace and loosen my mind over on his sweet face tumbling glass all to shatter.

Mountain ranges of paperback books, heart shaped renditions of 'you're my waterloo' and 'france'

Laying beside me on the bed, terrible dust clouds wheezing our dreams.

Tips of the left dirty finger nails slightly crooked up to scars and 'Libertine' in handwriting, round the bend and flecks of poison in and out of the chest, "Baby Shambles" nd down again to a mermaid, bracelet of silver hearts. skull to come and crossed bones

Like a mirror or are you indifferent? Labrynth of opinions and sour tongues. Ideas about language and the surprising limbs, the way its younger than doubt - if people read it. Perfect words, like in the living abbaration with a clear solution - six figure station for the stars, and the distance of the stars and all the curious coincidences. He has a gift and I never exaggerated even if it was all dot to dot now and then alone again or your friends and closenit community of malice. As you lay in awe on the kerbside floor, dreaming of the earth, throwing stones and wobbling teeth

fear and hatred do not find expression in tears. they are not worthy of them, best saved for tender feelings.

Chico and Groucho flickering on the telly screen in the corner of the dust and gloom dreaded tin beds rusted before our eyes, malevolence trifles and recollections those puncture babyface convicts as fledgeling gits went there where there were nowhere was

up on until late of loneliest time (this my life was filled with every crime (grime) now I was banished from the only place I ever felt strong and safe by the only friend with who I never had to pretend coz he knew me all up and down inside out.

Birdsong incessant, and life blooming yet its my heart of hearts where the thorn thicket is set frozen in whitest stark winter.

Dull colours that stand their ground: above all, words sentenced to the recommended few seconds of chirped or silently read post, perched above all this rotton intention and masked pleading for someone to come right here and take me to a high ceilinged flat in Eastern Europe and set me down for anonymous years in a delicate desperate love affair, and to live together and write at the old desk which will be there. In timeless mornings full of music and shut out light, that's where I'll find your lover or is he swinging violently from one end of the ugly little box to the other with my days drained of blood at the neck. the shade of grim that theft has clouted the borders of the subject with: pride turned the crimson of my shame's sham e lessness.

I felt a sudden headful of applause, a muted celebration of some unspeakable joy that draped a dark cloth over my suffering.

well motors awake and calm street of petals strewn and disinfectant serious city if it's not dark now but is, and I'm alone but not then.. well the moon was strung up in the sky like a last nights wonderful idea that the sacred heart had gone wholly without doubt obedient restful companions devoted diners and melodic somnambulists owt to fret upon save all torments there there afore ye go all before you the beats spun out out like endless poems and in the warbled americana of the potbellied parisian crazyassed pilots of their own bigamy (it's bigger than both of us baby) and pre-war arcady this dream will curtail your dry viewing

I'll whip this drear prose into shape yet, my hands frozen, sockless I waited in the half light for you, in the cold morning under the old moon on oily steps. I'll wait forever.

New mispelt friends untold, likewise serpents hissing the cobbled maze. Theatres, tin cans, moustaches and pedal scooters.

candles putting the shadows to bed stretched out on sheets ruddy with luminous blood, wax, sooty smears (my attempts at cleaning up foiled again) rum, whiskey in tin mugs, an eternity of cigarettes and all the blinking eyes in the world couldn't shed enough tears to trace an oceans outline of regret for: the imagination, or a voyeur's conscience or disturbed men with beleif in them-ridiculous-selves

in the sweet by and by we'll taste on our bloody gums and lips the truth behind all of this

one of them deleriems, where you try and stir your tea with your cigarette.

the thin legs of two of her outcasts are what this paragraph clumsily cops a feel for...Strangers to each other: voodoo eyed sp'rew stainy mystics scuffing the gravel by the garages dancing.

Gently rubs her finger against me. She was a cat some life ago and stretches, prowls to the bed, glances at herself in the mirror.

solo bead mimic's a tear the sweat's melancholy cousin the bilo hasn't a hope in his rigid hell of heavenly song mines his carved in stone nothing from deep underground and hollow he reaps blank fields of I suppose you could call it liberty (but it is not isn't free) I'll tell you that for nothing

my silence lost in a shoebox ful of old prison letters

The majesty of the city contrasting sincerely alongside the misery. Which in turn stands fearless shoulder to shoulder with the damned and the fucked up irretrievably Strong and gentle the sun , the sun appeared ‘never’ cries a voice from some and where ‘the sun was always a savage molton mass of billion fingy, right headcase.

Traffic and sadness, clogging up the city and thinning the good feeling so spread thin The morning convinces me of my hitherto muted beleif in solitude

Reach for the tree that shades your past. Jealous Snakes,don't let linger and last, my breath is caught when realisation pierces, through the time that unravelled my most insane fierceness, Will love solve this universal disease?

Dipped head, Wincing eyes, polite smiles, She walks. Scarred by fire or words?

Cruelness, tenderness, a fragmented life. Dreams of conformity, lies from those who laugh in the face of convention. Consuming bitterness. It is over.

Paris tower, fashions turned sour....who wants a piece of the power??

a song doesn't become heartbreaking or not depending on who is managing to hold the phone lines up above the brown swamp water you supposed to wash in to channel it to you yes you oh don't listen I'll never reach the pointless end of it

The morning Scares the living daylights Out of me with her impression of you

Dead quiet in the oceangrey sky, miles of gravestones buckling under the weight of still earth, loving memories litter dark trees who've stood about for the revolving centuries, never talking to each other

I shout silent stunned rage reddening lips wrapped about jagged barrelled glass the demons immune to the fumes now strengthening with the poison nauseous smoke drowning lungs and pranging the mind to mangle the self selfish light yellow yardie rock and rolling eyes

the new musical express, like a fanzine going to a fancy dress party disguised as as a tabloid

Drew returns from a stroll around the cemetary.. 'a few Doherrty's in there..' and all of my living soul in here, singing my heart out and as London is light shedly upon too.

pre-show descent into some lawless cutthroat province of the soul. Always was it thus. time was when i couldn't even get to the venue for throwing myself at moving buses, although these days it is contained. Held in mid-throat vacuum, the cold pitiless -gulp - pitiful . Void, Wrench, ugh how the ecstacies and roars of rapture are reversed, ridiculed by this slow death that cuts me up shoves me up the wall lust of the libertines stylee. And no escaping it, and nothing alters it, and nothing can numb it or brighten it up. jawclench horor show under your heartbeats spell cue circus music.

.............hookers, dancers, lovers, poets all here they arrive at the most unlikley of hours under my blue light they appear to me a strange, beautiful sea of poisonous flowers my blue light shall always water them for I wont take any chances striving as I do to bring existence into my existence

the sun nor any weather allows caprices of the atmosphere - my entire being logged in to bliss though cauldrons tipped souls into itself greedily all the while. i could not bear to live aloud - the racket shamed me so, the flash of steel like Pinkie's tightening grip, she'd never seen it done or so...

FROM ALBION TO SHANGRI-LA JOURNALS, 08-13:

the night is cold as I uncurl and stretch and arise, it has the drab atmosphere of a long forgotten bomb-site in a long forgotten part of town. This is my room, my dust and my gloom.

I'm a lonely man in a dream Splattered with drops of Nightmares………..

The dry fur in the close of the throat, the oily smudged appearance of the mouth and eyes, the stiff back of legs, the swollen and severed arms. The heaving chest. The stained hands and filthy aura. Bombed out mouth and crippled colourless tongue. The vacant opinion and vacuous state of personality. The unpredictable libido and surreal sense of time and space.

My feet at sixes and sevens. Rasping my tongue along my lips stubble like so many painful bum notes.

Here comes the night with a brick in its hand, staving in people's minds.

The only time you feel like crying And the door caught her frock in its crushed fingers Wolf blues there grinning… Seeing the piggy squealing Flames licking their hides

No guard at all. Criminal, insane, sensation. Cobblers mate. Apple-gobbled pig-headed on a plate. Oh go on give over, you love a new nib.

entry is a random, barely legible clutter of sick and sodden sorrows from some sunken souls scribbled scraps of some sort of self-styled services of statements, stories, songs and strangeness, some secrets and silliness. Silliness? Sillyness……..

Crash into my arms, see rings of pink flesh, infected pools of torn skin and orange tracks, shouting the snaking routes of so many holy veins by the elbows join, bulbous lumps of hardened tissue decorate the inside of the arms along with thin scabs of black and claret. At once both swollen and saggy – a rare and disgusting combination. The mermaid on the right forearm is guillotined at the tail by long winding tracks marks matched only by the tube map on the left. I will say though that my nails are very clean today.

It keeps close the shadows that so free become when the darkness that binds them melts in the sun.

When the slang-using junky decided to concentrate on his writing of music and cut down on junk, it was a case of putting the art before the horse.

I left the 1st floor apartment of rue de Copenhague this evening with a wall behind each eye.

My heart is damp but drying My life's a mess but I'm trying

I mouth the shape of smoke-rings thick and cokey. Blood blots all over the fluffy white towelling of the bath robe. My chest heaves and hacks up slumps of snotty black lung soil. My nostrils leak dangly strands of liquid, speckled with tiny crumbs of chemical candy – remains of the many lines hoover'd up the ol' hooter this night pass'd. My left hand creaks in agony, craters carved into the skin with flesh-melting mounds of pain. A web of stringy lines of blood patterns the back of my hand. They sprout out from the wrist…

Masochistic, sick Apocalyptic, fix n lick Fix n' lick, lick lick Endless lip suck sips Molten oily pips Sticky strips off in rips from bloated crust-coated limbs So these were meant as hymns to the spirits that seep about Moody and broody Wits sharp as knives All about may they be if influential in our lives For God's sake my mind has turned itself on and mangled all the rails…

The old kicking up a stench of nooses Rott'd with sweat, knotted with guts With remorse and regret And cold acceptances of every snapped neck

There's a hollow roar from a speeding past truck sounding for all the world like an unsympathetic crowd.

Clatter of a million feet on crowded city streets gives a good back beat to the strains of sirens and smashes of the traffic as it passes, clogging up the cities roads, like a poison clogging up veins. Putting a time together (and in green if you don't mind).

Embarrass in Paris! Saw you going to the Loo (vre) geddit!

The King of Failed Rendez-Vous Loves his title too much To ever wear a watch A captain Hook of sorts He fears naught but The ticking of clock Ticking of Glocks To him as vague as snowflakes Each second Has its own duration He's a time killer Liberty lover Won't let time kill her The king of failed Rendez-Vous Loves his title too dearly He'll never concede to being really But another late boy Fate's toy So don't hold your breath cos the King of failed Rendezvous Will never come meet you For he loves the glory and the wealth Too much to ever walk the line And be a simple subject of time.

Anxiety & destruction Gulfs in the gut Belly wet with teary streams

A terrible energy impacts, coiling and tightening, spoiling and frightening.

Love the taste of Grenadine. Sugar colour glistens in the silence, the dog and the child, the dust is wild. Some peace falls now on the heart, in the head.

Had a most disturbing dream, I was on a game-show on TV, gambling with the oddest things, like love and life and everything.

You hear that crackling sound, a low thud and crash, and then sparkling and crackering and spackerling all around, like a pane of frozen glass suddenly headed off by the sun at the pass and the splitting of splinters, fever-fast like a flood or a rash, and finally the pane does smash.

See the ratcatcher A mind bent on rats has he Blind with shattered glass is he He leans drunken into me Whispers filth and diseases Death & agony He empties his sack on me And rolls on into infamy

A sense of Arcadia surges like fast shadows up and gone.

them bleedin' pound shops are lethal – you go in in all good faith to get a lighter or a stick or two of sandalwood incense and come out an hour later laden down with more heavy bags than that woman I've seen pushing a shopping trolley down Shaftesbury Avenue, humming (stinking) and humming the theme tune to Beverly Hills Cop. Bumming copper coins, smiling a cracking 2 tooth gape of a smile that lights up her tired old face somehow like a broken light bulb lights up a dark bunk. Until the moment you realise it is fucked, there is a sense of expectation. Could she be an undiscovered literary genius? An English Emily Dickinson, sans the comfortable life? With a rare and remarkable relationship as baggy-rights Maggie-trolley-tripe has with all the pile-up of pigeons down the pedestrianized part of Trafalgar Square. .

Only song is immortal – the words returned to the gods who celebrated their gift of sound and the worn but well intended words they welcomed home into their godly gobs in the glorious kingdom of heaven. No one spoke in heaven, sound was song and sublime symphonies soaring out of orchestral camps and pennywhistles but even pennywhistles sang sweetly, sad, serene, sweeping or celebratory celestial ska & skiffle & spurts of thick spittle streams splashing any poor sod unlucky enough to be tested by the gods and their manipulative scripting of all scenes in eternity

Take a nervous peek out of the window, blurred with bubbles of rain. Raindrops

'Tis a straight jacket – as oppressive as one. Nothing vague about horror. Blurred visions of the future. Need to destroy; the thing bites into my bones, digs in. Possibilities endlessly impossible Sweat soaking my clothes, my face awash Toothache in the heart – imagine the pain of that.

Full of butchers and swans and never the twain should meet for meat…

Black skies pushing in as the afternoon gives up.

BLOG POSTS 10-15:

the inertia has crippled conversation – the weightless lump of time and the heavy clouds of exhaust fumes [later back on my back at the dump, I'm reading through this Monsieur Pepe le Poherty and I trust that even in your exaggerated spasms of lower sixth stylee stabs at creativity...I trust that even then I am not a weightless lump of time]

[Why Gladys I'd be on sick form and sicker from suckling the sicklysour syrup that stiffens in the veins before it can feed the body's thirst by the second until less than a third spills fourth like filth, the haters in seventh heaven]. Time slumps anyway, there’s grit under my tongue and flab all across my belly in jelly slabs.

her jaw is grinding itself out of smiles.

And it’s yapping and yelps all about the Paris afternoon – in the heart of the happy district am I. Leaning out of the window. Barks in the street. Daedalus’ god, J’s old man, that’ll be. Leaning into his doorframe like a lazy god, smiling to himself as the crowd of Raginiron-by-numbers men parts like the red sea for a young dark-haired fashionistaeater\ a creature of slender and long lines and lickspittlelips\ one puppydog eye, one serpent wink\ a fiver and a wad of sprung obscenity – ecstasy in the right hands, ecstasy in the wrong hands. Unreliable fella, bad speller, In love with his girlfriends brother but hasn’t the heart or balls to tell her. Honour? in the right light Grace? Like a paperplane in flight Features? Looks sly, sculpted, high, and bright What can he teach us? How to run, rim and kite Loves: suits torn and tight Loathes: having to end every night with a fight Hair? Immaculate

and so like a sometime ruby rind now dry and dust is made of the wet laces of blood in time, because i cant get to you this way, I must skirt. Skate about the drifting ice. Take swipes and potshots and swipes and longshots sunday is edging away, can hardly walk.. the fug of spidery webb’d fuzzy unpleasant sensation that is pinsandneedles. The cramp i mean, the cramp.

Anaïs Nin famously had a house-boat on the river, La Belle Aurore, I believe. Thats my cue to flutter my singed wings and circle the narrative with flights of flesh-salted sheets warm to the bodies and the artificial stench of a throbbing cheap radiator. Making waves, lovingly serenading the dawn the pretty dawn – from the stuffy one room of a little wooden barge.

the heartfelt, creepy melt down the thin walls of the Tyneside Mal Maison the staggered inept *crawl around shows without new ryhme/true reason the vast blank nowt where once was an arcadian stalwarts’heart (akin to treason] the everkeen zest in the quest for arcady that remains constant all the seasonn!

‘There is a funny snap in my mouth or is my head a bag that suddenly filled with air, concrete edges rounded in to fold not a bag – a whole world or a room closing in? stagger up the aisle, as we fling up he sky.

reflected the sick, oily puddlesick splintering seams of sorts of thoughts caught myself cheating of recently accepted decline

Perhaps the sky’s are lying to the world And I’m really…not really here …. And the Eiffel Tower is just An unfinished game of chess The Gods played in Paris

the dark haired one , the smaller one, who is unfeasibly misleading in her clothes. like, brother oh my brother the spleet-rousing,ruckrousefucking castle cutting down walls and all huge walls knocked through kicked in firestranglingfury of desire that forms like circles in the spittingguts when a girl pulls you on to pressure the point, to pull the undull dobba into stupidly warm heats and hip close waists, sheets drained of light

when I have slept so deeply, for so long, I find that I walk really oddly. Heavy, waterlogged feet. I trundle down the dimly lit corridor , always occurs to me I’m walking like the guy in ‘Sean of the dead’ when he first wakes up. Think of Hounslow, CarlBarat, my sister, losing virginity on a patch of wasteland, the girl flashing to taxi drivers, carry on films hilarity. Hancock’s morbid expression. back in reality: Have a Granadine water with ice, a bit of cheese. rice cake. Still half asleep, nearly pour grenadine water on rice cake. This isnt my favourite brand. too sickly. Theres no food really, no brandy cold red wine where did hide everything I neeed to return to oz.

my dreams are swimming around my head, dangerously close to the plughole.

It occurred to me , as I sat awake, gawping mostly at nothing, but for a while at the the unfathomable pitilesness of the old man with the cruel heart who kicked a tramps dog in the head below my window ,t occurred to me that WilLiam Blake also had a fat line or two to say about progress. Contraries ? Contraries? Energy is eternal deldelight energy desire messiah death and sin, children of Satan the fallen messiah? Stole from the abyss… send the comforter!

merciless as the Mersey madder than the sane Seine Fame’s as the Thames luckier than the Severn Culpable and ready to confess (not in De-Nile) feeling fine comme ca le Rhine

sweet bitter tang in the burpthroat

desolate laugh – like a battleship captain, being rescued from going down with his aircraftcarrier by a little non-military but nevertheless enemy-flag flying fishingboat A fat and delirious laugh in the wet too – like the skipper of a sinking battleship being tickled on the belly by a dolphin as his boots fill with water desolate, hollow laugh – like from a kid who rolls with the bullies at school just to survive, and now hes laughing because everyone else is as they push a screaming childoff a small but steep incline, onto a rock covered in dry nettles and bracken

morning sits up and flicks a finger at its reflection.

Factor 30 cynicism evaporates in the fuzzy sun , milky runs off of and over a glazed tattoo.

saw a beautiful wooden boat with ‘love is everywhere’ written up the side in fat paint strokes. It is shipwrecked; the annoyed looking tree that it uprooted as it wedged itself into the cliff face is overturned..its roots in the salty wind like a million fingers.

although quite soon the sky will be purpley and then pink and then pure clear blue and so I hold on for Aurora’s show.. swapping the pink pills for the pink sky you might say.

skull a tussle i always knew i had

you are asleep and I don’t know what you see i am awake and this is my silent tap apology

I have a snappy snap photo somewhere of emma running out the door and alan is leaning up against the wall asleep and uzondu is in full Sam Cooke mode, all soulful and valleysteep and belting out from the rolling deep. With his eyes closed and his pink fat lips parted and the sweet silver song of the lad rattled the old frames of the windows to the soul and of 112a Teesdale street, E2.

TYPECAST ZINE (2014-2016)

stringy thoughts swing slack through the mind

‘but the owl & the pussycat and you know who you are had a come closer, here y’are have fooled us all with the a cunning bit clever P.R. firstly – it’s known – that first – in the nursery rhyme verse and what? things first - do you agree? - and lets us sit down there are police files that first things first – and this hurts – I was raise on this verse there’s a small matter of a stolen purse the owl was a dipper - a grifter & a chap & the pussycat a skilled clipper & they crafted an act The owl could flip shift a kipper from under the fishmongers nose & pussy could [crossed out, illegible] lapped up such tricks – as she licked thorns from a rose

“is that you there rocking in a corner?” yeah that'd be so “is there anything that you need to know?” yeah – who the fuck art thou and how you know me so?

Complete, utter, inutterable, stagnant misery set in concrete certainty by cowardice and lament. He sobbed strangely, failing to cry, so fucking grim the sight of his shadow on the ashgrey spillage of shite that was once the floor. That was once his life. Full throated sting of sourness and spite lined his neckinside. Rottoness in the oesophigas

one way or another we will join our dead friends who took with them a huge part of our lives – the lived part not the reflection – and yet the friendship remains..

Morrissey writes so sweetly, so sadly, not reall sour like they say. He has admitted to unhappiness for so long I suppose he's had enough kickings of a kind He underestimates the starkness and crapness of life for kids today. Digital chills abound. zombified but niggling with happygo lucky urges..

MISCELLANEOUS (Loose pages or undated)

Unsubstantiated hype: being heavy, rotten, artificial legs. Legs we most of us take for granted. Envied by cripples. Two people mocking the afflicted, mocking each other, these close friends, hurtful with agility (demanded), skill (jammy git), violence (psycho, all in all), patience (guilt), and malice (unfriendly advice). Reading eyes (older lady in the corner, forgotten old dear, lost in a blank, stiff headache life). Yes gin dear. Anagram enigma, possibly genius prose. Mind you, that was the sarcastic offering of critic's shittermen, lifeless reviews, chickless headens.

Dripping in blood are the days changing in to evening wear and so London is a night time pipeline red alert and dead dirt in the sticky spoon bubbles up a sweet ancient perfume steamed form the spoon and as the stopper props up the dropper the drop the shot, that will pop rock a'flame and rolling bones in a sharp dressed ghost's freefall through the peaceful minutes at the beginning of the night.

(the need to fill the hole comes from the hole……that comes from knowing that there is a need to fill a hole that...)

I think I only needed something to hold on to. It has never been about depravity. It's always been about melody. But melody and I met in many depraved situations. Meeting melody is the victory of the empty spiralling nightmare.

as the blood flashed back home and I fell upsidedown into floor, into liquid sigh. Quick-sand, near the tomblands too close I was sitting on myself on the kitchen floor when Phil got back. A pool of shiney blood formed an elongated egg shape.

Miki tucked her violin into her silhouette and made mournful the silence with slashes of deformed design and searing, spiritual shots high into the

Content is a foreign land, malcontent but a sh short train ride away. Discontent more or less across the canal.

everything was made when a pointed mass of impossible dreams swung in on itself like a folding plastic table

j jarbly garble garble my words lost in the sincerest insecuritY stuPENDous jarbly high-wire balancing act trYing not to wobble becoming someone different – changing with the company I keep on keeping trying so hard to be meself I strain like teeth gut moron I once stumbled upon a time heaped deepening Entwining lines mined my own mind (tunneling like it was going out of fashion)

That old thoughtless gutless inn eyeless monday standoff with the world.

The language we whip with the language we wrap things up without.

A throb and a pound a fever head slaughter dead nasty lungsflooded with thick billious fleghmish glob a fever infection that nasty one, when you cough yourhead rattles in agonies, as if there was a small 'no mans land' bandwidth between the skull and the pain. A neutral zone if you like, if you despise.

It’s the blue smoke glamour of crack slab urban bohemia,

The richest man alive doesn’t have a penny, And I’m looking to cash in on his wisdom, Looking out for the wise in his eyes and the ice in his next drink, And his next drink, And his next drink, And his next drink, I watch the world, its tower blocks headbutting the skyline, So stitch that, That slit in the sky like a knife gash, and a fallen sixties leather jacket, The tenements so unlovely and kitsch, And the people rolling on in our colours and classes, classes and colours, The beats of New London, Twisted by the bitter rhythm of the wrong education, In the big schools

We’re on the offensive, On all fours in the puddles of No Man’s Land

Demonic conference if conferring besuch that demonsvdo. With pra er so ray er few now are relieved a most heinous infestations.

straight is fair and square, the rigged system is a twisted perfect circle

flickers like a silhouette of soldiers through airport glass

etching twitchy responses to the gesture that hypnotizes, dance, or beauty

the computers in water computers in blood the sky as a library you click in and out of

if you’ve got a voice - somebody write an amendment to end the prayer of who sin the corner a sackful of notes, each one a loveless letter less love for more wealth and they insist on the debtor the mourner writing again wringin a dead in the corner

the wages of sin fund all wagers and win or lose I want weighed in

this and that, pop and fizz, hock it like a shot, flappinglike it’s off topping like a toff swatting like a boff swat him like he fly, sopping from the cry

monkey on my back? monkey? three monkeys more like and seeing hearing speaking all the vilest villainous evils that can deviant event create when free will is freaked fierce

vanity won’t let you be unaccepted anywhere

straining for a glance a chance to catch your eye as I bow in backbentsnap earnest

meanwhile, off-screen a general slovenliness of spirit consumes me I feel lost and longlost a little brittle

what in the hell kinda code is that there? znd me with me head all fugg’d mellow like, only much lightness and airiness where others might hav - for exampl - thoughs thoughts

#peter doherty #i feel like i should clarify that the more intense/painful/drug-related excerpts i put in #are there not because i'm romanticizing peter's drug use or hurt #but because those passages really knocked me over the head with their vivid imagery and sensory descriptions #which is something i will always and forever appreciate in any kind of writing be it prose or poetry or anything else #if people want me to write a proper transcription of the book and internet books of albion i can #this was surprisingly easy to transcribe #the libertines #pete doherty #books of albion #squash reads books of albion

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