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bokebelle · 3 years

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just like the stories - armin arlert

WARNINGS: none, just a ton of armin fluff.

PAIRINGS: armin arlert x gn!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

a/n: this is my first time writing something this long and i’m very open to feedback and suggestions as to how i can improve!

requests: OPEN

Armin was 18 when he first started falling for you. It was all innocent at first. He loved the way you smile was brighter than the sun, and how your eyes shone brighter than any star in the sky. But as time went on and he grew older, the love he felt for you ran deeper than any ocean he could read about.

He fell harder for your bright smile, knowing that there were days when you just didn’t feel like smiling. He fell deeper for the spark in your eyes, remembering the days he wiped the tears that threatened to douse their light. You made him feel like he was on cloud nine, but kept him grounded with your gentle words and soothing touch.

That's why 2 years later, Armin was where he was now: sitting on a bench, with you beside him, reading out loud a book he had carefully picked, hoping you would read between the lines and figure out he was in love with you.

“And it was in that moment her heart had felt the thrill of being in love.” he couldn't stop himself from looking at you. He couldn’t help admiring how you leaned your head back and closed your eyes, taking in every word that came from his mouth.

"It was intoxicating, almost addicting. She allowed herself to drown in the scent of her lover, she simply couldn’t get enough. She wasn’t afraid to be burned by the fire that bloomed in her heart when their lips were locked in heated moments of passion. Despite the pain, she wasn’t afraid if one day, her lover decided to seek shelter in the arms of another, for the love she felt was enough to make her feel alive for a lifetime and a day. She wasn’t afraid to love.

She realized that through it all, love was the thrill that made her feel alive. It was the promise of a love that made life more beautiful that made her hope and dedicate her heart no matter how many times it broke.

In her beloved she saw the farthest of galaxies and the deepest of oceans. In their promises of love, she learned the truths of life and the secrets of the universe. As she locked eyes with the one that held her heart, she saw that the beauty in it all, in the good and the bad, was knowing that at the end of the day, she was loved and that she was in love.” Armin concluded. “The end.”

“That was such a sappy ending” you say, finally opening your eyes to look at blue eyed boy before you.

Armin was always cute, with his button nose, ocean blue eyes, golden fluffy hair, and optimism that made you think he was like the sun. The more time passed, the more you realized the word “cute” didn’t fit him anymore. He was kind and friendly, with a sharp mind and quick wit. You started to think maybe he wasn’t like the sun, maybe he was brighter than the sun itself. But the more you got to know him, the more you understood even the sun bowed to the darkness of the night.

Armin was insecure about never being the obvious choice. He was smart, yes, but he was worried about never being as funny as Connie, or as charismatic as Jean, or as strong as Mikasa. You always assured him that he didn’t have to be like them. He didn’t need to be like his friends to be enough. To you, Armin was always enough. You were always too scared to tell him how you really felt. You were afraid he would push you away, thinking he wouldn’t be enough for you, thinking you’d ruin everything if he didn’t give you, or himself, a chance. And so you kept quiet for both your sake and his and kept your feelings hidden in the deepest corners of your heart. But despite wanting to shout the truth into the world, you felt okay keeping it a secret if it meant having him by your side a day longer. He was your bright sun that shone in the summer sky, and even in his dark moments, he shone like the moon on a clear night.

You always found Armin cute, but when you learned about the ugly things he had a hard time loving, the parts that you loved for the both of you, you started to think differently. And in this moment, as the light caught in his blond hair making him glow before you, you can’t help but think how beautiful Armin is.

“Well, I liked it.” he said, closing the book and setting it on his lap

"I’m not saying I didn’t like it. It was just sappy. And besides, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic so maybe that's why you liked it.” you tease him with a smile.

‘Hopeless, maybe’ he thought. He took a deep breath and hoped he had it in him to be romantic.

“to be loved and to be in love sounds nice though, doesn’t it?” his heart drums in his ears, a faint blush painting the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “To feel so strongly about someone and knowing they feel the same way about you.”

You simply smile at him, and he takes this as a cue to continue. “Imagine finding someone who makes the world make sense. Someone who makes you feel safe, and welcome. Someone who makes you feel like home wherever you go.”

“That would be nice.” you agree as you entertain his train of thought, ignoring your own thoughts of what it would be like to hold his hand, or kiss his cheeks. “But they’re works of fiction for a reason. I’m not trying to be a downer but not everyone finds love and gets it in return. Sometimes you just have to be happy watching from the sidelines.”

Armin felt a twinge of doubt in his heart. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he should be happy watching you from the sidelines. However, he managed to stop himself before he let his negative thoughts take over.

‘Better to have love and lost than never to have loved at all’ right? He took a deep breath and shook his doubt away. He would never know if he had a chance of winning the game if he always resigned himself to watching from the sidelines.

“It may be fiction but it’s possible.” He counters. “It’s possible to find someone has all your words and promises but leaves you speechless. To know someone like the back of your hand, but they keep you guessing every time. Someone who makes life exciting but makes you feel at peace at the same time”

“And how do you know it’s possible, Mr. Romance expert? You in love with someone?” you manage to joke despite an ugly jealous feeling starting to bloom in your gut.

“It’s possible because that’s how I feel with you.” Armin confesses, and you could swear in that moment time froze. You suddenly became hyperaware of how he was fiddling with his fingers, how his eyes were fixed on you. His cheeks were turning pink, and he nervously licked his lips. He was flustered. More flustered than you had ever seen.

“Just hear me out okay? I like you, I like you a lot. You make all the romance books I’ve read make sense. When they talk about that warm feeling in your chest, or the feeling of being home, suddenly I understand them because of you. Cliché and sappy words make sense because that’s what I think when I look at you, that’s what I feel. I’ve been in love with you since I was 18, you know? I don’t know when it started, but I don’t regret it one bit. And if you give me a chance, I hope you don't regret it too. I know I’m not the strongest or even the tallest, I don’t have a lot to offer except my heart that chooses you every day and my arms that were made to hold you. It’s corny, I know but that’s all I have to give you and I hope that’s enough.”

You keep quiet for a moment before letting out a small giggle. You had spent all this time keeping quiet only to realize he felt the same way. And top it all off, after he poured his heart out to you, saying the words you always wished he would tell you, the words you were always too scared to admit, Armin was still worried about not being enough. It was in the vulnerability in his beautiful blue eyes that you finally found the strength to do what you’ve always wanted to do, to say the words you’ve always wanted to say.

“Gosh Armin, for someone so smart you can be really dumb sometimes.” you tease, accidentally giving him the wrong impression.

Armin felt numb. You didn’t feel the same. He was dumb for thinking someone like him had a chance with someone like you. But before he could feel his heart break in two, he felt your lips gently on his.

You were kissing him? His mind couldn’t process everything that was happening fast enough so that by the time he was ready to kiss you back, you had pulled away.

“Armin you’re always enough for me, you’re more than enough. I don't care about what you're not, what matter is what you are, and you are always enough” You whisper, holding his beautiful face in your hands so his eyes meet yours. “and if you still don’t believe then that's fine, I can love you enough for the both of us.”

Armin’s brain finally caught up with what was happening, and his heart had started beating to the promise of your words. He was enough. He was enough for you, and he was enough for himself. For once, his words failed him, so he decided to kiss you back, knowing that was enough for you both.

No love story could ever describe the way his lips felt against yours. No poem could detail how lovely his fingertips felt as they traced gentle patterns against your skin. The greatest novelists or poets would never come close to describe what it felt like to have a love like this. It was a love meant to be preserved in the stars. A love considered fictional by most, and rare by few. It was a love one could only dream of having, a love only you and your beautiful blue-eyed boy lived out everyday.

You lived a love so great and pure, would happily spend all your lifetimes and more, knowing what it’s like to be loved by and to be in love with Armin Arlert.

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prismatales · 3 years

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Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing: Mirio Togata x Reader

Tags/Warnings: Fluff fluff and more fluff, Mirio being a nervous wreck, little pinch of insecurities.

Hello there! It’s been a while but I’m back with some BNHA Fluff starring the sunshine boy himself! This is my entry for Anilysium’s sfw Collab. This month the prompt was “Accidental Kiss”, you can find the masterlist with everyone’s works here!

This idea has been sitting in my wips since September and it was the perfect opportunity to work on it! Hope you guys enjoy it! Special thanks to @vivianvampyric for beta reading, I loved all of your suggestions, baby!

No matter how many times you thought about it, every single time was just as hilarious.

How can somebody as brave, cheerful and fearless as Mirio Togata be as nervous as his childhood friend, Tamaki Amajiki, at the idea of a confession? The same guy who faced the head of the Yakuza without hesitation is currently sitting beside you with rosy cheeks, looking around the park nervously while one hand brushes the back of his neck.

“So, you wanted to talk about something, right?”

When he asked you to meet him in the park during the weekend, you never expected this outcome. It’s almost like you’re standing before a completely different person as he continues to look away.

“Ahaha… it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” He asks.

“Ah, yes it is.”

The way Mirio avoids the question confuses you, but it’s the way his hand clutches his knee anxiously, the way he coughs lightly, and the way his eyes avoid you to watch the children playing nearby, that makes your eyes widen slightly.

Could it really be what you think it is?

The more you look at him, it becomes more obvious that he’s having a hard time expressing his thoughts.

“We’ve known each other for a while now, haven’t we?” He stated simply as you nodded in response.

“Yeah, remember the first time we met?” He groans as you giggle at the memory. During your U.A. entrance exam you ended up in the same testing area as Mirio. He could almost hear your shrill cries of embarrassment after he used his quirk in front of you for the first time. “Talk about first impressions, huh?”

Neither of you can stop laughing at the memory, thinking of all the good times from high school as well as the bad, which only helped you grow stronger.

You both went through hardships, providing each other a shoulder to lean on. But maybe you could be more than that one day…?

“You’re sweating a lot. Mirio, are you sure you’re okay?” He just nods quickly, pulling at the collar of his shirt that suddenly feels awfully suffocating. Despite all the emotions running wild through his head, he never stops smiling, which is something you will never stop admiring, no matter what. It’s exactly that optimism that made you develop feelings for him in the first place.

“I’m fine, I'm fine! I just… There’s something I’ve wanted to ask for a long time.” He stays quiet for a short period. Once he takes a long, deep breath that soothes his nerves, his whole attitude shifts instantly.

With the confidence of a thousand men, Mirio rises from his seat on the bench to stand before you with a determined look on his face. It’s a simple gesture, but it’s more than enough to make the heat in your face grow within a matter of seconds, paralyzing you in place as you stare back at him with the fabric of your sundress clutched tightly between your fists.

After taking another breath, Mirio finally gathers the courage he needed to speak.

“We’ve known each other for a while now, and you’re also one of my closest friends.” Did he just friendzone you? “You’ve always been there for me, from the moment we walked into the same classroom, to all those times we needed help watching Eri. And we never stopped talking even after graduating, and I love having you around.”

What is this weird aching inside your chest? It’s almost like there’s something crawling its way through your ribcage, slowly approaching your heart to crush it in a deathly grip.

“Ahaha… yeah, it’s unbelievable, isn’t it?” You almost want to whimper on the spot, feeling like a small child after being scolded by their parents: Small, sad and vulnerable. It’s too good to be true, isn’t it? That the guy you’ve had a crush on for years feels the same way about you?

You snap out of those negative thoughts when he takes your hands in his own. They’re much bigger than yours and covered in scars; you can feel the texture of each and every single one, all proof of all his hard work and dedication.

“The thing is,” his thumb traces small circles on top of your hand, making your heart beat faster against your chest. “I want to be more than friends with you!”

It’s incredible how a couple of words have such strength, enough to make the hammering in your chest intensify at a deafening pace that you swear even Mirio can hear. The words stay jammed in your throat, unable to come out through your trembling lips, which you lick nervously.

You’re so nervous that all of your senses feel like they’ve been amplified. Everything sounds so far and so close at the same time. The pounding in your chest, the lively chirping of the birds, the children playing behind Mirio: they sound closer than before, the noises blurring together into an incoherent mess.

“I love how you help everyone around you. How brave and fearless you are. That little scrunch of your nose whenever you’re deep in thought. That cute laughter of yours. I want to—!”

The sound of a loud smack can be heard in the distance, followed by a surprised shout from Mirio. All of sudden, you feel a blunt pain on your forehead as Mirio is suddenly pushed forwards and his face smashes painfully against yours. At the same time, a soft pair of lips come crashing down upon yours and his blue eyes are wide open as they stare into yours. There’s a shrill ringing in your ears as you’re trying to process everything going on.

Mirio’s body is draped over yours, one of his hands pressed firmly against the back of the bench to stop the fall. Neither of you move from the shock, caught off guard by the sudden change of events. Your mind is a cloudy mess when Mirio’s lips finally part from your own, leaving you both in a daze.

“I’m sorry sir!” A small voice snaps you out of it as Mirio turns around in surprise. One of the children from before is standing nearby, holding a red ball with an embarrassed smile. Are they sorry because they hit Mirio with the ball or because they interrupted?

You don’t know, but keep staring silently at their small frame as they run away with that ball clutched in their tiny hands.

“Hahaha...Talk about unexpected.” Once again, Mirio’s scratching the back of his head, chuckling as he looks away in embarrassment. But hearing those familiar giggles of yours makes him look back at you. “Everything okay?”

“You know, people usually start dating first before sharing their first kiss. But that was nice too.”

Mirio blinks repeatedly, processing your words over and over as you stand up from your seat, trying to smooth the wrinkles in your dress after clutching the fabric so hard.

“Does that mean... what do I think it means?”

“...Yeah, it does.” Your head is tilted gently to the side. “I like you too, Mirio. And I feel the same way.”

“Good,” He grabs your hands again, slowly lacing your fingers together. “Good. Can I… kiss you again?”

“Mhmm, just be careful of flying balls this time.”

Taglist (If your name is in bold I couldn't tag you.)

@bnha-ra @godtieruwu @hanniejji @mysticalite @savagetrickster @shoobirino @songsforbnha @sugacookiies @unbreakableeiji @pixxiesdust @hawks-senseis @yikerb @definitely-yours @khemz1312 @sadskater25 @ruinedbyatrashcan @lemonadencran @honeytama

#bnha imagine #mha imagine #mirio x reader #mirio togata x reader #boku no hero academia #mirio togata #bnha fluff #it's been 84 yeaaaaars #🎮.mirio togata

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2lim3rz · 3 years

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THE HATE OF LORGAR [40k FANFIC] [LORGAR X READER]

This has been sitting in my head since April, so it's about time I wrote it!

Lorgar really didn't deserve some of the shit he got tbh, he just needed a better life. Anyways..

WARNINGS: Self-flagellation/harm , Lorgar's moods are pretty flip-floppy

You were a Remembrancer aboard the ship that held the Primarch of the Word Bearer's themselves, Lorgar Aurelian. You didn't know much of the other Primarchs, just that not many of them were... least to say, much fans of your job title.

But it was your job. You had been selected by thousands who were desperate for the position you were in. You had worked your literal and proverbial ass off. On the ship, you lost some of your flow at the complete master-crafters of the various historical arts. You felt incompetent, a mere toddling child amongst some of them.

Did you back down? No. You were close to it once, but some other Remembrancers and even a couple of the Astartes helped your courage. Even though you couldn't fathom why, as one the Astartes clearly held some form of disdain for baseline humans and had a sickly sweet charming voice. Most of the Word Bearers were very charming with their words, but his always had an undertone you never liked; yet given his rank, you couldn't do anything about it.

Of course, his help was the entire reason of why you were Lorgar's personal Remembrancer. Or.. that's how it began. Your meetings getting more frequent despite both of your myriad of duties to attend. You both found excuses. You both grew to know each other. Maybe that's why you paced in worry in the massive in-between hall of his grand room. Two doors on either side, one leading to the ship and one to his room. Maybe that's why you paced, the tip of your thumb in your mouth as you gently gnawed.

You felt his hate. You felt his grief. In fact, you felt all of their grief and hate. Even the most terrifying of the Word Bearers aboard the ship almost seemed to shake. Lorgar, and in turn the Word Bearers, felt as though they were an extended family.. so when you heard the news.. Monarchia was attacked. What was the galaxy turning to if the Ultramarines was turning against them? You took a shuddering breath. You wished you could have gone, but you just couldn't keep up with the Astartes, that was fact and he convinced you of that. So you were here, waiting for Lorgar to come and share his feelings and whatever else happened in the day. For your tradition.

Thoom, thoom, thoom, thoom. You heard his steps. Your head lifted, thumb drifting away as you wiped your hand on your clothes. He was coming, that was clear from the weight of the steps. Your instincts screamed at you, however, at how quick they were. At the clash of something hitting the metal wall. In the distance, a low sort of howl from a grieving beast. Oh, how lucky you were that you pressed yourself against the wall due to the sheer force the doors slammed open. One giving a horrible groan as if it cried out.

You felt your heart drop. His once shining armor was covered in grizzly ash. From his ear was caked blood. The man's eyes was wide and terrifyingly feral, tears had carved rivers in the ash smeared on his face. The already perpetually overwhelming feeling of being near a Primarch grew tenfold at how terrifyingly heavy his breathing was.

"Lor..Lorgar?" you hesitated, feeling as if you couldn't breath. Like a predator, his head snapped towards you. All before he fell to his knees, a sob causing a roaring racket in the silence. Stumbling one step forward, followed by another, you rushed towards him and fell to your own knees, clinging to his hand. "Lorgar! Lorgar, are you- What happened?"

He wasn't looking at you. It was as though you could have disappeared and he wouldn't have noticed one bit. His once beautifully clear eyes were almost glazed in a trance. Tears still falling steadily, his face slack. It was a grimly pretty sight, in the same way one would admire a sad painting. You knew you could not get to his mind when he was so emotional, recalling how he got when you not-so-politely stated how Kor Phaeron didn't deserve his rewards for what was clearly abuse to the Primarch you adored out of all the rest (despite not really meeting any others quite yet).

So it was silence you both dwelled in. Silence that shattered as Lorgar lunged. A roar bellowed from his lips as he tore forth one of the massive doors off its hinged and slammed it against one of your favorite murals on the wall. One of the many dedicated to the Emperor of Mankind, your favorite because it was Lorgar's masterful work. You wisely screamed in fear, stumbling back from the crumbling debris.

"He murdered them all." you thought his eyes were wild once. You thought once that you had seen a feral light in his eyes when he was angry. You thought you would see grief. Sad, sad grief in those eyes. Instead, there was only anger. A roiling blaze in this tear-filled orbs. His ash covered face torn asunder in a snarl. "He killed them because I was right! I was right and he murders millions for it!" your ears hurt. Oh, stars they hurt so bad at the force of his screaming. Letting go of his hand and covering your head, your back slid against the wall as he slammed his fist against the crumbling facade of the Emperor.

"All this sacrifice! All of humanity's blood spilled, all of my blood spilled! And this is what we get?! The moment I tell him the truth, I am spat upon and treated as a mutt!" the Primarch screamed to the air before snapping towards you. Your vision blurred as your own terrified tears emerged. It was as though he had to remember you were there.

"You write the truth, and nothing but the truth, right," never before had your name felt so terrifying. The way he snarled it in his question. You knew he wasn't angry at you and yet you felt so scared. Hiccuping, you frantically nodded, not trusting your words. "Write this. Let the galaxy know He forced the Word Bearers to kneel. He forced me to kneel. He allowed Gulliman to murder entire cities of innocents. All because the Emperor wishes to live a lie."

Just as soon as he spoke those seering words, his eyes staring so deeply in your eyes you swore he could melt you from within, he whipped away. Stomping heavily towards his room. Instincts within screamed at you to turn away. To run when Lorgar was so volatile. He was always emotional and you adored the fiery passion he showed for things.. but sometimes it was too overwhelming, like now. Perhaps some inane part of you figured you could still offer comfort.

So you followed him. Watching from the doors that closed behind you as he took off his armor. If it was any other day, perhaps you two would have traded jokes. If by traded jokes, meant you joked about as he sheepishly stammered his way through it. An unseen side of the Primarch, really, was that he always seemed to stumble his words around you. But not now. Not now as he barely bothered to don a robe before going low onto his knees again, hanging his head low.

You jolted, surprised as he spoke a low order and a man emerged with a large bowl that he seemed to struggle holding. Dark powder emerging in the air as he quickly sat it upon the ground and skittered away. It was as though you were invisible in your terror as he withdrew a long glittering object that was clearly barbed. A whip of sorts.

"Lorgar....?" your whispered voice almost echoed as he splayed his hands across the ground. His tears were back again as he silently dragged one large hand into the bowl of black powder.. no, it was ash. The ashes of Monarchia. The other hand lifted the whip and you covered your mouth with a shriek at the horrid crack it made. How Lorgar hardly winced.

"LORGAR!"

You were shocked, you knew this. But you couldn't move. You could barely breath as you watched Lorgar perform the wretched flagellation. Somehow, you broke your grim reverie to stumble forward, nearly knocking the bowl of ashes away as you threw your arms around his neck with him finally being low enough for you to do that.

The whip was so close to hitting you, but that didn't matter as he stopped. You could feel the hot blood and sweat making your sleeves and skin sticky. You were sobbing into his neck, clinging tighter. "Stop! Stop, please! Just stop!" you pleaded. You had no right to order a Primarch, but you couldn't stand to watch whatever wretched ritual was happening. He was hurting in his grief for Monarchia, but there was no right for him to hurt himself for whatever wrongs the Guilliman and the Emperor did.

Silence passed between you, Lorgar feeling limp in your arms as his own breath hitched twice before a sob broke forth. You heard the rattling clank as he let go of the torturous whip and clung to you as though you were a lifeline. "He forced them to kneel..." the Urizen whispered in another whimper "He looked at m..me with such hatred. At my sons as though they were not worth the dirt beneath his foot, the spit in his mouth."

You opened your own mouth to speak, but he continued. One large and bloody hand stroking yours as you felt a tremble wrack his body. The power of it shook you and it took all your might not to go into blubbering sobs of your own. "I hit Malcador. I hit Guilliman, my own boot-licking brother." a low snarl began to enter his wavering cry "I hit him. And.." he murmured your name, pulling you back so he could look you in the eye.

This was not your Lorgar. Your Lorgar was smiles and stammers. Your Lorgar had a serene focus about him as well as an intensity when he spoke. This man torn asunder with grief and anger was not yours. "It felt satisfying." it seemed to hurt him as he said this "It did not give me joy but I was satisfied at the Sigilite's pain." you trembled at the whispered words.

"Ven...vengeance is not worth the effort, Lorgar.. you.. you've said this-" "This is no longer vengeance, this.." for once he was lost for words, trying to grasp for one before a hiccup tore through his throat with the faint repetition of how the Emperor forced him to kneel. "Just.. please, Lorgar.. Look at me.. Look at me.." you murmured gently, pulling your hands away from his neck to cradle his face. You knew you would cringe later at the sight of the blood and ashes covering you, but for now you were here.

"He does not see the truth.. all I have spoken is the truth.." it was then you saw what was wrong. He was growing lost. If there was the one and only thing you appreciated of Kor Phaeron and the rest of the Word Bearers, it was they they helped Lorgar stay on track. They were more of his family than anyone could have been.. Kor Phaeron more literally even if he was the worst parental figure you could think of.

"It's.. it's not okay what he did, Lorgar.. but please, get cleaned. This isn't healthy." you stroked his ashy skin as he leaned his head against your hand. Closing his eyes and taking a deep shuddering breath. "You are right. There's much to do and.. and my Legion needs their Primarch." that wasn't what you meant. Everyone needed a break sometime or another, Lorgar especially right now. "Y..yes.. they do.." you mumbled after him. If he wanted to work, you would let him work. Anything to stop him from his self abuse. Anything to help comfort him, you would do.

#lorgar aurelian #lorgar aurelian x reader #reader insert #x reader #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40k fanfic #request #2lim3rz writes #Less active comforting and more like.. idk

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honoraryplebeian · 3 years

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madara? 😳

Manlet Rights I guess. Also, I am sorry for not tagging this more, but I refuse to subject myself to the discourse that is the Naruto tags.

@rockingthegraveyard

Favorite thing about them

First of all, I do love how during his battle with the five kage he just kept talking about Hashirama. Sir, calm down. We get it. He's special. That aside though...

I love how passionate he is about everything. I don't always agree with his plans or how he goes about it in the series, but I can't help but admire how he just throws everything into it. Absolutely dedicated to his brother to the point of losing grip with reality. Sharing such a deep friendship with Hashirama that his Sharingan awoke when he had to sever that friendship. So dedicated to his (insane) idea of peace that he dedicated the rest of his life manipulating everyone in the shadows and securing his resurrection to see it through. Even with the pain of losing his brother, I still think he threw himself into developing the village how he could (he stayed for at least a year, so I'll give him credit).

Least favorite thing about them

How when he was insulting Tsunade he said she was "merely a weak woman". Like, bruh. I find it strange to believe that a person who values strength above all else would dismiss someone purely for being a woman, but it is either just Kishimoto being Kishimoto with his writing or arguably a mindset that is a reflection of his time. Still annoying.

Favorite Line

There are so many interesting lines he has concerning love, hate, war, etc. But, at the end of the day I like things that make me laugh, soooo....

"Would you consider dying together 'teamwork' as well?"

Because, honestly, me when I had to do group projects in school.

brOTP

HAAASHIRAAAMAAAAAA!!! I just love them being unbearable friends together so much. I think they are both fairly reasonable and intelligent people, but together their brains start to atrophy.

OTP

....I am Madatobi filth. I was actually talking about it yesterday, but I just find it fascinating that they are some of the most influential people in each other's lives without really ever interacting that much. Also, despite their differences, they actually have many of the same values and defining characteristics. I think if Tobirama would not have killed Izuna they could have actually gotten along rather well (aside from the occasions where they are both assholes, but that's just part of their charm). I have many thoughts on this, but I will not subject you all to my like basically 1k+ madatobi manifesto.

nOTP

Izuna. I very much am against family being shipped together.

Random Headcanon

I think he enjoys being around other people, but due to him being intimidating as both one of the most powerful people in the world and his status as clan head, he is very bad at socializing. During his life, I think Izuna helped to soften him and make him more approachable, which is part of the reason he became so isolated after his death. But, even while socializing, he is more so the kind that doesn't necessarily talk much since he prefers to just watch his loved ones and see them being happy and at peace.

Unpopular Opinion

He's kind of ugly. There are like two panels where he looks kind of ok, but aside from that I live under the impression he has like rabies and is some kind of gremlin.

Song I associate with them

...uh...god. I must admit that most songs I think of with him have to do with my wretched mdtb playlist ("The Art of Eye Contact" by Too Close to Touch playing on repeat while I write). Just him though? Hold on.

*two hours later* uuuuhhh.. Maybe "Congratulations, I Hate You" by Alesana (you now get to know that I am a shameless screamo/metalcore fan) sort of showing how he resented Hashirama for being able to have his dream while Madara's died with Izuna?

My envy can't describe how I loathe you For having all the stars Leaving my eyes to marvel the sky Knowing it should be mine Yet it's you I see wasting the dream That only I deserve

It's not perfect, but if I keep trying to think of something I'll be here all night.

Favorite picture of them

Smug Bastard

#ilitalks

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Title: threads spun

Summary: In another life, Obi-Wan Kenobi would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train little Luke Skywalker. In this one, Luke is 19 and just lost his family when Obi-Wan teaches him how to do a proper Padawan braid.

AN: I’M BACK FROM NANO WITH NEW FANFICS.

The boy just lost his whole world, and he clings to Obi-Wan's robes with shaky hands. His eyes are bright blue, his hair a fair gold color, and for just one short moment, Obi-Wan isn't sure whether the child in front of him is nine or nineteen, whether his name is Anakin or Luke.

It is the reason he gave Luke to his family in the end, even when the Force and all his selfish desires were screaming at him not to. The newborn, the son of his Padawan, the child that was Luke Skywalker, had deserved better than a broken man who didn't even know who he was without a thousand lights illuminating him. A man who'd risk forgetting that he was not holding the child he had raised, the child he had left to burn.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and the moment passes.

He doesn't ask the boy if he's alright because it is obvious that Luke is not and it would be cruel to demand an honest answer. Luke can't be standing straight after he experienced such tremendous loss for the first time, nobody would, and Obi-Wan is saddened that he can't give Luke the time to grieve.

Despite all this pain, Obi-Wan still dares to hope for light and life.

He is relieved to see that Luke doesn't take all the hurt and anger to hide it within himself. Obi-Wan has never taught Luke a single lesson about Jedi philosophy, the way they grieve and handle all the emotions that are too large for this world, those that are capable of tearing the galaxy apart. And yet Luke controls his feelings exactly as a temple-raised youngling would, not pushing them aside or letting them overtake him. He takes timed breaths, centers himself on the world surrounding him and not on his anxieties. Pride fills Obi-Wan's heart as he watches peace and balance return to Luke's mind.

In another life, Obi-Wan would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train him.

He can almost hear his family laugh at him, playful jabs about him being so eager to train yet another Skywalker and see what colors they could draw nebulas in. It isn't Obi-Wan's fault; he has always loved a challenge, and Luke, racing in Beggar's Canyon at an age no boy should step into that death trap, would have certainly been a joy to teach and guide.

He could have taught him so much, so much he still needs to teach him, but the clock is ticking and time has always been a cruel mistress. Not purposefully, she wouldn't dare, but she is absolute and eternal, and like death, she takes.

Obi-Wan silently wonders how much time he has left. He knows exactly where they are heading and despite the legends he has wrapped around himself in his exile, he's neither crazy nor a fool. They are attempting to pull off a plan that they wouldn't even have dared to suggest during the Clone Wars, not with so many untrained people. He's been called reckless plenty of times, his ability to talk himself out of seeming like an adrenaline junkie being his only saving grace. Still, Obi-Wan is acutely aware of the danger they are in.

But they have no other choice. They may have the Death Star plans in their hands – and wasn't it utterly predictable that it would be Artoo to carry the plans for a weapon of mass destruction? – but Leia can't stay in the Empire's hands.

Luke and she were so strong in the Force at their birth already. While Obi-Wan is convinced that Bail must have taught Leia at least some shielding techniques, half-trained children can't withstand a Sith Lord for long. Should Vader or worse, Palpatine, learn what Leia could become capable of, they would have so much more to worry about in the future.

The Rebellion might as well be lost.

"You have grown into a fine young man, Luke," Obi-Wan tells Anakin's son instead.

"I have?" Luke echoes, curiosity coloring his voice, highlighting a cadence similar to Padmé's despite his heavy Outer Rim accent.

"I brought you to Tatooine," Obi-Wan tells him. The journey hadn't been an easy one. They had to change ships multiple times and every time somebody had mistaken Obi-Wan for Luke's father, he had wanted to stop and cry like the infant in his arms. "You were a very sweet baby."

"Oh." Luke falls silent again, but his hands have stopped shaking. In his dirty white robes, he reminds Obi-Wan just a bit of a messy Padawan. He wears Anakin's lightsaber well, even if he doesn't know how to execute even the simplest of lightsaber forms. Frankly speaking, it is a bit terrifying to see how quickly he picked up the weapon and had gotten comfortable with it. The Force curled around Luke's every movement, guiding him like a beloved teacher.

Luke will need a teacher if he is to face the darkness that would catch up to them soon.

Obi-Wan feels much older than he actually is. The fault lies partially with the harsh marks that Tatooine has left on his body, but also with the life he has led. He isn't sure if he can teach another student, no matter how much he wants to, but he has to try at least for Luke's sake. That is, if the boy truly intends to follow the path of the Jedi.

"Luke," Obi-Wan says seriously, thinking of the one who gives life, the name granted to such a young child, "Do you truly want to become a Jedi?"

"Yes." There is no hesitation in Luke's reply. "I want to follow my father's footsteps."

No, Obi-Wan wants to weep. You don't. You can't ask me to cut you down as well; I couldn't bear it.

"It is admirable to want to follow the path of someone you respect," Obi-wan starts carefully instead. He can't tell Luke what became of Anakin Skywalker. The child deserves better. "But I am asking about your own inclinations. The path of a Jedi is not an easy one, and you have to follow it for your own sake if you want to succeed."

Now Luke does hesitate. He looks down at his hands, curls them into fists and relaxes them again.

"Yes," Luke finally replied. "Yes, I want to be a Jedi."

"Then I'll hope you'll give me the honor of teaching you. I'd like to take you as my Padawan."

Obi-Wan had said these words over three decades ago to another lost blond boy, the language a little different, their surroundings certainly more peaceful than the ship of a smuggler. He tries to banish the image from his mind.

"Padawan," Luke repeats slowly. "What does it mean?"

You should know, Obi-Wan thinks. You should know what it means and be overjoyed and celebrate this day.

He can't hold it against this boy, not even against himself or, dare he think it, Anakin because choices had been made, but away from it all, Obi-Wan can only blame the Sith who ruined them, continues to hurt them.

"It means that I want you as my student, teach you all I know so that you may surpass me someday."

Bring us back to the light, rebuilt all that we lost. Obi-Wan is asking him for so much when just days ago it would have been enough for him to someday see Luke marry that boy he's been crushing on for years and live the rest of his days happily, far away from the war.

And now he dreams of home again, the rooms full of plants and droid parts, poetry collections, board games, and warmth so kind and all-compassing that no nightmares can haunt you.

"You'd really teach me?" Luke asks as if he'd be honored and the right to be taught not already something he possessed since his birth.

"Of course."

"I'd be honored to accept," Luke replies with a shy smile.

Obi-Wan returns his smile and reassuringly squeezes his shoulder once. Luke leans into the touch and so Obi-Wan lets his arm linger around the boy's shoulders as he continues to explain traditions long lost. "Traditionally, we would now braid your hair and put in the first bead."

"Braid my hair?"

Obi-wan nods and thinks of all the times his Master ran his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, tugging at his braid and saying one thing or another he hadn't paid any attention to because he'd been too awestruck by the fact that he had a Master at all. "Yes, all Padawans of the Jedi Order have a braid. It shows your dedication to your studies and how serious you are about them. It means that you know that this is not an easy task or an easy path to take, but that you are willing to walk it anyway."

Luke thoughtfully looks at Obi-Wan, then he reaches up with his hand, putting a strand of hair behind his ear.

"My hair is not long enough to braid it properly," Luke mutters, dismayed.

He's pouting more than he is actually hurt by the thought. Nevertheless, if he lingers on it, he might ask more questions about what other chances life has denied him and because of it, Obi-Wan wants to distract him quickly.

The distraction comes at the price of remembrance, a fourteen-year-old Padawan clinging to what remained of his braid, burying his head in his Master's chest, and crying after enduring days of torment. Obi-Wan had fixed Anakin's hair then as well so he wouldn't have to deal with too many looks once they were back at the Temple. His braid had been short, but it had been there. For a moment, Obi-Wan tries to recall who had assigned that mission to them, whether Sidious had already sown his seeds of discord then.

He lets the moment go. "Don't worry, I can help you."

He had done plenty of braids during his as a Padawan and later as a Master. When the war had been going on, he had helped frenzied Padawans countless times with their braids.

There was an almost meditative process to the act of braiding and letting others braid your hair. It had soothed innumerous over the centuries and now it will once more calm another. Luke sits still when Obi-Wan begins to part the stray strands of hair on the left side of his head into three. Luke's hair really isn't all that long, but it is definitely more than enough to work with. Slowly and withs steady fingers, Obi-Wan braids another bond with his second Padawan. Luke is a kind child and this war will hurt him incredibly. Obi-Wan can only hope that what he will pass onto him will be enough to have him keep his path, to wander in the light even when the darkness reaches for him with the intent to consume.

Once Obi-Wan is finished with the braid, he reaches for his belt, takes an old leather cord from there, and wraps it around the tip of Luke's hair.

"And finished," Obi-Wan announces.

Luke, who had closed his eyes, opens them and immediately reaches for the hair, twirling it between his two fingers in a fashion reminiscent of Obi-Wan in his youth. He had only managed to get rid of that nervous habit after his won braid hat been cut. Whether Luke would act similar, Obi-Wan doesn't know, but the thought of seeing Luke ascend to the rank of Knight of the Order, no matter how small, splintered and broken it is right now, it makes his heart beat a bit quicker.

"How does it look?" Luke asks.

"As it is supposed to," Obi-Wan replies. "I believe Mr. Solo has a mirror in his fresher if you want to take a look."

Luke races off before Obi-Wan can say anymore. He returns a few minutes later, already with more color in his face than he had in the hours before.

"Thank you. Master." Luke tags on the honorific only belatedly, unsure whether it fits and it is all the convincing Obi-Wan could ever need.

"You are welcome, Padawan."

Obi-Wan Kenobi has a student once more and he will not fail him.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #Luke Skywalker #jedi #original trilogy #fanfic

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haydensdelvca · 3 years

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Purple Hearts - Tremmett

Had so much fun coming up with ideas for this fic! Hope you enjoy some Tremmett fluff :)

"You good?" Emmett asked as he slowly helped his boyfriend out of the car as they arrived home from the hospital.

"Yeah, thanks," Travis answered, trying to give Emmett a smile through the excruciating pain in his leg.

Emmett helped Travis as he hobbled inside, still not used to using the crutches properly.

As they got to their room, Emmett helped Travis onto the bed, arms firmly wrapped around him to support him. As he sets him down, a small but mischievous grin forms on Emmett's face, causing Travis to look up at him in confusion. The pain medication he was given along with the pain itself was making Travis a bit drowsy and not fully alert, so it took him a minute to realise what was amusing his boyfriend.

"So, I guess with a broken leg you might find it hard to get changed by yourself, and say, have a shower. I presume... you might need some help with that, right?" Emmett asked, unable to stop himself from smiling. He had been really worried when he heard Travis was hurt and planned to dedicate all of his time to nurse him back to health and take care of him. However, he couldn't resist thinking of all the ways Travis was going to have to lean on him for support, quite literally.

"I hate you," Travis muttered jokingly, annoyed that his boyfriend was finding this amusing.

"You love me really," Emmett replied, still grinning from ear to ear.

"Stop smiling like that," Travis complained, crossing his arms.

"Sorry, sorry," Emmett apologised innocently, not wanting to work him up when he was in pain.

"Just help me get changed," Travis rolled his eyes, unable to be annoyed at Emmett for more than two minutes.

"If you insist," Emmett smiled as he got closer to the injured man, slowly starting to take his top off while making close eye contact.

A small smile started to form on Travis' face, the butterflies in his stomach brought on by his boyfriend making him forget about the pain temporarily. "Fine, I do love you, even when you are finding enjoyment in my pain."

....

Travis was exhausted after his long shift which was followed by a trip to the hospital, which was not one of his favourite places. He had finally been getting some sleep until he smelt a surprisingly good smell coming from the kitchen.

He was too stubborn to admit that he was still struggling with the crutches, despite the fact that Emmett had realised within seconds. However, he wanted to try again and slowly made his way to the kitchen, for the first time thankful that they had no stairs in their house.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

Emmett turned around, surprised to see his boyfriend standing opposite him. "Oh, I didn't know you were awake, you could've called me if you needed help," he said as he rushed towards him.

"It's fine, I need to get used to this on my own at some point, don't I?" Travis replied, secretly enjoying how protective Emmett was being over him.

"I guess. How are you feeling? I thought I might attempt to make something for when you wake up. It's not much, and I can't guarantee that it's any good," he rambled on, knowing he was definitely not the most skilled cook out of the pair.

"I'm ok, still in pain though. But it actually smells amazing in here."

"You don't have to sound so surprised," planting a small kiss on his cheek, wrapping one arm around Travis' waist.

....

After dinner they cuddled up together on the couch, watching the TV show Emmett had been obsessed with for the past few weeks. It didn't particularly interest Travis but he watched anyway because Emmett enjoyed it.

However that day, Emmett didn't seem as focused on the show as he usually was, as he was more focused on Travis. "You know at first when Ben called me to tell me that he was taking you to the hospital I got so scared. I admire your passion for your work but god, it really scares me sometimes."

Travis tilted his head to look at Emmett, "I know babe, I know how it feels like to constantly be waiting on the sidelines, not knowing if I'm gonna come home." He could vividly remember all the times he was worried sick about Michael when he was out on calls and wouldn't ever want to wish that feeling upon Emmett. He even felt anxious for Emmett when he was still a firefighter, as although things were a bit rough between them during those days, he still wanted to protect him no matter what. Now, Travis found himself feeling grateful that Emmett wasn't risking his life everyday like he was.

"I know this doesn't compare to how you felt that day, I'm sorry if that brought up memories," said Emmett quickly, not wanting to sadden Travis. It broke his heart when Travis had told him what he had gone through when he lost Michael.

"No it's ok," he replied as he took Emmett's hands in his. "I promise you that I'll be as careful as I can every single day, and I'll always keep you updated whenever I can. And, you know I have the best team who will look out for me no matter what."

"Yeah, definitely," Emmett replied, his nerves slowly calming down. "But for the next few weeks, you're stuck here with me"

“I’m not going to complain about that part,” Travis smiled as he leaned onto Emmett's chest, falling asleep within a few minutes. Emmett held Travis close, not ever wanting to let him go, as he ran his fingers through his dark hair.

....

Emmett rummaged through his art drawers for a purple marker while Travis was still asleep.

He made his way back to his boyfriend quietly, and started doodling little hearts and stars on his cast, smiling to himself.

"Hey, what are you doing?" He heard a sleepy voice coming from Travis as he felt what Emmett was doing.

"Making you a bit more fashionable. You'll have wait and see, go back to sleep" Emmett replied with a wink.

Travis felt those familiar butterflies in his stomach once more, smiling as he lifted his head to take a look at his boyfriend, deep in concentration with his blonde locks falling over his forehead.

"I love you," he said, as he leant back down to go back to sleep once more.

"I love you more."

#tremmett #travis montgomery #emmett dixon #station 19

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fullsunalicia · 4 years

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hi! so first of all i love your writing, especially all the demigod series ones. secondly, i was wondering if you’d write something for son of aphrodite! jaehyun and a daughter of (god/goddess) reader? i understand if you don’t want to/can’t! thank you so much 😊😊

of sunrise and roses — JJH

as a son of aphrodite, jaehyun should be falling in love every day. passing fancies, one-night-stands, he could have it all. despite that, all he wants and all he ever wanted is you, with your sweet smile and honest eyes. and he doesn’t mind that at all.

son of aphrodite!jaehyun x daughter of eos!reader

hello love! thank you so much for your kind words uwu, i can absolutely do that for you! thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy <3

You’re an angel. Jaehyun’s absolutely convinced of it.

He watches as you prepare a coffee for him, your eyes fixed on the horizon as the sun rises. It’s your favorite sight, adding on to it being the time of the day where you’re at the height of your powers. Your mother is Eos, the goddess of dawn, and it’s said that she opens heaven’s gates for the sun to rise. That’s easy to believe when Jaehyun looks at you. You look like an angel. Who else would help your mother open those gates?

A long time ago, Jung Jaehyun fell for you, and he keeps falling. His heart picks up speed everytime your fingertips brush his skin, and he can barely hold himself back from embracing you when you giggle at a joke he says. Skinship, affection, it comes easy to him. But whenever you meet eyes, all he can think about is how flawless you are. So effortlessly beautiful. Out of his reach, just like the sun rising over the oceans.

But that doesn’t stop him from tugging you on his lap as soon as you set down the coffee cup infront of him. You’re no stranger to his cuddly side - like always, you curl your arms around his neck, never turning your face away from the sun casting rosy shadows all over the kitchen.

“Can you atleast pretend you’re paying attention to me? Damn.” Jaehyun pouts, fingers wrapping around your chin to pull you in his direction. A smile is already adorning your lips when you finally look at him. Are you aware of all the fireworks you’re setting off inside of him? Do you enjoy the breathlessness you cause whenever you shower him with love?

He hopes you does. That would atleast mean he’s not the only one who’s thinking about the other in that way. If Jaehyun would be granted one wish, he’d ask for you.

Your hands are warm and familiar. They settle on his cheeks, pleasant to the touch. “I didn’t realize you were so impatient, Mr Jung,” you tease him, voice coy. Despite looking so innocent, you’re a minx. His favorite minx, actually. “Are you pouting? Jeez. I stop looking at you for five seconds, and you already get impatient.”

“I live for attention.” Jaehyun’s head tilts back so the light can illuminate it and warm the skin there. If he concentrates, he can pretend it’s you leaving kisses without actually touching him. You can manipulate the light, so that wouldn’t be such an abstract idea.

When Jaehyun had first met you, he’d only been a small boy. Shy, barely fitting into the role he was given as a son of Aphrodite. There had been a time where you were on the same eye level as him. He reminisces those days often, like memories of a past life where the days are spent at the beach, you reading a book, fingers interlocked with his. He’s always been clingy with you.

Now that you’re both older, he comes to regret it. How can he prove his romantic interest to you when it’s all a given for you? His fleeting touches, lips meeting your skin because he was so touchy?

Love shouldn’t come so difficult to him. He’s a child of Aphrodite, for crying out loud.

Jaehyun bows forward to cover your body with his own. You already expect the bear hug, arms moving to lock around his head and keep him there. You smell like roses and peppermint, the first courtesy of your perfume, latter because you tended to put it into your yogurts. “You’ve got your head in the clouds all the time,” he mumbles against the skin of your throat. Something about you is off, has been for days. Long stares. Stuttering as he confronts you about something. You’re on edge. “Are you hiding something, baby?”

“And what would that be?”

“You tell me.” The soft material of the shirt you’re wearing is bothersome against his fingertips. He wishes to tear it off, feel your skin under his touch. Listen to your heartbeat as he marks you all over. Like any child of love, he longs to exude his possessiveness over you. Jaehyun’s barely able to hold himself back when you attend dates, or flirt back at some dude who decided to talk you up at the bar.

How pretty you would look underneath him.

Nonetheless, you direct his attention elsewhere. You trace the curve of his jaw, his hands soon catching yours so he can kiss your palm. His eyes never leave yours. Eye contact makes you nervous, always has. The strawberry blush he leaves on your cheeks is his favorite sight.

Still, you continue your charade. “Nothing’s up. Let’s go get breakfast before the lecture, yeah?”

❀ ❀ ❀

You’re very attentive. Sometimes, you don’t even notice that your gaze lingers. The way you burn the image of his face into your mind.

It flusters Jaehyun, even though he loves being adored. It’s in his blood, the confidence he inherited from his mother - a common trait amongst his siblings, but sometimes it’s able to be pushed aside. When you look at him, for example. Pretty eyes fixed on his features, the mirrors to your soul.

He wonders what he’d find there. A colorful kaleidoscope of emotions and memories, maybe desire. Whatever it is, Jaehyun knows he’d love it all. He’s so whipped for you. How come you’re the most the perceptive person he knows, but you never seem to realize what he feels for you? That his heart is in the palm of your hands, ready for the taking?

How does he get through to you?

The loss of control over his senses is quickly regained by turning the attention to you. Unlike Jaehyun, you don’t know how to hide the shyness he manages to coax out. It makes a smile erupt on his lips, the kind of smile that makes you look at away because you’re being bashful. You’re so cute.

“What are you doing, (y/n)?” he inquires, laughing lightly. This is just a regular lunch hangout with friends, but something keeps you stuck in your head, out of touch with reality. Your eyes glaze over ever so often, especially when you look at him. All the noise is drowned out by the sound of you giggling. Sweet, and innocent.

Just enough to make his heartbeat spike. It jumps and stumbles for a little before his regular speed kicks in again. You really are something to make Jung Jaehyun react that way.

The blood in his veins is fueled by passion, lust. Jaehyun is easily swayed by his emotions, never is he really truly in control of his senses. All he needs is a tip of balance - his hormones getting the better of him, desire clouding his mind.

But you make him patient. On a leash. If you were any other person, that would make him extremely uncomfortable. He’d resort to one-night-stands or passing fancies to level his head again, but weirdly, Jaehyun finds himself perfectly content at your beck and call.

You’re a goddess, no matter how mortal you are. The only goddess he wants to worship and dedicate his life to.

Where your touch is soft, Jaehyun’s is devouring. You are easily tucked against his side, trained arm around your waist keeping you there. Jaehyun hums when you throw a leg over his thigh to be even closer. There’s one advantage to being a child of Aphrodite - he’s easily able to manipulate the emotions of people around him. Of course he’d never force you to do or feel anything, but he likes heightening your wishes every once in a while. He only messes with what is already there.

You being touch-starved, for starters.

“Oh, nothing,” you finally answer him, voice low. Your eyes are like the dawn, mysterious as they are beautiful. Even though your hands are occupied with clinging to him, your gaze is always on your friends. Thoughtful as always, you want them to have fun and let them know you’re glad that they’re here. Sadly, Jaehyun wants all the attention to himself. “I was just admiring the view.”

“Were you now?”

“Mhm. You look very pretty.”

God, you make Jaehyun want to melt on the spot. That is too much power over him than any human should have. Jaehyun’s lips find the curve of your neck, he relishes in the pleasant shudder you let out at that. “Me, too,” he hums. “I like the view I have. Just bad luck that I have to share it with everybody else.”

“Oh, shut up.” You laugh at that. Jaehyun frowns when you push him aside, and you turn your head away to avoid his gaze. “How am I going to find a boyfriend if you keep me hidden all the time? If this continues, I’ll stay alone forever.”

He tries to ignore the sound of his heart cracking, but it’s irritatingly painful.

Being patient isn’t fun when you’re not even considering him.

If only he knew.

❀ ❀ ❀

Jaehyun finally corners you wednesday afternoon after your shared psychology lecture. You live in a dorm with him, you can hardly avoid the guy. Pressed against the counter by your best friend since middle school, you furrow your brows at him. “What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” Jaehyun whines. He guides your hands to his face so he can nuzzle into them like a puppy, hungry for your touch as always. You sometimes wonder how Jaehyun can still be single with a need to be adored all the time like that.

Though, you’re rather glad. It makes your one-sided crush a little easier.

Many years have you spent now at Jaehyun’s side without ever being able to be called his. You love him dearly, have realized that a long time ago. At the very latest, you must’ve gotten that through your thick head at prom, the evening where he had twirled you around the entire auditorium, the stars in his eyes, your heart in his hands.

Whatever he’d like to do with it didn’t matter to you. Whether Jaehyun crushed it into a thousand pieces or treasure it forever, the choice was his. All you wanted in life was to be at his side.

To see his precious smile. The dimples that make his face look a few years younger, the sweet Jaehyun you had met on the playground, flowers in his hand to give to his godly mother. Aphrodite was not the dream parent, but she had been there for him for a good portion of his life.

Her presence is fleeting. Always felt, but never constant. The gods are too important to mingle with the common folk, no matter if it’s a child of theirs or the next hero of the millenium.

Jaehyun turns his head in your hold. He’s curious, and hot on your tail. There’s no sense in hiding it from him. No one on this planet knows you better than he does, and he also happens to be a child of the love goddess. So, he was bound to find out either way. Maybe you’d be able to dance around the identity of your crush, considering it’s Jung Jaehyun himself.

You’ve given up on the possibility of you guys becoming an item long before you even gave your heart away. Jaehyun and you know each other for a long time, too long. Too much time has passed for nothing to spark between to. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

You hold your breath before you tell him. “I like someone.”

Jaehyun’s gaze becomes unreadable. Never once has there been an occasion where his face becomes unknown to you, but right now, you’ve never been so unsure about what he’s feeling. He only musters up one word. “Who?”

“Not teling.”

His hands claw at your back; your shirt - or better said, the shirt you stole from him - bunched up in his fists. Jaehyun presses you close, hipbones digging into your flesh. “I could find out myself, (y/n),” he says, the teasing undertone finally returning to his voice. His eyes don’t seem cheerful, though. “You forget who I am.”

“But you’ll respect my decision to not do that. As your best friend. Won’t you, Jaehyun?” You curl your arms around him and tug him down, so you can kiss his cheek. Jaehyun is very tall, an almost 6 foot giant towering over you. He groans when you bat your eyelashes at him.

“Monster.” Fingers pinch at your waist and make you jump right where he wants you. His lips meet your cheek, leaving kisses all over your face. He’s not really mad, just pouting. “Is that why you’ve been acting so weird? You’re dumb. I thought I did something again and it was on me to find out how to resolve it. I was this close to despairing.”

“I’ll make it up to you with food.”

“Oh?” He kisses his way down to your jawline. Your grip on his shoulders tighten, making him chuckle. “I’m tempted. But it still won’t stop me from finding out who the lucky guy is, though.”

You wish you had his confidence. It would be so easy to tell him, to admit the truth and say that you want to be his. But he’s Jung Jaehyun, and you’re (l/n) (y/n). There are several worlds separating the both of you. You can never be his, and he will never be yours.

Aphrodite can’t be held down. Why would it be any different for her children?

❀ ❀ ❀

It should be forbidden how oblivious you both are.

The shared bottle of champagne is long forgotten as Jaehyun moves to pull you on him, and you straddle his lap on instinct. Familiar, comfortable. Jaehyun’s fingers tousle your hair and push it aside to make way for him, lips tracing your jugular vein. It makes you dizzy, and you have to anchor yourself by gripping his shoulders. Is it the alcohol that makes everything spin, or is it Jaehyun’s effect on you?

Friends shouldn’t touch each other like this. They especially shouldn’t whine when the other stops littering their skin with hickeys. And they don’t kiss each other like their life depends on it.

It had been a long night, and an ever longer day. Exam season was finally over, and your friends had invited you over for a good old frat party. The 127 frat house was your second home, and the only reason Jaehyun doesn’t live there is because he prefers to stay with you.

You had both promised to stop drinking the second you stumbled out of that house with the help of Taeyong, who’d been afraid of you guys passing out in the streets. Now matter how much he had begged you guys to sleep over, there was nothing that could make you change your mind. You craved to be in the comfort of your home, your own four walls. There were blankets waiting, good food aswell.

And your own stash of alcohol.

Promise? What promise? Long forgotten the second you found the champagne Jaehyun had been saving up since you gifted it to him a month or two ago. It was quickly emptied while you sat down on the balcony and waited for the sun to rise - it was your favorite time of the day, the break of dawn, and it was already close to six am, anyway. You could very well sleep afterwards.

What you hadn’t expected was for the alcohol to work its’ magic and make you throw away any kind of dignity you were claiming to have. That’s how you ended up sitting on Jaehyun’s lap while he kisses you until you’re breathless, barely holding himself back.

You’ve hears the rumors. How good Aphrodite children are in bed. Skilled tongues, even quicker fingers. The amount of love and appreciation they make you feel with only one night spent together. It’s how they ended up breaking more hearts than intended, because they don’t realize how entrancing they are until it’s too late.

Never once had you thought that you’d make the experience, too.

Jaehyun’s kisses are mindnumbing. They make you forget about everything around you, focussed on the way how good he makes you feel with just the swipe of his tongue. He’s careful, but at the same time scathing. He angles his head to come even closer, to lure you in deeper, desperate to taste you. Is your brain shortcircuiting? Or is it just that mindblowing that Jaehyun’s tongue meets yours in a heated frenzy?

But something about this breaks your heart. The realization that Jaehyun only kisses you because he’s intoxicated, not master of his own mind. When you pull away, the tears are already pooling in your eyes.

You don’t give him the chance to question you. With trembling legs and a gaping hole in your chest, you manage to stand up and tumble into your room, leaving Jaehyun behind in the balcony, as confused and heartbroken as you are.

Did no one ever teach you communication is key?

The quote doesn‘t ring a bell now, and not in the days after your moment of weakness. Not once do you reply to the many knocks at your locked door, and you don‘t respond the the heartwrenching pleads of Jaehyun to please come out and talk to him.

You can‘t. You‘re a coward. You‘re not ready to face him and have your heart shattered. Here in your room, hidden from him and the sun, nothing could touch you. Nothing could hurt you.

But there‘s also no one to help you.

Days stretch into weeks as you continue ignoring the searing pain inside your heart and the sounds outside your room. Jaehyun leaves the apartment every once in a while and doesn‘t come back days later. Sometimes, you can hear him sit down infront of your door, leaning against it while he waits. He tells you that everytime - that he‘ll wait. That he‘s sorry.

You don‘t want his pity. All you wish for is to forget his soft eyes and heavenly lips and hope that sleep comes as soon as possible.

❀ ❀ ❀

Jaehyun falls inside your room when you pull the door open. It makes you shriek loudly, and the sound wakes Jaehyun from his slumber. His eyes find yours, and he scrambles to stand up and hold you. Had he seriously spent the night waiting for you to let him in?

„Oh my god, (y/n),“ he gasps. His eyes are sunken, tired. But ... he‘s so happy to see you. It makes you feel all soft - and guilty. „Never, ever do that again. I thought I was going to die from the lack of attention.“

You sniff. „Only that?“

Jaehyun ignores your words as he lets his fingers card through your hair. He can‘t stop touching. It‘s like he was stumbling through the desert, parched for days on end, and you‘re the oasis at the end of his journey. “Why would you do that, you stupid girl?” he mumbles. You realize in shock that his eyes are filling up with tears. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you? You were on the other side of a door and yet you’ve never been farer away from me. Why did you do that, huh? Why (y/n)?”

“Because...” You hiccup in a poor attempt to stop your own tears. Jaehyun kisses the side of your face, head angled to the side as you wipe his wet face dry with your sweater paws. “I was so afraid of rejection.. I thought.. you only wanted me because you were drunk...”

Jaehyun holds your face in his hands. Staying away from him had hurt you both - the many restless nights where always spent together, despite being separated. You expected to find anger in his eyes.

All you find is adoration.

“You stupid girl,” Jaehyun coos. Out of his lips, the insult sounds like the sweetest praise you’ve ever heard. He thumbs over your cheekbones, drinking up the sight of you looking up to him with your big, pretty eyes. “There is no rejection to fear. I love you. Always have, always will. That alcohol was the only reason I wasn’t being a coward for once and I was able to kiss you. Do you hear me? I love you!”

“You do?”

“Of course I do.” He pulls you into a bonecrushing hug, carefully cradling you against his chest. There was no need to speak, when he lays his soul bare for you to see. No need to affirm each other when you have eternity to prove how you feel. When he leans down, you meet his lips without hesitation.

Maybe you’re only fools in love. But atleast, you now have each other, the first chapter of your romance. A story of sunrise and roses, and that blessed bottle of champagner.

This time, there’s no need to hide.

#jung jaehyun #nct 127 #nct #jung jaehyun x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct x reader #jung jaehyun fluff #nct 127 fluff #nct fluff #jung jaehyun scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct scenarios #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fluff #nct 97 line #jaehyun scenarios #requested by: 🐥 anon

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wickedgamesoyaoya · 4 years

Text

⇺ ⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂ ⇻

↣ Masterpost

↣ inspired by @haik-choo’s post

↣ wc: 2.4k

↣ warnings: emotional pain, swearing, mentions of sex (not outright anything).

↣ format: mixed

↣ song recommendation: 5 Seconds of Summer - Lover Of Mine & 5 Seconds Of Summer - Ghost Of You

↣ preamble: atsumu miya never understands what he has until its too late. from a young age, he only focused on his own satisfaction and accordingly, his own pleasure. the only reason your relationship was able to stand the test of time was solely because of your accommodating nature. but sometimes, it still hurts… the lack of appreciation. would he truly care if you stopped leaving him little love notes in your shared apartment? would he notice if you stopped keeping pace with him during your morning walks? did he even care that you only woke up at the ungodly hour to spend more time with him? with those questions unanswered, some days you wonder if love should hurt this much.

After winning five consecutive matches, a formal banquet was arranged to celebrate MSBY’s notable achievement. The guest-list was littered with numerous B list celebrities, with the occasional A lister promising to attend. What was originally planned to be a small gathering morphed into an evening gala that attracted media coverage, and a significant crowd. Some were desperate to secure an invite solely to catch a glimpse of one of the star players; while others were significantly more interested in the foreign chief that would be designing the menu for the function. Whatever the motivation, each attendee expelled an aura of excitement, one that was highly contagious. Accompanying the delectable atmosphere was a sugary scent wafting throughout the establishment. It was what Atsumu Miya deemed heaven on earth.

The blonde setter had the stem of a wineglass tucked between two fingers nonchalantly, occasionally swaying the maroon liquid as he surveyed those around him. He adored these gatherings for numerous reasons, one being the unnaturally attractive crowd it allured. Not that he planned on approaching any of them with nefarious intentions – he had a date after-all. The same one for the last four years. You. However, he refused to believe there was any harm in simply admiring from afar what he could have but chose not to. It provided him a rush of exhilaration, knowing that if he chose, he could secure the interest of any woman within the vicinity. Oh yes, if only they were so lucky. But alas, they were not. Simply having their attention and compliments was enough, he was disinterested in the satisfaction of sleeping with them. The truth was, while they were surely attractive, none of them would provide him the consistency that came neatly packaged with you. To be blunt, you were easy. Low maintenance, as he explained two nights ago to his brother. Even now, rather than remain glued to his side, you were somewhere in the crowd, mingling with someone unknown. He preferred it this way, and you knew it.

Half an hour before dinner was to be served, Atsumu was invited to take a shot with the MSBY Ace. Bokuto’s best friend refused to drink, vowing to return home early to complete a manuscript, and so he sought a new drinking buddy. But when he approached the setter, his thoughts of drinking were replaced with a newfound concern. Atsumu notified his team-mate that his hair required a quick touch up. His usual spikes were beginning to droop, resembling a withering flower.

“Akaashi! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Tsum, do you have any gel?” A pout registered upon his lips as he attempted to sharpen the ends of his hair using his index finger and thumb. What if someone caught a photo of him appearing less than satisfactory? The Ace, ordinary or not, should appear extraordinary on a night dedicated to celebrating him (and his team-mates).

“I don’t think it looks that bad, Bokuto-san.” The black-haired writer shook his head, prior to bringing the rim of his coffee cup to his lips. Okay, maybe he could have something earlier. But to his defence, he had only noticed the imperfection now. With a wave of exhaustion weighing over his eyelids, he was less perceptive than usual.

“You know lying to him ain’t gonna fix the problem, right?” Atsumu shifted his narrowed gaze at Akaashi questioningly, something the other male did not appreciate. “And do you really have to ask? Of course, I do. Come on.” The blonde tapped against his lower jacket pocket, where a thin container of hair-serum was kept.

“I’m going to my seat. I’ll meet you there when you’re done.” The comment was directed solely at Bokuto, in a tone that indicated the writer would rather not spend any ‘quality’ time with the setter unless forced to. The brunette was not his biggest fan to say the least.

“I’ll be back soon.” He was well aware that his best friend and team-mate were not particularly fond of one another, placing distance was perhaps the best available option. Once the writer was no longer present, the pair began walking towards the bathroom. “Say… Tsum, where’s y/n?” Instinctively, the Ace’s golden irises searched the space around them for your familiar face.

“I dunno. Somewhere. I’m sure I’ll see her at the dinner table, since we’re sitting together.” The disinterest laced in his tone startled the other male, who failed to mask his bewilderment. Atsumu ignored the puzzlement that shined in his team-mate’s eyes, dismissing the action with a limp shrug before entering the bathroom first.

Bokuto trailed in a second later, pausing at the mirror with a hand extended forward. “You guys are really weird.”

Retrieving the container from his pouch, the blonde handed his team-mate the gel then began adjusting his own appearance, beginning by ushering aside some fallen strands. The observation that was offered only brought a little laugh to exit his mouth. “Yeah? Why do you say that?”

“You don’t act like a real couple.” Bokuto did not intend to respond immediately, particularly because he desired to avoid the stare he was now receiving through the mirror. The lack of hesitation was not well received by the MSBY setter.

“We don’t need to abide by norms to be a couple, Bokkun.” Despite the sour taste curling around his tongue, Atsumu managed to maintain a smile on his lips, finding humour in his own explanation.

“Alright, so is that why you haven’t proposed yet?” The white-haired Ace mentally scolded himself for his lack of restraint. He should have bit his tongue. Oh, if only he bit his tongue –

However, this was not the first time the question was posed to him. In fact, two days ago, it was exact topic that resulted in a very heated argument with his twin-brother. He truly did not understand why proposing was necessary. You both already lived together – was that not enough?

“It’s not that serious.” Tugging at his sleeves, the setter then adjusted his cufflinks. “I love her, but I’m not sure she’s the one. I don’t know if I can really give everything up forever, for her. For the time-being, I don’t mind. But I’m not giving everything up just yet.” The final sentence uttered by the blonde was more of an affirmation to himself, one that did not register well with his team-mate. It seemed that everyone but Atsumu could see how much you did for him. His unappreciated nature was rather toxic.

“That doesn’t sound like love, dude.”

No. It certainly did not.

They say that the truth will always be revealed sooner or later. Perhaps Atsumu Miya’s true feelings would have been revealed later, if he chose to lower his voice and restrict his sincerity. Had he known that you were outside, he certainly would have taken some precautions. But how could he have known that you were searching for him, when you ran into Akaashi? Who unfortunately knew exactly where he was?

How many warnings were issued by your friends over the years? Dozens? Hundreds? What would they say now? How many red flags did you ignore?

How curious how easily you confused ache for butterflies.

The strain circling inside of your temples morphed into a throb as the liquid distorting your vision began spilling down your cheeks, dragging your mascara along with it. Behind you someone whispered your name, fear gripping their throat and muffling the sound. But you were unable to recognize who the voice belonged to, as you no longer held the luxury of having a stable state of mind.

Lifting your trembling fingers to the area below your eyelids, you stumbled attempting to discard the substance hanging on your lashes. “I need to go. I… Oh, I’m stupid. I just… I need to leave. Please.” Sluggishly, you shifted your body to face the person who addressed you earlier, seeking any aid that was offered. You couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“I know. Come on.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi accidentally stumbled onto the scene just as Atsumu began responding to the inquiry. He was not staggered to hear the cruel statements fall casually from his team-mate’s lips. Similar statements were uttered in the locker-room on numerous occasions. It was your reaction that tugged at his heart. No one deserved to hear the one they loved speak with such venom, and certainly not you. “Let’s go before they come out, shall we?”

The thrill of partying as a newly single bachelor provided Atsumu Miya temporary satisfaction. Each night a stranger’s mouth was attached to his, as he clung to them, desperate to combat the vanilla scent that circulated in the apartment, even weeks after your departure. How many girls had now laid in the exact spot you once occupied on the bed? Dozens? And yet, every morning when he awoke, he continuously thought it was you in his arms, and not someone whose name he did not bother remembering. His endeavours to erase you were fruitless. Not due to a lack of effort, but because the truth was… He didn’t want to forget you.

It took a month for the realization to settle in. No longer interested in the meaningless sex that was offered by mistresses of the night, he found himself unable to leave the apartment unless there was a match scheduled. It was the only location where he could feel some connection to you. Particularly when intoxicated, he swore he could hear you whisper soothing sentiments into his ears, dispelling his fears that you no longer loved him.

But each morning, reality would register once more, providing him a metaphorical jab to his chest.

Today was no different.

It had been forty days since the gala. Forty days to mull over how just how much you did for him, and just how little he did for you. It wasn’t always like this. Over the years, he became too accustomed to your giving nature. Soon, he developed a toxic mentality that he was entitled to everything you provided. But it wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t. At least that was what he repeated to himself, hoping it was the truth.

After downing a liter of water, the throbbing in his head had dimmed to a tolerable level. And once the lights no longer strained his eyes, he reached for his phone, determination igniting in his heart.

“Hi.” The greeting was exhaled softly into the phone, as anxiety prompted your heart to beat irregularly. The uncertainty of what would be said by your former lover had your thoughts tangled into an incoherent mess.

“Hey. Thanks for talking with me.” Atsumu pressed a fist against his mouth, muffling the small whimper that threatened to sound. Oh fuck. You actually picked up. A single word overwhelmed him with the storm of emotions he usually suppressed with alcohol.

A little hum was given to acknowledge his gratitude, it was honestly the best you could offer. But it was unlike you to be so quiet. The thought that he impacted you this much only expanded the guilt he was suffocating in.

“Was I always this bad?” The setter’s eyes stung with fresh tears forming along his lids. Did he even deserve to speak with you now?

Inhaling a lengthy breath of air, silence greeted him for a minute as you mustered the courage to respond. You knew you should hate him. and yet, hearing the tremor in his voice broke your heart. Was it really your fault that you still loved him?

“You weren’t.” You prayed the words were audible, since you were unsure whether you would be able to repeat yourself.

The blonde found the slightest bit of relief in your response, although it only eased a tenth of the tension he was battling to contain. Swallowing once, he strived to stabilize his breathing.

“Will you give me another chance?”

You caught onto the small crack in his voice, symbolizing his distress and sincerity simultaneously. But you wished you hadn’t.

“Atsumu. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t see a future with me.” Even now, stating a reminder of what you heard activated the emotional wound you spent the last month attempting to heal. Could you truly ever get passed this?

“I can’t see a future without you in it.” He interjected, not missing a beat. He refused to deny it any longer. He was an idiot, but he loved you. It was more than the fact you were low maintenance. He knew that now.

“I feel like I wasted four years, do you understand that?” His confession promoted a swarm of butterflies to parade inside of your stomach, but the mental reminder of your friends scoldings kept you grounded. Pretty words would not heal the damage. Not this time. “I’m sorry. I can’t waste any more…”

“You won’t have to, y/n. I promise. Let me take care of you this time. It will be different.” At this point he was essentially begging you to place trust in his promises, even if he had no credibility.

Maybe it was unhealthy how much you wished his promise to be true. How desperate you were to lower your armor and envelope him into your embrace instead. You knew your friends would never approve of him, but his pleads were weaved together with a vulnerability you had never heard before. Before you could stop yourself, the one word the setter was waiting for left your mouth.

“Okay.” Dropping your face into your palm, you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip.

The second you agreed, the blonde was already on his feet, fetching his keys before rushing to the front door. It had been so long since the setter was flooded with joy, he could barely contain himself. “Where are you? I’m coming to you now.” Clicking the lock to a close, he nestled his phone against his shoulder.

Upon hearing the shuffling in his background followed by his question, you instantly shot up to your feet, feeling a surge of hope enter your system. “Don’t you have practice soon?” You certainly did not expect this. Not at all.

Pausing in the middle of the hallway, he blew out a scoff. “I don’t fucking care. I need you in my arms now. Text me the address and I’ll be there. I fucking love you, y/n I love you so much. I’ll never let you go again. I promise.”

It should be noted that he wholeheartedly intended to keep that promise, and thankfully… he did.

Taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @shakiraisawesome

#atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x you #atsumu miya #atsumu imagines #atsumu haikyuu #atsumu scenarios #atsumu angst #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines

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tthael · 3 years

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I really admire so many things about your writing - the introspection and deep meaning, the realistic and sensitive way that you handle topics. Do you have any recs for fav media/books/tv shows/fanfics ? I guess I'm curious if there are any you think might have similar qualities/themes?

This is a tough one because basically everything I consume gets picked apart and reused in some way. However, I’ll give it a shot:

The Book Thief and I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak. There’s quite a lot I like about Zusak’s use of language and have since 2007 when I read The Book Thief for the first time, and there’s something very cinematic and magical about I Am the Messenger (particularly in the chapter with the young track runner).

The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell. He’s most commonly known for Cloud Atlas, but he has an ongoing theme of vampires and cannibalism reappearing in his work (I just read Slade House for the first time while I was in quarantine) and there’s something deeply satisfying about the way that all of the disparate pieces come to fruition at the climax of The Bone Clocks. Not a perfect book, but deeply satisfying.

The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver. Again, she’s most commonly known for The Poisonwood Bible, but I liked that well enough to read The Lacuna in 2013, and I completely hated it for the first half of the book until finally something clicked in my brain and I activated the literary critic within, who doesn’t care so much about whether they enjoy something and more cares about how well something is done. The description of US American rationing during World War II really got me onto the novel’s side, if that makes sense; and I do love a good family epic, and while this only focuses on one protagonist instead of generations of them, it’s interesting in a similar way to The Bone Clocks where you see everything start to snowball together.

Literally anything by Ursula Vernon/T. Kingfisher. I particularly recommend The Raven and The Reindeer, which I read shortly after being diagnosed with my chronic illness and really helped me to understand the irrelevance of shame. There’s something very satisfying about saying “a reindeer doesn’t care if it smells bad, so I’m going to lean into that particular apathy and not allow a bully to take me down over it.” Something comforting about taking shelter in the animal and in survival, when you and your body are in one place and working on the same side, and it’s your brain that’s ready to give up first but your body will keep dragging you through because that’s what it does. Certain lines in Indelicate were inspired by her adaptation of Tam Lin in Jackalope Wives and other Stories (https://www.amazon.com/Jackalope-Wives-Other-Stories-Kingfisher-ebook/dp/B071946RLN). Lots of her short stories are available at this link for free: http://www.redwombatstudio.com/portfolio/writing/short-stories/

TV’s a little harder to unpack, since I don’t always think in terms of visual media, I tend to default to words first. Recently I’ve been enjoying New Amsterdam on NBC--it’s nice to see the radical socialist doctor doing his damnedest to secure the right thing--and Call the Midwife--similar reasons. There’s a lot about meeting someone where they are in both shows that I appreciate.

There’s also a lot of music that inspires my writing so I’ll have to dedicate a post specifically to that in my methods and materials.

Fanfic, though! Lots of my favorites, lots of genres. Here we go:

we are all stardust by synergenic (Losseflame) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/5682496) Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, pairing Finn/Poe Dameron. Sexually explicit, but also leans a lot into physicality. You can probably see the influence on the very first chapter of Indelicate when Eddie’s waking up in pain and Richie’s at his bedside. It’s very much inspired by a similar sickbed scene here.

If They Haven’t Learned Your Name by silentwalrus (https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329503) Captain America/Marvel Cinematic Universe Steve Rogers/James “Bucky” Barnes. The holy grail of Steve/Bucky fanfiction. If you want independent character exploration, this is the place to go. Natasha shaving her head? Yes. Sam pleading with Steve to keep his shit together while thirty Koren grandmothers assume they are American celebrities? Yes. Bucky defiantly hunting down his sense of self while bingeing romance novels in a space ship? Yes. Pay particular attention to the Sam chapters, because they’re a beautiful way of defining Steve’s characterization from an outside perspective, and I’m trying to do the same with Eddie looking at Richie in Indelicate.

An Ever-Fixed Mark by AMarguerite (https://archiveofourown.org/works/8523001) Pride & Prejudice (Jane Austen) Elizabeth Bennet/Colonel Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy. Soulmark AU. This is one of my longtime favorite fanfictions and what it taught me was cause and effect. The characters move the plot forward based on their assumptions and decisions. Definitely very helpful when I was writing TTHAEL by the seat of my pants.

You Can Keep Holding On by NorthernSparrow (https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233709) Supernatural Dean Winchester/Castiel. Sexually explicit. A lot of the summary I can give here is spoilers, but if you read this one through, you’ll be able to see the inspiration for the “Can you tell me where I can get another Eddie Kaspbrak?” scene in Indelicate.

Work of All Saints by antistar_e (kaikamahine) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006644) Coco (2017) Imelda Rivera/Héctor Rivera/Ernesto de la Cruz. Sexually mature. Oh my GOD this is a beautiful coming-of-age story set in turn-of-the-century Oaxaca, this is the best complete expansion of canon that I’ve ever seen; the author takes the pieces and runs with them and it is WONDERFUL.

Lycanthropic Studies by Eiiri (https://archiveofourown.org/series/575263) Harry Potter, Remus Lupin/Sirius Black canon-divergence AU. I very much enjoy the meditation on lycanthropy as a chronic illness and I sometimes reread this for comfort. Particularly early on Remus has a rant about how he’s sick and he’s always sick and his life doesn’t stop for it, despite holidays and birthdays he still has to deal with the consequences of his illness and take the devastating medication, and there’s a lot about that that speaks to me. I haven’t kept up with the series for some time, though.

Careful Truths by SassySnowperson (https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111966) Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, Bodhi Rook/Luke Skywalker canon-divergence AU. Sexually explicit. Honestly identity p!rn fics are a good inspiration for that third-person limited perspective I’ve been working on in Indelicate. Also I love love LOVE Bodhi Rook. It’s fun watching him run in circles trying to conceal his identity from Luke while completely oblivious to Luke doing exactly the same thing.

Stammtisch by chaya (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060152) Critical Role: Season 2, Caleb Widogast/Mollymauk Tealeaf, AU. Sexually explicit. Long before Caleb actually leveled up enough to cast Mordenkainen’s Magnificent Mansion, chaya speculated about what kind of spaces he might create for each of his friends. I think it’s a very good resource for really condensing characterization down into lots of images and concepts and deciding what other characters know about them. The idea of making space for someone else is something that I lean into a lot when I write Ben, who’s the kind of man who will set himself on fire to keep those he loves warm, and even though Critical Role has far more material than even IT for determining characterization, and even though this particular moment has already occurred in canon--it’s just a wonderful homey story, and has the kind of found family vibes I like for the Losers as well.

I know that’s a lot to unpack there, but all of those fics are very good and I recommend reading any assortment that appeals to you. (Work of All Saints in particular you don’t have to be familiar with the source material beyond the basic premise; it stands on its own.) Thank you for asking, and thank you for reading!

#nocturnalpinkcat #my fic #indelicate #now what i'm gonna say may sound indelicate #nwigsmsi #things that happen after eddie lives #tthael #fic recs #book recs

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mingkily · 4 years

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｡☆✼★━ [17:03] | s.mg ━★✼☆｡

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starring: mingi x reader

fsk-0: fluff

volume: 1.9k words

vip access: @midnightseonghwa !

“i need all the blankets you can find.”

“i think you look so beautiful whenever you’re just… here. when you’re not trying to look pretty. when i can really see that you feel at home and comfortable. that’s when i fall in love even more.”

as much as you loved winter, sometimes you felt like the snow was just plain excessive. the hem of your pants was entirely soaked, as was your hair, falling into your face in wet strands, nose and cheeks bright red as you tried your best to keep your extremities from falling off. you wanted nothing more than to get home, the short walk from your part-time job to the bus station enough to leave you freezing, and the slightly longer walk from the bus stop to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend more than enough to leave you dripping wet and your teeth chattering.

you near threw yourself into the building as soon as you managed to open the door - thank the lord for door codes, your numb fingers that were probably only a decoration at this point unable to even get the key into the lock -, forcefully closing the door behind you to lock out the cold that had left you a snowman hybrid, and then you dragged yourself to the elevator, once more glad that the buttons were big and did not require any kind of precision in your movements, nor did it require you to move the ice blocks attached to your legs until the doors opened with a cheery ‘ding!’, allowing you to drag your sorry self towards the door you could so easily tell was yours, even when your brain was frozen and refused to work, because your darling had decided that you needed to adorn your door with a drawing that looked like a kindergartener had drawn it, but really it had been the two of you trying to draw a stick figure portrait of each other, framed by a bright red frame that read ‘welcome’ in huge blue letters. it was a little tacky, but it always made you smile, made you feel welcome before you’d even entered your home, as did your doormat, a dirty brown little rug that said ‘doorbell broken, please yell DING DONG loudly!’, something that the two of you and several of your friends had actually started doing, much to the dismay of some of your neighbours.

you did so now, as well, both out of habit and because you most definitely would not have been able to unlock the door by yourself, so you yelled “ding dong!” and waited for the only person that would voluntarily warm you up to open the door for you.

“love, you’re home!”, you were greeted as soon as mingi opened the door, enveloping you in a spontaneous hug that felt so nice to you but had him flinch when the wetness started to seep into his own clothes, though he didn’t move away from you.

“i need all the blankets you can find”, you doddered, pushing him away without much energy, your freezing hands against his chest because if you didn’t get warmed up soon you were convinced you would die a cold, painful death.

“i got you”, one last squeeze of his warm body against your icicle, then he left you to peel off all your cold, wet clothes as he went to assemble all the blankets you owned, coming back to drop the first batch on the couch, then back to your bedroom to gather the rest and also his beloved banana sweater, a pair of sweatpants and new underwear because he knew there was no way you’d be able to heat up if you continued to wear what you were currently dressed in.

“here, warm up”, he told you as he handed you the new clothes, rubbing your back to help you regain some heat until it was time to put on the sweater, and once that was done he picked you up and moved you to the couch, where he decided it was his boyfriend duty to wrap you into every single blanket you owned; though, to be fair, you had asked him for this, and you appreciated it, too, even though it left you entirely unable to move, the massive amount of blankets effectively restricting your ability to do so.

“better now?”

your reply was a hum that could’ve been interpreted either way, which mingi took as a sign that he needed to add something else to the cosy little pile looking like dirty laundry that you’d become - himself. it was hard to fully wrap his arms around you, your usually so small frame enlarged by every single blanket you owned, but with a lot of dedication and probably halfway to dislocating his shoulder he made it work.

“now?”, and while his weight was close to crushing you due to the added weight of probably more than 5kg of blankets said 5kg of blankets also added a little cushioning, so you decided to accept the slight cracking of your ribs you were certain you’d heard when he plopped down on top of you.

this time your hum was clearly affirmative, so he nuzzled his face into your neck - ignoring the wet hair that was leaving some moist streaks on his cheeks - and started pressing soft, warm kisses to your skin. they were incredibly appreciated, but a kiss to your mouth would have been even more appreciated, and since you were unable to move his face up to yours due to the constricting blanket wrap you were in you just whined until he looked at you, confused and worried.

“i want a kiss”, you explained your whining, causing a relieved smile to appear on his face because at least you weren’t in pain or anything similar, and then you got your kiss, and a few more, too, for good measure.

“you look so cute like that”, mingi mumbled against your skin in-between kisses, “i hope you’re warm again soon.”

“i’m doing my best.”

he continued his loving ministrations, offering you some of his body warmth through his hands on your cheeks or his face against your neck, trying his very hardest to not have the two of you fall off the couch whenever he moved on top of your entirely defenseless, immobile frame, but after the third near-encounter of his face with the floor he decided to get up, despite your whining in protest.

“don’t be sad, you’ll smile again soon”, he promised, though you highly doubted it when he removed several layers of warmth from you and left you wrapped up in two blankets only.

“i’m cold”, you reminded him, voice still incredibly whiny, but he just shushed you, though lovingly.

“just wait a minute”, and off he went, scurrying around the living room like a lost bunny, though you found out that there was reason behind his scurrying once he’d turned on the christmas lights he must have hung up somewhen during the day, and then a playlist of christmas songs that was playing quietly, just loud enough to set the ambiance, but not loud enough to bother you.

“let’s dance”, not really leaving you much of a choice as he pulled you up, despite your protests.

“mingi, i still can’t really feel my feet. i can’t dance like this”, you tried to explain your reluctance, but he just smiled at you before lifting you up slightly and placing you on his feet.

“you don’t have to move now, just try not to fall”, a compromise you could accept, his arms wrapping around the blanket burrito that was you, holding you tightly so you wouldn’t fall because your arms were still trapped and falling might very well break your nose.

“now let’s dance”, as if you could protest when he was near entirely in control of your movements, but now that you didn’t have to do the dancing yourself you didn’t mind one bit. quite the opposite - you thought it was such a cute gesture, and you loved being enveloped in the comfort of his warmth and his scent.

his movements barely had the right to be called dancing, more a very slow paddling back and forth with your feet on his, but it was still perfect. he was careful to not make the two of you fall, clinging to you for dear life because he was the one responsible for keeping your body unharmed right now, his cheek resting against your hair and you admired his dedication to being close to you because there was no way your wet strings of hair against his skin were a nice feeling for him in the slightest.

“i love you”, your love murmured, so low that had anyone else been in the room, they wouldn’t have been able to hear it. this was your moment, and in a way it felt like this was your secret, too. of course people knew that the two of you loved each other, but exchanging those words so seriously felt private, not something to be broadcasted to the world.

“i love you too. you did really well, the flat is so pretty”, you praised him before giving his shoulder a kiss.

it wasn’t just flattery, either - everything was covered in fairy lights and cute little decorations that the two of you had either acquired together or brought along when you moved in together, and with the way he’d put it up it felt like home. being with him felt like home.

“you’re prettier”, and this was flattery because you knew your red face and dishevelled hair was far from your best look, so you told your boyfriend so.

“it’s true! i think you look so beautiful whenever you’re just… here. when you’re not trying to look pretty. when i can really see that you feel at home and comfortable. that’s when i fall in love even more.”

you didn’t know what to reply to that, and you weren’t even able to hug him or kiss him or show him in any other physical way how much you appreciated his words and how much you appreciated him, despite wanting to so badly. and due to this desire for showing him the affection you always held for him you asked him to unwrap you, something that took a lot of convincing him that you were no longer cold and a pouty whine of “i want to hold you, too” before mingi complied.

“i love you so much” was the first thing you told him once freed from the constricts of your blankets, arms around his neck as you pulled him down to your height, finally able to demand kisses yourself rather than having to wait for his mercy.

“i love you too”, he replied against your lips, staying in your current position for a little longer, foreheads resting against each other, before he lifted you back on top of his feet.

after another couple seconds during which mingi listened to the music softly playing in the background, taking in the soft sounds as he tapped on your back in an attempt to match the beat, he started moving, a step every second beat, slowly moving the two of you through your living room. he was holding on to you tightly, as were you holding on to him, remaining silent as you just enjoyed the moment, your lover dancing with you and making you feel like a princess even when you didn’t look the part. but who needed to look like a princess anyway when you had your boyfriend’s sweater and all the blankets he could find, and his endless love, too?

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sifeng · 4 years

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Review: Love and Redemption

While I first started watching this drama out of pure curiosity of why people claimed it to be “the second most tragic drama” (after GMP, of course). While there are certainly aspects of this show that could be better, I find it fair to claim that it is a wonderfully made xianxia, and certainly one of the best in the genre within this decade.

Plot:

According to legends, the god of war saved the heavens in a deadly battle against the demon a thousand years ago. Both fell from the heavens and disappeared from the world. Chu Xuan Ji was born to the world lacking in the six senses which makes her rather clueless and inept. She befriends Yu Si Feng, the outstanding head disciple of Lize Palace who falls for her, thus beginning a xianxia romance that is entangled with the conspiracies from the past. The Zan Hua Tournament is being held in the Shaoyang Sect and its leader Chu Lei has two daughters - his trusted eldest daughter Chu Ling Long, and the youngest daughter Chu Xuan Ji who is lazy and terrible at martial arts. When Yu Si Feng and Chu Xuan Ji meet through a coincidence, they forge a friendship with each other. Yu Si Feng falls for Xuan Ji despite the harsh consequences that he must face as it is forbidden for students of Lize Palace to fall in love. Meanwhile, Ling Long clashes with Wu Tong after she criticized his foul actions at the tournament. In retaliation, Wu Tong accidentally injures Xuan Ji and gets expelled. Having recovered from her injuries, Xuan Ji promises to concentrate on cultivating. Four years later, Xuan Ji and Yu Si Feng meet again. Si Feng wears a mask due to a curse that can only be broken if he finds true love.

Cast:

Cheng Yi (成毅) as Yu Sifeng (禹司凤)

Yuan Bingyan (袁冰妍) as Chu Xuanji (褚璇玑)

Liu Xueyi (刘学义) as Hao Chen (昊辰)

Zhang Yuxi (张予曦) as Chu Linglong (褚玲珑)

My Opinions:

Plot (My Rating - A-):

First of all, I quite like the pacing in this drama. As the matter of fact, towards the end I actually feel like some things were rushed, not dragged out. It’s never a show that allows you to press the fast forward button, because 1. the tragic moments are super intense and dramatic, and 2. you don’t dare skip over the cute/funny moments because you know there won’t be many left. Second of all, I really appreciate that the writers of this drama really decided that they were going to make the most tragic drama ever. They really dedicated themselves to that craft, and I think they succeeded wonderfully. In terms of plot points, I absolutely loved the whole 9 lifetimes idea. It really brings out the tragedy and beauty of Yu Sifeng - he will do anything to protect those he loves, especially Xuanji. I would not complain if every single lifetime was made into a 45 minute episode, though that would be 405 more minutes of Sifeng being tortured by love on top of the infinite amount of minutes that already exist in this drama.

One problem I had, again, was with the misunderstanding that separated our two leads. I understand that this misunderstanding was one that had to do with the morals, backgrounds and fates with both of them, and thus was obviously meant to be a separating factor, but with the way the two characters were written, it felt odd that it created such an amount of misunderstanding. Overall, the plot was good, it didn’t have any revolutionary ideas, but it turned up the tragedy factor and had consistent pacing (if not too rushed towards the end). I’m sure there were probably a few plot holes here and there (one of which is why is it so easy to destroy that huge jar thing towards the end? If that’s what’s keeping the universe at balance, shouldn’t it take more than just one Yuan Lang to destroy it?), but overall, solid plot.

Characters (My Rating - B):

Sifeng is an absolute angel. He’s probably the most heroic lead in a drama who acts totally out of selflessness, who will help his loved ones no matter what pain it puts him through, and who can remain so kind, so unbothered mentally by whatever pain everyone puts him through. However, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have faults. He acts irrationally in the face of love and he often mistrusts the people around him. He’s a very complete character that not only evokes viewer’s sympathy, love and admiration, but also makes sense when taking into consideration his morals. He rarely does things that are out of character. If I were to rate just his character I’d probably give an A+.

But, there are other characters in this drama. I do like Xuanji, not as much as I like Sifeng, but I like her more than most drama leads. Despite the whole lacking six senses thing being a super confusing plot hole of sorts (like she clearly likes people in the beginning, Linglong, Minyan, her father, and dislikes people, Wu Tong, but isn’t she supposed to be unfeeling? Also she screamed out of fear when she fell using the teleport tool etc etc), I liked how she wasn’t stupid, but simply naïve. She’s actually a pretty smart person, especially in the first half of the drama, when she defended Sifeng against the Five Sects, and then Minyan after he was caught from Tianxu Tang. She didn’t let herself be manipulated by her father or Hao Chen, but rather thought for herself, took into account what she knew of their characters and came to the correct conclusion that the Five Sects were being stupid. I found myself a slight bit annoyed when she took the Five Sects side on the whole Mosha Xing issue, but given that the argument was no longer Sifeng vs. her father, but rather demons vs. humans, I can sort of understand why she didn’t trust him. Also, he did lie to her a bunch of times so, I suppose that adds to the fact. Though, she failed to use the trait that I used to really like, which was the ability to take logic and character into consideration. Did she really think that Sifeng never loved her? Because like, with all the evidence right there in her memory, I find it hard for anyone logical being to come to that conclusion. Also, I really like how she eventually became as loving of Sifeng as he was of her. She was literally willing to destroy the world, and herself, just to save him.

As I have said before, no one likes Hao Chen, and that’s good. He’s obviously written to be a character that you should dislike, not only because he gets in the way of Sifeng and Xuanji, but because he is clearly so biased against demons (despite the fact that most demons aren’t even bad at all); because he manipulates Xuanji/God of War so many times and doesn’t even feel guilty whatsoever; because he always says “for the three realms” and yet happens to do things that will completely destroy the peace of the three realms. There are things to like about him, like I am pretty sure that he does actually care about the three realms, and he does want there to be peace, but his ideology about peace, and love, and war are just so skewed that he ends up doing the opposite of what he wants to do.

Other characters were mostly likable, like Linglong, Zi Hu, Teng She, Minyan (most of the time), Xiao Yinhua, Ruo Yu (sometimes), Wu Zhiqi, etc etc. Some were evil for no apparent reason like Yuan Lang (why does he want to control the three worlds? What happened to him in the past for him to become this power hungry? If these questions were answered this character could be sooooo much more compelling) and Wu Tong (again, why did he start out so violent and cruel? I understand why he become a demon and helped them, but like does he not realize that it was clearly his fault first?) Also, the Heavenly Emperor seems like such an odd character. I understand he is the emperor and so he shouldn’t hold his relationship with Bailin and Xixuan above their faults, but like why was he so okay with like letting a totally faultless Xi Xuan endure several mortal trials all ending with painful deaths? And if that was because he was being a good and fair emperor, why does he let a game board decide fate? He also just stood there while the world was ending, and it took Xuanji to convince him to help her. I would like to know more about this guy and his complete lack of ability to care about anything.

So overall, while I think the main characters were written very well, with complex characteristics, some of the villains were just left tools to push forward the plot.

Acting (My Rating - A-):

So first of all, Cheng Yi’s portrayal of Yu Sifeng was absolutely amazing. He brought out all of Sifeng’s traits super well, from shyness initially to the cruelness Mosha Xing to his loving gaze at Xuanji to the heartbreak in tragic parts. I’m pretty sure he’ll become a star after this show, and can I just say, he totally deserves it!

(Like can you see the pain in his eyes?)

I was pleasantly surprised by Yuan Bingyan here. I really like how her acting style changed along with the new role she took, as Xuanji she was bright and cheerful, as God of War she was heartless and cruel. You can see in the nine lifetimes that the way she reacts to Sifeng’s death slowly changes. Her crying scenes need a little more emotion, but overall, a super stable performance.

Chemistry/Romance (My Rating - A):

The chemistry was just amazing. I find it interesting that their kisses slowly got more and more passionate as time went on.

I think part of the reason they have such good chemistry is because of the acting. Like oh my god their tiny reactions to when the other gets hurt really gives it away that they love each other.

The romance was also written nicely. While some people complain that Xuanji didn’t suffer enough, I feel like they don’t have to be equal in suffering in order for them to be a good pairing. You could tell from the very beginning that Xuanji liked Sifeng in a different way from other people. And the fact that they went through nine lifetimes together, each one when Sifeng died because of Xuanji... it just makes their romance so much more epic. Add that with good chemistry, good kisses, and good acting, well of course people love this ship so much! Xuanji would destroy the world for Sifeng, because the only person that matters in her world is Sifeng. Sifeng would put himself through ten lifetimes of torture just so Xuanji can be happy, because so long as Xuanji is happy, he will be happy.

Music (My Rating - A): this one is simple. Just listen to the soundtrack and you’ll understand my rating. I didn’t give it an A+ though, because while all the songs are great, there isn’t one in particular that I love.

Costumes (My Rating - A-): Sifeng’s costumes are really pretty. Some of Xuanji’s are pretty too, they get prettier as the show goes on, but some of the ones early on were kind of meh.

CGI (My Rating - A+): the best CGI in a cdrama. Just look at the scenes where Sifeng shows his wings!

Overall Rating: A-

Recommend For: People who like xianxia dramas and dramas that try to incorporate a lot of themes. People who don’t mind their heart breaking a thousand times while watching a drama. People who want to find a couple that you have to root for. People who like super epic guzhuangs with lots of subplots, mythology, reincarnations etc.

#cdrama #Cdrama Review #I actually like this more than AoL #cheng yi #成毅 #Yuan Bingyan #袁冰妍 #I love the otp okay #they have such amazing chemistry

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theladysexpistol · 4 years

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Scenario where mista’s s/o is being a brat all day and he teaches her a lesson by spanking their ass and then giving the best after care ever 🥵 ( forgive me for my sins!!)

Broooo... how did u break into my phone and find one of my later ideas?? Seriously this is so similar to another idea I had I’m like 👀

Also like, it’s okay I’m already going to jail for my horny crimes, this is a pro-sin blog, especially if Mista is involved

N/SFW below cut (IF CUT WANTS TO WORK PROPERLY!!!)

~~~

Mista had been looking forward to relaxing when he received Bucciarati’s message to meet up. No jobs to be done, just the group chilling at Libeccio’s for a few hours to see if their services were needed, and then they could do whatever they wanted for the rest of the day. Which, for Mista, would be you.

At least that was what he had planned. You seemed to have other ideas.

“What do you think?” You were asking Giorno, showing him a report you had been working on the previous day. Even as you surely knew your boyfriend’s eyes were on you, you leaned in to a Giorno just enough to making a little jealousy turn in his gut. Giorno would never do such a thing, and Mista knew you would never actually go through with it; but damn were you being a little too touchy for his liking.

And that smile, that little damn smile, he could see the corners of your mouth turn up when he groaned a bit. You knew exactly what you were doing. He wasn’t sure if that made it worse... or turned him on more.

All morning he’d heard about how great the rest of his team was - Fugo was soooo smart, and Abbacchio was soooo dedicated to his work, and Bruno was the greatest leader, Narancia was so enthusiastic and a great listener, and Giorno was perfect... nothing for him.

Granted, he was the one you were sleeping with, so clearly there must be something of his many amazing qualities you liked.

He had picked up too on the way you would slide down his arm, as if admiring his muscles, then slip out of his grasp when he tried to put his arms around you. You ducked when he went in for a kiss, but leaned over and whispered words into his ear that basically had Mista blushing down to his toes.

He’d just about had enough when you backed up into him and pressed your ass against his hard-on, then slipped away again before he could do anything about it. Mista was practically trembling, unsure if it was from the frustration of being denied all day, or how bad he wanted to take you right now, in front of the rest of the crew. It was more than just teasing, he was being tortured.

By the time Bucciarati dismissed the group, Mista had his revenge planned out. He was silent as he drove the two of you back home, but the moment you both crossed the threshold of the door he scooped you up in his arms and kicked it shut behind him.

Now, teasing him and making him a bit feistier in bed when you two finally got home had been your intentions; you just hadn’t realized how well you’d accomplished this goal. Before you could even really understand what was going on, Mista had tossed you on back-first onto your bed and then got on himself and looked over you. The look in his eyes was eerily similar to the way he grinned at a hostage when interrogating him, and that was when you realized you might have gone a bit too far today.

A shiver ran down your spine. Mista was a slow, lazy sex kind of guy. You’d never seen him like this before in bed, and you were very excited.

“How are you gonna make up for your behavior today?” He asked you indignantly, but very characteristic of Mista when the two of you tried more unconventional things to make sure you were okay before doing them.

You feigned innocence though, batting your lashes at him as a slow smile crawled across your face. “I‘m not quite sure what you’re talking about, think you can show me?”

Mista’s expression changed so comically that you stifled a laugh; he seemed to believe you at first, and suddenly felt guilty. So you pressed him a little more.

“I think you’re losing your touch lately, Mista,” you quirked an eyebrow, trying to anticipate his response. “Why don’t you let me really have it?”

To your surprise, his hands grasped your sides and he tossed you over onto your belly. You whined in response, now unable to see your boyfriend’s face. Despite that, another delightful shiver ran down your spine as you anticipated what was going to happen.

His large hands first grabbed you again, undressing you as he repeated all the dirty things you had whispered in his ears today before denying him any sort of displays of affection. Mista then adjusted your naked body so that your ass was in the air and you tensed with excitement, your core already warming with that familiar heat of arousal.

“I think,” you heard him chuckle from behind you. It was a dark chuckle, a different Mista than you were used to. It would be a lie to say you didn’t like it, though. “We’re gonna try something a little different first.”

There was a loud crack that echoed throughout the bedroom, and everything moved at once; you mewled before you even felt the pain as Mista’s hand struck your bare ass. It stung, yes, but the reaction on the rest of your body was immediate. Never in your wildest dreams would you imagine being spanked would be a form of foreplay you would be into, but then again you never really imagined someone like Mista as your boyfriend. You had a feeling he had a part in how much you were enjoying this.

Mista brought his hand down again... and again... until you were teary and moaning, and begging him to fuck you so you could finish.

“So now you want me. You teased me all day, but now I’ve got you begging for me,” Mista was teasing you now, and honestly, it was even better being teased than doing the teasing. “I see, bambina. All right, you were a good girl and took that so well...”

You felt him grab a hold of your ass again and realized what was going on only a moment before he holstered himself inside you from behind. The pace he set was harsh and fast, nothing like how the two of you normally had sex. It was exhilarating, and you loved every second of it.

Mista’s affection after such an intense experience was his usual, if not even more, levels of affectionate. His much larger body would almost be crushing you if he wasn’t simultaneously propping himself up with those strong arms of his. He peppered your face with kisses, repeating over and over again how much he loved you, as though he were afraid you hadn’t enjoyed yourself.

Which would be hard to even say as a lie, considering you were still seeing stars.

You wrapped your arms around Mista’s neck though finally, and pulled yourself up to kiss him on the lips. “Did I go a little too far today? I just want to rile you up a bit. I didn’t expect... that...”

“I knew exactly what you were doing, and I let it happen anyway,” Mista grumbled a bit, though he then rolled over onto his back and swept you up into his arms again. Cuddling was his favorite thing to do after sex, you were almost convinced it meant more to him than the actual sex.

“I’ll ring it in a bit for next time,” you teased him gently, laughing as you saw his face turn into a pout. “I’m sorry baby, you can’t just do something like that to a girl and not expect her to want it again!

“But not for a while! I promise!” You added after he flashed puppy dog eyes at you.

Satisfied by this response, Mista grabbed you around the waist once again while grinning, and rolled over to the other side of the bed. He wasn’t quite done with you, you still had all night to have some more fun.

~~~

[A/N: Sorry I skipped over the sex itself... I’m still not quite confident in writing full smut yet. But the things that come before and the things that come after... yeah, I’ll always write those lol. Hope y’all liked this!]

#bree writes #jojo fanfiction #spicyyyyy #mista x reader #guido mista #we are all feral for mista #brees quest to find all the mista x readers on the internet #except i didnt find this one i wrote it #request 💖#fem reader

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waterrunstogether · 4 years

Text

Rites of Passage in the Fifth World

I’ve been thinking lately about the absence of real rites of passage in modern “western culture”. A rite of passage is a sort of ritualized event (that may or may not be endorsed/organized by a community) in which a person is believed to exit from one stage of life and enter the next, usually from childhood to adulthood. Other than the humiliation of high school proms/frat hazing, or getting your driver’s license, or turning 21 and getting shitfaced, my culture in the United States has little to offer in the way of true rites of passage.

The result is a population of confused, somewhat disillusioned children driving around and going to work or university and pretending to be adults while hopelessly stuck in the liminal space between youth and adulthood.

~ 20 year old me pretending to know what’s going on ~

I have thought about quinceañeras and baptisms, religious rites of passage commonly practiced still, but considering the traumatic experience that my parents’ organized religion was for me, I don’t believe now that my baptism was a helpful event facilitating my transition into maturity. I think it was a blindingly painful event whose toxicity I needed to overcome in what I now believe was the true rite of passage.

I first dropped acid when I was traveling in Bulgaria. My partner was in her hometown across the country and I was visiting Plovdiv with a friend. We had just finished traveling the world, or at least Eurasia, meeting new faces and trying new things and taking wild risks in Thailand and Turkey and India and Malaysia, to name a few. I had also just escaped the cult I was born and raised in which had hammered into me from birth that my sexual and romantic orientation was an abomination, as a woman I was to obey men, God loved me and wanted me to fear him (that is to say, love = fear), the leaders of the church were to be obeyed and respected all the time (even if they were obviously wrong) and so on and so forth. It was an insane transition between being trapped in these religious handcuffs and learning that I could break free all along. In fact, I carried so much self hatred and internalized homophobia with me into my supposed new life that I didn’t know what to do with myself. Despite being outwardly happier than I had ever been before with a wonderful partner and community who truly loved and supported me for who I was, inwardly I was constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown due to all of the conflicting thoughts and beliefs I was carrying and creating within myself.

The experience of that first trip was an interesting one. Every step of the way my body seemed to pull me towards the letting go of all of the toxicity that was so thick and had built up like plaque in the arteries of my energetic being--yet, I remained me throughout the trip, at the end feeling somewhat empowered but not yet finished with the transformation.

A few months later I took psilocybin, AKA magic mushrooms, with my little brother on a rainy Summer day in D.C. The whole come up of the trip was talking to trees and observing the movements of leaves, running my fingers over the moss growing on the exposed, knotty roots of tree in front of our house. But at the end of the trip, something changed. Once again my body requested, begged me, to let go of the still-prevalent toxicity inside of me. My health was in rough shape, mentally and physically, and my body knew the culprit. But once more I felt I couldn’t let go just yet, it would be too much for me, I wasn’t ready. So I spent the entire come down and then some, maybe four hours, weeping uncontrollably on the basement floor.

The second time I dropped acid was yesterday, with my partner, here in Berlin. It changed everything.

During the come up I was taken aback by how strong the effect it had on me was. My partner, bless her heart, had taken a larger dose than me, yet felt no effect the entire time. Her tolerance has always been naturally higher than mine for every kind of intoxicating substance, and LSD was no exception.

As time went on I came to realize that her high tolerance was incredibly fortunate for me and my trip. The initial come up was amusing, as flashes of white light began to fill up my eyes, closed and open; but very quickly I began to get paranoid, strange little thoughts about being set up and targeted running through my mind as my sense of self slowly began to dissipate, just nonsense that the ego conjures up to protect itself. But my partner’s calming reassurances that she loved me and that I was safe effectively calmed me down.

Once I began to enjoy the ride up, holding a half of a pomegranate and appreciating its beauty, touching a slice of orange and loving how soft it felt in my hands, admiring the fractals of color creating all kinds of geometric shapes on the walls and snow outside the window, I became comfortable with my loss of identity. At some point I realized that I didn’t even know my name, and I didn’t care, because it was irrelevant. All that was relevant was experience.

Imagine experiencing and interacting with the world around you without the barrier of the thing that we are so used to that it’s difficult to think of it as a barrier at all: your concept of self. Ideas about names and races and gender and desire and anger and malice and hatred just made absolutely no sense whatsoever. In this state, all that made sense was goodness and beauty and love. All that I understood was harmony and mutually beneficial behavior. My preconceived notions about who I was and what that meant were being shattered and shredded before my very eyes, exposed for what they were: nonsense.

Once I plateaued and began to slowly come down after about four or five hours I was able to contemplate what these things meant, what they would mean for me going forward. I went into the bathroom around hour 7 and decided that it was time to look into the mirror.

Many people will tell you not to look into the mirror during an acid trip, that it’ll give you the dreaded “bad trip” and you’ll have a shit time. I completely disagree. If you are like me and need to come to terms with yourself through the wonderful, horrific, beautiful, terrifying experience that is an “ego death”, I’m afraid that you’ll have no choice but to look into the mirror at some point.

So, I stared myself down in the mirror and admitted what I couldn’t admit for so long, due to being taught that I was essentially evil since the day I was born. I’d called myself a sinner, wicked, worthless, ugly, an abomination and just about every other mean word in the evangelical dictionary. But as I stood there looking at my body in the mirror, egoless and impartial, I said, “You have done and thought some cruel things to yourself for some time now. But you know what? You are a kind person. You are a wonderful person. You treat people with respect and love, you treat everyone you’ve ever met with so much empathy, so much caring. You love the truth, you love to be generous, you love to be a good friend. You must begin to treat yourself the same way. I know you’ve had so much hatred in your heart contaminating your energy for so long, but that is enough. That is enough. No more. I am a kind person. I am a kind person. I love you. Remember that night so long ago? Beneath the stars, where they submerged you in the baptismal water and tried to destroy you, saying these sacred waters would wash all your sins away, along with your fragile, meaningless identity? Well, they simply added more to your ego, a darker side. You built up so much negativity for so long. Well, look at you now. Your identity, all of the ideas and concepts that you’ve built up around who you really are to protect you from the hurt of Life, it’s all gone. Now you’re going to baptize yourself again. You’ll be truly reborn, this time dedicated not to destroying yourself for the sake of a religion, but dedicated to renewing and becoming and becoming and becoming.” As I looking into the mirror my silhouette became filled in with the velvet black of the night sky, full of bright stars.

I turned on the water and was baptized once again, by my own hands.

When I returned to the room I felt happier than I had ever felt in my life, light as air, free. I told several people about how much I love them and described my love for them in detail, not as this thing that’s an extension of my own ego, but my love for them was a little bit of energy that I had the honor of holding in me, in this body, and sharing between us for a time, for the wonderful events that we call our lives. I could actually see love. I understood that I was not all of the concepts I’ve built around myself, but an expression of energy in this space and time, connected to every other expression of energy in all of history, from the beginning and until the end. My matter, my body, was simply a vehicle for the energy, and would be recycled into new vehicles after I die. My energy would be transferred into new vehicles as well. That’s what we perceive as death: just a simple transfer of energy and recycling of matter. My ego would not live on, thankfully. My consciousness as conflated with ego would cease to exist with me. But the underlying animating force behind all things in the universe, the true source of consciousness, would never be destroyed or created, simply recycled again and again and again and again. Becoming and becoming and becoming and becoming.

The hilarious and bizarre world of reality is hilarious and bizarre. It’s so beautiful and mystical and wonderful and honestly, nothing I write here could ever explain how I experienced being alive in that sixteen hour trip. Words don’t convey it, words can’t convey it. Reality is visceral, experiential, impartial and impossible to quantify in something as crude as human language.

All I know is that, today, I am a fundamentally changed person. I’d feared ego death for so long, feared that it would be too much, too painful. And it was so, so painful--but it was so worth it. I am happy and proud to exist, grateful for everything I have accomplished and can accomplish in this miraculous, tiny little vessel during this ephemeral event that is my life. I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow if tomorrow exists, and unleash all of my love on everyone who’ll have it. Love is the energy that unites us with our own bodies and the entire world around us. How lucky and strange it is to be anything at all.

May you have a peaceful day. The universe smiles upon you.

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hedonisthierophant · 4 years

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Unveiled eyes and bloodless lips -A skarsgard multiverse thing.

A universe of many Bills, a couple AHAs, and a few others.

@grandpa-sweaters You asked for fic with The Kid and instead I somehow came up with this monstrosity. I’m not sure if you’ve ever read my writing before but I’m sorry.

Dedicated to my literary soulmate @ill-skillsgard I hope you don’t hate it.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, gore, spit kink, cuckoldry, degradation, injury, death.

Unveiled eyes and bloodless lips

The witch had lost this game long before she even started playing, the final result such a foregone conclusion that it might be more accurate in fact to say she had lost before she had even been born. Forces much larger than her, to call them even titanic in scope would be an understatement, had been attending to the moves of the board since time immemorial. To say her fate such as it was had been decided back then is to grievously misstate the situation. Her exact destiny was fiercely contested on the board of play, it could’ve turned out completely differently, unfolding along anyone of the infinite myriad of paths of kismet. But her doom? That became inevitable she drew the attention of the game’s players. Naturally she remained unaware of the inescapable quality of her demise, she fought against it until the very last moment, her ferocious zeal, her skill and talent, all of it amounted to naught, For what hope does in an insect have against flood? Through no fault of her own, her perspective on this eons-long contest she had the misfortune of being prescribed to enter was…limited. In actuality the word “limited” doesn’t begin to convey the magnitude of her ignorance, imagine if you will placing your eye at a keyhole and attempting to catch a glimpse of a room darkened to pitch black. Some less astute souls might say that her involvement in the affair was rather like bringing a deaf person to the symphony but you dear reader know better, I should hope. Someone who cannot hear will have a different experience with music to be sure, but an experience they will have, the concepts on display remain within the realm of understanding. In our case a young woman became the toy of forces so far beyond her ken that she was to them as an amoeba might be to one of us beneath the prying lens of a microscope. As you may have surmised the tragedy that brings my voyeuristic audience to me unfolded slowly, spanning two lifetimes. Of course, this is only slow from the mortal point of view, to the beings that brought this about such a timeframe was less than the blink of an eye might be to us, for their machinations make glaciers seem to move with haste. Oh yes, they lack celerity but in exchange their actions carry the gravity of unquestionable certainty. However, I have indulged myself long enough. It is time that I recount, to the best of my ability the story which is brought you here today…whilst I remain able to do so.

Her mother was possessed of a nearly singular lack of the talent that had been at the disposal to members of her family as far back as records would go. She did retain the gift of foresight. In the hands of anyone else this boon guaranteed an interesting life, if not necessarily a good one. The ability to see the future meant that so much of the world could be bent to your whim, fortunes raised, mistakes avoided, enemies destroyed before they even had the opportunity to transgress. For her mother though the only thing her visions brought was infinite sadness. She was many months pregnant you see. The result of an impetuous liaison with an excitable and impassioned thief several years who junior who quite literally stumbled into her lap, betrayed by his gangly limbs at a luxurious hotel bar he happened to be casing. He must have absconded with a waiter’s uniform for nothing about his outfit fit his exquisitely lanky form properly. Remembering the bowtie that hung limply and sideways from his collar still brings a smile to her face. The knave proclaimed she was the love of his life, his goddess and that he would devote his life to securing her happiness. It was quite a scene the tableau made certainly more…unconventional due to the fact that she was celebrating her first wedding anniversary at and sitting directly across from her husband at the time. Their marriage had been mostly a business arrangement, not entirely loveless but more cordial than intimate, but she thinks she could have grown to love him for the smirk that wound its way across his face after the blubbering young would be waiter realized his presence. She recalls watching the scene like a member of the audience at the theater, her face impassive, one brow raised. Her husband had a reputation for an incredibly violent temper, if you ever witnessed it though but she could never convince herself to entirely discredit the rumors. Both she and the scoundrel were frozen, he in fear, she in surprise. Her husband stood up, declare that their food had been awful and they were taking the waiter as recompense. Her husband, she couldn’t stand the pain that thinking his name brought even all these years later. He had made his fortune as proprietor of the “last heir to the great circuses of old, the man was a showman to his core and could have sold sin to the most pious of people. Sitting in the stands watching that man bewitch everyone around her, she certain she could’ve learned to love him had she been given more time with him. Her brother-in-law put a stop to any happy fantasies she might’ve entertained though, fratricide had a way of casting a pall over such things. Death took him from her, but that night he had been so very alive. He threw the reprobate onto their sumptuous marriage bed and ordered her in a voice that was equal parts chilling and gleeful to fuck him within an inch of his life. She did, hips canting madly as she struggled to match the thief’s exuberance for all he was worth, she was the only thing that grounded him as he shuddered through orgasm after improbable orgasm. His soulful eyes stared up at her as though she had hung the stars. After one particularly fierce climax she turned to look at her husband across the darkened room for all the while he had been orchestrating the performance as though being its sole audience member also burdened him with the role of conductor, she may have been having extraordinary sex but for all that the two of them were just toys for her husband. He controlled them with such precision a note here, a whisper there, advice for the two of them ghosting across the room. He was a master puppeteer, they may have lacked physical strings but that did not stop him. He ruled over them with the same exactness he employed with his beloved elephants, compelling them through routines to astound and amaze basking in the dazzled worship of the onlookers. That night though, he was taking full advantage of being the only onlooker. She still remembers the manic smile on his face and how his hair looked like flame in the moonlight spilling through the window as hysterical (euphoric) laughter echoed off the walls of their manor, as though her husband were the only one in on some wonderfully hilarious joke of cosmic proportions. Looking back on it, he may well have been. Following their final crescendo as her husband’s euphoria slowly waned into giggling, the criminal professed his love for her for the umpteenth time and begged her to come away with him to Florida, promising to dedicate the rest of his days to making her happy. His stirring gaze brimmed with imploring tears he unabashedly let fall from his eyes, his voice quavering beneath the immense wait of his need to keep her in his life. The scales she used to weigh her options were suddenly dashed as her husband took a great gasping breath, sprang up from his seated position in the sumptuous armchair he’d been occupying and began to flit around the room gathering things to him, mania rolling off him in waves. He’d hoisted the nude crook off her with little apparent effort despite being smaller than the rangy younger man. He spun him around and slapped the sex drunk visitor’s bare ass as the man squawked in surprise and indignation, pale globes of flesh flushing an angry shade of red and leaving a print in the form of her husband’s hand at the sting. Her husband crouched for on his haunches for a moment to admire his impromptu work of art. She couldn’t see him but she could clearly picture his eyes growing wide with fascination as the mark took shape, his hands twitched with restrained desire, she could practically feel him warring with the impulse to throw him onto their marriage bed yet again, but this time for the purpose of sowing sharper and deeper blossoms of suffering across the entirety of the canvas that was the other man’s body. Disturbed smile still in place as he ground his teeth he muttered to himself in hushed tones. “No Jer, be a good boy. Almost done now, you can do it. Just gotta ape him. He straightened the conflict within him tucked away beneath the impeccable veneer of the consummate showman’s mask. “Would that I could have joined you crazy kids. I’d have loved to use all my fun little tricks on a tall glass of water like you. I’d have driven you crazy, stark raving mad really, shown you just how wild gingers can get, I’m talking showing you where the animals go.” He said with a grin that was only matched in lascivious by it’s lunacy and air of danger. She was certain the young man with the innocence and coordination of a newborn fawn would not have survived such an encounter He clapped the sex drunk young man on the back, sensually garbed him in a ludicrously expensive silken kimono, handed him a duffel bag of cash as though he had one standing by for just this occasion. That torn expression came over his face yet again, this time he surrendered to his urges. Quite suddenly he brought their lips together with the force of a devouring hunger, grinding his crotch against the other man’s leg. Judging by the surprised sound that issued from their visitor, her husband’s tongue had embarked on an enthusiastic exploration of the other man’s mouth. Then as suddenly as the whirlwind of passion had come, it stilled. He stepped back, a deranged smile lighting up his face. A single thin and determined cord of saliva still bound them together in remembrance of their embrace, her husband broke it with his middle finger, and then brought the digit to the other man’s lips. He sucked on it with a dazed expression for a moment before her husband withdrew with out warning. He clapped him on his back, said in perhaps the most jovial tone a cuckold has ever used with his competitor “I’ve always loved a good fireworks show.” and sent the befuddled young paramour on his way with a wink. The next day her husband left on “family business” to some crime on the east coast submerged seven layers deep in corruption and crime, this business ended in his demise. She remembers looking at him in the casket, smirk fixed in place as though even in death he had gotten the last laugh after all.

That had all been eight months ago exactly. Now here she was at a comfortable cruising altitude of 30,000 feet returning from a sojourn to the place where so many of her sisters had famously died along with innocents and hapless victims of circumstance. She buried her husband in the cesspool city and then communed with nature and the spirits of the sisters who came before her in Salem, now all that was left for her to do was return to her family’s modest estate in Canada and continue puzzling over the odd provision in her husband’s will for any child of hers regardless of whether that child was part of their union or not. The trouble began in earnest on that flight which should’ve been an entirely unremarkable trip from Salem to Halifax. The first unusual occurrence was that her water broke and quite suddenly she was in the process of bringing a life into the world some 2000 stories off the ground suspended in what she’d always considered to be fragile contraptions held aloft by little more than a prayer. Her situation was odd and certainly less than ideal but not unheard of. The flight attendants rushed her to the back of the plane and by what many would like to think was a happy accident there were several members of an obstetrics team present aboard that very flight. The delivery was much more difficult than expected for the culmination of what had been by every reckoning a model pregnancy, with nary an over-enthusiastic kick. Whatever creature was inside of her head suddenly gained the claws of the most wicked of fairytale crones, and the weight of a giant every movement brought only piercing agony and precious little relief. Her screams echoed through the craft that was a dedication to mankind’s hubris as her pain intensified so too did an incredibly unforeseen bout of bad weather, the radar which just hours ago prior to takeoff had promised skies wonderful for flying was now proving itself to be a liar. It was as though passing above some insignificant little town in Maine that caused the storm spring up around them. Their vehicle was buffeted from every direction by winds and frost that were unseasonable even for harsh winter in upper North America. Around her people cursed and prayed, screamed and shouted as the pilots fought to deliver their charges to the ground in the same amount of pieces as they left it, rather than in so many more as was becoming increasingly likely. The town against all sense did have its own infinitesimally small airstrip, it wasn’t until many years later that she would begin to understand just how long ago the pieces had been set in play. As they began their harried descent people were struck by falling luggage and other debris that comes when you compress the lives of hundred people into the space of an aircraft and then turn it into a topsy-turvy. Some were killed, she even took a piece of glass to the jaw but any object that got within striking distance of the newborn child swaddled in a washcloth suddenly lost all momentum and dropped to the floor, this sort of power was most definitely beyond her she had no gift for telekinetics but she was simply too alarmed at the gravity of their situation as Earth’s own gravity began to make its power and its displeasure at having been flaunted known to the passengers. Someone with much more than was at her disposal was looking out for her daughter. And so, their airplane limped down from the sky thoroughly chastened by Zeus and his ilk for its trespass into their domain and Moira and her mother crashed into Castle Rock.

Moira and her mother had always been considered oddities by the town. Two outsiders literally cast out of the heavens and dropped into the midst of unwelcoming townsfolk. Her mother had made the best of the situation, for she had tried, made a very valiant attempt to leave this town but the moment that she crossed the boundaries she was wrapped in agony which would not abate until she took a step back into the town, this phenomenon persisted whether she tried by car or on foot and she refused to give air travel another attempt. She was no fool, she knew well that some incredible force was bent on keeping her and her daughter entrapped in this little nothing of a hamlet. She may not have had the gifts that her family had taken for granted but anyone could make rituals work with enough determination, she used her dead husband’s well to secure a small cottage on the outskirts of town for her daughter and set about turning it into a mystic fortress brimming with occult defenses. Oh the villagers looked at her askance when she went asking strange herbs or when rumors, true in this case, swirled about that she desecrated graves looking for bones or danced in the moonlight bared skin flashing as she circled her home and chanted in forgotten tongues. Castle Rock had a history with which is in their neighbor town of Salem’s Lot you see, they knew the signs even if many had forgotten precisely what they meant. When her mother realized she was potentially in the territory of other practitioners her theory became that a powerful coven existed here and they wanted her for as of yet unknown reasons, but the more she doubt the more it seemed that any true coven had long since died out or moved on to more fitting pastures. The occult in community the town consisted of one or two charlatans, and a few like herself with barely an iota of true power between them, capable of little more than the simplest cantrips, certainly not the massive feats of magic required to both down and trap her here. The first night she performed a ritual of crying beseeching a cracked bowl she’d stolen from the motel to connect her with her mother. Her family had always been a nest of vipers they were immune to their own poison but that did not stop the backstabbing that took place as soon as one was no longer able to defend oneself. Her mother made it clear imperious tones bringing out into the forest and stirring the leaves although in truth she was many miles away, that by allowing herself to be brought low and trapped in a backwater with even a lesser one of her families grimoires by unknown parties she had shamed the family and would be forgotten. They would not come to her aid. Cast out of the one coven she had known since birth she went about forming a tighter knit one as its replacement. She had asked the two charlatans out of town and gathered those with inklings of true power to her, she lacked her family’s innate command of the mystic arts, but her deficit had made her a master ritualist. And so she doled out their precious secrets to a few peasants in this town and made herself a new family. With helpers at her disposal she was able to enact more complex magic and had soon carved out a niche for herself and her followers as the area’s sole authority on matters of the arcane. People flocked to see her from all corners of the continent and a few from even further. She didn’t doubt that her mother, the rest of her family and their retainers were trying their best to end her life but as the years went by it occurred to her that whatever was keeping her here was also keeping her alive, the town seemed to repel anything more than passing outside influences and her family feared to enter its boundaries and become trapped themselves, better to let whatever invisible enemy had brought her there finish her off eventually. Their judgment proved correct.

Moira was an unusual soul, daughter of the town witch and perpetually mistrusted. Despite all that she had a sunny demeanor and those that matter couldn’t help but be charmed by her. For as long as she could remember her mother had forced her, even as a barely aware child to partake in odd rituals, from filling purple gossamer bags of strange herbs sends unknown objects and placing them in various spots throughout the house to keeping a bowl of water by the door and flicking a drop against the wood once it was shut to bathing in oils and strange concoctions by the light of the moon. She did all this because as she told Moira “Something was out to get them.” Moira always found it odd that her mother chose to say something as opposed to someone. Moira had always dreamed of being a doctor but her mother forbid her to leave town for any reason and although she could not explain why to herself even after all these years she’d never even thought of disobeying that particular rule. Her few friends in town and her mother concurred that she would’ve made a brilliant doctor but in a town like Castle Rock the closest she could manage was to be a nursing assistant at the local prison. Some days she bemoaned her life stuck in this little town, so small that it did not even merit a dot on most maps of the area. But she would gather up her natural cheer, take her sketchpad and pencil, sit in the park and draw on those days. Since Moira began drawing she’d been a prodigy, but even from earliest childhood when one has no attention span to speak of after she would dally with the subject and that she would return always to her first. A pair of haunting blue-green eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and your whispering pair of lips, cracked and dry, parched even to the drawings one got the impression that no words passed between them for a long time. The drawings of course worried her mother but try as she might she could puzzle out no theories as to their significance, the last time she’d tried describing ritual on the mysterious subject her bowl had been gripped by a powerful kinetic force shattered from the inside out embedding pieces of cheap ceramic into the wall around her and a few into her body as water that had been cool and tranquil moments earlier became scalding and improbably rose up to splash her in the face. It was then she decided that the drawings were out of her power.

Whenever she was outside of her house Moira always felt the faintest buzzing against her skull, the local doctor had considered it a prodromal symptom of a migraine, but the element never progressed beyond an irritating sound. Until the day she disobeyed one of her mother’s rules. She always looked forward to Fridays, it meant that she have the weekend to draw, but more importantly she would get to see Adrian. Adrian she suspected, that been an enigma from the moment he was born. A Scandinavian street rat with far too much charm and intelligence for his own good and somehow grifted his way across the Atlantic and ended up in her life riding a steed of criminal charges for allegedly attempting to traffic young women across the border. Adrian claimed he had been trying to rescue them and the promised jury of his “peers” such as it was appeared to have bought that story, but Adrian could sell water to a drowning man. Even Moira was unsure what the truth of the matter was. Still Adrian was a charmer, and incorrigible flirt and she had fun bantering with him, although when she asked about his plans his thoughts always turned to getting out and making enough money to support his little boy. About a month ago, Adrian had complained of awful whispering noises splitting his skull during the day while Moira was not on shift. She walked into his cell the later at the start of the graveyard shift and found him sitting as though he were a wounded lion whose legs had been caught in a trap, through his quick pained breaths he greeted her in a melodious accent that was related to but unlike Adrian’s own. She saw that his legs were twisted, broken and fractured at various intervals as though someone had taken a chisel up and down the length of bone within his limbs. No one at the prison could explain the origin of his injuries and beyond a cursory visit from the institution’s uncaring physician no one tried to. As long as word did not escape these walls no one cared, Moira had thought about telling but who was there to tell? How did one even begin to do that? She’d never even left this town once in her twenty-something years. He been an able-bodied, athletic young man at lights out, and had awoken as…

“A cripple! I am but a poor humble cripple and I throw myself on your mercy, my dear sweet Moria. How must I abase myself before you to obtain another of these wonderful puddings? I am willing to do quite a lot, to serve…no that’s not quite the right word, oh your language is so silly…Service! I am willing to service you in oh so many ways!” He said in his singsong voice, appearing quite proud of himself for hunting down his lexical quarry. He he had used the provided spoon merely an implement to tear the thin film of plastic keeping him from his prize, flung it away and for lack of a better descriptor… began preforming cunnilingus on the pudding pouch in his hand, his performance was complete with moans and groans and little contented sighs. All the while never breaking eye contact with her, blue orbs burning into her own filled with indecent proposals. Unwilling to tolerate his antics anymore she snatched the offending pudding cup from his grasp, for the shadow of an instant she could have sworn a terrible look of feral rage had flashed across his countenance but it was gone before Moira could register whether or not it ever truly been there. “I am so terribly sorry dear Moira for my offense, it is just that in my day, we did not have such…culinary delights. He’d slowed to get the word “culinary” out properly but hadn’t stumbled and looked satisfied. In his day, that was the other thing, in the month since Adrian awoken the entire prison wailing about whispering in his cell, according to the doctors he developed a dis-associative identity. The young man that now occupied the cell which officially belonged to Adrian, called himself Ivar Lothbrok. He had been doing his best to convince Moira that he was the spirit of a long dead Viking who had for reasons unknown even to himself woken up in a body that was so similar to his own that it had frightened even him. The prison psychiatrist couldn’t have cared less about the situation in that cell, but to Moira it was quite the engaging mystery.

Today Moira decided to challenge him. “If you really aren’t Adrian, prove it if you’re not him then your innocent of the crimes that got him put in here and you should be angry, you should want out.” The smile that split the face in front of her should have been a warning. “I may be innocent of his petty crime dealing in flesh and weird…potions,” Moira decided to let the odd word choice go to spare his pride. “But I have killed and maimed, and lied, and stolen, and coveted many times over. You’re correct though, I do want out of the cell but for the moment I’m right where I want to be.” Moira, ever quizzical couldn’t stop herself from asking “Why do you want to be here?” “Because here is where you are.” he said as if he were speaking to the dullest child in all the world. “I will indulge you however, I am not Adrian, Adrian had pure wholesome thoughts about you, he was going to be free, tell you that he wanted you to be his little boy’s mother, beg you to start a family and run away with him to whatever little speck of a town he found someone foolish enough to care for the child while he was here. He’d have trafficked poison and flesh slaves or slaughtered swine for the rest of his days for you. He used to touch himself here in the dark fantasize about reaching through the bars of the cage and touching your skin, used to dream of having pure loving sex with you on a blanket by fjords illuminated only by the stars and the moon, lest he seemed to greedy to want to see you in all your glory. He wanted to fill your cunt with his seed over any over until the two of you made a brother or sister for precious little Patrick. One big happy family.” He spat out the infant’s name like a curse most vile, and treated the world family as though it was unconscionable poison on his tongue. She took a breath intending to halt whatever sick game he was playing, but the moment she drew breath and opened her mouth his eyes blazed with danger. “Keep your tongue behind your teeth if you wish to keep it all wench!” He roared. “You asked for this, now you will listen. I am not Adrian because never in his wildest dreams would he have contemplated the fantasy of using your uniform to tie you down and spitting on your face over and over forcing you to swallow what you could, and what you couldn’t would slide down between those perfect breasts of yours and they would glisten as I played with them, sucked and bit until they were raw, then I would have kept spitting until your cunt was drenched from the inside out, I would have laid siege to it like it was my traitor brother’s last stronghold. Oh, the sounds and squeals I would have pulled from you. I would have lavished you with my tongue and fingers, bit and sucked and twisted and slapped and pulled and made you come over and over again until you understood what it is to be ravished by a god!” He broke off into a fit of chuckling then capped with a wistful sigh. “But alas all that is denied to me, and indeed you, for you belong to someone else, and as sweet as you would be, you are not worth the effort of challenging his claim.” He stated this with such nonchalance that it broke the terrible spell that she had been under and she fled the prison with eyes burning and tears streaming.

Ivar smiled as she fled, finally, finally. he was one step closer to being free of this accursed in-between place, he was getting home to his beloved Eira and their little girl. Or perhaps another sojourn through life with his healer who had the body of a tower. Or maybe he’d meet that lippy little puppy of an entitled young man in Pennsylvania again who secretly craved discipline. Whatever happened he would be home again, nothing would stop him.

In her haste, she entered her home, ran to her bedroom and threw herself down on the bed without observing her mother’s rules. Had she been paying more attention she would’ve noticed that the water in the bowl she was supposed to flick at the door suddenly evaporated and the gossamer bags filled with protective elements suddenly caught flame and turned to ash in moments. It was then that she heard his voice. “Please don’t cry. I’m here now, it’ll be alright.” His tone was nearly plaintive. She didn’t bother setting up she knew that the voice came from no place within her home. “I’ve been waiting…eternities for you Moria,” He whispered inside her skull. “Let me make you feel better.” There was a hand stroking her face. Her eyes shot open and she beheld a figure that was both present and absent, there was wait to him but light seemed to pass through him through him as though he was merely a projection. Even trapped in the in between as he was, he was gorgeous. Her angel. A completely bare towering figure with the chest and leg and back and ass seemingly having been sculpted from the highest quality marble by da Vinci himself, with cheekbones that could reduce adamantine diamonds to dust, with lustrous hair and sinfully plump and pillowy lips. His eyes, so soulful that she believed he had lived a thousand lifetimes, she realized she’d been drawing this face for as long as she could remember. To feel his touch was to experience euphoria. He kissed her and all her senses were expanded beyond human potential, she saw a kaleidoscope of colors behind her eyes, he smelled and tasted of every single enticing thing at once but instead of a riotous discord of scents and flavors, they were balanced in perfect harmony. His voice alone could reduce her bones to jelly in a way that would make Ivar fear she intended to stake a claim to his epithet. He worshiped her with his entire being, fingers and hands and tongue and colossal endowment yes, but in the midst of their lovemaking she was certain that their spirits were melding even more intensely than their bodies. He spat upon her face one and she felt as though she were being anointed in holy oil by a deity. He scored her flesh with his sharp straight teeth the color of shining bone, drew blood, and she was happy to give it. His enormous hand encircled her throat closed her airway and if she hadn’t already been experiencing what she thought might be Nirvana, the oxygen deprivation would’ve taken her there. After fucking her through more than 20 orgasms and claiming all her orifices for his own each first with the gentle fervor of a virginal lover at the end of an idyllic courtship and then with a harsh brutality as though fucking her two within an inch of her life was the only way he could properly express the hatred for her that filled his entire alien being. He finally unburdened himself of his seed deep inside her and sighed contentedly .

When she awoke after their tryst, he was seated in a chair opposite her bed dressed in a suit and other finery looking for all the world like a high-powered professional instead of some cosmic entity to take an interest in her. He then told her of the tragedy of Henry Deaver, how a Titanic battle with his wife over his infidelity with a young woman he had met at a business engagement led to him driving fueled by rage and sadness while rain pounded the car and obscured his vision, he’d crashed into the lake and been thrown into a myriad of alternate realities, “other heres and nows where the dominos fell in different patterns. His stories of lives spent with Charlotte, Oliver, Westly, as a professor, a soldier from West Virginia, a bounty hunter who fought for his life in a dystopia, the life he’d almost lived of a Viking, a philanderer with a beer-based pick-up strategy, a gangster, the searching for true love based on a scientific assessment ,they all brought tears to her eyes. He entreated her with every fiber of his being to free him from his cage and put an end to his cycle of loneliness, to save him and others trapped in this limbo. She swore to do it.

That was the day the matriarch without a clan descended on the prison, her chariot of choice, a limousine flanked by a motorcade of four SUVs each bearing the insignia of an elite private security firm denigrated the world over for unsavory activities, their detractors though couldn’t question their effectiveness. She and the battalion she paid for advanced through the prison like a storm, the guards normally employed were deferential and out of their depth. The only sounds echoing through the prison with a click of her heels and the thuds of the jackboots that accompanied her for she had brought silence to the prison with her mere presence. Moira had heard of her, the interim controller of a ludicrously wealthy and secretive biotech firm following the scandalous disappearance of her son and heir. Allegedly, the young man whom the newspapers referred to as the Brat Prince had somehow veered off the course of normally accepted philandering ways among the ultrarich and powerful and become involved with someone his mother deemed unacceptable. The matriarch had come because the vast network of informants that she plied with riches and sharp promises had imparted to her knowledge of a prisoner found here who almost matched her son’s description. The only thing he had left behind was a wheelchair covered in the blood of its owner, a crippled faggot whom he had dared to take for a lover. He would pay for his insolence, for the damage down to her reputation and company, she would break this mysterious prisoner and learn all that he knew, she swore it. When she reached his unusual cell a young woman in scrubs was fumbling with the keys, her son’s face taken on a different path through destiny than the one she knew stared back at her. He spoke to her in an antiquated dialect of that language from the Balkans she had left behind so many mortal lifetimes ago, she was not that frightened, trusting girl from Wallachia anymore, she nearly charged the cage to make him pay for daring to address her this way, but the meaning of his words stilled her. “Madame Olivia, I believe we can be of help to one another once this insect has served its purpose.” Moria broke the lock.

He nuzzled into her touch aching a contented sound as she ran her hands through his hair, it had been eons since he felt the touch of another, his eyelashes fluttered and tears swam in his eyes, he would allow himself this one indulgence. “Loyal Moria, you have played your part well and in appreciation I give you the greatest of gifts, the fulfillment of your destiny.” When he spoke it was with the voice of 100 different people at once both cacophonous and whisper quiet. She screamed as his lips brushed her forehead, for this feather-light touch broke everything inside of her all at once. She fell as her skin froze and burned all at once, her muscles liquefied and her bones turned to jelly, her ears, nose, and eyes ran with blood, then her eyes began to boil in their sockets fluids running down into her still shrieking mouth as her body contorted it this way and that trying desperately to contend with suffering that was beyond human comprehension.

The last thing she saw before death mercifully claimed her were a pair of unveiled eyes atop bloodless lips, her final sight was one she had been drawing her entire life.

As the wretch finally had the good sense to expire Olivia Godfrey watched as the death seemed to fill out the prisoner’s gaunt and wan features until she could almost confuse him for an older version of her son. He drew in a deep breath, stooped to kiss her hand and issued a request, eyes glittering with dark promise: “Take me to Derry.”

#Bill Skarsgård #fic #roman godfrey #ivar the boneless #henry deaver #Mickey #axel cluney

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