#that’ll just turn into something else similar

[vampsquerade]

May I request König with fem! Reader who has anxiety and insomnia? (She sometimes stay late, but tries to keep a good hygiene.)

I relate to him a lot since he was bullied to and apparently has anxiety as well :( </3

Thank you in advance ❤️

hi anon, of course i can! thank you for requesting, i appreciate it so much :,) and same dude i was bullied too so i understand how it can be a little easy to relate to him 💕 sorry you experienced that, you didn’t and nobody else deserves to go through that.

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König x Female!Reader: Inner and Outer Strifes

Trigger Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of: past trauma, bullying, physical altercations; insomnia, anxiety, self destructive tendencies, self-doubt, relationship insecurities

Having someone who actually understood what it was like to go through anxiety attacks, whether they be in regards to social or emotional, made it all the better to get through with life. König always made sure to take care of you, as you would do the same for him. He pampered you, treating you so nicely as he eased you out of those intrusive thoughts that kept you trapped in your own head. The feelings of eyes staring at you, watching your every move always waned off whenever König comforted you. He would also do whatever he could to get you to go to bed, as you suffered from chronic insomnia as a result of your anxiety.

König would use himself as a form of weight for comforting pressure on you sometimes, wanting you to feel safe with him. Tonight was one of those nights where you struggled to sleep, no matter what König tried. “Meine liebe…how about we go and try a nice, warm bath, hm?” König asks as he strokes your cheek gently with the back of his hand. You sigh deeply before nodding your head. “Yeah, maybe that’ll help me this time around,” you say in a slightly hoarse and somewhat defeated tone of voice. König frowned, seeing how frustrated you were at your lack of being able to fall asleep at all.

He lifted you up carefully, taking you to the bathroom and sitting you down on the sink’s counter. You stare at König almost blankly as he turns the water on, watching his large and scarred hand moving under the water just to feel it get warm. You could see the tenderness in his eyes, and a slightly bitter smile seems to form on your face. Your eyes are filled with a sharp and indignant gaze, as if feeling wronged for the unfairness of your own thoughts. Part of you wants to just flat out ask the question that runs through your head over and over to talk about it, and another one fights and restrains that thought immensely.

You’d gone through just as much as he did as a kid, dealing with being bullied by your peers at every waking moment you sat down in those little seats. No matter what you did, they wouldn’t leave you alone; it’s where that sensation that thousands of eyes were watching you came from. It was an awful feeling because no matter how close someone got to you, it would create a barrier between you and the person you’ve come close to. The fact that you were doing this with König despite already having dated for a few months made you feel like shit.

So you popped the question.

“Do you actually enjoy doing this? Taking care of me every waking moment you’re here?” The way you phrase it seems to take the Austrian by surprise. He never expected you to ask him something so loaded. König’s head immediately whips to you, and he looks at you with his soft, blue eyes in disbelief. His own anxiety seems to spike slightly, and he stands up from his knees next to the bathtub as he lets it fill with water. “Of course I do. You and I come from similar walks of life—you’ve understood me far better than anyone else had,” he says softly. His large hand comes up to grab yours, fingers intertwining within your own.

König’s eyes shone in the light within the bathroom, but the gaze in his eyes showed a profound sadness. He would silently bring your hand up to his chest, pressing your now open palm against it. The sensation of his heart thumping hard in his chest as it rose and fell, and you can hear the Colonel give a hesitant chuckle. “Please…let me understand and love you as you have me…let me help teach you how to take better care of yourself and manage your anxieties…you know that I’m here for you, and that I would do anything for you…” König continues to speak, his voice growing ever softer.

In your head, remnants of you still continued to think this way and all you could do was blame it on those inner thoughts that never stopped. But from how adamant König was becoming, how he grew anxious at the thought of you doubting his love for you. “Meine liebe,” he begins, standing in front of you and holding you close to his chest. “Love comes without conditions…love is all about caring for one another without acting like it’s a burden,” he continues in a much gentler tone. He could see the doubt still lingering in your gaze, causing him to become a little more anxious that you couldn’t believe him.

“I promise you that I don’t mind taking care of you,” König continues to tell you, “I will do so until my dying days. Just to make sure you don’t ever end up alone ever again.” You look at the hulking man once more, staring at the way he gently moved himself to embrace you tightly. Instinctively, your arms and legs wrapped around him to comfort yourself more. “I’m sorry for doubting you,” you apologize, nuzzling your face into König’s chest and inhaling deeply. His natural musk was something you loved more than anything and it was the one thing that helped keep you calm.

He chuckles softly, giving you a chaste kiss on the lips before gently helping to undress you. “Now let’s get you that nice bath and we can try to get you to go to bed,” König says with a tender tone of affection in his voice. He then lifts you carefully and sets you down in the warm water, allowing for you to take in the comforting aromas of the soaps you were using. Your eyes close as König takes this as the chance to massage your back, whispering reassurances and affirmations into your ears. They sounded like the ones he normally used to keep himself calm in certain scenarios…it made you feel special.

After a few minutes of König rubbing your spine and shoulders, cleaning you up, he drains the water and gently starts to clean any excess soap off you with new water. He goes to grab a towel and warms it up for a minute, leaving you there with your thoughts again. Your anxieties and potential insecurities about your relationship and how much König takes care of you rear their ugly heads, but from how loving and gentle he was with you, they slowly dissipate. You look up and see him there, a smile on his face.

“Here, my love…let me lift you up…” The Colonel says as he wraps the towel around you. Its warmth against your body makes you so happy, filling you with a sense of safety as his massive arms wrap around you. König gently begins to dry you off after sitting you down on the sink’s counter again, doing so in such a slow manner that it felt so romantic. You couldn’t help but smile and reach your arms out to hold onto his face. König looks up at you, a bit confused, before his eyes go wide.

“Mmh-” He hums briefly, closing his eyes slowly and allowing you to kiss him. The way König wrapped his arms around you again now that you were dry was actually making you feel tired. You pull back just to cover your mouth as you yawn, making the Colonel smile and chuckle at you. “Feeling tired now, aren’t you? I won’t keep you awake for much longer…” König mumbles against your lips, leaning in for one more kiss after pushing your hand down.

The Austrian dresses you once more in newer, more comfortable sleeping clothes, and carries you back to your shared room. He turns the lights off and pulls the curtains shut after closing the door, having laid you back down on the bed prior to any of this. König finds himself cuddling up to you and putting his hands back onto your body.

The gentle squeeze as he began to rub your back up and down as a way to get you to sleep seems to do it’s trick.

Your eyes are shutting…

Breathing is slowing…

And your muscles are relaxing…

“I love you,” falls from your lips wearily as you hide your face into König’s comfortable chest. “I love you too, my love. Get some sleep,” he mumbles in a much softer and soothing tone. You finally seem to fall asleep after trying for so long and the Colonel follows suit once he makes sure you’ree completely asleep. Safe and protected right in his arms…

[crystallizsch]

i'm still not over the fact that jamil was a musical kid

[miscellaneousdae]

[10:14 pm] — Choi San ᡣ𐭩

please enjoy this little blurb about moving in with san, and trying to get your cats to bond with each other…or, more accurately, me using that scenario as an excuse to write about soft, domestic san

choi san i love you so much choi san i love you so much choi san i love you so much choi san i love you so much choi san i love you s-

“I think they’re getting along,” San mutters, leaning back into the couch, shoulders pressing into the firm cushions. Your gaze wanders over his big shoulders, just admiring the gorgeous man that you get to call yours. Your eyes meet his, heart warming at the way he sweetly smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the sides as dimples form on his soft cheeks.

“Yeah,” you respond, plopping down next to him after he patted the spot beside him. He extends one arm over your shoulders, gently bringing you even closer to him. You happily nuzzle into his warmth, throwing your leg over his lap as you do so, your head resting on his chest.

You both look at the sight in front of you; your cat and his sniffing at one another. When your cat nuzzles against Byeol (San’s cat) and is met with a similar nuzzle, the pair seeming to approve of one another, you grin. “They’re definitely getting along,” you hum happily, resting your chin on San’s chest as you look up at him. He looks at you, hand rubbing over your back. “I love you,” you say, merely a whisper.

“I love you,” he responds, nuzzling his nose against yours in a way that’s reminiscent of your beloved pets, and god, everytime you genuinely think you can’t fall any harder for this man, he doesn’t something like that, and you fall deeper into your abyss of pure adoration for him.

You press your lips against his, the two of you sharing a short, sweet kiss. Just when San goes back in for seconds, a thud sounds on the couch, and there Byeol is stepping up on San’s thigh, clearly wanting attention. In a similar fashion, your cat follows in Byeol’s steps, sitting at your feet.

“That’ll have to wait, we have kids to tend to,” San says playfully, pecking your lips before turning his attention to Byeol, petting the purring cats’ head sweetly. You push yourself off of San just to scoop your own cat up, and soon, the four of you are snuggled up on the couch.

Nothing else in the world could bring you the very happiness and contentment you feel in this moment.

[paddockletters]

echoes of him

pairing: jude bellingham x reader summary: You swore you'd moved on. But some ghosts refuse to stay buried. request: yes / thank you sooo much for you request!

I wasn’t expecting today to feel so… strange. It had been ages since we’d all last been together like this, and now we were gathered at Toby’s place for one of his infamous “chill nights”—the kind where everyone just turned up, and chaos followed naturally. The air was thick with laughter and banter, as always, but I couldn’t shake this weird feeling gnawing at me.

Jake, my boyfriend, sat next to me on the sofa, his arm draped casually over my shoulder. He was at ease, chatting away with Toby and the rest of the group, completely unaware of the awkward glances being exchanged across the room.

“So, y/n,” Sarah called out from across the room with a playful smirk, “how’d you manage to bag someone who looks exactly like Jude?”

I nearly choked on my drink. Jude. There it was—his name. The one I’d tried so hard to forget.

“Oh, come off it,” I said, forcing a laugh, trying to sound as unbothered as possible. “Jake’s nothing like him.”

“Right,” Sarah quipped with a sly grin. “Because the resemblance is just a coincidence?”

Before I could respond, Jake chimed in with a chuckle. “Who’s this Jude bloke, then?”

Toby shot Sarah a warning glance, but it was too late. The air in the room shifted, everyone suddenly aware of the unspoken tension.

“Old mate of mine,” Toby explained casually, though I could hear the slight edge to his voice. “He’s been away for a few years.”

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck as I tried to shrug it off. Jake didn’t know. None of them did. Jude had been my brother’s best mate, but he was also the one person I could never quite forget. We’d hooked up once, back when everything was a bit of a mess—when I was a bit of a mess. And then, just as quickly as it started, he left. Vanished, really.

And now, years later, I’d somehow ended up with Jake, a bloke who looked eerily similar to the one person I’d spent ages trying to forget. I hadn’t noticed it at first, not until everyone else started pointing it out.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door. Toby jumped up from his seat, clearly relieved to escape the awkwardness. “That’ll be Jude,” he said, heading for the door. “He’s back in town for a bit.”

Jude. My heart stuttered. I hadn’t seen him in what—four years? Five? I couldn’t believe he was actually here, just like that, as if no time had passed.

When the door swung open, there he was, standing in the doorway like a ghost from my past. He looked older, a bit more rugged, but he still had that same cocky grin I remembered all too well. His eyes scanned the room, pausing on each of us, before finally landing on me.

“Bloody hell,” Jude said with a slow smile, “long time no see.”

The room fell silent for a moment. I felt Jake’s hand tighten on my shoulder, though he didn’t say anything. Jude’s eyes flicked to him, then back to me, and something unreadable passed across his face.

“Well, don’t just stand there, mate,” Toby said, breaking the tension. “Come on in.”

Jude stepped inside, and suddenly the room was filled with noise again—everyone greeting him, asking him about where he’d been, what he’d been up to. But I couldn’t focus on any of it. I could only think about the last time I saw him, and how everything between us had been left unresolved.

Flashback

It had been one of those reckless nights. Toby had thrown a party at his flat, as usual, and everyone had shown up. Jude was there, too, naturally, his arm slung around one of the girls he’d been seeing at the time. I tried not to care.

But as the night wore on, and the drinks flowed, I found myself alone in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, staring down at my phone. And then I felt him before I saw him—Jude, standing too close, the smell of beer and aftershave clinging to him.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low.

I glanced up at him, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, just needed a break from the noise.”

He smirked, leaning against the counter beside me. “Thought you were avoiding me.”

“I wasn’t,” I lied, but he saw right through me.

“Come on, y/n,” Jude said, his voice softening as he nudged me lightly. “What’s going on with you?”

I swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. “Nothing. Just… you and that girl.”

Jude let out a small laugh. “Her? That’s nothing serious.”

“Well, it looks serious,” I muttered, feeling ridiculous for even saying it.

He tilted his head, studying my face. “You jealous?”

I rolled my eyes. “No.”

“Liar.”

Before I could protest, he took a step closer, and suddenly the space between us felt suffocating. His hand brushed against mine, sending a shiver down my spine.

“I’ve been thinking about you, y/n,” Jude murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we’ve been dancing around this for a while…”

I didn’t know what to say. My heart was racing, and all I could think about was how wrong this was—how Toby would kill us both if he found out. But then Jude leaned in, his lips brushing against mine, and I couldn’t bring myself to pull away.

It was messy, impulsive, and everything about it felt reckless. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was him, and I wanted it.

After that night, things between us had shifted, though we never really talked about it. We kept it quiet, sneaking around when no one was paying attention. But just as quickly as it started, it was over. Jude left town without a word, leaving me with nothing but memories I couldn’t shake.

Present

I snapped back to reality, realising that Jude was standing right in front of me. He glanced at Jake and raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

I felt Jake’s hand tense on my leg. “Jake,” he said, offering his hand. “y/n’s boyfriend”.

The room felt like it had gone dead quiet, everyone waiting for Jude’s reaction. But he just smiled, shaking Jake’s hand like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Ah, right. Toby mentioned you.”

The tension in the room shifted, lightening, as if everyone collectively decided to ignore the fact that my boyfriend looked like Jude’s doppelgänger. Except me. I felt Jude’s eyes on me, and the weight of all those unspoken words between us. Things I thought we’d left behind.

The night rolled on, everyone chatting and laughing, but I couldn’t focus. Jude had slipped back into the group effortlessly, and even Jake seemed to be warming up to him. The two of them were swapping stories like old mates, which was... weird. Too weird.

“You alright, love?” Jake asked, noticing my silence.

“Yeah, just… thinking,” I replied, forcing a smile.

Jake grinned and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Come on, let’s grab another drink.”

I followed him back inside, trying to ignore the way Jude’s eyes lingered on me as I passed.

Eventually, I slipped out onto the balcony for some fresh air, hoping for a bit of space. But, of course, it didn’t last long.

“Mind if I join you?” Jude’s voice cut through the quiet, and I turned to see him standing in the doorway.

I sighed, knowing there was no avoiding this conversation. “Sure. Why not?”

He stepped outside, leaning against the railing beside me. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The tension between us was palpable, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air.

“So,” Jude began, his voice softer now. “You and Jake, huh?”

I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yeah. It’s been a while.”

“He seems like a good bloke,” Jude said, though there was something unreadable in his tone. “Looks a bit like me, though, don’t you think?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I let out a short laugh, unable to stop myself.

“You happy, y/n?” Jude chuckled, but then his expression turned serious

I hesitated, the question hanging between us. “Yeah. I am.”

“Right,” Jude said quietly, though I could hear the doubt in his voice. “You sure about that?”

“What are you getting at, Jude?” I turned to face him, my heart pounding in my chest.

I dunno. It’s just... seeing you with him, it’s weird. Makes me think about what could’ve been, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “

“You had your chance, Jude. You left.” I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice suddenly raw. “I had to leave. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care about you.”

I looked away, trying to hold back the emotions that were threatening to spill over. “It’s too late, Jude.”

He stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper. “Is it?”

Jude’s question hung in the air, and for a moment, I couldn’t bring myself to answer. My head was spinning, and my heart felt like it was lodged somewhere in my throat. Was it too late?

I should’ve said yes. I should’ve ended it right there. But instead, I stood there in silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me.

Jude’s eyes searched mine, waiting for something—anything. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “We were good together, y/n. You know that, don’t you?”

I swallowed, trying to ignore the way my body reacted to his nearness. “It doesn’t matter now,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe it doesn’t to you, but it does to me.”

There it was—the crack in his armour, the vulnerability I wasn’t expecting. Jude had always been so cocky, so sure of himself. But now, standing here on this balcony with me, he looked almost… lost.

I turned away, staring out at the dark sky, trying to steady my breath. “You left without a word, Jude. What was I supposed to think?”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I was an idiot. I didn’t handle it right. But you have to believe me when I say I never wanted to hurt you.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? The past was the past, and we couldn’t change it.

He stepped closer again, his hand lightly grazing my arm, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “You can’t tell me you don’t still think about it,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to lean into him. This was exactly what I didn’t need—this confusing swirl of emotions that Jude always managed to stir up. But he was right. I had thought about it. More than I cared to admit.

“Jude,” I started, my voice shaky, “this isn’t fair. I’m with Jake now.”

“I know,” he said, his voice soft. “But does he make you feel the way I did?”

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. Did he? Jake was kind, dependable, and he cared about me. But Jude… Jude was chaos. He was fire and unpredictability, and he made me feel things I hadn’t felt in years.

But that wasn’t enough. Was it?

“It doesn’t matter how I felt back then, Jude. We’re different people now. I’ve moved on.” I took a deep breath, finally turning to face him.

“Yeah. I guess you have.” His jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought he might argue. But then he nodded slowly, stepping back.

We stood there in silence, the distance between us growing wider with each passing second. And just when I thought the moment was over, Jude let out a short, bitter laugh.

“Funny, though,” he said, his eyes flicking towards the door. “You moved on with a bloke who looks just like me.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could say anything, the door to the balcony swung open, and Jake stepped outside, completely oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.

“Hey, you two,” he said cheerfully, completely unaware of the charged moment he’d just walked into. “Everything alright out here?”

“Yeah, mate. Everything’s fine.” Jude flashed him a tight smile.

I forced a smile, though my mind was still reeling from everything Jude had just said. “We were just catching up.”

Jake grinned, pulling me close to his side. “Well, you’ve had your time, mate,” he joked, though there was a slight possessiveness in his tone. “This one’s mine now.”

Jude’s smile faltered for a split second, but he recovered quickly, clapping Jake on the shoulder. “Right. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

With that, he turned and walked back inside, leaving me standing there with Jake, my heart still racing from the whirlwind of emotions Jude had stirred up.

Jake glanced down at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “You sure you’re alright, love? You’ve been a bit quiet tonight.”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice sounding distant even to myself. “Just a lot on my mind.”

He kissed the top of my head, not pushing any further. “Well, if you need to talk, I’m here. You know that, yeah?”

I nodded, leaning into him, though my mind was miles away. “Yeah. I know.”

But even as I stood there with Jake, the warmth of his arm around me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. Something between me and Jude that I wasn’t sure I could ignore.

Later that night, after everyone had gone home and the house was quiet, I lay in bed next to Jake, staring up at the ceiling. His breathing was slow and steady beside me, already asleep, but my mind was racing.

I couldn’t stop replaying the conversation with Jude in my head—the way he looked at me, the things he said. The way he made me feel.

I hated that I was even thinking about it. I had Jake. He was good for me, good to me. But still, there was this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, this unresolved tension that wouldn’t go away.

Just when I thought I’d buried it, Jude had come back and unearthed everything.

I sighed, closing my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep. But as the minutes ticked by, I realised the one thing I didn’t want to admit:

Maybe it wasn’t too late after all.

[moonsaver]

I’m just imagining the arranged marriage thing but this time it’s Sunday who is head over heels for reader (maybe he was the one who set this up in the first place! This could also tie into reader being higher status but Sunday does something to make them fall and then saves them by entering a relationship with the head of the oak family) but reader doesn’t like him or is into someone else, the angst….i feel like Sunday would do everything to make them love him but it just won’t work so in the end he just begs them to at least pretend they love him and that’ll be enough. A happier prompt on this could be he does actually succeed in getting some of their genuine love in the end. Anyway just thought of this after seeing a clip of Aqua and Akane from oshi no ko. Don’t judge me.

Okay, tons of possibilities here so lets go turn by turn because i really like this idea and unfortunately let it marinate for way too long

And it might have become unintentionally yandere, so i might redo it lol + there's not much fluff.

1 . Sunday arranging the marriage himself because he really likes reader – normal au

Sunday would definitely do this if he was pushed to his wits’ end. If his feelings for you not only disintegrate, but instead worsen and delve deeper, and on top of that, if he senses you yourself are drifting away from him. The added pressure of not reaching you in time after a conclusion to his own feelings is scary to him. In his desperation, he might as well pull some or the other reason out of his ass to marry you, even going as far as to even bribe your parents/guardians or anyone who has the power to object on your behalf.

Negotiations, contract handling, etc.. are all planned by him, so if you have a problem or you want to object, you can only do it by directly confronting Sunday himself. The added intimidation of his knowing, mysterious smile when he stands before you, almost irking you to continue in silence when you hesitate at wanting to object is something he almost relishes. Any problem you might have, has to be directly communicated to Sunday.

In the actual marriage? He's much easier on you. The hard part of coercing you into the marriage was over. He allows you more freedom in the marriage than he does outside of it.

He allows you separate rooms, reigns in any affections for you until you're comfortable, and even openly lets you know you two won't have to immediately consummate your marriage. He'll generally make sure you're comfortable in your marriage.

Of course, deviations and exceptions occur if you happen to still have lingering feelings for.. some nobody. He's bitter about it, so so bitter you can feel the tension in the air when his smile slightly falters at even the mention of their name. Sunday might try to hasten the process of you getting “comfortable” and perhaps even start forcing a few affections on you, such as kissing or holding your hand, brushing your hair in the morning and before bed, lingering his eyes on your lips. He might even not so subtly try to pressurise you, by telling you things like “at this rate, many might not even think we are married, my dear”. 

He plays slightly dirty, but there's so many moments of clarity that he hesitates still. He doesn't want to force you to love him - he wants it to happen on it's own. He's often so loving to you from afar in hopes you'll notice and maybe even return them, but when you look away in anxiousness or discomfort, Sunday's smile falters into a resigned, solemn expression. It hurts, deeply.

2. Sunday arranges the marriage with a reader of higher rank

Its similar, but you'll find the process is hastier. Perhaps it even causes a few slip ups in the middle.

Sunday would be practically tearing at his own hair before he finds the key to catalyze the negotiations of your marriage with him. If it's something that happens to knock you down or push you into unfavourable circumstances, he hesitates. But if you happen to like someone else? All that hesitation vaporises in an instant. He's practically over the moon when you have no one to turn to, his hand is almost shaking from excitement when he reaches it out to you. 

He's much more.. smothering if it makes sense, but he's not outright/direct about it. He always wants to be wherever you are, sometimes stands too close for comfort beside you, and even puts you in circumstances where you won't necessarily be able to push back in the case you damage your already fragile image or so. He's so elated, it's almost creepy. If you don't seem to be driving the relationship, or remain stagnant, his suspicions will grow immensely regarding your feelings for anyone else. Whenever you aren't present, he probably rifles through your belongings, scours for any possibility of traces of that nobody in your life.

He insists on spending the night with you – a familiar knock at the exact same time almost every night on your room's door. He stays with you, talking until it's late at night and you're too tired to shoo him away. But he'd never think himself superior than you, rather he almost takes advantage of it. He's constantly telling you how much incharge of the relationship you are. He disguises choices he wants to make on your behalf as something you can decide on. “Would you like a separate room for us both, or would you like us to have connected doorways?” , “shall I spend the morning with you, or the night?” , or so on. Not doing anything with him makes him sour, but he hides it with a smile. Sooner or later your plans are sabotaged, and in the end he joins you in “fixing” them anyway, and well.. since he's already been here for so long, it won't hurt to have him stick by until the end of it, right?

In some extreme cases, maybe one where the reader is desperately trying to leave the marriage or push back against anything that solidifies it, Sunday might even insist that you two consummate as fast as possible, regarding it as something necessary or even vital. He's so persistent about what he wants from you, like a dog begging and whimpering, that you're practically coerced into giving it to him.

He often poses himself on his knees to you, and stares so tenderly at you, you might crack. It hurts to not give him what he wants. There's times where begging words almost slip out of his mouth when he has to pull you closer. He wants your love so desperately it hurts.

[marxo-fm]

Mild Sweet

✯ Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Your dad hosts a welcoming party for a good friend who’s coming back from Seattle after quite some time. BBQs, drinks, dancing, and a good ol' time. Until you realize the friend, is your secret crush. A silly little crush that turned into something more, but you've kept it a secret most of the time. What happens when you two rekindle and talk, and that secret is unable to be kept in for any longer?

Warnings: MDNI+18, mentions of adult themes and language, mentions of alcohol and swearing, smut with slight plot, afab!reader age gap (reader-late twenties, Joel-early forties), praising, pet names, no use of y/n, fingering, talking you through it, oral!f-receiving, fear of getting caught, no descriptions of race/ethnicity, skin color, hair type/length, or body type.

Words: 1.8k

A/N: Long awaited, I apologize, but I hope that with this fic--you can forgive me. Life has been hectic, but I am on break finally, so I chose to use this time to feed my deprived peeps. I hope you all enjoy reading this, just as much as I enjoyed writing this. Thank you!

Update: This has been sitting in my drafts since the dawn of time, I’m not on break anymore, I GRADUATED, I have all the free time now. Just wanted to clarify if I go missing again, it’s going to be because of college. That’s all, thank you, you may continue. -if this is bad, I’m sorry, this was from months ago. Go easy on meeeee.

—

“Well yeah hun, I sure am hosting a barbecue party. I don’t care if it’s damn near hot enough for my skin to fall off, I am going to host it.” Protested your dad as he chugged his second can of beer. He won’t tell you further details, which confused you since you had every right to know. Not only because you’re his daughter, but because you’d like to know who the hell this mystery friend is that your father keeps talking about. Says it’s to be kept a surprise until he finally makes it to San Antonio. Which, by the way, you don’t even know when that’ll be either.

“Is this barbecue party even going to happen? Or are you just going to pass it off to someone else in this neighborhood?” The two of you stood eye to eye in the agonizing heat of Texas. Hell, you’re used to it, but it sure did make you frustrated. The humidity didn’t help either. Flies were everywhere and yellow grass that used to be bright green surrounded your home, it used to be a shade of green similar to a green highlighter—in spring that was. You look at the grass and back at your dad, who left the conversation and went to his truck. He opens the passenger seat and shouts, “Get your butt in here, we gotta get the supplies ready for this damn barbecue!” His country accent cuts through sharper than any knife.

It’s hard to take him seriously sometimes.

--

“Remember when you told me you didn’t need my help?” 

Your dad looks at you with an eyebrow raised and back at the road.

“Kid, don’t make me rethink my choice now. I only said that because sometimes your ol’ man likes to do things his way. Cause’ you see, back in my day-” 

“Back in my day, my daddy made me do all the hard work. Dad, I’ve heard this story many times growing up, I know.” You mocked, chuckling a little under your breath carefully trying to not chuckle too hard. 

“Well, in that case, you’re right. But I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Your eyes widen in surprise, carefully leaning over the console of your dad’s truck. What could this darn secret be?

“Remember my good ol’ friend, Joel Miller? That good-looking pal who’s just a few years younger than me? Well, he went over to Seattle with his kid, Sarah. Ya know, family bonding time and whatnot.” Your dad lost his focus looking at his rearview mirror and blindspots before turning left, then continued, “Fortunately, he’s coming back to San Antonio and I’m throwing this barbecue party to welcome him. I’m sure he’d love it, his kid too, and well of course–all of our friends included.”

Joel Miller. A name that went through your head a million times. Over and over.

A man you have had a long and forbidden crush for, a feeling that grew intense over time.

The feelings died down for a bit when he was gone for God knows how long, but they came back. And you don’t know how to feel about it.

--

“Okay, everything’s ready y’all just gotta set em’ up now. We don’t have much time.” Instructed your dad to his fellow friends and a few relatives. Other relatives were far too busy for the welcoming party. Out of all the other days your dad chooses to throw this party, it just has to be on a Sunday.

A few of your dad’s friends were preparing the meats, Joel was going to be here any minute now, and you grew hot. Unsure whether it was this agonizing heat of San Antonio, or if it was just you. Something about the way he walks, talks, looks, is what gets your gears moving. His gray hair, his voice, his body. Hell, at this point you’d rather have Joel for dinner rather than that damn barbecue. But you swore to keep yourself sane and still, especially in front of your dad. He’d surely laugh if he found out about your crush towards Joel, then switch to being confused…and finally, angry.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Your dad walks up to you, handing you an apron. What in God’s earth is he making me do? Surely he wouldn’t make you prepare meats and have you cook them, after all, you just want to impress and look good for Joel. You bought an entirely new dress just for this damn welcoming party, hoping to somewhat catch his attention.

A short and light purple dress that reveals just enough.

God, this is pathetic. Dressing all pretty for man who wouldn’t even bat an eye at his good friend’s daughter. Or maybe, if you’re lucky enough, he might. You still have to greet him, so yes, you’re going to talk to him. It’s to respect him and it’s common sense since well—it is a welcoming party…

“He should be here any minute now hun, just put this apron on and go help out.”

“Do I have to? I mean, your nieces and nephews are over there sitting doing nothing. I’d rather prepare the table.”

Your dad looks over at your cousins then back at the table you insisted on doing. The table didn’t have any plates on it, nor did it have decorations.

“You’re right, the table does need some…stuff on it.”

You walk on over to prepare the table, when you a truck pull up from behind the fences of your backyard. That’s when you feel yourself sweating gallons and breathing heavier. You thought maybe it was just a neighbor, but you were proven wrong.

Joel Miller is here.

—

“Dad, Joel is here. I think.” Your dad looks at your in a state of shock, only because everything hasn’t been prepared yet and well, everyone is supposed to be hiding to surprise Joel.

“Y’all needa hide, Joel’s here. Drop everything and hide somewhere before he sees us!” Everyone—including yourself—go in hiding. You choose to hide under the table you were planning on finishing work at. Y’know, decorating it and all. But you were too late. You see everyone smiling or giggling in excitement, ready to surprise Joel. He hasn’t been in Texas for God knows how long; would you blame him?

You hear footsteps inching closer and closer, and that's when you hear him say, "anyone here?"

You and everyone else jump out from your hiding places, the word surprise didn't leave your mouth, your jaw just hung open instead.

He changed, looks more grunt than usual, but also happy because of the welcoming party. It irked you, but you ignored it.

The black shirt he wore fit nicely on his body, he must've worked out or something, his shoulders are broad. It gave you something to think about, and your face reddens. He finally looks at you, Joel was more focused on your face rather than your dress. He did acknowledge it, though, but...you looked different. Not in a bad way, just different. It must be the makeup style you chose to wear, or the purple dress that radiated your face. Either way, his look had you holding on to the table harder.

"Been so long pal, c'mere." People shared awkward glances, but it went away when Joel hugged your dad. They shared it for quite some time, but it was needed.

"m' I really this important that you threw a welcoming party?"

Your dad smiles, "sure is Joel, been so long ain't nothing for me to do other than drink my beers alone without ya. But you're finally here." He pats your dad on the shoulder with a smile, continuing their small talk before Joel greets the others.

--

You wondered why Joel hasn't greeted you yet, you felt as if you maybe did something wrong. Surely not, you scoff, as if he was here for anything like that. You don't know, but your head kept pestering you about it. His daughter is at a table full of friends and cousins, "at least his daughter greeted me." You innocently whispered under your breath, unaware that Joel heard you just across the table. You sat by your dad, so Joel heard it, but was already making plans to greet you some other way. You just had no clue yet.

You catch him eyeing your dress, and he notices you looking. You quickly shy away, but he chuckles and goes back to eating his food. Lust and heat pumped through your veins, and your heart was beating a hundred beats per minute. At any rate now, you're sure you'd have a heart attack.

He wasn't even doing anything. All he did was look at your outfit.

You did a good job at catching his attention, but the tension was far too much. The sexual tension. Did he feel the same? Or was he innocently looking? You look up to see him manspreading from the fulfilling dinner he just ate, his shirt raised a little. You could see his tanned skin just above his belt. Unsure of what the hell that made you feel just now. Joel still craved something deep down, dessert, more specifically.

"Hey dad, may you excuse me for a minute. I need to use the restroom." He nodded and you hurriedly scurried off inside your house. Closing the door behind you shut, and you quickly catch your breath.

Everything intensified, everything from top to bottom. The heat between your legs, you're sure your underwear is soaked.

He didn't even do anything.

--

You locked yourself in the restroom. sort of trying to recollect yourself after your encounter. But what the hell were you even thinking? Where was the respect? No hugs, not a thank you, or even a hello?!

You were interrupted suddenly by a knock on the door. "It's occupied!" You respond.

Another knock.

"I thought I told you that this restroom is occupied?" You grew frustrated. One more knock and it sent you over the edge.

"What the hell do you not understand?"

"It's Joel, open the damn door." He ordered. His voice was huskier, angry and needy almost. Your heart pounds and you began to question your dignity.

"C'mon sweet cakes, open the door." You had no choice, knowing Joel, he'd continue with his knocks and the continuous, "let me in."

"Okay," you sighed, "I'll let you in, just gimme a moment."

There wasn't a word behind the door, just silence.

Deep breaths in and deep breaths out, you finally walk to the door and open it.

Joel greeted you with the hungriest kiss known to mankind. Like a predator to his prey. He shut the door behind him and managed to find a way to lock it. His hand immediately grabs the back of your neck, gripping your hair tight to get a better hold of you. All you felt was his mouth on yours, all thoughts gone. Out the window.

You struggled to breathe but your hands find their way on his broad shoulders, you held his shoulder tight to keep you from falling. Knees are weak and dignities are gone.

His tongue goes in deeper, and you do the same with yours, the sound of kisses filled the silence in the bathroom, but you didn't care. It was like a dream come true, kissing the man you've always felt something for. But has he felt the same? You know, following you to the bathroom to kiss you had to signify that.

You pull away, a string of saliva leaving both of your lips. His hand slides down your back, holding your waist and pulling you closer to his body.

You're both panting, trying to regain your breaths.

"We shouldn't be doing this."

"But you want to, don'tcha sweetheart?" He pulls you impossibly closer, "I saw the way you eye fucked me over there, doing that while wearing this little dress won't do you no good doll."

"Why won't it do me no good? And I wasn't eye fucking you, I was upset at the fact that you didn't even acknowledge me over there."

"Can't tell ya that." He smirks.

You grew frustrated, Joel loves the way your brows furrow. Thinkin' bout how your brows would be furrowing the way his cock rammed deep inside of you. "Y'know, I didn't have my dessert yet. You willin' to give me that?"

Your eyes widen, the knots in the pit of your belly only grew tighter. You knew very well what he implied, and you had no problem giving Joel this. Because as soon as those words left his mouth, he picked you up and sat you down on the cold counter roughly. Causing you to wince in response from the cold contact of the bathroom counter.

"Joel.." you breathed, unsure of what you're seeing is just a dream of if it's fucking real.

"Want me to make you feel good baby? I'll make you feel so good, I'll show you what it's like to be loved by me."

You pant in need and want, "y..yes, I want you to make me feel good, Joel."

"I'll make you feel good, baby." It took you a second to process, only because you can't believe this is about to happen. You're shy, it took a moment before Joel did it for you. His warm rough hands touching your knees and spreading your legs made you moan in response.

"Look at ya, already moaning and I haven't even done nothing."

He pulls you closer, your legs beside his waist as he goes back in for a kiss. This time, it's gentler, softer. It was all sudden, and new. Just a few minutes ago, he was eating your face.

He groans in your mouth, you taste too good to him. He can only imagine how sweet his dessert would taste. This was only a sample, a fraction of what he's about to go in for.

He gives your jawbone peppered kisses, all the way down to your neck, then your collarbone. You hold on to the counters as he made his way down, pushing your purple dress you wore specifically for him.

Then he gets down on his knees, sliding your soaked panties off. You watch as it makes way down to your ankles. "Oh doll, you're so wet for me. That's my girl."

Hearing him call you his girl sure put you in a haze, it all felt unreal.

His head is now between your thighs, and the sight alone makes you close to finishing already.

His tongue brushes against your aching clit and your head tilts back, your thoughts are literally everywhere. Puzzle pieces waiting to be solved, yet you're focused on Joel's head in between your legs.

Your legs spread further once Joel drags his tongue along your throbbing, cunt. Groaning as he's savoring the taste of his dessert. You squirm and move under his touch when his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh. "Stay still sweetheart." He warned as his arms wrap around your legs to keep you spread open for him.

"Ah, Joel..." You pant, unable to keep it down. "Keep your voice down, unless you want everyone to hear how good I make my sweet girl feel." His dirty words and praises made it so hard to.

He flicks the tip of his tongue back and forth, giving everything he has. You bite down on your lips, "attagirl, doin' so good for me. 'S right."

You almost want to cry out as he devours you, your legs keep him in place as you feel the heat in the pit of you belly grow intensely hotter. You're so wet for him, and you can't help but roll your hips to get more. Watching his head buried into you was so illicit, so real.

"Joel, I'm so close-" you struggled to whisper or even say a full sentence. He continues, but this time, his tongue finds its way inside of your leaking cunt. You moan, he looks up at you. Eye contact was way too intense.

"Taste so fuckin' good for me, ya like watching me eat your sweet pussy hm?" His jaw works more, and you can't help but fight the urge to scream his name. Your chest rose with each stroke of his tongue on your cunt.

Suddenly, his hands leave the tight hold he had on you and hastily unbuckling his belt. He pushes down his jeans, along with his boxers, and the sight before you were everything and more.

You watched his cock spring up, and your eyes widen in shock. He's big, and you didn't know how the hell he is going to fit. Your cunt ached for him, growing more needy. You grab his hair and pull him closer, he hums with affirmation. Joel goes back down, this time to finish what he started.

His familiar touch sent waves of shock throughout your body. Mind clouded and head pounding, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm like an owner chasing his dog. And finally, you explode into fragments of pleasure. Stars and colors were all you could see and hear.

Joel then licks his lips, looking down at your cunt before he inserts his cock slowly. Torture almost. Your eyes roll back and Joel groans at the sight in front of him, this beautiful and glowing woman in front of him. He never thought, at his age, he’d get to see this again. But he hopes he sees it forever.

He thrusts slow and then fast as he listened to your melodic moans and whimpers. It only made him want to go faster and faster, and the coil in the pit of your belly finally snaps and you shake. His thrusts become sloppy, “fuck, you’re so good to me, hun.” He praised as he too followed after you.

“Want me to come in this pretty pussy? Hm? Talk to me.” He ordered. You nod, unable to form words. “Talk.” He demands, “yes, Joel, fuck yes.” And then he lets go of himself, his head placed on your shoulder and he groans as he comes inside of you. His cock twitching, the two of you are still regaining your breaths, you’re still trying to collect yourself.

“We gotta get cleaned up, but we’ll start with you first, how bout’ that?” He smirked and you nod. If this happened to be just a dream, then it was the best fucking dream ever.

[santsukii]

ᯓ✿ but you’re not mine

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ei and miko (separately) falling for you while you’re dating the other

ˋ°•*⁀➷ raiden ei, yae miko x gn! reader (separate)

₊˚ angst!! unrequited love, no poly eimiko in this one that’ll be a different fic

the electro archon’s knowledge that you were dating her best friend and the only person who truly understood her would destroy her from the inside out. though her puppet gave a look of indifference, the deity residing within said puppet was anything but. if she could even begin to live up to her citizens’ expectations of her, then would you love her the way you loved the kitsune? ei knew she shouldn’t be so jealous of her only true friend, but she would give the whole world to be the one holding your hand, kissing you, taking you on dates, sharing her snacks with you. having you be just out of her reach was somehow astronomically more painful than the idea of never having met you at all.

the goddess of electro’s love for you was similar to the ideal she ruled over, eternal. the day she finally worked up the courage to confess to you despite your feelings for someone else, a thunderstorm raged outside to signal her inner turmoil. in her artificial throat remained the words she had wished to say to you, but went silent the second they tried to leave her mouth. a love language of averted eyes and avoidance had become the status quo between you and ei, rather unfortunately. if she could tell you how she felt, would you truly understand the weight of the words and what they meant?

for the sake of conversation, could she read your body language? it’s ultimately the best she’d ever get when it comes to you, so it’s best for ei to simply let go and watch you drift away from her. as painful as it would be, it would be for the best. her feelings for you would never truly fade as time went by, the sting of her unrequited love seemed to only grow. loving you from the sidelines had become ei’s unfortunate fate, always making herself cry when she thought about it at the wrong times. she would love you endlessly for the rest of her time living, just say it’s over and let her turn off her feelings and retreat back into her meditation.

in her own time, ei would stop taking control of her puppet so often when you were around. those sparkling purple eyes were replaced with something lifeless and pained indifference towards you.

to embrace someone’s drifting heart and force herself to smile would always be difficult to the kitsune. hiding her love for you behind a flirty and caring mask, how long would it be before she cracked and forced herself to simply say she loved you despite your dating the electro archon. she knew she wasn’t much more than a subordinate of said archon and the holder of the gnosis, but that love for you refused to go away. miko often found herself forcing the feelings down just before she said something that would even hint ever so slightly at her love for you. with that heart of hers that seemed on the verge of just breaking from the sting of seeing you with ei, avoidance was the best she could do. the day she met you, she became dizzy and frozen and simply held her breath before she said something that would ultimately embarrass her.

oh how miko wished it was her, why were you even with ei when the guuji-sama was right there? she was a better match for you than the electro archon anyway, that much was obvious. even then, it was just a useless fantasy she couldn’t help but hold onto out of a pained desperation that you would be hers one day. she could treat you so much better than a puppet whose master was barely ever present anyway, right? every night, miko is the one you’d be talking to you until you fall asleep, shopping with you and buying your favorite foods just to see that beautiful smile grace your adorable face again. as long as you were happy, she supposed she could find a way to move one eventually. your happiness and satisfaction were always exponentially more important in the eyes of the kitsune. sure, it would be nice if you could just love someone who was more than willing to sweep you off your feet with her naturally flirty personality. alas, it just wasn’t the right time. you clearly loved ei, so there was just nothing she could do.

watching helplessly from the side as you seemed to love ei more and more as the days went by, that was the life miko was relegated to. how could she truly grow to adore the world around her when it all seemed to remind her of you? the least she could do in this situation is bottle up those overly convoluted feelings that no one ever truly wants and try to forget about them. when you looked at her, what was it behind your eyes that you longed to see within her? her poor heart simply shattered when she found out you were with her best friend when she had loved you for so much longer. such is retribution for falling so helplessly in love with you. why couldn’t she just tell the truth so you didn’t have to lie?

the things she would give to be able to hold you close, have you fall into her the way you did in her best dreams. she knew deep down that in the end, it would never be her turn. maybe one day she’d at least be able to express those feelings.

[loveindefinitely]

00. prologue

༊*·˚ ALWAYS HAVE, ALWAYS WILL — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, slow burn, friends to lovers, drama, action, hurt/comfort, mystery, polyamory, angst, mental health issues, minor character death, angst w a happy ending

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

You’ve been to more funerals than you can count on your blood-stained hands.

Family, friends, teammates, superiors – at the end of the day, you’ve always found yourself staring at a casket being lowered into the earth. Or an urn.

Sometimes, there’s not enough of the body to bury, or burn. Just an arm, a jawbone, a blood splatter with a trace of ripped hair. Even then, the ceremonies are similar – morose and stagnant with the tension that only comes with grieving humans, merely waiting for the moment that their hourglass will fully tip. For when, they too, will be grieved. Lowered into the ground. Cremated.

If there is such a thing as an afterlife, you’re not too sure that you’ll want to endure more living, when the end goal is such a cruel one.

To love, to cherish, and then to wither away into nothing.

A fucked up joke.

The muddy ground squelches as you take a step back, hands tightly clasped together in front of your chest. Not a prayer, but a gesture similar enough to the patrons around you that you won’t be given a second glance.

Rain falls in thick sheets, but there’s no wind, and most of the people around you are underneath the dark grey marquee set up in front of the ceremony.

You aren’t. There’s something familiar about the clothes soaking your body, your body trembling just slightly from the chill, the dampness. A small punishment for your actions, small enough to not be noticed, but enough to repent just a thousandth of what you owe.

The Funeral Director gives his speech. Some religious nonsense, you’re sure, and the words wash over you like the torrents of rain.

You almost wish they could wash the guilt off of your mind, wash the blood that still feels sticky in your hands.

When you look down, they're pure and clean.

There’s crying. You’re not sure who from, how many, where. All that you register is the sound of gut wrenching heartbreak in the most raw, most physical of forms.

You swallow, once, your throat dry and tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.

Needles, drugs, passing out, cells, torture –

“Sergeant.”

Even years of military training doesn’t keep you from flinching at the title. Turning your head, you’re greeted by a man that’s never failed to make your blood run cold.

His grey hair sticks to his forehead, his wrinkles highlighted by the dreary, bleak sky.

“General,” you incline your head respectfully. He stands to your right, arms folded behind his back. He’s suited in full black, and your stomach roils at the idea of this man grieving.

“You have been assigned a new unit,” he states, as one would discuss last night’s game over morning tea. “You’re set to leave at eighteen-hundred.”

You nod.

What else is there to do? Get down to your knees and beg for some time off, when you know that’ll leave you rotting in your bed for two weeks? Ask for him to be kind in his placement, because you’re not sure you can handle more of the emotional torment you’ve dealt with over the past three years?

Instead, no words fall from your cold-bitten lips, and your legs don’t buckle.

General Shepherd walks away without a simple ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. You’re sure that even if he had said as such, the words would’ve held no earnesty, no warmth.

It’s perhaps better this way.

So, you stand, and the rain hits your body in a relentless rhythm. So different to the torture of waterboarding, the cruelty of drowning.

Although, you can’t say that the mental whirlwind you’re stuck in the eye of is any less impactful. If you open your mouth, you’re sure that water will flood every crevice, leaving you to scream soundlessly for eternity, death sweeping you in with the turn of the waves.

You wonder, for a single moment, how many grievers would attend your ceremony.

By the time the rain stops, if only for a short period, everyone has left. The marquee’s been taken down, and there’s only you and your guilt left behind to stare at the stone. It takes everything in you to walk to it, your legs almost as weak as your will.

The headstone and rectangle of dirt dedicated to the fallen are both covered in flowers.

Bending down to your knees, you softly place a single blue hyacinth at the base. You allow yourself just a moment to close your eyes, deeply exhale, and revel in your guilt.

When you stand once more, it’s with a renewed strength.

Your Captain would have been proud.

The other seven fallen men – the ones that were under your care to heal – would’ve laughed in your face. You would’ve let them.

Now, you can only hope that their bodies will be found soon, so that they too, can be put to rest beside your Captain.

a/n. jus a VERY short prologue/teaser. this is by far my fav piece i've been writing yet. each chapter will be about 7-9k words long, so it'll take much longer to update, but i'm SO excited for it!! i hope u all will enjoy this journey as much as me :)

[ilguna]

☼ breathtaking pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you thought that you were going to go into the arena without ever meeting your soulmate. little did you know, he's been next to you the whole time.

warnings; swearing, gore, death mention

wc; 2.7k

part one.

–

There’s hope that you’ll make it out of this alive, after all. 

While you and Finnick were discovering you were soulmates, the Capitol anthem was playing its last few notes, when they began to shut off the cameras. And further, the lights that lit up the stage, in a final attempt to cut you off from the outside world, and the audience that sat feet away.

They were entirely too late.

It was pitch black on the stage, causing confusion and minor chaos as all twenty-four of you struggled to make it to the elevators. You lost your district partner in the mess, you think he let go of your hand on purpose to try and make it out of the crowd faster. Which you would be mad about, if it weren’t for Finnick holding onto you tightly, guiding both you and Mags to the elevator, where Johanna managed to slip in just before the doors shut. 

Inside, Finnick didn’t waste any time, grabbing your shoulders to tell you that he’d find you inside of the arena. If he didn’t, then you’d need to find him. There was a bigger alliance, and you’d be safer if you joined it. He didn’t have time to tell you who exactly was in it, before the elevator doors opened and he left with Mags.

You’ve been thinking about it since.

Finnick cares that you’re his soulmate, enough to the point where he wants to protect you inside of the arena. It wouldn’t be such a heinous idea, if it weren’t for the fact that you thought that Finnick was already taken, especially with that poem he did during his interview. Unless, it was meant for his soulmate, who he knew was watching at that moment, but unaware that it was him.

As for a bigger alliance, you have no clue what that means. You spent all three training days trying to figure out who was going to ally with who. The only alliance you managed to figure out was the most obvious one: the careers. As for everyone else, they’re some gigantic mystery.

If you had to guess now, you’d say that Johanna, Blight, Finnick and Mags are together. Which is a regular sized alliance, it’s not big by any means. You’re not entirely sure who else would be inclined to join something like that. Johanna and Finnick are intense people to be around, inside of an arena, it’s got to be worse.

At that rate, you’d say Katniss and Peeta, but they were entirely uninterested in Finnick and Johanna the whole week. You can’t see them all deciding to survive together in the arena. Unless, that’s what they want you to think, because they’re all similar in some way.

Still, that’s not necessarily a bigger alliance. That still falls under the career category, which means there are more people. You couldn’t even guess who they are, if you wanted to.

It doesn’t matter, you’ll be finding out in a few minutes anyway.

You fix the wetsuit on your body, straightening it to feel more comfortable. When you’re done, you pull your hair out of your face, knowing that it’ll give you a clearer sight above. You’re really hoping that it’s not going to be anything too extreme. You don’t want the desert, but you don’t want a frozen tundra, either. And you sure as hell don’t want the same nightmare arena that Haymitch lived through.

“It’s time.” Your stylist tells you.

You turn towards the cylinder that’ll raise you to the surface, stepping onto the metal plate. You take a few deep breaths to calm the anxiety that’s beginning to rise in your stomach. You did this one, which means that you’ll be able to do it again. You can do this. 

The glass door slowly slides shut, sealing you inside of the tube. You turn away from your stylist to face the wall, and then close your eyes when you begin to get lifted.

A warm breeze washes over your skin, telling you to open your eyes to see where they’ve placed you this year. When you do, you’re met with a white light, blinding you instantly. You spend several vital seconds blinking away the sun.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games begin!” 

A tight pain strikes your chest when you realize what you’re in the middle of. You slap both of your hands over your mouth, taking half a step backward, when you realize that you can’t go any further without accidentally killing yourself. You’re completely surrounded by beautiful blue water, before it would be grey.

You look over your shoulder, and you let out a breath of relief when you see a beach, and beyond that, a dense forest. No, not a forest. It’s much too lush and crowded to be just that, and the trees are too tall to compare to anything from home. The higher the branch, the bigger the leaves. That’s a jungle. A vibrant and healthy green jungle.

You turn back to face the golden cornucopia, and the island it sits on. From what you can tell, there’s twelve spokes coming out of the island, which means two tributes toa  wedge. All you do is glance to your right, and you’re met with the girl from Six, who’s hugging herself right now, bony hands pulling her shoulders inward.

What are the chances she’s a part of the alliance? Does she know that you joined last night? No, how could she? There was no way to communicate after the interviews. If she’s not, will she pull herself together long enough to come and attack you as soon as the gong sounds? If it came down to it, you’d be able to kill her, considering she’s barely on her feet.

You angle yourself away from her and toward the spoke, not willing to even take the chance that she’s on your side. 

You can’t imagine how Finnick must be feeling at this moment. He’s got to be ecstatic over the fact that he’s got the advantage this year. He’ll have no issue cutting through the waves. While you’re going to struggle to get to the spoke without drowning.

Fortunately, you know how to swim, you’re just rusty. It’ll all come back to you once you’re in the water, you just need to have a little hope. Although, the more you stare into the blue, you’re not sure if you can even bring yourself to get inside. Who knows how deep it goes beneath you?

The gong sounds, and you don’t move from the metal plate because of the paralyzing fear that’s telling you the water is too dangerous to get in. You watch as Six girl jumps into the water without hesitating, splashing around in the water until she gains momentum, heading to the spoke on her side.

When you look up, you’re met with the sight of a few other victors who also don’t move from their plates. 

Well, if Six girl hasn’t died yet, that means you won’t either. You suck in a deep breath of air before you dive into the water. You’re pleasantly surprised that the water’s warm, but it’s salty. The moment it hits your eyes, you can’t see straight anymore, and you rely of blind faith to get you to the rocks.

You know you’re pointed in the right direction, so you do your best with swimming that way. You know you’ve got to look ridiculous, but there’s got to be other victors that are embarrassing themselves more. You’re sure there’s a good number of them that don’t even know how to. You’re one of the lucky few that got taught in Five when you were young.

It feels like you’re in the water forever, until your hand hits the rock. You pull yourself out of the water, wiping at your eyes to get the saltiness away. You cough out the taste, face twisted at how gross it is. 

You get to your feet, eyes searching the open cornucopia mouth. All you can see is Katniss, a bow in her hand, digging through a pile of golden weapons. There’s got to be a knife in that pile with your name on it. That would be a good start to the Games, if you had something to defend yourself with.

As if Katniss is reading your thoughts as they come through, her head jerks up. An arrow is on her bow in the time it takes you to blink. You let out a panicked noise, covering your head as you drop to the rock to avoid being pierced. You can hear the whistle of the arrow flying over you.

“Fuck.” You murmur, daring to look up to see if she’s got another arrow for you.

She’s gone, though. And so is the theory that she’s part of the alliance that Finnick was talking about. What are the chances that Finnick was bluffing to you about that alliance to make you feel better about joining him? Did he really think you had anyone else to join?

Your chances at getting that knife are gone, the careers will be at that cornucopia in a matter of seconds, now. You get off your stomach and book it down the rocks, before careful not to trip on the way to the beach. You need to find Finnick. You’re completely weaponless, and there’s safety in numbers, usually.

Your shoe sinks into the sand, you stumble for a few steps before you catch your footing. Everything in you is screaming to run into the jungle, because you know that you’ll be hidden from the victors that specialize in long-range weapons. If you stay here, it’ll be easier to pick you out to kill.

You don’t move though, hesitating like you did on the metal plate, watching and waiting. You’re not even sure what for. You jerk away from the spoke when you see the careers picking through the weapons on the ground, but you don’t move from where your feet are planted in the sand.

That’s when you see them, three victors running into the jungle, a fourth one with grey hair being carried. The infamous trident that got him his win in his hand. 

You start running down the beach, arms pumping at your sides as you take short and quick breaths. You need to catch up to them before they get lost in the jungle. You need to be with Finnick if you plan on making it out of this alive.

You cross five spokes in the matter of two minutes, which you're sure will be some record. You swing yourself around the same tree that you saw them pass by, putting you on the right track. The adrenaline that you had used up until this point is dissipating the further you run up the hill, sucking all of the energy from your body.

It’s too hot to be going at this rate, it would be smarter to pace yourself. Especially with how badly you’re sweating, you don’t even know where the nearest fresh water source is—and that’s assuming the arena has one. 

The good news is that the path that Finnick is taking becomes clearer the further you go. The vegetation is harshly cut in odd ways, which means they must be swinging at it to make it easier to get through. If they’re traveling this quickly, that means you have to, too.

You’re not sure how long you’re running for, or why you’re still so far behind that you can’t even see them a little. It gets bad enough to the point that you begin to doubt that you’re even following the right path. What are the chances that someone else picked up a trident and you’re ignorantly following them?

You swear you saw Mags—

A sharp pain slices through your cheekbone, your head whips to the left, following the momentum of the weapon. You twist, tripping over your ankles as you fall to your knees, one hand cupping the fresh wound, and the other catches you from falling any further down the hill.

“Stop!” A familiar voice shouts, “Katniss—don’t!”

“Why?”

You’ve done it this time. Katniss already wants to kill you, and you’ve just managed to chase her a whole mile into the jungle without even knowing. What are the chances you can explain this and get away with it?

You turn to see who’s with her, and you’re relieved to see that you’ve been following the right people, after all. Finnick’s coming down the hill, curls bouncing with every step. “It’s just (Y/n), she’s our ally.”

“Ally?” Katniss echoes, she doesn’t look very happy.

“Yes.” Finnick doesn’t seem affected by her tone. 

He stops in front of you, offering his hand. There’s a small smile on his face, pleased that you managed to find him. You take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He gently moves your hand away from your cheek so he can get a look at it for himself, thumb rubbing underneath it.

“It’s not deep, she grazed you.” He tells you.

“Another couple inches and I’d be dead.” You murmur.

“That’s what you get for trampling through the jungle.” He laughs, “You’re not very discreet.”

“You’re lucky I caught sight of you, at all.”

The two of you wander up the hill, where you find Katniss, Peeta and Mags. Your theory about them being allies wasn’t so far off, it looks like. If it keeps going like this, you’re sure Johanna and Blight will join, and then you’ll be at seven. The numbers will probably stop there, you can imagine.

“Well, you two are close.” Katniss says bitterly, “Didn’t even know you two knew each other.”

“Well, when you’re soulmates, it’s almost like your whole world view changes.” You say.

Katniss nods slightly, “I’m going to climb a tree, get a better view on the cornucopia.”

“We’ll be down here.” Peeta says.

You take a seat next to Mags in the shade, trying to get your breathing back on track after running for so long in this heat. For a minute, you were sure that you were going to pass out.

While other victors might’ve trained for this day, you didn’t bother. 

“How—?” Finnick manages to get out, before the tinkling noise of a sponsor gift silences him. 

The four of you look into the air, curious on where it’s coming from, and who it must be for this early on. Normally, when you’re mentoring, you try to hold onto the sponsors until the most important moments. Every penny counts. However, you guess that the gifts are so cheap right now that it won’t even make a difference.

The medium-sized container lands right in front of you. You share a look with Finnick, unsure about opening it. 

“It can’t hurt.” He says.

You reach forward, moving the parachute out of the way before you pop open the lid. In the middle of the container sits a small slip of paper, with the word ‘congrats’ written on it. There’s a knife beneath it, beautifully carved with a sharp and curved blade. This is meant for you, there’s no question about it.

You begin to inspect it in your hand, when the sound of tinkling begins again.

“What’s happening?” Peeta asks.

“Congratulations gifts.” Finnick says, he catches this one in his hands. When he opens the lid, he lets out a laugh, “Water.”

You’re on your feet in an instant to see for yourself. There’s five bottles inside of the container, one for each of you. You take one out, and laugh for yourself, because they’re cold. You press the bottle to your forehead for a minute, before opening it and taking a few sips.

Peeta gets to his feet, coming over to grab one for himself. You move around Mags, grabbing Finnick’s shoulder to make him lean in your direction. You cup your hands to block what you’re saying from the Capitol, “We’re going to play this up, aren’t we?”

Finnick turns to you with the biggest grin, eyes dancing over your face, “You know it, darling.”

[nerdalmighty]

BG3 Tag Game!

I was tagged by @khywren!!! Thank you!!!!!!

I'm going to tag @vanilkaplays @okthisway @maladaptive-menace @riddlerosehearts @starkspi and anyone else who wants to play along!

Favorite romance: It will surprise no one to know that it's Astarion. I find his backstory so incredibly interesting and I love his dumbass personality. At the end of the day, he just wants to do whatever is the most hilarious and I adore that. I especially love how soft he gets when you get together in Act 2. I could go on and on but I'll never be able to fully articulate my love for him.

Favorite class to play: Bard! I love that they're really the jack of all trades and are pretty good at everything, including spells and sword fighting. Persuasion and deception are SO helpful in this game, plus playing music to distract crowds and cause shenanigans in Baldur's Gate is wonderful.

Favorite NPC: I think Raphael. While yeah he absolutely SUCKS, I'm obsessed with his obsession with his own voice. He's a thespian, he's a freak, he's an idiot. I love it. But yes, I did kill his ass.

Favorite song off the soundtrack: Probably the Harpy Song. I listen to it a lot in my spare time, especially when I'm working on a specific fic I'm attempting to write. I'm a big fan of haunting melodies and, unsurprisingly, the concept of hypnotizing music.

Tell us a little about your Tav: I wrote a pretty long post about her here, but my Tav is named Birdie and she's a bard who was born and raised at the Water Queen's House. Previous iterations of her had her as a siren (hence the deep love of the Harpy Song), but I'm still not 100% sure if this version of her is. Basically, she's a mermaid ass goof whose main gang of idiots include Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart. Chaos often ensues.

Something you wish was in the game: I know this game is huge. I know there's probably stuff people haven't even discovered yet. But god would I love some more camp animations. More interactions between the companions AT camp. Cut scenes where there should probably be cut scenes (The second time Astarion drinks your blood, Wyll celebrating the defeat of Ansur, etc). I really really love this game, but I'd love to hang out with my friends EVEN MORE.

Do you create fanworks? Share something with us: Oh boy I'm TRYING. I've never really written fanfiction before but the stupid vampire has inspired me to do so. I'm in the process of writing two different fics (one multi-chapter, one one-shot on the longer side) and am having a blast but I'm not sure if/when I'll post them. I've noticed my writing style is very similar to the way I write scripts, which is what I went to college for, so they're full of dialogue and quick, dumb banter. It might not be for everyone, but I'm having The Most Fun! Let me know if you'd maybe want to see more? Here's a silly excerpt from the one-shot (she may or may not get smutty later on 👀):

There was no sign of the vampire, save for an open hatch beneath the stone of the tower leading into what you presumed was a cellar of sorts. Off to the side was a discarded set of Thieves’ Tools. Yup, that’ll be him.

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you began to descend into the basement below. 

Before you could even make it to the bottom, however, you heard Astarion’s voice tinged with annoyance. “Don’t bother, darling. I was just coming back up.”

You paused on the ladder and looked down at him. “That bad?”

“Eh, a few coins, some food. Nothing worth risking one’s life over. Foolish gnome.”

“Shame,” you pouted down at him, not an ounce of real sympathy behind the word.

He smirked as he met your eye. “Go,” he said, indicating you should climb back up the ladder. “There was a rather large amount of smoke powder though. That could be fun.”

When you emerged back into the early evening air, you turned to help Astarion out. “Maybe you can blow up a quaint little gnomish village.”

Astarion’s eyes glittered with delight. “Oh, do you think there’s one around here? That would be- Oh. You’re joking.”

You nodded.

“Gods, you’re no fun.” He sighed dramatically and then started back towards the Blighted Village proper. 

You scoffed in mock offense. “I’m a lot of fun!”

Astarion tsked. “If you have to say you’re a lot of fun, odds are, you’re lying to yourself.” He shot a challenging half smile at you from over his shoulder.

“How dare you,” you laughed.

“Such a pity, too,” he went on. “Aren’t bards supposed to be entertaining?”

You made a sound of agony, which had Astarion fully turning back to look at you. You threw a hand to your heart and staggered towards him. “You wound me, Astarion. Look upon me with pity and remember me fondly!” You set an arm on his shoulder and let your body weight go, as if collapsing from a killing blow. 

Astarion was quick to catch you under your arms. He made a show of groaning about how heavy you were now that your body had gone completely limp. After you’d hung loosely from his grip for a few seconds, he finally yielded. “Alright, enough.” 

You resumed control of your body and stood up straight, a smug look on your face. “I’m fun.”

“Dramatic.”

“Theatrical.”

“Annoying.”

“Endearing.”

“Loud.”

“Enthusiastic-”

Just then, a loud howl came from a barn a little ways off. 

You and Astarion eyed each other.

“Was that you?” Astarion asked.

“‘Was that me?!’ I’m not THAT loud.”

“Could have fooled me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on.” You started in a light jog towards the barn.

Astarion groaned. “You can’t be serious.” He caught up with you easily. “Haven’t we done enough heroing for today?”

You looked at him thoughtfully. “One more act of heroism probably won’t kill you.”

“It might!”

“Oh, now who’s being dramatic?” You came to a stop at the double doors.

“I-” Astarion floundered, then pursed his lips and crossed his arms.

“That’s what I thought.”

[tmnt-reticent]

A couple of your photos have Leo holding Donnie’s hand, so-

Headcanon: Whenever they were really little, Leo thought something might be wrong with Donnie’s brain so he took it upon himself to be a guardian, of sorts. He was constantly dragging Donnie around (so he stops tripping/ramming into things) and bossing him through the most basic tasks, basically treating him like an invalid.

Donnie wasn’t sure he liked it, but he let him because Leo kept saying that it was what big brothers were SUPPOSED to do for the baby of the family, and he had no reason not to believe him.

(It was also the only time he got attention from his big brother.)

When getting glasses didn’t fix him, Leo got bored of picking up his slack and 180º’d their relationship to basically ignoring him. Donnie still looks up to Leo for years after, trying to succeed so Leo can see that there is hope for him, and he can get the attention back.

(Of course, we all know how that goes.)

Just a silly lil’ headcanon of mine :p

I genuinely cannot express to you how absolutely FERAL I am going over this/pos!!!!!

U CLOCKED THEM‼️‼️‼️🗣️🗣️🗣️💯💯🔥🔥🔥‼️‼️ Splinter would’ve absolutely been the reason Leo has this mindset as he’s always treated Donnie in a similar manner, however much more negatively than Leo does, at least prior to him becoming leader. Since Leo sees Splinter’s word as gospel he’d definitely believe that Donnie is below him and treat him as such :( Sure, in a “nice” way at first, but his treatment of Donnie would continuously get worse over time, although that happened with all of his brothers. Donnie just happened to get the brunt of it.

Donnie definitely still looks up to Leo too, he looks up to pretty much everyone in his life. He’s always been treated as less than (ignoring Raph), so of course he’d put everyone else on a pedestal, especially Leo. Ur absolutely right that he tries his best to get Leo to recognise him!!!!!!! Prior to Ret he does this by following the rules exactly but as u can see in the fic atm he’s starting to go against Leo in hopes that that’ll work instead. We’ll just have to wait and see how that turns out :)

I absolutely love this thank you so much for this hc ahhhhhh u got them DOWN fr!!!! Literally the only part that isn’t exactly right is when Leo started getting more distant, however he definetly got even more distant after Donnie got his glasses and no longer needed his aid. As promised, a doodle of ur hc :D

[en-lista]

BITE ME.  ›  DARK BLOOD ݃ 2023

SYNOPSIS. why fear the words of those who don’t appreciate art?

STARRING. ot8 .. enha's choreographer .. backup dancers

DURATION. 541 words

CW + NOTE. possible criticism from homophobics + lista wasn’t able to participate in promotions ≠ she isn’t part of this era 🤭

“..and calista will be partnered with howl. now let’s all get along and do our best, alright?” dahee concludes, shortly receiving a chorus of agreement.

with everyone ready to learn this new dance routine, they shuffle across the room to get a decent view of the dance teacher. calista removes ni-ki’s arm from atop her head and does something similar.. except her target isn’t a place, but a person.

“excuse me,” easily gaining the choreographer’s attention, she cuts to the point, “why did you pair me with a male dancer?”

“since this is quite a sensual and romantic dance, we want to make sure you exude as much chemistry with your partner as possible. and.. well, given how well you get along with howl, i thought it’d be best to put the two of you together.”

she has to admit it.. there is sense to his explanation. yet, there is a pair of dots in her mind that hasn’t been connected. and while it may seem selfish, she needs to know the answer.

“no offense to howl,” the mentioned dancer waves it off, much more interested in witnessing where this is going than feeling indignant. “but i’m capable of doing the same thing with a female partner.”

..is it just dahee, or did the studio get chillier?

“are you really confident about that?” before he can be misunderstood—a few blank stares from both her members and the dancers tells him he already is—the young man hastily tacks on, “people will already make comments about you dancing with another woman, who knows what they’ll say if there’s a lack of chemistry between the two of you..”

calista shrugs her shoulders, undeterred. “let them talk. at the end of the day, that’s all they can do. besides, i’m sure with practice, my partner and i can build up a connection that’ll translate into our dance.”

“she’s right.” this time, it’s jay who speaks up—ready to defend his best friend. “no matter what she does, they’ll always have something to say. so don’t pay them much attention or else they’ll drain your energy and patience.”

still hesitant about letting the idol pull off such a bold move, dahee turns to ni-ki for his input. it makes sense, seeing as how he did contribute in the creation of this choreography..

all eyes are on the maknae as he coolly approaches the older girl, his verdict readily sitting on the tip of his tongue. his arm wraps around her shoulder, rosy lips curled in a confident smile. “ever since we were rookies, noona has never failed to pull off a showstopper. which is why i’m certain that regardless of who she dances with, she’ll continue her streak.”

3 to 1; the winner has been declared.

resigned, the choreographer sighs and apologizes, “if you’re really set on this, i can pair you with hyeily. but please know that i only made my initial decision because i don’t want you to face the fans’ harsh backlash, okay?”

“i understand, and i appreciate your concern.” a cheshire smirk paints itself upon calista’s visage as she tells him, “but i’m no longer a stranger to that kind of scene, so if they talk then i’ll just tell them..

bite me.”

꒰ TAGLIST.  @stealanity @lost-leopard-beanie @fairiepoems 𐬹 send an ask if you’d like to be added  ꒱

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Drop Off Part 2

Chapter One

Chapter Two:

Tucker skips lunch and hides in the bathroom.  He can’t deal with Sam or Danny after what happened that morning, and it doesn’t help that Danny hasn’t looked him in the eyes all week.

Sam hasn’t stopped with her angry rants about Phantom during lunch either.  If anything, they’ve gotten worse since Tucker got hurt.  The only difference is now Danny doesn’t say anything in response or try to change the topic, just stares down at the table and takes it, while none of them acknowledge that that’s exactly what he’s doing.

Anyway, Tucker can’t deal with it today.

He plans at first on staying in the bathroom for a while and then heading to his next class, but then he remembers that he has a biology class with Sam next, and the idea of dealing with her is still too much.  He could skip that one too, but even if he skips all the classes he shares with Sam, he’ll still have to go with her to training.  Today is the day they both picked for him to go back.

And the idea of going to training with Sam, listening to her push him or berate him or tell Vlad about how worrisome it is that he still thinks of Danny as—

He can’t do it.  The idea makes him feel sick.

So instead, when lunch ends, Tucker slips out the front doors of the school and starts towards Vlad alone.  If he doesn’t go with Sam again, that’ll just make her angrier; but if she gets there and finds him not there, and then Vlad tells her he skipped school to go instead, that might make her realize he meant it when he said he’d start training more.

Besides, he can just not mention anything that he’s feeling to Vlad, and then that’ll be fine.

He knocks on the door when he gets there, then rings the doorbell after he gets no response.  Finally, when he’s about ready to knock again, Vlad pulls the door open, looking more than a little surprised to see him.

“I thought you’d be at school, my boy,” he says.

“Well I’m not,” Tucker says, walking past him without saying anything else.

Vlad turns and follows him in, shutting the door behind him.

“Is Samantha here with you?” he asks.

“No,” Tucker says, ignoring Vlad calling her Samantha.  “She’s still at school.  We don’t need to talk, I just came here to train.”

“Are you sure?” Vlad asks, moving forward and putting a hand on his shoulder before Tucker can activate his suit.  “Sam told me what happened, it must have been a lot.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about it,” Tucker says, activating his suit before Vlad can say anything else.  “I just came here to start training more like Sam told me to.”

“Tucker, hang on a minute,” Vlad says.  He walks around to Tucker’s front, putting a firm hand back on his shoulder.  “I know this is hard, believe me.”

“Oh do you?” Tucker says, taking a step back so Vlad’s hand falls down.  “Is Danny your friend?  Are you the one being asked to fight him?”

Vlad seems to hesitate for a second, and then he sighs.  “No,” he admits.

“That’s what I thought—”

“But would it help you to know that I actually have been through something very similar?”

Tucker blinks.  “Uh,” he says.  “What?  Really?”

Vlad nods.  “With Daniel’s father, believe it or not,” he says.

Tucker stares at him for another second.  He had come here just to train with no intention of talking— with every intention of not talking, actually.  But it’s not like he can just leave that statement hanging there.

“What… do you mean?” Tucker asks hesitantly.

Vlad smiles sadly at him, and waves him over to the side of the room.  He’s apparently set some chairs over there since Tucker’s been here last.  There’s two small plush ones, likely meant for him and Sam, and a larger one that Vlad sits in.  He gestures to the smaller chair closest to him.

Tucker hesitates for a moment, then walks over and sits down.

“I told you already that Jack and I were friends in college,” he says.  “But I don’t think I explained why that’s no longer the case.”

Tucker shook his head, trying to lean in to listen and ignore the squirming of bad feeling in his gut.  He has a feeling this isn’t going to be good.

Vlad sighs.  “Well, it’s not a story I like to tell, in all honesty.  But I think it might help you, so I’ll make an exception.  While the three of us were in school together, we designed a prototype ghost portal.  We gathered to test it together, but there was an incident.”  Vlad takes a breath, and something flashes across his face.  Tucker isn’t sure if it’s sadness or anger, and Vlad moves on before he can decide.  “I was luckier than poor Daniel in that the accident only nearly killed me.  But Jack was the one who wrote down the calculations, and turned on the portal while I was right next to it.  He tried to kill me, just like Daniel did your friend Samantha.”

Tucker looks away, his stomach swirling with nerves again.  He might actually be sick if all of this keeps up.

He feels a hand on his shoulder again a second later, and turns to see Vlad looking at him with sympathy.

“I couldn’t see Jack for what he was until it was too late,” he says.  “I don’t want that to happen to you, or to Samantha.  That’s another reason I’m here, along with protecting the others Daniel might hurt.”

Tucker chews on his lip for a minute, trying to think of how to respond, how to ask what he wants to know without making Vlad uncomfortable.  “Did…” he says hesitantly.  “Did you ever lie to Mr Fenton?”

Vlad gives a startled laugh that startles Tucker too.  “Oh yes,” he says after a second, nodding, and looking up as if thinking to himself.  “Many, many times.”

Tucker squirms uncomfortably in his seat.  “Did it ever get any easier?” he asks quietly.

He feels Vlad look at him, though Tucker doesn’t look up to meet his gaze.

“Yes,” Vlad says, sounding rather casual about the idea.  “Eventually, I got numb to it.  It’s like second nature now.”

…Tucker shouldn’t have asked.  That absolutely does not make him feel better.

There’s a long pause.

“You know,” Vlad says eventually.  “If it’s numbness that would help you, I might have a solution.”

This time, Tucker actually doesn’t ask.  Vlad keeps talking anyway.

“You’ve seen the ghost models I’ve designed to practice aim,” Vlad says, gesturing out at the training grounds in front of them.  “It wouldn’t be that difficult to make a couple that look like Daniel.”

Tucker’s head snaps up.  “I don’t want to do that,” he says immediately, shaking his head almost violently back and forth.

Whoops, he’d thought he was done with the concussion.  Apparently not.  He presses a hand to the back of his head, trying to stop the sudden ache.

“Do you think it’s going to be easier to shoot him without any practice?” Vlad asks gently, reaching out and putting a hand on Tucker’s shoulder again.  Tucker looks down but doesn’t lean away.

“After all,” Vlad continues. “It’s nothing he hasn’t done to you already.”

Tucker takes short, shallow breaths.  He can’t bring himself to say anything.

Finally, Vlad squeezes his shoulder firmly and leans back.  “I’ll tell you what,” he says.  “You look like your head is hurting again.  Go home and rest for the day.  Come back tomorrow if you’re feeling better.  You can give me an answer then.”

Tucker all but sprints from the house, giving no reply.  He ignores the people that send him strange looks as he runs past them, and keeps going until he finds a small empty side street.  He runs down it until he can duck behind the dumpster sitting near the end.

Then he doubles over and vomits up the food that’s in his stomach.

As another bonus to skipping lunch, there’s not much there.

[missingn000]

I instantly popped onto discord the second I saw the words “missingn000” and “seraphim ace” pop up in my notifications. 1. It completely slipped my mind that you liked one piece! 2. Seraphim ace is something Ive desperately needed ever since seeing a particular piece of fanart and 3. The combo of YOUR writing + seraphim ace + a long fic makes me FROTH at the mouth, the second you post anything related to it I’m going all in

Also your seraphim ace concept? S-Flame (ugh love it)? S-flame having the same relationship with og ace that og ace had with Roger? Thinking about how og ace would feel if he knew that he was to someone else who Roger was to him? Losing my mind

I love kid ace so much, that’s my son and I really wonder how s-flame will turn out without a kid luffy and kid sabo to grow up with him. Also the heat-heat ability? LOVE IT, it shows even more that hes both extremely similar to ace yet completely different, like being seen as the younger sibling that’s just a worse/discount version of their older sibling. Living in their shadow forever and wanting both to BE them while also wanting to be recognized as your own person.

I wonder if the people who knew ace will meet s-flame and how that’ll go down. I can see Marco being mature about it and understanding that it’s a separate person but I bet that luffy will go through a crisis, knowing logically that it’s a different person but not FEELING like it’s a different person. If sabo meets him, that’ll be a COMPLETELY different reaction than both of them!! Sabo meets s-flame and KNOWS that that’s not ace but….. how? THATS HIM. Sabo doesn’t remember adult ace because he never met adult ace, but he has a clear image of kid ace in his head. It’s like being given the opportunity to see your brother again except that is just a kid that LOOKS like your brother and ACTS exactly like him and is BASED off him, but nooooo that’s not him.

Anyway sorry, I saw the notif and had to word vomit this out :)

NO NEED TO APOLOGIZE!! this message has me beaming,so you're all good (not to mention getting this from someone with an ace pfp has me like HELL YEAH, WE'RE REACHING THE TARGET AUDIENCE)

i'm so happy you like my seraphim ace concept!! he's something i've been cookin' for a while and have put a lot of thought into, and i hope it shows. i thought the idea of the heat-heat fruit was cool too (in my mind, vegapunk bribed big mom for oven's blood with a fuckton of candy) especially since it's both better and worse than ace's original fruit at the same time.

i love kid ace too ;_; he's so precious, i need to hug him and tell him how loved he is. the idea that s-flame & ace mirror ace & roger grabbed me in such a chokehold the moment it occurred to me, i just knew i had to inflict it on the world too

as you said, luffy and sabo are both gonna struggle immensely with s-flame's existence, especially without context. without prior knowledge as to what they are, the seraphim really look like angels, so that first reaction of "oh my god i'm looking at my dead brother's angel" hits them both like a truck. and you know what they say about first impressions: very hard to shake, even if they logically know s-flame isn't ace.

this reply got long, so more below cut:

you're so right to catch that sabo never knew adult ace, and only knew kid ace! he's kinda caught between a rock and a hard place here, because:

this is the only ace he's ever known and s-flame acts pretty much exactly like him

he knows better than ANYONE how much young, angry ace hated being compared to roger, so he'll know better than anyone how much s-flame would hate being compared to ace

and yet...how can he avoid it. same with luffy, since ace literally died in his arms. meanwhile, it's ingrained in s-flame's soul to love these two, and even though he doesn't want to be ace, he suddenly finds himself wanting to if only so luffy and sabo will love him. oughhhh ;__;

to answer your question: a ton of people who knew ace will meet s-flame in this story!! marco is there ofc, he's a major character, and you're right that he's more mature about it than most. s-flame's got a lotta people to learn from who once knew ace: yamato, tama, garp, shanks, makino, dadan, and more, plus new people who will have a strong reaction to his existence, like rayleigh and king. this really is quite the journey for everyone involved, and i'm so beyond thrilled you're gonna hop in for the ride :D thanks so much for your message!!!

[lichfucker]

BRAIN DAMAGE IN D MINOR?

lmaoooooo "brain damage in d minor" is a placeholder title and I live in fear every day that it's going to stick. the only other thing I call it in my own notes is "music and lyrics au" so unless something better appears I'm afraid brain damage in d minor will end up the actual title

a million years ago the sunder server watched music and lyrics (2007) for movie night, which is my favorite rom-com of all time, and I. could not stop thinking about how well the conceit works as a silverflint au. because I am the one with brain damage (in d minor)

it's likely the only bs modern au I'll ever write bc in general I find the canon time period far more compelling, but I digress. flint is a washed-up has-been-- he was in a boyband with thomas and peter ashe in the early '00s but it's been twenty years and his career is dead. suddenly he gets a call from gates, his manager, saying, "charles vane just left his band to get out of a contract with guthrie records and he wants to kick off his new solo venture by singing a duet with you, so you need to write a new song. okay bye"

the problem is that flint is a terrible lyricist. sure he could come up with a pretty metaphor, but he can't write things that are Relatable, and pop music is all about being Vague and Relatable. help, of course, comes from the least likely of places: john silver, a guy flint hires to water his plants, just so happens to be an excellent songwriter.

yes, this is extremely contrived. yes, it is following the plot of the movie to a tee (except, y'know, set in 2023 instead of in 2007).

a meet-cute for your perusal:

The buzzer rings, piercing through the rhythmic discordant chime of Flint repeatedly bashing his head onto the keys of the piano. Great. That’ll be Idelle in to water the plants, and he can either stay in the living room composing Brain Damage in D Minor while she does, or he can spare himself the humiliation and retreat into the privacy of his bedroom. Perhaps he’ll run a bath and drown himself in the lavish tub.

A sigh hauls itself out of Flint’s chest with all the effort of the tow truck that time in ’04 when the tour bus got impounded, and it takes similar heft for him to stand up from the piano bench and answer the door.

Flint registers long black hair before anything else, and his skull is so thick with cement that he nearly turns heel and stalks off to his room without so much as a grunt in hello—but he stops.

“You’re not Idelle,” Flint says.

A very astute observation: the person in the doorway has bluer eyes, tanner skin, and a significantly fuller beard.

The man’s gleaming smile falters. “No,” he says. “Sorry, did she not text you? I’m taking over for a few weeks while she’s away. Can I come in, or are all your plants out in the hall?”

Flint blinks. Considering the man looks like he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in his entire life, Flint hadn’t expected his voice to be so… smooth. Nor so English, not in Manhattan. Before Flint lets this stranger into his (admittedly, very thieve-able) apartment, though, he looks through his phone and—oh. Idelle had texted. Three times over the last two weeks. He’d even given her a thumbs-up emoji. Well, all right, then. He steps aside to let the man through.

“Thanks,” the man says, his bright smile back and full of teeth. “I’m John, by the way. John Silver.”

“James McGraw.”

Silver drops his messenger bag on the coffee table beside the chaise, looking around with cataloguing eyes at the veritable garden lined up along the floor-to-ceiling windows, the crystalline chandelier hanging over the dining table, the glossy baby grand on the shag carpet, the unmasked luxury in which Flint lives. “Watering can?” he asks.

“Under the sink,” Flint says, pointing him toward the kitchen. He waits a few beats and then follows, trying to keep a wary eye on Silver while appearing casual rather than paranoid. He leans coolly against the kitchen island just as Silver finishes filling the watering can. “So, Joe—”

“John,” he says, not unkindly. “Most of my friends just call me Silver, but I’d rather you call me John. No offense. Less personal, you know?”

“Using your given name is less personal than your surname?”

He gives Flint a pointed look. “I can be one of eight hundred Johns you’ve ever met, or I can be one of half a dozen Silvers, if even that many. Maybe we’ll be friends someday and you can call me whatever you like, but for now I’ll take John, thanks.”

Flint just barely suppresses a grin. “Fair enough,” he says. “Where are you from?”

Silver—John hesitates, and then he says, “London. And you?”

“Cornwall.”

“Really? You don’t sound it.”

“I trained myself out of it, a long time ago.” Flint watches John tend to the orchid on the counter, careful not to over-water it; he’s gentle and methodical with it, which isn’t what Flint had expected. He’s not sure what he expected, in truth. “So,” Flint says, “you’re a friend of Idelle’s? Where is she, anyway?”

The question earns him an indignant snort. “Idelle is in the Bahamas getting married, and I,” John says, crossing the living room to the ficus by the window, “got the great honor of not being fucking invited. She tried telling me it’s because they wanted to keep the guest list small, but I know that’s a damned lie. She invited Muldoon, of all fucking people. Logan I understand, because he and Charlotte are attached at the fucking hip, but Muldoon?” John scoffs. “No, it’s because Augie—her husband—never liked me, not that I have any idea why. Truth be told, I think Idelle herself only tolerates me because she’s close with my sister, and she knows not to say a bad word about me to Max if she intends to say any words for the rest of her life.”

He keeps talking as he progresses down the row of plants. “I told Max to bring me as her plus-one just to piss them all off, you know, but she’d already committed to taking her girlfriend, and, honestly, that’s comeuppance enough. I am far more fun at weddings than Anne is. Luckily for you, I’m also a far better plant-sitter, so—Fuck!”

John hisses in pain and turns around to face Flint, sucking on the pad of his thumb. “Fucking cactus,” he mumbles around the thumb in his mouth. The two of them stand there, twenty feet apart, for an odd moment, the air thick with… something. John narrows his startlingly blue eyes, scrutinizing Flint. Flint hasn’t a clue what he might be looking for. His lips work at his thumb all the while.

And then John’s thumb leaves his mouth with an obscene smack, the sound so loud in the dense silence that had befallen them, and he says, “You look really familiar. Are you famous or something?”

[berriethewizard]

Whump Prompt: Scar Reveal (HW Link/Ravio)

set in the dnd campaign era of the Colonelverse, Ravio procrastinates taking off his bandages after a big hit taken. Colonel is there to talk him through it. Wordcount: 1551

----

Ravio pokes at the sand with a stick idly. He picked it up to maybe draw some drafts in the sand, something to occupy his mind while he sits. Something to… distract.

He starts on another idea – a staff, the shape easy to draw in the pale yellow of the beach – perhaps to be enchanted to create a shock of ice to walk across the waves? Oceans are hard to traverse, and a good thick layer of ice that can take a few waves beating against it would be very useful. They’ve found themselves on a shore, who knows if their steps will next take them beyond it? 

Ravio hears someone approach, not even trying to be quiet, but he keeps ploughing forward with the idea. Maybe if he uses something regenerative, that’ll strengthen its overall capacity for casting; it’d need to be big and strong enough an ice blast to solidify into one chunk to stand on, in his main blueprints for its use. Turning enemies into a popsicle stick isn’t a bad bonus, though. Maybe a set amount of charges would be more cost efficient in that case…

It’s Colonel that settles down beside him. Ravio stays focused on the sand drawing at the end of his stick, and lets the other man admire the view for a bit. And ignores any glance his way. This goes on for multiple minutes, the only sound the gentle waves, before Colonel finally speaks up.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, y’know,” he states evenly. Ravio doesn’t say anything, and he continues, “It doesn’t mean you’re lesser, now.”

Ravio sighs. He knows, he does, really. He remembers saying similar sentiments to Colonel, in fact. But it doesn’t… make it better.

He’s never gotten hurt enough for it to scar so bad, before.

Not once did he regret taking that hit for Wisdom. (Okay, maybe a little bit, but only because it hurt so bad.) Keeping their healer up and able is important! And it’s not like he had a shield to do it with, anyway, his body was the next best thing. And… he’s trying to be brave. He wants to help, and fight, and be strong like everyone else. Logically, he knew it’d be scary. He’s scared very, very often. It’s almost his default state, really. Nervous and too cautious and eternally worried he fucked something up. He’s trying not to be, though. But this time… 

His bandages should’ve come off last night, but he feigned sleep until they left it alone. And he snuck out at dawn this morning, up willingly before the sun for the first time in a very long time. 

Ravio doesn’t want to look at it. Simple as. He’s a coward for it, but it's the truth. 

When Ravio still doesn’t say anything, staring at the stick in his hand absently, Colonel forges on. “Is there anything I can do to help with this? You don’t have to look if you really don’t want to. But putting it off isn’t going to make it disappear, and the bandages will need to come off either way.” 

Ravio doesn’t think anything will help him get over this besides just doing it. Which he pointedly doesn’t want to do – anxiety ripples in his stomach even just thinking about it. But then Colonel is looking at him in that soft, patient way he always does when he cares for people, and they’re alone right now. Maybe, since it’s just the two of them, and he knows Colonel won’t think worse of him if he freaks out, he could take a peak…

He pulls in a deep breath, uncurling and finally turning to face Colonel. “No, I-I’m ready now. Let’s get this over with.” The bandages itch, anyway.

He’s been borrowing one of Colonel’s spare tunics since his own got ripped in the fight, and it bunches oddly when he pulls it off his frame, slightly too big for him. The cool morning air and soft sea breeze hits his body immediately – he can’t help but shiver as the goosebumps raise. 

The bandages are wrapped around his ribs – the blade he took for Wisdom sliced him across his right side – and Colonel’s hands are gentle as he begins unwinding them. Ravio pointedly looks away, over to the sea. Sailor always talked about his oceans back home; “It loves you so much it’ll try to consume you,” he said once. This is the first time he’s properly seen the ocean in daylight. It’s pretty relaxing, honestly. He supposes when you’re not in the middle of it, the danger is more absent. 

In the very familiar setting – Ravio running, Colonel chasing after him – it's hard not to connect it to the first time he saw the large, dark waves of the sea. That moonlit night in the war, sitting on the edge of a beach just like he is now, terrified of everything consuming him. Unable to get out of his head the image of Colonel’s broken body, his new scars. It’s a bit funny how the roles are almost reversed now. How he’s avoiding looking at his own scar, and Colonel is holding his hand as it's revealed (metaphorically, of course. Though Ravio is sure Colonel would, if he asked. He’s sweet like that).

The last of the bandages fall away, and Colonel hums. “It’s not all that bad, actually. I was worried it was going to be bigger.” 

At that admission, he lets himself glance down at himself. His breath gets caught in his chest when he sees it, and suddenly he can't breathe at all. That’s big. That’s very big. Colonel’s definition of big is not the same as his. He can feel himself start to panic, simultaneously distant and overwhelmingly on top of him, shaking his body and dizzying his mind – that’s a big scar, that’ll be there forever, this is bad – and then Colonel is leaning into his view and pulling his gaze back up.

“Hey, hey, you're okay. You're alright. You’ll get used to it, I promise.” He stares back at Colonel’s face, terrified, refusing to look back down. This is awful. He squeezes his eyes shut, begging himself to calm down. Maybe he shouldn't have looked– no, he knows he needs to, Colonel is right, it won't just magically disappear if he pretends it's not there. But he wants it to.

He reaches his hand out and Colonel immediately takes it, giving it a gentle squeeze as Ravio focuses on taking in deep breaths. He can still see it in his mind. How wrong it looks. He tries his hardest to push it away, think of something else, focus on the feeling of Colonel’s hand in his. He belatedly realises it's his right hand – the burned one – and that somehow calms him down a bit. Colonel’s still fine, even with such a big scar. He’ll be fine too, right? He hopes so.

Ravio pulls in one more deep breath, holds it until it starts to hurt, then pushes it out slowly. 

“Okay, this is okay, I can deal with this.” He nods (a bit frantically) to himself, slowly opening his eyes (and not looking back at the scar). 

“You’re gonna be okay, my moon. It’ll be alright.” Colonel gives his hand another squeeze, then chuckles. “It's funny – we almost match a bit, now.”

“Don’t say that!” Ravio whines. That does not help! 

“Okay, okay, sorry, that wasn't a good joke,” he huffs out a breath, then sobers. “But what I really mean is… you're not alone in this. It’s hard to get used to – trust me, I know – but it doesn't mean anything bad, about you, or anything. And I’ll be here if you need that reminder, alright?” 

Ravio nods. Colonel stays holding his hand, and the lingering panic slowly ebbs out, leaving him drained and hollow-feeling. Then the sea breeze blows by again – he instinctively folds his arms around his chest to keep some warmth in, only to brush his hand against the odd texture of the scar. He jumps, the panic almost spiking again, before he breathes through it and lets himself just… feel it, for a bit. He finds it’s easier to touch it than look at it, even if it’s still weird.

“Oh right, I completely forgot – I have your clothes here, all fixed.” Colonel reaches into a bag Ravio didn’t notice he had with him. He pulls out both of Ravio’s tunics, cleaned of all blood and holes sewn neatly shut, which Ravio takes gratefully. He uses it as his chance to put his scar out of his mind for now, and puts them back on quickly, returning Colonel’s tunic to him to put in the bag instead. Getting back into his own clothes settles him somewhat (though he didn’t mind wearing Colonel’s tunic, honestly), and he lets himself smile a bit at the familiar feeling of the fabrics. 

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do at any point?” Colonel frets. Ravio chuckles – he’s such a fusspot – before deciding to be cheeky.

“Well there is something that I think would make it all better…” He leans in, batting his eyes playfully. Colonel catches on immediately, and huffs goodnaturedly before leaning in and meeting him halfway.

A kiss makes everything better.