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sonotpattismith · 13 days ago

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i'm still your girl (satoru gojo x reader)

if you have to leave— I wish that you would just leave because your presence still lingers here, and it won’t leave me alone.

word count: 7.5k inspired by: dancing with your ghost by sasha alex sloan & my immortal by evanescence warnings: angst, mentions of death, mourning, depression, smut, 18+ a/n: AHHH I LOVED THIS ONE SO MUCH! I really wanted to do something a little spooky for Halloween, even if it wasn't officially halloween themed :( I can't wait to hear everyone's thoughts! ILY!

You tried to ignore him at first. He would stare back at you through your reflection in the mirror, just as he once did when the two of you would get ready for bed. He used to smile at you over his foamed toothbrush when he’d catch you staring at him, mumbling unintelligibly with his mouth full of suds. It made you laugh nonetheless, and he would lean over to spit into the sink before repeating himself with a teasing glint in his sparkling eyes.

Why stare at my reflection when you��ve got the real thing here, sweetcheeks?

But Satoru had been dead for two months, and he no longer had anything to say about the way you stared blankly back at his reflection.

You cried the first time you had seen him. It was just in your peripheral as you climbed into what was once his side of the bed. His dominating presence loomed in the doorframe, as if awaiting an invitation to come join you. In the haze of your mourning, having only been back at you and Satoru’s shared home for three days since he’d been gone, you thought perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. Still, there was no mistaking those glowing eyes and their tendency to follow you across whatever room you were in.

That night, you could only pull the covers over your head, too afraid of the fragility of your own sanity to dare take another look. His presence lingered though, the waves of his energy enough to leave you trembling underneath the comforter, tears spilling onto the plush pillow that still held his scent. You never peaked out, but a part of you knew he never left that night, lingering in the doorway and haunting you once you’d successfully cried yourself to sleep.

It went on like that for a while. You believing your sanity was simply waning in his absence, him believing you simply didn’t see him. So, he watched as you trudged through life— if that’s what you could call your melancholy existence holed up in what once was a shared space— trapped behind the perceived veil of life and death that his abrupt departure had left the two of you in.

There wasn’t a definitive moment when he determined that you could in fact see his silent figure observing you and feel his energy weighing down the air around the house. It came in waves; Satoru would notice how your sidelong glances toward the corner of the room lingered too long to be considered just a sweep around the room. He took note of the way you’d avoid facing the door at night when you’d pretend to be sleeping.

One night, as you laid on the sofa, dark-rimmed eyes mindlessly fluttering across the television screen, perhaps your grief had simply outweighed the logical part of your mind that said giving into delusions— no—hallucinations, was not a good call for your already declining mental state. Your feeling conscious enough to turn on the television was a new development, one that Satoru was grateful for. He wasn’t sure how long he could watch you stare stiffly up at the ceiling, only an occasional sigh or sniffle that told him you were still breathing.

Your thumb ticked over title after title, not even bothering to read descriptions or watch trailers before you passed them up. The gentle clicking noise was beginning to scratch at his ears, and, if he could still bleed, he was sure it’d be covering his jaw and neck by now. But then it stopped. Glancing up from his unwavering gaze on your slumped figure, his cerulean eyes landed on the sight of what once was your favorite Halloween movie to watch together. It had become a tradition, every year around this time, the two of you would pull out the matching pajama pants he’d bought for you on your first fall together just for the viewing occasion.

You would always pretend to be irritated with him as he leaned into your ear and dramatically recited every line as they were being acted out. Delicate hands would push at his face as you repressed an amused smile. He’d only turn his theatrics up a notch, letting out a blood-curdling scream in tandem with the main actresses— so loud it made you glad you two had moved out of your apartment and into a house just two years into your relationship. Your boisterous laughter would fill the room as he tackled you into his lap, shaking your shoulders dramatically.

The memory hung in the space between you. On the screen before you, the title lingered, taunting the both of you with broken promises of what would have been your fifth year watching it together. The man’s gaze was pulled from the screen when he saw your head tilt out of the corner of his eye. Your cheek was still smushed against the cushion, but you had angled it just so, and he could swear you were staring at him from your peripheral— waiting, inviting.

Satoru stepped forward, eyes never leaving your face as he sank down into the spot by your feet. It was the first time the both of you had acknowledged the arrangement fate had thrust upon you. Your eyes, now brimmed with tears, returned to the screen as you pressed play on the movie.

You didn’t understand what he was. The first thought was a hallucination, but as his energy lingered, and you felt the warmth of his thighs against your feet as the film shot bursts of color and sound throughout the morose living room, you began to think that perhaps he was more real than you were giving your psyche credit for.

The second theory was a curse, conjured up from the macabre sense of loss and void that had tunneled within your chest since his death. How fitting, you thought, to have your love haunt you in the very form of what brought him to his end. As you pretended to watch the movie, keeping a watchful peripheral eye on the man at the end of the couch, you decided you didn’t care enough to find out. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be strong enough to exorcize him should your theory be correct. It felt nice to have him here with you, soulbound or not.

Your subtle acknowledgement of him did nothing to shift the silent stares and subtle invitations into something more— both of you too fearful of what it would mean if you did. So, he still stalked behind you as you brushed your teeth every night, and he awaited your subtle nod as you picked out your nightly cinematic reminder of what you two once were.

It began eating away at him. He’d watch your phone light up with messages, ring with calls, all from your friends begging to know how you were doing, if there was anything they could do for you. Each time though, you’d barely glance at the device before sighing softly. It felt as though the phone weighed a ton, and it would surely take all your energy to simply acknowledge them. You would get back to them tomorrow, you thought to yourself yesterday, as well as the day before that.

It was becoming too much— watching the shell of the woman he loved— loves— wither away at the hands of his own demise. Satoru wondered if it would have been easier on you had you been given a proper goodbye, but at the time, he was too cowardly to face you with the notion of it. Although the sorcerer had been prepared to go toe to toe with the king of curses, he couldn’t find it in him to prepare you for the possibility of his own death.

He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you out of your trance— to tell him it wasn’t all because of him. You couldn’t have tossed away your soul because of him.

The credits of the movie you’d been idly watching rolled to completion, and your eyes remained glued to the screen as though reading each name as it slowly dragged down. The television screen faded to black before the film restarted from the beginning. Satoru watched, waiting for you to grab the remote, change it, move, blink, cry— anything. Lights flashed across your blank face as the familiar title card played, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

Although he wanted to shout, scream at you to snap out of it, nothing would come out. As he attempted to push the breaths up his chest and out his throat with some semblance of a plea, it was as if an imaginary force had its fingers wrapped around his neck, halting any wish he had to get through to you.

His chest rose and fell dramatically, snowy brows furrowing in frustration, and he kicked at the coffee table, sending it rumbling across the living room to hit the entertainment center with a deafening crack. The television shook but steadied after just a moment. Those gleaming eyes remained transfixed on you though— you hadn’t even flinched. Blinking slowly once, and then a second time, and your head slowly turned to meet his eyes straight on for the first time since his death.

It caught him off guard. Of course, there were countless moments when your sidelong glances and hitched breaths let him know that you sensed something was amiss. Still, you had never dared look into his eyes— never made him feel as though he was really still with you.

“Stop it, Satoru.”

It was a flat demand— a test. Would he listen to you? Could he hear you? Did he care?

Straightening his back against the couch, he stared unblinkingly at you for a moment before slowly standing up from his spot. His eyes didn’t leave yours once as he crouched down to grab the leg of the table and pull it back to its respective spot. He stood still facing you for what felt like hours. With each second that passed, your lip would slowly twitch, and your eyes would soften— because fuck, was he really there?

And then he held his hand out to you with a barely noticeable hesitance, and you didn’t seem to care any longer if he was just in your mind, or if he was a curse, or a ghost, because your fingers were trembling as they traced across his palm— and he was warm, and he was your Satoru. For that moment, his body hadn’t been torn to pieces because it was pulling yours off the couch. His lips weren’t cold and blue, because they were pressing against your forehead as your tears began to fall in salty, stinging waves down your cheeks. Satoru wasn’t dead, because he was right here, and your arms were twisted around the very torso that had been sliced clean off of him.

Trembling sobs racked your frame as you pulled yourself up with desperate hands on his shoulders, wanting nothing more than to crawl inside of him and hide from the heinous idea that your lover was dead. His hands grasped at your thighs to pull you up, and you cried into his collarbone, tears and snot mixing grotesquely against him so much so that you didn’t notice the pulse you used to press kisses to was no longer there.

“You said goodbye to everyone!” You cried pounding at his back as he carried you silently toward your bedroom. “I didn’t get anything. You knew— you knew, Satoru!”

Despite his not being able to speak, he still bit his tongue at your accusations. Slowly, he settled down on his side of the bed, clutching you close to his chest as you fought to pull away in order to glare down at him, venom and grief mixing arbitrarily in your veins. You weren’t sure it was him, if he could speak or even understand what you were saying anymore, but you had so much anger in you for how he left things.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Warn me?” Your words were being muffled behind your gritted teeth as he finally released the firm grip he had on the back of your head. Balled up fists beat weakly against his chest, though they never hurt him when he was breathing, so they certainly couldn’t hurt him now. “Why didn’t you say goodbye to me?”

He couldn’t speak to explain to you his cowardice and talk you through that crack in your voice. So, he sat up and pulled you into him, pressing his lips against yours as your salty tears seeped into the crevices of his mouth and coated his tongue with your grief. Those familiar fingers creeped up your neck to grasp at your jaw, prying your mouth open as though he could breathe into you every regret he’d left behind.

Your cries slowly died out against his open mouthed kisses, and you found yourself messily reciprocating, desperate for any distraction from the reality you’d been living in for weeks. His thumbs wiped roughly at each tear that slipped down your cheek, having had his fill of being the cause of them for so long.

“I love you.” You cried against his tongue, raking your nails through his feathery hair and inhaling deeply through your nose. He didn’t smell like himself anymore— he didn’t smell like anything. Any supplement of him would do though, and your hands dipped down to pull his tshirt off. Those enrapturing eyes stared back at you longingly once the fabric was yanked over his head, and he wanted nothing more than to say it back to you. For now though, you were okay to fill that void in his unwilling silence. “I still love you, Toru. Please— stay.”

Satoru wasn’t sure the morality of his decision, but he knew it had been weeks of aching to reach out to you, and now you were here in his arms, arching against his wandering hands and forgetting that his body was being eaten away at by worms and vermin. Perhaps, he thought as he slid his old shirt over your head and buried his face into your chest, this is exactly why he had been barred from whatever afterlife had been awaiting him. He’d always heard that old expression, the superstition that no one soul can pass on with unfinished business to attend to. Had he barricaded his own soul to the land of the living when he failed to prepare you for his death? Was your grief keeping him here?

If so, he selfishly hoped you’d never recover, because the man who was once the strongest wasn’t sure he was strong enough to leave you— not with how your soul seemed to mesh with his as he settled you over his aching length, hoping to fill the void your mourning for him had created. If Satoru was bound for Heaven, he wasn’t sure that whatever was promised would come close to the holiness of your sweet moans against his ears and your nails’ stinging purchase of his shoulders.

He’d never leave again, the phantom thought as he watched you sleep that night, curled around his arm as though he might ascend before you woke. There was a serenity in your soft features that had been noticeably missing in his absence, but it was there in your parted lips and gently settled brows as his fingers continued to rake through your hair. You hummed quietly in the midst of your slumber and tucked your face into the crook of his neck, and Satoru vowed he’d haunt you to your grave if it meant you’d never be apart again.

You woke with a start the next morning, a gasp of your lover’s name tumbling from your lips as you shot up in bed. Tears were already threatening to pierce your eyes at the thought that what you had experienced last night was simply a dream— placed torturously into your psyche to feed the black hole of your grief. Whipping your head to the side, you were met with Satoru’s awaiting gaze as he sat against the headboard. Despite your startled state, his lips still curled up at the sight of your barely conscious appearance.

Your hair clung to your cheeks and swayed into your bleary eyes as you attempted to blink away the sleep. It almost gave an energy of a bear that had just risen from a week long hibernation, but he couldn’t blame you as he’d lain witness to the sleepless nights that had plagued you the past few weeks. The comforter slipped from your shoulders, bearing your silken skin and plush chest to him. Acting on a carnal instinct the sight of you seemed so expert at pulling from him, he grasped at the small of your back to pull you into him.

Your contented hum drifted into his ears as you settled against him once again, your skin still warm with sleep as it pressed against his own. Satoru didn’t realize how much he had been missing when he was still alive and had the weight of the world on his shoulders— rarely ever having gotten the privilege of lazing beside you as you awoke in the mornings. Most of the time, he was still working when you laid your head down to sleep, and he was already gone by the time you woke up. He’d only steal gentle kisses against your temple and wanton brushes of his palms up your thighs and waist as you slept before he’d slip into bed beside you. Now, he was quickly realizing as you pressed lazy kisses against his chest, trailing up his neck and jaw, that those stolen intimacies and rushed affections were never enough. He’d haunt you forever, the ghost vowed once again.

Your since somber days were filled with something comforting, and, despite the five years you two had spent together prior to his death, this connection was new and warm— exciting. At one point you had even joked with him that you never saw him this much when he was alive, and he could only smile teasingly at you as he watched you devour your breakfast. You ate with an urgency he hadn’t seen in you the last few weeks, and it settled the guilt in his stomach. No, Satoru wasn’t being selfish in holding onto you, this was for you.

The two of you welcomed the days that followed with open arms. No matter how morbid the circumstances, it was a relief compared to the atrocities you’d faced when he was still the strongest. You watched the list of movies the two of you had always put off, stayed in bed until the late hours of the morning just to make love to each other, lounged pressed up against the other in the steaming bathtub until your fingers wrinkled and the water was as cold as his corpse.

Satoru’s lips curled into an easy smile as you shivered against him. His large hands created a soft splash as he lifted them from the water to run them down your trembling shoulders. You tilted your head back against his chest to look up at him with pleading eyes.

“C’mon, Toru, I need to get under the covers asap.” You laughed eagerly, moving to push yourself up. His brows furrowed, and he pulled you back against him. It was another little moment that he wished he could say he missed from his time of living, but it was an intimacy he rarely had the time to share with you. He curled his fingers around the plush flesh of your arms and pressed a soft kiss against the nape of your neck as if to coax you to stay just like this for a moment longer. You sighed softly, tilting your head forward to allow him more access to the delicate skin you prayed he’d continue to explore. “You’re not cold?”

This gave his ministrations pause. Attempting to erase the distraction of your scent from his senses, he tried to concentrate on how the water felt against his skin. Upon feeling his hesitation, you glanced back at him. His incandescent eyes peered down at you, and he could only meekly shake his head at your question. It was a stark reminder of what he was and what he wasn’t— one you’d gladly forgotten about in place of his presence.

It was after this instance that you began to notice all the little changes, the parts of Satoru that were no longer there. His typical, overwhelming sweet tooth was eradicated, and it felt almost unnatural the way he watched you eat the chocolate chip pancakes that were once his favorite of your dishes, not once trying to steal an extra bite from your plate as was his norm, much less grabbing any for himself. You chewed uncomfortably, switching the mush of pancake from one cheek to another as he leaned his chin on his fist and watched you with a contented smile. Still, it was better than forcing food down your throat in his absence, so you swallowed your breakfast with a soft smile and accepted the kiss he pressed against the knuckle of your free hand.

You tried to not think about what all these things meant. The way he didn’t eat, how his usually racing mouth was now always shut, how you’d awake in the middle of the night to find him simply staring down at you; it made your blood run cold. It was better than being alone, you told yourself. It was better than being without him.

His looming gaze burned holes in your back as you searched through your cabinets for the ingredients to make the festive cookies you typically prepared each year when Halloween was approaching. Usually, Satoru would be hovering over your shoulder, dipping his fingers into the batter as you swatted him away. He’d hang his long frame over the kitchen island as if it were a hammock, head dangling over the side as he shouted random numbers at you in an attempt to throw off your measurements. Those glistening lips would curl up into a mischievous smile each time you’d turn around to glare half-heartedly at him— pleased that he’d stolen your attention back just as he wanted.

It was silent now though as you turned around to meet his gaze. You puffed out some air, blowing your bangs from your face as you closed the cabinet.

“I guess stepping out of this place for a little bit wouldn’t hurt.” You commented with a soft sigh.

It had been months since you’ve seen another human being— much less left the house. Since Satoru’s sudden reemergence, and, truthfully, you didn’t feel you had a reason to ever leave again. There was only so long you could live with what you had at the house though. Looking down at your pajama-clad figure, you stood up to begin your trek to the room to change into something more presentable. Behind you, hurried footsteps followed after you. Just as you were about to shed your tank top, a quick hand caught your wrist.

The frantic look in Satoru’s blue eyes unsettled you for the smallest fraction of a second— the way his snowy brows furrowed, nose scrunched up as if you’d just told him a joke of the poorest taste. A small gulp forced its way down your throat, but you managed a forced smile.

“I’ve gotta get some groceries, Toru.” You laughed meekly, tugging your arm from his grasp. He blinked a few times at you as you fished out an old sweater of his to pull on. “Some of us around here still eat, you know.”

He didn’t like the way you reminded him of his own mortality status. For the first time since his dominating haunting of you, he felt disconnected from you. It was the first time he thought about the fact that there was an entire world outside this house awaiting your return. The people and stories lying behind these four walls were vibrant, loud, alive. Satoru suddenly wondered if your days turned weeks of quiet, domestic tranquility would be enough.

His feet seemed to move on their own accord as he followed you to the front door, wishing with everything in him that he could yell at you to stop, to not leave him behind. Reaching out in a haze, he slammed the front door that you had opened back shut. You flinched back with a start, turning to blink up at him in astonishment. There was barely a hint of anger or hostility left in his expression though. In its place was fear, desperation, and an eagerness to keep you anchored to the very place he himself was doomed to. There was only one thing that the world outside you and Satoru’s home didn’t have, and it was the only thing his spirit could offer you in exchange for your blind loyalty— himself.

Easily pushing you back against the door, Satoru kissed you as he kept his own tears and doubts hidden— doubts about what his selfishness made him and what it would do to you, what it was already doing to you. He could feel it as his hands roamed down your waist and hips in their desperate pursuit to your thighs, that you were smaller than he last remembered you being. There was a hesitation in your reciprocating, but it was as if you could still hear him now, whispering to you through the wet smacks of your lips and the clashing of your teeth—

Don’t leave me. He longed to beg of you as he sank down onto his knees before you. As his white lashes fluttered up and his glittering eyes peered up at you from his place, dragging anguished kisses up the exposed skin of your thighs, Satoru could only smile against your clothed heat.

It was always his favorite thing to do— something he was so skilled at— drawing your attention right back to him. It was so clear in your wanton gaze down at him, with your brows drawn softly together as your chest rose and fell in tandem with his teasing kisses, that he had drawn you in once again, even if just for a moment longer.

Your head bumped against the front door you were trying to leave through just moments ago as Satoru peeled the layers from your hips. Despite your angled head, your eyes strained to meet his gaze that had not once left yours since his descent down your body. There was a certain betrayal in them and a daringness that asked you how could you think to leave me behind?

In the midst of your pleasured gasp as his fingers circled your entrance lovingly before plunging in with gusto, you didn’t notice the way his free hand crept up to lock the door once again before trailing down your arm and locking his fingers between yours.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” The apology spilled from your lips with a shaking gasp, eyes finally falling shut as his lips circled your clit in tandem with his digits’ massages against your walls. You weren’t sure why you had felt the need to apologize— it was your right, after all, wasn’t it? To continue living? To not die along with him? Still, the hungered whines that were pulled from him and fell against you told a different story, one that ended in a happily ever after even if that meant opening his casket to lay beside him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

They continued to fall from your lips as your high crept over you and molded you against the offending door. Just as you were about to slip past the final layer of sanity that grasped at you by the thinnest of threads, a sharp rap at the door had the waves of your release crashing unceremoniously to a halt in the depths of your stomach. With a startled, choked gasp, you fell forward, hands steadying you atop Satoru’s broad shoulders.

His lips pried off you with a wet smack, and he tilted his head back to look at you— eyes wide and startled as if just reminded that it wasn’t just you two left in the world. Your chest heaved as you two stared at one another silently, and he shook his head— that familiar feeling of doubt creeping up in his chest. Your attention was drawn from him for the second time that day though as another knock sounded against the wood door, this one more urgent than the last.

Fighting against the guilt in your stomach at Satoru’s betrayed expression, you pushed off of him and quickly adjusted your clothes back over you. Wiping at your face as if it would give away your most recent escapades, you took an anxious breath in as you cracked the door open.

The familiar sight of a tall, raven haired boy crashed against your anxiety with waves of relief— and it was slowly taken over by guilt with the reminder of the hundreds of texts and calls you’d avoided for so long. His fist was raised as if prepared to knock again, but it fell slowly upon seeing you through the crack of the door. The tension in his shoulders seemed to fall in tandem with the breath he released, his scarred face melting in relief before hardening once again.

“Megumi—” Your meek greeting was cut off when he abruptly opened the door of your house fully and stepped in without another word.

Unbridled fear gripped you as, for the first time since the start of your morbid affair, someone else stepped into the sacred space you and Satoru had carved out for yourselves in the past weeks. There were so many reasons you had left your loved ones in the dark— no answers about your wellbeing or needs in your time of grieving, but the most notable was the fact that you still didn’t know just what Satoru was now. Bringing someone else in posed the threat of losing him once again should your least desirable hypothesis be proven true— that he was merely a curse manifested in the wake of your grief.

Watching with bated breath, Megumi closed the door behind him, and he was only inches from your lover. The phantom loomed over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but the boy made no indication that he had seen his dearly departed mentor standing a mere inches away from him, but, just for a moment, you thought you saw his lanky frame shake with the tiniest of shivers. If he suspected anything of the sudden intrusion, he didn’t mention it, instead casting his dark eyes around the house before settling on you once again. You released a quiet breath of relief.

“You haven’t—” It was clear in his harsh tone that he was prepared to lecture you on your radio silence, but he stopped himself, forcing his hard features to soften a bit before looking back up at you. “I just— are you okay? Everyone’s been worried about you.”

You remained silent, watching the concern pool in his eyes as he assessed you up and down. Since the last time he’d seen you, you certainly appeared smaller, your cheeks sunken in and your collarbones more pronounced. Your eyes, the ones that once gazed at him with such fierce doting and concern for his own wellbeing were rimmed with dark circles that were more apparent against the way your skin had paled over the past weeks. In your silence, he shifted from one foot to the other.

“I’m worried about you.” Megumi finally admitted gruffly. “When was the last time you left the house? Talked to someone?”

Your mouth opened and closed, eyes drifted over his shoulder to meet Satoru’s awaiting gaze. The boy in front of him followed your gaze, snapping back to you when he was met by nothing but air.

“I-I’m fine, Megs.” You reassured with an unconvincing smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately.

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” He spat as his expression hardened once again. His lashes fluttered angrily across his cheekbones as he blinked away the traitorous tears that threatened to burn at his eyes.

It was his every intent to come here and be the strong one for you in Gojo’s absence. At the end of the day though, it wasn’t just you that had lost him. Megumi had lost his mentor, the only father figure he ever had. He figured the two of you would be grieving together— as doting on and endlessly embarrassing the boy had quickly become a team effort when you and Satoru got together. You filled the spaces that the six eyes couldn’t, lending an ear to problems your boyfriend never had the tact or grace to help out with himself.

When Gojo died, Megumi never expected to lose you too.

“You can’t expect me to go back to normal.” You explained, wanting nothing more than for him to leave. The reminder of how sickly you’d been coping with your loss was eating away at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to be confronted by it any longer. “I lost my—”

“I lost him too, okay? Now don’t make me have to grieve you too— because I can’t.” Megumi was no longer looking you in the eyes, instead pretending that the various magnets on the fridge were far more interesting than your conversation. Slipping quickly down the side of his cheek though, you caught a glimpse of a rare tear before he furiously swiped it away.

Suddenly, the guilt you were feeling was not for Satoru, or the pathetic means by which you’ve been holding onto him, but instead you felt an overwhelming contrition for the life you left behind in the midst of your coping, the people you left behind. You pushed past Satoru, paying no mind to the constricted expression on his face and pulled Megumi into a tight embrace. In his typical, nonchalant fashion though, his arms remained stiffly at his sides. Still, he buried his face into your shoulder for a brief second, allowing the grief to wash over the both of you, reminding each other that neither were ever alone in these uncharted waters.

With a quick sniff, he pulled away from you in an attempt to collect himself.

“Come on, let’s get lunch or something.” Megumi’s tone bordered on begging, but the man keeping you tied to this house had you biting your lip in contemplation. The boy sighed lowly at your apprehension. “Please, Gojo would have killed me if he knew I was letting you waste away like this. Come with me.”

This revelation sliced through Satoru’s chest deeper than his fatal blow ever could have reached. For the first time since his mysterious return in your life, he looked past his need to be someone in your life, past the desire to keep you well past the time fate had allotted for the two of you, and he saw only a shell of the woman he loved. Now, you were shackled with one leg in his grave and the other tethered to your home— never able to stray too far.

Without a care of how bizarre you appeared you peered right into Satoru’s awaiting eyes to find the stinging acceptance that you had been searching for. As if he could speak, the ghost gulped down any venomous words that threatened to spill out, as he turned on his heel and left you to make your decision. You watched the back of his head as he disappeared into the hallway, your bottom lip trembling in fear. If you walked out those doors, would he still be here when you got back?

“Hey,” Megumi’s voice sounded distant, but the subtle desperation laced in it snapped you from your contemplative state. A tear raced down your cheek as you looked back at the boy. In his wide eyes, you saw the young boy who was blindly following Gojo into the world of jujutsu— the one who was too proud and scared of growing attached to admit that he was so grateful that above all else, you never pushed him to prove himself. There was never a conversation about how strong he had become, in its place were soft questions of if Gojo had given him a break that day, or if he had eaten. You were a rock to him for so long, and he recognized that look in your eye— the one that said you weren’t sure what was worth fighting for anymore. “Come on, I haven’t eaten today.”

Through the blur of your tears, you smiled wobbly at him, laughing tearfully as you reached up to smooth his hair down. This— you decided as you followed Megumi out the door for the first time in two months with your bag slung over your shoulder— was worth accepting grief for.

Despite your coming to terms with the fact that reintroducing yourself into the life you’d built for yourself might mean truly letting go of Satoru in the process— fear gripped every nerve in your body as you returned home that night. You bid Megumi goodbye with a tight embrace once he’d helped you put your groceries away, and, with a promise that you’d answer your phone every once and a while, he left you alone in the house still haunted by your lover.

Sweeping your gaze across the living room and kitchen— Satoru was nowhere to be found. A deep dread settled into the pits of your stomach, and you had to remind yourself that you weren’t at fault for choosing to continue living. No matter how many pep talks you gave yourself though, and how fulfilling it felt to have a purpose once again, even if just for a few hours, there was an undeniable feeling of loss that accompanied the fact that you and Satoru were left with no closure.

“Toru?” You called out, your careful footsteps being the only, subtle noise echoing through the eerily silent house. The door of your bedroom creeked open under your palm’s hesitant push, but it too was barren. A familiar feeling of helplessness began to rise within your chest. It was the sensation that the very essence of what seemed to hold your world together was slipping past your fingers as though grains of sand in perilous tides. No matter how hard or desperately you squeezed your fists together— it was leaving you to be washed away by a greater power. “Satoru, this isn’t funny!”

The stinging tears that flowed down your cheeks were angry— offended that he’d leave you behind once again like this. Just like the first time, he’d left no warning, no explanation or preparation for his abrupt departure. It was a betrayal like no other, and you kicked open the door of the bathroom with all the anger it burned within you. The knob slammed against the wall, undoubtedly leaving an ugly hole in its wake, but the sight of the empty restroom was a far more grueling vision to behold.

“Please, I’m sorry I left.” You cried into the empty space as you walked in further to rip the curtain of the shower back as if he would pop out from his hiding spot at any moment. Your knees buckled underneath you, and you curled into yourself against the cold tile flooring. There was a persistent pounding in your skull as your sobs shook your body, and, for a moment, you considered calling Megumi back to take you Jujutsu High— fearing what your mind may whisper to you in the midst of your breakdown. Your nails dug crescent shaped marks into your arms as you tried to grasp onto any sense of reality. “Come back. Please come back.”

There was a pregnant silence behind your shaking sobs that blanketed over the frigid bathroom for just a moment longer before the shattering of glass let you know you weren’t alone. You jolted up with a strangled scream at the sound, your arms coming up to shield you from the shards of broken glass the richocheted from the wall. Once it had finally settled, you slowly lowered your arms, eyes focusing on the larger shard that had fallen in front of you. From its reflection, Satoru’s piercing eyes stared back at you— a certain peace in them that wasn’t there when you’d last seen them.

You quickly lifted your head, mouth agape at the sight of the phantom, still there, still with you. With your legs moving on their own accord, shards of glass pierced through your knees as you moved to pull yourself up, the unmistakable sensation of blood seeping onto your skin. Satoru squatted down, silently halting your movements. His eyes never left yours as he picked up a small envelope from the pile of glass. You hadn’t noticed it before— too transfixed on his still being there.

Any words you wished to spew out to him died in your throat as he handed the envelope to you, and after a moment, you finally broke the intense eye contact you had been maintaining with him to look down at it. It had your name scribbled across the front. Without a doubt, you instantly recognized it as Satoru’s familiar penmanship. Your brows furrowed as your trembling fingers grasped onto the paper in confusion. The man before you could only watch, his stillness inviting you to rip open the damned paper, so you did.

You can’t tell anyone that I was too scared to say goodbye to you in person— I’m still supposed to be the strongest, you know (even if I went out like a total LOSER). I’m sorry to have left like this, but I think if you had asked me not to go, I might have actually listened. Quite the accomplishment, sweetcheeks, being the one person Gojo Satoru ever truly feared.

I’ll always love you and the life we were working to build, even if I won’t be around to see how you make it your own.

Please don’t waste the rest of your life looking at my reflection.

(Seriously, don’t make me haunt you)

Your Toru.

The black ink before you smudged as your tears fell onto the page. You read it over and over again, unsure if the feeling crashing into you was still grief, or if the hint of relief washing over your system was real. Had your closure been here all along— hidden behind the damned mirror you stared mindlessly into for weeks?

“I didn’t want you to let me go.”

You were sure you had begun hallucinating as Satoru’s melodic voice swam into your ears, filling you with a comfort you had been missing for far too long. Finally tearing your gaze from the letter, you looked up at him, mouth agape. As he stared back at you, there was a certain lightness that seemed to fill the air around him, and he knew his time with you was limited.

“I figured you’d find it eventually. I just… I wanted you to hold onto me for a little longer.” He admitted before staring up at the now barren wall that once held that damned mirror. With a humorless laugh, he rolled his eyes at his own selfishness. “So much for the strongest, am I right?”

“Toru,” You whispered, fiercely blinking back the tears that dared blur your vision of him. He caught you as you threw your arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. “I never needed you to be the strongest. I just wanted to know you were there— that what you left behind meant something to you.”

“It meant everything. You meant everything to me.” Satoru reassured, and as he opened his eyes, he could no longer see the sink, or the tub, the tiles; he only saw your trembling figure crouched beside him. Closure— he knew what it would mean, but he was now willing to be left behind if it meant you got to move forward.

“Are you leaving?” You asked, though you already knew the answer.

“Afraid so— but do me a favor, yeah?” He pulled back to smile fondly down at you, wiping at the tears under your eyes. You nodded dumbly at him as he brushed your hair behind your ears. “Get a new mirror, and stop looking for me in it, okay?”

Despite the heaviness in your chest, you laughed breathlessly at his words.

“Okay.” You choked out in agreement, closing your eyes as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. A sly smile spread across his lips as he looked down at you one last time.

“It was never as good as the real thing anyway.”

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

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cherryredstars · 11 months ago

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Ok so I was just asking maybe you could do something like a curvy reader x ghost like you did with Miguel? If not or you're not taking requests right now that's perfectly fine I'm just asking

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Curvy!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Body Descriptions, Body Image/Insecurity, Labeled NSFW, 18+,

Summary: Simon with a curvy girlfriend!

Word Count: 715 (Not Edited)

SFW

I know every fanfic writer is like, “[Insert Character] would love you no matter your body type! <3333”, but I truly, 100%, believe that Simon wouldn’t care. At the end of the day, all Simon wants is someone to come home to. Someone that he can maybe start a family with someday. Someone who can fill those voids that are scattered around his life. You don’t need to be a stick-figure model or the next Janet Montgomery. As long as you’re patient enough to love a man like him, he’s struck gold.

Loves, loves, loves touching you. He’s so deprived of physical touch that he’s making up for it with you. Whenever he’s home, he’s touching you. He’s massaging your shoulders and back as you do things around the house. His arms are wrapped tight around your waist and hips until you can't breath, hitting his arms in an attempt to get him to let up. You’re like his own personal teddy bear, curves soft and plush in his rough hands.

Loves burying his face into your body when he sleeps. He’ll sigh contently as he stuffs his head into the crook of your neck. Gently forcing you onto your back on the couch so he can drape his body over yours, suffocating himself into the delicate folds and plushness of your stomach. His longest naps are caused by your soft and warm skin, his favorite temporary cure for his insomnia.

He doesn’t like getting out of the house much, but he does find a bit of joy in helping you shop for clothes. He won’t ever admit it, but it’s fun. Only because of you. It’s always like a mini lesson when he follows you around. You go up to racks, pointing out cute styles and the disasters of female sizing. Of course, he’s holding all the hangers as you pick out what you want to try on. Every now and then, you’ll rant to him. Telling him how the fashion industry is “skinny girl” biased, pointing out the major differences between curvy/plus-size clothing and straight sizes. He’ll join in on your distaste, agreeing with how unfair it is.

He loves the fashion shows you give him. He sits patiently in the dressing room seating area or in your bedroom, watching as you walk out to show off your latest finds. He’ll whistle lowly for the ones he really likes, asking you to come closer and spin you around so he can get a better view. The cute giggle you let out in response is an added bonus. He loves how well you know your body, knowing in an instant what will look good on you and what won’t. He’s a lucky man with the prettiest thing on his arm.

NSFW

Loves grabbing onto your love handles when he’s fucking into you. It’s great leverage, and it just means he can touch you more. He’s squeezing and pinching the skin, groaning out as he buries himself inside of you.

Obsessed with the way your body moves when he’s thrusting into you. Loves how the extra skin bounces with the force of his movements. It leaves him hypnotized, practically foaming at the mouth as you moan under him. He’s always thankful for the military’s lessons on self-control or else the two of you aren't getting out of bed until he has to be deployed again.

He wants to be trapped in by your thighs. He’ll throw your legs over his shoulders, encouraging you to cross your ankles and hold him in place with your legs. He has a sleepy look in his eyes whenever you do, moaning against your slick cunt as he laps at you. He’ll massage all the skin he can reach from his position, maybe even press your thighs tighter around his head. If you aren’t too lost in pleasure, you can see the subtle movement of his body as he tries to hump the side of the bed.

His personal mission is to try to get your stomach to bulge. Even if he can’t, he loves the little gasps and pleas you let out as he hits against your warm walls. The times where he is successful in getting through your thick layer of skin, he’s instantly spilling inside of you.

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lady-phasma · 2 months ago

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I want to write a lestat fic so bad I’m practically foaming at the mouth!! I want to do his character justice though. Would you spare some lestat characterization tips mayhaps?

Hi anon! I am so unbelievably flattered that you came to me. I'm sorry that it has taken me so long to reply. Would you like ✏️ anon if you come back?

I hope I answer this well. He is my oldest, dearest blorbo so I'm going to answer with series and book (head)canon, so there are some pretty hefty spoilers below the cut.

Characterization tips....

When in doubt, go bigger and more French! Do you doubt something you're writing for him is believable? You're probably wrong. This guy found Atlantis in canon. He has flown into the sun, switched bodies with a human, and met the literal, actual Devil.

Would he realistically flirt in your scenario? Yes. But what if...? Yes. He will always flirt. Always.

But on a more serious note, Lestat is very vain because he is incredibly powerful yet insecure. He can cause a lot of damage and is his own worst enemy. The embodiment of chaos.

Anne didn't christen him The Brat Prince for no reason at all. He not only pouts when he doesn't get what he wants, he often pouts when he gets exactly what he wants. He is rarely satisfied and once a mystery is solved or an objective obtained he's ready to move on.

Something that makes him particularly appealing to me has always been his contrasts, how he can be so self-centered and horrible, but love so openly and deeply. If he loves someone he would die for them, as long as he looked good doing it. He can hate and love the same person in the same moment and still give them everything he has. But, he will always try to be a step ahead to have his own safety net because trust isn't his thing.

Lestat has such an odd mix of confidence and insecurity. He never once questioned why the Queen of the vampires would be enamored with him. Of course she would be. But even during all of his drama with Akasha he pined for Louis. Many of his exploits are to get the attention of someone who isn't giving him enough at the moment.

I'm going to do a deep TVL dive real quick because this is the foundation of who he is for me. The Wolfkiller. He was embarrassed at being "poor" aristocracy and the one warm coat he had was the one the villagers made for him from the wolf pelt. He wasn't proud of that event, but that coat meant more to him than they could possibly imagine.

Also, he loves dogs. Seriously, if you need to write him having a pet dog, go for it. Especially mastiffs and boucherons (book and series canon).

I don't particularly like the word "flamboyant" for him, but he is. He is performative. Rarely does he do anything that isn't thoroughly thought through if someone is watching. He is equally impetuous if it looks good.

Lastly, some emotional characterization. He hates to appear vulnerable, but is constantly vulnerable. It's almost as if he doesn't know how to mask that part of him. His desperation to be part of the Italian acting troupe was obvious almost to the point of being a pathetic fanboy. He can't help but be incredibly earnest. Even if it causes him pain or embarrassment.

The Father of Lies, the Brat Prince, Wolfkiller, Lelio... Lestat is all of these things. That's what has always made him such a rich character. He can be serious, but Anne's description of him through Armand might be my favorite: he must make a gutter theatrical out of stubbing his toe.

God forbid no one was around to witness the pain and suffering he endured from such a tragic event. affectionately

I didn't go into anything romance or shipped based on purpose so feel free to let me know it that's what you meant and I missed the mark.

#love my anons #lestat headcanon #the vampire lestat #lestat de lioncourt #iwtv fanfiction #iwtv #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire #sam reid #iwtv book spoilers #the vampire chronicles

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thatnerdyqueer · 10 months ago

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DEAR MUTUALS I JUST FINISHED A LIFE CHANGING BOOK

MAY I COMPEL YOU TO READ IT PLEASE?

Light from Uncommon Stars (Ryka Aoki)

tw for sexual assault, drinking and drug use, racism, sexism, transphobia (A LOT OF THIS), homophobia, slurs (racial, homophobic, and transphobic unfortunately), parental abuse/violence, and a lot of descriptions of food

that said this book was undeniably hopeful and I cannot tell you how much it made me smile as well as fucking bawl my eyes out

It's about a young transgender violinist (Katrina Nguyen) finding security in her sound after running away from abuse for all of her life

luckily Shizuka Satomi, her new teacher, and accompanist/housekeeper/Shizuka's bestie Astrid take her in and teach her how to love herself by finding her sound (I say sound because as well as finding her violin sound, she finds her voice its very cute)

one tiny problem. Shizuki Satomi has long since entered into a contract with hell. She has one year left to deliver one more student, otherwise she will be dragged to hell and her music never heard again (she's also cursed so she can't perform)

Also another problem. Endplague. Lan Tran, Shizuka's new milf love interest aka 'donut lady' is a refugee from the Imperial Army from another galaxy. I won't give too much away about what it is etc but Big Issue.

Anyway this was gut-wrenching and heart-warming within the space of every paragraph, and particularly cutting and healing, since I myself am a trans violinist

100000/10 would recommend best book I've read in a while (idk about best ever but it'd be up there! I'm probably biased because of the trans violin thing but hey if its good its good).

There's lesbians, demons, aliens, good food, good music, trans people, adorable found family, a classic sci-fi plague, and some good old fashioned music snobbery.

I mean come on!!!!! READ IT!!!!!!! *foaming at the mouth*

#ryka aoki #light from uncommon stars #katrina nguyen #shizuka satomi

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year ago

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Good morning!! I’m just thinking about your demons again. I ADORE the new additions. 💕

What kind of traits do demons typically find appealing romantically? Like, I know how to woo these folks for the most part, but what passive traits do they find impressive?

Like, I know they’re diverse and no two people like the same thing. Just wondering about “beauty” standards in the circles (not beauty, we know about beauty, I can’t think of the right word). Like, I assume gluttons would appreciate other big eaters, or good cooks, and concubi can appreciate promiscuity of all sorts, or on the flip side, find purity appealing and/or cute.

(I especially would love to know what pride demons typically find attractive.)

[Thenk you! <:7]

That's a little bit vague, I'm not too sure where to go from here, so I'm kind of going to ramble. Not that it's hard to guess. I'll stray from physical descriptions.

There's a trick to this I'll explain at the end.

Wrath demons tend to romanticize hard-headed bulls who never back down from a challenge, as you might imagine. People who stick by their values and exude determination, not easily swayed. People hardened by time and their environment, who rise from the lowest lows to the highest of platforms with grace and respect.

Others may enjoy someone whose fury is subtle yet extremely well calculated, strategized, flawless. Of course, many of them fetishize murderers, violent miscreants of all kinds, serial killers and the aggressively insane;

Greed demons will naturally flock to anyone who's financially "abundant". People who spend carelessly because they earn carelessly. Though many of them will also keep a sharp eye on stingy people who count everything down to the last penny. Sometimes saving a huge chunk of money by executing a series of cheap and clever exploits is enough to have these demons fanning themselves;

Many other greedy demons have fallen for notorious heist authors, prolific robbers, successful scammers, and all sorts of scummy people;

Gluttons do gravitate towards chefs, big eaters and those who own large chains of food, maybe well-known restaurants or even some brands of snacks that they really like. It varies. Those who are always hungry are obviously picked sooner, followed by those with a variety of eating disorders;

Although not as common, some more well-off gluttons pick partners who are extremely thin or otherwise unable to satiate their hunger due to a less genuine drive to "fix" that, or somehow captivate that person by letting them overindulge;

Envy demons tend to hover around those with great social influence. People that fawn attention, people who can start shit in public and get away with it. Celebrities, moles, those who spread their roots everywhere and have way too many connections. A good ability to adapt socially in short spans of time is also extremely coveted in partners;

Likewise, those at the very bottom of the latter, practically foaming at the mouth with their jealousy, ready to perform the most heinous of acts to attain even a crumb of their desires, are also appealing to these demons. The perfect cup-sized storm ready to burst;

Discussed plenty already, concubi are lovers of shameless sensuality and high-libidos. People who control chunks of the porn industry are highly sought after, those who own sex shops, who design the toys they use and abuse, those who write eroticas or administer large kink communities. Where perverts gather so do they, always ready to pick and pluck their favorite heathens;

Still, the fantasy of purity and corruption is very present in many concubi alike, which is what leads them to infiltrate communities of sexually frustrated people and drive them insane with want. Many go a step further and seek to scandalize people of faith, engaging is rancid displays inside sacred locations because the thrill of getting someone so disciplined to give in makes their heads spin with pleasure;

Sloth demons are into soft-spoken people. Those who live very comforted lives with little to get in the way and all the pleasures they could wish for at the tip of their fingers. Those whose hands are uncalloused because they've never had to work for anything in their lives, who might even take it all for granted;

In stark contrast, many will also seek people who are exhausted in all senses of the word. Who can never seem to get enough rest, who work themselves to the bone, frail and weathered and so chewed up inside, the plight for a break present in those heavy bags under their sunken eyes;

Pride demons covet the image of perfection. Whether or not that immaculate presentation is true or not matters none so long as it appears that way outwardly. They seek someone who can elevate them, someone who usually has others trailing after them, people with titles and so much arrogance it might physically hurt to be near them for long periods of time;

Many are also opportunistic however, willing to pick a partner who is down in the slums, dirty and ridden of all dignity. Someone who can't afford to say no to them, can't leave them, will see them as very center of the universe because what would they be without that demon? Nothing. The truest form of adoration for them, total worship, total dependence.

As you might have already guessed, there's contradictions here. The reason why is simple.

Demons of lower rank will usually choose those who are more true and successful representations/reminders of their sin. Because they have a lot to gain from pairing with them.

Demons of higher rank are already after those who desperately need their services, who covet what the sins can offer. Because people in their service and debt make for good lovers, in their eyes.

Mid rankers are a bit of a toss up.

This is not to say that there aren't exceptions to these tendencies, or that they can't exhibit completely opposite tastes, it's the general rule, the norm so to say.

#general tce #vaya-mernda

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k-martins · 1 year ago

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Words: + 2K Prompt: Cooking together and healing wounds Warning: Slight season one spoilers; hurt/comfort; slight descriptions of blood and negative thoughts; sad ending. N/A: I had this idea a while ago while looking at the first season, but I just got up the courage to finish writing and editing it now. It's a bit ironic that I write tentative comedy with Megumi while leaving the angst to Yuji. The title is from the song Happier by Marshmellow.

“Please, Fushiguro” Itadori begged, hands clasped in prayer and a prominent pout on his face.

“I won't do that, Itadori. Do not insist." Megumi took a sip of his coffee, watching the pink haired boy offer the biggest version of kicked puppy dog eyes he had ever seen. Before Itadori opened his mouth to argue, Megumi added, "Besides, it's late to be playing cook with you."

From the couch in the common room, eyes still down on his cell phone, Kugisaki groaned in impatience.

“Just say yes so this idiot will shut up.” She points a blue-painted fingernail at him. “Not a piece of that emo ass of yours is going to fall off anyway.”

Megumi muttered an expletive.

Kugisaki was proving to be much more frustrating than Itadori.

Well, actually she wasn't wrong, but the very idea of cooking after a training day when everyone could very well order takeout was silly to say the least. What's the point of having Gojo's credit card if they can't use and abuse it?

“Okay, fine.”

"Yes! Good one, Kugi!” Itarori exclaimed at the same time that Kugisaki, with the same petulant expression as always, retorted: “See? Not a single strand of that sea urchin hair of yours has fallen out.”

Megumi wasn't really sure about that, but he was too grumpy to care about Kugisaki's nasty nickname. Instead, he got up and took the mug of coffee grounds to the sink.

He sometimes hated his outgoing classmates.

Even with his back turned and clearly pretending to be ignoring them, Kugisaki added:

“And make sure those meatballs are excellent! I'm a very demanding girl.”

Itadori suddenly appeared at Megumi's side, slipping an arm around his shoulders casually and intimately. The sponge slipped from his hand. Megumi knew that the pink-haired boy was an enemy of personal space, just like Gojo, but even so, the one-armed hug took him by surprise.

The room was hot.

"They'll be the best you've ever had." Itadori hummed. “Family recipe!”

“I think it's really good. I'm giving up one of the food at a nice restaurant because of you, you hear?"

When Kugisaki left, presumably heading towards Maki's dorm, Megumi pushed Itadori's arm away from his space. The pink haired boy just laughed out loud, apologizing before heading to the fridge.

Megumi snorted, white foam on his hands.

“I don't know why you would need my help. After all, this is your family recipe.”

The accusing tone didn't seem to faze Itadori, who spoke without looking at him:

“Well, I thought it would be nice for you, you know. Eating only instant ramen and drinking black coffee is not healthy.” The boy cocked his head as he looked him up and down. Megumi forced herself not to shy away from his scrutiny, but heat still licked his cheeks. “And what do you weigh? 60 kilos? You need to eat better.”

“There is nothing wrong with my weight.” Megumi retorted, feeling torn between offended and intrigued that Itadori knew his weight. He studied the ingredients placed on the counter by the other boy, testing the weight of the chicken packet, before adding, “And I don't just eat that. Shoko wouldn't let it. She is very strict about food.”

Itadori stopped whistling an irritating pop tune upon hearing this.

“She's the doctor here, isn't she? Wow. I didn't know you'd known her for quite some time.”

“What are we doing anyway?”

If the change of subject surprised Itadori, he didn't show it.

Megumi didn't feel like telling Itadori that he had known Ieiri Shoko since he was six, when Gojo had taken him to her to find out what his red face, fever and vomiting could mean. Intestinal problem, of course. Anyone would have these problems being put on the candy-based diet that Gojo kept. At least, that's what Shoko said while ruffling Megumi's hair.

Itadori held out a knife to Megumi and a cutting board with a large ginger on it.

“Chicken meatballs with ginger sauce.” Itadori answered, as if it were obvious, which it wasn't. “Can you cut the ginger for me while I grind the chicken?”

Megumi shrugged.

"Clear."

“It needs to be really thin.”

"Okay."

“And watch out for...”

“Itadori, I am perfectly capable of cutting a ginger”

"Right. Just making sure. But if you have any doubts...”

"One more word and I'm leaving." Megumi threatened, pointing the tip of the knife at the boy. "Stay quiet."

Itadori raised his hands, as if defending himself against a wild cat. The smile on his face was so big it pushed his eyes and the scars beneath them up, almost as if they were closing. Megumi wondered if he didn't feel pain from smiling so much.

“Sure, sure. Pardon me. I will not talk anymore.

“You are still talking.”

This only made Itadori laugh harder.

"Now. Now I won't talk anymore. Interest. Pinky promise."

“Itadori...”

The pink boy pursed his lips now, sliding his index finger over his thumb as if zipping it up.

He turned his back on Megumi, working on what should be the chicken, leaving the sorcerer the simple task of chopping – in thin slices, as “ Chef Itadori” said – the ginger. The penetrating and spicy aroma was not unfamiliar to Megumi. It reminded him of when he cooked with Tsumiki, adding more seasoning than necessary since neither of them had a recipe book, which resulted in spicy, strong food. His sister just stuck out her tongue and moaned in disgust, but Megumi always liked the sting of his tongue.

It was good. A good memory despite all the poverty they lived in.

Of course, that all came to an end when Gojo came along and included sweets in his routine. Tsumiki loved it and Megumi liked that she was happy. She deserved it after all.

Megumi felt that familiar feeling of anguish in his chest, the same as when he remembered his sister.

Tsumiki was good, kind and understanding. She deserved all the happiness a human could deserve.

But the world is uneven, isn't it?

And people like Megumi end up getting what they don't deserve while people like Tsumiki, truly good and without a hint of selfishness, are affected by curses and thrown into a hospital bed with no prediction of waking up...

The spiral of thoughts is cut by a wave of pain.

Red drips onto the cutting board.

“Fushiguro!” Itadori exclaims, appearing at his side quickly. "Are you well?"

“Oh, sure.” He replies, still staring at the small cut on his index finger. A red line runs down the milky skin. “It was a small cut.”

"He is sure? I'll get the first aid kit.”

“Itadori, this is an exaggeration...”

His comment was of no avail, as Itadori already had an arsenal of bandages and antibiotics. It would be ridiculous if the selfless gesture didn't take Megumi by surprise. It wasn't a deep cut and it would probably stop bleeding if he just pressed on it, but Itadori didn't seem to think that way if the way he carefully held Megumi's hand to clean the cut, much larger and warm fingers gently wrapping around his fingers – and perhaps reverence? – it meant something.

Megumi swallowed hard, not knowing how to deal with it – or with the way his heart missed a beat when Itadori gently blew on the wet wound.

He had a notion that Itadori probably wasn't used to seeing open wounds as often as Megumi himself had. No, the pink-haired boy had a nice life with his now-deceased grandfather, with friends and probably middle-school sweethearts all around him. Before meeting Megumi, he had never seen a curse rend the fragile flesh of heedless sorcerers with just one movement, never had to tend to their wounds after intense training and without pause because – according to Maki-san – 'curses won't care if it's sold out'. Yuji Itadori never saw what Megumi saw.

That thought makes his mood sour, any enchantment that Itadori is nursing his wounds dimming.

“Let go of my hand, Itadori.” Megumi ordered, pulling his hand away from Itadori's softness, caress and seal. He can't handle this anymore. "I already told you it's an exaggeration."

"But I'm not done yet." The pink boy whimpers, holding tighter, careful not to touch the cut skin. When Megumi tugged again, now feeling as if the tips of his ears had been dipped in embers, Itadori had the gall to laugh. “You look like a skittish cat. Let me take care of you.”

The words come out before Megumi can reflect.

"Why? Why would you do that?"

Why do you care about me when I threw you into this shitty life?

Megumi wanted to kick herself for having those thoughts.

He doesn't need help, Itadori's kindness, much less someone to care for him. Everyone knows that being a jujutsu sorcerer was a sentence, a race whose end was just a pile of corpses and dried blood. There was no gratification, there was no glory, there was no happy ending for anyone who entered this life. All that existed was a sense of purpose that each of the sorcerers clung to. Allowing people to come together, cross lines and bond was just a more painful way to end this marathon. Even the great Satoru Gojo knows this. Megumi doesn't want someone tending to his injuries, sharing fleeting moments like cooking together and caring. Because in the end, when all this shit with Sukuna is over, all he'll have left are sour memories.

He won't let Itadori do this to him, not when Megumi was the one who put him through this.

So why, even when he was hostile and visibly defensive, did Itadori still hold his hand and smile as if that was a silly question asked by a small child?

“Because I always take care of my friends, Fushiguro.” Itadori's eyes widened comically and his mouth dropped. “Is that a problem for you?”

Friends?

Megumi blinked, confused and a little incredulous. What was the damn logic behind Itadori's thoughts?

"What?"

“I know we don't know each other well, but I consider you one. I think near-death experiences do that.” Itadori responds genuinely. There's a crease in his forehead as he furrows his brows, seeming to contemplate that thought. His hand retreats after finishing the band-aid and Megumi tries not to miss the warmth of his fingers on his normally cold skin. "But if you're not on the same page, I understand."

"It's not that." Again the words leap out of him. "It's just... I never..."

I had someone to cook and heal wounds.

I had someone who cared besides Tsumiki.

I had a friend.

Even though Megumi knows he didn't say any of those things out loud, the soft look Itadori gives him shows that it wasn't accurate. He understands.

“Good, then I guess I can be first.” There's no pity, shame, or compassion when Itadori says this to him, just a softness and appreciative contemplation, as if knowing something new is a personal gain. “How about it, Fushiguro? Are we going to be roommates and friends?”

Megumi doesn't understand what's going on.

He doesn't understand Itadori.

It's frustrating.

Before he can offer a response, said boy backs away with wide eyes and a new urgency on his face.

"Oh no! I forgot the meatballs!” Itadori exclaims loudly, turning his back on Megumi. There's comic desperation as he adds, "Kugisaki will kill and use his nails to nail my coffin if I burn this!"

And, while Itadori fiddles with the pots and comments trivial things about the importance of being always careful with food, Megumi looks at the bandage on his fingers, memorizing the simple and tiny drawings of tigers under a blue background – it was probably bought by Gojo as a kind of a silly joke – and thinks maybe it's not so bad to have that kind of bandage under that kind of wound.

He'll think about what that means later.

There's no later when Sukuna rips Itadori's heart out and throws it away, a red smile coloring his teeth, as Megumi stares at the scene with cold horror coursing through his insides.

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candied-peach · 1 year ago

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ao3: "seize the night" rating: T warnings: romantic LAMP, epileptic seizure clusters, hospital visits, medication, needles mention, food mention, unsanitary mention genre: hurt/comfort description: Virgil sees something flashy. Then the world is whisked away.

The first thing Virgil realizes is that he can't breathe.

Then he realizes that all he can hear is great, swooping gasps of breath lodged in his ears, but it doesn't sound like it's coming from him. He's blurry and disoriented and painfully confused as the room fills up with people he doesn't know, but look official. They keep asking him questions, but he's having a hard time answering. Everything aches, especially his right side. His mouth is dry.

They ask him to stand up. He does. They ask him to step with his right foot. He goes left. Everything is spinning in his head. It feels like it's on fire, like static electricity is crawling through it. He keeps twitching as he manages to sit in the stair chair. He prays he won't have another seizure coming up the stairs. Disjointed thoughts swirl in his brain as they carry him. He is right.

Instead, he has one as they transfer him to the stretcher, body jerking and twisting to one side. It hurts when he comes to again, awareness slowly coalescing. He stares up at the lights on the top of the ambulance as the paramedics talk around him, securing him for transport. He wants his boyfriends. He wants to be home. He doesn't want to be here, strapped into an antiseptic nightmare as the EMTs debate what vein to attempt an IV.

The needle briefly stings as it slips in, and Virgil's teeth sink into his bottom lip for just a moment. His thoughts are scrambled. He doesn't- he can't-what-

His body convulses, eyes staring unseeing at the top of the ambulance ceiling. It hurts. Everything hurts, his muscles jerking without conscious will or control. His breath comes in short, pained grunts as he desperately tries to breathe through it.

Awareness irises back in. The paramedic is giving him Ativan. They discuss the proper dose, but Virgil doesn't really understand what's going on.

"What happened?" He manages to ask. They reassure him. He still doesn't know where Roman or Logan or Patton are. He vaguely remembers the idea of them following to the hospital. Did they? Are they going to come with him? They wouldn't leave him, would they?

Jostled as they come to a stop, Virgil is eased out of the ambulance and swiftly finds himself in a room, hooked up to what feels like a billion things. They tell him to stay still, so they can check his heart, and he obeys. He feels very sleepy all of a sudden. And he has to pee. He is suddenly dying to pee, but there's no one to ask, and his bed is now bracketed with yellow foam.

It feels like forever before Roman slips in.

"They won't let us all back here," is the first thing he says, and Virgil sags in disappointment, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He's still so relieved to see Roman, he has no words. The nurses are so nice, and the doctor was alright too, but he wants to see his loves.

"I'm sorry," Virgil mumbles. "I'm sorry 'bout-" He gestures vaguely around himself.

"No, darling," Roman says. "Don't apologize. You've done nothing wrong." He lifts a bag. "Brought your stuff. Including a phone charger, just in case they keep you overnight."

"Doesn't seem like they will," Virgil says. "The uh, the stuff they gave me in the ambulance helped."

Roman's face softens.

"Good," he says, soft but heartfelt.

"I am dying to pee," Virgil says suddenly, squirming in the bed. "Is there any way-"

"Oh, there's a call button, darling," Roman says, lifting something Virgil didn't even notice and asking for someone to come to the room.

"They didn't tell me," Virgil says plaintively. "And the bed's old anyway- I didn't know."

"It's okay," Roman reassures him. Virgil has to pee in a cup, but at least he no longer feels like his kidneys are going to explode. It's not long before he's discharged with a sheaf of instructions. Patton and Logan crowd him in the waiting room, giving him a welcome boost of reassurance and love. Roman scoops him up, carrying him out to the car where he half dozes, half chatters.

"Want a treat," he murmurs. "Went to the ER. Wanna treat."

"Of course, darling," Roman reassures him. "Would the gas station be okay?"

"Yeah," Virgil agrees. By the time they reach home, he's set up with a soft pretzel and slushie. He nearly falls over himself as they situate him on the couch, but his brain is clearer than he's felt all night, despite the Ativan swimming through his veins.

"Love you," Roman murmurs in his ear. "Come on, sweetheart, let's get you to bed."

"Kay," Virgil mumbles as he finishes his soft pretzel. Logan presses a kiss to the top of his head and Patton speckles kisses across his cheeks.

"You'll feel better after some sleep," Patton assures him. "Don't worry, darling."

"We'll be right here," Logan promises. Virgil yawns, exhausted.

"Love you," he mumbles. "Love y'all so much."

"Love you, too, Virgil," are the last fading words Virgil hears before sleep overtakes him.

#🍬.txt #sanders sides #romantic lamp #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil #roman #logan #patton #sanders sides fanfiction #📚#ok to rb #peach writes

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kharmii · 5 months ago

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last week I stopped looking at the submas tag here on the hellsite... and I'm feeling less frustrated about the fandom. If I look at the toxic positivity and passive agressive additude towards anyone thinking differently.

Taking a step back and only and unapologetically all the content on X feels a lot better. I'm happy that even if they get shit the fans in Japan keep creating wonderful content. Was just thinking about that when I saw your post earlier when I looked into the tags here earlier.

Little furry bs no forced political messaging unique and interesting takes on the twins gorgeous art and comics and so much more

the western "hellsite" side of the fadom has worn me out but I feel rejuvinated whenever I look at the content Japanese and Koreans create. Shipping or not. Their content is so much better. Stuff from here can be good too but they're the exceptions and not the norm.

and thank you for sharing work here so I can discover new great artists!

I'm having a better time with the Submas tag because after being into this fandom for 2+ years, all the obnoxious people have blocked me by now. Some people I actually liked blocked me as well, but I'm still able to see enough new material that I'm reblogging a tumblr artist every day.

It's the damn shipping tags I stopped looking at so much, and I haven't checked Blankshipping on AO3 in over a year. *checks just now* What do we have? Lets see....mermaid bullshit, zoroark bullshit, omegaverse, niche fetishes maybe two people are into, two Ingos and one Emmet, gross transgender mutilation crap, father/daughter with a minor, more mermaid bullshit except Ingo and Emmet are a COLOSSAL SQUID AND SPERM WHALE, WHICH ARE NATURAL ENEMIES, YO!!! (My OCD making me flinch because if they are identical twins, then they'd have to both be one or the other).

Whoa, I'm actually amazed I got two pages in reading summaries, and didn't see a single thing labeled 'whump/hurt no comfort/dead dove do not eat/major character death...' That used to be the majority of content when I first got into Submas Yaoi. Maybe that clique moved on. Still, there's not a single description that made me want to open something up and read it. I'm into the Japanese/Korean aesthetic more than the actual ship. Other blankshippers did a more thorough job turning me off of brother-fucking in that couple months when PLA was at its height of popularity than any foaming-at-the-mouth antis could have done in a lifetime.

I wouldn't give up on general here on Tumblr though. There's still a lot of good content to be had. I've always liked general more than shipping because there's more of the casual intimacy and cutesy spice-of-life. Add to that, but there's a few Asian artists posting here too. The craziest part is there are probably a handful of people who would agree with me, or at least they'd rather see fluff than explicit, but they blocked me anyway for political reasons.

Art credit: 寿@kaz8ens Twitter.

#send troll prompts #blankshipping #fandumb fail #taking the piss #gross crap #srsly tho #damn furries #at least there's no omegaverse #ask me about my million stupid bj aus

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bellarosethefangirl · 2 years ago

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Ooh Abella this looks fun! Guess I'm finally giving in and trying the online dating thing 😂

1. I'd love dates with someone from Yu-Gi-Oh (Duel Monsters) and sailor moon please!

2. I like both men and women, though for full transparency in my answers, I will admit I have a preference for men 💖

3. Picrew:

4. I'm a Virgo (though Leo is strong in my chart) ♍♌

5. Hm, for sailor moon, I'd prefer to not be paired with Usagi. And for Yu-Gi-Oh, you know me, please don't set me up on a date with Kaiba, there will be hands thrown if that happens XD

6. For Men: I typically like "soft" looks. Tall/burly men often make me feel uncomfortable, so a shorter build would be nice (weight doesn't matter, it's mostly height that gets to me). And I know it sounds weird but…I actually like it when a man has some "fem" looks to him?? Like men with long hair make me foam at the mouth lol other than that, dark (or red!) hair that’s curly/wavy is extremely attractive to me. Overall tho, I really like a cute, nerdy look.

Women: honestly with women, they're so beautiful that I don't care if they're more fem, more masc, or anything in between. Though again I find dark or red curly hair very nice. A cute smile is a bonus, and a nice voice would make me swoon hard 💕

7. I love sweet, gentle personalities in both men and women. They don't necessarily have to be bubbly, I just love gentle hearts ❤️ also intelligence is a big thing, I love having nice, long conversations with people and I might get bored with someone who doesn’t like to talk. Having a bit of an adventurous side would also be nice, that way we can go do new things together sometimes!

8. Both men and women: Loyalty, compassion, a sense of humor would be nice, and sharing similar geeky interests.

9. Oh nicknames? Uh, honey, sweetheart, my love, all those are fine. The only nicknames I hate are infantilizing ones like baby girl.

For the aesthetic board

1. Disney for the other theme (hocus pocus to keep it halloween themed)

2 . Chocolates are always a good present!

3 . Blue and purple 💙💜

4 . Lilies!

5 . Chocolate and caramel cookies, and Dr pepper.

Thanks so much Bella! I hope you're not getting too over run with these, if so make sure to take a break, and close the request if you need too! Love ya 💖

Awe I’m so happy you sent yours in! Lol guess you are trying online dating after all 🤣 I did take a break with these, definitely do thank you. Sorry about the wait. Been busy and my mom got covid 😷 she’s better now.

Halloween Café Blind Double Dates 💜🎃 Anime Online Date Matchups

I’ll be sure to get all the matchups done as soon as I can. Thanks for the patience everyone.

“Good evening I do hope you enjoyed yourself at the Hocus Pocus café. It looks as though your dates also enjoyed themselves especially the king of games.”

“I must admit how lucky you are. Your dates are cuties. It’s up to you who you choose.”

Matchup Applicants:

Profile:

Name: Atem

Gender: Male

Description: Noble, serious, friendly, honest, loyal, geeky, loves games, intelligent

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good

Appearance: Short, slightly muscular, red eyes, red hair, spiky hair, multi colored hair, sharp eyes

Occupation: Duelist, King of games, Pharaoh

Zodiac: Leo

Dating Survey Results: Compatibility 90%

Communication 💌 100%

Emotions 💗 94%

Similar Values 🏡 100%

Passion 💘 100%

Profile:

Name: Hotaru Tomoe, Sailor Saturn

Gender: Female

Description: Shy, Introverted, kind hearted, gentle, intelligent, light hearted, loyal, loving

Moral Alignment: Lawful Good

Appearance: Short, petite, bob haircut, black hair, long lashes, rosey cheeks

Occupation: Student, Sailor Scout

Zodiac: Capricorn

Dating Survey Results: Compatibility 93%

Communication 💌 100%

Emotions 💗 87%

Similar Values 🏡 100%

Passion 💘 100%

Love Meter 💗💓

Atem

Hotaru Tomoe

Zodiac 💫💖

Atem

Hotaru Tomoe

Dating Results 💖

Percentages Matches: 0-25%= Bad Match, 26-50%= Poor Match, 60-70%= Decent Match, 70-80%= Good Match, 80-90%= Excellent Match, 90-100%= Perfect Match

1. Atem:

Survey Results: Perfect Match 90%

Love Meter: True Love 92%

Zodiacs: Virgo + Leo Compatibility 53%

Over all Results: 90% Perfect Match

2. Hotaru Tomoe:

Survey Results: Perfect Match 93%

Love Meter: True Love 96%

Zodiacs: Virgo + Capricorn Compatibility 93%

Over all Results: 98% Perfect Match

#halloween matchups #anime matchups #sailor moon matchup #yugioh matchups

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caixxa · 2 years ago

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hi caixa 🥰!! 7, 13, 16, 19, 28, and 35 for the weird questions ask please? 💗

Baby!! So many!

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

Creating a thing out of thin air with nothing but my imagination and words.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

Violence is difficult. The action of fighting, physical injury, pain, and I know next to nothing about firearms either. I'm also not very confident in my ability to write sports as action. It takes time.

The romantic style of writing atmospheric descriptions of spaces and nature as a reflection of emotions and inner thoughts is something that comes easily.

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

I don't think I've ever used anything particularly weird.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

I suddenly remembered I had answered the question once and I'll copy my answer from a year ago here bc my thumbs sre going numb from typing.

I told myself bedtime stories in my head, those that I can remember, from about 7 or 8 years of age. Elaborate ensembles of characters, either completely of my own or characters from a book series. Never wrote them down.

I had a diary, I wrote little poems, my teacher liked my essays at school and the little plays I wrote for my classmates. It was fun.

From then on, I always had some kind of a story running in my mind. Sometimes, I wrote them down; usually not.

University taught me news prose and the value of readability, clarity, and accuracy. Work has taught me the value of good enough and done in time versus perfect.

Now? I gather building blocks called information and stack them together for easy but nutritious servings.

But I also tell myself bedtime stories in my head. Sometimes I type them down to give them a concrete form. I have posted some of them on Archive of our Own.

Where am I going? Where is anybody going? As you see, my friend, time is a flat circle. Maybe I’ll end up writing short sentences about how the day went and simple little poems in a small diary in wobbly handwriting.

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Answered, Hine in myporn AU sdfies (he'sa major character in two fics). Here's a snippet:

He was right, Roope got him something unmistakably fancy, the aroma of freshly ground coffee under a hint of vanilla and foaming steamed milk is rich and dark and he can basically feel the caffeine injected in his veins.

Roope sits on the other edge of the messy bed, pulls the blanket to straighten it over the sheet. He places a cardboard box down between them and opens the lid, revealing a small selection of fruit, a croissant, sliced avocado on two pieces of toast and a small plastic plate filled with thin green spinach omelet. Roope fishes a wooden fork from the bottom of the box and takes a bite of the omelet.

“Have something,” he gestures with an extended little finger, mumbling through a mouth full of egg. Sebastian pics a grape and puts it in his mouth, starts chewing slowly.

“Isn’t this stupidly expensive?” he can’t help asking.

Roope shrugs and takes another bite of the eggs.

“If I’m down to the last twenty on my debit card three days before pay day, I just can’t care. I’ll rather have something tasty because I’ll be broke anyway,” he says.

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

The "first drafts are meant to suck, just get it all out" doesn't work for everyone. Some writers work better when they try to get the text right and ready from the start and will rather think and edit as they go. If the only way you get anything written is this, go for it.

Thank you for the ask!

#asks #answered #fic

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galatially · 2 years ago

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𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 🫧

𝑏𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛

of the essence by @inklore — if y'all haven't read anything from lauren before, let this be your introduction; she's a fucking artist the way that she weaves her characters into existing universes and i can only hope to write half as well as she does

𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑙

lovelorn masterlist by @tomdutch — do you like pining? roommates to possible lovers? all set in a college au with peter parker, reader, and cindy moon? well, s had you covered; or, the masterlist stayed in my drafts to remind me to read the updates and my jobs have killed my brain cells so please read this brilliance and give it lots of love!

sunrise, sunset by @peachyteabuck — i don't need to gush about how much i need lukis to fucking produce epics, but i will lol. they've taken such a sensitive topic and beautifully drawn us a world where grief is complicated and new normals are harder when you love people. honestly, this story made me fucking cry and do all the fangirl feel things and i need them to just never stop writing

𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠

friction by @faeology — this is my first time seeing @faeology on my dash but thank fuck i did because this was hot and needy and i could fucking feel the tension across my own skin between eddie and reader. if you're looking for palpable angst and genuine chemistry, go to sav and you'll be in heaven

it happened one night in detention by @mypoisonedvine — let me tell y'all something! the chokehold this had on me and my drafts was fucking insane! i'm pretty sure i read this five times before reblogging this because i was in such awe; the descriptions, the world-building! i wanna write like j.d. when i grow up lol

i don't play with my pen (i mean what i write) by @edens-pen — as a connoisseur of thirst tweet videos, i wish that this episode was real because goddamn! i love a good cocky!eddie fic and this did not disappoint. something about artists that are hot, know they're hot, but are still fucking cool and shit? unmatched energy. not gon' hold y'all though, i'd have been loud and proud about wanting eddie to just ruin me on twitter dot com lol

june baby: one, two, three by @luveline — i fucking love this series and every day i get on, i'm hoping to see that jade's updated so i can follow the adventures of eddie, reader, and june bug! i'm so attached to these three like they're friends of mine and i love watching their relationship deepen and, as a fervent slow burn lover, i'm foaming at the mouth for them to finally kiss!

a little mean for me by @upsidedownwithsteve — firstly, i love steve harrington, right? like, he went from being this asshole who's only personality trait was his money and his status to being a real fucking person, you know? one of my favorite characters, hands down. secondly, just because of this story, i want him to affectionately bully and kiss the tears away

𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑔𝑢𝑛

my feet can't touch the bottom of you by @sunderlust — i know nothing about the top gun franchise other than tom cruise is in it and val kilmer used to be, lol. but the way people like laur and sol write about the characters, maybe i'll bite the bullet and watch them? even if i don't, sol's description of jake "hangman" seresin is perfectly arrogant and aloof and i wanted to grind his balls under my foot for hurting my bartender babe

veracious and coveted facade by @inklore — laur, at this point, this is my proposal for your hand in matrimony because why the fuck do you write such masterpieces for mere mortals like me to gaze upon? who told you?

lurk by @zstrn — tori, my love, i stand ten toes on what i said: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw can have his feet planted on my mattress to turn me into slime. UNTIL THE FOULEST OF STENCHES LEAVES THE ROOM OKAY

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i didn't read much because of jobs and lack of time after them but i did read some real gems so please, please give the lovely people reads and keep them writing!

#kendra recs 📖#stardust reblog challenge #stardust reblog masterlist #support content creators #support your favorite content creators

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youbloodymadgenius · 3 years ago

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Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 1

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite, who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310, @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria. Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 1806

Additional note: I'm afraid I'll disappoint some of you. No more newspapers... The articles defined the setting of the story. From now on, it'll be a regular fic.

Hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

June 2021

Ivar yawns, rubbing his eyes, when he suddenly hears the front door open. The next moment, Ubbe shouts, "Hey baby bro, we're home!"

Slightly confused, Ivar looks at the time on his computer. Stunned, he blinks repeatedly, shakes his head and checks the time again, now looking at his watch. "Guess I lost track of time," he mumbles as he realizes it's really 5:30 pm. He clears his throat. "I'm coming!"

Yawning once more, he wheels to the kitchen. Hvitserk waves at him with one hand as Ubbe greets him with a grin and Sigurd... Well, Sigurd ignores him, as usual.

"Hello boys!" Lagertha smiles as she also enters the kitchen. "Did you go to the beach this afternoon?" It's a rethorical question, since sand can be seen on the tanned skin of his brothers, shirtless and wearing only swimming shorts.

When she looks down at him, her smile becomes softer. "Ivar, you seem tired. Did you work all day long?"

He nods, glad that for once she called him by his first name and not by one of those stupid nicknames that she likes but that make his skin crawl.

"Yep," he shrugs without smiling back, "I made good progress. The new version of your website is almost done. It could probably be online by the end of the week."

His stepmom flashes him a beaming smile. "Great, thanks!"

The conversation then moves on to the subject that everyone in Kattegat has been talking about for the last few days: the midsummer party thrown by their neighbor Harald Hårfager. Every June, it is Kattegat's not-to-be-missed event, to which every resident hopes to be invited.

Lagertha is invited every year, yet rarely attends; his brothers wouldn't miss it, not in a million years; Ivar never went.

He listens with half an ear as his brothers prattle on about the upcoming party, while taking a seat at the large, wooden kitchen table on which Lagertha has just put cakes and drinks.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Do you think Marit will attend this year?"

"Hopefully the music will be better than last year."

"Can't be as bad! What was the name of that reggae band?"

For a fleeting moment, Ivar entertains the thought of attending as well. Not that he's dying to, but… Sometimes, he feels a little bit like Cinderella in this house.

Don't get him wrong, it's not that bad.

First, his stepmom is not–

Wait, wait, wait, is Lagertha technically his stepmom? He's not sure. After all, she wasn't when his parents were alive, she was just his father's first wife. Anyway, she may be his guardian now, but he sees her as his stepmom and he honestly doesn’t give a shit if it's a little weird.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cinderella.

So obviously, Lagertha is not a wicked, haughty and abusive stepmom like this Lady Tremaine of the fairytale.

Actually, even if it pisses him off to admit it, she's pretty nice, patient and composed. Does he love her? Let's not exaggerate – he doesn't. She may love him though, which is a little bit uncanny, if he's being honest. He was the favorite son of her nemesis. Shouldn't she hate him? He would, if the situation was reversed.

The truth is, when he was younger, he tried, he really tried to hate her, blaming her for everything and anything. When too much pain prevented him from sleeping, he let his imagination run wild. There, bound to his bed of suffering, he could see Lagertha cutting the brakes on his mother's car, causing her crash, causing her death.

Of course, even then, he knew deep down that Lagertha had not killed his mother; that the story he told himself was just the product of his endless nights of insomnia. But what can he say? He needed this. Because blaming Lagertha rather than admitting that his beloved mother was at fault – by being distracted, or by falling asleep, he'll never know – was easier for the heartbroken boy he was.

Anyway... So yes, Lagertha is definitely not an evil stepmother like Cinderella's.

Also, he doesn't sleep on a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed either.

Actually, he has a very large room on the main floor, with a king-size memory foam bed, a walk-in – well, a wheel-in for his case – closet and his own, huge bathroom, fully equipped for his special needs.

Sure, the bathroom and the dressing room were already there when his parents were alive; however, the memory foam mattress had been Lagertha's idea.

Anyway... So yes, he can't exactly complain about his sleeping conditions, unlike Cinderella.

And obviously, he's not forced into servitude.

Actually, one might think so, but no, he's not. Sure, sometimes he works for his stepmom, like today. But so do his brothers. When she had taken them in, she was a powerful businesswoman, working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Once she had become their guardian, she had rearranged her working time and learned to delegate; but even so, she had often run out of time. Therefore, it had seemed normal to them – yes, even to him – to help her out, each of them according to their skills and abilities.

So, while Hvitserk almost always does the grocery shopping, while Sigurd vacuums and does the laundry, while Ubbe mows the lawn and trim the bushes, he, Ivar, runs her company's website and sometimes even does the accounting. And since he loves computers and numbers, it's not exactly a problem.

Anyway... So yes, he's not a slave in this house. Unlike Cinderella.

So, yes, to sum it up, he can't really complain and he's by far not Cinderella. And he knows it.

But... Yes, there's a but...

Sometimes, he feels trapped, as poor Cinderella must have felt.

Sometimes he feels like a spectator of a life he doesn't belong to.

Sure, he doesn't have to be homeschooled – but gods, he's glad he is. The reasons for him to be continuously bullied by classmates are endless. The simplest ones being: he is a cripple, an orphan, the son of a dead mob boss, the smartest one in the whole damn school, let alone his class. Take your pick. It's no fun, no fun at all. Being home alone is preferable to that alternative.

Therefore, barely leaving the house except for medical appointments, he has no friends. He doesn't do sports either – obviously – and yeah, he lives a lonely life, filled with video games and Netflix series. And he's okay with that. Well, most of the time.

Sure, his brothers, or at least Ubbe and Hvitserk, always try to include him as much as possible. But the truth is that because of his legs, there are many, many things he just can't do.

And the other truth, the less pleasant one, is that he partially did that to himself. He cut himself off from a world that hurt him, yet he still misses this world sometimes. At times, he blames himself. Because his life, honestly, is hardly what you would call a life, is it? Not when you're sixteen.

That's why sometimes, like now, he feels this longing, almost a need, to live. To really, truly, fully live. And that's why, for a brief moment, lulled by the light chitchat of his brothers, he considers attending Harald's midsummer party.

But he knows better. This life is not for him, never has been, never will be.

And so, shaking his head, he chases the thought away and, placing his hands on his push rims, he's about to leave the kitchen while the incessant babbling of his brothers goes on.

"I can't wait."

"Don't tell me! As every year, the most beautiful girls of Kattegat will be there."

"Remember that burger food truck? Best burgers ever!"

"I've heard Y/N would be attending this year."

"There'll be booze and girls! Sounds like Valh–"

Wait. His mind goes blank.

Fuck.

What? Did he hear right?

As he replays his brother's words in his head, it's like there's an earthquake happening inside of him.

Fuck.

He stops breathing. Blinks, then clamps his eyes shut.

Fuck.

When he finally manages to draw air into his lungs, he swallows loudly before asking in a weird, high-pitched voice, his heart pounding in his chest, "What– What did you say, brother?"

Hvitserk turns his head toward him and shrugs. "I just said there'll be boo–"

"No, not you!" Ivar snaps at his brother, pointing his pointer finger at Ubbe. "You, what did you fucking say?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lagertha frowning – 'no curse words in this house, boys'– and even if he barely contains an eye roll, he still mouths a quick 'sorry' at her before rewording his question, impatience coursing through him. "What did you say, dear brother? Who did you say would attend?"

Stunned, Ubbe looks at him with wide eyes. "Y/N? I said Y/N would come. That's what I heard anyway. She's Harald's niece. She was here once, right? Remember her, baby bro, huh?"

But Ivar is no longer listening, the blood draining from his face. Y/N... Y/N... Fuck. Finally. Fucking finally. After so long... He may see you again. Wow.

I'll go! I'll fucking go!

He barely contains the words, suddenly acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, his brothers shamelessly staring at him.

With her brows furrowed and her lips turned downward in a slight frown, Lagertha takes two steps forwards before crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right, sweetie? You're a little pale."

He barely hears when Sigurd giggles, "A little pale? He's greener than an alien!"

Lagertha shoots Sigurd a dirty look and then gently cups Ivar's cheek. "Do you know her, Ivar? Do you know Y/N?"

Overwhelmed, self-conscious, freaked out, caught off-guard, he doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? His brothers will mock him, for sure. What is the point of telling the truth? What good would it do? On the other hand, he could really use some advice. Yeah. Sure. Advice from Sigurd. Just the thought of it is enough to make him sick. Fuck, what is he going to do?

Rushed words are out of his mouth before he can even gather his thoughts. "No. No. I don't. I mean, yes, I think I do but–" He's being pathetic and he hates it. So after a sharp intake of breath, he shakes his head and eventually replies in a flat, calm voice, the white lie rolling off his tongue. "I know her, but I thought Ubbe was talking about someone else. Sorry."

With these words, he hastily leaves the room, his eyes riveted on his knees, his heart still drumming in his chest.

Y/N. Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings

#ivar #modern ivar #modern!ivar #modern-ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar imagine #ivar fic #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #cherrypie’s500 #fairytale retelling #ivarello

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neoncrowpen · 3 years ago

Text

Current Requests in my Inbox

Good afternoon everyone! It's that time of day where I tell you what's currently sitting in the inbox. I feel like I'm going a bit crazy here. Maybe tumblr glitched or something. So, if you don't see your request in this list, please let me know!

As always, requests are listed from oldest to newest. Italicized text indicates what I am currently working on.

- Paul Atreides x Reader. Arranged Marriage AU.

- Paul Atreides x Reader. Both go through the Gom Jabbar test together.

- Yandere!Paul Atreides x Reader.

- Thomas Shelby x Daughter!Reader. About their rocky relationship and Thomas' reaction (and the family's reaction) to her coming out.

- Thomas Shelby x Male!Reader

- Yandere!Thomas Shelby x Male!Reader. Reader is a mechanic who takes Tommy in. As Reader reconnects with his cousin, Thomas gets jealous.

- Yandere!Paul Atreides x Reader x Yandere!Chani. Outsider attempts to kidnap you.

- Ramsay Bolton x Reader.

- Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader. Reader is under the influence of spice.

- Yandere!Thomas Shelby x Reader. Reader is Grace's sister and Thomas realizes he chose the wrong sister.

- Michael Gray x Male!Reader. Angst between them that leads into sex. NSFW.

- Paul Atreides x Reader. Paul's enemy threatens Reader.

- Father Paul (John Pruitt) x Reader. Reader has turned and resists her hunger.

- Thomas Shelby x Deaf!Reader.

-Paul Atreides x Reader. Jessica takes on Reader as a student and Paul falls slowly in love.

- Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader. Paul is married to someone else, but forces you to be with him instead.

- Paul Atreides x Princess!Reader. Arranged Marriage AU where they meet for the first time.

- Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader. Arranged Marriage AU on their wedding night and keen to make an heir.

- Geralt of Rivia x Male!Reader. A tale of Geralt and a child's friendship over the years.

- PEAKY BLINDERS AUTHOR'S CHOICE

- Geralt of Rivia x Reader. Geralt keeps Reader locked at Kaer Morhen.

Phew!! Let's tally it up folks! That's 10 for Dune, 6 for Peaky Blinders, 1 for Game of Thrones, 1 for Midnight Mass, and 2 for Witcher!! Making 20 requests altogether. Before i sign off there's two things i wanna shout out.

First is this request.

[ Text Description: hi! idk if u accept requests and if u do, pls i'd love thomas shelby with a deaf! reader. i'm deaf and would love to see more imagines with characters with disabilities (not only with deafness)!

if it helps, i have profound loss on one side and moderate to severe on the other side. i can even hear """"well"""" but it depends a lot. i can't hear loud sounds at close range like gun shots (this is "common" here and i've never heard it) and idk sign language. i'm talking about my deafness bc each person has different experiences.

i hope u can do this! if u want, u can even ask me! for that or bc of curiosity <3 that would be really cool!]

Wow. In my four years of publishing fanfic, this is my first ever deaf request. I'm so, so, so honored and floored. I will be absolutely working with @smellyzcat to make this request as representative and accurate as possible. My personal goal as a fanfic writer is make fanfic as diverse, representative, and universal as possible. This request made me really happy and I cant wait to write it!

Secondly. I saw this today.

[Text Description: It’s a Kee here. With a not request request. I want you to give me something peaky blinders that YOU have been wanting to write, but haven’t had the chance to yet. ]

KEE?!?! KEE????!!! MY LOVE?! MY BELOVED!? Excuse me while I foam out of my mouth?!?!? KEE!! ohohohohoho my sweet girl. Good to see you, old friend. She's been around since my Bang Bang! fanfic days. In fact, here's a link to her incredible Ramsay Bolton Modern Day/ Mafia AU fic Guns for Hire. She no longer writes for Ramsay, but she's a fabulous writer and an incredible friend. Unfortunately for all of you, her request means she's unleashing something terrible in me >:)

Thank you all for your requests. Really, I am excited to write each and every one of these. I feel like I receive a happy lil Christmas gift every time I get a ping! in my inbox.

If you have any ideas or requests, please leave them here. If you feel uncomfy leaving me an ask or want to go more in depth with your request, feel free to message me as well. I am more than happy to work with anyone regarding their request.

See you Wednesday!

- Crow

#current requests #long post #really long post

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years ago

Text

Tinker Bell and Grumpy Girl

Alex x OFC (Sabina)

Word Count: 5051

Warnings: Profanity, CORNY, inaccurate descriptions of Ireland and professional camera’s 😅

AN: So I never thought I'd write something like this. Obviously I don't know these people in real life, but I must admit it was fun and it passes the time. This came about from the many conversations I've had with @didiintheblog. This is dedicated to her! 💙(Hope you like it) I may work on another part, but for now, this is it. Also, I know next to nothing about Ireland, to which i apologize for in advance. I’ve tagged those I think might be interested. Also, no face claim, because I’m lazy. I hope you all enjoy 💙

...

Her eyes follow the rising foam bubbles as she swirls the dark drink around her chilled glass, completely distracted. She blinks, her contacts irritating her eyes. She wished she'd remembered to bring her damn eyedrops.

"Sabina, what's wrong?" Her sister plants her hand over the rim of her beer, stopping her movements. She shifts her eyes lazily to look at the offender, brows knitting in a sort of confusion.

"What? Nothing."

"We’re at a pub in Ireland for fucksake! Can you maybe smile a bit? Could you do that for me?" Her sister, clearly over her shit, purses her lips, slowly removing her manicured fingers from the glass, "Don't waste your Guinness. That's like holy water here." Sabina rolls her eyes with a sigh, lifting the glass to her lips before chugging the dark, hoppy beer in one go. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand, letting out a low belch that had her sister giggling.

"Happy?" She croaks, pushing the empty glass towards her.

"Good girl." Her sister smiles, rushing to finish her own beer.

“So when is this guy supposed to get here?” Sabina drum’s her fingers over the table top, littered with water droplets from their sweating pilsners.

“His name is Danny, and he said he’d be here soon.”

“He could be a creep.”

“He’s not.”

“You met him online, how would you know?”

“Shut up.” Her sister mutters, keeping her eyes on the door in search of the man that she only knew by photo. After deciding he still needed a few minutes, she scans around the quaint little pub, her eyes falling on someone in particular that made her eyes twinkle.

*Gemma," Sabina warns, "You got that look in your eyes. Cut it out."

"He's cute though," The older sister giggles, "And so are his friends."

"You forgot about Danny already?" Sabina grunts, “Whatever, go get him.”

"Oh, I would, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in me at all. He's looking at you." Sabina jerks to look at Gemma before snorting, leaning back against the wooden chair with arms crossed.

"I'm being serious!" Gemma giggles, "Go look, he's to your left, but don't make it obvious!" Sabina sighs, but shifts her eyes to view whoever it was through her peripheral, but that proved challenging, so she turns her head completely and-

Oh.

Could a pair of eyes ever be so blue?

"He's cute right? Look at that hair, God, Sabina!" He offers her a toothy smile before focusing on the animated conversation his friends were having.

“He’s okay.” Sabina shrugs, lying right through her teeth. Gemma rolls her eyes, leaning forward to get a good look at her.

“If I’m gunna get laid, so are you. There’s only so much tinder can do for you.”

“I didn’t come here to get laid! I came here for you!”

“Which I will forever be grateful for, sister,” Gemma rolls her eyes, “You might as well. He’s hot.” Sabina looks to her left again, watching this hot mystery guy laugh as he spoke with his hands. Whatever he said must have been funny since all his peers roared with laughter, but they must have been halfway intoxicated by now, empty pilsners and shot glasses taking up every inch of their table.

But Gemma was right, even his friends were pretty attractive, probably not as good looking as him in her opinion, but still very attractive. Even the two blondes that sat with them were pretty. It was just a table full of pretty people.

He seemed to hit it off with the ladies too, as not only one of the blondes at his table was vying for his attention, but a couple of other girls as well, seemingly going up to him and squealing ridiculously. Sometimes the squealing girls would go over to the other guys sitting around him, babbling some nonsense, but the live music made it hard to actually hear what they were saying.

Eventually the handsome mystery man turns to her again, as if sensing her stares, winking at her with this little smirk on his face that made her scowl and her heart beat faster at the same time. Sabina turns away quickly, pretending to distract herself with her phone, taping the black screen like an idiot.

“He looks oddly familiar.” She mutters, tossing her phone on the table with little care.

“Yeah, that’s because you see him in your dreams,” Her sister says with a laugh, and before Sabina could retaliate, Gemma reaches over to grip tightly at her wrist, “There he is!” She suddenly squeals, “Danny!”

Well, at least he looked exactly like his photos. Dark hair and blue eyes, and this little gap between his teeth, he was a catch.

“Gemma?” He says her sister's name with a timid smile, the Irish accent strong, yet extremely charming. They hug, and Gemma introduces her to him. They had chemistry already, which was cute considering they met online. The trip to Ireland was meant for them to meet, and since Gemma didn’t want to travel alone, she dragged Sabina with her. Sometimes it felt as if Gemma were the younger sister at times, but Sabina would do anything for her, regardless of age difference.

Dublin had been charming so far, the city had something archaic about it. She might as well enjoy the trip, already deciding the things she wanted to do. They could cover a lot of ground in a month, though Sabina realized that much of her sightseeing would probably be alone as her sister would be caught up with Dublin Danny.

After a few minutes of watching Gemma and Danny talk animatedly with each, their chairs turned towards each other and their knees touching, Sabina decided to order them a round of drinks before stepping out. The pub was hot and she wanted to enjoy the fresh air that wasn’t available to her back home in her polluted city. Leaning against the wall of the pub she watches Dublin’s nightlife commence, young people coming out to party on such a lovely Saturday night. Open signs now flickered on and street lamps began to light up the cobblestone streets.

“Cigarette?” An accented voice asked her, a box of some foreign brand of cigarette in her line of vision. Pushing her hair behind her ear she looks to the person who offered her the sickly stick. Blue eyed, bun-boy was smiling down at her, his eyes a bit glossy, no doubt from all the beer he and his friends were chugging.

“Um, no, thanks. I’m good.” She replies, watching him pull out a pair of shades, shielding his eyes from...whatever it was that was bothering him at night. What an ass.

“You’re here on holiday, yeah?” He places a cigarette between his lips, putting away the rest in his pocket. Lighting it, he takes a drag, inhaling the toxic fumes before releasing it over his shoulder and away from her.

Sabina couldn’t even answer the question by how entranced she was with his simple movements. He didn’t even sound Irish, or maybe she just wasn’t good with accents. He raises a brow, waiting for her to answer, and she clears her throat, turning to look away from him in favor of counting the lines between each cobblestone under her booted feet.

“Uh, yeah, holiday.”

“You’re American.” He states, inhaling more of his cigarette. After finishing half, he smashes the tip against the wall before putting the remainder back in the box. He was so fluid in his motions, anything he did seemed unreal.

“Is it that obvious?” Crossing her arms, she tilts her face in an attempt to make some type of eye contact with him. He was tall, very tall, and very lean. She could tell he was fit from the tightness of his white t-shirt and how it molded over his body like one of those white marble statues you’d see at museums. He was incredibly attractive.

“You Americans have a very distinct accent,” He smiles at her, showing off his pearly white teeth, “I have to admit, I think it’s pretty attractive.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sabina snorts, cracking a smile. He seemed to enjoy that reaction from her, and his smile grows as he leans a bit closer to her. Ahh, he was even cuter up close, even with those stupid shades on.

“Absolutely. It’s charming, really.” He grins.

“Where are you from?” She finally asks him, fiddling with the frayed ends of her distressed shorts.

“Denmark.”

“Denmark?” That explains the accent, “I don’t know anyone from Denmark.”

“And I don’t know anyone from America. I’m Alex, it’s a pleasure to meet you…?” Sabina cocks her head, letting out the tiniest huff of laughter. The guy was cute and a smooth talker.

“Sabina.”

“Sabina,” He repeats, testing the name in his mouth like a new delicacy at a fancy restaurant, “That’s a beautiful name.” Again, he smiles charmingly at her, lowering his shades so that his eyes could peek out from over the black frames, “French?”

“Italian.” She rolls her eyes, more for show than anything else. God, this guy was cute. What the fuck was he doing talking to her? Before he could answer with what she assumed was another charming reply, someone else interrupts him.

“Alex,” One of the blonde girls steps out, rubbing her arms to warm herself from the evening chill, “You coming back? You’re missing the stories.” The blonde looks at Sabina, offering her a weird smile before bringing her eyes back to Alex, “Well?”

He lets out the most dramatic sigh, as if highly inconvenienced, lolling his head to the side to look at her, “I’ll be right there, Alicia.” The blonde nods, giving Sabina one last glance before heading back in the pub.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Uh, no, not really. No.” He seemed frustrated, already digging into his pocket in search of his pack.

“Right, well, it was nice speaking with you, Alex,” Sabina pushes herself off the wall with little grace, untying her denim jacket from around her waist and draping it over her shoulders, “I’m gonna head inside. You probably should too.”

“Wait,” He says quickly, grabbing a hold of her wrist, “I’d love to see you again.” She turns back to look at him, brows furrowing. She didn't even shake off his grip, too distracted by his lovely face.

“I’m not in Ireland long.”

“Neither am I. Doesn’t mean we can’t meet up when we have the chance.” He offers her that smile again, super charming, and probably a Scandinavian thing. For a moment, she’s stunned, and for once, her sister might not have been wrong about her assumption. “Let me take down your number.”

“I-uhh, fine.” She finally relents, holding her hand out so that he may hand her his phone. Alex’s grins, digging into the back pocket of his jeans and fishing out his phone, slapping it right into her open palm. She quickly taps in her number, thinking she might be fucking crazy for doing so, but whatever. If he was crazy, she’d block him and that would be the end of it.

“Why thank you, beautiful, you will not regret it.” He gives her a little bow and she laughs with a shake of her head.

“I hope I don’t.” Leaving him to smoke the remainder of his cigarette, she sits back at the table with Gemma and Danny, who were so engrossed in their conversation that they barely noticed her. She leans back against the chair, feeling eyes on her. When she turned, it was that blonde, Alicia, looking at her with a curious expression. Sabina shrugs it off, ordering herself a glass of wine, sipping the drink quite happily. Alex makes it back to his table and the wild chatter and laughter begins again. It was hard not to look in his direction, but she couldn’t help it.

Again, she noticed how these random girls would come up to the table, starting mindless conversations with him and the others, and the Alicia girl was all over him. It made her wonder why he’d even ask for her number in the first place. He seemed to enjoy the attention women gave him though, even allowing one to play with his long, luscious hair. There was a lot of photo taking too, with his friends, with that Alicia girl, with those other random girls. Whenever the conversation or attention would shift away from him for even a moment, he’d literally pout. It was weird, and it bothered her.

Who the hell was this guy?

After a while, she got bored of watching Gemma and Danny and Alex and his attention issues.

“Yo, Gemma, I’m out. It’s late, I think I’m still jet lagged, I’m gonna head to the hotel.”

“Are you sure?” Her sister asks, “What about him?” She jerks her chin towards Alex.

“Attention whore,” She mutters with a shrug, “Too good to be true. I’ll see you at the hotel. It was nice meeting you Danny.”

“Likewise.” He says in his pretty Irish drawl.

“Be careful!” Gemma shouts as Sabina smacks money onto the table.

“I’ll be fine, it’s round the corner. Bye.” Waving them off, she totally ignores Alex who was already watching her, probably expecting some kind of farewell.

“Sabina, hey, wait up!” She hears him call after her, easily catching up with her pace, “Let me walk you to your hotel.” His shades were resting atop his hair, and she got a better look at his sparkling eyes.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from you cheerleaders.” She responds, searching her pockets for her headphones. She needed to listen to music and ignore him.

“Wait, what?” He asks dumbfounded, “What are you talking about?” So he was gunna act fucking stupid?

“And you can delete my number as well, you won’t be needing it.”

“Woah, what? Stop-hold on, Wait!” Alex jogs in front of her, halting her measured steps.

“Look Tinker Bell, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I really don’t want to get mixed up in whatever mess you have going on with all those chicks.” Confused, he steps in front of her when she attempts to maneuver herself around him.

“Tinker Bell?” He snorts, “What? I thought we hit it off well!”

“You and a whole bunch of people hit it off well. You’re a ladies man right? I’ve been around your type before,” She crosses her arms, “Granted, they were never Danish, but still, you’re all the same. Tinker Bell’s.”

“What does that even mean?” He pleads, stepping in her way again like some kind of football goalie. She huffs, crossing her arms again and stomping her foot.

“Peter Pan’s little fairy friend? The one that dies if she gets no attention? Yeah, a Tinker Bell, that’s you.”

“Totally not true!” His Danish accent was more prominent now that he was pleading, “I’m just dashing.” Well that didn’t help. It was almost kinda cute, but she shakes her head, pushing past him.

“Yep, it is. It was a pleasure, Alex.” He watches her leave, stomping down the road in those cute shorts. He sighs. At least he still had her number.

…

“Come on, Gemma! Trinity College!”

“It sounds boring.”

“But the Book of Kells is there!”

“I don’t care.” Gemma snorts, leaning against the wall as she sipped on her coffee.

“So you bring me out here for your benefit, but won’t do a single thing that I want to do? You’re a terrible sister.” Sabina grunts, dramatically flinging herself onto the plush sofa.

“Don’t you want to go shopping? Buy some souvenirs for Cat, mom and dad?”

“We can still do that, it’s not like I’m denying you,” The younger sister moves her hand around for more emphasis, “You can bring Dublin Danny too. He can entertain you if you get bored.”

“Dublin Danny?” Gemma raises a brow.

“Yeah, that’s his new name.”

“You’re stupid.” Sabina grins when her sister lets out an amused chuckle, “Fine, I’ll give Dublin Danny a call.”

“Perfect.” Sabina’s phone vibrates over the coffee table, and she grabs it thinking it was her friend Cat calling at the ass crack of dawn, but when she sees the unknown number with a +45 call code, she hesitates. Accepting the call, she slowly brings the phone to her ear.

“Yo?”

“Sabina?” That fucking Danish accent.

“...Yes?”

“It’s Alex. Is this a bad time?”

“I thought I told you to delete my number, Tinker Bell.” She could hear the noise of displeasure he makes at the name.

“Really? I can’t say I recall.”

“What, is no one showering you with attention today?” Gemma moves to stand in front of her, hands on her hips and brows raised.

“Is that the cute guy from the pub?”

“Shh,” Sabina hisses, covering the receiver with her hand, “Shut up!” Gemma smirks, pulling out her phone to call Danny.

“What sass,” Alex’s comment has her focusing on his smooth voice again, “Are you American girls all like this, or am I just lucky?” The words were dripping in sarcasm, enough to make her scoff.

“What do you want?”

“I’m free today. I thought maybe we could meet up.” She could almost hear the smile in his voice.

“Right. No.” Sabina wanted to hang up so bad, but she struggled, still wanting to hear his stupid voice.

“Come on, why not? We’ll have a good time, I promise.”

“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I’m going sightseeing with my sister and her internet boyfriend.” She could hear shuffling in the background as he chuckled. It sounded like he was cooking.

“So less of a holiday, more of a catfish?”

“Something like that,” She mutters, “But he’s not a catfish. He’s actually not bad looking.”

“Like me, ‘the cute guy from the pub’?” He replies coolly, his ego shining through. Sabina cringes, whispering curses under her breath that was loud enough for Alex to hear and respond to with a short laugh. She hears him call out in Danish for someone, sounding like the name Marco before continuing, “Where are you going?”

“Trinity College.”

“Wonderful place. It has an amazing library,” He comments, “What time are you going? I could meet you there.”

“What makes you think I want you there?” Sabina scoffs. Alex must have been speaking loud despite not being on speaker because Gemma instantly comes running back with a reply.

“We’ll be there at two!”

“Perfect,” Alex chuckles again, “Thank your sister for me. I’ll see you there.” The line went dead and Sabina wanted to chuck her phone across the room.

“Gemma!” She screeches, tossing a sofa pillow at her sister who easily dodges it in a flurry of giggles.

“What! Sabina, come on, don’t be stupid. He’s super cute! And what was that accent?”

“He’s Danish.” Sabina mutters, dropping her head into her hands with a groan. She taps her phone for the time. 11am. Three hours till she’d see this fucker.

“A Scandinavian!” Gemma sings, “How dreamy. He’s a Viking!”

“No he’s not, he’s a Tinker Bell.” Gemma stops in the middle of making her sister a coffee, scrunching up her features in confusion.

“He’s a what?”

…

Trinity College had a large campus. Located in the middle of the modern city, walking into the campus was like walking back in time. It was beautiful, with an east wing and a west, large enough to get lost in.

“So where are we off to first? East or west?” Danny asks the sisters, smiling when Gemma scowled, “Come on Gemma, it’s really not that bad.”

“Thank you, Dublin Danny, I had to convince her.” Sabina pulls out her phone to check the time, 1:55 pm. He was probably not even coming. She was almost disappointed.

“Dublin Danny?” He repeats with a chuckle, scratching at his short raven hair, “Is that what you both have been calling me this whole time?”

“No!” Gemma reassures him, “Sabina is stupid, don’t mind her.” She brings her glaring eyes to her sister, who only shrugs in response while popping her bubblegum.

“I kinda like Dublin Danny,” Sabina says to him, “Don’t you?”

“I’ll take it,” He shrugs, “So when is your friend coming? Alex, right?”

“He’s not my friend.” She says hurriedly, the tip of her converse digging into the dirt in her nervousness.

“Really?” Danny asks, “Gemma says he is.”

“Gemma doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” This time, Sabina glares at her sister who offers her a sheepish grin.

“Fine, not your friend,” Gemma corrects, “Your love interest. Better?”

“No!”

“Well how much longer should we wait? If you want to go see the Book of Kells, then we should leave now before it gets crowded.”

“Let’s just leave now.” Sabina insists, almost pleads.

“That won’t be necessary,” The Scandinavian man appears beside her, dropping and arm around her shoulders and flashing her that stupid fucking smile. Where did he even come from? “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m Alex.” He waves at her sister and Danny before looking back down at Sabina. Her gawking made him chuckle.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me?” He whispers down at her, and the little hairs on the nape of her neck stand.

“Gemma, Danny.” She grunts, pointing at each of them as she shakes his arm off of her.

“Nice to meet you,” Alex smiles, “And I must thank you, Gemma, for inviting me.”

“Oh, it was no problem.” The older sister grins, loving the tension she created for her sister, “Sabina loves the company.”

“Whatever, Dublin Danny, lead the way, please.” Sabina stomps on ahead of them, and Alex immediately turns to Danny with a curve in his brow.

“She has a nickname for you too?”

…

After years of only seeing it on google images, the Book of Kells was magnificent in person. The colors were so vivid, ancient swirls made with ancient ink to form a grand illustration. It was magical. Sabina could stare at it all day.

“You really like this stuff, huh?” Alex whispers over to her, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his denim shorts. He was bored, and would much rather admire her then an old medieval book. He’s been there a few times anyway, it never changes.

“What does that mean?” She whispers back, annoyed, keeping her eyes on the display as she inched closer to the glass.

“You know,” He waves a hand around before stuffing it back in his pocket, “History stuff.”

“Yeahhhh. Yes. I do.” She rolls her eyes, reaching for her phone in her back pocket for a picture.

“No, you can’t,” He puts a hand over hers to stop her movements, “They don’t allow pictures. Trust me, I tried.” He motions toward the expensive canon camera slung over his arm. Sabina sucks her teeth and pouts, shoving her phone back into her pocket.

“I know,” Alex chuckles, “Something about copyright infringement and flash affecting the ink.” She sighs but nods, adjusting her little backpack that he thought was cute on her. Actually, everything about her was cute, really.

“Fine,” She takes one last look at the book before glancing across the mass of people, “Where’s Danny and Gemma?” Alex shrugs, searching around as well.

“They’re probably exploring another part of the university.”

“How are they just gonna leave us like that? Un-fucking-believable.”

“Hey, hey, don’t get so worked up, grinende pige,” He smirks, “We’ll meet up with them later.”

“What did you just call me?” She squeaks, the unfamiliar Germanic language sounding like gibberish to her.

“Something suitable, don’t worry,” Alex grins, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her towards an exit, “You like books so much? There’s a huge fucking library that way.”

…

“How are you liking Dublin?” Alex eyes her, following her delicate fingers as they type away on her phone, messaging her sister of their location.

“It's cute.” She shrugs, placing her phone down and finding the courage to finally look him in the eye. His eyes were so blue and intense, and fucking gorgeous. Fuck.

“Cute? The city is cute?” He shakes his head, “You’re weird.”

“And somehow,” Her eyes sweep over his face, as if searching for answers, “You look familiar.” He smirked, leaning his chin on his hand as she continued her observation.

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, “Tell me more.”

“You’re full of yourself, Tinker Bell.” She mutters, taking a bite of her forgotten pastry, “And you said you were free today,” She points out as she chews, “What did you mean by that? Aren’t you on holiday too?”

“Well, no, not really,” He shrugs, “I’m here for work. Four months.” Sabina cocks her head, finally interested in what he had to say.

“What do you do?”

“I’m an actor.”

“Hmm,” She hums, pursing her lips, “Are you any good?” Alex scoffs at her question, pouting his lips in a way that made her gaze gravitate towards them.

“Am I any good? I’m fucking super.” He says haughtily, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Oh yeah?” She sucks her teeth, “Where’s your Oscar then?” He bursts out in laughter, a grin stretching over his perfect lips before he licks them carefully.

“I’m still working on it,” He finally says, leaning forward on his arms, “But when I get nominated for hottest actor, you’ll be the first to know.” He winks at her after their little staring contest, appreciating the way her cheeks colored. He grabs his camera, fiddling with the lens and looking through it a few times while he continues his chatter.

“So Sabina,” He begins, “You are American, but no American is really American.”

“What?” She snorts, “What the hell are you talking about, cheese Danish?” He rolls his eyes. She had a knack for name calling.

“I mean to say that most American people come from somewhere else, yeah?”

“Uh-huh, some.” She replies flatly.

“Your name is Italian, but are you Italian?” Finally, he brings the camera to his face, focusing the lens a bit more until it was to his liking, peeping through as he points it directly at her.

“You better not be photographing me!” She hides her face behind her hands, peeking through the slits. He still had the camera pointed at her.

“Aw, come on! I’m doing a series of portraits, and luckily you fit exactly what I’m looking for.” He lowers his camera down to his nose, his brows raised up in question, “Are you gonna answer my question, grinende pige?” She makes a low noise of disapproval, still hiding behind her hands.

“Dad is Turkish, mom is Italian.” She mutters her answer, slowly dropping her hands, giving Alex enough time to snap a picture of her. The camera shutters softly, and she blinked at the noise, confused as to why he even wanted to photograph her.

“Perfect.” He mumbles, smiling down to view the image on the tiny screen, “You look amazing.” Again, heat rises to her cheeks as the compliment easily falls from his lips. He then holds out the camera to her, “Check yourself out.” She cautiously takes it, turning it over in her hands to gaze at herself. The image was vivid, her eyes wide and sparkling and hair shining like waves of chocolate. How did he manage to make her look that good?

“How did you do that?” She questions softly, looking up at him with a look that had him swallowing thickly. Alex bites his lip, looking away from her for a moment. When he looked back, her features were twisted in confusion, her attention now on something behind him.

“Do you know them?” She asks, “They’re staring at you.” Alex looks over his shoulder at two girls he most certainly didn’t know, but they certainly knew him. They began to giggle, hands over their lips when he turned to them. He flashes them a quick smile, and they took it as an invitation to approach him.

“No, I don’t know them.” He shrugs, “But they recognize me.”

“What?” Before anything else could be asked, the girls approach. They were nice enough, asking for a photograph and an autograph, then heading on their merry way. Alex grinned at the attention he was given, causing others in the cafe to look at him. He was living for it.

“Okay, I see what this is,” Sabina says, crossing her arms with a laugh, “Tinker Bell, are you famous or something? Am I unaware of your status?” Alex shrugs, taking back his camera when she offered it back to him.

“Something like that.” He plays with the little bun sitting on the back of his head. Gemma was right, his hair is amazing.

“What is it that you’re filming now?”

“TV show. Vikings. You heard of it?” As a matter a fact, she has. Deep in the crevices of her brain, she remembers how her friend Cat would babble on and on about some show with Vikings and hot ass actors.

Oh fuck.

“Wait, hold on.” Sabina grabs her phone, immediately video calling Cat. Alex smiles, amused as she fumbled with her phone, her nails clicking loudly on the surface.

“What’s up, Beany?” He laughs at the disembodied voice, smiling stupidly at the nickname.

“Catherine, can you tell me who this is?” Sabina flips the phone view so that she could see Alex eating his puff pastry with enthusiasm.

“Sabina! What the FUCK!” Cat’s screams were loud enough to be heard throughout the university cafe, and Sabina immediately clutched the phone to her chest in a panic, as if that would silence her friend on the other end. Cat’s screaming continued, much to her irritation, but highly amusing to Alex. Sabina brings her phone to her face, “Cat, we’ll talk later.”

“That’s Ivar the Boneless, you stupid BITCH!” And with that, Sabina ends the call, tossing her phone aside with an embarrassed sigh. Pushing her hair away from her face she met Alex’s eyes, and his blue irises were filled with absolute mirth.

“Seems you’re famous. Congratulations, you’re one step closer to winning that Oscar.” She mutters, clearing her throat before grabbing her bottled water and drinking as much as her thirsty ass could.

Alex barks out another laugh.

…

Grinende pige- Grumpy girl

...

@didiintheblog @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @shannygoatgruff @leilabeaux @youbloodymadgenius

#alex hogh fanfiction #alex hogh #alex hogh andersen #alex hogh imagine #alex hogh x ofc #vikings fanfic #vikings ivar

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alicec-666 · 4 years ago

Text

Okay, so, I did it... I wrote my first creepy story about my oc, and... Oof, damn, I hope, I'm not too late for this yes I am late af I know

Anywaaaay, here it is ^^

Sharing only here, so, please, no reblogging or claiming your ownership on it, okay?

Thank you in advance!

And hope you enjoy :')

The Sarah's Mask (original story, pls, no copyright)

It was today's afternoon when it happened. Judging by the nine years I worked in this mental hospital, I can be certain when yelling you that the work that needed to be done got bigger every month, and most of my coworkers have coped with it as much as they could. We dealt with many troublesome patients during this period, and hardly any cases would be ofof what I could call "extraordinary". Certainly, there were many depressive individuals with an intent of self-harm or suicidal thoughts, or schizophreniacs that associated their world with ours in almost the same way, that is, with visages of silhouettes that weren't there or voices in their heads, you know the drill. Rarely so, but we also got an experience of working with the local criminals, who were on the verge of beginning a genocide on the streets or feeling joy through the sexual acts with other individuals, whether they wanted it or not, and whom we needed to check on mental stability during their process in the court. Not only cases, but the age range of our patients was rather normal too; from the young teenagers to the elderly people, whoever had troubles in their life and wanted to be cured, or were forced to by the judging society, those could join into our therapy whenever they wanted. And today was not an exception.

In the afternoon, while having a break, I was sitting onon the sofa in the rest room together with Michelle and Jim, talking about life and giggling at the fun situations, which we had before the work, similar to the ones of one being late to the job together with a manager, or mistaking a random person for your good acquaintance, you can name any of it. Anyway, it was through the laughter and sipping coffee, when I recall having heard a knock in the door. With a cheerful invite to come in from Michelle, I've seen how the door opened slightly, and behind itself revealed a peeking out face of Lucy, the psychiatrist trainee who has finished her studies over a year ago. Her face was rather worried, but I shook it off at first, knowing that the lady was known to be rather shy with the clinic's staff in general.

- Excuse me for interrupting, but if you don't mind, I would like to ask Mr Owen to come out for a moment, - her voice was trembling, and II noticed how she looked at her feet in embarrassment, but quietly appreciated her efforts of coming herehere by herself, which already made some progress in willingness to cooperate with others instead of always being on her own. Surely, in her 23 years, Lucy was one of the youngest workers here, nonetheless, she was very gifted with a wish to learn and improve.

- I will be just a second, - getting off the sofa and giving an assuring smile to the staring colleagues, I raised up and with a nod came up towards the young trainee and out in the hall, closing the door after myself in the process. Looking the woman up and down, I leaned towards the wall behind me and smiled softly:

- Is anything the matter, Lucy? As far as I'm concerned, you have been assigned with a patient this morning, correct? So, have you found out what is the case there?

- Yes, sir... I mean, no, sir-- I-I mean, - there was a folder in Lucy's arms that I noticed her clenching to every now and then, the folder with a printed surname on it "Junior". It was a patient that I have heard about only the previous evening, when a man from the register said that some odd looking adolescent came up to them and registered for the therapy for this morning, and, after leaving copies of her documents, has left shortly. From what we knew about this patient so far is that it was a female of age 20 with the blue tone coloured hair tied into a long pigtail, purple sports clothes and red shoes. However, what interested me the most from the register guy's description, was that this woman the entire time, through coming up to him and signing up for a meeting, has held an obnoxious foaming mask together with her. Long story short, we accepted her to have a meeting with Lucy, since both of these women were at their last years of forming their identity to the society, and could have something in common. That is why I was truly surprised when Lucy, now sobbing before me, said shakingly, - I... I can't do this, sir! She is not like any patients I needed to deal with before, she scares me.

- She is younger than you by almost four years, Miss Cadavre, - I said in a firm voice with a sigh, - And she is hardly any different from any other patients we had here so far, even though she does have quite... An extraordinary sense of fashion.

- You don't understand, Mr Owen, she is just something I don't think I can cope with, - noticing just now that her eyes kept filling up with tears, the trainee quickly wiped them with her sleeve, and looked at me again, - And it's not only her physical looks, she seems to be so... Unnerving. With her quick change of behavior or her murmuring something about hearing that "annoying voice" in her mind... Not to mention dozing off and talking to herself while I was trying to chat with her.

- I'm pretty sure there is nothing to worry about, my dear. Honestly, it may be nothing as serious as schizophrenia. - I shrugged, being fairly disappointed in the trainee's words, - It would be odd if you missed the classes about this disorder during your studies, Mrs Cadavre.

- I didn't miss any, sir! But I do swear to you, this girl is not like those patients I've dealt with before, - she was shaking at this point, and she was right at some point; as she was a newbie, we didn't want her to deal with any extreme cases yet, so the most of her patients were depressive teenagers or elderly people with the trauma after losing their kids or grandkids in an accident, - I cannot explain it, but I can't work with her one on one in there! So, I was thinking if I could be replaced by someone else

- Absolutely not. Unfortunately, miss Cadavre, you are the only one left among those who have been given tasks with the new wave of patients, since everyone else is busy by now. - I made a small pause, and after seeing how her gaze dropped on the floor again, thought to self for a mokent, after which spoke up again, - If you're so worried, however, I could come to her together with you, as an observer. This way, I will note what your trouble with her may be, and could help you out.

The trainee quickly raised up her head staring at me with her shining gray eyes, which clearly showed the gratitude, after which she nodded with a delight, and a quiet "thank you" came out of her mouth.

After some twelve minutes passing by, both of us came into the room 042, the Lucy's cabinet, which contained of two chairs, a small sofa, a table and some shelbes on the wall where several documents and the trainee's personal belongings took their place. On the sofa or, rather, by it, there was a female in her dirty sports clothes, with a greenish-blue hair and hazel eyes, who was holding an odd black mask in her hands and rubbing it slightly. Even as we came in and Lucy sat down on one of the chairs, the patient was asas if unaware of our existence, being distracted by her own doing, and murmuring some odd sentences, somesome of which I could hear as "I know that you don't like it, but I want it to end once and for all", "We can't be friends anymore, you do understand it, right?", "Please, stop saying such horrible things to me...". Looking down at the worried trainee, then back at the female, I cleared my throat, trying my best to gain the adolescent's attention, and once I did, I peoceeded in greeting her:

- Greetings, you must be Sarah Junior, right? My name is doctor U. N. Owen, and this, - I gestured to Lucy, who gave out her best comforting smile to the patient, - is my colleague and the best therapist, miss Ca--

- I am well acquainted with miss Cadavre, thank you, - glancing at me, the adolescent sat right on the couch this time, putting the mask beside her on the small decoration cushion, and spoke up again, - It was the first thing we did on this meeting before... She ran out of the cabinet for some reason.

Junior looked at the trainee rather apathetically, after which proceeded to stare after me with her cold eyes, as I managed to get myself straight, not turning away from her. In my 47 years lived in this society, I was well aware of how most of the patients here and manipulators in general tended to keep an eye contact with their "prey", trying to break their interlocutor's confidence, and get an upper hand in the conversation. Looking back at Sarah, I continued:

- Right, so... Getting to the main point, miss Cadavre is going to ask you some questions about your life and troubles since you must have come to us for a reason. And, let me tell you, it's very... Appreciated of you to be seeking for cure on your own, especially since not many people can be managed to get to the thera-- Excuse me, but are you listening right now?

- She isn't, sir... - replied Lucy, both me and her staring at Junior who was now looking at the ceiling while hardly blinking, - It's just as I said before, this girl tends to be spacing out from time to time, so I couldn't talk to her normally.

Glancing at the trainee, and then back at Sarah, I noticed how something black begun arising in the air beside the female... The smoke? As it began rising higher, I just then noticed how the mask, lying like before on the cushion, turned it black as its eyes and mouth's holes began glittering with a weird yellow lighting, and I could swear that on the same mask, the mouth hole widened in an awful grin, after which the smoke, as black as was this piece of Sarah's inventory, has slowly spread through the closed cabinet. Unable to sense a thing, except for some odd smell of mixed gas and cotton candy, the only thing I remember is coughing while trying to breathe through the suffocating fumes and seeing how the Sarah's silhouette, beginning to get off the couch as if nothing happened, put the mask on her face, and stared back at me, with an amused laughter tricking out of her lips, and as its volume was increasing, I lost my balance sue to inhaling too much of the smoke and had a hard fall on the floor, falling into slumber.

Since that moment, at least three hours have passed for sure, since now, looking at the clock on my wrist, I can without a doubt remember when I came into this cabinet. Oddly enough, instead of lying on the cold floor as I think I was on before, I found myself on the same couch that Junior once was on. Not only that, but there is a track of almost dried blood on the floor before the Lucy's table... Checking myself on any wounds or bruises, though, not without a relief, I found out that didn't have any savage wounds or, furthermore, any bleeding spots. Miss Cadavre, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. Right now, while writing to you about all of this story, my hands are trembling, as I can't keep my eyes from glancing at the pale lifeless body of this poor trainee. I don't know if that adolescent is still in the clinic now or what she had against Lucy, but one thing is for sure, I shouldn't have been so reckless to let the newbie take this woman in the first place... Especially not after what I found on her desk.

After reading this entire letter from her, it's clear to me that not only has she got a major peek of mental instability, but she is also needed to be secluded from society no matter the costs. This is why, even if I can't do much for you from my current spot now, please, I beg of you, be very wary. And if you ever meet an obnoxious girl in the sports costume with the dyed hair, and the foaming mask - don't come close to her, not under any circumstances. Or the consequences of this encounter may be inevitable.

#creepypasta #crrepypasta oc #sarah junior #creepy story #I'm learning to write #hope you enjoy #pls don't copy #I tried my best here #honest #my writing #alicec 666

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