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tadpolesonalgae · 5 months ago

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 19

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

a/n: so frustrated with tumblr—this didn’t save anything the first time so ultimately I had to spend forty five minutes re-editing everything

warning: a lot of head nodding

word count: 7,723

-Part 18- -Part 20-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Tentatively, you raise your hand to knock on the door.

And pause.

Your fingers are trembling faintly, a cool shiver sweeping down the length of your spine, a cold sweat beginning to prickle up from beneath your skin.

You knock, lightly.

Shadows dip at the handle, bringing the door open.

Hazel eyes glance away from the partially opened window, a cool morning breeze circulating through the room while watery autumn sunlight warms the floorboards. There’s a smell of dew in the air, along with something vaguely smokey and fresh, and it nips at your throat. You tug your sleeves a little lower over your gloves—made to conceal your skin, not keep them warm.

“Are you…are you free to talk?” You ask, stood hesitantly on the threshold.

“Sure.” He nods. “Have a seat.”

You give only a small delay, space enough for a breath to pass in between moments, one that would have gone unnoticed by human minds and eyes. Then you’re covering the distance between you, taking a seat in the armchair that’s been pushed to accommodate longer visits to his bed. You try to take your time in organising yourself in the seat, making sure your skirts are flat and unwrinkled; sat evenly on the chair; split between facing directly forward as the seat would have you, or angling yourself to face him; but it’s all belied with that sense of hurry you get around him that causes your fingers to fumble and shake, for your heart to start a butterfly-flutter in your chest, throat tightening from being in his presence.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, hands settling in your lap, pinching lightly at the fabric to give yourself something to hold on to. You struggle to look at him, keeping your gaze averted.

“…how are you?” You ask.

Sheets rustle and you can hear the quiet shift of the wooden beams before he answers. “Good.”

Toes cross in your socks, teeth tugging at the interior of your lip. “How…” —you swallow past the shudder in your chest— “Will you be up again, soon?” You ask, shifting in the chair. Eyes glance to the bedside table, peering at it for the sake of looking somewhere.

“A few more days,” he replies, sounding as if he’s uncommitted to the time frame given. A fresh breeze rolls in through the open window, curtains wafting with the wind, and you hold down a shiver, pulling yourself tighter to keep warm. Fresh air’s probably good, right?

“How are you?” He asks.

“Good. Good,” you reply, nodding your head gently. “Up and about.”

Another breeze enters, and the curtains swish against the wallpaper, scraping faintly against the vaguely abrasive texture. A book rests on the table, the edges faded yellow and for a second it strikes you how strange it is that there might not be a spell to prevent ageing. Perhaps he prefers the worn edges, though. You can imagine how they’d rasp against your fingertips. Like thousands of tiny cuts.

“Feyre mentioned you were sick a lot, when you first woke up,” you say into your lap.

“A bit.”

“But it’s over now?” You ask.

“It’s over.”

“Good. Good.” You nod your head faintly. “That's— I’m glad.”

A glass of water is beside his bed, along with a candle that’s dripped wax over its silver holder, carefully welded vines making up the handle, small flowers flourishing around the rim. Lilies.

A leather-bound notebook rests beside the novel, a pencil set straight atop it, the tip worn down and blunt.

“I heard your conversation with Mor,” he says, and your eyes flit away from the table, peering at your lap. You nod.

“From a few days ago?” He prompts, and you nod again. He sighs. “It was good that you took initiative. Maybe a bit too soon, but she’ll need some time to process what happened.”

You nod, accepting each slice across your skin. He’s known her for much longer than he has you, and he’s loved her. The blessed moments when you forget those unreachable likes of his only make the moments you’re reminded more staggeringly painful. Of course he’ll be on her side. But would it be so difficult to…

Don’t I deserve a little affection?

“Why did you…” you falter over save, disagreeing with its narrative. Lick your lips.

Just a small bit of care?

“Why?” You ask, looking at him. Tone rising at the end.

…please…

The bandages are clean across his middle torso, obscuring fractions of the ink on his chest where they curl beneath the wrappings. You know exactly where the wound lies, despite not having had the time to really study it when it happened. Just knowing it sits opposite the tiny scratch over your heart, formed into a scar. So tiny nobody would spot it unless they knew to look.

“Instinct, I suppose,” he answers after the quiet passes.

“Instinct,” you repeat, a touch faintly. You don’t know what you’d been expecting, but that makes enough sense. Maybe you’d at least been wondering if it was something more emotional than that. At least an, I couldn’t let you die. But instinct will do. Blind, indifferent instinct.

“Have you spoken with Rhys?” He asks after a pause.

“We spoke in the kitchen a couple of days ago. …he said I should speak with you…?”

“Okay,” he nods, waiting patiently. You blink, unsure where to put your eyes. You don’t know what Rhys had wanted you to visit him for. No idea if it was to try and clear up the mess that’s tangled itself between you and the male on the bed; whether he just wanted you to take the first step in improving something, to clear the air, to get things on the mend?

“Would it help if I asked you some questions?” He prompts tentatively.

You flush, lips parting slightly as you peer down into your lap, fingers pinching your skirts to keep out their tremble. You’re not…speaking about what happened; the arrow; the deep darkness that’s been cloying at your mind for the past few months… Years…

But if it’s going to be anyone, it’s going to be him.

Your lip is pulled between your teeth, blunt enamel prodding at the full flesh of the interior of your mouth. The idea of speaking about it…why you aimed the arrow at yourself…a lot of it wraps around him in a way. So if you’re going to share that with anyone…

Lungs shake when you inhale quietly, but you manage to sit a little straighter, steadying yourself. You have to learn to take the first step.

All you have to do is answer. And be honest.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing. “Okay.”

“Alright.” He nods. “We can go slowly, to start off. I would appreciate answers, but if you aren’t ready, tell me so and we can move on.”

Your heart thunders in your chest, but you agree, gloved fingers twining together in your lap, legs crossing themselves apprehensively. But slow, and easy breaths. Keeping calm, and steady. Answering as truthfully as you can bear.

“Okay,” he says, “what can you do with your magic now?”

You nod a little to yourself, swallowing, “…I think, sometimes, I can…I mean, I think I can bring it out by myself sometimes now?” He nods encouragingly. “…it didn’t hurt the last time it came out. I hardly even noticed it, actually, compared with how it was before.”

“And when was the last time it came out?”

“Oh…” you falter, quieting. “Yesterday. With Mor.”

“With Mor?”

“We had a…an argument, I think,” you answer, wanting to shrink into the floor.

“What happened?”

You fumble, there. “Can we…can you ask something else?”

“Okay.” He nods. “I can ask Mor, if that would be easier?” Your lips part, glancing at him in surprise before your eyes flit away again. “I…we just bumped into each other after dinner, and she…she asked why I went to…” You trail off, shifting uneasily in your seat.

“Did you tell her?”

“We spoke about it…yes,” you hedge, peering into your lap.

“That’s great,” he says, voice sounding softer than before, and you look at him hesitantly. “You should have mentioned that to start with. I can speak with her about it, when she comes round. If you come back tomorrow we can clear up anything left out. Will you be okay with that?”

You nod, unable to do much else as you attempt to digest and process what’s happening.

Please ask.

Hazel eyes glimmer faintly and his mouth softens, as if trying to show he’s proud with you for managing the conversation. “Was that fine for you?” He asks, watching you quietly while thousands of tiny eruptions occur beneath your skin. You manage a nod.

He glances at the clock mounted on the dresser pushed against the far wall. “I think Feyre mentioned you’ve been seeing Madja around ten, haven’t you?” He asks, and again you manage a nod, not really thinking about the occurrences.

Please don’t leave it here.

“She’s been keeping an eye on me, yes. Making sure everything’s working right.” Your voice is distant to your ears, feeling as though you’re being pulled back into your skull, watching from somewhere further away.

Ask me. Please.

“Ah. Have they been okay for you?” He asks, and you nod your head. “Fine.”

He nods. “Then I won’t keep you any longer.”

You stare at him through the surreal moment.

Show me you care. Even a little bit.

But he doesn’t, so you stand, watching distantly as your skirts swish over the floor, and you turn to leave, feet carrying you to the door, obeying the dismissal. Heart feeling as though it’s being squeezed. A heavy pressure crushing down on your chest. It’s only when you reach the threshold that you pause, something making it impossible to leave without…

You turn.

“Is it a deliberate choice?” You ask, voice shaking, hands curling in your skirts. He looks at you patiently, waiting for you to elaborate. “Are you—… Are you choosing not to ask me why I want to die, or has the thought plainly not crossed your mind?” You try to hold his gaze, but your heart fumbles, and you look away before you can even count to two. A hot wetness drips down your cheek.

“I hadn’t though you’d want to tell me,” he answers.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You ask before you can think. “You were the only one who was there. Who saw how it happened. Why wouldn’t you be perfect to speak to?”

He pauses, but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed over the vulnerable wording. “I don’t think you should make me the person you go to for that kind of solace,” he answers at last. “I don’t wish to give you reason to believe me the best choice for that.”

“Who else?” You ask, staring at him. “Who else can I go to?”

“Your sisters will always be there. I’m sure they want you to go to them. So don’t share with me that part of yourself. They’re the ones who have been there for you.”

“How can I expect them to understand? They weren’t there.”

“And you think that I’ll understand? That I do understand?”

“Yes.”

He shakes his head; is the first one to look away. “You can’t expect them to know what you feel if you haven’t even tried speaking with them about it. You’re cutting them off before you’ve even given them a chance.” Hurt aches across your chest—you want to speak with him. Want more than anything to have that shared moment between the both of you.

You open your mouth, but he looks at you again, beating you to it. “Speak with them first,” he says firmly, his features set. “If you try honestly speaking with them, giving them the chance to look after you…and if that doesn’t work, if you feel they haven’t understood you as you need them to,” he continues, making it impossible for you to look away from him, caught up in the connection. “Then I will speak with you. You may tell me about whatever you like, what you’re reading; how your day was; anything that has taken or caught your interest, be it from the Night Court, the Autumn Court, or anywhere else in our realm. But give them a chance first.”

Your jaw is trembling lightly, a delicate heat simmering in your flesh as a cool sweat slides down your spine, overwhelmed and quietly trying to keep up.

Again you open your mouth, but again he speaks before you do. “And I know you’ll instinctively want to speak with Elain, but you always pick her first. Nesta has been through what you are going through, or at least something similar,” he says, watching you with an expression you can only call imploring. “Speak with her.”

You’re too stunned to reply, left staring at him silently.

It’s probably the most you’ve heard him say. The most the two of you have spoken so intently without the conversation taking a sharp plummet.

You barely manage a nod of your head before you acquiesce, then you’re turning from him, carefully bringing the door to a close, heading for your room while the conversation circles through your mind.

————

Slim, pale fingers latch through the delicate ceramic of the teacup’s handle, thin and elegant, easily broken with an application of force, requiring careful handling. It’s a temptation Feyre resists every time she picks one up, refusing the urge to press her fingers together and snap the thin bone-like curve. How many things had she accidentally shattered after first turning? How many spoons had she inadvertently bent?

She supposes it doesn’t matter now, but the urge is still there, stronger than usual.

The two females are sat in the parlour, a fine silver tray perched between them on a dark-wood table with ornate swirls carved into its edges and swirling up its legs. A few pastries sit untouched on a finely decorated plate, a carafe of cool cream at the edge, three flavours of jam contained to glass pots that fit nicely to the dip of one’s palm. The sugar pot remains undisturbed upon the tray, its short, golden shovel tucked deep within the sweetened grains, nestled beneath and awaiting use.

“Were you aware of it?” Feyre asks, raising the teacup to her lips, basking in the wet heat that’s rising from the steamy liquid. Across from her, Mor is cupping her own drink, heated and steaming like Feyre’s, idly swirling the thin spoon to stir in the milk.

“No,” Mor answers honestly, gazing down at the swirl of her tea, clasped between her hands. Red nails squeaking faintly across the porcelain.

“You had no right to tell her any of that,” Feyre says quietly, watching her friend from over the rim of her cup, before glancing down, and taking a sip, testing out the heat. Too hot. She takes another sip, feeling the tingling singe of pain as the scalding liquid trickles down.

“I know,” Mor agrees, also looking at her tea. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t you?”

Blue-grey eyes are watching keenly, a sharp wildness glinting just at their edge, one that’s been surfacing more and more as of late. Everything seems to have such unfortunate timing. A damn filling up to its maximum capacity, before breaking. Mor meets her High Lady’s gaze steadily, unwavering. “I didn’t.”

The connection remains unfaltering, each not wanting to look away, one for the sake of appearing mistrustful, and the other for the sake of appearing too forgiving.

“What do you think it is?” Feyre asks at last, and the two mutually avert their eyes.

“I don’t know,” Mor answers quietly. “It doesn’t feel good, though.”

Feyre sends a sharp glare in Mor’s direction, but her red lips purse. “You felt it, too,” Mor points out.

“Briefly.”

“And it set you on edge, too.”

“I also only came into contact with magic a few years ago. Don’t give me excuses.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” Mor grits out, raising amber eyes from her pale mug. “I hardly noticed it having an affect until you appeared.”

“Because you were too caught up in all the emotions you wanted to unload onto my sister.”

“I’m not trying to make you pick sides,” Mor says carefully.

“Good. Then don’t.”

“You know it’s a tender wound,” she whispers, lowering her mug. “It shouldn’t have come out like it did, but it hurts.”

“You know what else hurts, Mor?”

The rest of that sentence lies unspoken between them.

Feyre knows she’s being unfair, that she clearly is picking a side. But she’s speaking as Mor’s friend, and also a sister. Not as High Lady.

Mor once again raises her eyes to Feyre’s blue-grey set, putting every ounce of sincerity, and truth she can find within herself behind her amber eyes. “I wasn’t myself,” Mor whispers, fingers paling from their grip on the cup. “I don’t know what happens with her magic, but it’s influential, even on me.”

“You want me to let this slide, then?” Feyre questions, her jaw set but there’s an obvious conflict in her eyes. Neither of them are enjoying this fallout.

“No,” Mor concedes, looking away. “My actions are my own, and I agree I went too far. But you felt it, too. You know what I’m talking about, Feyre.” The two females share a look. “Madja’s going to be here to check up on her soon, isn’t she?” Mor asks, earnestly.

“Every day, at ten o’clock.”

“Ask her to give her own opinion. What it feels like,” Mor urges. “I know my anger, I know how I hurt, and I don’t lose myself like that.”

Feyre’s lips are pursed, her brow pinched. Fatigue lines beneath her eyes, the stress of a newborn unavoidable, even with all the support being offered. It’s not easy for her. For anyone.

Not easy to deal with everything else, either. Not to mention a sister who apparently wants to die, on top of all that.

There’s so much to think about…it’s inevitable a mistake will be made.

“I’ll mention it to Madja.” Feyre relents, drinking deeply from her tea, savouring the hot liquid on her tongue. “Maybe she can offer some insight to what’s going on.”

Insight. If only it were available for the mountain pile of other problems plaguing their lives. That might crumble into an avalanche, if they aren’t careful.

————

“It’s good to see you again,” Madja greets, her round face smiling as she enters your chambers. “How have you been?”

You manage a reciprocating smile, hands tucking together in your lap as you shift on the bed. “I’m good, for the most part anyway.”

“For the most part?” She questions, taking a seat, and you toe off your slippers to settle properly against the pillows. “I…my magic flared up a little yesterday,” you admit, glancing at your toughened, flaky skin. “It didn’t hurt like it usually does; I hardly felt it. Though I was a little carried away…”

Madja nods gently. “Yes, Feyre mentioned something about that.” You look up at the healer with raised brows. “…she did?”

“She requested I look into it, if I could; it’s something I would like to discuss with you, before we start with the checkup,” she tells you clearly, that gentle look in her eyes that helps keep you at ease.

Your tongue flicks over your lips, but you agree.

“Your sister spoke of your magic feeling deathly,” Madja begins. “I’d like to see if there are any abnormalities that appear while it is in use—if you think you can manage that?”

“You’d like me to… You want me to intentionally use it?” You question, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “I don’t know…I…”

“If you’re worried about it getting out of control, or that you might injure me, I will remind you that I am a healer,” she says solemnly. “And if you are still concerned, I can tell you that your sister and I agreed it might be better if the High Lord were present, should anything get out of hand. He is available should you wish for that reassurance.”

Something sinks in your chest—you’d forgotten Madja is their healer, that she is theirs more than she is yours. She’s just doing her job.

“I…I should be able to do it on my own,” you hedge, looking at your palms. Nobody else can see how ugly your skin is. Your sisters…Madja…technically Azriel too, though he hasn’t seen it now that it’s crawled up your arms…you don’t want to have that humiliation with anyone else than you must. “If that’s okay with you?” You check, looking at her.

Madja smiles, nodding her head. “That is fine by me. Whenever you’re ready.”

Teeth worry the interior of your lip, but you splay your hands out, palms tipped upward as you recall their tingle, gathering what you can remember and bringing it to the tips of your fingers. There’s no more than a slight itch beneath your skin.

It comes easier to you that it has done before, and you can’t help the breath of ease that slips into your lungs. Before it had felt stunted, like it was trying to squeeze a full, fleshy body through a windowpane of jagged glass, slicing itself as it attempted to crawl out. But now… “There’s no pain…”

You stare down at the faint green glow, the golden shine at the edge of your skin. You could simply push, and— The light brightens, filling your flesh and shining from your knuckles, hands encompassed in the strong light.

Madja opens her hands, fingers splayed as she approaches you gently, before you feel a slight company. Something else joining you. You try to push toward it, in the direction of her magic so she can examine it better, like you do when offering your hands, shifting yourself so she can better access them.

Madja nods, and you let the magic recede back into your body, curling itself up into a peaceful rest. “I’m going to check your torso now, please hold still.” Her hands open over your body, palm settling firmly over your rib cage, that tingling warmth sinking into your skin. Her brows narrow. “You’re going to feel a brief surge of heat…” she murmurs, eyes closed in concentration.

Sure enough, there’s a small spike in temperature, and a slight sting in the aftermath but it fades swiftly enough. Her palms inch over a bit, slowly making their way across your stomach, fingertips still faintly hot with power as she continues with the checkup. You keep yourself as relaxed as possible but your heart is beating faster than usual at the discovery.

“Another quick surge,” she murmurs, and you nod despite her eyes being closed. You feel a small ball of tension popping along with a careful, targeted burst of heat. You ease a full breath into your lungs.

Her brows furrow as she settles her palms over the base of your sternum. “Will you activate your magic again?” She requests, voice faint while she concentrates. You do as she says, unspooling it again, and the heat of her palms intensifies in response to your own. “Can you bring it into your body? Away from your hands?” She asks, and your brows furrow. You’ve never tried to manipulate its centre before…but you can try now.

Your eyes flutter shut, easing back incrementally into the bed, allowing the power to prickle up your arms, crawling between the bones, wrapping around your shoulders…the two of you recoil at the same time, though you flinch from the sting of pain that splits down your spine; lacerating across your chest; through your lungs, while Madja’s retreat is from shock. The corners of her mouth are slack. Her eyes dark.

“I’m sorry,” you say frantically, trying to sit upright, “I didn’t mean— Are you okay? Did it get you?”

Madja looks at your torso, then at her hands. Then she’s settling her palms back atop your ribs. “Will you repeat that?”

You pause, looking at her as she gently guides you to lay back in the bed. “Madja…I’m not sure…are you okay?”

“I’m very well,” she replies with a smile, voice as soft and smooth as it usually is. Carefully curated to put you at ease. “I saw something that I should examine in more detail, if that’s possible. Will you repeat it?”

You look at her, lost. Concerned. Helpless. You swallow. “Okay…”

Your lids slide shut, and you reach for the power again, feeling as Madja’s warmth begins seeping into your torso, filtering through your vessel as heat begins rising in a steeper intensity to your surface, as if being called to one place by her magic. Again, you own power sprawls itself across your palms, dragging itself higher, slinking between bone and muscle, threading itself through sinew and cartilage until it reaches your shoulders, and…

“Try and hold it steady,” Madja tells you, the heat from her hands amplifying at the peak, just as you power curls itself to strike down from your shoulders.

Your throat shuts, eyes squeezed closed as you attempt to grapple with it, hands balled into fists as perspiration breaks on your brow. Trying to keep it from lashing at your internals, causing that familiar, piercing pain.

“I want you to try pushing it back to your hands now,” she instructs, but you’re struggling enough as it is. Barely keeping it contained. You need to breathe.

Madja releases her magic over your torso, and the weight of your power increases, your body straining beneath the tension when she removes that blanket that had been between you and this blazing magic. But then both her hands are firmly gripping your own, and you can feel as it filters through you, prying the pain away, dragging it back down into your forearms, then your palms, and eventually your fingertips, until it’s dissipated entirely.

You inhale heavily, breathing ragged as you try to calm yourself. “What…what was that…?”

Madja’s quiet, thumbs stroking carefully over your knuckles, keeping her magic to a faint pulse so she doesn’t upset your skin. “Will you breathe with me?” She asks. “Deep breath in…hold…one, two, three…slowly exhale…” She makes you repeat the process thrice before deeming your pulse to be relatively calmed. She offers you the glass of water that’s always sat by your bed, never draining, and you take a few sips to appease her, then a few more. A couple of small gulps, before handing it back to her.

You lick your lips, finding them hot and crisp.

She looks at you solemnly. “I would like to ask you a few questions about your magic, if you feel right enough to manage,” she tells you calmly. “I would like you to answer with as much clarity as you can. It’s imperative you’re truthful and don’t hide anything. Are you alright with that?”

You stare at her, bewildered—where has this come from? Is it serious? Are you going to die? Is it going to be painful? Will you know when it happens? Or will you have no warning. Is it happening now? About to?

You inhale sharply, deeply, breaking out of those thoughts. Exhaling heavily, before managing to nod.

“How long have you known you’ve had magic?” Madja starts with.

“…I think maybe two months? I can’t remember exactly how long ago it was that I first realised what was happening…”

“Perfect. And can you tell me what made you first realise you had magic?”

“I think it was when…I had an altercation with someone, and felt upset and angry. My hands were glowing.”

“Great. I believe you’ve mentioned a feeling that accompanies your magic?”

“Yes. …It used to hurt a lot, but recently hasn’t? The past few times, at least. Not while it’s been in my hands, anyway.”

“Lovely, you’re doing well,” she smiles. “You sister mentioned a deathly feeling to those around you, have you ever noticed that?”

“No. No, not a deathly feeling. I had no idea it felt like that for other people.”

“Okay, can you tell me how it feels for you?”

“It’s…it used to be like burning? My fingers and hands would hurt a lot. They would sweat, and I would feel dizzy some nights…I used to get up to drown my hands in water, when it started.”

Madja nods, her brows furrowed faintly as she listens carefully—believing you. Your heart tightens, and you avert your gaze.

“And all of that has been happening over the past two months or so?” She inquires.

“Well, no…I…” you pause, trying to grapple with your memory, get it into a coherent, linear form. “I’ve…I experienced the sweats, and nausea, and dizziness a lot when I first…after the…when we came to Prythian,” you answer. Madja nods her head encouragingly, and you wet your lips. “Sleeping was difficult, and it lasted for a few months before I could be normal again…I think we each had our own…moments, after the Cauldron.”

“But you didn’t experience any feelings similar to what you now know is your magic?” She asks, offering you the full glass of water, that you sip from again. Hand it back. “No. Those have only been in the past couple of months.”

Madja pauses in thought, her round face tightened as she thinks, though she doesn’t look unkind, or stern. She still looks like Madja. Then she looks up again, her warm brown eyes softened, an intent look on her face. “And how have you been feeling?”

“Me? I...” You trail off, unsure how to answer. “I’ve…been reading a lot…?”

She smiles, “that’s lovely, but I mean how have you been feeling internally?”

Her lips twitch when your brows furrow in question, looking at her strangely. “You’ve been telling me about your physical senses, tell me about how you’ve been feeling these past few months. I can imagine it might be scary to go through this?”

“Oh…I suppose…”

“You sound unsure,” Madja speculates, “do you not feel fear is an accurate descriptor?”

“I mean, I’ve been scared when it happens, naturally. It hurts, and I don’t know what causes it, or how long it will last, so I suppose in those moments it is scary.”

“But the rest of the time?” Madja prompts. “I understand you were staying up in the House of Wind, by yourself for the most part. Do you like being alone?”

“I guess I do,” you hedge, “I don’t…there wasn’t really anywhere else to go. And I liked having my own space up there, so I think it worked well. Plus I could access the libraries, so I enjoyed that part a lot.”

“You’re a big reader,” she smiles, nodding her head. “What do you like to read?”

“Mostly whatever I can find, but I like the books that tell me more about the world. There’s a lot of information I never would have gotten access to as a human, like the different climates in each of the courts, some small accounts of what it’s like overseas, where the food we eat comes from too which I find particularly intriguing. The plants and flowers are engaging too—you can see correlations between the flora and fauna distinct to each court and the characteristics they each exhibit, which I find fascinating.”

Madja’s smile broadens as she nods her head, eyes twinkling. “I remember first learning about their benefits, how different plants have certain properties too. Often plants endemic to the Dawn Court are the most potent, and it’s where we import a lot of the ingredients for medicine from.”

“Yes! I remember reading about that! But that sometimes the riversides and shores struggle with overgrowth, and measures are made to make sure seeds don’t spread too far. I remember reading too about the animals there—that a lot of them seem more jovial, compared to their relations in other courts.”

Madja’s smiling so wide you can see her teeth, one of her canines is slightly twisted inward, and the teeth on her lower jaw are a little crooked in places. You can’t see anything wrong with them—they’re just hers.

“And who else do you tell all of this?” She asks, “I imagine you would have read a lot over the course of your time here so far, who do you share all of it with?”

“I don’t…really,” you say, trailing off. “I don’t mind though. I love reading.”

“Elain enjoys botany too, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, but to the extent that she can have, I suppose. She has a garden that she keeps alive, and she bakes, too. They’re similar interests but they ultimately lead in different directions.”

“So you don’t speak with anyone about what you enjoy?” Madja asks, and you blink, fumbling a little.

“I…I choose not to, so it’s fine,” you assure. “I like reading. And I speak with Azriel about…” You wet your lips, voice fading. “I mean when I was up in the House of Wind…we spoke a lot more.”

Madja’s watching you quietly, listening to what you have to say. It feels like she’s expecting you to continue, and you don’t want it to be quiet, for the conversation to halt its flow, so you think of something to say. “We spoke a lot more…back then…”

“Has something changed?” She asks.

You look down into your lap, feeling a little far off. Distant. Not entirely present.

“I like his company…” you say vaguely, “but he’s busy, and hardworking. …and I don’t think he…” Your lips curl at the edges like dried leaves tend to beneath the sun, then they seal together. “I think he finds me a bother, at times.”

Madja’s quiet, but you can’t bring yourself to continue. Silence falls.

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been feeling that way?” She asks gently, allowing pause for you to recollect yourself, should you wish. “I think a few months,” you murmur.

“And can you tell me why you think he finds you bothersome?” Madja asks.

Your lips part by a fraction, a small gap opening between the centre of your upper and lower lip, then you’re closing them again. “I…I make bad choices, quite a lot,” you answer quietly. “And I…I don’t make it easy to be around.”

“I think your company is lovely,” Madja says softly, palm resettling over your hand, drawing your attention back outward. “What makes you think you’re difficult to be around?”

You open your mouth to give your answer, but your throat tightens sharply, lips forcefully being dragged down in the corners, and you crumple back into the bed. “I am,” you insist, eyes growing hot, then squeezing shut when they blur. “I don’t know how…I don’t know how to be normal around him. I feel like every time we speak I make it so obvious…and he doesn’t like it…and I just…”

You pull your hands away from hers to try and hide your face, to push the tears away as they fall heavily. “I wish I hadn’t tried to tell him what I…how I felt for him. I never should have…”

“Does how you’re feeling right now have any reason to do with why I was tasked with looking after you?” Madja asks, voice softened to a tender effect, and you could weep from how believable she sounds.

“He finds me a nuisance,” you whisper, hot tears dripping down your lowered face, letting them roll down your cheeks to collect at the underside of your jaw, before falling heavily into the crisp linen of the sheets. “I’m always causing him trouble of some kind. All of them.”

Heat wells behind your eyes, wishing you could go back and reorganise events so things wouldn’t have ended up like this. So you wouldn’t have caused him so much trouble, and given him reason to further distrust you. At least before he trusted you enough to give reliable recollections of your sister. If only you could go back to then.

You could at least have a use.

Madja’s thumb gently swipes across your knuckles, magic softly seeping from her fingertips. “You’re not a nuisance,” she replies solemnly. “You are not causing them trouble.”

You stare at her with a down-tilted mouth, and tears overflow from your lashes, dripping down your cheeks as your brows bunch, heart aching in your chest as small sobs break through your lungs. “I am,” you cry, head hanging as you try to inhale, but your body takes control of itself when it’s sad, and it’s not giving you chance to breathe. Madja, I am.

“Is this how you’ve been feeling these past few months?” She murmurs, stroking your palm, a hand at your shoulder as you curl your knees up to your chest, pulling them from beneath the duvet. You nod.

“I thought it might be something like this,” Madja sighs, making you look up questioningly, pushing at the tears so you can better see her. She takes both your hands in her own, and looks into your eyes. “There’s no quick fix to matters of the heart. The way you’re feeling right now, the way you’ve felt in the past, and the lows you’ll experience in the future—I can do very little right now to give ends to those. But what’s going on with your magic, within your body—that we can work on. We can start somewhere familiar, and take steps from there. How does that sound?”

But despite her good words, you shake your head. “I can’t, Madja,” you whisper. “I don’t want to.”

“Sometimes you have to,” she says, squeezing your hands. “Do you believe I have any reason to lie to you?”

You shake your head.

“Then have faith that I’m telling you the truth: you are not troubling them.”

You watch her, a pained look in your eyes. “I can’t believe that.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Madja,” you cry. “It doesn’t matter what you say, or what anyone else says. I am convinced. I know it like you know a bone will break under pressure, or that adding sugar to a tea will sweeten it. How I feel is not temporary, or fleeting, it is ceaseless and pervasive; it’s not something you can simply disprove like that—please don’t try to.”

“But in the same way I know a bone will snap with too much force, I know you are not as bad as you think you are.”

“Please, Madja,” you whisper. “If you can’t help me, do me the courtesy of believing me.”

The healer is silent, gripping your hands with her own warm palms, squeezing them gently but firm. “I do believe you,” she says with conviction. “I believe you because I have seen what you are going through, and I know how you’re feeling is as real as a broken bone, or sweetened tea. But the bone will heal, and the tea will cool—can we both agree on that?”

You cast your head down, eyes falling to your lap. “I chose poor analogies.”

Madja thumbs across your knuckles. You can hear the almost sad smile in her voice. “Then I’ll return tomorrow and you can tell me what you’ve come up with.”

———

Outside, the wind bites at your throat, stinging at your nostrils with each inhale, burning on the way out.

You clasp the scarf tighter around your neck, shoving your hands under your arms as you make the walk down the streets, careful to watch for ice on the cobbles. Winter is a while off yet, but the nights are becoming frigid enough for you to keep an eye out, particularly as the sun hasn’t yet gotten to her point in the sky where she could thaw any frost out.

Before midday you find blues and purples lurking in the shadows, greens and yellows splashing where the sun spills across the exterior of coloured houses, shop windows shining viciously where the light is hitting just at the right angle to temporarily blind and disorientate. Though an upside of Prythian is the magic that’s infused into the land, sustaining special plants that thrive in this environment: frost lilies that bloom in the coldest months, taking their water from the dew that freezes on their petals over night; moon drops that have a pale, hanging outer shell of short petals that shrivel up and die if faced with an overdose of pure sunlight; the pale pink sprawl of the lengthened, stretching leaves that creep up from the earth between houses and cobble, settling narrow, capillary-like veins spreading across whatever they can cling onto.

The long walk is enjoyable, despite the intrusive and unpleasant cold. Enough to look at, study, and recognise, to preoccupy your mind from the chill nipping at your skin, even beneath the gloves. By the time you reach the house however, your body is freer flowing, less stiff and disjointed though your extremities remain a little on the numb side, fingertips tingling faintly, and you have to remember to keep wiggling your toes in your shoes. But you’re warm enough you’ll be happy to discard the scarf once you’re inside—if she’s inside.

Looking where the shadows lie, you would think it’s an hour or so from midday, so Nesta should be in… As far as you know for certain, training is the only activity that might be an obstacle, but that should surely be done by now.

Their house is a relatively new build, but finished enough for them to have moved into soon after their mating ceremony. While remaining naturally a little barren from its short-lived existence, there’re obvious touches already emerging in the patterns and style they’ve opted for, selecting things that catch their eye, taking time to build a home rather than to rush it in a year.

A window of stained glass sits in a half-circle atop the wooden door, the panels that make up the imagery mostly clear. Dimples ripple in the crystal clear frames, while the neat cuts of coloured glass are smooth and flat, showing off the sprawling petals of a tuft of milk flowers—you realise with vague surprise milk flowers are endemic to the Night Court, but perhaps more interestingly are mostly found in Illyria. Exclusively found, rather. They’re rare, and symbols of endurance, due to the unforgiving and brutal environment they live in, remaining a small beauty amongst the barren rock of mountain. Compared to the wealth of information available on other plants, there’s little recorded about milk flowers, likely due to their habitat up in the Illyrian Steppes.

You wonder if it’s a subtle way to hold onto Cassian’s history, without brutalising their home with architecture particular to the Illyrians: exhibiting traits expressed as sturdy and practical—an antithesis of that aspiration caught in the elegance of the stained glass.

Maybe that’s a bit of Nesta’s humour bleeding through.

You land three knocks to their door, starting with a hard strike to the wood with your knuckles then a sharp decrease in force when pain bleeds through your carpals, the final knock hardly louder than a soft tap, all but giving out entirely. You cradle your hands beneath your arms, regretting the bout of recklessness.

No noise comes from inside, so you’re startled when the door opens, sharp hazel eyes peering at you from within the relative darkness, watching for a second before the door opens wider and a broad smile breaks across his face. “Well aren’t you far from home,” Cassian chuckles, shoulder keeping the entrance open, “what are you doing all the way out here? On a mission?”

You swallow, managing a smile, understanding he’s joking but too drained to be believably reciprocative. “Somewhat,” you reply, trying to sound humorous, “is Nesta in, too?”

“I should have known you’d be here to visit her,” Cassian remarks, sighing into the frame before gesturing for you to come inside. “Come in, I’ll go pull her from her reading.”

You give an appreciative nod before following in behind him, catching the door as it closes with an oomf, surprised by its heavy weight, knocking you back a step. You gingerly step inside, crouching down to untie the laces of your boots, freeing your socked feet as you push the shoes to the rack before again standing, peering about the entrance hall. The walls are pale, having not yet been painted with whatever colour or wallpaper they’ll eventually settle on. From around the corner you can make out the faint pad of footfalls, and Nesta appears a few seconds later, sharp eyes finding you instantly. She greets you. Asks you why you came.

You fumble. How does one begin a conversation like this?

“I…haven’t visited in a while,” you end up telling her. “I thought I might come by—if you aren’t busy? It’s not urgent,” you quickly add.

“I’ve nothing planned,” she replies, glancing to where the light is falling on the floor. “It’s a little early for lunch, but I suppose we can begin.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you assure, “I don’t think it’ll take long.”

“What will take long?”

“Nothing,” you affix, blinking once.

Nesta hums, then turns in the hallway. “Then we can go to the sitting room. It’s still lacking some furniture here and there, just so you know.”

You nod, forgetting she can’t see you with your head turned, then follow after her as she makes her way down the hallway and to the right, entering through an empty doorway that leads to the living room. She takes a seat in a chair with a dipped pillow, guessing it was where she’d been before you interrupted. You take a seat adjacent.

Ataraxia lays upon the table like a discarded shopping list, except much bigger, and much deadlier.

“So,” Nesta muses, “what did you want to speak with me about?”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @fae-glamour-petrichorus @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader fic #azriel x reader angst #azriel multi part fic #acotar multi part fic #cbmthy #cbmthy chapter 19 #can’t bring myself to hate you

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elbdot · 11 months ago

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You know what? This year may have been THE most chaotic one yet in EVERY aspect of the word - but it surely was my most productive year as well! As many emotionally ups and downs as I had, as hard it was to distract yourself from the CHAOS of the world and the justified anger, fear and frustration of the people, I can still say that my year has been more positive than the ones before! I feel different - more like...myself. MORE me. Almost complete. And I have the strong desire to show more of myself out there, to be seen and recognized for what I do and who I am, I want my work to go OUT THERE, to make new friends and find new business partners so I can finally go ALL OUT and republish my books - and I did actually form new friendships this year, more in one year than I did in the past 6 years combined, it's incredible! I stepped out there and made new friends by not even particularly DOING anything - I was just me: A pure bug nerd walking with Maybugs and wild bees on my hands through the streets - that's how I met MULTIPLE people this year.

And I gave myself the space and time to flourish artistically in EVERY direction - From Fakemon Designs to animal studies, horse illustrations, realistic styles, comic styles, personal-, fan- and Pokemoncomics, traditional animation, puppet animation, Photography, SKITS on Youtube - EVERYTHING I wanted to do I DID and I am VERY PROUD that I was able to see through and finish almost everything I started this year or had begun to work on the year before!

There's so much I still want to do and I hope to achieve next year - when I hopefully am more in power again, when my body has recovered from its current whooping cough, when I can contact agencies again. And I really hope social media will become more kind to us artists again, when we currently have to struggle so much with algorithms who want us to be influencers and content machines to post daily. That's why I'm really grateful for my community here on tumblr and the fact that it is not being dictated by an unforgiving algorithm like twitter and Instagram is. On here you actually still have a chance to be seen.

Thank you all SO MUCH for your support this year! Especially those of you, who decided to join my community on Patreon and have become part of my Discord server. You guys have lifted my spirit in ways I couldn't describe and I'm so happy to have such a kind and incredibly generous community! Truly, thank you all so much for being here!

Onward to 2024, let's hope it will treat us all with gentleness and kindness 🥹🥰💖💕

Socials | Patreon

#art #artists on tumblr #art vs artist #happy new year #illustration #digital art #pokemon #fantasy #horses #fakemon #comics

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 year ago

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John Wick x You │Tarasov's Daughter

You are the eldest daughter of Viggo Tarasov. You’re smart enough to take over the family business, but you’ve always been overlooked because you’re a girl (their loss). But John Wick sees you. In fact he saw a lot of you, once, when he’d been your bodyguard for a brief time during a turf war back in the day. You’re not sure who seduced who really, but you’ve never forgotten the feeling of his big hands digging into your hips or his teeth in your shoulder while he fucked you against the marble top of your bathroom sink, watching you go to pieces for him in the mirror. Maybe he was even your first! You seethed with jealousy when you heard he left the Underworld to get married to a nice normal American lady and settle down in domestic bliss. You were actually allowed to DO that? No one in this life ever really got out. You can’t help but think that you could have made him just as happy as some boring middle-aged photographer. Helen. What a stupid name. So when the shit hits the fan after your dumbass brother Iosef disrespects John Wick (and kills his dog, what the actual fuck?) you wonder if John will come after you.

Pick your poison: Canon!John Wick │ Dark!John Wick │ Yandere!John Wick

18+, all the warnings, dead dove do not eat! Predator kink, size kink, kidnapping, dub-con, brat taming, dark!john, mean!John, yandere!John , jesus fucking crist tumblr u have broken me…🙃

Canon!John Wick

John doesn’t hurt women unless they are really REALLY giving him no choice (Looking at you, Perkins!). But you are the means to his end, so he doesn’t hesitate to take you for bait for Iosef and your father’s men. He is raw and back in full predator mode after taking a hiatus for five years. Of COURSE you piss him off, and when you try to escape he snaps. He still calls you moya milaya printcessa (my sweet princess)tho while he fucks you against the wall with his hand on your throat. When the idiots your father employs do finally come for you John kills them all, and your brother, and your uncle after taking back his car. He lets you go, and a part of you forever wishes that he’d kept you…

Dark!John Wick

You were always such a fucking brat back when he had to watch over you, and finally he can get his revenge. When you mouth off he undoes his tie and uses it to gag you, something he’s always wanted to do, and as you watch him whip off his belt with such calculated flourish you are practically sliding off your chair. He bends you over his knee, the way someone should have a long time ago, and he taunts you when he finds you’re soaking with slick in between whipping you. Is it just you, or is he not hitting you half as hard as he could tho? You don’t know and you don’t care, you’re 98 percent sure you’re not getting out of this alive, so you at least want to die having had his magnificent manhood inside you one last time. You are delirious by the time he soothes the welts on your ass with the light touch of his fingers. “Are you going to be my good little girl now?” he demands as he tosses you on the bed like you’re just a ragdoll. Like he wants to hear your reply, he removes his tie from your mouth.

“If you fill me up with that big beautiful cock of yours.”

He laughs at you, and you get the feeling he’s delighted by your sass, even in this cruel mood. “You don’t get to make the demands anymore, milaya.” He slaps your thighs apart and goes down on you, licking you relentlessly, bringing you to the edge again and again but never letting you cum.

“Please, please, please,” you beg and tears stream down your face as finally you watch him undo his pants. He has utterly broken you.

“You always were such fucking whiner,” he hisses, pulling your hair hard as he plunges himself inside your swollen cunt. You hate him for how good it feels as he fills every last inch and corner of you, and if you ever get your hands free you’re so going to make him pay for this.

Yandere!John Wick

John always carried a torch for you, but you were so off limits. The boss’s daughter. A sure death sentence, but it almost would have been worth it. He’d thought about you constantly for a good long while, your beauty and your body was burned into his brain, but then he met Helen, and that fire smoldered to red hot coals he kept in the back room of his twisted black heart. But when Iosef starts shit there is absolutely nothing to stop him from taking what he’s always wanted. He’ll make you his perfect little pet, one last bit of revenge against the Tarasovs for disrespecting him after all he’d done for them.

When you see him materialize from the shadows in the mirror behind you, you try to go for the gun you keep in the top drawer of your vanity. You’re half certain he’ll kill you for it, but you’re y/n Viggovna Fucking Tarasov, and you will not fucking beg like your little bitch of a brother undoubtedly did. You’re not surprised when he manages to disarm you in the blink of an eye. You wait for the blade in your throat or the gunshot in your gut but he just holds you in those inexorably strong arms, looking down at you with those burning dark eyes. He’s so tall, he’s so much bigger than you and that always turned you on.

“You’re mine now, printcessa.”

You know you’ve always been his but you hate being helpless. He kisses you hard, unforgivingly, possessively, and you try to bite him but he knocks you out with a headbutt. Ouch!

You wake up in a luxuriously appointed room that you just know in your gut is now your new prison. Wick is no fool. There are digital locks on the doors. There are windows that you know will be unbreakable. Your hands are bound above your head, and though you try to worm free it’s impossible. After a while John enters, straddling you on the bed. Even though your legs are free his weight pins you down, you are trapped, and you’re embarrassingly certain he can feel the heat that’s pooling between your legs for it. His face is covered in cuts, his knuckles are torn. He’s been through Hell, but he came out the other side, the way you begrudgingly knew he would. “Your family’s dead,” he tells you. “No one’s coming for you.” He doesn’t really seem to take any joy in it, his handsome face stoic as stone. “You belong to me now, and I hope your father rolls over in his grave every time I defile you.”

You try not to enjoy it while he rails you into the soft mattress, or when he touches you while he does it, his long fingers so exacting. He is a master of manipulating the human body, for pain or for pleasure. You think he makes you cum out of ownership over anything remotely tender, but he makes you see God so often it almost feels like he cares about you. He becomes your dark deity, the altar you worship on, even if just in the deepest depths of your heart. You still have some pride.

You still try to fight and still try to run, even though he punishes you every time. Maybe you’re made bold by the fact that he hasn’t killed you, where he killed everyone else. They were kind of assholes though. John kept you, after all, and you can’t fault his taste. You think he secretly loves the chase, maybe even admires you for fighting him when there really is no hope. He loves reminding you who is in charge though too, and on nights when he’s in a particular mood you know you won’t be able to sit without feeling it for a week.

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fic #john wick x you fic #keanu reeves #yandere john wick #dark!john wick #john wick imagine #john wick imagines

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kryptonitejelly · 7 months ago

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Grease & Tequila - a Flyboy One-shot

Top Gun: Maverick - Jake Seresin x Reader - part of the Flyboy!Universe

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

Genre: romance; fluff; angst; best friends to lovers

Warnings: general hangman being hangman; sexual tension; general cursing; will contain mentions of a break up / previous relationship; general use of pet names; fem!reader; pining; general naval / flying inaccuracies; alcohol; being drunk.

Length: One-shot

Summary: Set 5 months pre the Flyboy!era. The one where Jake gets the call that you and Dan have broken up and he has to be on the next plane to New York, now.

Flyboy | Mini-Series Masterlist

(not fully updated as of today, but if you follow / search the tag “flyboy universe” / “flyboy” / “flyboy fic” / “flyboy!jake” on my tumblr you’ll find recent asks / headcannons / blurbs!)

A/N: It’s been a while, and this isn’t all that exciting, but I think it definitely (I hope) sets the scene for Flyboy and helps everything click into place.

DISCLAIMER: all work posted here is purely fanfiction; it does not in any way purport to be an accurate representation of real life or the general workings of any institution.

��Lieutenant,” Admiral Craig’s voice booms out as Jake opens the door to his office. The Admiral waits for Jake to shut the door completely before he starts up again, “I got your last minute absence request.”

“That is correct, Sir,” Jake nods, as he comes to a stand in front of the Admiral’s desk. He stands with his feet hip width apart, hands behind his back, eyes meeting the older man’s.

“Everything okay?” The Admiral asks, his gaze steady on Jake’s. It was rare for a last minute absence request to come across his desk, which meant that when they did - it was usually pressing.

“Just something I need to attend to, Sir.” Jake responds, his mask not slipping, but the Admiral hears the weight behind his words. There is a silence pause between the two men, before the Admiral picks up his pen, signing the bottom of the two sheets of paper before him with a flourish. He was never one to refuse these requests as long as he deemed them legitimate, but he made it a point of looking the requestor in the eye to make his own assessment of the situation before approving them. He didn’t need to know the why, unless it was volunteered by the requestor him/herself, but he needed to know that it wasn’t being abused and Jake Seresin, for all his ego and cockiness, was a dedicated solider. He wouldn’t ask, unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Approved,” the Admiral says simply before passing one of the sheets to Jake. Jake’s mask doesn’t crack, but the Admiral sees a twitch of relief as Jake remembers how to breathe, “Godspeed.”

“Thank you Sir.”

Jake shifts irritably in his seat as he waits for boarding to be complete. He had reached out to Grandma Doris’ personal assistant once he had gotten off the phone with you, even before he had submitted his flight request, his text to her was just one sentence, twelve words long - I need to be on the next flight to New York, please. He usually would not have bothered her, but this - this was a pressing situation, he just had to get on that plane. She had, the blessing that she was, gotten hold of two flight options for him, the next flight to New York, and the next next as a backup, both in first class no less, with a simple request to let her know when he needed a flight ticket back from New York.

“May I offer you a hot towel, Mr Seresin?” The stewardess stops beside his seat. Jake shakes his head, offering her a polite half smile.

“No thank you.”

“How about some nuts, or maybe a drink?” She tries again.

“How long more do you think it’ll be till take-off?” Jake’s question is abrupt and she is quiet for a second, slightly taken a back. He isn’t rude, but is, obviously antsy.

“I think another twenty minutes Mr Seresin,” she says as she follows his gaze out of the window.

“Thanks,” is all she gets from Jake as he continues to stare out of the window beside him as if willing take-off to come faster.

“Anything else?” The cashier of the fried chicken shop just around the corner from your apartment building asks Jake as he rings up the total on the till.

“That’s all, thanks.” Jake says as he slides his card out of his wallet before tapping it against the screen of the payment machine which is proffered to him.

“Here’s your receipt, please wait on the right.” Jake slides his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans before stepping towards the right. The tequila which he had picked up on his way out of the airport is in his backpack, the shape of the bottle pressed against his back, a reminder that he was just that much closer to what he came to New York for.

The ride up the elevators to your apartment is excruciatingly slow, and Jake taps his foot against the ground the whole way up. He hadn’t had to buzz you to let him up, managing instead to catch a couple on their way out and slip into the building - something which he made a mental note of in the back of his mind - perhaps it was time to convince you to move to somewhere with a doorman or concierge for increased safety.

The bottle of tequila is now in one of his hands, and the bag of greasy fried chicken and fries in his other - his remedy for your broken heart. Alcohol, fast food, and well, him. His eyes are fixed on the flashing red numbers as if willing the elevator to go faster. It stops with a ding, and Jake all but runs out.

He hears you before he sees you, hears faint noises and shuffling, the unlocking of a separate bolt and a lock before you pull open the door an inch to peer out past the safety chain. His eyes meet yours, and sees your eyes, glassy and red rimmed, no doubt from crying meet yours. The doors shuts fully for a second or two as you undo the safety chain before it is pulled open fully.

Jake takes you in the second the open door reveals you - the red tip of your noise, hair on top of your head in a loose, messy up do, body clad in an oversized t shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants and he feels a funny tug in his chest.

“I thought you might need this,” he says as he holds up the items in his hands. You hold his gaze for a second more, and then it happens, the glossiness in your eyes turn into tears which spill over onto your cheeks as you take a step forward, throwing your arms around Jake’s body, burying your face in his chest. Jake hears, but also feels the sobs that wrack your body against his front and he is quite sure that in that moment, the tug in his chest feels like a earth shattering crack.

“I got you,” he says gruffly, bringing both his hands down around you, while still holding onto both items. His words only intensify the sobs coming from you and all Jake can do is draw you closer.

“I’ve never liked him,” Jake snorts as he watches you down yet another shot of tequila. You are both sitting around the coffee table in the floor of your living room, greasy chicken and fries demolished, the open bottle of tequila three quarters gone - with more damage having been exacted on the bottle by you than by Jake. Jake isn’t drunk, but he definitely isn’t sober, which means that neither are you.

“He’s an asshole,” you half shout, your words slurring from the alcohol as you let your self sag backwards, leaning against the sofa before you let yourself droop sideways, your head coming to rest on Jake’s shoulder. Jake shifts, moving his arm around you. It allows you to scoot further into his side, your face turning slightly to rest against the side of his chest. You breathe in his scent, the faint smell of soap, laundry detergent and airplane along with his own natural musk, which wraps around you like home, and you feel Jake’s fingers running themselves soothingly along your arm..

“Say the word, I’ll beat him to a pulp,” Jake says, dropping the side of his cheek against the top of your head, his finger squeezing the top of your arm gently. His tone is light, joking almost - but yet not really. Nevertheless, the thought of Dan facing off against Jake makes you chuckle lowly. Dan was no slob himself, he maintained a decent level of fitness - occasional runs, regular visits to the gym, but he might as well have been one compared to Jake. Dan worked out for aesthetics, but next to Jake, who had worked out for functionality all his life, football, the Navy, Dan paled greatly in comparison.

“He’ll never stand a chance,” you say, amused as you close your eyes. Your head has started to get impossibly heavy, your tongue feels thick from the copious amounts of alcohol running through your system, and you let your head rest heavier on Jake’s chest.

“That’s the idea,” is what Jake says and it makes you giggle this time as you sink yourself further into Jake’s hold, seeking out a comforting, physical closeness. Jake can feel yourself pressing into him.

“C’mere,” he mutters, as the arm he has around you tightens. You feel movement, and Jake is reaching across your body, managing to slip an arm under your legs to pull you onto his lap.

“Jake,” your protest is weak because you don’t put up an ounce of a fight, opting instead to shift along with him so that you are comfortably nested on his lap, your ear against his shoulder, tip of your nose just about brushing the side of his neck, “I’m not a child.”

“Mmm,” Jake simply hums in agreement with your words, both his arms coming to form a loose, protective cocoon around you.

You both sit in a comfortable silence, a haze of alcohol enveloping you both. Truth to be told, the break up, the serial cheating - it all hadn’t come as a surprise to you. You had suspected on many occasions, but it had been easier to ignore and live in denial than to face the truth after 3 years of being with the same person. It had broken you for many reasons, and it still hurt like hell to lose a constant presence with which you had spent the past 3 years with, but you weren’t all that sure it had broken your heart, not when your relationship had been fizzling out for a while and you’ve suspected for months.

“He wasn’t good enough for you, you know,” Jake says as he turns his head slightly, managing to plant a half kiss on the side of your temple.

“You say that with every break up,” you laugh dismissively, “that’s what best friends are supposed to say.”

Your words make Jake frown and he moves himself to move you, making you sit up sideways on his lap so that he can look you in the eye. Your are slightly elevated from being seated on his thigh, and you find yourself staring down, holding his gaze. You slide the palms of your hands past his shoulders to steady yourself.

“They were all not good enough for you,” is what he says, unwavering as he holds your gaze. From your sideways position, you can feel one of Jake’s hands sliding around your back, and coming to rest on your waist, and the other coming to rest loosely across your lap.

“Or maybe I wasn’t good enough for them,” you say with a rueful quirk of your lips, letting yourself drown in alcohol induced post break-up self pity. Your words only make Jake’s brows furrow together, a flash of irritating passing through his eyes. It makes him move the arm hanging across your lap up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing the space just below your eye. You let yourself luxuriate in the warm against your cheek, leaning into his hold. You see Jake’s gaze dart from your eyes to your lips, but the fuzziness of your mind doesn’t let you overthink at just how intimate the moment between you both is.

“You are too good for all of them,” is what he says. You see a flash of something in Jake’s eyes, and perhaps if you were sober, it would have been something you could more accurately place, but you can’t.

“I want to go to bed,” you say, your exhaustion suddenly hitting you and you let your eyes close, weight of your head still balancing on Jake’s hand.

“Ok,” is all he says as his thumb continues to move gently across your skin.

“Come with me?” You say, your ask clear, you didn’t want to be alone - it was simple, nothing more, no innuendo and you knew that Jake would understand.

“Ok,” he repeats as he finally drops his arm from your cheek.

Jake has a hand behind his head, eyes fixed up on the ceiling of your bedroom. You had fallen asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, no doubt attributable to all the tequila you had ingested, but also a sure sign at just how exhausted you were. He had taken a quick shower, ridding himself of whatever traces of airplane he had left on him, before tugging on the pair of shirt and shorts he had brought along with him and, true to his word - gotten into bed with you. There was no way in hell was he allowing you to wake up alone.

He lets the soft hum of your snores wash over him, and Jake tilts his head down to watch the rise and fall of your body from where it is curled up beside him in a fetal position under the covers. You look at peace, finally - but he can see the sunken skin beneath your eyes, a tell tale sign that not all was well.

“Baby,” he sighs, murmuring to himself, the term of endearment slipping too naturally from his lips, as you shift, your body finding its way a few inches closer to him. He doesn’t hesitate, removing the arm from behind his head to caress the side of your cheek. Your snores stop, turning instead to an sleep exhale of content, and in that moment, it strengthens Jake’s resolve. He feels the gears shift in his brain and chest, feelings that he had kept at bay in the recesses of his mind and heart for months, years, coming to shore. He had spent the past 3 years watching you fumble your way around with Dan, and even more before that with different men that you had dated, but it was enough - fuck that. He was sick of watching them hurt you, breaking your heart when you deserved so, much, more. Jake wasn’t going to let that happen again. The next person you dated was going to be your last, the person you dated, was going to be him.

“Text me when you land,” you twist your fingers around, interlocking them with each other as you and Jake stand on the sidewalk outside your apartment, waiting for his car to pull up.

“I will,” he says while watching you twist your fingers together. You weren’t ready for him to leave, and neither was he - ready for himself to leave, but the days since his arrival on Thursday night had blown past, and Sunday had come too soon, “text me whenever you need,” he says as he extends an arm, pulling you sideways into him. His action makes you stumble slightly, and you reach out with a hand, to grab him around his waist.

“I will,” your response is a parrot of his. It had been a great past few days, once you had gotten over the hangover that hit you both, but you harder, on Friday morning. Jake had forced you out of the house for two whole days of everything and nothing - strolls around the city all while forcing you to thread your arm through his, making sure you filled your stomach with an assortment of food, watching bad television together in your apartment. He had filled your space with laughter, familiarity, and physical touch when you needed it most and you weren’t ready for him to leave.

“I’ll miss you,” he says, leaning sideways towards you to brush his lips against the top of your head. Jake lets his lips linger for a second or two, and you let your eyes close - letting yourself be vulnerable, enjoying the moment.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” you voice is soft, small almost, the truth of your words both a happy feeling for Jake, but also a stab to his heart.

“I wish I didn’t have to either,” he says gruffly, removing his lips from the top of your head to pull you into a bone crushing full frontal hug. He could see a car approaching from the end of the road, his time with you dwindling now to just mere seconds, “I’ll see you soon,” he says, a statement, not a question as you cling onto him in similar fashion.

“Soon,” you echo, a promise between you both.

“So how long are you leaving your girlfriend for?” The driver asks his question conversationally as he pulls away form the sidewalk. Jake’s gaze lingers on you as he raises a hand to wave goodbye. He sees you offer a lopsided smile and a similar wave of your hand.

“I don’t know,” he admits to the driver without much thought, not bothering to correct him. Jake keeps his gaze trained on you until he is no longer able to.

“Hopefully you’ll see her again soon,” is what the driver continues with conversationally, “she looks crushed that you’re leaving.”

“Yeah, hopefully,” is all Jake can say as he settle back into the seat of the cab, his mind far away, his heart still with you.

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sandara-and-coco · 1 year ago

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₊˚⊹⋆ Hello! As promised it’s time for the girls ! ₊˚⊹⋆

Sandara pulled off her jewelry making skills again to prepare these magical sandy rings for every sandrocker who wishes to propose to their soulmate ! So without further and just like the boys here’s a little story behind each design ;)

Nia - In a heartfelt request asked for a ring crafted in the essence of her dearest bloom, a symbol of love shared with her cherished one. Adorned with pink diamonds and fashioned from rose gold, it mirrors the sentiment embodied in the exquisite "Heart Blossom."

Grace - With a desire profound to gift her beloved a symbol of her unwavering support and sought to give them a keepsake to bear her essence wherever destiny may lead. Entrusting Sandara with the task, she envisioned a ring of pure white gold, cradling a gem akin to the one gracing her ears, a tangible testament to the boundless love she holds for her soulmate.

Catori - This ring was made with the very gold from the Golden Goose tokens at Catori's request so she could share a part of her passion with her promised one !

Venti - Came by with this special raw mineral she extracted herself asking Sandara to make the most unbreakable ring ever !

Amirah - Wanted a special ring to crystallize her emotions into a tangible treasure. She tenderly sought a ring that echoed the ethereal beauty of the Mountain Rose for her beloved.

Heidi - The architect of her own ring's design crafted a plan infused with finesse and elegant details, each element meticulously chosen to hold the strong bond she share with her soulmate.

Elsie - Envisioned for her loved one a ring that seamlessly blended elegance and practicality, a pretty jewel in shiny silver ornate with a deep blue gem that would also speak volumes about her journey with her beloved.

Jane - Wished for a jewel that could eloquently express her deep attachment to her most cherished one. The delicate butterflies adorning the piece carry a special message, symbol of their love and heralding a new beginning filled with boundless happiness and joyful moments yet to unfold !

Mi-An - Driven by a wish for her lover's prosperity and a testament to her diligent efforts in revitalizing Sandrock, commissioned a ring with a distinctive touch. In response, Sandara crafted a four-leaf clover adorned with enchanting green gems, a radiant embodiment of Mi-An's sincere emotions and her dedication to transforming their shared world into a flourishing oasis.

Hope the girls could win your hearts with these custom rings!

Again I had a great time making these for the fandom with the help of my fellow tumblr builders out here so big thanks to them too ♡

#my time at sandrock #mtas #sandrock #mtas nia #mtas grace #mtas catori #mtas venti #mtas amirah #mtas heidi #mtas elsie #mtas jane #mtas mi an #the girls rings are finally here 💍#hope you will enjoy these customs one too ♡#bachelorettes rings #rings project

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13mo · 5 months ago

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ive been following u for years, u havent been posting for so long, so i wanted to ask if u will ever be back nd posting again? love ur art nd i was just curious whats happening nd what to expect. don't plan on unfollowing regardless tho love u hope ur ok

I have quite a few asks to this degree so I feel it's important to answer than mentally avoid them for the rest of my blogging career.

I have really lost my drive for digital art and drawing all together. Basically, the last time staff tried to delete my blog, it forced me to realize that if this one ever disappeared, it would end every thing. The only remnants I would have would be from random reblogs, stolen reposts, or the random things on the wayback machine and pinterest. If years of my art & my progress would mean nothing & be gone in an instant, posting here at all began to mean nothing.

I don't appreciate how tumblr treats it's marginalized users and I know this is a rising concern with plenty of other users.

I also stopped drawing consistently around the time I graduated and moved across the county. Where some people flourish from such big changes, I did not. I lost all creative drive from the struggles of adult life, finances, time management, and so on. It happens! LOL

Genuinely, the lack of creative output in my life was depressing. Making art depresses me, not making art depresses me. It's an ongoing process to convince myself it is still worth the time and effort. I hope to someday get back in to the flow of creativity that use to encompass my (entire) life. I actually plan on it. However, I don't know if I'll ever feel up to start posting here consistently again. If I do, it might be a while.

I appreciate all of your concern and support. The years we've put in to this blog, the friends I've met, and the memories I've made have been wonderful. With that being said, I really wouldn't be so hurt if you unfollowed me:-)

#tldr life hard. dont feel like it. ;-)

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audreyscribes · 7 months ago

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Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 🧝‍♀️MYSTERIOUS HALF-NYMPH DEMIGOD (?) 🧝‍♂️ (PART 2)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is PART 1 of the Mysterious Half-Nymph Demigod Headcanons. Due to the size limit of Tumblr, I had to split the entire work into two. [LINK TO PART 1 HERE] This is just 1 out of the 4 works I have planned and written for, and these works will be categorised as the MISCELLANEOUS GODS due to not the fact these gods are minor or anything, but because I did mention this in an ask before and it's easier to think about due to the canon PJO worldbuilding. These works will be a bit more loose since I'm taking a shot in the wild so hopefully you guys like it. Thanks for reading!!

You merge yourself into camp life, doing the same activities as the other campers like you’re one of them. The days go by relatively normal as you start following the wishes of your parents; with you even making friends along the way. By then, the reaction of people knowing you’re probably half-nymph ebbs and flows; some still whisper as you walk by, and some simply do not care.

You find things you’re good at and the ones you’re bad at. Though without anything definitive that may help you with who your parent is; given being nature spirits. Even as you help out with the children of Demeter and Dionysus with the strawberry fields, they don’t particularly flourish under your care. Meg very bluntly tells you unless your parent was a strawberry nymph, then you’re just tapped into having a green thumb. A boy with brown hair and freckles on his face quickly slaps his hand over her face before giving you a stammered apology for his friend before his eyes land on you. You swear you see his eyes flash an unearthly blue in surprise before his breath hitch. You attempt to ask what’s wrong before the boy excuses him and Meg, dragging away from you. You only see Meg kick his butt, yelling at him in the distance and the boy hurriedly apologising but also gesturing wildly at you.

Yet between the camp activities and almost mundane acts, you find yourself being pulled to the side occasionally to be asked questions on your parentage. No one’s sure if you’re ever going to get claimed considering that regular nymphs don’t have a claim, nor your deity parent would have a claim that they would recognize. That dose of reality dampens your spirit and you always find yourself in a rut. In those moments, you find yourself either being drawn to the water down by the shore, sitting on the ground and letting the water lap at your bear feet as you stare out at the horizon; or finding your feet taking you towards Cabin 3, The Poseidon Cabin. As if you’re being pulled towards it. You never tried entering in, just staring at the strange familiarity of it.

Eventually, one particular night, you were having a dream. You know it was something from your childhood and your nymph parent. You were so close to getting that detail but before you could grasp it, you’re startled awake by the foot kicked in your side. You let out a gasp, torn out of your dream as you look at the offender in anger to only see the person next to you hanging in a strange limb covering in what looks like to be military grade sticky string. Grumpy, you decide to take a little walk outside, cooling your nerves. Again, you find yourself at the Poseidon Cabin. You sit at the steps, letting its presence wash its presence over you and calm your nerves.

“So…uhh, can I help you?” you hear as you jump out of your skin and whip your head towards the sound. There in his glory, you see Percy Jackson. You haven’t seen him before, only hear of him but you feel that strange familiarity. You quickly stammer out your explanation and while Percy seems confused, he listens well before you start to see something like understanding in his eyes.

There you eventually see Percy more often as moral support. You find yourself easily talking to him as he sort of helps you, teaching you how to fight with a sword and recounts his tale of his own attempt to figure out who his godly father was. You’ve heard the story before but not as detailed and personal from the source. You find yourself enamoured.

It’s not long after you learn who your nymph parent is.

Everything comes to a head when its time for Capture the Flag. The Hermes cabin are on the Blue team, with Athena leading the charge. Percy pats your back as a teammate and tells you it’ll be fine. He told you how he got claimed but something about it seems like deja vu. The game continues on as it does but eventually you find yourself cornered by a couple of demigods who have taken it their personal mission to bully you for being half-nymph. You fight 1 vs 4 and then you find yourself pushed to the edge of the cliff. Your feet dangerously close and cornered. Yet you hear a voice calling to you to the waters below and you fall back. The water catches your fall, enveloping you like a mother’s hug and then you find yourself being rushed with power.

You rise out of the water, with it swirling beneath you while raising you upwards like a pedestal. You watch your bullies look up at you with awe and fear, as you look down at them. You lost your sword but in your hand was a trident.

The game came to an end with a win to your team and your enemies washed up on the shore. You find yourself walking down the steps of water and then reality hits you. You see Percy and everyone else staring at you. You hear people whispering that you’re a child of Poseidon but as you look at Percy, you see him come to the same conclusion, you both know…you’re not.

Then everyone gasps, yelling at the dolphin claim over your head in confusion before you hear some others curse. You feel the earth start to shake in anger and the waters crash and rumble, causing people to shriek at the rising tide. Your head is desperately looking around as people are scrambling to get out of the rapidly rising water with the ground shaking beneath their shaky legs. You can hear Percy yell furiously at the water, grabbing you to his side protectively as the water takes over. As the water swirls around you, you can hear two people yelling in the water but your ears are ringing. Percy has you close to his side, making sure you don’t get swept away and you can make out him yelling at a man before you. You see a tall woman with long black hair, pinked back in a net of pearls and silk with eyes dark as mocha; her flowing white gown looked like seafoam, paired with a circlet of polished red craw claws. By the woman’s side, you saw a man who you saw so much Percy in him. The man and woman seemed to be having an argument, their hands gesturing to you and Percy. The son of Poseidon stood beside you with his sword being held limply before you saw he was getting more and more irritated before he let out a New York whistle, gathering the two’s attention. He started saying something to them with both gods looking a bit meekish before nodding along with whatever Percy was seeing before the two couple seemed to reconcile. The woman leaned down to you, gently brushing your hair gently as you remembered who she was. The man gave you a weak smile and nod, patted Percy’s shoulder.

Your ears are roaring with adrenaline and confusion, and with the swirling tides, you can’t hear anything. So you focus on what’s in front of you. Then it hits you that the woman looks familiar to you, then you see your features on the woman…then you realize, no you’ve been seeing some of her features on your face in the mirror.

The water recedes and you hear people call out your names. You turn as Chiron gallops in front of you as Percy curses. People ask what’s going on before he sighs as he puts a hand on your shoulder, gathering the crowd’s attention with a New York whistle before addressing them.

“The bloodline is determined. Queen and Goddess of the Sea, Consort of Poseidon. Hail, [y/n] [l/n], child of Amphitrite.”

SILENCE

Then,

Chaos.

You see the child of Hera and Persephone look at you with a dumbfounded look before they walk over to you, patting your backs in sympathy as you are revealed to be Amphitrite’s demigod child. Completing the Big Three’s Wives’ Demigod Children.

🌊 AMPHITRITE: QUEEN OF THE SEA, GODDESS OF THE SEA, MEMBER OF THE NEREIDS 🔱

A/n: So it turns out I forgot I had Rick Riodan and Rocco's Percy Jackson Greek Gods book this entire time that I bought YEARS ago, so I dusted it off and read a couple bits and BOY, I should've read it this sooner. I'm now using the knowledge from the canonized information perspective of the PJO's of the gods so here's one of them! So yeah, turns out out of the Big Three Wives, Amphitrite is the only goddess out of them that has no problems with Poseidon having relationships outside of their marriage and treats his children pretty well. In fact, Amphitrite made Percy cookies, and both of them have a pretty good relationship actually.

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brightlypainted · 6 months ago

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I went completely bananas and wrote a full analysis of Joker Out and JO fandom stuff and situation... idk

Hi baby boos!

I’ve seen some confusion regarding JO’s latest announcements and social media activity (or lack thereof) so I've tried to analyze the current situation with a critical eye 🤓

I don't use Tumblr much so you're probably more familiar with my Twitter but I got suggested to post this here for easier reading (and... better audience in general 👀)

Long rant under the cut:

Before I begin I must point out that these are my opinions and theories. I have no idea how JO’s communication and management is being organized right now, I’m just making assumptions based on my perception as a fan 🤷‍♀️

(also I’m a communication graduate but my studies and current job cover this sector only tangentially so I may not know how some/most of this works…)

Let’s start with comparing last year’s situation to the current one: one year ago the boys were riding high on the wave of enthusiasm, having had a successful ESC (despite the ending placement) and having gained a lot of attention as fan favorite competitors ✨

A very high % of the growing fanbase, esp the international one, was coming directly or tangentially through ESC and how do you maintain that attention once the contest is over? you increase your social media presence and you start planning international concerts. which they did!

This constant exposure to content made the fandom flourish: we were all witnessing how easily people from everywhere could join and already feel at the very center of attention, both because JO’s communication was being very active and successful and also thanks to fanmade organizations like JokerOutSubs, group chats, old time Slovenian fans sharing juicy pre-ESC content, etc. I'll be grateful forever

We had a past year that could be divided into 2 halves in terms of communication: it all went extremely well until more or less the end of 2023 (last tour dates in Spain) and then started gradually becoming very odd and chaotic all through 2024 until last month’s complete draught

We know that they mostly tend to manage their online presence on their own, so ofc during breaks and during very busy times is harder for them to find good content to share. They had also been very clear about needing time off their phones all through the London era and the album recording in Hamburg, so that didn’t come as a surprise for fans 🤷‍♀️

But having very sensible, personal reasons to quit/decrease social media presence has unfortunately no meaning in communication, where the laws are very simple: once you stop sharing, you stop existing

I don’t want to criticize their choices, because they are entitled to their privacy and offline time. I’m just pointing out that this very long, hiccup-y period probably could have been avoided with better management and with the presence of a smm/pre-planned sm communication 🙃

It also unfortunately happened concurrently to the new ESC season, which was bound to “organically” erode part of the fandom anyway, and to an EU tour that, although successful, has still highlighted a lazy/bad management and yet again a communication that made little to no sense at times (es. the whole campaign that subtly asked people to go to more than one concert, which clearly made fans with less financial and logistical possibilities feel ‘lacking’ and ‘inferior’) 🙄

In their defense, the tour was to establish a fanbase more than gaining more fans and exposure, so pushing for getting more of a loyal than an occasional fanbase wasn’t completely wrong an idea… it just backfired

And it did because the greatest part of their international fanbase is made of very young people who aren’t financially independent and whose interests are bound to be fleeting and shifting ESPECIALLY when they aren’t constantly met with content production/consumption

Let’s also not forget that having completely shifted their attention to international waters at the expense of the Slovenian/regional fanbase has been very risky. We still can’t tell if the gamble was successful or not

It’s never a good idea to ignore/neglect your hardcore supporters, the very people that helped you raise to your current standards. it’s true they are the most loyal, but they are also very easily the ones that could feel more betrayed

I also think it’s very risky trying to shift the fans’ content consumption out of social media and into a (controlled, easier to manage, ofc) site like Openstage for two main reasons: as said before, complete disappearance from socials means communicational suicide and until now, the “dedicated content” directed toward fans on the site has been… too bland and generic (sorry)(they can learn how to improve that)

Openstage has other very interesting uses tho, firstly the early access to ticket sales and secondly the tracking of international fan presence, which was pretty clearly the main goal and reason why they opened the site in the first place... so it’s not ex ante a bad communication choice, just (until now) one that has yet to show its potential and usefulness

So what now? I think it’s time they make a few considerations and sensible choices to maintain what’s currently the status quo and in order to tackle festival season in the best way

They need to keep their international presence by opening their fanbase to a new kind of fans: festivals bring exposure to bands from a very specific type of fanbase, more interested in music than in contents. If they manage to capture the interest of Sziget people, for example, they could gather a new type of international fanbase less interested in the “social media” content consumption and more in the “I wanna see these guys play again, somewhere else, maybe a show of their own” way

(which, to be completely fair, could be the best choice to cure their current crazy/shifting/confusing fanbase state, giving them more peace of mind, more privacy and a more “normal” rock band experience than the one they had in the past year… that we can all agree has been pretty bad at times)

I personally think this summer season must go in the quantity direction (gaining more new fans) and at the same time in the quality direction (less shows, bigger stages) and this is why some of you are disappointed in seeing so little shows compared to last year or to the SYS tour... I get it

Many of us, me included, won’t be seeing JO live for the whole summer season, and I’m aware that is disappointing, but I hope this analysis has helped you put things into perspective and consider maybe one of the possible reasons why this next phase for Joker Out is being organized this way

I’m still hoping they’ll find a good compromise with their social media communication, because right now I really feel that being the main issue with the gradual but constant drop in traction (please boys hire a smm. i adore jan’s sad edits and the unhinged video and stories like the next person but serious work has to be done too)

Ending the rant on a note of hope: I wish to see you all enjoy the summer and the content to come and I hope for the boys to have a successful, fun season full of new experiences, new music, new people, fresh ideas for the future. I’m honestly very excited for what’s to come! 🌻

#joker out #bojan cvjetićanin #kris guštin #jan peteh #jure maček #nace jordan #long post #analysis

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scuttlingcrab · 4 months ago

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Minthara prompt: she's training the new generation of paladins to take over Menzoberranzan with her :D

THANK YOU FOR THIS PROMPT @mimetoist! You're amazing. I hope you enjoy and please send me more if you've got them! (That goes for all Minthara lovers on tumblr, too!) I had a blast writing this. More Nightwarden content, please!

Summary: Tensions quickly rise when Minthara is forced to teach a group of aspiring Paladins a harsh lesson.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

Lessons from the Nightwarden

(Image via qiyshehn)

“I have bested you again, Felynn.” Minthara spoke through pursed lips, shaking her head in dissatisfaction. “I am starting to think you are better suited as a slave than serving on the frontlines. It would take another century to make a warrior out of you and I am pressed for time as it is.”

Felynn’s cheeks burned as she looked down, avoiding Minthara’s scathing gaze. She stared at the wooden sword aimed at her throat, wishing it were real so Minthara could end her miserable life then and there. The Nightwarden would probably kill Felynn out of pity when they were through with training anyways, for the sheer amount of embarrassment she had undertaken that day alone.

The sounds of snickering grew at the Nightwarden’s words, the laughter like a thousand lashes against Felynn’s pride. She sensed a crowd forming from the corner of her eyes, bodies of all shapes and sizes lining up around them, like mosquitoes out for blood, eager to watch Minthara degrade yet another aspiring Paladin.

She only had one guess as to what they were whispering about as she continued to sit on her bloody knees, cowering like a fool in the middle of the cadet training grounds.

She’s an utter failure.

A disgrace.

A waste of time and resources.

An insult to all Paladins.

Better off…

The sword pushed harder into Felynn’s throat, pulling her away from the cursed internal dialogue. She held her breath, afraid to move a muscle out of fear of being reprimanded any further.

Minthara trailed the tip of the sword along Felynn’s neck, settling it underneath her jaw. She directed Felynn’s gaze with the sword, tilting her head up so that Felynn had nowhere else to look but into Minthara’s red eyes.

A chill trickled down Felynn’s spine, her arms trembling despite remaining at her side. She wanted to melt into the dirt, to hide under a rock like an insect. Minthara’s smooth face looked like a smile had never touched it, her stare cutting through the very fabric of Felynn’s being. The Nightwarden’s brows furrowed as she studied Felynn, eyeing her as if she was a war map laid out on a table.

“Rise.” Minthara said, removing the sword with a flourishing swipe. “We will continue until you’ve learned your lesson.”

Minthara began to circle Felynn like a displacer beast, walking with confidence, purpose, and poise; yet her grip remained firm on the sword, an indication she was ready to pounce again at any second.

“Always keep your eyes on the enemy, even when death is but mere moments away. Do you understand me? Never give your enemies the satisfaction of beheading you as you grovel in the dirt.”

Felynn clenched her fists, digging her nails into the palms of her hands to stop herself from crying.

“I did not hear your acknowledgement.”

“Y-yes, Nightwarden.” Felynn replied, her voice quivering.

Felynn stumbled to her feet, suppressing a groan at the pain surging through each limb. They were heavier than stones, every part of her body covered in fresh scrapes and bruises. She had been going at this for hours, waiting for Minthara to move on to the next cadet, yet she remained focused on her. Unmoving, relentless. What other lessons could Minthara possibly teach her? Had she not been punished enough for her incompetence?

Felynn reached for her sword but tripped over herself, nearly falling flat on her face. She quickly amended the error, picking up the weapon and holding it close to her chest, as if that might protect herself from the humiliation.

“She’s so pathetic.” Someone said through the crowd, with no effort at being discreet.

Felynn’s heart dropped to her stomach, she knew that deep cocky voice. It was the constant source of her bullying, her nightmares. She never had a chance to escape from the torture even when she slept.

“When will we get a chance to do anything useful? Just throw her into the spider pits already and get on with it.”

The mocking giggles that followed stung, worse than any of the fresh wounds she received that morning. Felynn’s lips grew dry and she struggled to peel her tongue away from the top of her mouth.

Minthara stopped dead in her tracks, turning sharply in the direction of the ongoing snickering. Her eyes narrowed as she searched the crowd. When she spotted the sea of smiling faces she shot them all a cold stare, the creases of her permanent scowl deepening.

“Dilra, your lacklustre commentary is proving to be quite tiresome. Do you wish to take my place?”

The laughter ceased almost immediately, the silence deafening. The air became heavier at the sudden change in Minthara’s tone.

“I thought so. Approach the training grounds.”

The audience of cadets scattered like ants, revealing Dilra standing wide eyed and dumbfounded. She was tall and lean, with short spiky hair and a leathery face, despite not spending much time on the surface. Dilra cleared her throat before proceeding to follow Minthara’s orders, stopping in the centre of the grounds.

Felynn sighed, relieved to finally have the weight of Minthara’s attention lifted from her shoulders.

“Cockiness is but a weak shield. You think you are worthy? Prove yourself.”

Minthara stepped back, aiming her sword at Felynn.

“Her?”

Minthara finally smiled, but not at all pleasantly.

“You question my judgement?”

“No, of c-course not.”

“Good. Then begin. We have a growing audience and I am always one for providing suitable entertainment.”

Felynn raised her sword, a layer of sweat building on her forehead. Dilra rolled her eyes as she shifted her footing, preparing herself in a basic warrior stance. It was always Dilra who led the attacks, coming out on top at the expense of screwing over Felynn.

Broken bones, the crippling isolation, and her shattered confidence; Felynn never expected training to be a Paladin would come with so much suffering. She wanted to take her oaths and do some good in the Underdark, to make sure no one went through the horrors she had experienced as a child; losing her entire family to a civil war amongst the Drow Houses. And yet, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to make it through these basic drills.

Minthara’s eyes flickered to Felynn as if she could read her thoughts and the two shared a fleeting look. The Nightwarden nodded her head slightly, as if in acknowledgement, a movement Felynn would’ve missed if she wasn’t paying attention.

Before Felynn could register Minthara’s action, Dilra charged forwards with her sword held high.

Felynn blocked Dilra’s attack, the ferocity of the first blow nearly causing her to fall over backwards. There was no time to recover before Dilra swung her sword repeatedly, each strike was sloppy but full of venom. Felynn miraculously dodged each attack, using what she had learned in that day’s training to open her senses. She was able to read Dilra’s movements, anticipate where she might go next by her footing and where her eyes were targeting.

Dilra was relentless, leaving no openings for Felynn to even attempt a parry. Dilra growled as she tried to hit her, constantly missing by mere inches. For once, Felynn found herself grinning, a glimmer of pride shining in her eyes. In truth, this was probably the longest she had stayed on her feet during a squirmish.

Felynn raised her weapon to block another one of Dilra’s violent slashes, but her wooden sword shattered upon impact. It exploded into shards, the wood ricocheting off Felynn’s cheeks like mini projectiles.

“Ha!” Dilra shouted with glee.

Dilra stabbed at Felynn with a powerful thrust, and she quickly jumped backwards, barely missing the strike. As she landed, she lost her footing, tripping and falling on her backside.

“I’ve got you now…” Dilra whispered, her crazed eyes narrowing as they focused on Felynn.

Felynn gritted her teeth as she rolled onto her knees, placing her hands in the dirt to steady herself. The world around them vanished as Felynn locked eyes with Dilra, matching her savage stare. Felynn wasn’t about to back down, she wasn’t going to look away. Not this time. She had nothing, no family, no one rooting for her, no one wanting her to succeed. It was Felynn against everyone, everything. This was her only shot at proving herself, of surviving. If this was the end, if she was never going to become a Paladin, she might as well go out with a bang.

She was not a coward, despite what everyone around her might’ve thought.

And she was not a failure.

Felynn filled her hands with dirt as Dilra ran towards her.

Dilra lunged at Felynn, and she countered by throwing two fists worth of dirt into Dilra’s face. Dilra howled in agony, dropping her sword and floundering away from Felynn. In turn, Felynn scrambled to her feet, watching as Dilra frantically tried to rub the grime out of her eyes.

“You miserable bitch–!”

Felynn took one step and punched Dilra square in the nose, quieting the bully once and for all. Blood spurted from Dilra’s face like a fountain as she cried out in pain. Felynn punched her again because the first one felt so damned satisfying, and once more just for good measure. She could’ve thwacked her a few more times but her hand ached, the knuckles already swollen. Felynn was panting, her head throbbing. Her heart felt like it was about to explode at any second, but she continued to breathe.

In and out. In and out.

Dilra swayed, her arms falling limp. Her eyes glazed over until she eventually toppled to the side, landing head first in the dirt.

The crowd gasped when Dilra fell. A few of her cronies moved as if to aid her but Minthara raised her hand, and they froze.

“How undignified.” Minthara said, walking closer to Dilra’s unconscious body and lightly kicking it.

“Laughter will not take you far on the battlefield, as you just bore witness to. We must fight as a unit. To put yourself first for glory will only lead to your untimely demise; of not only yourself, but your entire band. A lesson I myself learned many moons ago, from some of the most powerful warriors I’ve ever had the privilege of fighting with.”

Felynn inhaled sharply. The surface dwellers, the ones from the legends. She heard countless narratives about them in her youth, listening to so many retellings from drow bards on how they navigated one obstacle after another to defeat the Absolute - the evil that set out to lay claim to the surface. Minthara rarely spoke of them, but Felynn’s ears perked up at even the slightest suggestion of their influence.

One day she’ll be worthy of going to the surface.

One day.

Minthara twirled to face Felynn and she flinched out of instinct, unsure what to expect next. The Nightwarden instead hummed in approval, laying a hand on her shoulder. An intense warmth radiated from Minthara’s fingertips as Felynn’s skull tingled. In fact, that sensation washed over her entire body, like she was standing under a comforting waterfall. A light blue glow enveloped them both, and Felynn watched as all her wounds slowly vanished. She felt oddly refreshed, like she had slept for an entire year.

“You used your environment to your advantage, Felynn.” Minthara said, lightly squeezing her shoulder as the healing completed, “I am content with your training today. It turns out, there might be some use for you yet within my ranks.”

#minthara x reader #minthara #minthara baenre #nightwarden minthara #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3

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silverbladexyz · 7 months ago

Text

Important Announcement

Hey... I know that this is quite sudden, but after thinking about it a lot: I've decided to quit Tumblr.

I know that it might seem shocking, and trust me- I don't feel pleased doing this too, but I believe that it is the best decision so that I can actually focus on my life and my faith. Over time, I've also noticed how my health was gradually getting worse, and that Tumblr was slowly but surely exacerbating it. It's been a hard choice to make, but I feel that it is necessary for me.

It was a joy to get to know all of you, and I could never be more thankful to have such an amazing group of individuals who have supported me all this time. I couldn't have made it this far if it weren't for you guys.

I'll keep my blog, and here is my Instagram and Discord (my username is Silverbladexyz because the link is somehow invalid) accounts so that you guys can still chat with me if you want to. Please DM me your Instagram or Discord name so that I know who you are on those social media accounts. I won't be as active on there, but I promise that I'll try to reply to each of your messages :)

@circinuus /// @chuuyas-beloved /// @i-just-like-goats /// @fi-nn-losofia /// @ashthemadwriter-archived /// @chuuyasboner /// @angolicious /// @scarletta-ruan /// @yuugen-benni /// @dazaiyohane /// @yosanosboner /// @voidcat /// @sariel626 /// @xxsigmakinniexx /// @evermourning /// @overlysour /// @chunshiya /// @natimiles /// @oldworldpoolhall /// @invidiia /// @chocsra /// @guacamoleroll /// @riiwrites /// @chiara-hotel /// @heartsfourdazai /// @justcallmesakira /// @atlasnessie /// @justcallmesakira /// @luvfy0dor /// @ruanais /// @saelique /// @jackiepackiee /// @rusmii /// @tsuunara /// @tiredlilguy /// @mygoldenmoonflower /// @ilovechuuy4 /// @wwouldvecouldveshouldve /// @romanticheri /// @hanilessa /// @cakeqingsdead /// @little-miss-chaoss

To my beloved mutuals, followers, and friends: thank you so much for always being there for me every day. Words can't express how much I'll miss writing and talking with you all, and I love each of you very very dearly ❤ Coming online and interacting with you always put a smile on my face, and I'm wishing you all the very best in your lives. I hope that each of you will be able to find true happiness, and just know you'll always be in my heart. Although our journey together on this website may have ended, our life is far from over. There will always be countless more opportunities and moments where we can share our joy together, whether it be Asagiri releasing a new light novel or just reminiscing the good times in our friendships. Don't cry because it's ended, but smile because it happened- and I will always be so thankful for the chance to meet every single one of you.

I'll also keep my roleplay blog up, but I won't run it anymore as well. Thank you to all of my fellow roleplayers who have helped to bring the world of BSD alive to me, and I will never forget the fun roleplays that we have made together. I know that my future successor will be able to do an amazing job at roleplaying Pianoman, and I want all of you to treat them just as well as you have treated me. I'm wishing you guys happiness and success, and may your roleplay blogs flourish as the fandom continues to grow :)

Once again, from the bottom of my heart: thank you. I will never forget you, my dearest friends 🖤

#silverbladexyz #silver's last post #thank you so so so much for everything over the past few years #I'll never forget the wonderful times we've shared together #and I'll always smile upon recalling them #so many people have blessed my life on this app #and the BSD x reader fandom has been a real treat to interact with #thank you for the 600 or 700 followers #I'll never be able to do an event #but on a brighter note #I'm active on Instagram and Discord #just shoot me a message on those apps and lmk who your tumblr alias is #but yeah... this is goodbye #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader

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notlelesposts · 1 year ago

Note

yk how Yuri is the bringer of revenge and nanno is bringer of karma (good and bad), could you make an x reader that’s the bringer of flourishment and yuri and nanno fights for her attention, but reader actual likes them both

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 — nanno + yuri

• • •

genre: fluff ig?

cw: gn!reader , not proofread

notes: sorry if it took me long to make this and that this is short , i havent been on tumblr much

• • •

yuri and nanno definitely werent two peas in a pod. they never got along, and both stood for completely different things.

on the other hand you? you were a different story. they both adored you. but, they were both aware that one another were basically in love with you.

in anyway they could, they would fight for you attention. whether it was by doing something sweet like giving you flowers or another gift, or if it was by doing something absolutely horrid to the point where you had to notice them. either way, one of them was always doing something to gain your attention and take the spotlight off the other one

when you treated both of them kindly, it frustrated them even more. it felt like you were playing with both their hearts, even if that wasnt your intentions.

they decided that maybe it was time to go confront you.

when you saw nanno and yuri both walking toward you, not even sparing the other a glance, you found it a bit weird. you still waved at both of them.

“choose.”

“what?”

“choose!” yuri yelled at you. nanno immediately gave her a dirty look. you shook your head. “im sorry, what is happening? what am i supposed to be choosing.”

nanno spoke up. “we both like you. a lot. and were tired of the fact that we never stop fighting for your undivided attention, so we ask that you choose one of us. then we could know which one you like more and we could stop all this arguing.”

you stared at both of them for a second before breaking down in laughter. yuri looked at you confused while nanno still had her same nonchalant look that she always had.

“whats funny?” yuri asked.

you laughed a little more before trying to stop yourself so you could talk. “let me get this straight… you think i only like one of you?”

nanno and yuri nodded.

you began to laugh again before explaining. “sorry if i gave off the impression that i only was attracted to one of you, but its quite the opposite. i like both of you.”

yuri and nanno looked surprised for a second.

“you like… both of us? and you mean as more than friends, right?” nanno repeated your words, confused. you nodded. “yes. i like both of you as way more than friends.”

nanno and yuri both looked at eachother for a second before looking back at you, smiling.

• • •

#gfn nanno x reader #girl from nowhere #nanno x fem!reader #nanno #nanno x reader #angst #gfn nanno #gfn nanno x afab!reader #nanno x afab!reader #x reader #yuri girl from nowhere #gfn yuri x afab!reader #gfn yuri x fem!reader #gfn yuri x reader #yuri gfn #gn!reader #x gn!reader

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galaxycunt · 1 year ago

Text

He’s My Thing

Posting this on tumblr as well as I seen people do it and I wanna know what is better here or AO3 for folks?

Part 2

Enjoy!

You first met him in a bar, not caring who he was at first. He didn’t have a high bounty at the time, the annoying clown cracking jokes and jabs at any pretty face before he landed on you. You threw in a jab about his nose, thinking it was fake. That was the first scar he gave you, a broken glass slicing your cheek. You broke a few fingers, and got you both kicked out.

”Fuck you bitch!”

”Bite my ass!”

Pretty soon, Buggy made a real name for himself. So did you. The next time you met, you heard of a terrifying circus act in a town raider by pirates. Who else would it fucking be? You pretended to be a victim, picking the lock on your shackles while he monologued. The circus wasn’t all that spectacular, you wondered why he ever bothered with it at all.

Slipping through the crowd, you followed Buggy to his green room. Before he could react, you sliced his throat. Expecting blood, you hear a laugh instead.

”You-“

Recognition flashed in his eyes, “the bitch from that bar. Come back to finish the job?”

You sliced the arm he held around you, popping back into place like nothing happened.

”Is that? Y-You ate-,” you stuttered.

”Surprised?”

You didn’t think those even existed, your mind racing for your next move. It was made for you, Buggy stabbing your stomach. You been stabbed before, fighting through the shock. You stab him back, punching his nose for good measure. He let you go in pain, long enough to escape.

His arm flew to your throat, slamming you to the ground. You weren’t about to be killed by a fucking clown. Biting down on his arm, he loosened his grip enough for you to kick it away.

You never ran so fast in your life, figuring it was way too easy the way you dodged body parts. He was toying with you. You ran to the docks, jumping into the ocean. He didn’t follow you there, the stories were right. He couldn’t swim. You swam under the dock, floating as you heard him swear and stomp.

The salt stung, your ribs hurt. He was going to pay for that. He wasn’t going to be the one laughing anymore.

You hid again, months later. Another show, another town demolished. It made you sick, the more you did this job, the more you hated pirates. The more you hated him.

Buggy stood in the spotlight, in another life he’d be handsome. Sparkling eyes scanning the crowd for a victim. You locked eyes, the creased greasepaint spreading on his face with a smile.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! The incorrigible pirate hunter is with us yet again! Come on down, sweetheart.”

You smiled at him, “you can’t get rid of me that easy honey.”

He draped his arm around you, like you were both old friends. You’d believe it if he treated his friends like this anyway. With a flourish, he gestured to your act.

”Since you love knives so much, I figure this one is right up your alley.”

”I’m gonna make you eat that big, red nose of yours, clown.”

He laughed, and the adrenaline caused you to also. You couldn’t deny the rush chasing these pirates down gave you, Buggy was like a cat playing with a mouse. You just needed him to stick his hand in the wrong trap.

”I have to say, that scar highlights your face beautifully.”

“You ever find that pinky? Or is it still at the bottom of the ocean?”

He smiled turning to his audience, “now folks, this lovely assistant of mine has no fear of silly little knives so…it’s time to up the ante.”

Meat cleavers, how cliche. You willingly let yourself get tied up to the wheel, Buggy studying your face. Now he was the one thinking this was all too easy. You closed your eyes as the wheel spun, standing still as the blades hit the wood with a loud thunk.

”What you playing at? Huh?”

”Maybe I just like the show so much, I always loved the circus.”

He laughed, “of course you do. Is that all though?”

”Maybe I have something you want.”

”Go on.”

A knife landed near your head, you opened your eyes to face the pirate. He had one more left, he could aim it anywhere. You still liked your odds.

”The map your been looking for. A log pose too.”

The look on his face was worth it, he stumbled his throw causing him to hit your leg. You grit your teeth, a smile on your face. Buggy shouted for his crew to take you back to the ship. You never been on his before, circus themed of course. The crew’s doctor worked quickly, with frown letting you know the knife cut to the bone.

When you woke up in his cabin, your leg was gone. Of course it was. Buggy seemed to take and take and you got nothing in return. You considered your options carefully, wondering how you can kill the bastard once and for all. At the very least you could take his head and ask the marines to let you toss it into the ocean. Either scenario worked for you.

”Where’s my map?”

”You took my leg, Bugs. Let’s call it even.”

He gazed at your leg, a frown on his face.

“Sorry about that. I really am.”

You both knew it was a lie, but you felt weak. You needed to stay on his good side, at least for now.

”You’re the only devil fruit user I know, I knew what I was getting into.”

Saving the best for last right?

”You couldn’t let me go, I suppose your type never does.”

”Says the guy chasing after a fairy tale.”

He sat down on the bed, “oh it’s real alright. So about my map…”

”Buggy, let me rest. At least get a girl a drink first. Don’t glass me this time neither.”

He sighed, getting up to find a bottle of rum that he usually kept around. He toasted you before taking a swig, the both of you taking turns drinking.

“So why offer this to me anyway, hm?”

You smirk, “you know what they say, if you can’t beat them, join them.”

”Is that right?”

”Oh yeah, I seen your act plenty of times to know it needs work. I can make you shine, baby.”

He laughed, “tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

”What’s the matter, don’t like this thing we got going anymore?”

He leaned closer to whisper, “if all you wanted was a ride that’s all you had to say.”

”Think I got it bad for clowns, huh?”

”I think you got it bad for me.”

You had him right where you wanted him. Leaning forward, grabbing his scarf to pull him close.

”I think you gotta earn my forgiveness first, baby,” you said, pushing him away.

“And how can I do that?”

You briefly wondered if he was truly as flustered as he looked. You didn’t think he’d fold this quickly. You needed to test this out.

”Maybe…let me stay here awhile. Rest up. My map is hidden in a safe place. Maybe I can take you there if you play nice.”

You kissed his lips, Buggy stared at you like you were crazy. Before he said a word you held up your hand.

”But, hey. I’m tired, I have a lost limb to scream about now.”

You never told him what exactly were the magic words to make the map appear, the next few days you slept in his bed while you recovered. Buggy forced to sleep in his chair, you didn’t care, quick to motion at the wood leg someone on the crew carved for you.

He tried; buttering you up, training with you to become stronger, flirting endlessly. It was all annoying, you never spent so much time around one person before. You decide to see how far his begging will go, allowing him to share the bed with you.

One morning you wake up before him, the sunlight shining through the tiny window. Buggy was still asleep, facing your direction. It had been weeks, and you still had not really gotten to know him. He never questioned your change of heart, you probably both expected a stab in the back at any moment.

He was handsome, in his own way. You brushed the hair from his face, causing him to shimmy closer to you. You backed up, unsure of what he meant by that. You gazed at your hands, unsure of why you did that in the first place anyway.

With a groan, you swing your legs to the side, rubbing the nub gently. It was still taking some time to get used to, wishing you had his powers.

“You okay?”

“Go back to bed, Buggy. It’s cool.”

So he was a light sleeper after all, good to know. You couldn’t kill him yet, wondering if he’d be lulled into safety at all.

Your felt his eyes on you as you changed clothes. You let him think he was being sneaky, bending down on purpose to find your pants.

“Nice ink.”

“Bite my ass.”

”With pleasure.”

You both laughed, you throwing a shirt at his head. His smile was honest, cute even. This was going to be easier than you thought.

”Buggy, I have a map I want you to look over.”

”You mean?”

”Well,” you smiled, “a map to a map.”

He kissed you, “you have no idea what this means to me.”

You pushed him away, “thank me later.”

While he wasn’t looking, you wiped your mouth. He never done that before, men were too easy to trick. A guy like that was easy to mold into whatever you wanted.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

”Aye, aye. Captain.”

The way to the island you hid everything on was a long one. You planned this out carefully. Buggy didn’t know you had a sloop for you waiting, after you’d burn everything he worked for to the ground.

Buggy was none the wiser, letting you get closer. You never spoke about the two kisses shared, trying to find the right time. His lips on yours flustered you like no other, leaving you to chalk it up to nerves. He caught you staring at him more than once, a satisfied smirk plastered on his face permanently.

”What you doing here by your lonesome?”

You sighed, “needed some air. It’s nice to see the moon too, you know?”

He leaned against the railing, “yeah. Beautiful sight.”

You turned to see him looking straight at you, causing you to snort.

”Give me a fucking break.”

”Got plenty more where that came from, sweetheart.”

You slide your arms up his, “tell me, why keep me alive this long?”

”You’re crew, ain’t ya?”

”Before that.”

He nodded with a laugh, “oh that. Water under the bridge, bygones and all that shit.”

”Tell me.”

He looked shy, wringing his hands. Like he was trying to spit the words out, but couldn’t.

“If anyone’s gonna kill you. It’s me. You’re the uh, one that got away.”

You pushed him playfully, “give me a real reason.”

”You first.”

You inhale deeply, “you ruined my life. I mean, fuck Buggy. Look at me. I underestimated you, and look where that got me. You and your…goofy bullshit.”

“You’re not ruined.”

You huffed a laugh, “course not, you’re the only one who got this close anyway. You were my first, in a way.”

”Interesting.”

”Don’t read into it too much,” you spat.

You turned to go to bed, dreading him following you. You had to stick to the plan. Make yourself less of a threat. He stopped you, gently holding your wrist. Before you could say anything, he kissed you. Slipping your tongue in his mouth, you clung to his jacket.

Eventually he pulled back, eyes scanning your face. You kiss again, Buggy gripping your hair this time. He led you down below deck, to your bed.

He took his time with you, roaming every inch of exposed skin. Your eyes peeled open, making sure his was closed. You checked to see if your knives were close, just in case. You weren’t expecting the shove he gave before crawling on top of you. His hands quick to unbuckle and unbutton everything you had on.

“H-hold up. Stop.”

”What, what‘s wrong?” he panted.

“What are we doing?”

”What I wanted to do years ago,” he dove for your neck, nibbling on an ear lobe.

You couldn’t help the moan from escaping, refusing to let go of control, you worked on his own clothes. Soon you became a tangle of limbs, you kicking off your pant leg the best you could off your shoe. It was a complete mess, he didn’t care at all. It was like you were the only thing in the room.

“Take those stupid gloves off,” you said.

He did so in a flash, massaging a nipple. His fingers brushed against a scar, from someone that wasn’t him, but you let him think whatever he wanted. Your fingers did the same, the healed bullet wound on his side was from you.

“You’re so beautiful.”

”Bet you say that to all the bounty hunters.”

”Only ones naked in bed with me, which should happen more than it does. Eh, what can you do?”

You roll your eyes, wishing to shut him up. You gave his cock a few strokes, which seemed to do the job. Buggy unraveled before you, you liked seeing him this way. Your victory short lived, as he found your clit. You weren’t going to praise him for a good job, and he was determined to make it happen.

He was edging you closer, your movements getting sloppy. You moaned again, letting yourself have this release.

“That’s it. Cum on that shit.”

You pulled him closer, ready to lose your mind. Buggy encouraged you, kissing and biting your neck. You came and he kept going, fingers slipping inside you. You slapped his chest, but he didn’t let up thrusting his fingers.

”Buggy fuck me right now.”

”Yes, ma’am.”

He rammed into you, unpleasant until he lifted up your hips. He was hitting your sweet spot, and you hated how much fun you were having. You bit his lip as you kissed him, Buggy was louder than you expected in bed. Moaning at every thrust and bite and pull.

“Can I cum in you?”

”What? No, no. On my chest. Or something. Not in me.”

He mumbled an apology, speeding up. The feel of him sliding out sent shivers down your spine, his cum messily spilt all over you.

He kissed your lips gently before getting up to clean you off. Looking down you groaned at the make up and cum all over you. You were gross, he was gross.

Ships didn’t have showers, you cleaned up the best you could with a towel and bucket. You almost didn’t recognize the reflection in the mirror, a blissed out face looking back at you. You wanted to smash it.

Retuning under the covers, Buggy cuddled close to you, kissing you sweetly. You didn’t get it, couldn’t understand it. Was the sea really that lonely?

You let him hold you as you fell asleep, still tangled up with him in the morning. You almost didn’t want to get up, trapped in the warmth. Something stirred in the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t name it. He held you close to his chest, and you didn’t mind.

”Hey baby.”

You sighed, “hey.”

He gently stroked your cheek, his eyes gazing at you in a way that made you squirm. You rested on his chest, facing away from him. He didn’t seem to care, petting your head.

”How much longer to my hidey hole?”

He chuckled, “be there in a day.”

You smiled warmly, “perfect.”

”Oh yeah? Any genius plans in that head of yours?”

You pushed him off you, twirling your hair, “I dunno, any reason we should be leaving this bed anytime soon?”

That seemed to set him off, lips roaming down your stomach. He ate you out like a starving man, you cursed yourself for enjoying it way too much. You wanted to wipe that shit eating grin off his face, riding his cock until he saw stars.

You didn’t like the way Buggy looked at you when you allowed him to cum inside you this time. Deciding that you couldn’t trust a thing he was going to say to you until you arrived at that island.

The rest of the day, he left you alone, stealing glances when he could. You felt pity for him, the cane in your hand reminded you of your resolve. Buggy was going to pay.

As night fell, he found you on the deck again. His arms wrapped around your waist this time. You leaned against him, waiting for him to speak first. Feeling his heart beat loudly in his chest, caused yours to match. You awaited a blade, but it never came.

”I haven’t been to the Grand Line since I was young.”

”How’d you survive that one?”

He laughed in your ear, “I served on a pirate crew. I think you can guess which one.”

This surprised you, “no shit? Roger pirates, makes sense. You people are hard to kill. I had no idea.”

”I’m an open book baby, just gotta ask.”

”So why haven’t you killed me yet?”

You twisted around to face him, inches from his face. He took you in, a dazed look in his face as he remembered your past.

”And snuff out the most beautiful person in the world? I’m bad, baby, not evil.”

”Fuck you, Buggy.”

”I…I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, “no, fuck you. You can’t keep dancing around this!”

”You started it! Why can’t you just fucking let go then?”

“No one makes a fucking fool out of me!”

”No one is!”

You slap him, the shock letting you wiggle out. He shouted after you, running to the cabin before he could stop you from locking it. Your leg hurt, causing the dam to finally break. You were a failure, you let some fucking clown be your undoing. You collected bounties all over the East Blue, you even got a card from Baroque Works.

How stupid are you?

”Hey, please don’t cry,” said the voice behind the door.

”Look I-I’m trying okay? I’m making it up to you, aren’t I? How about next town, you’re the main act? I can teach you to juggle!”

”Stop making it seem like I’m some stupid little girl. I vowed to destroy you, got it?”

He was silent for a few moments, you groaned. Why were you acting like a little bitch? You couldn’t kill him now, you weren’t in the state to take on his whole crew.

”Baby, let me in please.”

You unlocked the door, gesturing to the empty room. Buggy carefully sat on the bed, patting the space beside him. You let him hold your hands as he crafted what to say.

”Look, I get it. I get betrayal. But I won’t, I promise. The past, is the past. But you and me, this thing now? That’s all that matters.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, an easy fuck and he’s suddenly so into you? How stupid did he think you were?

”You were a worthy enemy, and you’re so much more now.”

You smile, “sure.”

”I mean it.”

You could probably kill him now, the ship will arrive in the morning. Slip out before anyone knows. Make him pay for everything.

You kissed him, Buggy humming with joy. You’ll miss his eyes, and the rest of his stupid face. You fuck again that night, Buggy promising you the world. A few sweet praises, and he figured all was forgiven.

You convinced him to travel just the two of you, a promise of a little fun. As expected, he agreed. You had a map from someone long ago, the log pose you won in a fight. Buggy couldn’t do the things you could do. He never could.

”You wanna dig for it now? Buried treasure, pretty clever huh?”

”You ain’t helping?”

You motioned to your leg.

”Oh, shit. Sorry.”

He dug for 20 minutes, making him good and tired. Silently you pulled out the pistol hidden in your coat.

”Baby, how far you dig this fucking thing anyway?”

He paused when he heard that click. Turning around slightly, he didn’t see the shot coming. With a scream he fell down, you swung hard, the shovel quickly chopped off his head.

”You bitch! You fucking bitch!”

”Oh shut up, Buggy! You were gonna kill me anyway!”

”No I wasn’t! I might now you goddamn cunt!”

You shook his head, “whatever. I’m collecting that bounty.”

He screamed in a rage, his detached body struggling to stand up. You looked toward the shore, you had time to drag his body to the sea. He wouldn’t get up now.

His head fell silent, you glanced down to see the heart break on his face.

”Oh fuck off, don’t act like it meant anything.”

”Sure.”

”Oh what? Like you mean it? Like you actually cared about me at all?”

”I did.”

You shook his head, “I lost my leg! I lost my strength! You took it from me!”

”You took my heart and now my head, guess we’re even now!”

”You better not say what I think you’re gonna say!”

He spat at you, and causing you to cry out toward the sky.

”To think I let myself believe you were different.”

“You did this to me, Buggy.”

He winced, still feeling his body getting cold now. He looked up at you, you refused to meet his eyes.

”Do me a favor huh? Before I kick the bucket.”

”What?”

”Kiss me, one last time.”

You held his head up to your face, the sadness in his eyes you couldn’t bear to see. Tears rolled down his face as you kissed him tenderly. Reluctantly, you separated.

”I love you,” he whispered.

You set him in a bag as you readied your ship. Glancing back at the head of the man you seemed tied to by fate. Did he mean what he said? Did you love him too?

You burst into tears, running as fast as you could with the bag in your arms. You opened it up, so he could attach again. With surprise, Buggy watched as you carried him to the boat. You apologized between sobs, blood wetting your fingers.

You didn’t explain to the ship’s doctor what happened. Buggy never giving it away himself. You were going to die for this, and you accepted it. Maybe that was all that needed to be done to be free of him forever.

You didn’t leave his side, just like he didn’t leave yours. You should’ve known better, it was there in front of you all along.

He woke up late at night to you sleeping on the chair bedside. Various emotions swirled inside him as he gently nudged you awake.

”Buggy, oh thank god!” you rubbed his arm, “how you feeling?”

”Fine uh, care to explain what the fuck was that?”

You blush, shrinking in the chair. How were you ever coming back from that?

”I…had a plan. And a back up, in case it didn’t work out.”

”Was there even a fucking map?”

“Yes, for me more than you.”

You stared at each other, afraid of each other now. You desperately wanted things to go back to what they were. Carefully you hooked his hand with yours. You placed something in his palm.

He scoffed at your gift, his missing pinky.

”Get the fuck out.”

You nod, “that’s fair. Buggy, I…did you mean it? What you said?”

He swallowed hard, “does it fucking matter?”

”Yes,” you whisper, “because I do. Even if you don’t, I do.”

The tears fell again, Buggy turning his head away. You stand up, slowly heading out the door. You knew how to make this right, hoping he wouldn’t hoist the anchor as soon as you were gone.

In the pitch black dark, you finished up where you started. The pain in your leg was nothing compared to the one in your chest. You hobbled pathetically back to the cabin, looking the sorriest you ever felt as you presented what you promised.

”I can fuck off forever now, or…”

”Or?”

You swallow a nervous laugh, “I can make it up to you. You can even shoot me back.”

He laughed, “I got all my pieces with me now. Guess that’s payback enough.”

You nod, “permission to stay?”

”Yeah, sure.”

He didn’t look at you, and you decide against coming closer.

“I’ll just go find a place to sleep…”

”No, don’t. You don’t have to, not with your bum leg.”

”Buggy…I’m sorry.”

He motioned you over, letting you drape an arm over him.

He closed his eyes, “we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

”Oh, okay.”

He held your hand to his lips, “you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You let out a sigh of relief, easing into the mattress. Soon enough sleep claimed you, body and mind ready for whatever you got coming to you. All that mattered in this moment was Buggy in your arms.

You made it through the night alive, still shaky from the events that unfolded. Buggy pulled you closer, not wanting to wake up. He was going to be the death of you, one way or another.

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy one piece

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pentrologram · 3 months ago

Text

What Normal People Do

John 'Soap' Mactavish and Simon 'Ghost' Riley have routines. They have also each other, the truck, the dog, and their flat. That is until the dog practically manhandles you into their life. Changes ensue. please be warned this is very self indulgent and probably not in character at all. i have never played MM2, i haven't watched a single playthrough (unless countless tiktok edits count) and I only know what I do about their characters from a lot of tumblr posts and fics on ao3. speaking of- ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

I'll Run Away With You

Simon Riley is not known for being tender and soft-spoken- he wasn’t a lieutenant because he spoon-fed soldiers and tucked them in on cots in the middle of a war field. He earned his stay on Earth, earned his title, hell, earned the clothes on his back. God would have had his head if he hadn’t made sure the younger, more incompetent kind didn’t have to, too.

It was hard for him to find that balance between the harshness of his job and the still bad but significantly less thorny outside (or inside?) world. Sometimes, while on the field, old injuries from years past would randomly decide to rear their heads. Maybe it would be an old knife wound that felt like it was bruising all over again or his ears would ring like he was hearing gunshots in the middle of a Marks and Spencers.

He was a valuable soldier, he knew. There were bunches and gaggles of people who wanted his head mounted on a stick- too many to count, and properly address. He was only one man, though. It would make sense that after all those years, it would weigh on him.

When he was younger, newer to the military, he tried to be normal when he was off duty. What his mam would have wanted for him, had she not been a deadbeat and dead. Polo shirts that stretched around his wide frame tucked into jeans, taking care of the flat he rented somewhere in the countryside-city (it’s not really a suburb but he calls it that anyways because who cares?) and pretending to debate about vacuums and silverware. Because that’s what normal people do.

But as time went on, it got harder to separate work from his life, and he just… let it consume him. Now that same suburb-y flat is in a place more urban than sub, “prime real estate,” he overheard in a decent pub with a pint once in between missions. Rent’s gone up, that’s damn sure. He offhandedly considers buying the whole building sometimes- he’s got bloody enough money, more than enough from saving absentmindedly, as the money had nowhere notable to go- but he wouldn’t be present enough to be a landlord and that shite. The flat he tried to furnish when he was twenty-something is still furnished the same way, if not a little more touched up by Johnny and his never-ending energy, and sometimes, it feels like being in a dead person’s house. It’s lived in but in a state of perpetual disrepair, never feeling like an actual home (at least for him).

The fridge was rarely ever stocked with anything but condiments and beer during their military days- he and Johnny never really had the energy to cook, preferring to use their free time elsewhere- but the bed had a frame (better than what he can think of some of his friends, bleedin’ Johnny and bringing girls back to a mattress on the floor before he moved in with Simon) and a rug underneath it and even a potted plant on a side table that is 100% plastic. It catches the light nicely in the wee hours of the morning, though, so it’s worth dusting the thin, leathery material of the fake lily now and again.

The flat is more furnished now, now that they’re officially in retirement. Knick knacks found at thrift stores or random handouts from the festivals and fairs that they go to every season, just to feel a little human again. There are more plastic plants on the side table now and Simon even tentatively tried a spider plant six months ago. It’s still alive, flourishing even, and now Simon has a couple of gardening books. Sometimes, when neither of them can sleep, Simon reads them out loud while Johnny fiddles with some new craft. Johnny says out loud once that they should get a house, for Simon and his plants.

Johnny came home with him every time they got some leave time together. The two of them are one in the same, really, feral animals without an off switch. It makes it easy for a relationship to foster, their understanding of the other in such an intimate and vulnerable way. It lets them open up guarded and bruised hearts, letting the other shine a flashlight on them and deciding to love them anyway. It’s the same as the hopeless romantic shit that you see in movies but plays out a lot dirtier in real life- it’s all the love and passion and borderline insanity that comes with a real first love mixed with the obsession of two retired soldiers who had been in the game too long and longer still without anyone normal to add some perspective to their lives.

That’s how it’ll always be, Simon thinks to himself as he stares at Johnny, hulk of a man he is, curled around Simon like a docile little thing- he surely looks it, as he was dwarfed by the extra five inches and the fifty pounds Simon had on him. He’s asleep- man sleeps like the dead, anywhere and everywhere- mohawk unruly and sticking up every which way. Getting long, Simon thinks to himself as he runs a hand through it- slightly sweat slicked but soft from a shower that night. It’s the right on the cusp of summer, the AC working hard- in this old flat, it doesn’t work the best but gets the brunt of it done. Simon’s opened up a window, (hesitantly- but between him, Johnny, and the dog, it’s sweltering and he fears he might get heatstroke) the one closest to his reach, so that the mesh covering can ventilate the room. They’re three stories up, but neither he nor Johnny enjoy having windows open. Too many weaknesses. He takes advantage of the window, though, lighting up a cigarette with a Zippo Johnny got for him a year ago.

His life is full of opposites, he finds. Johnny tends to take up a room, but Simon moves silently, just like his callsign. Johnny sleeps like a log while Simon struggles with his insomnia (right now he hopes the cigarette will help quiet him enough for sleep).

It won’t, Simon thinks to himself as he watches the moon move through the window and sinks below where he can see and eventually, the sun makes its appearance known. He puts his cigarette out sometime between the sun bleeding to view and the first rays of dawn because time keeps on moving and then Johnny is shifting awake at 0800. Johnny blinks, eyes already bright, ready for the day. He’s always alert when he wakes up, force of habit, Simon supposes. He doesn’t sleep enough himself to be so put together when he wakes up.

Then their day goes as follows:

Johnny puts the telly and the kettle on while Simon makes them brekkie. After two cups of tea are made (one with enough creamer to strangle a cow and the other black and simple, the way God intended it, as Johnny’ll tell Simon) and toast and egg sandwiches like the ones from cafes that Johnny learned how to make on a whim are put together, they sit for a while, just enjoying their company. Johnny fiddles with something- today it’s the newspaper- and Simon reads a book, and every once and a while, there’ll be a fair advertised in the paper. The fairs have always been there, in the city, but the two of them never really had the time while in the military. Now, they have more time than they can think to do with it, and so Johnny dragging Simon to them is now a familiar routine.

“‘S strawberries thi’ year,” Johnny says out loud.

“Mm?” Simon hums, immediately knowing what Johnny is talking about.

“Shite, 't started tae days ago.” He puts the paper down and puts his hands on his knees, and Simon puts a bookmark in his book before getting up.

They work cohesively around each other while getting ready to go to the fair. Johnny searches through the walk-in closet for a shirt and Simon digs through their dresser for socks. Johnny fixes his mohawk while Simon hooks a surgical mask around his ears. Johnny laces his sneakers up and pulls Riley’s harness on and Simon pulls on a hoodie, and then the three of them are in Simon’s truck, chugging along to the Town Center, where there are tents and stalls and people with strawberry hats. They get strawberry cider, strawberry pound cake and strawberry-shaped pasta to take home and strawberry cider that the both of them conclude is just Sp

rite in a pink glass bottle. Simon has to talk Johnny down from buying a big, ugly strawberry hat for Riley and compensates with a ceramic strawberry planter. There are strawberry-printed picnic blankets spread underneath trees with strawberry lanterns connecting them, lighting up the public park as the sun dances in the sky. Simon watches idly while Riley bites at a chip Johnny offers her.

They have a moment of peace there, on the picnic blanket, before Riley loses her shit and starts pulling on her leash, her distress signal- usually for Simon, but obviously for someone else now, if the desperate way she’s struggling against her harness is anything to go by. Simon gets up begrudgingly, the metal plate in his knee protesting as he jogs to meet Riley’s speed as she practically sprints behind one of the stalls. There is you; half curled on yourself with your phone in your hands. Riley rips herself out of Simon’s hold and barrels into you, calculating her speed so she’s at a trot when she lays her weight across your lap. You blink, phone forgotten, and Simon watches, silent, as you flinch away. Riley’s nothing if not persistent though, and eventually her weight forces you to calm down. Huh. Simon thinks offhandedly. You still haven’t noticed him, big and hulking as he is, just focused on Riley’s comforting weight as you calm yourself, slow, stuttering breaths evening, phone forgotten. DPT, Simon thinks to himself. When you calm entirely, you spot Simon. Your eyes go wide and you immediately try to wiggle out from underneath Riley.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, your dog sort of- um, trapped me here, I didn’t mean to-“

“No.” Simon says, and his gruff tone matched with his physique is enough to quiet you. “She wanted to help you. ‘S fine.” He says.

“Um,” you say. “Okay. Are you sure?” Simon just grunts in response.

"Are you okay?” He asks, his voice softening just a little.

“Oh, um. Yeah.”

Simon doesn’t believe you.

He stares down at you for a long while, and your expression gradually grows more anxious.

“I just, um- I have an, um. A thing.” You say quietly.

“Are you okay?” He asks again, giving you a chance to tell the truth, to redeem yourself. “Riley doesn’t start DPT on total strangers for no reason.” This time, Simon’s insistent, giving you no wiggle room. He stares two holes through the back of your head. You look uneasy.

“No, I’m OK. Just… got a little upset.” You say, giving him a little smile. Simon stares longer than necessary. Just as he’s about to answer, Johnny comes in running.

“Si, ‘ave found a strawberry sex stall-!“ Johnny starts before his eyes land on you. Pleasantries are exchanged before you squeak out an excuse and you make a point in scurrying out before Johnny can even start his main charming event. Johnny pouts but watches you go.

“Bonnie, that one,” he murmurs, if a little mournfully. Simon only grunts in agreement.

Later that evening, the interaction is forgotten about. Passed off as just a weird event, perhaps an endearing story to tell about Riley- (sweet girl, always so concerned for others- took off running for a stranger once, she did)- and nothing more.

That night goes as follows:

Johnny and the dog watch telly until Simon is done with dinner. They eat together, their little family, Riley eating her generic shepherd’s meal through her slow feeder, chowing loudly while Simon and Johnny talk about everything and nothing at all. Then they all sit together on the sofa to watch a random movie. It’s time for bed after, which means brushing their teeth, showering, washing hair and getting the last of Riley’s jitters out. Then the three of them settle in bed- it’s barely past 1100 before Johnny’s out like a light.

This is where the routine of retired life varies:

Sometimes Simon will sleep. Sometimes he will stay up for a night, then two, then twelve. Sometimes he’ll take the medicines he is supposed to and others he will wake with night terrors. Sometimes he’ll wake up and feel so broken he’ll wake Johnny up so that can cuddle and fall asleep together and sometimes the dog will wake Simon before an especially bad nightmare.

Yes, his life really is full of contradictions, Simon thinks. Because knows he is in love with Johnny but somehow cannot get his mind off the brief meeting he had with you. He takes after his father in more ways than one, it appears. The heart of a cheater hidden in the skin of a new mind. He and Johnny have had thirds before- but Simon’s never felt so enraptured by one before. Not so quickly, not so strongly, not so potently. He finds himself craving to know more about you, to learn everything about you- the same way he felt about Johnny when they first met. The revelation makes him stay up and smoke and watch the moon bleed to the sun, with Johnny curled to his side and Riley in their bed.

Then their day goes as follows:

Johnny puts the telly and the kettle on while Simon makes them brekkie. After two cups of tea are made and omelettes are put together, they sit for a while, just enjoying their company. Johnny fiddles with something- today it’s a new paper craft- and Simon reads a book. Sometime during that, they'll part ways. Maybe the dog needs a walk or Johnny takes a piss- it's a little like a game of wills, looking for who will tap out of just sitting there first. Today, it's Johnny. He gets up to get his laptop before settling back on the couch with the TV buzzing lowly. Johnny job hunts. Simon reads. Johnny feeds the dog. Simon ponders their pension. At some point both of their minds wander to the same topic- you.

Then their night goes as follows:

Johnny and the dog watch telly until Simon is done cooking dinner. They eat together, their little family, Riley eating her generic kibble, chewing loudly while Simon and Johnny talk about everything and nothing at all. Then they all sit together on the sofa to watch a random movie. It’s time for bed after, which means brushing their teeth, showering, washing hair and walking Riley to tire him out. Then the three of them settle in bed- it’s not even past 1100 before Johnny’s asleep.

Then the routine of retired life varies:

This night, Simon lays on his back like a log before curling into Johnny's back. He sleeps that night.

next ->

#ghoap #ghoap x reader #gn reader #dog owner ghost #riley (the dog)#slow burn #strangers to friends to lovers #not beta read #we die like men #vivi's writing

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