#what kind of ridiculous name is d anyway

[cyberpunk-20xx]

At some point I'll write about D properly but for now lemme just dump what I got going on about it. This blog's just my scrapbook for anything that nyooms long enough around my brains if you expected palatable analysis and well-organized content I'm sorry. I'm not, actually, but I'd be sorry if I were.

D is an alter (DID/OSDD) that got digitalized and then poses as an AI in 2077, so that VD (my V) doesn't just delete its files. V is my character, and D is my alter's.

It uses it/its pronouns, it dresses like a transtrender on purpose, wears pastels and fairy/party kei outfits only, quotes girly culture products like The Winx or Sailor Moon unironically, it manipulates VD into taking care of themselves, it likes to break men who are bigger than it and act tough, and is in a constant state of dissociation, which is normal and actually sane for it, since it's not a person. It doesn't care about having a body again, its end goal is to grow an organic garden in 2079.

When Johnny first assaults V (and I don't personally hc that my V can fight back- VD cannot interact with him at all physically unless he lets them, after the Relic progresses to 35%), back in their megabuilding flat, D grows from a widget to a fullbody png, jumps on his back while screeching like a bugged DVD and bites him in the throat down to the pixels, making both of them glitch out of reality, leaving VD to take their fucking pills and go back to sleep (on the floor. with a nosebleed).

D also happens to originally be Victor's alter, that they got "rid of" in an attempt to "be normal" before fleeing Europe for NC, where they hide away from their own demons, and end up working as an agent for Samurai. Which means that by the time Victor meets Johnny, D is out of the picture already.

Regardless, Victor's terrible taste in men must have persisted because D still ends up interested in him, only in a much more carnal, no-nonsense and frankly downright sadistic way. So basically, D just bullies Johnny the fuck out of his closet and exists mostly to make fun of him, all while being dressed up as any manly repressed gay male's nightmare.

(careful i know fuck all about sound mixing so this is loud and not well paced. also yes I'm aware i drew Johnny waaaay too big and shredded here it's because his engram is skewed by his self-perception that's not his canon appearance)

Also, at Mikoshi D steps in toward the end after VD steps in the well and just nabs his ass and flips Alt off before disappearing into the Net again, after their short stay-at-V vacations.

VD's very upset to wake up alone with zero brainworm but don't worry they find each others again at some point. After making VD bald I couldn't also leave them bitchless, I'm not that cruel.

[vi-steponmeplease]

OCTOBER PASSED ME BY

pairings - universityex!ellie x fem!reader

genre - university au, angst, fluff

synopsis: after your best friend persuades you to take a break from studying and attend a party, you unexpectedly come face-to-face with your ex, stirring up unresolved emotions. by the end of the night, you find yourself heading home with more than just a brief escape from your studies.

tw: mentions of alcohol, reader goes to a frat party, mild swearing (not sure if that's a warning but sure), nothing majorly serious

word count: 4.7K

you were the first to make me feel like i was me just a memory

⟡

i met you at the wrong time, didn't wanna see i was busy with the stars, you were looking at me

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The heavy rain pattering against the stained window is the only sound reverberating around the room, though you pay no mind as your focus remains fixed on your textbooks and scattered notes. Dark circles weigh under your eyes, and your lips curl into a tired frown. With a weary sigh, you bury your face in your hands, fingers tangling in your already disheveled hair.

Finals are right around the corner, and for weeks, your dorm has become your entire world. Days blur together as you devour textbooks, trying to memorize every word like it’s second nature.

"What the f—"

"Which dress is better?"

You flinch, startled by the sudden interruption. Your head jerks up, disoriented, the voice yanking you out of the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind.

“What?” Your voice is hoarse from disuse—a reminder that you hadn’t spoken since waking up. Like every other morning, your first instinct had been to dive straight back into studying.

Turning in your chair, your face softens slightly from its earlier concentrated state when you spot your roommate and best friend, Audrey, standing in the middle of the room. She’s holding up two hangers, one in each hand. On one hangs a thigh-length light pink silk dress, while the other holds a long white bodycon dress.

You tilt your head, considering, before a chuckle escapes. “What happened to that ridiculous glittery miniskirt you bought last weekend?”

“For the billionth time, they’re sequins,” Audrey groans, rolling her eyes with mock exasperation. She sets the dresses down on your rumpled bed, then plants her hands on her hips, brow furrowed as she envisions the outfits. “Besides, I couldn’t find a top to match.”

“Oh, come on,” you scoff, leaning back in your chair with crossed arms. “You’d look good in a garbage bag.”

"Sure, yeah, and pigs can fly." Audrey quips, picking up the dresses and moving to the full-length mirror beside your desk. She holds each one against her body, lips pursed in thought as she weighs her options.

"What's the occasion, anyway?" you ask, pulling your legs up to rest your feet on the chair, leaning your elbows against your knees.

"Carter’s throwing a party." She glances at you briefly, then holds up the pink dress, clearly having made her choice. "I wanna see if he’s single. If he is, I’ll make a move. Can’t keep pining over that blond guy I saw at the campus café last week. But I heard Carter’s been hooking up with Darcy."

"Wasn't she with Dylan?"

"No, that was Daphne."

"Why do all their names start with a 'D'?"

Audrey sighs dramatically, shaking her head. "Don’t know. They might be running some kind of secret alliteration cult."

With a laugh, you turn back to your desk, lowering your legs as the brief moment of lightheartedness fades and reality settles in. Your smile vanishes, replaced by the familiar weight of exhaustion. Right, you think to yourself. Back to the endless black hole of studying.

"Hey, you should come." Audrey's voice pulls you from your thoughts again. You turn to see her standing with the pink dress draped over one arm, a playful but earnest look on her face. "You haven’t left the dorm in ages. Come on, it’ll be fun."

"I don't know, Auds. I just... There's so much work to do, and—"

"Exactly! That’s why you need a break," she interrupts, crossing her arms in defiance. "You need a good distraction. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find a decent rebound to replace—"

"No."

Your voice is sharper than you intended, and the air between you shifts. Your brows knit together as a scowl tugs at your lips. "I don’t do rebounds. And I don’t need one. I’m over her."

Audrey raises a skeptical brow. "You say that, but you’ve been single for the entire year you two have been broken up."

"Yeah, and?" You shrug, the defensive edge softening slightly. "That doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I just… needed the time and space to, I don’t know, feel the breakup."

You sigh, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. Your voice dips, quiet but unwavering. "We dated all through high school, Auds. We planned everything—college, careers, our whole life together. Then, one night, it was just… gone. I needed that break."

"I get it. No need for a rebound, then." Audrey’s lips curve into a warm smile as she gathers her wavy blonde hair, twisting it into a messy bun. She picks up the pink dress and heads toward the door, pausing to glance back at you. "I’m gonna go put my outfit on and do my makeup. But think about it, okay? I’d have more fun if you were there."

Her voice softens, the playful edge replaced by genuine concern. "I hate seeing you so groggy and drained over finals. You deserve a break."

With that, she disappears into the bathroom, leaving you alone with her words lingering in the air.

You prop your elbow on the desk, resting your chin in your palm as the decision weighs on you. What would you even wear? A quick mental inventory of your closet makes you groan. You’d gone a little too wild during the autumn sale at the mall, leaving your wardrobe overflowing with beige and brown sweaters—not exactly party material. Dresses? Practically nonexistent.

And besides, it's 8 PM on a Friday—you could really use a change of pace.

You let out a frustrated sigh, but it quickly turns into a chuckle. Audrey’s words must’ve gotten to you, because before you realize it, you’re pushing yourself out of your chair. The creak of the worn seat makes you certain it’s practically engraved a permanent imprint of your ass.

You stretch briefly, shaking out your legs, then make your way toward Audrey’s room. Maybe she’ll have something I like. You’re not exactly thrilled about diving into her wardrobe—her style is bold, flashy, and a little outside your comfort zone—but desperate times call for desperate measures.

When the bathroom door opens and shuts, you smile to yourself and stride over to lean casually against Audrey's doorframe. She looks up, raising her brows in surprise before a smirk tugs at her lips.

"Decided you’d go, huh?" she says, her tone teasing but approving. "You're so stubborn, sometimes."

"I’m not getting drunk, though," you say, crossing your arms as Audrey adjusts her earrings. "And I’m not changing my mind on that. Study routine starts back up tomorrow morning, and I don’t need a hangover slowing me down."

Audrey gives you an exaggerated eye roll but doesn’t argue, a playful grin spreading across her face.

You glance down at the long forest green dress you’re wearing, the silky fabric hugging your figure comfortably. A deep slit runs up one side, stopping at mid-thigh and adding just enough elegance to the look. You adjust the hem slightly, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up. Maybe this night wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

"Drunk guy about to vomit, coming through!"

The announcement has your eyes widening as you quickly move out of the way to let the drunk guy and his friend, who’s half-carrying him, pass by—probably headed for the bathroom.

You cling to Audrey's side, linking your arms together as you laugh. "We just got here, and people are already throwing up?"

She chuckles, shaking her head. "Oh, babe, you haven't seen anything yet. Frat parties are the definition of pure insanity."

The deafening music blares even louder as you step into the main room, bodies pressed together as they sway and jump to the beat. Some throw their hands up in the air, fully immersed in the chaos of the party.

Your eyes scan the room, landing on the stereotypical beer pong table surrounded by a pack of guys locked in a heated game.

"Where's your boyfriend?" you tease, nudging Audrey. Her cheeks flush slightly—a subtle reminder of her true reason for coming tonight, aside from giving you a distraction.

"Not my boyfriend," she corrects, flipping her hair off her shoulder. "At least not yet. But that’s not why we’re here." She turns to you, a mischievous smile curling on her lips as she grabs your hands. "You're here to have fun, got it?" she shouts over the music.

With a grin, you extend your arms up above your head, body swaying to the beat of the music. Audrey laughs, mimicking your movements with exaggerated flair, her hands on her hips.

"Yes! Who knew you could move like that, girl?" she yells, wooing loudly before twirling you around. The two of you almost crash into a random guy.

"Careful. The last thing I need is this guy hitting on me then saying he can ‘turn me straight’ when I reject him," you quip, placing your hands on Audrey’s shoulders as you keep dancing.

Time flies as you chat and dance with a few girls from your friend group, whom you ran into coincidentally. An hour melts away unnoticed until a wave of murmurs ripples through the crowd, followed by sharp screams. Your attention shifts, and you spot Carter entering the room, his arm slung around a girl who looks like she was sculpted out of plastic, clinging to him like a lifeline.

You glance at Audrey, noticing the frown darkening her face. A wave of empathy crashes over you. "It’s okay. He’ll probably dump her by the end of the night, and then you’ll have him all to yourself," you say with a gentle smile.

Audrey scoffs, her scowl giving way to a pointedly condescending look. "Fuck him," she snaps. "I’m not wasting my time on some man-whore. I’ve got options."

A proud grin spreads across your face, but when your eyes flicker back to where Carter stood, your smile falters. He’s gone. In his place stands a silhouette that makes your stomach drop and your heart stop cold.

Panic surges through you as your breath quickens. Sasha, one of your friends, notices. "Hey, are you okay?" she asks, concern evident in her voice.

You stumble, grabbing Audrey’s arm. "I need to go. Now," you mumble, tugging her toward a quieter corner. She furrows her brows but stays silent, waiting for you to speak.

"I just... fuck, Auds, I just saw her," you finally manage, your voice trembling.

"And?" Audrey raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I thought you were 'over her.'" She emphasizes her point with air quotes.

"I thought I was too." Tears prick at your eyes like needles as you drop your gaze to the floor. "It's been a year, Audrey. Why am I not over her yet?"

Audrey’s expression softens at the crack in your voice. She pulls you into a tight hug, her hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "I’m so sorry, honey. You don’t deserve this."

You cling to her, letting your head rest on her shoulder. After a moment, Audrey pulls away, her eyes filled with determination. "No wallowing," she declares firmly. "You’re here to have fun, whether she’s here or not. It’s your second year of college, hun. Live it up and don’t let the past ruin your night."

With a chuckle, you wipe away the tears threatening to spill, careful not to smudge your makeup, and nod firmly. "You’re right. I’m here to take a well-deserved break, and I’m not letting some ex get in the way."

Spinning on your heels, you barely manage to stop yourself as you come face-to-face with the very person haunting your thoughts. A gasp escapes your lips, and your hand flies up to cover your mouth.

She takes a deliberate step to the side, clearing your path. Her tone is tinged with arrogance as she says, "What? I got out of your way. Isn’t that what you wanted?" Her brows knit slightly, her mouth pressed into a thin, unreadable line.

"I didn't... I just—"

"Come on, Y/N. Let's go." Audrey loops her arm through yours, her grip firm as she pulls you away. Her glare cuts through your ex like a blade, sharp and unwavering.

Audrey had always liked her when the two of you were together, but after the breakup, all those sentiments had evaporated. Now, there was nothing but icy disdain in her gaze, a silent reminder of how things had gone south.

"That was so embarrassing, oh my God," you mutter, your wide eyes reflecting your inner turmoil as you and Audrey walk back into the main room. Heading straight for the kitchen, you rub your temples, trying to soothe the headache forming. Without a second thought, you grab the bottle of vodka from the counter and reach for a shot glass.

"Hey, no!" Audrey snatches the bottle from your grip, holding it just out of reach. "You promised you weren't gonna drink tonight. She's so not worth the hangover."

You let out a long sigh, leaning against the counter with a defeated shrug. "Yeah, I know." You pause, a frustrated exhale escaping your lips. "I just can't stop thinking about... God, the fucking breakup. Everything. We weren't supposed to just throw it all away over some stupid reason. I miss her, Auds."

Audrey shakes her head. "No, you don't. You miss the memories, not her. There's a difference." She places the bottle and shot glass back on the counter, then grabs your shoulders firmly, pulling you closer so you’re forced to meet her gaze. Her eyes are intense, unwavering. "Listen, you're only remembering the good parts. It's your mind playing tricks on you."

You sigh again, leaning heavily against the counter as the frustration in your voice rises. "We never had any bad times, though. Just the breakup." Your voice cracks slightly, betraying the emotions you'd been holding back. "It was good—she was good. It just... ended, and I don't even know why anymore."

Audrey's grip on your shoulders tightens gently, her expression unwavering. "Exactly, babe. That’s the part you're stuck on. You’re romanticizing it because you don’t have the full picture anymore. Breakups hurt, even the ones that make sense, but that doesn’t mean you should let the past keep pulling you back. You deserve better than this."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Do I? Because right now, it feels like I’m the one who messed it all up. Like maybe I wasn’t enough for her."

Audrey softens, pulling you into a hug before you can spiral any further. "Don’t do that. Don’t tear yourself apart over what happened. You’re enough—more than enough. And if she couldn’t see that, that’s on her, not you."

You bury your face in her shoulder, her steady reassurance grounding you for a moment. When you finally pull away, her determined gaze meets yours again. "You’re here to have fun, right? Not to relive the past. So let’s leave her back there where she belongs and get you back out there."

You nod hesitantly, letting her words sink in. "You’re right," you say softly, trying to muster a smile. "She’s not worth ruining my night over."

"Exactly," Audrey says with a grin, looping her arm through yours. "Now, come on. Let’s show this party what you’re made of."

You saunter back to the designated dance floor, forcing a grin as the music thumps through your chest, trying to shake off the earlier interaction. Sasha joins in beside you, her blonde, shoulder-length hair bouncing as she jumps and twirls to the beat. The faint brown of her roots begins to show, a faint reminder of the dye job she got two months ago.

Your friend Maeve stumbles into your line of sight, mimicking a ridiculous move, and you laugh despite yourself, grateful for the temporary distraction.

But then your gaze drifts, almost instinctively, to one corner of the room. There she is—your ex—leaning against the wall with that infuriatingly effortless coolness. And beside her, some brunette is clearly making a move, leaning in closer with every passing second.

You freeze, the air knocked out of you as if someone had punched your chest. A bitter scoff escapes your lips, shaking your head in disbelief. You swallow hard, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter, and mutter under your breath, "Of course."

It's as if something takes over you, a force compelling you to pull Sasha closer. You lean in and whisper urgently, "I need a favor. Please, just go with it. I'll explain later—don’t ask questions."

She blinks, her brows knitting together in confusion. "What are you—"

Before she can finish, your lips crash onto hers. She gasps in surprise but quickly responds, her hands finding your waist as the crowd erupts in cheers and whistles. You wrap your arms around her shoulders, leaning into the kiss as it deepens, your tongue brushing against hers. The world around you blurs, drowned out by the roaring excitement of onlookers.

Pulling away, you chuckle softly, your breath mingling with Sasha's as you glance around the room. The crowd is buzzing, their gazes locked on you—some bewildered, others clearly displeased.

But your attention quickly shifts, your eyes landing on Ellie.

Her gaze is piercing, burning through the room with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. The girl beside her tugs at her arm, desperate for attention, but Ellie barely spares her a glance. Instead, she scoffs, her jaw tightening as she shrugs off the girl’s grip.

Without a word, she turns on her heel, shoving past people as she storms toward the front door. The slam echoes through the house, leaving a charged silence in its wake.

You bite your lip, nerves flickering beneath your confident facade, and glance over at Audrey, who bursts into laughter, still processing what just happened. "You did not," she exclaims, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Thanks, Sasha. You're an absolute lifesaver." You flash her a grin, ignoring the bewildered look on her face as your gaze shifts toward the door Ellie just slammed shut. A swell of pride rises in your chest, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. For better or worse, you had gotten her attention.

After some time, you eventually say your goodbyes to your friends, including Audrey. You decide to leave early, your social battery completely drained. Audrey stays behind, her energy seemingly endless, as she's far more used to these party scenes.

Grabbing your black purse, you head for the door and step outside. Your brows lift in mild surprise when you spot Ellie sitting on the steps, her back to you. The only light comes from the moon and the soft glow of her phone screen. Silently, you move closer, glancing over her shoulder to see her engrossed in a silly dinosaur game.

A quiet chuckle escapes your lips as you tilt your head, watching her affectionately. She hasn’t changed a bit.

"I know you're standing behind me, Y/N. You're not slick."

Or maybe she has.

You sigh, moving to sit beside her on the step. The tension between you is thick and the weight of the moment feels suffocating, each second dragging like an eternity. “I wasn’t trying to... I didn’t mean what I said the way you thought I did.” The words tumble out, and you wring your hands nervously.

“I’ve just been so distracted with finals, and Audrey finally convinced me to leave our dorm to take a break. You being here... it just caught me off guard, and—” You groan, burying your face in your hands. “God, I should really stop talking.”

"Yeah, you should," she mutters, shaking her head as she pockets her phone and fixes her gaze on her shoes. Red Converse, the ones with doodles scrawled across the front. You recognize them instantly—they’re the pair you gave her for her birthday last year, covered in your handiwork. You can’t help but remember the laugh that erupted from her chest when your doodling spree ended with you drawing a Sharpie mustache on her face.

The memory tugs at you, bittersweet and unshakable. You pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and resting your chin on your forearm. "Still obsessed with dinosaurs?"

Her lips twitch, almost forming a smile. "Went to class in a dino costume once," she says, leaning back on her elbows with a casual ease.

Finally, her eyes meet yours, lingering as they trace over your face, your hair, and the way the dress clings to your body. She doesn't say it, but you can see it—the flicker of admiration she's trying to bury. "Pretty sure that says it all," she adds with a shrug, but the way her gaze softens betrays her indifference.

You tilt your head back, gazing up at the sprawling constellations scattered across the night sky, their brilliance stirring a quiet joy in your chest. Lowering your gaze, your eyes follow the gentle sway of the trees in the rising wind, their movement mirrored in the cool breeze brushing against your bare shoulders. A sudden chill ripples through you, sending a shiver down your spine—until something warm and familiar settles over you, enveloping you in its comforting embrace.

Glancing down, you realize it’s a jacket, worn and soft, smelling faintly of Ellie’s cologne. You look up, meeting her gaze with a hint of confusion.

“What?” she mutters, a faint scoff escaping her lips as she leans back again, feigning nonchalance. “Can’t let you get hypothermia.”

But there’s something in her tone—subtle, unspoken, and tender—that makes your chest tighten.

You slip it on, the warmth instantly comforting, before glancing back at her. “You’ll get cold, though.”

Ellie tilts her head, a pointed look settling on her face. “Right, because you forgot about my absolute freezer of a dorm. Felt like I was living in fucking Antarctica. Might as well have been an igloo.”

For the first time tonight, she chuckles—a soft, genuine sound that tugs at something deep inside you. Her smile is the same as it’s always been, the one you hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed. It almost makes you smile too, but the weight of everything unsaid lingers between you, dimming your brief moment of joy.

Your grin falters, a sigh slipping out as you lower your gaze. “What went wrong between us?”

The question hangs in the air, raw and vulnerable, carrying the weight of everything you’ve been too afraid to ask until now.

Her shoulders slump as her heartbeat quickens, the weight of the moment settling heavily between you. This wasn’t the kind of conversation she expected to have tonight—especially not with you. “You really wanna go there?” she asks, her voice low and hesitant as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, legs spread slightly in a relaxed stance that betrays her inner turmoil.

You nod, your gaze steady and unwavering. “I need to know, Ellie. It’s been eating at me for a year.”

She exhales sharply, her eyes dropping to the concrete beneath her feet, as if it holds the answers she’s been avoiding. “I was in a bad place,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t handle a relationship anymore. I didn’t want to leave, but staying would’ve hurt you even more.”

Her words hang in the air like a weight, the raw honesty cracking through the wall of confusion you’ve carried since the breakup.

Your breath catches as her words sink in. You’ve spent so much time replaying the breakup in your mind, blaming yourself, thinking maybe you had done something wrong, and now hearing this explanation leaves you unsure of how to feel. Relief? Frustration? Sadness?

"You didn't think I deserved to know that back then?" you ask, your voice trembling slightly as you try to keep your composure.

Ellie finally looks at you, guilt flickering in her eyes. "I didn’t know how to say it. I thought... I thought it’d be easier if you hated me. That way, you'd move on."

You shake your head, a dry laugh escaping. "Easier for who? Because it sure as hell wasn’t easy for me."

She runs a hand through her auburn hair, tugging at the strands like she’s punishing herself. "I know. I messed up. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn't know I hurt you this bad."

The air feels heavy between you, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. You pull the jacket tighter around yourself, searching her face for sincerity. All you find is regret.

You sit in silence, though it feels like an eternity. The quiet is only broken by the rhythmic tapping of Ellie’s shoe against the concrete, her leg bouncing nervously.

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Breaking up with me?"

Your voice is steady, but your chest tightens as you glance up at her, bracing yourself for an answer you’re not ready to hear. Bittersweet nostalgia churns within you as you watch her intently, trying to decipher her expression.

Ellie averts her gaze, focusing on the trees swaying in the breeze and the students passing by—some clutching textbooks, others laughing as they shove their friends playfully. "You kissed that girl," she mutters, her tone laced with accusation. "Looked pretty cozy to me."

"You still didn’t answer my question."

Ellie’s jaw tightens as she finally turns to face you, her eyes sharp and conflicted. "What the fuck am I supposed to say?" she snaps, her voice rising. "It’s been a year, Y/N. What’s my explanation gonna change?"

You rise abruptly and descend the steps, shooting her a sharp glare as your jaw clenches tight. The rain pelts against your skin, but you barely notice, too consumed by the storm raging inside you. "At least I’d finally get the fucking closure I need to move on," you bite out, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. "I haven’t been able to date anyone else because of you. Every time I try, it feels like I’m betraying something that’s not even there anymore—"

"I don’t want you with anyone else," she interrupts, her voice cutting through the night with a raw, unyielding edge. Her arms cross defensively over her chest as she steps toward you, her posture tense.

You scoff, throwing your hands up. "So, what? I’m just supposed to stay single forever? Never move on, just because you don’t want me with anyone else?"

"That’s not what I meant!" she retorts, her voice cracking slightly.

"Then what the fuck do you—"

Before you can finish, Ellie closes the distance between you, her lips crashing onto yours in an ardent, desperate kiss. It’s urgent, almost reckless, yet it feels natural—your mouths moving together in sync, reigniting a passion you hadn’t felt in over a year.

You gasp softly but instinctively kiss her back, your arms sliding around her shoulders as hers settle on your waist, tugging you impossibly closer, as if letting go would mean losing you forever. A muffled moan escapes into her mouth when your fingers tangle in her hair, tugging lightly.

Her hands drift lower, skimming over your back before settling firmly on your hips, grounding you both in the heat of the moment.

After a moment, she pulls back, both of you breathless, your foreheads lightly touching as your frantic eyes lock. A small chuckle slips out as you lower your gaze, your hands sliding down her shoulders and chest to wrap securely around her torso, pulling her into a warm hug.

"Shit, I’ve missed you," you murmur into her chest, your voice laced with quiet relief as her familiar scent fills your senses. You sigh contentedly when her arms tighten around you, enveloping you in the embrace you’d longed for.

"I’ve missed you too, pretty girl," she whispers, her voice soft but steady, carrying the weight of unspoken emotions.

When you first arrived at the party, all you wanted was a chance to unwind. Now, looking back, a simple break was far from what you ended up with—but what you got was so much more.

Ellie Williams is back in your life.

[darsynia]

New (Nomad Steve/Nurse!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: As soon as two weeks ago he’d have said that keeping to himself was the easiest part of his life right now… but that was before he met you.

Word Count/Warnings: 2,400 | None

As 1/7 of my Birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, NEw is a first kiss hurt/comfort fic about writing your own happy endings. It's a hugely busy week for you and there's no pressure to respond right now, they'll all be here when you have time!

Excerpt:

Lately it feels like exhaustion is your religion. Stay up way too late, stumble home confused and euphoric and try to will yourself to sleep, then wake up and perform miracles to get yourself back to the hospital for your shift. You’ve always been a night owl, but your shift supervisor practically considers you the ward’s brand ambassador, and to keep the peace, you agreed to stay on the day shift. You’d gotten the schedule down to a science, right up until a tall, gorgeous complication started to jog at the track after hours.

The name he’d given feels fake, but nothing else about him does, and you know all about needing to distance yourself from the horrible things you’ve seen at work. You suspect he was a soldier until he got out, and after that probably a firefighter, but you’ve never asked. Mostly, you just try to keep up with him. The sum total of the words you’ve spoken to each other probably wouldn’t make for a single meet-cute in a romance novel, but they feel consequential enough to you.

NEW

It takes Steve a painful amount of time to adjust to hiding.

It isn’t just that he’s recognizable, it’s that he’s always stood out, always. As a small baby he’d been gasped over by strangers, as a sickly child he’d see concern and aversion in their eyes, and once he’d grown into a scrawny adult, those reactions had just intensified. 

Some accused him of making himself sick to avoid the war, as though he could have secretly known it was coming and starved himself into stunted growth just in case. For some, it didn’t matter what he looked like-- any man who wasn’t at war was fair game for ridicule. Even those who didn’t care either way found his presence unnerving simply because men his age were scarce. He reminded them of the people they missed, the people who didn’t have the ‘protection’ of being physically unable to join up. 

If his life was a narrative, he’d be the best protagonist he could be.

Even so, there was a special kind of hell in wanting so desperately to fight for justice and be told how lucky you were to be disallowed. Back then, it had been important to him not to hide. There were certainly others in the same boat as he was, men who needed groceries, to watch the news in the theater, to have a walk in the fresh air. So he went out anyway. He was the example, the target, the archetype.

Once he had the serum, hiding meant all the hard work by Doctor Erskine and Howard Stark would be for nothing, so he didn’t. Even in tights.

The symbolism was even stronger when he came out of the ice. Now, people look to him as a lodestar meant to bring them all back to decency and safety, and he wants to, but with action, not iconography, no matter how potent. 

That hadn’t been enough, and now they’re here.

“You’ve been tying your shoes for five minutes, man. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Sam.” Steve finishes up quickly and straightens. “Daydreaming, I guess.”

Sam leans over and looks out through the thin rectangle of night sky visible through the thick curtains. “At this point I think you can just call it dreaming. Stay safe out there.”

Steve watches Sam head off into the kitchen before he slips out of the apartment door and locks it behind him. He and Sam keep nocturnal schedules, but Natasha’s expert-level camouflage skills have netted her a day job that keeps them all afloat. Their plan of moving from community to community taking seasonal jobs has worked well so far. 

This is the most ‘domestic’ of their locations to date; they’re spending the lead-up to Christmas in a small city in the midwest full of people who know how to keep their heads down and get things done. No one’s expecting a trio of superheroes to settle in a satellite town whose main attraction is a vintage bowling alley, but there are other calculations to consider. People make eye contact here. They bring their real selves to the conversation, and Steve’s been struggling with some real guilt about that. 

As soon as two weeks ago he’d have said that keeping to himself was the easiest part of his life right now… but that was before he’d met you.

Lately it feels like exhaustion is your religion. Stay up way too late, stumble home confused and euphoric and try to will yourself to sleep, then wake up and perform miracles to get yourself back to the hospital for your shift. You’ve always been a night owl, but your shift supervisor practically considers you the ward’s brand ambassador, and to keep the peace, you agreed to stay on the day shift. You’d gotten the schedule down to a science, right up until a tall, gorgeous complication started to jog at the track after hours.

The name he’d given feels fake, but nothing else about him does, and you know all about needing to distance yourself from the horrible things you’ve seen at work. You suspect he was a soldier until he got out, and after that probably a firefighter, but you’ve never asked. Mostly, you just try to keep up with him. The sum total of the words you’ve spoken to each other probably wouldn’t make for a single meet-cute in a romance novel, but they feel consequential enough to you.

As it has for the past week, your heart starts racing when you get close to the track. The problem is, you were run ragged today, and you feel just like the mermaid from the original fairy tale. Every single step is like knives stabbing the balls of your feet, and your arches are singing ‘fuck you’ so loudly you expect Ursula to show up any minute.

You stop on the bench right inside the gate to let the burning pain subside a bit. The last thing you want is for your burly new crush to think you’re a lightweight, not now that the months of forcing yourself to run after work have paid off so nicely with… well, him.  

Besides Frank, the school’s night security officer and all-around nicest tough-guy in town, there isn’t anyone else visible on the brightly-lit track. You take the opportunity to cross your ankle over your knee and reach for your shoe in preparation to swap it with the sneakers in your bag. These are a new pair, and you’d planned on wearing them every few days to break them in. As soon as you get your heel off you understand just how much you screwed up by not bringing  the others in to swap into once you realized how go-go-go your day would be. The swelling is bad, and the beginnings of blisters sting in various places. There’s no way in hell you can jog today, and walking home is going to be excruciating. It’s a god-damned miracle you have the day off tomorrow.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” you mutter under your breath. The John F. Kennedy High School campus is the same distance from the bus stop as your apartment is, but in the opposite direction. Your feet had already been screaming, why hadn’t you gone home instead?”

“Thought you weren’t coming!”

Your crush’s voice cuts through the late November chill, warming your heart. You look up and see him crossing from under the bleachers, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He’s far enough away that you let yourself sigh, half in addlepated pleasure in seeing him, half in utter frustration at yourself. He’s the reason you came, of course. You’d walk across fire to spend time with this guy, and by the time you head home, that’s definitely what it’ll feel like.

“Sorry, long day,” you tell him once he’s close enough. 

Hurrying, you yank off your second shoe and nearly swallow your tongue from the pain. Tears stand in your eyes, exacerbated by the surprise when you look up and your new friend is right there, almost like he'd teleported over. He’s crouched in front of you, and there’s nowhere to hide from his concerned scrutiny.

He confirms your assessment of ex-military by the professional once-over he’s doing, even more so when he takes your shoe out of your weary hand and tests the bend of its sole with a practiced hand.

“Don’t say it--”

“These are not very good shoes,” he pronounces. With a move as graceful as a ballet dancer, he shifts onto the bench beside you, still examining the shoe. You snag it from his hand and tuck it into your backpack with its mate, pulling out your tennis shoes before zipping back up.

There’s no chance you’ll be able to put them on, but, one thing at a time.

“You’re right. I didn’t expect to be the runner on the ward today, but we were shorthanded.” You wince at your feet, both of which are looking decidedly puffy. Shit, will either pair of shoes fit, at this point? “There’s a ‘best foot forward’ joke I could be making about hoping you’d be here running tonight, but honestly, I’m too wiped out to make it.” You look over as you finish speaking and catch his pleased reaction. It’s understated, but it’s there, enough to make you brave. “I have the day off tomorrow, maybe I can give you a twelve hour rain check? I bet you’re even more handsome in sunlight.”

To your dismay, his face falls and he looks down. You turn your head away, unwilling to see the evidence of just how badly you’d gauged this. He’s very clearly not interested.

“Or not! ‘Not’ is also okay, sorry about that, I--”

The words dissolve on your tongue at the gentle touch of his knuckle on your chin, turning your face back toward his in the time-honored tradition of romantic male leads.

“Please don’t-- Running with you has been-- Believe me, during the day-- I would like to, I just can’t.” Disappointment is etched across his handsome features, but more than that, you can see the way his mind is racing just like yours had just seconds ago. The man looks like he’s desperate to rewind to a moment that doesn’t feel like this.

There’s a remedy to that, and after a day of doing your best to fix everything and everyone around you, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to surge up and touch your lips to his. 

You meant to pull back right away, mirroring that thing where a couple knows each other so well that gentle brush is all that’s needed-- but your midnight warrior is still in the middle of the book. His large hand shifts to cup your cheek, holding you still for his head tip where he deepens the kiss and scrambles your brain. It’s impulsive, desperate, and honest. You grab at his clothing, needing to believe this is real, even as the two of you follow kisses with more kisses like you’re saying goodbye in an airport.

“Doesn’t look much like you’re runnin’!” the security guard calls out, his words so distant they almost don’t register at first.

That ends things abruptly, but the two of you don’t move much farther apart than a few inches, his hand still on your face, yours with a handful of his sweatshirt, right over his heart.

“Textbook,” you whisper, flattening your hand out to smooth over his chest. It’s solid muscle under there.

“Oh?” he asks, pulling his hand away swiftly like he’d forgotten how to be a gentleman in his eagerness to touch you. It’s charming as hell.

“This whole operation, it’s right out of the romance novel guidebook,” you praise. “I ought to look for cameras.” A shadow crosses his face, and you suddenly put the pieces together. “Shit, you’re hiding from something, aren’t you? That’s why you freaked out about coming here in the daytime.”

He’s already standing, but instead of stalking away from you, he’s looking around the track, turning in a circle of deep concentration. He’s looking for cameras, but not in a joking way, not as part of a bit.

“The school district would rather spend the money on Frank than cameras, if that’s what you’re looking for,” you murmur, pushing your voice into steadiness out of sheer determination. “The city contributes. It’s been so much safer when everyone who wants a night walk comes here, but there are fewer of us out in the winter months.” The fall chill is actually helping with the pain in your feet, so that's something.

Your mysterious crush is facing you again, apparently satisfied that the two of you aren't being watched by anything more permanent than good old Frank. “I’m sorry,” he says. The words have a horrid finality to them, but you’re focused on his eyebrows. They’re not on board with the rest of his body language. They’re beseeching, rather than resolute, hopeful rather than harsh.

You have one chance to get this right.

“There are some things I love about my coworkers, and let’s be real, a lot of things I don’t-- but do you want to know the thing I like least about working in a hospital?”

Your whole body is practically vibrating with adrenaline, and you realize this is your opportunity to shove on your shoes. As you do that, you refuse to look up at him. The goal is to bring his critical thinking skills back from ‘fight or flight’ mode. Then maybe you can get the two of you on the same page again.

It takes over a minute, but he lets out a long breath and sits down beside you. “Tell me."

“They’re terrible gossips,” you say, looking right at him. He’s not allowed to make the obvious (ruinous, new-relationship-wrecking) conclusion about what you’re saying, not without having to look you in the eye while he does it. “I can’t stand that shit. That’s why they send me on the errands. I’ve got everyone trained to stop talking when I walk by, at this point.”

His relief is visible. “I can respect that.”

“Good.” You set both feet on the ground and decide to test things out by standing. If you’re wobbly, you feel certain he’ll reach out and catch you. “Tomorrow night?”

“Wait,” he says, the picture of confusion. “You’re not-- You think I’m hiding from something and you’re not going to ask about it?” Even in the dim glow of the nearby track light, you can see the clench and release of his jaw.

“For all I know, you’re hiding from your last girlfriend. I know I’d find it hard to give you up, and I’ve known you for what? Two weeks?” Your feet are screaming at you about as loudly as the critical voice in your head, but happiness has made both just distant enough to achieve your goals. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets, which you take to be a good sign. “Would that still be ‘textbook?’ This is all new to me.”

All of the cheeky, sarcastic, and cheesy thoughts that cross your mind would ruin the moment, so you go off script. It’s not the best, but it’s not awful, either.

“New is terrible for work shoes, but it’s lovely when it’s you. See you tomorrow night!”

Stay tuned for more stories in the Ro Roll! Would you like more of these two? Let me know 💚

[meanbossart]

Spicy Asks: The Sequel is here. I'm so, so sorry.

Oh he's a very passive guy, he likes being manhandled around and not having to do much of the work (a bit of a pillow princess one might say). As far as fetishes go, he does have fantasies about group sex and of being roughed up, but I think if put in a situation where he could practice it in a controlled environment he'd be like "EHHHH nevermind actually" and go home very quickly LOL

DU drow would have 100% banged Lae'zel if he hadn't killed her. He couldn't stand her personality but they would have gotten on like two peas in a pod in the sack.

He does find Shadowheart very pretty, but they struck up a friendship so quickly that I don't think he could see her in that way 🤷 but that's still a smash, technically speaking.

Jaheira. Ohhhh Jaheira. As far as general dynamics go she would have been the best choice after Astarion, probably - though there is no way in hell or high heavens that she would have ever let him touch her LOL regardless, DU drow finds her looks and personality to be very attractive.

He's pretty much utterly indifferent to anyone else. Wyll is too idealistic, Gale is Gale, Karlach isn't his type, Halsin gets on his nerves - oh, he WOULD have banged Mizora if he hadn't been heads over heels for Astarion by that point.

The man just likes his femmes I guess LOL

HMMMMMMM yes, but since it's not really a porn fic expect any scenes like that to be in line with what we've had so far, where there's more of a focus on developing character dynamics rather than gratuitousness (I hope I've gotten that across, at least LOL).

LOL, It's ok, it's a ridiculous not-name and I'm so sorry for all the people I have made confused and will continue to confuse because of it.

As for your question, definitely not! I personally like big-bottom/smaller-top scenarios so that's why I focus on it, and I do think character-wise those are the roles they fall into most naturally - but they switch around every so often when the mood strikes and it isn't really a big deal.

Oh are you kidding me? The guy LOVES being cared after in an intimate setting. Being doted on, groomed, checked up on, having his hair played with and clothes fixed up - he doesn't express it outwardly much, but these are all things that make his murderous little heart skip a beat. He was the same way pre-tadpole but it was mostly servants and Sceleritas doing it, so he didn't get much out of the exchange; and Orin didn't entertain this at all, or, if she ever did, it was very, very, very rarely and really just a crumb of intimate affection that he most likely misread anyways.

I'm not sure what to say to this one LOL the penis is full of blood already man I don't think a vampire needs to make it any more tempting to themselves to chomp down.

I wrote a thing about that not too long ago :D ! The answer is complicated but, mostly yes.

Alright you joke, but, if you don't think DU drow hasn't spent a little too long lingering over Astarion's feet and ankles then I got amazing news for you.

I touched on what they generally like on the previous edition of Wine Fuelled Spicy Asks, but as for what they like to do as a couple, it's probably a lot of body worship and some playful denial on both ends. Du drow thinks Astarion is the most elegant and limber thing he's ever seen (and he loves how he smells), and Astarion thinks DU drow's body is an expertly put together murder machine. They have a great time being mutually enamored with each other's (and their own) appearances.

I think they also venture into some blood-play and vapid threats of violence in the future, as a treat, but takes a while for them to trust themselves and each other enough to indulge in that kind of thing.

Needs a little direction, plus you gotta learn to enjoy a bit of teeth and a very slobbery time - also I think he distracts easily, It's nice to have a man who's willing to venture the whole perimeter with his mouth but sometimes you do just want him to stay on the prick. But generally speaking - yes, DU drow gives good head. Fun head, even!

What do you people want from me? Do you want schematics? Diagrams? Do you want me to compare their holes to famous people holes? Do you want me to take out my measuring tape and give you numbers, tell you which kind of produce each of them can fit in there???

One is pink, the other one is brown. One of them just looks normal and the other looks and feels a little like it been around the block a few times. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Okay so i had this in my mind, so do you know about moominmamma from moominvalley, just to summarize her shortly, she's described as a calm and comforting caretaker, who has a odd way of doing housekeeping and seems to always be calm, always making the tastiest foods, always carrying around a handbag that seems to have everything, and also knows the slight changes in the moomin house after her hibernation, and also might have been hiding a criminal (Stinky) from the police.

Soo i have a fun idea of the farmer being exactly like moominmamma, they do an odd way on doing anything, giving off strong parental figure vibe, always know whenever someone move or took their stuff, even a little, and maybe even befriending monsters( i can imagine them simply hanging out with Apophis or even having tea with Gabrielle).

How would all of the RSV characters react to a Moominmamma! Listener?

Hell yeah, Moomin mentioned! :D

I really like that idea for Farmer ❤️ Thanks for your ask, dear anon, and enjoy!

_________________________________________

Trinnie and Keahi adore Farmer and will never miss a single opportunity to visit them on the farm. After all, the kind Farmer always treats them to something tasty (Keahi sometimes even thinks that Farmer is a little better cook than his father), always lets them pet the animals, and even ride a horse (not without a protective helmet and supervision from Farmer, of course), and also never refuses the energetic children in advice if they are worried about something. Admittedly, if Farmer gets Keahi and Trinnie up to mischief, it's not without a dose of light scolding (who uses a bomb for a prank?), but on the whole, Farmer is a favourite adult for the kids.

Maddie, Flor, Kiarra and Paula decided to make a little experiment at their leisure in Stardew Valley, and asked Philip to move some things in Farmer's house while Farmer themself was standing with the girls (Farmer allowed it). When he returned to his friends, however, all four girls waited to see what Farmer would say in reply. "Philip moved my coffee mug in the kitchen a little to the left of the sink." The shocked man nodded his head in confirmation. "HOW?!" "It's always like that. Anyway, who wants some berry pie?"

Aguar has an experiment of his own on Farmer as well... Only in this case, it will also involve the dangerous monsters that lurk in the depths of Ridge forest. Why are they aggressive to everyone but Farmer? What kind of aura do they exude that monsters obediently stand near them and willingly accept... cookies in their clawed paws??? He can use their power to his advantage. For the defence of Ridgeside Village, naturally (well, and other purposes...).

Farmer has practically replaced Yuuma's parents while they have to travel for work. The boy was at first uncomfortable with Farmer's care and didn't want to impose on the adult with his chores and thoughts, immersing himself in taking care of his older brother. But it was Farmer's help, kindness and care that allowed Yuuma not only to have free time to be a child, but also to vent his accumulated emotions to someone, about his fears and worries for his brother and how much he missed his mom and dad.

No, Jio doesn't need anything from Farmer. And no, he doesn't need woollen socks, it's not cold in the woods- no, he doesn't need it in any way at all. Elf doesn't need a warm hat either. Why is Farmer chasing him like a protective mama hen? He's an assassin, this is ridiculous- No! For the last time, Jio doesn't need this- !!! Okay, he'll take the plum pudding, it looks delicious. Thanks. And go away.

The kindness and parental care from Farmer is just a breath of fresh air for the Amethyne family, whose members sacrifice almost everything for the legacy of their family name. Louie clung to Farmer like a magnet, wanting to spend more time with them. He even stopped calling them a servant and started working on his behaviour thanks to their advice and help. The advice was especially accepted by Ariah, who was already freaking out due to a nearly failed exam and a lot of pressure. The faithful servants Irene and Sonny themselves were not left out of Farmer's attention, they were even a little unaccustomed to it - usually they take care of family and guests, but here it was somehow the opposite. Zayne is a little shy, but very grateful to Farmer for everything and for always listening to him and helping him in difficult decisions. Maive is just happy with Farmer and appreciates them for everything they have done for her family, sometimes being surprised that Farmer sees only good in her too, even though the head of the Amethyne family herself knows that she can be strict and even unpleasant.

While the grumpy elf is trying his best to hide from Farmer, Daia is taking full advantage of this. Who could say no to a delicious cranberry cheesecake, especially since Farmer makes it just perfect! The ninja has never known family and parental care, having been raised from an early age with only one job - to kill anyone her Lady points her finger at, so Daia doesn't mind feeling cared for, if only for a little while. Though she admits it's a little strange.

"Farmer, we need to have a serious talk." Belinda doesn't even know anymore whether to be angry at the careless Farmer who approached Gabriella's closest minions unarmed, with intentions of "settling the conflict," or surprised at the minions agreeing to peace and having a tea party??? with Farmer. Can damned monsters even drink anything? It's as if Farmer has some sort of aura that makes all evil spirits calm down. At her mute request for help in this strange situation towards Raeriyala, the fox spirit only laughed softly at what was happening. Her deceased friend had been such a caring mother, and it was rather amusing to see Farmer adopt those traits of their grandmother. Maybe it's a hint that the damned souls can still be saved, since they're treating Farmer peacefully at least.

Olga has become resistant to Farmer because they are spoiling her husband Bert (who really doesn't mind a tasty sweets from Farmer) and daughter Trinnie with their maternal care. She is grateful to Farmer for their recipes for culinary masterpieces, sweaters and, though a little strange, very useful advice about the house, but Olga repeats time after time that these two need a stern hand.

Lenny sat on the picnic table with the rest of the adult residents of Ridgeside Village and was dying laughing when she saw Farmer, with arms full of sweaters, almost running after anyone they thought was not dressed appropriately for the cold weather. "Ay, ay, ay, are you jealous because you don't have a sweater either?" slyly quipped Carmen, who however was also amused by the scene. Especially since her daughter Blair was perpetually dressed lightly and had a good chance of catching a cold (despite her mother's scolding), so Farmer, who had persuaded her to wear sweater they had tied, was her salvation. Shanice, Naomi, and Malaya giggled quietly at what was happening while Richard with Pika and Lorenzo explained to a confused Kimpoi that Farmer had always been like this. Even though they all laugh, everyone knows that Farmer is the kindest soul, best friend and just a blessing from Yoba.

On the one hand, Faye is a bit annoyed by Farmer's care and advice, because she can take care of herself, you know (ugh, they are like her parents!). But later the waitress realises that they do it out of kindness, not because they think she is incapable of independent life. Plus she can't turn down Farmer's food (their cauliflower with cheese is delicious!).

"Aw yeah, free lunch!" Ian gave Sean a stern look after his not too polite comment when Farmer's stopped by their workplace with a hot meal for the boys. But the ginger man himself couldn't agree more with his friend: Farmer cooks so gloriously that it's impossible to refuse. They have become a frequent visitor (not even a customer anymore), just to make sure that both Ian and Sean don't forget to eat after their hard work. Ian is especially grateful, as he can save more money for his family.

Anton has already come to terms with his failures in life, believing that the only thing he has left to wish for is to numb the pain with cider and sleep. However, Farmer appeared in Anton's life and became a friend, a counsellor and a shoulder to cry on. And they always have plenty of tissues in their handbag after crying.

After the whole damn thing with that Jio and "Gabriela's followers", Corine is surprised at how calm Farmer acted at the sight of danger. Wait, don't tell her that Farmer didn't take up arms just because they want to be friends with these... creatures and live in peace like in fairytale. With all due respect to her good friend, Corine doesn't think just words will solve anything here... whatever that was.

Alissa and Ysabelle are going to be a little confused. It's not that Farmer's attention and care makes them uncomfortable, not at all. It's just... They're not little kids anymore, and they can take care of themselves. Alissa is a bit shy to say it directly, so as not to hurt Farmer's feelings, while Ysabelle said in plain text that if she needs help, advice or warm socks, she will ask directly. Luckily, Frmer understood both girls perfectly and is in no way offended.

Shiro was so happy when before his eyes Farmer cared for and helped Yuuma, allowing the boy to enjoy at least some free time like a child should. Even chuckled a little when his younger brother was a little shy of care from Farmer. Laughing until Farmer's attention turned to Shiro himself. He was a little shy too, but was grateful for the help and care, occasionally reminding him that he could take care of himself too. Heh, why does he need so many woollen socks?

"Don't you think I'm too old for all this?" Kenneth, June and Jeric in no way meant to insult the Farmer or their gift of a knitted jumper. It's only that such overprotection causes them a little confusion and misunderstanding. All those sweaters and- oh, ok, that cheesecake looks delicious. They'll accept that. Thanks Farmer.

For Lola and Freddie Farmer is the kindest, most polite and calm youth they have ever met. All their deeds, all their concern for the other residents of this town has not escaped the eyes of the retired assassins. And of course, two elderly men will not refuse the knitted socks that Farmer has put their care and love into (especially they are woolen - just the thing against the cold wooden floor in their house!). Lola is a little worried, though, because of Farmer's desire to solve all matters only in peace and even be friends with monsters. She's afraid lest Farmer's get in trouble because of it.

[babypinkbruno]

Blind Date Drabble pairing: Bruno Bucciarati x fem!reader word count: 3239

warnings: none!

notes: may become a chaptered deal... also on my ao3! this has not been beta read lol i'm too tired. maybe you'll like it, idk. i love him anyway and enjoyed writing this even though i desperately need to sleep. hehe.

It is ridiculous, Yn thinks to herself. This is so stupid. ‘Quit stressing – you look hot.’ Next to her Mista sips on a canned drink, eyeing her appreciatively. ‘Do I really need this?’ Yn asks, hesitantly.

‘You asked us to set you up with someone,’ Mista shrugs. ‘He’s a really nice guy, we promise – right, Fugo?’ he yells down the hall.

Fugo’s voice floats back. ‘I took no part in organising this!’ Yn laughs, rolling her eyes. She turns back to the standing mirror she is sitting cross legged in front of, getting herself ready, smoothing and fluffing her hair in the right places. ‘You sure it’s not too much? Do you know where I’m meeting him?’

‘Sure, I do. In fact, I’ll drive you.’ Yn grins, the anxiety melting away slightly. Though she is hesitant, it is true, she did throw the idea out there to her friends that maybe they knew a single guy who might be interested in going on a blind date… Though she recalls that conversation being held when she was very drunk. ‘You want a drink to calm your nerves?’ ‘I am not pregaming a date,’ Yn says firmly, with a wry smile. ‘I just hope that he’s hot enough to make me forget about Bruno…’

‘Suit yourself,’ Mista grins slyly. ‘I’m sure he’ll order you a glass of wine, or something. Or an entire bottle.’ He pauses thoughtfully. ‘And you don’t need to worry about Bucciarati – trust me. It’ll be fine.’ An hour later, Mista pulls up outside a rather low-key building. The lovely architecture is old, beige coloured stone with very minimal windows showing the inside of the establishment. As Yn steps out of the car, she notices there are two bouncers dressed immaculately. A few tables are set up outside underneath an awning, with patrons relaxing, nursing cigarettes and drinks in crystal glasses. Yn looks back at Mista, peering through the open window of his car. ‘You sure this is the place? It looks… intimate. Fancier than I’m used to.’ Mista grins. ‘It’s definitely the place. He’s inside,’ he says, glancing at his phone. ‘Have fun, baby girl.’ Yn smiles weakly, suddenly nervous. She gives her friend a wave as he heads off down the road. Once the lights of his car have disappeared, she takes a deep breath and heads toward the entrance of the establishment. She is not even sure what kind of place this is. Is it a bar? A club? A restaurant? All of the above? The bouncers greet her kindly but absently, scrutinizing her ID and then waving her in. Yn notices the way they give each other a knowing glance and she wonders what the hell was up with that. Before she can wonder further, she is distracted by the sound of a jazz band playing. She walks up the few steps into the building, suddenly breathless by how lavishly decorated the interior is compared to the outside.

Wall sconces cast a golden glow all over the walls, candles on every table, and a glittering chandelier hangs in the middle of what looks like a cosy dance floor. The jazz band plays softly at the end of the establishment, each member dressed smartly in 1950s style suits.

There must be around fifteen tables, pushed to the edges of the interior, up against the walls decorated with paintings and photographs. Yn notices a second story, like balconies at a theatre. She catches a glimpse of other tables and patrons watching the band play from high up.

Yn turns to the maitre d, anxiously, feeling somewhat out of her depth. She gives her name to the man, and he smiles at her warmly, that same knowing glint in his eye as was in the eyes of the bouncers.

‘Right this way, signorina.’ He leads her to a table tucked near the corner, close to the bar, and her heart lurches when she sees who sits there, waiting patiently for her.

In fact, Yn almost spins on her heel and leaves. Her heart races, pounding loud in her ears. Bruno Bucciarati – her boss, the one guy she was trying to not crush on – stands up, surprise flickering across his pretty features. He smooths his shirt. He has dressed somewhat more casually yet looks pristine in a dark coloured button up shirt, paired with darker trousers, neatly pressed. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, the top two buttons of his shirt left undone. Bruno smiles softly at Yn, and she catches the way his eyebrows slightly crease upward – he’s nervous… The maitre d leaves them, smiling to himself as if it is the most entertaining thing he has ever seen.  Yn’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, words unable to escape her mouth, her cheeks warming, ‘What are you–’ ‘You look—’ Yn and Bruno look at each other, accidentally speaking at the same time. Then, they laugh. At first, gently, then, as if it were something unbearably funny, they laugh harder. Bruno turns away, covering his mouth with his hand, his laughter effectively melting away any nerves between them. He gestures to the seat nearest his, so she can see the band without having to turn around in her seat. Yn smiles and sits down, smoothing her dress. ‘This is terribly unexpected.

Bruno nods, a chuckle escaping his lips. Yn notices the pink dusting his cheeks, and wonders if he is embarrassed because he is happy that  it is her who arrived, or if it is because he is disappointed. ‘I’m sorry, if you were hoping for someone else… At least, we can enjoy, um, hanging out, right?’

Bruno looks at her, surprised. ‘What do you– I’m pleased it’s you.’ ‘O-oh.’ The two of them stare at each other for a moment, the laughter from earlier threatening to bubble up again.

Yn laughs lightly and she looks round at the bar. ‘I, um, need a drink.’ ‘It’s not so unbearable that you need to drown your sorrows already, is it?’ Bruno jokes, the slightest hint of worry in his voice. Yn shakes her head profusely. ‘No! It’s just been a long day.’ Bruno looks at her, understanding. He slides her the menu – a thick bound book with the word “menu” embossed in gold on the cover. ‘You can tell me all about it over your favourite drink,’ he says kindly. Butterflies flutter dangerously in her chest as she meets his gaze – those bright eyes, as warm as a sunshiny summer’s day. She manages to drag her gaze away from his and to the menu, flicking through the pages. Finally, she chooses a familiar wine, and Bruno beckons the waiter over, his smooth ordering for the two of them. ‘So, you didn’t know it was me?’ Bruno says, a small smile tugging at his mouth. Yn blushes and avoids his eyes. ‘I– no, I had no idea, Mista did not tell me a single thing.’

Bruno lets out a soft laugh. ‘Are you disappointed?’

Yn shoots him a confused glance. ‘Not at all–’

The waiter cuts her off, delivering their wine.

Bruno thanks him with a smile and gently places Yn’s glass in front of her, the wine reflecting the flickering of candles placed around the room. ‘Shall we toast?’

Yn regards him curiously. ‘Toast to what?’

Bruno pouts thoughtfully, watching her sniff at the wine. ‘To our companionship? And our dear friends’ mischievous meddling?’

Yn rolls her eyes playfully. ‘Mista’s gonna get a smack later, I tell you.’ She raises her glass to clink against his. ‘To companionship, and our meddling pals.’

They drink quietly, surveying the taste as it lingers in their mouths.

Yn watches Bruno carefully, her heart racing in her chest. How the fuck did Mista get Bruno to agree to a date? And with her? She cannot believe that after months of pining for her boss, she is finally sitting next to him… on a date. Mista must have gotten sick of hearing her whine about how much she likes him… Yn thinks to herself, embarrassed.

Bruno notices how pink her cheeks are. ‘Are you okay? Is it too warm in here?’

‘Oh! No, I–’ Yn says, shrugging out of her coat, letting it drape over the chair next to her. She wears a neat dress, with short sleeves, the satin skirt falling to her mid thigh. Yn notices how Bruno averts his eyes, clearing his throat. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know what venue I’d be going to, so I just put on what I thought would fit with… most date places…’

Bruno shakes his head, suddenly worried.. ‘You look beautiful.’

Yn holds his gaze, the air between them seems to crackle with electricity. She looks away before she can say something stupid, and takes a sip of her wine.

Bruno smiles softly, his cheeks still pink. ‘Tell me about your day?’

‘Well, it’s not… interesting at all,’ Yn says. ‘Just went to work, pretended to be a barista.’

‘Do you not find the cafe interesting at all?’ Bruno asks curiously, resting his chin in his palm.

‘Well… Sometimes. I can’t say I enjoy all of it. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m extremely privileged to have a job, I just would rather, you know, be out there with you guys, on a mission.’ Yn shrugs, sipping her wine, enjoying the way her mind starts to feel fuzzy.

‘At least you’re grateful, though I’m not sorry that there hasn’t been more action available for you at the moment,’ Bruno says. ‘I like it when you’re safe in class rather than out there roughing people up.’

Yn blushes at his words, her heart skipping a beat as he admits he is glad she is not out there facing danger every day. ‘How was your day?’ She asks, changing the subject.

Bruno thinks for a moment. ‘Tiresome – reports, supplies, the usual check ups on our establishments’ He speaks softly.

Yn finds herself captivated by them, his tanned skin looking soft but calloused where it is evident that his hands had been busy. She wonders how they might feel, grasping her thighs and— stop. It’s not like that.

She shakes her head slightly, pushing aside her filthy thoughts. ‘But, now it’s time to relax,’ he says, smiling at her. He sips at his wine, watching her intently.

‘True,’ she replies, mirroring him and sipping her wine. ‘This place is beautiful. Do you come here often?’

‘Not often, no.’ He places his wine glass down on the table, and stands, offering her his hand. ‘Would you like to dance?’

Yn looks at him rather surprised. ‘Yes, I– I would like to, but I don’t know if I’ll be any good.’

Bruno shrugs. ‘It’s not a competition, we’re here to have fun.’

Yn quickly drains her glass, the last mouthful of wine better act as her courage, she thinks. She accepts his hand, her heart fluttering as she looks up at him and is met with his toothy smile. She was right, his hands are soft.

Bruno leads her down a few steps and into the open space in front of the band. He places a gentle hand on her waist and holds her other hand close in his. He looks down at her, his soft expression reassuring her nerves. ‘Don’t worry, just follow the music,’ he whispers low into her ear.

She shivers as his voice meets her ear, his breath sweet on her skin. She nods, swallowing nervously.

The music is gentle and Yn finds herself enjoying dancing so much more than she thought she would 

For what feels like half an evening, Yn is swayed on the dance floor. At first awkwardly, but then as the music progresses, she grows more comfortable, even going as far as to rest her forehead on his chest. She can feel how Bruno’s heart beats hard against his chest, and her own flutters at the thought.

She wonders if there is any chance that… No. Of course not. They’re… friends. They’re superior and subordinate. Boss, and employee. It is impossible to be anything more, she thinks to herself.

‘Hey, Yn,’ Bruno’s voice is low in her ear. ‘Are you alright? You’ve– you’re not moving.’

Yn suddenly snaps out of her daze, opening her eyes and looking up at him.

Bruno meets her gaze with surprise, worry furrowing his brow. He reaches to her cheeks, wiping away a tear that had rolled down her cheek. His lovely blue eyes search her face. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I–I’m fine,’ Yn half-lies. Her heart races as she stares back into his eyes, desperately resisting glancing at his lips. ‘Just thirsty,’ she murmurs.

Bruno hesitates before intertwining his fingers with hers and leading her back to her seat at their table. He disappears to the bar and returns with glasses of water. ‘Please drink.’

Yn accepts the water glass gratefully, swallowing the cool liquid quickly.

A moment passes as the two of them are quiet.

‘Are you–’ Bruno begins, before he is cut off by a message buzzing from his phone. He withdraws it from his pocket, opens it, and frowns.

Yn watches patiently, willing the butterflies in her belly to stop. Disappointment feels better than this horrible hope that he likes me back, she thinks.

‘What is it?’ She asks.

Bruno closes the phone and places it back in his pocket. ‘It was nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.’

‘Was it work related?

Bruno falters slightly. ‘It was. Why?’

Yn does not respond. She knows he is busy, she knows she is lucky to be here with him right now, on this… whatever this is. But it was their work that made this completely inappropriate. The reminder stung.

‘Bruno,’ Yn begins, taking a deep breath. ‘Do you– would you ever…’

Bruno watches her patiently, his eyes flickering to her hands and to her face.

‘Do you think you’ll ever, like, properly date anyone…? Yn asks, feeling silly for even asking. ‘I mean, everyone in the neighbourhood knows you, like personally… Women love you…’ She trails off.

Bruno leans back in his chair, thoughtfully, an emotion Yn does not recognise flickers over his features. ‘I might.’

Yn looks at him expectantly. ‘Why did you agree to go on a blind date?’

‘Because Mista told me it would be you.’

It feels as though the air has warmed by several degrees.  Yn looks at Bruno, letting the information sink in. He knew it would be her? And he still…?

‘You knew?’

Bruno nods, frowning slightly. ‘I thought you knew as well. I never mentioned it because Mista told me you were embarrassed about it.’

That fucker… She thinks.

‘Well, I…’

Bruno takes a deep breath. ‘Listen…’ he says slowly, placing a gentle hand on her hand. ‘If you’re uncomfortable, try not to worry about it. Who says friends can’t enjoy each other’s company?’

Yn looks at him, mouth dry, unsure what to say. Unsure how to protest and say she does like him, that she is uncomfortable in a good way.

‘We might not have gotten the date we expected, but I think it’s been worth the worry, wouldn’t you agree?’

Yn’s heart skips a beat. Bruno’s kind smile was wider tonight, the creases at the edges of his eyes deeper, his goofiness a little brighter. He seemed to be having fun, she realises, so why can’t she?

He looks at her softly. ‘Be in the moment – you can forget about it in the morning.’

His hand begins to move, but before his warmth can escape her hand, she quickly intertwines her fingers with his. Yn avoids looking at his eyes, running away from their blue intensity. She waits a moment, expecting him to pull away, but he does not – he tightens his hand around hers, squeezing gently.

‘We can forget in the morning,’ Yn murmurs, more to herself. She would like this, the chance to have him to herself just for a moment, without the consequences of the next day. He surely would wake up regretting letting her touch him like this, she thinks to herself, but not tomorrow… We can forget.

But as the night drew on, and the closer their side moved toward each other, the more hushed their voices became, the more they leaned in, dizzy with drink, the less she began to believe that it would be as easy as simply “forgetting in the morning”.

Bruno walks her home, the chilly air swirling around her bare legs as they walk quietly beside each other down the sleepy streets. His hand still holds hers, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against the back of her hand softly.

Every now and then, Yn glances up to see if Bruno’s expression had changed to disgust, disappointment, or anything else she is worried he might truly feel, but his expression remains calm, happy, warm.

‘Home, safe and sound,’ Bruno’s voice breaks through her reverie. He smiles down at her as they stop outside her apartment block.

‘Yes,’ Yn replies, looking up at the apartments. She spots the soft glow of a light from the open curtains on the second floor.  ‘Mista seems awake.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Bruno says, rolling his eyes playfully. ‘You’d better go in and get some rest, all that dancing really takes it out of you.’

Yn smiles up at him, remembering faintly how his hands felt on her waist. She shivers and tries to play it off as if she is cold, wrapping her coat tighter around her. ‘Well, thank you,’ she says quietly. ‘That was a lot of fun.’

Bruno nods, a smile still gracing his lips. ‘We’ll have to do it again some time.’ Yn’s heart flutters at his words. Next time…? I mean, yeah, friends hang out all the time… ‘That would be nice.’ Bruno grins in response to that and brings his hand to her cheek, stroking softly. ‘Goodnight, Yn.’ Yn holds her breath, unable to tear her gaze away from Bruno. She swallows hard, nodding, trying desperately not to learn into his touch too much. Bruno hesitates, glancing at Yn’s lips, but he turns, withdrawing his hand from her face. ‘Go on, I’ll wait until you’ve gone in.’ Yn nods, letting go of his hand regrettably. The space between her fingers has never felt colder, and emptier. From the apartment wafts the warm scent of pizza as she unlocks and opens the door. Yn can hear Mista’s turning pages of whatever book he is reading in the living room accompanied by the low volume of whatever is playing on tv. Yn turns back to face Bruno, dreading the moment she has to walk into her apartment, leaving the memories of the night behind her. Bruno seems to know exactly what she is thinking and smiles reassuringly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ ‘Goodnight,’ Yn manages, resisting the urge to reach out to him, to have her hand enveloped by his warmer, larger one again. Bruno nods, a flicker of something unrecognisable in his expression. His smile tugs at his mouth, and as he leaves, he waves a gentle hand over his shoulder to her. It is only later on, when she is tucked away in bed, tossing and turning over every detail of the evening, does Yn realise she had never seen Bruno smile as much as he had done that evening.

[the-hopeless-haze]

When Will the Clouds All Disappear? (ch1)

Gregory House x Reader - part of Series If You Want It, You Can Bleed on Me

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: heavy suicidal ideation

“Kind of rude to make a cripple head to the roof of a building to look for you.” You hear his voice, loud and clear behind you, gravelly and distinctly masculine. You’d know it was him anywhere.

“What do you want, Greg?” You ask, sniffling. You're sitting on the ground, your back against the ledge, having made yourself sick staring off it for a good ten minutes before he arrived. Your head is in your hands, blocking him out, blocking everything out. You can’t open your eyes. You can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“You know,” he says firmly. You wish you had four hands so you could block your ears, too. You wish you were senseless. It would be so much easier. So much more peaceful.

“You wouldn’t have to worry anymore. I would just be gone,” you say, and you hate this, you hate everything, you wish he didn’t come up here so you could jump. Guilt-free. You know you look fucking ridiculous, with your hospital gown riding up to your thighs and those stupid non-slip socks damn near falling off your feet. Your hair is blowing wildly in the bitter January wind, and you feel lightheaded and woozy as it is, having pulled out your IV that hooked you up to fluids a half hour ago now.

“That isn’t what I want. I want you to come back downstairs with me.”

“How did you even know I was up here?” you question.

“You’re the one thing I can and can’t predict. Knew you’d come up here when they said you left the bed… still don’t know if anything I can say can get through to you. If you jump I jump?”

You shake your head. “No. You deserve to live.”

“And you don’t think you do?”

“No. And I don’t want to either.”

“Why not? I thought we had fun together.”“But you don’t care—“

“Why am I up here with you freezing my ass off if I don’t care?”

“Just go.”

“Not without you, sweetheart.”

You grimace at the pet name, it sounds so fake coming from his lips. “You didn’t even come to see me,” you whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know what to say.”“Anything would’ve been better than nothing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. You’ll say anything so I don’t jump,” you say, tasting bitterness acrid on your tongue. You wish you could turn off your brain, but you’ve been here before, seconds to an attempt and still gone through with it with no one to stop you except for your diseased brain. And it was diseased, every impulse usually hardwired to keep your body alive at all costs screaming to be let out of its misery and to just let you die, please. It’s almost like an addiction, instead of one more hit, it’s just like, one more thing to let go of. One more thing to convince yourself doesn’t matter, one more person to convince yourself wants you to die or doesn’t care if you go, one more event you’ll never get to live through that you convince yourself you didn’t want to attend anyway.

“I mean it,” he says urgently. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’ve been a shitty boyfriend, lover, friend with benefits, or whatever you want to call me. I know I’m not the reason you’re contemplating this right now. You’ve struggled with this all your life. I’m not going to fix it. But Jesus Christ. You and I both know this isn’t the goddamn answer. You spent your whole life going to school and working to prevent people from offing themselves.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you,” he says. “I came for the surgery—“

“You had plenty of time to see me. You weren’t there when I needed you to be! I’m just another patient, is that it? Don’t come visit them unless you think you’ll learn something? What was it, you never got to see a D&C before? I called you, Greg. You never answered. I had to call Wilson to make sure you weren’t dead but of course, you weren’t, you were just avoiding me and why should I expect anything more from you? Of course you run when things get hard; when the woman you’ve been fucking might need a little more than after-sex cuddles.” You stand up as you say this, turning your back to him, looking over the ledge. Fuck.

“I’m sorry. Just please don’t jump,” he says and if you were in your right mind you’d notice that he was getting increasingly desperate, but you aren’t noticing much of anything right now. Except that your plans were thwarted. You see firefighters and they’ve already set up a trampoline on the side of the building. You don’t say anything, nothing at all, and you start to walk away from that ledge and then sprint toward the other one, hoping that you can get over there, run faster than he can, but he’s on you, and he moves fast for someone with an injured leg when the adrenaline kicks in, and you feel yourself knocked to the ground, his warm breath fanning your face.

“Got you. You’re not getting away from me that easy,” he says, and you finally look at him for the first time since you’ve been up here. You wish he would crush you to death but he’s barely putting his weight on you, just enough that you can’t move.

“I can’t go through this again,” you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut, and you expect the hysterical tears but they never come. You feel numb. Empty.

“You can. You can and you will.”

“You’re going to put me on a hold?”

“I have to,” he says, and you could trick yourself into thinking there’s guilt in his blue eyes when you open yours again. “I’ll make sure they give you the good stuff. Say you need to be chemically restrained. Order you Haldol, Ativan, or whatever you want. But I need… I need to know you’re safe.”

“So you’ll sedate me?”

“It’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Just like you to make it about yourself, huh?”

“Shut up,” he says sternly, tacking your name on the end of the command like a warning. “This isn’t about me. None of this is about me. I know that.”

“Then you should have let me go.”

“One day you’ll thank me,” he says, digging his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Hey. Yeah. I need help bringing her downstairs. She’s not going to go willingly.”

You hate how he’s talking about you the way you would talk about patients to your coworkers, and you hate him for calling Wilson to help him walk you down the stairs. Wilson’s a certified sap, and the look on his face, his brown eyes sympathetic and his brows furrowed… makes you want to hit him, and maybe you’d try if you had the energy to. You don’t want pity. You want to be left to your own devices. You want nothing, hatred, you could stand, but Wilson looking at you like you were a kicked puppy is more than you can handle right now.

“I wasn’t going to jump,” you say, and it’s unconvincing even to your own ears. “I wasn’t even on the ledge when you came up here.”

“Yeah. Well. It’s enough that I don’t believe you,” Greg says. “Your track record sucks. Every attempt has been after a traumatic event. Forgive me for being a little worried.”

You’re about to protest, say he doesn’t know anything, but you know he went through your medical files before the first time your lips touched his. Fair enough. Two could play at that game, certainly, and you took what you felt you could without him getting suspicious out of your file. You looked through his, too, because what’s good for him is by all means fucking good for you too, and if you can’t have normal conversations like a normal couple, at least you could learn about each other unconventionally. Isn’t that love, at least kind of love, searching high and low for information, trying to memorize somebody else like you know yourself?

Never mind that it’s illegal.

You feel his mouth on yours, his scruff scratching pleasantly at your skin, and… yeah. That’s when the fucking tears come.

You wish neither of these men saw you like this. You were meant to be firm, cold but compassionate, distant but likable, albeit only from that distance. You didn’t get close to people, not since you were younger, because you knew how you’d get and you knew it was a horrific sight. Wilson, you love like a brother, but Gregory… you love irrevocably, irreverently, irreversibly. Intense is an understatement, and you wish it wasn’t the case, you wish so badly you could turn it off and become the woman you were before that man and his cane hobbled into your life. You wish more than anything you were alone right now.

But then again. You might not be alive.

“Shh. It’s okay,” he says, and you don’t believe him. He doesn’t believe it himself. It’s just something to say. And he hates those clichés. He hates talking just to talk. Yet … he says that to you. He lies to you, just for your benefit. Everybody lies.. but it's usually for their own gain. “I don’t want to make this worse than it has to be,” he says slowly. “Make this easy for us.”

“You have drugs on you, Greg,” you say, rolling your eyes through your tears. You hate that you know him this well. “You’re prepared to sedate me regardless.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t want to have to get to that point. Would you rather be sedated? Because I can arrange that.”

“Get off me.”

“Are you going to walk with us?”

“Yeah,” you huff.

“Good girl,” he says, and in a different context that would lead to something very different than this. But no. He lifts himself off you instead of dicking you down, wincing when he puts his weight back on his leg, and he and Wilson both help you off the concrete roof. It’s now you realize your back is scraped from when Greg pushed you down, and you grimace as you stand up. Everything hurts.

You have four strong hands on your body now, Wilson’s thin graceful fingers wrapping around your left arm, the other hand on the small of your back to steady you. Greg, you’re more fine with seeing you this way, he’s a train wreck himself and you’ve gotten him out of his shell before. But Wilson? He’s got everything together, well, except for his marriages. House’s larger hands grip you too, one hand firm on your right shoulder and the other around your side.

It’s a slow walk down the stairs, back into the building and you feel a rush of relief at the feeling of heat on your body, but then it becomes too much and you don’t know what you’re fighting for because you know there’s no way you could run, you may be faster than Greg but there’s no way you’d get by Wilson in your current state, and then you’re pushed against the wall in the staircase, Wilson’s calling for security on a radio and a gurney on the radio, and they’re both holding you there and you’re struggling against them, arms you try to push out of the way and legs you try to kick but it’s to no avail, you feel the slight pinch of a needle in your arm and … that’s it. Maybe this is what you were asking for but you were too ashamed to say, too ashamed to acquiesce verbally to the sedation, too embarrassed to say “no, I need to be unconscious for this, thank you.” But you weren’t too embarrassed to pull a fucking nutty in the staircase of the hospital you work at.

“I would’ve just given it to you,” you hear Greg say. “You don’t have to do everything the hard way.”

And then, thankfully, mercifully, pleasantly, you fade out and away.

[maochira]

IN THE SPOTLIGHT; First Selection; chapter 1: supernova

Tags: Blue Lock x transmasc!reader; reader is referred to with female pronouns and terms; reader's last name is Hoshino and will be referred to with that, if a situation calls for his first name, (d/n)= deadname; reader discovers he's transmasc as the story continues; series masterlist

Blue Lock, block five. Cafeteria.

Lost in thought, you push around the rice in your bowl instead of actually taking a bite. You can't feel any appetite with all this adrenaline rushing through your vains.

'Pretty bold decision', you think to yourself. You, (d/n) Hoshino, the Supernova of Japanese women's football, got put into Team Z? The team who's all the way at the bottom? The game of tag you played earlier already demonstrated what kind of losers you got teamed up with. Hah, even "The Crown Jewel of Japan" was the one to be eliminated. Ridiculous.

Despite sitting at a table with some of them, so far you've made no effort in talking to your teammates. There's no use in getting attached to them. It'll only be a matter of time until they get eliminated while you rise to the top.

"Alright so", one of your teammates interrupts your thoughts with his aggressive voice. "Just so you know, I won't hold back or treat you like a princess only because you're the only girl here!"

"No worries", you shrug without bothering to look up at whoever just spoke. "I won't hold back on you either."

It was only a matter of time until someone would begin to make comments regarding your gender. And as expected, it's something about underestimating your skills.

"Alright, Supernova. But don't go crying when I shoot all the goals and you don't get a single chance to kick balls." You can practically hear the smirk in Raichi's voice as he continues.

You let out a sigh and raise your head to stare straight into his eyes. "Shut up before I kick your balls. Bastard."

Raichi only huffs in response before taking another bite from his food. "Yeah sure."

"Don't let him get to you, Hoshino", Kuon, who's sitting next to you, gives you a soft smile and pats your shoulder. "Besides, in the end I will be the greatest striker, anyways. But it's an honor to be up against the Supernova of Japanese women's football."

"Eh, you can try being the greatest male striker, ", you push Kuon's hand away. "But the title of the world's greatest will be mine."

"I'm looking forward to see you try."

The interactions in the following days don't differentiate much from how Raichi and Kuon talked to you. Your teammates either continue to underestimate you, or they'll throw in some kind of comment about how even though you're the Supernova, they're still going to beat you.

And you've grown tired of it. You don't even bother responding anymore.

Tomorrow will be the first match. The perfect chance to crush everyone's dreams by showing off how wrong it is to underestimate your skills.

[lily-orchard-gossip-blog]

Hello hello again! It's good to have you back for a little while! Unfortunately there is a lot of infighting in the critical sphere right now and it's not very fun to follow. And worse still Lily is as smug as ever. People are too invested in who ripped off what, who's disrespecting this or that, they should just be having fun at Lily's expense. That's what Saiscribbles has done, and you can tell how effective it is because Lily has tried every strategy in the book to prove how not mad she is.

You know what?

I think I would like to poke fun at the whole thing. I mean, it's sounds like she's gotten a bit ridiculous since I've been gone. (Ridiculous sounds like an understatement, thought.)

I've done serious and it's exhausting. You can only take her serious for so long before you realize she doesn't really even know or believe what she's saying.

As for the fighting, well... It's a shame, but let's try to focus on what's at the core of this blog: Gossiping about Lily.

...But I do have one thing I want to get off my chest, so I will mention it here and then move on. It is under the read bar just so those who don't care can ignore it.

I do have one thing to say about the drama, and that's about Ethel.

They are a liar liar pants on fire.

Seriously, I watched Evangeline Skovs video, which was one of the better coverages on the subject and there was no plagiarism. Not even of me, and I was a source!

Never mind that fact that Ethel legit lied about my blog in their rebuttal, claiming that Levi couldn't find anything on my blog about their video, or glade, so Evangeline was lying.

Their proof? Levi used the search bar, used the word minor and glade, and nothing came up except one post...

Fun fact: I'm bad at tagging things, and my search bar is kind of useless because of that.

(Side note: why would I use glade's name? Why would I want to draw attention to someone who I assumed wanted to be left alone? I'm pretty sure that was made clear in the video.)

Anyway, if you used my archive you could easily find TONES of posts from me talking about the video in question with details.

Here's one that Ethel conveniently left out:

And you know what's hilarious about that? They reblogged this take to try and rebuke it on their tumblr. (That they have long since abandoned.)

I decided to ignore it, because obviously I'm not going to try and get in a fight with them, and Ethel was so mad by that they messaged me directly to try and threaten me with legal jargon.

So I blocked them.

But hey, since I'll probably never bother with this again, here are the messages. Enjoy old drama from like...2 years ago:

Image text here:

[Okay, I've put this off for as long as possible, but please, read this case study as right now you are parroting harmful legal advice. Victim testimony not only constitutes evidence, but can be sufficient evidence to convict, a fact that was tested in Commonwealth v Gustavo Gonzalez Santos in Massachusetts.

I’ll highlight two relevant sections in case you don’t have the time to read the entire thing: “The defendant's sole argument on appeal is that the evidence was not sufficient to support his convictions. The defendant asserts that "there were no witnesses to the alleged assaults," "no physical evidence," "no medical or forensic evidence," and "no expert testimony." He argues that "there was absolutely no conclusive evidence presented at trial that suggested the [d]efendant's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt."” And: “Here, the victim testified to facts that constituted each element of the charged offenses. Her testimony, which the jury found to be credible, was sufficient, standing alone, to support a finding beyond a reasonable doubt as to each of the convictions. See, e.g., Commonwealth v. Lawrence, 68 Mass. App. Ct. 103, 104 (2007)

("The victim's testimony was sufficient evidence of [indecent assault and battery on a child under age fourteen]"); Commonwealth v. Gonsalves, 23 Mass. App. Ct. 184, 185 (1986) ("The victim's account of what the defendant did to him in the apartment was sufficient to overcome the defendant's motion for a required finding of not guilty of rape"). The idea that long infected our legal system that the victim's testimony in sexual assault and rape cases is less credible than the testimony of victims in cases involving other types of crimes -- an idea that reflected nothing more than sexism and an unwillingness on the part of our courts to treat sexual crimes as the gravely serious matter that they are -- has been rejected both by statute and by common law.”

When you and others continue to parrot the myth that victim testimony does not constitute as valid evidence, you are harming victims of rape and abuse. This is straight up rape culture and, since I’m pushing back any video coverage on the matter until I’ve finished dealing with Lily because I don’t want to muddle things, I need you to stop promoting falsehoods. We have legal members on our team who have passed the bar, Patchie does not, Opal does not, and neither does You Can Eat Hearts. You are causing unnecessary harm to victims by breathing life into myths constructed by rape culture. To be clear, I am not asking for your denouncement of certain people, just for you to please, stop publishing bad legal takes.

This is also the case in Canada, if you're wondering - https://www.accused.ca/evidence.htm

Sorry, I just realized I didn't give you the US case study. Here it is - http://masscases.com/cases/app/100/100massappct1.html#:~:text=The%20jury%20found%20the%20defendant,We%20affirm. ]

Oct 30, 2022 9:16 AM

Whew, you have no idea how long I wanted to spill this tea.

Alright, I've said what I've wanted to say on this topic. I'm now going to focus on laughing at Lily and her horrible incest stories.

[risquefanfics457]

Hi! If your requests are still open, would you be able to write Giorno x Shy!Fem!Reader where they’re childhood friends and Giorno gained feelings for reader over the years and wants to confess but doesn’t know how? Maybe reader feels the same way and wants to confess too?

Thanks!! :D

Did I spend 2 hours writing this because I got hyperfocused? Yes. Worth it? Yes.

Giorno and the reader are both 15 at the start and 18-19 by the end. ENJOY!

“Amica?” 

You knew that voice. It had Giorno all over it. Giorno and you had become friends when he moved next to you when your were both 4. He’d changed his name to Giorno, and you respected that, only his mom and step-dad called him Haruno, as he was known in Japan.

“Gio Gio?” You stepped out on the porch of the cafe you worked at, “What is-?” You stopped. Standing in front of you was Haruno Shiobana or Giorno Giovanna as he liked to be called but… blonde.

“Santa merda! Gio Gio, you’re blonde!”

“I know!” He threw his hands in front of him, “I woke up this way!”

You looked at him, gathering all the details you could. He was still the same boy. Same jade eyes, “What happened?”

“I woke up this way!” He waved his arms about, “Can we talk about this?” He pointed to his newly golden locks. It practically glowed in the sun, “Uh, I have a 15 minute break soon.” You stuttered.

“Okay, I’ll be here.” He wrung his hands and leaned awkwardly against the lamp post.

“Or you could come inside.” “I don’t have any cash on me.”

You chuckled, “I can still get you a water, on the house.”

He nodded, “Alright.”

You waved him in, “It’s not like anybody will recognise you anyway.”

“You did.” He said quietly

You blushed silently, “Be with you in a few.”

“So you woke up, and now you’re just blonde?”

“Yeah! Like my dad.” He whispers

“Whoa, you never talk about your dad.” You are even mor eintrigued now. Giorno had a peculiar picture in his wallet that he said was his biological father. The man in the picture was build strong and almost scarily so. But the defining trait Giorno knew was from that man was the star shaped birthmark on his upper shoulder. 

“I mean, I didn’t think this is what puberty did.” You teased, “What colour do you think my hair will turn?”

“Pink?” He laughed, “No, that a ridiculous colour.”

“Yeah, nobody in their right mind would have pink hair.” You laughed together.

“What would you even do if you met a dude with pink hair?”

“How should I know?” He laughed, “I’ve never seen one, and I doubt I ever will.”

“Well, you could grow it out.” You said

“I could, we could style it like those old magazines we used to read as kids.”

“I can see you in a braid.” You grin

“We’ll see.”

“Ehi! Y/N, back to work, I see you going 2 minutes over your break!”

“Gotta go.” You stand up, but Giorno stood as well, “Me as well, goodbye, Y/N.” He customarily kissed you on both cheeks, something you’d taught him a long time ago. Watching him leave, you went back to taking orders as you wished that you’d had the nerve to teach him a new kind of kiss.

A few weeks later, he stopped in again, “Amiga!”

“Hey, got money for an actual coffee this time?” You called down the stairs

“I do, but that’s not the point.” He climbed the cafe stairs to meet you, “I’ve figured it out.”

Him suddenly so close with that piercing gaze had you pull away, flushed pink. “What?” 

“I figured it out. The drug trade, everything.”

You looked quizzically at him, “You mean the mafia?”

He nodded, “I’m going to join them.”

You blinked. Wow, you’d lost it. Who knew serving 17 macchiatos in an hour would finally push your brain past its breaking pointt?

“Amiga?”

“Sorry, you lost me. What’s the plan?” You wiped down a table

“I’m going to become a gangstar.” 

You nodded, “See, I keep hearing you saying you want to join the mafia.” You shake your head.

“I did say that.” He tries to meet your eyes, “All the drug problems, the law being run by criminals, it can be solved, I can solve it.”

You couldn’t believe what you heard, “You’re 15.”

“I know. I need all the time I can get, I have to start early.” 

You put the cloth and spray down, “Tell me you’re kidding me.” You kept your voice low, you didn’t like catching attention of others.

“No, I’m finally going to do something about all this.” He took your hands in his and you noticed him stutter, “W-we grew up surrounded by people influenced by drugs, isn’t it time to do something about it?”

His change in demeanor prompted you to break out into a red blush. He wasn’t usually so… forward. It was different. You automatically sank back into your shell as red as a crab as other people stared. “Giorno, this is insane. You can’t join the mafia, it’s an early death sentence.”

“I get that, but things are different now.”

“But why you?” 

“Because kids like you and I deserved to have good childhoods.”

That struck a nerve, “Giorno, I want to talk about this more, but I need to stay focused on my job right now, I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

He took a deep breath and stepped away, ”Okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright, I’m just worried about you. I care, okay?”

“I know.” He smiles earnestly, “I love that about you.”

Before you had a chance to reply or even register what he said, he was gone.

You called him that afternoon. Nothing. You called him again later that night. Nothing. You called him the next morning. Same results. Life went on, agonizingly slow. A week went by. 

You should have just told him when you had the chance.

A month. 2 months. 4… 8… a year. You gave up after 3 years…

“Andrea, I need you to calm down. The report doesn’t have to be done until noon tomorrow. You have a full day and 3 hours to draft and finish it.” You spoke on the phone to a colleague. “Yes, I’ll be in on tomorrow… no, you don’t need me to proofread it, you’re an adult, you can scan your own emails for typos.” 

A knock came from the front door. “Andrea, take a breather and write when you’re ready.” You hang up. Why your co-workers who were 5 years your senior needed you to spellcheck was beyond you. The knock came again, whoever it was, they were impatient. You checked the glass and caught a glimpse of blonde, and your heart skipped a beat. You calmed yourself and opened the door. It wasn’t him. Of course it wasn’t. A man in a green suit was standing in the doorway, “Buongiorno signora.” 

That name. He had to say buongiorno. Of course giorno was a regular word, but it followed you everywhere, and you felt your heart flop sadly every single time you heard it. 

“What can I do for you?” You cross your arms.

“My name is Pannacota Fugo, my boss wishes to speak to you privately.”

You nod, “Okay, I’m guessing you’re from a law firm or something?”

“No, signora. I am from Passione.”

Despite the decrease in crime regarding the mafia, the word stung, it was the mafia group Giorno mentioned. God, if they were looking for Giorno… but they couldn’t even ask you, you had no idea where he went either.

“What about it?”

“You may know him.”

“I don’t know anybody from the mafia, I make it my business to stay clear of their business.” You go to close the door.

“I’d reconsider. The boss says he knows you personally. I’m here to take you to see him.”

You steeled your nerves, “I said no.”

It was a skill you were working on, you’d become better at not being so shy.

“Right. Well, Giorno sends his regards then.” Fugo says and goes to leave

“Giorno?” Your heart almost jumps out of your chest, “Giorno Giovanna?”

Fugo nodded.

“I’ll get my things.”

You pulled up the a house. It was lavish, even on the outside. 

“He’s inside.” Fugo holds the car door open for you. 

In just some clothes you’d thrown on, you climbed the steps to the house. You stopped at the door. Fugo followed you and nodded to some guards who opened the door.

“Where is he?” You asked the blonde man.

“On the left.”

You rounded a corner and on a chair in a large room was a man.

“Amiga?”

Your face flushed at the sound of his voice.

“Please, leave us.” The blonde man stood. He was just as handsome as he was before, but now, toned and his blonde hair was long and braided down his back. He wore all black. You stared dumbfounded at him.

“It was hard to find you, you changed jobs.” He chuckled. That laugh made a old shiver run down your back, one you’d thought you’d lost.

You stepped back and tripped over a chair behind you. Without missing a beat, he caught you. But that didn’t make sense, he was on the other side of the room. But something caught you. You caught your balance and eased yourself up, still in shock, “You’re… here.”

He nodded with a hint of pink on his cheeks, “Yeah, I’ve been here for a few years now.”

“You… you never came back.” Your face heated up.

“I’ve been getting a handle on crime before I brought you to me. I didn’t… I didn’t want you to be a target.”

“But you could have called.” 

“I’m always being watched, Amiga. Nothing was going to be a secret these past years.”

“You’re still calling me amiga.” You said.

“Well, I thought maybe we were still friends.” He sighed hopefully

“I, I don’t even know what to think. I… I hated you. I hated that you said nothing and left. But I missed you, and I still do…” You held your head in your hands, trying to name all these emotions running through you.

“I loved you.” You finished.

He looked wistfully at you, “Me too.” 

“Well, w-what now?”

“Well, it’s up to you. We can start over, or we can just, let this go. I’ll let you go back to how you’ve been.”

There was a long pause,

“I… I want to be near you, but this can’t have just… not happened. I think-”

“So we should start over?” He nodded

“Not from the beginning.” You got closer and touched his face, “I still know you, at least I think I do. I might not, but I want to.”

He leaned into your touch.

“I still know this face.” You brushed your thumb over his cheek. You chuckled, “To be honest, I dreamed of this face.”

“Really?” He chuckled pleasently, a sound that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter

“I face I wished I’d kissed.”

“You’ve kissed my face plenty of times. You’re the one who taught me to do it.” He smirked. A vine snuck around your wrist and a flower appeared in your palm.

“Then the face I wished I kissed in more than one way.” You leaned in. You pressed your lips to his left cheek, and then the right, and as the sun made the rose coloured curtains behind you project a pattern of pink on his face, you sealed the confession with a gentle kiss on his soft lips. His hand curled around your face and tucked your hair behind your ear, “I wish you showed me this was to kiss earlier too, Amiga.” He smiled.

“Yeah, if this is how it’s going to be from now on, I’m going to need to be something more than amiga.” 

His response was quick and sauve, “Then this is the greeting kiss you should expect from now on, cara mia.”

[conundrumoftime]

'Celeborn in Rhûn' round-up post (Rings of Power)

Collecting up my lost-Sindar-in-Rhûn speculation posts on where Rings of Power's Celeborn is, because there's a few now and we have maybe another 18 months to go at best before getting any answers on it.

The thinking:

Celeborn has got to be somewhere at this point: the overall outline of this show has already been planned out with said plan okayed by the Tolkien estate who had a "no killing off any characters who don't canonically die yet" clause, and the show is slavishly determined to line up with the Peter Jackson films as a prequel. (This also probably means we'll get boring-coloured hair for him, alas.)

By TV convention, missing-presumed-dead spouses and loved ones who are mentioned in a tragic way in season 1 have a 65-80% chance of turning up alive, well and working for the bad guys by season 3. Say what you will about McPayne's former boss JJ Abrams but he had one of the best takes on this with Alias.

The show has too many plotlines as it is and has little space for a whole new 'Galadriel Looks For Her Missing Husband' one, plus taking Galadriel out of the War of the Elves and Sauron while that's actually happening would make no sense for her character & role. It makes more sense to introduce Celeborn as part of an existing plot, and Rhûn is the one that's most geographically and narratively separated from all the others.

Rhûn is currently the only place with a powerful magical villain who could potentially be keeping prisoners and certainly seems to be keeping some people under some sort of magical control - Brank, the Gaudrim character who got most of the lines, talked about the "curse upon our flesh".

Putting a prince of a forest kingdom (Amazon confirmed they're using the Doriath version of Celeborn) in a land of dead trees and giving him a storyline connected to whatever's happening there works a lot better for establishing a character than just "hey look Galadriel's missing husband who you don't know is back now!"

The show is doing a lot of things that if you want to see it that way already feel like they're setting up an elves-in-Rhûn story, including eg Sindarin names turning up for 'Caras Gaer' and 'Gaudrim'

I'm less confident on him being one of the Gaudrim we've met specifically than on him being in Rhûn generally, but if he is, he's 'Kilta' - the one who killed the snake that was about to strike Poppy and Nori, looked straight at their hiding place, and told the others to mount up and search elsewhere. (With thanks to @oroniel for noticing that 'kil' in Primitive Elvish had a meaning of 'silver glint', and 'ta' also could be 'high, lofty' - one of the translations JRRT gave for 'Celeborn' is 'Silver-tall')

And thanks to Peter Jackson's films the one thing the general audience know about Galadriel's husband is that he's the guy who very much wanted to speak with Gandalf, and this is the kind of show that will therefore want to give him a whole Surfing Dracula backstory on why he wanted to speak with Gandalf.

All of which, if this is true, suggests that this is the kind of show that a) can't resist doing some kind of melodrama shocking "It's... you?" reveal, again; b) will include some ridiculous geeky detail of Elvish language development that only five people on the internet will appreciate anyway; c) wants to do more! with trees and forests and Tolkien's interest in industrialisation and trees in general; and d) will do some awkward comedy fan-service to a line in a Peter Jackson film which isn't even his line in the book, all at the same time. And I think we all know it's exactly that kind of show.

My posts about this:

Written during s2 speculating he was one of the Gaudrim: one, two

Rhûn's desertified land and dead trees as deliberately paralleling Anfauglith as the opposite of Doriath

And a post on TROP's 'Rhûnic', possibly the language of a 'lost tribe' of elves

And Gandalf's mysterious past.

Fics I've written with this premise:

Lands far away (2000 words, G) - catching up with Gandalf many years later in Third Age Lothlórien

Five places Celeborn hasn't spent the past eight hundred years (7k words, T) - as the title says, five different alternative stories of which chapter 4 is the Gaudrim-in-Rhûn one

The names of our wounds (ongoing WIP, M, Galadriel/Sauron/Celeborn)

[sunsetno4]

WIP Whenever~ :D

Thanks for the tag @trebuchet151 ^^! Anyone who is looking for an excuse to share something, consider yourself tagged right now (and tag me too, I'd love to see it! <3). c:<!

Mhm. I haven't really worked on anything new this week to due a never-ending cold. I mostly just did small doll projects, like updating doll!Vendetta so I could switch nem between their Retri + Revelations looks. ^^;; I did start a short comic while waiting for sealant to dry many times today though, so???

With Ven's canon ending being some shade of broken legs, I always imagine nem asking the Rat King to help out if/when ne realizes they can control the armor (like grabbing hair dye so Ven can start hiding again~). Rat King would have fun helping nem, even if they don't quite get how shopping works. Vendetta normally gives them a ton of cash and tells them to leave it on the counter. :')

And, mhm. Since that isn't quite Ven-centric, enjoy a small snippet from an unfinished fic too? ^^;;

It's about a Vendetta who doesn't go out of the window during Heartbreak, but everything is still kind-of fucked anyways. Anathema dying is not something ne would've dealt with well, at all. :'l

Slowly opening your eyes, you wince at the semi-lit room. Your room. Living room. Parlor, you joked once. With Themmy. You wanted to be fancy, you wanted to make nem laugh. Tears sting, and you rub your raw nose through the sniffles, sinking deeper into your reading chair. Thoughts swim, lucid like a dream. You itch your arm, and notice the bandages. Sitting up a little, you stare blankly at the care covering your lower arms. They're not well-done, so wh— "Vendetta!" Ortega storms in your view, furious and frankly strange. Your name, your favorite word, sounds like poison on her lips and yet, it still wraps your mind in comfort and safety. It's a lie, of course, just a trick you used to use to feel better, but it's a familiar one. Nostalgic. You repeat it to yourself under breath. "Why don't you have a bed?" You blink. Isn't it obvious? Dragging home a bed never seemed worth it when you had a perfectly broken-in fluffy oversized reading chair. Instead, you narrow your eyes at the strangeness of the woman before you. "What happened to your hair?" It's wet? Damp? Shower damp? Oh, right. You grimace, memories slowly coming back together. Vomit. Bile. Gross. That would explain her clothes too, they're yours. Sweatpants rolled up to the knees, and one of your favorite sleep shirts. You swim in it, so of course, it fits Ortega like a distracting glove. "That's not important." Crossing her arm, she frowns. "It's short." And puffing out wild as it dries. It shouldn't feel like another stab in your heart, memories dancing in your foggy head, hair in hands, strands being crossed into a braid as an actor makes ridiculous love confessions on a screen. Ortega keeps frowning, refusing to look at you. It's okay. You hate looking at yourself too. Her arms are crossed tightly, and there's an anger in her stance that even a drained and empty you can still pick out easy-peasy. The training never really stops, does it? "I tried calling you. So, so many times." She finally settles on, soft as daybreak and just as harsh.

I really do need to finish this because I do quite like it. :( <3

[cacoetheswriting]

Hello! I hope all is well. I had a fluffy request if that’s ok? Eddie x fem!reader where reader is an art nerd that likes to draw for their campaigns. One day, they’re hanging out preparing for the campaign and maybe Eddie had a run in with Jason earlier and was feeling a little down that day so then reader just starts aggressivley complimenting him out if nowhere. I really love your work! ❤️

thank youuu for this request & for your sweet words, makes my heart happy that you like my little fics ❤️ hope i did your vision justice!

-

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.6k content warnings: adult language, use of pet names, a little mutual pining, insecurities / self-doubt, mentions of bullying, mainly just fluff - very much unedited - pls let me know if i missed anything!

Your friendship with Eddie was an odd one — if you could even call it that. More colleagues than friends, to be honest. Or better yet, acquaintances by association.

Freaks. Geeks. Social outcasts.

There was however, one big difference.

Your status at Hawkins High was by design. A strategic decision you put into play long before you even stepped through the building doors. Growing up in a busy house with a younger brother too loud for his own good, solitude was your best friend. Art was your escape. Often you only found time for both at school. So no, you didn’t wanna socialise or try out for the cheerleading team. You were quite content being left alone.

Being neighbours with Nancy Wheeler, and your younger brothers being practically attached at the hip, helped with staying invisible ‘cause who’s gonna bully the girl that sometimes hung out with Nancy and King Steve.

Eddie unfortunately was not as lucky. His label wasn’t his choice — not at first anyway. It followed him through the years from an age arguably too young. No kid deserved to be treated the way he was simply ‘cause of how/where he was brought up. The curly-haired boy couldn’t escape the names, the teasing, the dirty looks. He couldn’t change his fate. So eventually he stopped trying. The Freak.

And perhaps that’s why he’s never fully warmed up to you. You were a fraud, not actually understanding what it’s like to be an outcast.

But it’s not like you cared what Eddie Munson thought of you or if the metalhead liked you in any way. Hanging around him was simply a means to an end. He needed someone to immortalise his D&D campaigns and you needed continuous inspiration as well as material for your portfolio.

Most of your meet-ups were surrounded by quiet.

Thinking back, that was the first mistake since it was in that congenial silence, you noticed how he sucked his lip between his teeth whenever he was deep in thought, and how he’d scrunch his brows together if what he came up with didn’t quite make sense. He was undoubtedly pretty. The faded freckles on his face are reminiscent of a million stars. The dips in his cheeks, appearing whenever he smiled, comparable to picturesque valleys. Those big brown of his eyes were like chocolate buttons and the more time you spent together, the more you thought you caught him glancing in your direction with that cocoa gaze, but that would be insane. Right?

It was also in those moments, as you drew the monsters he described in grave detail, you got to see the Eddie he so desperately tried to hide away from the rest of the world. The real Eddie. He was ridiculously smart. Not many people in Hawkins, if any at all aside from your silly little brother with his band of friends, could come up with such intricate ideas. Funny too, making you snort a laugh one too many times with practically zero effort. And he was kind. Asking you how your day was, seeming genuinely interested in your answer.

The small talk was kept to a minimum in the hours you two spent working on the campaigns, but whenever you did have a short conversation, Eddie always made sure his attention was focused solely on you. The second mistake was letting him, because being his priority, if only in the moment, made your stomach flutter.

But today Eddie hasn't uttered a single word aside from a measly hello when you opened your front door earlier that afternoon to let him in.

Normally the silence doesn’t bother you. If anything, you welcome it as it helps you concentrate on the details of any piece you’re currently working on. There was just something about the way Eddie was sitting that made you feel uneasy. He didn’t seem present. Leaning against your dresser, legs sprawled out in front of him, gaze focused on something out the window as he fidgeted with the pencil in his hand.

At first you thought maybe he was planning the next move in his new campaign and just needed a minute, but then fifteen minutes passed and the metalhead still hadn’t moved. If you didn’t know any better, you’d doubt he was even breathing. As still as a rock.

A sudden wave of concern rushes through you and without taking a second to consider what you were doing, you grab one of the pillows from your bed and throw it in his direction.

“Shit, what the—”

“Are you okay?”

Eddie’s not sure how to answer that question, especially when he looks at you. Eyes wider than normal, accompanied by delicate worry lines that he's never really been on the receiving end of — aside from Wayne's constant frown. Eddie first thinks you're clearly faking the concern 'cause why would you actually care? But the longer his gaze remains connected with yours, the more he wants to believe your sincerity is genuine. And that's fucking scary.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “Just a lot on my mind. Nothin' you need to worry about.”

But you don't give up as easily as he hoped you would.

“Wanna talk about it?”

His lips twitch though he never actually smiles and you are certain then something definitely happened because it's as if he really wants to offer you a glimpse of happiness, but his body is refusing.

Dropping his gaze to the pencil in his hands, Eddie sighs. “You don't have to do that.”

“Do what?” You ask, stringing your brows together.

“Pretend like you actually give a shit,” he replies with a little more disdain than intended while once again catching your eyes with his own.

You don't mean to scoff, but you do. “Look, Eddie, I know we're not like best of friends or anything,”  you begin, hopping off the bed with an elegant bounce. “But considering lately I spend more time with you than Nancy or Steve, I feel like we can at least talk about shit, no? Like when something is bothering us, we can talk about that.”

He's slightly surprised at your words. The admission that you hang out with him more than your actual friends didn't seem right to him. In his mind, you and Wheeler are inseparable. He sees you two together all the time, sharing a ride to school, having lunch at the same table. And in the evenings or at the weekends, you're always around Harrington and that other girl, Buckley. Not like Eddie seeks you wherever he goes... He's just... observant.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Eddie rolls his eyes, tone full of disbelief. “You don't gotta lie to make me feel better.”

“I'm not,” you defend and sit cross-legged at his feet, knees brushing against the soles of his dirty Converse in the process. You know you don't owe him an explanation or reasoning, but it seems Eddie won't let up about what's on his mind without one. 

“Nancy and I have drifted apart since I kinda took Steve's side in their breakup. Sure we carpool and sit at the same table in the cafeteria, and our idiotic brothers are good friends, but that's pretty much it.”

Eddie starts to feel like a jerk for assuming shit when he clearly had no clue, but you don't give him a chance to interject. 

“And yeah, I see Steve often, but it's not like we're all buddy-buddy. He likes it when I stop by the video store to literally sit on the counter and draw his stupid head of hair just so he can make other girls jealous.”

“Jesus, that's shitty.”

You shrug, a small smile circling your lips. “I don't mind. Free film rental and peaceful sketching time.”

The lighthearted tone of your voice makes the corners of Eddie's mouth curl upwards, matching the expression currently present on your face. There's a semi-second of quiet. He's no longer feeling bad 'cause you've taken those worries away with one simple look. And when you knock your knee against his shoe again, Eddie's completely relaxed.

Lost in the way the sun reflects in your eyes, the metalhead doesn't really think when he asks, “So how come you've never invited me over for movie night, huh?”

You smirk. “Horrors aren't really my thing. I actually like to enjoy what I'm watching,” you tease, “Even if the shit is free. Don't wanna see any decapitations, thank you very much.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. He pulls his legs up before sliding along the carpeted floor of your bedroom until he's about a reach away from you. Closer than he's ever been. His arms make way around his legs, ring-clad fingers hanging low, poking at your calf.

Surprisingly, you don't flinch at Eddie's sudden proximity or the delicate touch.

“Quite presumptuous of you, sweetheart.” He affirms, gaze focused on where his skin brushes against the denim of your jeans.

“So you don't only watch gruesome things?” You challenge, your own fingers hesitantly reaching towards him, stopping before you can actually graze him in any way.

Eddie's smirking. “Not the point.”

“Sounds like I'm right,” you muse, your smile growing wider. “But I'll make you a deal.”

He looks up to meet your eyes then, hiking a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod. “If you tell me what you were thinking about earlier, I'll let you pick a movie we can watch together. Even something horrific.”

This was uncharted territory — (and also your third mistake). The two of you have never hung out outside of working on D&D campaigns, but since Eddie asked a mere minute ago, even if he was just teasing, you figured why the fuck not. What's the worst that could happen? Plus this seemed the only way to get him to open up.

Eddie tugs his bottom lip between his teeth as he mewls over your proposal. On the one hand, talking about feelings or problems isn't something he's necessarily into. And when it comes to spending time with you, part of the allure is congenial silence, unless he's the one fishing for information. On the other hand, his heart rate has increased tenfold at the thought of you hiding in his embrace during a particularly gross scene or before any jump scare.

In the end, the physical urge to be close to you, an unmistakable desire he's been experiencing for far longer than Eddie would care to admit out loud, wins.

“Carver just got in my head.”

The instant frown on your face, and how your fingers are suddenly reaching for his, looping together, make Eddie want to elaborate.

“Called me talentless. Usually the shit that douche and his gang of imbeciles spewer doesn't bother me 'cause I've been called many things throughout my life and whatever they come up with is more idiotic than hurtful, but I dunno, that comment just rubbed me the wrong way.”

He drops his gaze, focusing instead on your hands now perfectly intertwined. He began to rub gentle circles into your soft flesh and although this was completely odd behaviour for the two of you, it felt more than right.

“Because it's not true, Eddie.”

The metalhead's heart flips at your words and the encouraging tone behind them. Although he didn’t let it show, focusing instead on the dips between your knuckles and every single crease in your skin as he squeezed your hand just a little tighter.

“You're not talentless,” you affirm, dipping your head lower in hopes of catching his brown eyes. “If anything, you're one of the most talented people I've ever met.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, still refusing to look up.

“Eddie, you can't let those idiots make you feel worthless. You've got more talent in your left pinky than Carver and his band of bullies have put together.” You declare, rather passionately at that. “These campaigns you come up with, do you know the imagination that takes? I-I also know you play the guitar a-and sing too. Plus those extra curricular activities of yours require a mathematical brain. That's already also more talent than I have.”

He glances up at you then. “Shut up. As if you actually think I'm more talented than you?” he disputes and jerks his head towards some of the drawings covering the walls. “No one I know could do that and I know I never told you, but my campaigns would be nothin' without your art, sweetheart.”

Although heat rushes to your face at the unexpected compliment, you don't let Eddie's kind words steer you off course. This wasn't about what he thought of you, this was about what you thought of him and, as it turns out, how badly you wanted him to know.

“My stupid brother won't shut up about how fucking cool you are,” you reveal, chewing briefly on the inside of your cheek. “He's never said anything remotely as nice about me.”

Eddie lets out an airy chuckle. He drops his hold on you, but he doesn't give you a moment to even register how you instantly miss his touch, how your hands are burning with invisible imprints of where his skin brushed yours. No, because he's pushing your legs apart with little to no effort and sliding in-between them.

“Well, I happen to think you're cooler than me.”

It's your turn to laugh while again choosing not to comment on his closeness and ignoring how it made you feel. Ignoring how your stomach fluttered as he pressed his legs to your sides, hands hovering near your face as if he debated whether he was crossing some sort of line.

“Right. Don't fuck with me, Munson.”

“Cross my heart,” the metalhead promises. “Why do you think I asked you to help me out in the first place? Why do you think I willingly spend most of my afternoons with you? Like, there's no need for us to do this together. I can come up with the campaigns on my own then share the concepts so you can draw them out.”

You swallow 'cause the thought has never crossed your mind.

Before Eddie approached you with the offer, your knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons was definitely limited, only privy to whatever your brother and his friends shared. When Eddie asked you to draw something that very first time, and every time after that, you didn't stop and think if it was really necessary for you two to sit together for hours on end, crafting and creating on opposite ends of the room. Now that he's mentioned it, you really didn't need to.

“I-I don't—”

“There's no cooler chick than you, sweetheart.” Eddie interrupts, hands now cupping your face, no longer hesitant, and you're left wondering when the topic shifted from a conversation about his talents to whatever this was shaping up to be.

“Eddie...”

“How Harrington can use you to make other girls jealous instead of realising he should just ask you out, I-I don't understand.” The sentence fades with each word until his voice is a low muffle and you're not entirely sure you heard him correctly.

But every fibre of your being is screaming, so you know he definitely said it. And the way his doe-eyes are glimmering, your own reflection prominent in the pretty brown, only cinches that feeling.

Your final mistake is not asking then and there what Eddie meant.

He stands shortly after and extends a hand to also help you up.

“Speaking of, is the King of Hawkins working right now?” Eddie asks and when you nod slowly, still recovering from the small bomb he's after dropping, he claps his hands together. “Let's go then. I'm thinking we can start with My Bloody Valentine and because you're providing the entertainment, I'll get us some snacks.”

thank you for reading!

eddie munson masterlist | main masterlist

[koy0uu]

“Off with their heads”

Summary: In which Executor Rosehearts thinks about the future Queen…

Ship: Executor!Riddle Rosehearts X [future] Queen of Hearts!Reader

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Warnings: Mentions of beheading, public executions and blood. Riddle is an executor in this after all! Also some yandere-ish behaviour from Riddle

Author’s Note: Hello my dear costumers~ I am sincerely sorry for having been gone for 4 months. Writer’s block and school had me GOOD, sadly. I’ve been to “Shanti” by wotaku ft KAITO and it actually inspired me to write this haha. I also have multiple drafts going on, let’s see if I manage to upload them and finish them any time soon. Aside from that, I will use this as an announcement for my art sideblog @sirins-void on which I actually upload. Until then, this must suffice.

SPECIAL THANKS TO: My one and only Queen @l0laaa-ita for supporting me and being such an inspiration! Ilysm 💕

Word Count: 438

It is a soldier’s duty to serve his Queen. Anything she wants, she shall get. That is a soldier’s duty. That is what Riddle Rosehearts swore his life to. To protect you and listen to your every beck and call; his Queen’s happiness above all. And yet, how come he was jealous of every single one of your suitors? None of them were worthy! That was why he felt such joy and relief when you dismissed every single one your parents brought in, right? He merely wanted the best for the future Queen of Hearts, is all. That was precisely why he was always around you. To fulfil his duty of course. Not because of ridiculous reasons like him wanting to be the suitor you chose - Trey and Cater really did have radiant fantasies, spewing atrocities on his precious Queen’s name by claiming that “she’ll never find a suitor if she keeps rejecting everyone.” You were merely a lady of high status, beauty and Grace - it’s only natural you’d want to find someone just like that for yourself.

You only deserve the best. Anything below that is merely an insult to your excellency. That was why he accepted becoming an executor anyways - sure, his position as a soldier was just as good, however getting to serve you so closely, and ridding all those worthless bastards of their life at your command was just what he wanted. Sometimes, even he had such ridiculous thoughts, that told him that only he was worthy of you. He’s already killed so much for you, he’s serving you every day, and he is the servant you’re the closest with. You laughed and cried in front of him - he’s seen all your sides, and Riddle’s accepted them all, growing indeed fond of them all. A beautiful Queen with a beautiful heart; someone who all the blood on his hands was the bare minimum. He’d do anything for you. As a soldier, as a friend, aspiring to be more than that… So, what difference would it make if there were two matching rings on your fingers?

Unlike those swines your parents sought for you to marry, he did not care about the throne at all, but merely about you as a person. Your beauty may have intrigued him at first, but in the end it was the beauty of your personality, your kindness, your forgiving smile, your slight guilt of him having to behead the judged criminals for your sake. Slowly but surely, Riddle had understood just how precious your pure soul was. And he had no intentions letting anybody taint it, no matter what.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D

All credits belong to @koy0uu on tumblr. Please do not steal my works! Reblogs are appreciated though :D

[crackheadintheclouds]

ANONYMOUS

[03] | oop, that one's a goner

You flinched at the text gaping wide at the screen, rubbing your eyes.  Am I seeing this right?  You refreshed your screen again and again just to check it wasn't a mistake. They were planning to kill your own cousin? No wait, you were planning to kill your cousin? What a ridiculous turn of events! You had to stop them or at least get information why they were doing it.

YOU :

Bruh ik her :0 

Isn't that the head of student council? 

JIN:

You guessed that right 

SKYPE :

Wait u go in the same school too? :0

JIN :

Finally something sensible left ur mouth Skype, good job

You slapped a hand on your forehead. How foolish of you to let slip your identity clues to these maniacs! At this moment you very well knew you had to disclose least information about yourself by keeping anonymous. No,actually you had to be careful not to disclose any kind information about you in front of them. Because it was obvious wasn't it? Once they figure out about you, you and Ruth were in red zone. 

DREX:

No fucking need Jin 

He's probably going to hit on her the first time he sees her. 

YOU:

Rule no.1 – None of u guys , idfc if it's by mistake

Never. Hit. On. Me 

I'm steering that clear or I'll kill u before u could kill her 🙂

SKYPE:

And there goes all the fun

ANGUS:

For fucking once i thought this was going to be fun 

Thanks for ruining it

ARLAN:

Exactly ! Ahshhshsh

ZAID:

Wait first of all tell us your name 

YOU:

Eheheheh

*nervous laughs*

No. 

JIN:

Then consider our deal dumped in the trash :D

ZAID:

If you're going to cooperate you need to tell us ur name or it isn't going to work 

DREX:

As expected

YOU:

Bruh there's something called as privacy

And you're invading it

SKYPE:

Nope

That's not gonna work

I guess we have to kill u

YOU:

Skype D:

I didn't expect this from U of all people

And why are you killing Ruth anyway? 

What did she do?

ANGUS:

Agshsbehjshsjsj

that bitch got us kicked from the volleyball club!

SKYPE:

and we were fucking this 🤏 close to the nationals 

This 🤏 close! 

DREX:

She fucking complaint about us to the head and got us suspended! 

You gaped at the screen laughing humourlessly. These guys were mental. Completely mental. Fine, it's obvious a lot of people are jealous and holds a grudge against their peers. But this hatred was going way out of hand, wasn't it? Your cousin wasn't even a show-off-queen-I-have-all-the-power-bitch.  On the contrary, she was calm, quiet and kind girl who didn't leave a single thing undone and always helped anyone in need apart from the strict demeanor she held while handling the school. 

Plus all of this wasn't even her fault. It was your fault ​she was in danger. You were the one to push her to complain about them when one time by mistake the volleyball accidentally hit you on your face rupturing your nose and making you yelp in pain . And not only that, you were pissed off as their repeated mistakes made you trip over in the hallways making you land on your ass multiple times having the crowd laugh at you and at your clumsiness. That lead you to grudge against them and you spiced things up to complain about them. But you didn't know it will lead to this. This insanity. You snorted. Your fingers hovered over the screen trying to think about something. There was no way you could let this insanity continue in your presence. You had to save your cousin somehow.. 

[You are typing....]

YOU :

Oh.

but that doesn't mean you'll kill her 🙂

*nervous laughs*

[Jin is typing..... ]

JIN:

Wait a sec

Are you her friend? 

ANGUS :

yes agsvgshsbs

you're her friend , aren't you? 

YOU:

fuck

Sorry for the short chapter ;-; You're welcome to guess theories over what's going to happen next   

(✿≖ ͜ʖ≖)

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[misc-obeyme]

Okay, Lesson 24. Honestly what do I even say about it other than the cliffhanger nearly took me out?

Fine, fine, spoilers below the cut, I'm gonna have to say something lol.

Okay this is a shortish one, but here I am!

I'm kind of glad they had Lucifer being the teacher in this lesson. Diavolo kind of made it sound like it's a temporary thing for right now before they officially start RAD, but like you can't tell me that guy is a student. I don't believe it!

The best part of that whole thing was Diavolo responding cheerfully to the brothers' complaints.

Also is this the first time that Lucifer does this with someone's name other than Mammon?!

I honestly can't remember. Lucifer you sound ridiculous lol.

Right, but anyway. I didn't write a post for the last lesson because I was out of time, sorry Mammon. But we got a pact with our boy and of course he was the first because it couldn't possibly be anybody else, right?

And now Asmo's acting up, which means we're not going in the OG order. I wonder if there's a reason for that or if it was just like... Mammon is first, Lucifer is last and we can mix everybody else up? 'Cause if Lucifer isn't last, I'll be surprised.

So uh... Solomon in this lesson, though... and then Barbatos shows up... and oh my gosh. The whole later part of this lesson was just me freaking out the whole time because I LOVE THEM so much.

Solomon being protective of MC despite being less powerful than normal? Barbatos just absolutely shutting everything down the second he gets there? Barbatos then telling Solomon how he's still upset with him? Both of them putting aside their issues for a minute to help MC find Little D No 5? MC being like nope you guys are intolerable, let's talk about this? THE CLIFFHANGER????

I was actually really surprised when Lucifer was like, go to Solomon! I was like hang on what? You want me to get Solomon? I don't understand. And then Lucifer was like y'know 'cause of his pact with Asmo! And then I was like ooooohhhh okay yeah that tracks.

And our boy Sol can sense MC's presence? Now I headcanon that he reads auras, too. Of course he can. Of course he does. I love him.

Oh nothing, just my true love serving all the sass.

This man. He has also said (in an event I believe it was or maybe a Devilgram?) that he wants MC to scold him. Like sir...

Anyway, due to the fact that there was so much of Solomon and Barbatos in this lesson, I very much enjoyed it. I also love Asmo, though I am concerned about his current state. I actually liked the WW conference call the others had, though. It's so sweet that Beel was watching over Asmo while he was sleeping. Precious babies!

BUT THAT CLIFFHANGER THO.