#broken colors rose bud

[dia-draws]

A self insert cause cringe is dead.

She gets isekaid through the games she’s played and tries and worries abt getting killed either by a bad route or by getting the wrong yandere’s attention

[mermaidgirl30]

My Heart I Surrender

This was a writing challenge by @iamasaddie and it was soooo much fun to partake in! I got a really angsty moodboard, so I apologize for the tears you might spill 😭 I LOVED doing this and hope to do more very soon! I just jotted all this out this afternoon, so I hope you enjoy 🥰 This is also in Joel’s POV!

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Word count: 2.5k

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Tags: Angst, feelings, angsty Joel, smut, confessing feelings, more angst

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The rustic, spinning clock ticks over the soft patters of rain against the fogged up living room window. It’s like a competition, the vibrating sounds colliding together in a deafening noise that reverberates around your mind. Tick, tick, patter, patter. It’s too much, too loud for you to handle.

You hold your head in between your hands and cover your ears, trying to drown out the suffocating noise in your mind. You close your eyes tightly and try to forget. Forget the sounds of her walking out of the room, forget the way she slammed the door and ran out. But you can’t forget. It’s too fresh, too paralyzing.

Tick, tick. You gnash your teeth together and crush your head between your knees, desperate to escape the haunted ticks that keep coming. Louder, louder. It’s enough to drive a mad man crazy.

Tick, tick. That’s it. The final straw to make you lose control again. You push yourself out of the leather recliner and throw the empty whiskey glass at the clock. It immediately crashes to the floor, glass and broken pieces go everywhere against the dark wooden floors. The ticking abruptly stops and so does your pounding headache.

You run a rough hand through your messy curls, slicking it back into place. You sigh haggardly and slowly turn in the direction of the worn out couch, freezing at the mere sight of it. Your jaw clenches up as soon as you see it. Right in the center of the rose colored couch is the imprint of her. You run your calloused fingers slowly over the velvety material, feeling exactly where she laid. It’s almost like she’s still here. Almost. It’s still damp, still dripping with her arousal. You can smell her. The aroma of vanilla and cinnamon lingering in the air, just like the memory of her.

You pull your hand back and bite your tongue as you feel blood run straight down your throat. It’s the taste of loss, the taste of resentment. You did this to yourself. You. You throw yourself over the cushiony material, splaying your hands all over the damp material. Come back, come back. But she’s gone. She’s gone.

You remember her sitting in this spot not even an hour ago, with your head in between her creamy thighs. The way her breathy moans sounded as you tasted her. Your wet tongue sliding up her folds as you circled her clit nice and slow, sucking her into your mouth as she moaned your name and tangled her fingers through your mess of wild hair. She tasted so good. Just like a fresh sip of lemonade on a warm summer day that quenched your thirst. And God, the taste of her slick as she came in your mouth again and again. That warm salty and sweet taste mixing together that formed like hot cider on your taste buds. It was addicting. You couldn’t get enough, could never get enough.

You dig your fingers into the soaked material, trying to claw your way back to her. Come back, come back. You rest the edge of your face right where she sat, feeling your rugged scruff blend in with the smell of her. Too much, this is too much.

You remember how it felt being inside her as you thrusted yourself into her again and again, can still hear her ragged moans against your ear as she wrapped her legs around you and dug her nails into your back, slowly scraping red lines against your skin. She clung to you, ripping into your plaid shirt as she squeezed you tight, not ready to let go. And you fucked her like it was the last night you’d ever have with her. You made it passionate, slow, rough, exotic. And you made her cum three different times, but it wasn’t enough. It still wasn’t enough.

But it was the last night. Just like she told you when you saw her at Tipsy Bison earlier. One more time, she said. This is the last time. It was a love letter that ended with you. No more, this was the last straw. She was saying goodbye. It was a goodbye. But goddamn it, you didn’t want it to be. You never wanted it to be. This can’t be over. It won’t be over. Not if you can help it.

You pick yourself off the floor, crawl your way to the door as you grab a single cigarette that sits in the pocket of your denim jeans. You stopped smoking, she killed your bad habit as she always grabbed them out of your hand and threw them in the trash. You don’t need them. They’re bad for you, she’d say. She was always good about that, killing your bad habits. But she wasn’t here to tell you no. And God, you needed something to numb the pain. Anything.

As you stand up and walk to the white wooden door, you caress your fingers on the brass knob and close your eyes, remembering exactly how she left. You could still feel her hot skin, feel the echoes of loss and torture swirl around the room as you remember the way she left. Her eyes were filled with tears. Those sparkling, gorgeous eyes that took your breath away every time you set your sights on her. But this time she was broken, a torn fragment of your imagination now. She was so sad, so distraught in the worst way. And the way she looked at you before she walked out… God, it nearly kills you to think about.

Please, don’t go, you called after her. Desperate to keep her here with you, to stay one more night. If it meant you got to hold her one more time. One final time.

I can’t stay. Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.

I….. You almost told her you loved her, almost broke down when you saw her opening the door. But almost wasn’t enough, it was never enough.

I have to go, she said. And then she walked out that door, leaving you hollow and broken inside, just like your now empty, vacant house.

You ran after her, calling her name, yelling her name. Please, please. Don’t go, you pleaded. Your voice a scratchy, hurling mess.

She turned so slowly, bloodshot with red eyes and tears spilling down her crimson cheeks. She shook her head no, digging her hands inside her violet jacket. She was right on the verge of collapsing, so close to barreling over in agony. And she said the words, those frozen, utterly dreadful words. I can’t… And then she fled, running back to her house, away from you. For good.

You stood there watching her, fisting your unruly curls with your fists and trying not to break down. But you had already broken down the moment she walked through your door, the moment she walked out into the rain and left you standing there, broken and beaten. A bottled up case of whiskey blues.

You punch the door, your knuckles hitting like jagged scars across the wood. Your knuckles turn red and start bleeding, just like your black heart. You step out on the vacant porch, the wood squeaking beneath you as the pounding rain hits against the edge of the wooden porch. You light up the cigarette, sticking it in your mouth and inhaling a puff of nicotine, desperate for some kind of relief. Any relief. It shoots through your lungs, numbing the pain just a tad as it takes the edge off. You blow out the smoke as it curls around the drizzle, mixing in with the whispers of the howling wind. She’s gone.

You inhale the smoke like it’s oxygen to your lungs, fighting every feeling in you to numb that empty space in your heart. The space where she’s missing. Your petal made from roses. Your sweet, intoxicating rosebud. But she’s not yours anymore. She’s not yours.

You finish the cigarette and stomp it out with your leather, worn boot, pushing it to the side so you don’t have to be reminded of the bad habits you said you’d stop. You did stop, but she’s gone so why does it matter anymore?

As you look out at the foggy, rainy night, you can almost see her. See the ghost of what once was an hour ago. Can see the way her long hair clung to her shoulders as the rain dripped off onto her back. Can see the look on her eyes before she ran off. She was torn, eaten up with hurt as she walked away. Her figure was only a mere memory now.

God, you couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t stand the mere thought of losing her. Not after you held her in your arms night after night. Not after you entwined yourself in her and lost yourself in her body over and over again. Not after her lips had marked yours, singeing her scent all over you as the cinnamon flavor swirled through your mouth. She was what brought you peace. Her. But you fucked it up. Fucked it up with every pointless fight you started because you were so fucking angry with the world, and you didn’t know how to control yourself. But she helped to calm you, helped to part the seas of your chaotic crashing hurricane. She was like a gentle spring day, a bed full of soft roses where you could lay your head when it got too much. But now it was just cloudy thunderstorm days without her. It was pure torture, no more spring days to mask your pain.

A wave of nausea pulls at your insides as you stumble forward, anxiety coursing through you like a hard metal bullet. You feel like you can’t breathe, your chest so tight that it hollows in on itself and leaves you bleeding inside. It’s like a sharp knife slicing you in two, tearing open your insides as you bleed to death. You hold your chest as you step into the rain, trying to calm your racing thoughts as you claw at the wooden railing on the edge of the porch.

The rain comes down hard on you, covering you in a sea of regret and longing. It dawns on you now that you can’t lose her. You can’t say goodbye. You won’t say goodbye. So without thinking, you run as fast as you can, dodging mud puddles and holes in the ground as you run like lightning. You have to stop her, you have to apologize. You have to get her back. You can’t lose her too. No, you just can’t.

You’re wheezing, coughing your lungs out as you run faster and faster, getting closer to her house. God, you wish you wouldn’t have smoked that cigarette, but it was too late. And now all you care about is finding her before it’s too late.

You make it to her front porch and pound on the rusty door, desperately clawing your way back into her life. You have to try, you have to try. After two more sharp pounds to the door, she opens it swiftly as shock registers on her face.

“Joel, what are you…”

You cut her off, too desperate to wait any longer. You come back crawling to her like a starving dog that’s lost its owner, pleading for her to take you back. You say her name anguished, your eyes tearing up and filling with puddles as you feel a teardrop trickle down your cheek like the soft droplets of rain that encase your cold body.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. For always starting fights, for blowing up in your face from things that weren’t your fault. For breaking your heart over and over. I just… I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me, please. Because if you don’t then I can never forgive myself for ruining what we have because it’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. I need you, baby. I need you,” you desperately plead as more tears fall down your face, blurring your vision from the beauty that stands in front of you.

“Hey, stop. It’s okay. I’m right here. See?” She asks as she grazes her warm hand over your scruff, catching a falling tear with the tip of her thumb as her eyes glaze over yours, regret filling her face. “Joel, why did you come?” she asks as she looks into your eyes eagerly, looking for an answer in your blurring eyes.

“To apologize. To tell you I can’t live without you. I…I…” you struggle with the words, getting caught in your throat as you choke them out. But you say it, you have to say it. “I love you…” you whisper as your voice fills the void, your heart bleeding out on the dirt that you stand on, screaming her name as you try to claw your way from the hollow ground.

“You love me…?” She asks with softness flowing off her voice.

“Yes. So much. Please, baby. I love you so goddamn much it hurts.”

Her hand brushes your jawline, narrowly tracing your beard as her eyes start to water. You slowly graze your fingers against her cheek as you catch a falling teardrop and wipe it away shakily.

“I…I love you too. I always have. I always will,” she chokes out.

You close your arms around her and bring her into your chest, crushing her against the wet plaid material as more tears spill down your face, landing in her damp hair as you run your fingers through it, feeling that velvety touch that you missed so goddamn much. “I’m not letting you go again, baby. Never ever,” you breathe out, clinging to her like your life depends on it.

“I’m sorry for walking out. I didn’t want to, I really didn’t. I just…I…”

You tilt her head up and crush your lips to hers, feeling that soft, velvety skin that you longed to taste again. She folds into you, wrapping her hands around your shirt and pulling at the buttons, desperate to get near you again. You slide your tongue in her mouth and encase her flavor all over your tongue, basking in her warmth as you melt into her. She pulls you into the house and slams the door closed, still connected by her touch.

She pulls apart from you and stares up at you with longing eyes. Loving eyes. “Don’t go back tonight, Joel. Stay with me,” she says in a desperate, needy tone.

You draw a line with your thumb down her jawline, memorizing every perfect feature on her face. “I’ll stay. For however long you want me to,” you promise, your words filling up your chest with warmth as another tear slips down your face.

“Forever?” she asks with hope filling her eyes.

“Forever.”

You spend the rest of the night just holding her, both of you in wet tears as you lay all your emotions on the table. It’s exactly what you should’ve done all along. This is what you needed. You needed to feel your feelings, not bottle them up. But this felt good, it felt…natural. And so you stay like that the rest of the night, wrapped up in each other and losing yourself in one another. But this is where you belong, where you need to be. You’re home. With her, with your love. Your glowing, beautiful rose petal. Your forever and always.

Tags: @iamasaddie

[nebulousbrainsoup]

comfortable | l.sm

🌸 SUMMARY: it's been a year since you and your best friend have seen each other. while the day may look the exact same, he can tell you are not. as always, you find comfort in his open arms and wise words. 🌸 PAIRING: best friend!dk x reader 🌸 GENRE: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort 🌸 AU/TROPE INFO: non-idol au, unrequited love 🌸 WORD COUNT: 1.8k 🌸 WARNINGS: just some language and pining, nothing much else! 🌸 RATING: PG 🌸 A/N: hahaha i'm self soothing with fanfiction again! huge shout out to @hwaightme for sending me the song that inspired this fic (Comfortable - Lauv) and 10 cherry blossom photos with nothing but the prompt "bittersweet realizations." beautiful dividers by @saradika-graphics! 🌸 masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee? suffer tag: @pyeonghongrie-main

It was an inevitable fact of life, it seemed, that despite any earnestness put behind them at their inception, childhood promises could not help but be broken. It had been a year since Seokmin had seen you, the best friend he promised to spend every day with countless times through your youth. You had both protested against the gentle warnings from your families that adult life was difficult, busy, and often drove people apart at least physically, if not emotionally. Daily after school adventures had morphed quickly into weekly video chats and promises of monthly visits home as you both went off to university. By the time your first rounds of midterms hit, you had decided texting as much as possible and calling to catch up monthly had to be enough to sustain your friendship.

There had been a looming emptiness in both of your lives with the adjustment, one Seokmin was blatantly aware was in the shape of you. 

You had filled the void with coursework and a bit of dating here and there, oblivious and confused when no one and nothing filled the hole entirely.

To the best of your abilities, you still texted daily and called when you could, but with budding careers and the time zone differences you found yourselves in, no matter how small, it was difficult. Circumstances and responsibilities piled atop each other and before either of you knew it, it had been a year—almost to the day—since either of you had seen each other or spoken for more than thirty minutes at a time. But promises made in adulthood were ones with knowledge and logic behind them, leaps and bounds easier to keep than the rose-colored naivety of adolescence, so you made certain to keep the one you had made the last time you were here.

“We’re coming next year. Barring any life threatening emergencies, of course. If we request work off now and plan everything else around this, we can make sure we see each other at least once a year.”

Last year had been a nearly identical day to this one, the sky a similar pale blue and the cherry blossoms a soft pink as though they were making up for the lack of clouds above them. The late March air was still chilly, leaving each of you curling further into your sweaters and clutching a warm drink to your chest as you wandered through the park in search of the other. Seokmin was fighting the swarm of butterflies you always seemed to awaken within his stomach, resisting the urge to quicken his pace in hopes of finding you sooner. A soft smile tugged at his lips as last year’s chastising came back to him, “You passed me like three times, then! Slow down and look, Minnie, aish.”

The crowds seemed to part on cue as he blinked back to the present, his soft smile spreading into a grin for a brief moment before it fell again. Even from a distance and amongst the meandering crowds, he knew today would be different than the year previous, and his heart ached as he made his way toward you.

Last time, you had been looking for him with just as much urgency and excitement as he had you, spinning aimlessly and ignoring the confused and disgusted looks anyone else threw your way. You had spotted him at the same time as he had you, as though zeroing in on each others’ presence, and skipped into his open arms, joyous shouts and giggles echoing from you both. Your eyes had shone as your smile crinkled them when you finally broke apart, and Seokmin had wanted nothing more than to sweep you back into his arms and kiss you breathless. He had stopped himself, instead pulling you in for another quick hug and asking after the partner you’d texted him about a month prior. You were full of life before and brightened even further as you gushed about them and your loyal best friend swallowed down the pieces of his shattering heart.

Today, you looked like a small storm cloud had taken residence above you, shoulders slumped forward as you slowly turned and scanned the crowd. Seokmin’s heart broke all over again. He tugged the corners of his lips up into his signature grin as your tired eyes found his, a weak smile gracing your pretty face for a fleeting moment. He softened a bit as he swallowed bile, still holding his arms open and raising his brows in question and invitation. 

It looked like the weight of the world lifted from your shoulders as you closed the distance between you in a few short strides and threw your arms around his waist. He let his forced smile drop as he pressed his nose into your hair and bundled you tightly to him. He clung to you nearly as hard as you did to him, hands roaming soothingly over your back. The pair of you stood there in the middle of the path, swaying lightly, until the pointed nudging and shoving of passersby became too much for your balance to bear. 

When you separated, he couldn’t help himself. His smile did not return, concern etched into his furrowed brow as he asked, “What’s the matter, Y/N-ie?” 

Seokmin watched in real-time, throat tightening, as the weight of the world fell back across your shoulders. Your bottom lip quivered, leaving him grasping his cup tightly to keep himself from smoothing out the twitch with his thumb. 

“Can we find somewhere quieter first?” You murmured, shifting awkwardly on your feet. 

He nodded, freeing one of his hands from its death grip to tug your own into its hold. “Bench time, then.” 

The further away from the crowds he guided you, the more your weariness seemed to set in. You were uncharacteristically silent and, in his worry, so was your usually-bubbly companion. By the time you were settled on opposite sides of your favorite bench in the park, he could tell the dam in front of your emotions was close to shattering.

Sure enough, everything came out within minutes. The little spats and arguments you’d attributed to “growing pains” as you settled in with your new partner had not gone away in the slightest, evolving into nearly weekly fights over the same three topics, each of you trying to shoulder the blame alone. One miscommunication piles on after another, and by the time you’ve finished, Seokmin feels some of your weariness like its his own, his heart aching to see you hurt.

“I just feel like I’ve hit a wall,” you sighed, head lolling back onto the bench. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve asked them time and time again to just tell me when they don’t know what’s the matter and to tell me what’s wrong when they do because not knowing fucks me up more than knowing, you know? But they won’t, so I always go into any ‘discussion’ a little pissed because it’s another case of them keeping shit from me and me pushing too hard to get them to just respect my boundaries and—”

“It sounds like you’re both walking on eggshells to keep the other happy,” he cut in, watching as your mouth snapped shut.

“That’s… yeah, maybe,” you sighed, silence falling between you again. “Have you ever been so in love with someone that you would do anything to make them happy?”

“Yes.” 

The speed of his answer startled you, and you snapped back to look at him with a suspicious frown. “We’re talking about that later. I’m offended that I don't know about this person.” Seokmin huffed a sigh, rolling his eyes and hiding his sad smile behind a sip of his drink. “It’s like… I want to do everything I can to make them happy, but nothing is enough.”

“I’m no therapist, and I know I’m not exactly a relationship expert,” he hummed, “but you need to ask yourself why you’re still putting yourself through this. Do you really want things to work out? Do they? Are you both willing to put in the work to actually make it happen?” Your eyes fell to the ground, lips pursing in thought, and the sight tugged at his heartstrings. “If the answer to any of those is no, then you’re probably just staying with them because they’re comfortable and familiar, and that’s not healthy.”

You swallowed thickly and your bottom lip shook again, and Seokmin wanted nothing more than to take his words back if he was going to be the one to make you cry. His jaw dropped open to offer an apology, but before the words could leave his mouth, you were meeting his gaze with renewed softness and energy. He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“When did you get so wise, Dokyeom?” you teased, a pretty, bittersweet little smile pulling at your lips. “I’ll think about it tomorrow. Today is meant for you and me.”

With a deep breath and a final swig of his now-cold drink, he hopped up to his feet in front of you, extending a hand. “Then let the distractions commence! I heard there’s a new convenience store around the corner. We can go grab snacks and have a little picnic!”

You laughed, full and bright, for the first time today, and Seokmin felt his heart mend, just a stitch. “Ah, what did I do to deserve you? That sounds perfect.”

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, your best friend reached down and snatched your hand, pulling you to stand beside him. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve me; you’re stuck with me. It’s part of the DK package, remember? You deal with all of this,” he dropped your hand to spin in a circle, arms thrown wide, “and in return, I am at your beck and call.” He finished with a flourish, bowing deeply before straightening up and grinning brightly.

Once more you were laughing at his antics, and he felt the tightness in his chest lighten, only to return as a flash of something, unfamiliar and curious, flashed in your eyes as they flickered over his body. “I guess that was the deal, huh? Still, I stand by my statement. You really are the best, Lee Seokmin.”

He huffed a sigh, eyes flickering to the ground as he was rendered speechless at your words. “Well, thank you. Now, can we quit the sappy stuff and move onto the food?”

You grinned, nodding eagerly as you started down the path ahead of him. “If we eat as much as we did last time, though, you may have to pick me up and carry me back home.”

Seokmin let his earnestness show in his expression as he smiled softly at the back of your head. “Always.”

TAGLIST: @justhere4kpop @tastymintchocolate @bahng-chrizz @elllisaaa @jjeongddol @buzzkillem @atinyinateezverse @hooniewnderland @yessa-vie @unlikelysublimekryptonite @kangnina

© March 2024 nebulousbrainsoup | all rights reserved. reposting and translating of author’s work is prohibited.

[ryukatters]

Ok so imagine:

Gojo is pretty emotionally disconnected from most, refuses to let himself get attached most of the time after everything thats happened to him.

And then you show up

He doesn’t want to slip up. He doesnt want to form another bond like that. But its like he can’t stop it. Maybe you just remind him of what he’s lost, maybe it’s the way you see him as him rather than “the strongest,” an annoyance, or something shallow. It happens slow, so slow he barely even picks it up, but the feelings bloom. You just enrapture him. And he remembers everything that happened last time he got so close to another person, and he’s terrified to accept it but terrified to turn it away and loose the last chance he might have at a relationship like that.

so he takes it, tries to claim you in every sense of the word. You’re weaker than him, possibly even an underling, so there’s definitely a power dynamic that makes it easier for him to keep control. Maybe he tries to keep you hidden, but maybe he likes to drag you around like a dog, only loaning you off to somebody else when it gets too dangerous. Either way, it’s not like you can run because he’d definitely find you. He is absolutely NOT going to lose something so important to him, not again. He’d do whatever it takes, even if it meant making himself look like the bad guy in your eyes because you understand him so well, so he’s sure he can turn your relationship back to the positive side with just a little explanation and coercion

(idk if this may be a bit ooc but… its been rotting in my brain ty for letting me dump it here)

trigger warnings/content: yandere, stalking, power dynamics, obsession, Gojo is a few years older than reader, no smut, just word vomit

It starts off small. You’re a budding sorcerer, a few years Gojo’s junior, and also a new teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High, trying to adjust to your new job. Gojo takes it upon himself to mentor you. You don’t think anything of it, other than the fact that it’s a little intimidating to have the strongest sorcerer of the era to serve as your guide.

You’re strong, he can see. You’re hardened by a few rough years of working in the field, but even despite barely meeting you, your facade cracks and he can see the goodness underneath.

Gojo’s impenetrable most days. To a lot of people, he might be a loud, annoying nuisance, but to you, you see a broken man who tries to keep everyone at arm’s length at the expense of his pride and reputation as a formidable sorcerer.

Gojo’s extremely intelligent, and uses it to play his cards wisely. It took him years to build a persona that’ll prevent outsiders from ever looking in. You manage to unravel him day by day, and it almost frustrates him.

Almost.

Until he realizes there’s no point in fighting the inevitable— he’ll have to let you in eventually.

There’s a fear in Gojo’s eyes when he sees you. It’s like all tomorrows appear in a blink. Your entire essence, so good, so innocent about the cruelty of the world. It reminds him of innocence he once had in his youth. Something about you is so magnetizing, and no matter how much Gojo wants to fight it, he can’t help but be pulled in.

He wants you. And he wants you to want him. Need him. Desire him carnally in the way he does you.

Slowly, he lets you see parts of him that no one else has ever seen. His love is so overwhelming, and because it’s Satoru— with his sweet words and seemingly good intentions— he manages to have you fall for him too. And when he finally, officially has you (because let’s face it, he decided you were his long before that point), he manages to keep you under lock and key.

For your safety, he reasons.

After all— is he really the strongest if he doesn’t do what he can to keep you safe?

The rose colored glasses seem to wear off over time, and you start to see Gojo for the monster he really is.

It takes a few months of garnering courage to even attempt to begin planning your escape from him. You do it slowly, but carefully, calculating every step to make sure you don’t leave a trail behind.

You get one of the auxiliary managers to buy you a back up phone, set up a whole new bank account overseas, and eventually *secretly* book a ticket to a whole different country— one far from the grasp of Satoru Gojo.

Fate, by some miracle, seems to be on your side. Yaga calls both of you in for an emergency meeting. Gojo is being sent away on a week long mission abroad to snuff out a new curse user group that has connections to one here in Japan. You— a local mission to check out disappearances in a nearby town.

You can feel the hostility radiating from the man standing next to you. You dare to take a peek, and you see nothing but an airy smile. “Yaga, I’ll take care of their mission. It should be quick for me—“

“No, Satoru. They haven’t been on a mission in months, thanks to you being greedy and taking on everything. Being a good mentor means letting them take calculated risks.”

With that, both of you sign off on paperwork and begin to prepare for your respective missions. The atmosphere is tense in Gojo’s home— the same one he made you move into just a few months prior (“So you don’t have to worry about commuting so far. ‘Sides, there’s a lot of creeps lurking around out there, and I’m not talking about curses.”)

Gojo refuses to leave you until he makes sure that you’ll be safe. Borderline threatens Ijichi to keep a close eye on you, and the poor man is nothing short of pissing his pants.

He pulls you aside before Ijichi starts preparing the veil. One hand rests on your waist, squeezing almost a little bit too tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go, while the other tilts your chin up so you can meet his gaze.

He has his blindfold on, but you know all of his attention is on you. “I know you won’t have service inside the veil, but the second it gets lifted you’re going to call me.”

You nod, and listen like the good girl he likes you to be. With that, he gives you a kiss on the forehead before he leaves.

You manage to locate the missing victims and exorcise the curse in less than 48 hours. You do as you’re told and call Gojo. He picks up after the first ring, and you think you can hear a shuddered sigh of relief on the other line upon hearing your voice. He tells you he has to go, only because duty calls, and that he’ll talk to you soon. Be good. Update him. Don’t leave without permission.

As usual, you appease him.

You make it back home in record time, tell Ijichi to wait outside because you need him to take you somewhere.

You leave your phone behind— the one that Gojo has the location of— and shut the door with nothing but a small suitcase in tow.

Ijichi stammers, you want to go where? Alone? Does Gojo know about this?

You tell him there’s no time for questions and to start driving.

He drops you off at Narita, in the international terminal. He’s visibly sweating, no doubt fearing for both his life and yours once a certain white haired sorcerer gets back from his mission. You give him an easy smile and thank him, and he speeds off, probably to go into hiding as well.

Your hands are shaky as you hand the boarding pass to the flight crew, and the tremors don’t stop even as you take a seat inside the plane. Even when you arrive at your destination, lay down in your bed in what’s going to be your temporary home for who knows how long, does your anxiety fail to cease.

Gojo knows something is off. He’s blown up your phone with endless calls and texts, called Ijichi countless times, and even asked Yaga about your whereabouts. Nothing. Your radio silence confirms his intuition. He finishes up his mission quickly, before the one week allotment is up. The first thing he does when he steps foot in Japan is immediately teleport back home.

He’s met with silence, and hardly any trace of your cursed energy residuals to be seen. You’ve been gone for a few days, he deduces.

Anxiety starts to prickle the back of his neck, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever felt this much concern for anyone. Are you hurt? He tries calling you again, until he hears it. The slight buzzing sound emanating from your shared bedroom.

He picks up the device and sees the log of notifications. You really were gone.

Satoru looks through your phone— messages, emails, camera roll, bank statements— anything, anything to give him a hint as to what you were up to. Nothing. That’s okay, onto the next plan, which is honestly what he should’ve done first.

Being the strongest sorcerer had its perks, but none of them were greater than his privilege to investigate into people’s background history.

You know deep down there really was no escape from Satoru Gojo. That no matter the distance, he’d find a way back to you.

So when you see Gojo sitting on your bed in your hotel room, a part of you isn’t that surprised. The rest of you is paralyzed with anxiety of what comes next. You want to run, but you can’t. Your eyes begin to shift towards the still open door, trying to assess your options, but you’re hardly given a chance to finish your thought before Gojo is in front of you, closing the door. Effectively shut away from the outside world.

He’s not wearing his blindfold, you noticed. Which means he’s probably been tracking the flow of your cursed energy the moment you stepped foot into the lobby.

His stormy gaze meets yours, and he smiles. Your stomach drops.

“So…” he starts, voice sinfully low, “thought you could get away, hm?” He’s backed you up against the door, his strong frame pressed against yours.

Words bubble up your throat but die as they reach the tip of your tongue. You don’t want to set him off. You’ve only been given small glimpses into Gojo’s more sadistic, domineering side, which he does on purpose to serve as warning. You’re not like anyone else, so I’ll be good to you. In return, you must be good for me.

You start to tremble, legs beginning to fail you— but Satoru’s there to hold you steady. He uses one hand to grip your face, squishing both of your cheeks until your lips are pursed. He watches with deep adoration and fascination at how pliant the flesh is between his fingers. It’s like you were made for him.

“I’m willing to forget that you did this,” he hums, placing a quick peck to the tip of your nose before he presses his forehead against yours. “If you promise to get in that bed with me until I’ve decided you’re forgiven.”

Work belongs to @ryukatters. Please do not repost, recommend, or translate my writing on TikTok or Twitter.

[infinite-orangepeel]

“get too close to your muse & you, the artist, will lose all ability to decipher one shade from the next on your palette. keep your distance…”

fall quarter begins at the curly roots of eddie munson’s ineffable head, runs its’ labyrinthian course through passageways of blue veins & black ink, & ends at a set of hairy crimson painted toes.

steve finds himself squandering every waking moment of his lifeblood & attention somewhere, egregiously, in the middle.

“say you’re drawing a bed of flowers,” his professor lectured a few weeks back, “what happens if you put your nose in the middle of those flowers & try to recreate the details on your canvas? you come up with color and shape, sure, but it’s blurry—isn’t it? it’s a big blobby blur of nothing. that’s not very good life drawing, i’m afraid.”

flash forward to the present—

the bed is firm but comfortable. reminding you of its’ presence.

it doesn’t encourage daydreaming &, yet, steve is ignoring the better advice of his mentor & pressing his curious nose directly into the bud of an all too striking flower.

he knows the intimate contact could kill the rose, is aware of the thorns lining the stem, but he can’t stay away.

he’s struck by fear and temptation and self-loathing and a beauty that stings like a slap across the face.

eddie’s his roommate, his friend, his muse for the most important project of steve’s career as an art student.

& getting too close is lethal, so he creates a sort of optical illusion.

designs an environment in which he can pretend they are star-crossed lovers in a broken world that won’t let them be together. in which touch is a small death each and every time.

steve flits to eddie like a dragonfly to water—

never touching.

never spending too much time in his orbit before making up an excuse to leave & jerk off to the smell of old cigarettes in the bathroom.

everything he really wants to say sits in the back of his throat like a painful, malignant lump & gets spat out onto his sketchbook in a tragically romantic exorcism.

doing the dishes next to him is enough to drive him insane.

drawing him, butt-naked, is another story.

“is it supposed to be so….erotic?”

eddie arches an eyebrow as steve traces the outline of his cock into his sketchbook.

“it’s not that erotic,” steve says, blushing into his charcoals, “besides no one will know it’s you. it’s art.”

art is supposed to be weird & naked. now, hold still, & let me draw you.”

it’s definitely erotic.

there are roses—de-thorned, for safety—shrouding eddie’s dick & leaving a trail of pink petals across his pale thighs.

eddie’s hand is draped over his head; exuding a certain brattiness, lust, boredom—

as if he’s lying there because he wants someone, like steve, to stumble upon him & use his body the way it so clearly needs to be.

his lips are parted on the precipice of whispering some filthy secret into steve’s ear while milking him like a simple farm girl with nothing better to do.

fuck.

he can’t be this close to eddie without losing his mind.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

it’s just a body. just limbs and a huge cock and—

eddie’s quiet for a little while which is rare for him, before he pipes up again.

“what if we painted the flowers together?”

steve wipes the sweat from his brow, drops his pencil, and looks up at eddie across the mattress. working overtime to avoid staring at the erection sticking out amongst the bouquet of roses.

“the piece isn’t supposed to be very colorful. i’m going for muted tones. that’s why i picked the pale pinks and whites.”

eddie giggles a little and, it’s so cute, steve has to pinch his own thigh through his shorts just to maintain composure.

“i don’t think you’re understanding—the colors wouldn’t change much. except for some more white, if you catch my drift,” eddie pumps his hand over his cock several times and mimes cumming stop the petals, “might look cool. might get you extra points with that asshole professor of yours. you’ve said he likes ‘shock value.’”

“i—i guess you’re right. that’s a pretty….different and unique….um….idea. yeah.”

it’s like this that steve strips naked and clambers as close to eddie as he can possibly get without laying a finger on him. adhering to the rules—keeping a particular distance between artist & muse.

they lay side by side. sunlight streaming in through the blinds & bathing eddie’s spindly fingers in gold as he touches himself.

“harrington, don’t act like you haven’t been dreaming about this since day one,” eddie snarks, “i’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. your eyes are gonna burn holes in my ass if you’re not careful. touch that pretty cock of yours, lemme see you.”

before steve can do anything about it or change his mind, he’s got a fist wrapped around his own cock and the other hand pinching his nipples. left and right, back and forth, dragging his nails through the hair sprouting around them.

“didn’t think you thought about me like that,” steve whines, watching as eddie edges himself methodically—

moving faster, slower, squeezing at the base, thumbing over the slit, cupping his balls, slapping the insides of his own thighs until they match the pink petals.

“i like a little pain,” he comments when he catches steve’s wide eyes, “and i’ve always was hallucinating the first time i walked into this room and saw you on the bed—thought i was going into the light and seeing an angel.”

“you’re so full of it.”

“i’d like to be full of you,” eddie breathes against steve’s neck, not allowing his lips to pass the barrier, “but i don’t know if you can handle me, big boy. you’re blushing like a nervous little schoolgirl.”

“am not—”

“are too, &, you’re about to cum just listening to my voice. it’s so crystal clear. look at you—fucking yourself so stupid.”

eddie looks so beautiful.

laying there like a forsaken god locked out of heaven.

steve’s been so good about keeping his hands to himself, about keeping his nose out of the flowers, but desire and temptation are stronger than any amount of remaining willpower he has.

he grabs eddie’s shoulder with his freehand & kisses him until they’re both seeing stars.

celestial explosions of pleasure & truth & this thing that’s been growing violently between them since the moment they first met.

“i’m cumming. i’m gonna—fuck steve, it’s gonna be on the flowers—i hope that’s okay—”

they cum in tandem over petals of pink and white and thornless stems.

steve gets an A+.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @neverlandwaitingforme @swiss-cheeze

[scoutswritingcorner]

Rose Colored Boy

Angel Dust x Male Reader

A/N: Part two of ‘Harder Than It Looks’! Once again I’m going to reiterate that I am not a medical professional or psychiatrist. If you need help with addiction please reach out.

TW: Alcoholism, killing, being pressured, toxic friendships.Talks about Valentino.

The night had passed in a whirlwind of nausea causing you to wake up every two hours to vomit up even more of whatever was left in your stomach as your loving and caring boyfriend, Angel Dust, rubbed your back and wiped the bile, saliva and tears from your face with a nice warm cloth. You didn’t get much sleep that night, opting to stay awake to take care of yourself to allow your boyfriend to get some sort of rest. He didn’t go back to sleep either. Opting to hold your trembling body close to his as you tried to ignore the betrayal from your life long friends…you don’t think they were your friends anymore.

The morning was much the same as it was any other day but this time, you were scared to look at Charlie and Vaggie in the face. They would surely berate you. Tell you that you didn’t deserve to be redeemed, of course you didn’t. You were so stupid to ever think someone so broken and jaded like you could be redeemed. But the yelling and berating never came to fruition, only soft hugs and whispers that it would be okay entered your ears. “Redemption is a hard road to go down..everyone trips once in a while. None of what happened is your fault, okay? Vaggie and I are so proud of you.” Charlie whispered out her voice cracking as she no doubtably was trying to carry your burden on her shoulders as another sob wracked through your already trembling body, hiding your face into her shoulder as your arms wrapped around her. She reminded you so much of your older sister, arms always open to help in any way she could. 

Now, here you were sitting at the bar as you stared at the glass of water in front of you. Every thought of yours screaming at you to jump over the counter and drink till you pass out again. You wanted to feel the buzz of the poison you came to know and hate. The liquid that numbs your taste buds and senses, makes you feel like the world couldn’t stop you. A gloved hand grasping yours knocked you out of your thoughts causing you to look up towards Angel, he truly was your angel and you were his. All those nights you promised to beat the fuck out of Valentino fresh in your mind. You stared at him before a smile graced your lips, “Drink some water, Suga’. It’s gonna help you okay?” His voice was soft as he mirrored your smile. 

You nodded and turned your focus back to the glass of water, using your free hand to hold the cup. Slowly bring it up to your lips, you sipped on it. You ignored how you spilled some on your shirt as you started to unceremoniously chug the water down. A clawed hand reached over to stop you from choking on it as another wiped down the counter with a rough grumble, “Don’t choke on it, Kid.” Husk’s voice rang out as another violent tremble ripped through your body as you almost slammed the cup down but once again Husk had stopped your erratic movements. “..I hate this..” You grumbled out as Angel leaned down to gently kiss your forehead. “I know, Baby.” He replied glaring at your phone that started buzzing with text after text from your so called ‘friends’.

“Can I see your phone, Babe?” Angel asked, causing you to lift your head up from the bar. When did you put your head down? You shake your head to get your thoughts together and nodded, handing it over to him, “Oh..’Course..” You mumbled out laying your head back down, “For food?” your question surprised Angel before he smiled and used one of his hands to rub your back. “If you want some food, Suga’.” He frowned as he glanced back at your phone. Encouragements of more drinking and half assed apologies from your ‘friends’ kept spilling out but one of the messages stood out to him.

‘Nyx: Stop being a fucking bitch. You always liked drinking with us. Are we too good for you now or are you actually trying that new fucking redemption hotel?’ 

Angel’s blood boiled at that, seeing the picture of a tall lanky demon with a smirk. One that reminded him too much of Valentino’s smirk when he knew he had won whatever mind games that he was using. “..can we get take out?” you asked softly, causing him to jump back into reality. “Of course, Handsome. Anything specific?” He asked, watching as sweat rolled down the side of your face. It took a few seconds for the question to register for you but when it did you gave him a shake of your head, “Get..get Husk something too, Angie..” You slurred out causing the bartender to chuckle, “Nah I’m fine, Kid. Don’t worry about me.” He sent a glance towards Angel, who nodded and turned his own attention to his own phone, placing yours on the bar. 

He texted the only other person he truly trusted and the one who had to make sure you were good enough for his heart, Cherri. It was a quick back and forth as he used your phone to order the takeout as well to calm your mind. Filling in the missing pieces to Cherri, he kissed your cheek as you tried to stay awake for him. “I’m gonna go get the food, Handsome. Do you want me to pick up any medicine for you?” His voice soft as if not to shake you awake from your groggy state, brushing back some of your hair as another tremble forced itself through your body.

“No..don’t think so…” you whispered out your eyes feeling heavy as you tried to stay awake for Angel. Nodding, Angel placed another gentle kiss against your cheek, “Okay, get some sleep Handsome.” You nodded and let out a loud yawn finally allowing yourself to fall asleep against the cold surface of the bar. Angel sent one last look to Husk who waved his hand, “Go, I’ll watch him.” He said gruffly but Angel could see how angered Husk seemed, how his pupils constricted with his anger. Husk was another person in this hotel who had helped you with your alcoholism, nobody questioned it but everyone knew Husk cared for you more than he liked to admit, Angel is guessing that he sees himself in you.

With one final nod and placing a stray blanket over your shoulders Angel left the hotel. Meeting up with Cherri was quick but his anger was quicker to flare up. He was going to teach those ‘friends’ of yours to not fuck with you ever again. So with a baseball bat in one hand and his tommy gun in the other they both entered the bar where your ‘friends’ met up to teach them a valuable lesson. But of course he was going to make it quick, though he wished he didn’t. But his sweet Prince needed him and he was looking forward to cuddles and kisses from you.

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

It takes a mob pt. 9

First

Prev

Ao3

“So what color flowers do you think Marv would like to be buried with?”

Bill glanced to Ken as the kid made a loud squeal from his place on the counter.  The diaper incident was still fresh in mind but for the moment the kid looked content to stay solid.

Ken played with Danny’s legs before continuing his musings,

“We could go traditional roses, but carnations might have a better meaning and shit.”

“I don’t know shit ‘bout flowers.” Bill grunted as he dumped a large mixing bowl of dough on to the table. “But I want his ass cremated, going to put him in an hourglass. Maybe he’ll finally will learn time and place.”

Me-Mah tutted as she measured and cut the portions.

“That child was never one to think things through.”

“It kept Danny out of the limelight, didn’t it?”

Me-mah snorted as she glanced over,

“But, at what cost boy?”

“A hell of an ass whoopin for the most part.”

A voice chimed in, and Bill felt some color leech from his face.

“Ayyyye, didn’t know you were scheduled to hop in Jay! What are you doin’ on this side of the front?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ken take a sudden dive to the floor with a loud thump.

Everyone paused for a second to look at the space the man once inhabited.

“…you good there Ken?”

Ken let out a wheeze as his head popped back into view.

“..Just some fractured dignity.”

“Riiight.. So, I heard you guys had quite a busy weekend, mind catching me up?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it busy per se, but you know how- hey hey! Why don’t you not come over! you know what I’ll come over to you!”

Scrambling past the table tops Bill steered Jason back out the door onto the streets.

“You know I was actually going to ask Me-mah about a possible change in meal prep for next week, right?”

“And I can make sure she’s up to date and everything! No need for the higher ups to need to hand around you got your own projects to worry about!”

“Like the project you three have decided to take?”

“..I have no idea what you are talking about boss.”

Bill stumbled as Jason finally dug his heel as they came close to an alleyway opening.

“Now we can do this the easy way of the hard way Bill, and my night’s been headache inducing enough.”

With a gritted teeth, Bill trudged into the ally with little fanfare.

“So,”

Jason started through a puff of a cigarette,

“I would like to preface this talk with the fact that Marv will be fine. Some bruising and a concussion to match but no lasting damage as far as the doc is concerned.”

“Oh. That’s, good.”

“You don’t sound so sure of that.”

“No! It’s- it’s great that Marv is good an’ all but, this is the boss we’re talking about! That ain’t his usual M.O.”

Bill took off his hat and rubbed at his temple,

“I mean, I’ve seen the dude do a lot more for way less. No scarring? No disfigurement? Not even a broken nose??”

“And it was anyone else than it would’ve been so, but it’s Marv we’re talking about. The dumbass is the equivalent of a pittie in a sweater. Besides-“

Jay made a show of flicking the used bud into a puddle before shifting to face Bill and leaning a hip against the grimy wall.

“He had his gun in his holster, if he was trying shit, he would’ve went with that instead of a steel chair.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Home couldn’t come into view quick enough.

Unlocking the door, Bill dumped the bag in his arm before he made a b-line to the kitchen.

The kid had a set of lungs and was making it quite clear that he did not appreciate being hungry.

“It’s okay kid, let it out, good for the soul and all that.”

Bill started to bounce as the microwave warmed the key to his ears’ bliss. His mind couldn’t help but go back to his conversation with Jay in between Danny’s gasps of air.

“What’s the plan? Fling the kid from person to person? Playhouse until gets annoying and pass the kid around like a hot potato? I don’t think there’s a single person who went through foster that wouldn’t be able to tell you how that would work out.”

Gently, Bill removed the tot from his imprisonment before quickly scooping up the bottle and testing the heat on his wrist.

“Do you even know the first thing about babies? How to test their bottles temp and clean them? How about burping? What about Immunizations?  Or are you flying by your coat tails? They need commitment!”

It didn’t take as second for Danny to latch on with a content hum.

The quiet bliss could’ve been heroin as far as Bill was concerned.

Making his way back to the fallen bags, he got a glance at the small library that had made its home on his floor.

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

He could do this, he got his GED last year, so Bill was used to studying. He just had a bit of a time crunch to catch up is all.

“I don’t know shit about kids..”

One of the first things Jay did as soon as they properly introduced him to Danny was drag both of them to Dr. Leslie for an evaluation.

Bill’s original estimate was quite off.

The kid was about four months old.

Reaching over for a dirty towel, Bill shifted Danny to his shoulder and gave him some pats.

He wasn’t above admitting that a lot of what he was told went over his head, but a relative bill of good health was good news as any.

He couldn’t help but let out a huff of laughter when he noticed the kid’s face.

“What? What’s with dat look? Am I really doing this wrong Al-“

The sound that came out of the kid had no right being that grotesque.

Danny face smoothed as Bill looked down in mild horror as he felt new weight on the back of the onesie.

“..that wasn’t a fart, was it?”

The beginning of another spell of crying kicked the henchmen into gear.

“Right! Bath! Shit, don’t got one those bath thingies- uuhhh… right! Sink time Dano.”

Slinging the bag onto his shoulder, Bill went back to the kitchen and turned on the faucet sending a silent thank you to the two idiots who finally went home.

There was a bit of hesitation before he snapped the kid’s buttons off.

“Babies are messy Bill; they piss and shit and throw up to hell and back because it’s the only thing they can really do. If you can’t handle that then you have no right-“

With a quick shake of his hand, Bill made quick work of the kid’s clothes and diaper before turning his head to the side letting out a small gag.

He’s handled men’s entrails falling out of their bodies better than this.

Checking the temperature, Bill held Danny so that his back was to the faucet and started to splashing handfuls onto the mess.

“I know I know, not the most conventual cleaning but we’re going to have to sort that out tomorrow.”

Steeling his nerves, Bill fished out the baby soap from the bag and got to work.

“The things I do for yah…”

One freshly scrubbed Danny looked up with a giggle as Bill meticulously worked to keep the soup from his eyes.

A new problem emerged as the impromptu bath was over. There wasn’t a clean towel nearby much to Bill’s dismay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sudden clearing of his work schedule via text made Bill pause before he tossed his phone within reach.

Letting out a huff he placed Danny onto the makeshift changing table.

“‘You need an adjustment period’ and ‘Can’t have you working in the high risk now and blah blah-‘ The bosses are acting like I’m some transplant now because of you.”

His complaints were unanswered by his audience though a small squeal of laughter did tug a smile onto his face as he plopped the kid’s rump back onto the clean diaper.

“Yeah.. yeah, yuck it up. Just so you know, this is a once in a lifetime thing goin’ on, so don’t expect me to pull a Wayne an’ bring you back any siblings.”

Dawn was breaking as close is ever did in the city.  The early commuters were starting their day and he bit back a yawn as he continued his work.

The two of them didn’t get to go back home until well past three. Both Jason and Dr. Leslie felt it consequential to give Bill a crash course in baby 101 and enough homework to reach his gills to boot.

Something that he was beginning to notice is that plans tend to not hold up when dealing with children.

Sure, Bill hasn’t got much range in experience with kids, but what plans he has made around Danny got shot through like a diamond store on a Saturday.

He planned to never have kids, and now that had one to take care of, he just planned to keep him clean and worry about everything else tomorrow but-

“Shit!”

Waving away the sudden cloud in his Face with a cough, Bill looked down at the scene in dismay.

What was once a perfectly clean skin was now powdered white up to a confused little chin.

“Come one Kid, up, up-“

Bill gently pulled them to a sitting position by the arms with snicker.

“We got the rest of our lives together kid.”

He started to try brush down the excess with a towel as he continued,

“Yeah, this ain’t goin’ to be easy, but hey, I’m in your corner for better or for worst.”

Scooping and wrapping up Danny in a bundle Bill took another glance around his apartment and tried not to grimace.

The kitchen window was patched over with some newspaper and tape and the carpet still had some questionable stains from the past.

As much as it sucked to admit, Bill knew his time here was limited.

A one-bedroom apartment was not good enough for a kid to grow up in.

The feeling a small hand brought him out of his musings.

“Bab bah.”

“You know that's very cute, but I just swaddled you for a reason. Phase you hand back under your blanket.”

With a gently poke Danny was once again fully engulfed.

“I’m going to have gray hairs by the time you learn to crawl, I can just feel it.”

That was another day’s concern, as for today.

“I think it’s time we go lay down for a bit. How’s that sound?”

With a small yawn from his companion, Bill eased into the couch and turned on the tv low with a sense of déjà vu.

‘If dad could see him now…’

And as he started to lose the battle with sleep a passing thought made him let out a small huff.

Maybe he’d give his old man a call, it’s not every day the family expands after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~

This has been an adventure. I started my tumblr page as a place to throw away my prompts so that someone else could get inspired and my brain wouldn’t hold onto them. I didn’t actually expect to not only use but finish one!

For all of you guys who’ve been following along on both tumblr and ao3, thank you.

Here’s to more stories to come!

[earl-grey-teacake]

I'm a dif anon but I am also so so super invested in your Victorian au! So I want to ask about the color/materials/scents associated w each family!

If any of the details are spoilery, totally leave it out :)

Ahhh! Thank you for asking!

I have broken it down by family and the current people of each house.

Please enjoy my ramblings about fabrics and perfumes!

Color: colors of the houses, usually seen on their emblem. These colors follow each character to signal from what family they are from.

Fabric/trim: When I am describing their clothing, it will likely be in the following fabrics unless stated otherwise. Also, provides insight into the social status

Jewelry: Extension of the house colors but also symbolizes power. All the alphas wear lapel pins in the house's stone and metal setting. The omegas have some sort of jewelry in the stone and metal.

Scent: Alphas tend to have stronger, sharper scents while betas have neutral scents (think clean linen; sweet and powdery. Byredo Blanche) and omegas have floral, sweet scents.

Duchy of Mercedes/Earldom of Williams-House of Hamilton

Colors: Blue, Silver, Black

Fabric/trim: Silk, primarily silk taffeta; white lace; garlands of leaves and flower buds; ribbons

Jewelry: Sapphires set in silver

Secondary gender and scent

Lewis Hamilton (Alpha): smells of amber, vanilla, cinnamon and wood. It's warm and strong, the kind of scent you remember for a while and exudes power. Inspired from Grand Soir by Maison Francis Kurkdijan.

Nico Hamilton (Omega): citrus, musky, with a softness from the floral. It smells bright, refreshing, but there is a warmth to it from the musk. Inspired by Petit Matin by Maison Francis Kurkdijan. (The perfume Grand Soir and Petit Matin were released together. Grand Soir to represent the nightlife and Petit Matin representing the gentle morning.)

George Hamilton (Alpha): smells cold and refreshing. Citrus, sea salt and sandalwood. It is reminiscent of a cool mountain stream. Inspired by Silver Mountain Water by Creed and Aqua Universalis by Maison Francis Kurkdijan.

Alex Hamilton (Omega): Floral scent of magnolia, rose, and jasmine with a slight sweetness of apple and peaches tempered by the slight scent of cedarwood. It's youthful without being childish, delicate, sweet, and fresh all at the same time. Inspired by my favorite perfume Love in White for Summer by Creed.

Lia Hamilton (Alpha): Citrus, sea salt, sandalwood, lightened with fruity blackcurrant. It has the citrus-sea salt freshness from her father and the woody warmth from her grandfather but made unique by the sweetness of the blackcurrant. Inspired by Millesime Imperial by Creed.

Logan Hamilton (Omega): Fruity and floral- greengage plum, apple, rose, bergamot, Virginia cedarwood and sandalwood. It is fresh and floral and just exudes romantic, youthful love. Inspired by Acqua Fiorentina by Creed.

Earldom of Mclaren-House of Piastri

Colors: Black, papaya

Fabric/trim: twilled wool, serge, and brocade with leaves and wine

Jewelry: Topaz set in gold

Secondary gender and scent

Oscar Piastri (Alpha): Citrus, icy cold, fresh and herbal. It is a combination of icy, winter air; the sharpness of lemon, and the earthy scent of tea. It is harsh and sharp in the way it is both warm and cold. Inspired by Aqua media by Maison Francis Kurkdijan and Ofresia by Diptyque.

Duchy of Sainz- House of Norris-Sainz

Colors: crimson, maroon, black

Fabric: silk, satin, velvet, crystal beads, tassels

Jewelry: Ruby set in gold

Secondary Gender and scent

Lando Norris-Sainz (Alpha): musky amber with notes of vanilla, coriander and nutmeg. It is warm, spicy, floral and sweet but not overpowering. It settles like a sleeping dragon or the calm before the storm, there is a sharpness beneath calm, sweetness of the vanilla and nutmeg. Gentle Fluidity Gold by Maison Francis Kurkdijan.

Carlos Norris-Sainz (Omega): a deviation from the gentle scents of most omegas. It is strong, woody, spicy and sweet all at the some time. It smells like a fiery demise that you willingly accept because it is that captivating. Inspired by Baccarat Rouge 540 by Maison Francis Kurkdijan.

Feel free to send in asks or comment if you have any questions. If you want you share your perfume or your thoughts on the perfumes I have chosen feel free to.

[rockwgooglyeyes]

LOG (SUBJECT: Round 18 - During)

SPECIMEN: 001247 (Onyx)

It's cold up on stage. Normally, Nyx wouldn't care but the darkness of the sky compared to the bright white lights that wash everything out, the fog collecting on the ground and catching at his ankles, it's cold. He shouldn't be- he's wearing full pants and boots, he's got sleeves on this time. His midriff might be bare but he doesn't really care about that, he runs hot enough that it's never been a problem. The frigid film that has settled itself over his skin isn't a typical kind of chill, it doesn't raise any goosebumps, no shiver down his spine, no hitch in his breath. No, Nyx has simply been cold ever since Cas died, since he saw the light go out of Cas' eyes and the color drain from his face, skin going cold beneath his very hands.

"When I step off the stage, I'm a bird in a cage," Nyx sighs into his mic, twirling Lang in a pirouette. "I'm a dog in a dog pound." She moves in time with the music, making and meeting every note in the melody perfectly, watching him with her abyssal eyes. Looking through him, as if he isn't even there.

"Now, listen, that is a nasty little worm," she sings, her voice clear and sharp as always, glass underneath Nyx's feet, thorns digging into his palms as he grips tightly to a rose. She keeps step with him, mimicking like it's second nature, and maybe it is, for both of them. Her outfit, with it's white silky fabric and angular black diamonds, compared to his, dark with white diamonds, they're mirroring each other and there's no way it isn't on purpose. "And I like to call it pride."

Something has been on the tip of Nyx's tongue, for the whole round, niggling at the back of his mind ever since Lang opened her mouth and they started this dance. They keep waltzing, swirling in hypnotic circles, and as soon as her singing lulls, he dips her. He locks eyes with her and holds her there, disregarding the way that her eyebrows twitch ever so slightly.

"Lang, why are doing this?" He demands, rough and low, too harried to really manage evening out his tone at the moment.

"What am I doing?" She replies, her soft, placid voice sounding almost hollow surrounded by all this noise. Nyx can't keep his mask from breaking, tears budding at the corners of his eyes as he grits his teeth.

"Nothing," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, a thread of something trembling lying underneath. Lang blinks at him hollowly, her big black eyes watching him as if he's some kind of specimen, as if they haven't known each other for years, as if they aren't even friends. His eyes close when he shakes his head and barks out a laugh, brittle and broken. "You're doing nothing at all. Don't you want to win?"

"You know that it doesn't matter what I want, Nyx," she tells him, smiling slightly. It doesn't reach her eyes. She's not lying- not exactly but she's not telling the truth either. "We must sing. If you win, then I lose. Simple as that."

"But don't you want to win?" Aren't you afraid of dying? I know you're afraid to die. Why are you lying to me? Why are you doing this?

"It doesn't matter what I want," she repeats, smiling briefly before turning away, facing the audience, and pulling him back into the dance once more. The smile drops away, just like Nyx's heart drops into his stomach, a plate falling to the floor and shattering, bile rising up his throat as he can't help but feel sick.

Of course, it matters.

(Lang belongs to @pwippy, Cas belongs to @lookatmysillies)

[justaduckarts]

Whatcha think about SH au angst? Hurt/no comfort, full on angst, tears, pain and suffering. Please do snatch our hearts and break them into many pieces right in front of our eyes. I crave angst

Hello!

Oh. Ooof. Man. You are havin' a rough one, huh? Alright bud. Lemme cook you something <3

These events will not be canon, for reasons of 'no comfort'! However, some spoilers ^^'

TW: Major Character Death, Blood, Hurt no comfort

How could this have happened?

Orange hands trembled as he looked down at the blood caked on his fingers.

What was it all for?

Standing tall under the proudly shining sun, his brother of the same namesake. At his feet, your broken body lay in the grass. Eclipse could scarcely look.

The light of the star in Sun's hands had turned a wicked crimson thanks to the blood soaked into the radiant object.

Eclipse had promised himself. He'd promised to spare you.

And he had failed. He'd failed in every regard.

Sun's laughter echoed across the fields. The sun burned so bright, it began to scorch the earth. Eclipse could hear the way his brother's laugh twisted and changed. Sounding nothing like the brother he'd loved once upon a time.

Pluto and Moon had already collapsed. They couldn't keep fighting. Lunar was slowly losing his strength.

It was over.

Sun won the war.

And you were gone.

Taking a shaky breath, Eclipse got to his feet.

He summoned his spear.

At one time, he had prayed that the war could be won without casualty. Something he knew was impossible.

Now, though.

Now he only prayed that in dying he would take his corrupt brother with him.

Sun pressed the star into his own chest. He grunted, feeling the sacred object burn its way into his body. Finally. Finally, he'd won.

The radiant god drew his sword and pointed it at his brother.

"Surrender now! Or I will cut you down." He grinned, sharp teeth shining in the afternoon light. Eclipse sighed, shaking his head.

"I can't do that." Eclipse's grip on his spear was so tight, his fingers left impressions. His lower hands rose, forming a small sigil.

"You're going to lose," Sun's voice was layered now. Eclipse could hear the demon's voice slowly taking over. Whatever was left of Sun was vanishing rapidly.

"Hubris will be your folly," Eclipse retorted. His hands parted. Shadows exploded across the field. The dark god had hoped he wouldn't have to use this spell. It would take nearly all of his energy.

Horrified white eyes watched as the shadows raced up towards the heavens.

"No." The demon that was once his brother shook its head. "No!"

Still, the shadows spread. They enveloped the sun like a blanket, painting the sky the color that your body had painted the grass.

Sun shrieked.

He rushed at Eclipse. Furious. Frightened. He couldn't lose now. He'd come so far.

No matter how strong or impressive a god may seem, it is still a physical being.

And no being that ever walked on two legs has survived without its head.

It took one swipe.

Sun's body continued to step, even as the head rolled about the burnt grass.

One step. Two.

Just far enough to jab the tip of his sword into Eclipse's chest. Right over where the mark that connected the god of darkness to you resided.

What cruel fate.

Eclipse felt himself bleeding, but did nothing to stop it. He walked past the collapsed body of his brother. Past Moon, healing the sobbing Pluto's wounds. Past Lunar, who sat among a pile of previously possessed cultists.

Eclipse knelt beside you in the grass. He gathered your broken body in his arms.

And as the eclipse above them dissipated, he cried.

He cried in a way gods are not meant to cry. An undignified, loud sobbing that racked his whole form. He cradled you like he could bring you back if he just held tight enough. You were so cold.

How could someone who'd brought him so much warmth be so cold?

The battle was over.

Eclipse had managed to save the world.

But you were no longer in it.

[waynes-multiverse]

Multiverse News: Week 2

Greetings, fellow travelers! It’s your favorite hot mess speaking! 🖖

I already knew chances of me doing this weekly were slim, but I’ll be giving these Sunday updates as much as I can! Work was a little crazy the past two weeks, I already miss my vacation days, and my hopes of having an easier next week got crushed on Friday. Naturally, I didn’t have a lot of time to write and read the last two weeks, but I’ll share all the series I’m currently reading and the few WIPs I’ve worked since the last update 😊

I’ve also reached 800 followers (even after blocking a million porn bots 🤣), so THANK YOU so much for stumbling onto this blog and indulging in my little stories. I love and appreciate all of you more than you can ever imagine 😭🖤🖤🖤

I initially wanted to celebrate by opening requests, so I can thank you properly by writing some storylines you want, but since work is crazy and I’m behind on literally everything, I don’t think it’s a good idea for now. Hopefully, things will clear up soon and we can do something fun to celebrate this milestone together 🥳🥂

Currently reading 🤓

A Supernatural Journey by @eevvvaa​ Dean Winchester x OFC, Sam Winchester x OFC Author’s summary: After an unplanned event in their road trip, Emily and Eva crossed paths with two brothers. One thing leading to another, the two best friends found themselves in what seems to be a supernatural journey…

Green is My Favorite Color by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior​ Dean Winchester x OFC Author’s summary: Dean has been her hero from childhood, can she ever get him to be more?

Limelight by @talesmaniac89​ CEO!Dean Winchester x Journalist!Reader Author’s summary: The workaholic and media shy CEO of Winchester Inc, Dean Winchester, is forced to try online dating by his friends. What will happen when he swipes right on (Y/N), who is working on a series on online dating for her magazine?

Nightingale by @trektraveler​ Jensen Ackles x Reader Author’s summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage. That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

That Simple by @avanatural​ Beau Arlen x Reader Author’s summary: Beau goes to Y/N, a new friend of his, for some dating advice. Is the charming new sheriff gonna get the date that he’s hoping for?

Mind Games by @avanatural​ Soldier Boy x Reader Author’s Summary: Set in 1984. It’s that time of the year – the supes are having the time of their lives at the Herogasm festival. Soldier Boy seems to have taken a special interest in Y/N, a fellow superhero.

Finished reading 💚

A Rose for the Snake by @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone​ Dean Winchester x Reader Author’s summary: Since he discovered the club, Dean’s been going at least once a week. Being a dom is something nice, it makes him feel powerful and in control. But is it really what he likes? Or is it the domme assigned to teach him the basics that tells him what to do?

Surrender Part 1 & Part 2 by @b3autyfuldisast3r​ Jensen Ackles x Reader Author’s summary: Reader is a PA on the set of Big Sky and falls in love with Jensen - who is married. Will she give in to her feelings and destroy a relationship or hide them and risk destroying herself?

Stoking the Flame by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior​ Beau Arlen x Jenny Hoyt Author’s summary: Jenny and Beau have been ignoring the spark between them for a long time. How much longer can they continue?

GO CHECK OUT ALL THESE AMAZING STORIES AND AUTHORS IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY! 🖤

Series Updates:

DBM: Currently reworking chapter 2. It was too funny and casual. Dean needs to be more broken and devastated. I’m going for that full heartbreak here. Tears, sobs – you shouldn’t be able to function when I’m done with this chapter. You’re welcome.

PH: Finished part 19 and realized it’s the longest of the series yet. Currently, it’s at 5.8k. I already tried to think of scenes to cut and while there are some I could live without plotwise, they’re hilarious and I don’t want to erase those laughs. So, should I split it into two parts instead or can we live with this? Let me know! I’m also halfway through part 20. It’s intense and pretty much follows an episode of the show, which I always found important, so I didn’t want to change too much about it, not even the dialogue. I hope I’m doing it justice in the end ☺️

⚠️ PS: In case you missed it, Part 11 posted yesterday and Parts 12-16 follow this week! Get ready! It’s a pretty wild batch! 🤪

Upcoming One-Shots:

Labyrinth: Started writing it this week for a request (the Wendigo hunt). Currently 1.7k words in. The beginning is a bit creepy because Wendigos were always the monsters that freaked me out the most (because they remind me of the horror movie The Descent and that one always scares me to death.) But Dean’s close to saving her and then there’s all the fluff you could possibly get 🥰

Mercilessly: Giving it the finishing touches. Was initially planning to post it on Dean’s bday, but my work schedule won’t allow me to finish it in time. My muse is also in a fluff mood apparently and not up for evil scheming. I’m as surprised as you are, guys...

[strawberryheartsstuff]

Loss is everything,

I thought it would be,

And at the same time,

Nothing like,

I thought it would be,

Sometimes I hate you,

Or maybe I just miss you,

I'm not sure most nights,

When it's quiet,

And I imagine,

Holding onto your frame,

Trying to keep you,

Grounded and sane,

As I say all the things,

I always wanted to say,

In my mind,

You want to stay,

But in reality,

You float away,

Drifting into the air,

And I can't grasp,

You kick me off,

Spiraling me back,

So that I land,

Harsh and alone,

Watching you,

Leave me behind,

Like a balloon,

Floating to the sky,

Head in clouds,

Losing yourself,

Until you pop,

And all that air,

Explodes,

Your pieces now scattered,

And you crash back,

To the ground,

Searching for me,

Where you left me,

Cold and alone,

But I'm not there,

You see,

When you left,

I had to cradle,

Retreat and crawl,

Somewhere safe and warm,

I found a budding flower,

Hiding myself there,

Resting inside,

The soft petals,

Closing me in,

Sheltering light,

Restoring all that,

Was broken by you,

My mind and body,

Needed time to heal,

So you can look,

But until I'm ready,

Waiting for spring,

I won't be emerging,

And when I do,

Delicate petals opening,

Squinting at the sun,

I'll be different,

Not the same person,

That promised,

To stay by you,

I'll be a ray of sunshine,

A rainbow of many colors,

The rain and sky,

Everything all at once,

My own world,

Growing my trees,

Flowers and beautiful gardens,

Watering myself everyday,

Just so I won't starve,

And you can look,

See all I did without you,

But you can't reach me,

I'm blocking out,

Negative energy,

All you bring is,

Tornadoes and Storms,

And I don't want that,

I want to be among,

Roses and Daffodils,

Apples and oranges,

Carrots and Potatoes,

Surrounded by,

What I made,

What I did,

But for now,

I'm still waiting,

Each day,

I'm growing stronger,

Almost ready,

Like a butterfly,

I'll slowly start to walk,

And then all at once,

I'll fly into the air.

[agracefulfall]

Hi hey hello. Rosebud here. There are galaxies of stories I am writing that I'd like to share with you. The characters and links are provided below. Please feel free to read and share if you enjoy what you see. Some stories are connected. There are others I'll be adding but these are what I have so far. Happy reading!

Darren O'Sullivan — Ghosts on the Shore: Part One

Chapter One: Ruby Earrings and Orion's Belt

Chapter Two: Glimpses of a Black-eyed Angel

Chapter Three: The Night We Met — A Flashback

Chapter Four: Haunted House, Picket Fence

Chapter Five: Locked Safes and Broken Combinations

Eilin O'Sullivan — Black Eyed Angel

Prologue: I Know the End

Chapter One: A Midnight in May: Part One

Chapter Two: A Midnight in May: Part Two

Kieran O'Sullivan — Collateral Damage

Chapter One: Tightropes and Tophats

Sophie Bardot — A Room of One's Own

Entry One: Pandora's Box

Entry Two: Learning How to Fly

Entry Three: Softening Bullets

Entry Four: Absolution and Locked Sheds

Entry Five: Now I'm Gold

Entry Six: Almost — Part One

Entry Seven: To Build a Home

Entry Right: Love in a Heavy Coat

Ethan — Wasp Wings

Chapter One: Going for a Swim and Other Delusional Daydreams

Chapter Two: Visions of Gideon

Astrid Thorne — Half a Planet Away

Chapter One: Galactic Queen and Nordic Winters

Ade — Spoonfuls of Rainbows and Raindrops

Chapter One: Rearranging Furniture and Other Dances

Chapter Two: Sounds & Colors

Sybil — Reign of Blood Roses and Shipwrecks

Chapter One: Raindrops on Black Ash Buds

Chapter Two: Roses and Oleanders

[seasaltandcopper]

BroKEN GLAss

Series: Crossed Lines

Rating: T

Warnings: Blood, glass removal

“How did this happen?”

Fidgeting under his brother’s harsh gaze, Shay glanced to the side, focusing on the cluster of small cups circled neatly around the teapot on the table. Steam rose from the glazed, earthen pot and one of the cups nearest Mikal, filling the room with a familiar, grassy smell.

“Shay.” A note of warning crept into Mikal’s tone. Shay winced. “Should I plan for a long walk this evening, or did you cover your tracks properly this time?”

Careful to keep his back and shoulders from touching the chair, Shay gave a terse shake of his head. It never failed to amaze how just a handful of words from Mikal could make Shay feel so much like a chastised child. Likely had something to do with the fact that he was nearly always right.

“It was just a couple of drunks at the tavern. I handled it.” Lips pressing into a thin line, Shay pushed down some of the frustration and the budding shame of needing Mikal’s help yet again. The pain radiating out from his shoulders and upper back wasn’t doing much for Shay’s mood, either. The wounds itched where blood dried and the material of his tunic stuck to the clots, and every shift of posture brought new discomfort.

“‘Handled it’,” Mikal echoed, with just the right dose of doubt and reproach to have Shay glowering at the little cluster of cups. “Looks more like you rolled around in it on a filthy tavern floor.”

With a sigh, Mikal rose, one hand sliding his untouched cup of tea over to Shay and circled around behind his brother to better inspect his wounds. “Here. Have some tea, it’ll help.”

Mikal’s solution to most things was tea. Feeling ill? Have some tea to soothe a cough or calm your stomach. Upset? Holding a warm mug will help you relax. Injured? If the stomach-turning combination of medicinal herbs in the drink itself doesn’t ease the pain, the distraction of having something to sip is better than nothing.

Shay grimaced. “I’ll pass.”

“Hm.”

Repositioning in his seat to give Mikal better access, then bracing his forearms against the tabletop, Shay hissed. “Don’t ‘hm’ at me.”

“Then drink your tea.”

Shay pointedly did not.

Without missing a beat, Mikal helped Shay out of his cloak. For all his nagging and sternness, Mikal was never cruel, and his touch was one of practiced ease—neither rough, nor shrinking from what needed to be done. In all likelihood, he’d decided that whatever injuries Shay had sustained from the fight itself were punishment enough.

With the dark, roughspun material of the cloak out of the way (set aside on the next chair, neatly draped over the back for the inevitable wash and stitching it’d need later), the damage to Shay’s back became more obvious. The light colored tunic he wore beneath showed the bloodstains in vibrant splotches of red. Bits of glass poked through the tears, their positions too awkward for Shay to remove himself.

A brief assessment later, and Mikal swept out of the room to retrieve his tools. The sound of rustling and clinking followed. Mikal returned swiftly, armed with a well-worn leather kit of implements, a pan of water, and a stack of clean rags.

Not needing the direction after a lifetime of Mikal playing nursemaid, Shay stood stiffly, turned his chair around to straddle it wrong-ways, and braced against the table again.

A sense of uneasy anticipation sank in Shay’s gut, but he only nodded when Mikal informed him the shirt was a loss. The sound of slicing cloth followed. Gentle tugs, and a rogue’s nimble fingers lifted the fabric, careful not to snag it on the shards of glass still lodged in Shay’s back. Even the most careful hands could do little about where it had already stuck to the drying blood however, and Shay winced each time the fabric pulled free.

Once the soiled cloth was discarded, Mikal cleaned away the excess blood, hummed again, and reached for a pair of forceps.

“Glass next,” Mikal informed, and Shay grimaced at the object his brother set on the tabletop in front of him. A short length of leather-wrapped wood, about as thick around as Shay’s thumb.

Swallowing a sigh, Shay wedged the bit between his teeth. Nodded.

Mikal worked quickly, sparing Shay’s dignity enough to at least pretend he didn’t hear the sounds that managed to escape past the stick. Piece by piece, bloody shards dropped onto a cloth laid out across the table. Each one left Shay’s skin with a stinging bite and the trickle of fresh blood.

And what felt an eternity later, Mikal let out a satisfied, “Hm,” and set the forceps down beside the pile of extracted glass. “Done.” Gently, he dabbed a rag across Shay’s bloody back one last time, then tossed that aside too.

Shay pushed out a breath through his nose, hands clenched atop the table to keep them from trembling. Sweat beaded at his brow and stung horribly where it touched his wounds, but at least it was almost over.

The perks of living in a house of Spinners.

Normally, Shay would do it himself. But exhausted as he was, and with no good way to see what he was doing, leaving the mending to Mikal was a matter of necessity.

Turned away, Shay didn’t see his brother reach for the Lines, but he felt it. The sudden warmth that hit his mangled back, like a latticework of sunlight, sinking into him. Deep, deeper than his bones, entwining with his own essence and urging skin to knit and heal.

It itched, as Mikal literally pulled strings to trick Shay’s body into days or weeks worth of healing in a matter of minutes. When he finished, the pain was nearly gone, leaving only tender, pink scars where the cuts sealed.

Cautiously, Shay rolled his shoulders. Nodded in approval and relief as the action brought only a twinge of discomfort.

“There,” Mikal said, a note of strain in his voice that hadn’t been there before. He tapped Shay twice on the shoulder and fixed him with a knowing look. “Now drink your tea. It’s getting cold.”

This time, Shay didn’t argue.

From the whump/hurt ask prompts list -- still taking these if anyone wants to send one in

[bonmotx]

□□□ Record

In his travels, one of the most horrific sights was labelled beautiful. The skies were filled with little pieces of bone and blood, fluttering about like a butterfly's wings. Delicate, almost tangible.

Perhaps it would be easier to dismiss as a memory if they did not slow his steps as real as anything.

The brush against his cheek shows it is truly there. How horrifyingly familiar.

People sit on picnic blankets as blue as the rose petals, tucked into his joints to disguise the creaking sound. It is almost a whimper that pierces the air. Soft fabric persists even as he walks forward. 

Footsteps are gentle. Gentle. Like the fabric. Like the fingers that grab at his cloak. Pin it to his  armor. Guide and steady him forward.

(They used to be so much larger than him. A palm that could blind him in one handful. Now, they feel so small. Even two clasped hands could not fully cover his eyes.)

They still grab and pull. Now, they pull at petals like a game of forget-me-love-me-nots. 

(Were they so? Perhaps love was made in knotted threads, instead, like spoken here. Then was he loved by what bound him? Did it love him as it strangled him?)

The iron stings at his skin. Still, he hammers the nails in. Otherwise, it might fall off. Further. Another step. His boot sinks past the petals that are pierced as easily as the flesh beneath the roots, as the nail buries into the shoulder to keep the armor on.

When did he take it in hand? That's a silly question. The color of blood and of these reminders are the very same. 

The flowers smother the lips they are pressed into. There is no need to cry for help when you cannot be heard. A tree that falls to time's axe has no need to make a noise as it dies.

(It was nothing so cruel. A hand can sting as much as a cut. Always so gentle. Always so.)

He tries to breathe. They're petals. Yet petals are still organs and skin. This understanding stains the retina in the color of the sky above. The ground is covered in what cannot be imagined. Death persists and coats the surface in all this. 

The hill is covered in death.

An itchy memory scratches at his eyes, feels even more irritated as his eyelashes flutter and tease salt into where the skin is raw and scratched. The pain is as uncountable as the bodies on the hill. Something as cold as the sky strangles and swells as the buds on the trees and a broken limb. 

All will be unable to be reached with the final nail. The iron holds him together, together, even as it creaks louder and louder. Hands try to pry out that which holds him together. Try to rip everything away. Naive, thinking that putting a stopper to the pain would heal when it is only the pain that pushes him forward and keeps him whole at all.

A deserved punishment. A balm to the senses.

(If he died, would she not patch his wounds so gently still?)

It aches. One final swing, final step, and his feet escape the hill’s grasp.

The fingers finally stop pulling. Something breaks free. The petal that lands before him is soaked through in blue. All sways with the color of the sky.

That's how the world has shaped him. It all fades to a dye of blue. Woad leaves are boiled to slaughter for a pretty cloak. How fitting to the fate of all. 

Madder and indigo are not so different so.

(If he tried to-)

No matter the original color, it all becomes blue in the end. Blue as death, as lips, as freezing fingers, as a kingly glance, as the eyes in his head, unpluckable, unlike the petals so surrounding, unlike skin.

How ill-fitting. He wishes he could carve baby-blue out, yet the sky carries with him even in his gaze.

He breathes- yet finds he cannot. Her hands are finally clasped tight around something adjacent to the shoulders, leading up to the brain and depriving of oxygen, blue, blue, blue. 

He cannot find himself to be surprised.

(It always hurts. He is ever out of breath, ever unable to blink himself awake.)

This is fine. All is fine. Another place will be found. What has been dyed a deeper hue cannot go back to what it used to be. A corpse still breathing cannot be set to a grave.

So: it is fine. It must be. It will be. There is no other choice. There is no other path.

The world aches. Skin falls. How much something so simple must ache, despite its life. Doomed to die over and over, if it wishes to remain the same. In another place, the lamb sleeps naïve as it is appraised for the worth of its tender sweet meat. Similarly blooming, the flower, unthinking, hopes not. Lost to it is something like living long.

The wanderer might have hoped upon a younger day he never sees that horrific, strangled tree again. Yet now, he knows it is useless to bother: useless as breath to a corpse hanging from the tree. It sways like the petals in the air, and both fade to dust in the time between a heartbeat and the next. Inescapable as fact.

That which is pink and full of life will always die under the weight of the blue sky. 

He knows, for he was once another color, a forgotten hue, once upon some lost day before the crown was set.

[sainurserypendlehill]

Growing roses in containers

Growing roses in containers is a fantastic way to enjoy these beautiful flowers even if you have limited garden space. Whether you live in an apartment, have a small yard, or simply want to add a splash of color to your patio or balcony, container roses can thrive and provide stunning blooms. Here’s a comprehensive guide to help you grow roses in containers successfully.

Choosing the Right Rose Variety

Not all roses suit Nerium Oleander Pink growing, so selecting the right variety is crucial. Look for roses that are compact, disease-resistant, and have a manageable growth habit. Some excellent choices include:

Miniature Roses: These are ideal for small containers due to their compact size.

Patio Roses: Slightly larger than miniature roses, they are bred specifically for container growing.

Floribunda Roses: Known for their clusters of blooms, they perform well in larger containers.

Hybrid Tea Roses: While they can be grown in containers, they require larger pots and more care.

Selecting the Container

The size and type of container you choose can significantly impact the health and growth of your roses. Consider the following:

Size: The container should be at least 18-24 inches in diameter and depth to accommodate the rose’s root system.

Material: Containers can be made of plastic, ceramic, terracotta, or wood. Ensure the material is durable and has drainage holes at the bottom to prevent waterlogging.

Weight: Consider the weight of the container, especially if you plan to move it around. Lightweight materials like plastic are easier to handle.

Soil and Planting

Roses require well-draining soil to thrive. Use a high-quality potting mix designed for roses or make your own by mixing garden soil with compost and perlite or sand. Here’s how to plant your roses:

Prepare the Container: Ensure the container has adequate drainage holes. Add a layer of gravel or broken pottery at the bottom to improve drainage.

Fill with Soil: Fill the container with potting mix, leaving enough space for the root ball of the rose.

Plant the Rose: Place the rose in the container, ensuring the bud union (the swollen area where the rose is grafted onto the rootstock) is just above the soil surface. Fill in around the roots with more potting mix and gently firm the soil.

Water Thoroughly: Water the rose well after planting to help settle the soil and eliminate air pockets.

Care and Maintenance

Proper care is essential for container-grown roses to thrive. Here are some key tips:

Watering: Roses in containers dry out more quickly than those in the ground. Water regularly, keeping the soil consistently moist but not waterlogged. During hot weather, daily watering may be necessary.

Fertilizing: Use a balanced, slow-release fertilizer formulated for roses. Apply according to the manufacturer’s instructions, typically every 4-6 weeks during the growing season.

Pruning: Regular pruning helps maintain the shape and encourages blooming. Remove dead or diseased wood and spent blooms to promote new growth.

Pest and Disease Control: Monitor your roses for common pests such as aphids and spider mites, and treat as needed with insecticidal soap or neem oil. Ensure good air circulation around the plant to prevent diseases like powdery mildew and black spot.

Winter Protection

Roses in containers are more susceptible to cold damage than those in the ground. In colder climates, move your container roses to a protected area such as a garage or basement during the winter months. Alternatively, insulate the container with bubble wrap or burlap to protect the roots from freezing temperatures.

Conclusion

Growing roses in containers can be a rewarding experience, adding beauty and fragrance to any space. By selecting the right variety, using suitable containers, and providing proper care, you can enjoy vibrant and healthy roses that bloom profusely throughout the growing season. Whether you’re an experienced gardener or a beginner, container roses offer a delightful way to cultivate these timeless flowers.