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soleilnomoon · 2 years

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supplicate ; zoro x reader.

2.4k words, fem reader (no pronouns), nsfw babey, 18+ mdni, a lot of angst bc that's the shit i like ok (feat. a bit of alcohol, fingering, etc. etc. etc. u get the gist). this took forever, but it's finally done, the long awaited sequel to "excessive" *washes hands*

previous ⤹

fragmented moments accumulate over time, leaving bitterness and desperation in its wake. a path of destruction that you willingly walk in order to preserve what’s left of your pride. hours slip through your careless fingers. days coil themselves individually around your neck, tightly squeezing, sleep evading you night after night. weeks leave you with dark circles underneath your eyes that you don’t bother concealing anymore. it’s all the same. you, with ink-stained hands holding onto empty quill bottles, ripped pieces of parchment littered around your room — the pieces full of impalpable scribbles, doodles, and rants — crumbled pages tossed haphazardly on the hardwood floor, a bottle of wine you don’t remember drinking standing upright near the leg of your desk, your half-eaten dinner no longer appealing as you contemplate what to do.

it’s futile —

this search for absolution to a sin you don’t regret committing.

guilt finds a way back into your heart all over again; with trembling arms, you welcome the pain in the hopes that you’ll finally find some form of freedom from it all.

months pass and pass and nothing’s changed.

he’s made an impossible decision. respecting your space is the least he can do — he’s quite good at feigning indifference, at steeling himself to fleeting feelings, at ensuring that no one penetrates the walls he’s spent years building.

at dinner he chooses the seat that’s the furthest from you, keeping to the far back wall, hoping the distance will do him some good — and, still, he thinks, it’s not far enough.

what he needs is a new continent, more oceans, possibly another planet or two. anything to stay away — anything to not have to look at you, to not have to bear witness to your slow descent into sorrow. if anything, he’s doing you a favor.

except, it doesn’t feel that way.

you do your best to feign interest in conversation with the others, try to offer lighthearted jokes and comments; sanji prattles on and on about a new recipe he wants to try, usopp regales everyone with tales of some false sea voyage he claims to have been a part of, luffy inhales nearly everything he can get his hands on, and yet—

you’ve never been so impossibly aware of another person’s presence. even though you don’t look his way, you feel his gaze on the side of your face. an itch underneath your skin, one you can’t ever hope to reach. it travels all over, rattling your bones, tugging on your heart, muddling your thoughts, blindsiding your reason — you have to count slowly to calm your nerves. on a whim, while the others are distracted, you chance it, swirl your wine in your glass and sip slowly, eyes drifting his way.

because life is ironic at the most inconvenient times, he catches you. the moment prolongs because you can’t seem to look away. too afraid to blink, too afraid to look away. is this it? is there nothing to be done or said? the glass of whiskey grows heavy in his hand, but it’s not enough to give him that sort of blind courage.

the wine is tart, somewhat sweet, clings to your tongue, loosening it as you go for a third glass. dessert is served but you don’t stay. you feign sleepiness, not able to bear the heaviness of his gaze any longer. with flushed cheeks and a head full of increasingly distracting thoughts, you make your way back to your room. the wine is long gone, the glass left somewhere long forgotten as you pad through the corridors, light on your feet, as if you don’t want to disturb the silence on this floor of the ship.

it’s not until you’re in front of his room that you realize you took a completely different flight of stairs, that you bypassed your room entirely, and while you have enough time to turn back around you hesitate.

why? the question sits in the back of your mind, fermenting slowly, the answer plain as day, you simply don’t want to acknowledge it.

after a minute of silent contemplation, you take a step back, only to find that you’ve collided with a much larger, firmer body behind you. there’s no need to apologize or to guess who it is, because you’re more in tune with him than you ever want to admit.

it’s not the whiskey that compels him to speak, but an absurd, yet resolute desire to know, “what are you doing here, y/n?” curiosity mixed with doubt douse his words, make you swallow back the lies that build on the back of your tongue. pressing your back against the door, you try again, hands nervously playing with the ends of your hair.

“i…,” you lick your lips, unsure of how to proceed, your heart pounding loud enough to drown out your thoughts and whatever else zoro says to you. everything about his presence commands your attention, so you’re unable to look away from him. there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re complicated, an enigma, and a blessing all at once.

you wish you had a fourth glass of wine.

“i’m waiting,” he says patiently, and somehow this rattles you even more. he’s waiting? what about all of the waiting you’ve done? the thought alone pisses you off, forces you to forget whatever demure attitude you were touting previously so that you can place a hand on his chest and shove as hard as you can.

“don’t bullshit me.” you regard him coolly, face burning — from the wine, the proximity, your misplaced anger, you’re not quite sure — hands balled into fists. “is that all you have to say to me?”

his confusion invades every crevice of his body, but it gives him time to come up with what he deems is an appropriate enough response.

“no.”

succinct. in bad taste, perhaps. and not exactly what you want to hear. the hand you so boldly placed on his chest is now cradled in his. rough, calloused fingers touch the inside of your wrist, move to your palm and stroke once, twice, three times. adagio; the only tempo that you both seem to excel at. eyelids lowering, you don’t waste time asking why, your hand simply curls around his fingers, halting his movement entirely.

if he continues like this, you might not be able to function properly in front of him.

“please,” you say, voice soft enough to rouse something suspiciously close to affection deep within him. “please, i just can’t—” a single tear cascades down your cheek; whether it’s due to sorrow or want, you’re not sure.

possibly both at this point.

not inherently cruel by nature, he obliges. once, he tells himself, just once. once is all it will take; one time to get it completely out of his system, to get you out of his head; maybe if he indulges, he’ll be able to finally move on. except, it won’t really but just one time, will it? you both know that, the truth putting you in a daze, one that is tricky enough to hold you hostage; rather than delay the inevitable, he gives in.

you’re still pleading with him when he gingerly kisses the center of your palm, still pleading when he brushes his lips against yours; his kiss is warm, firm, debilitating. your pleas drown in the midst of a revitalized surge of adrenaline that pumps through you when his teeth graze against your bottom lip — a nip, a tug, a pinprick of pain. a sense of urgency claims your common sense; avarice, gluttony, lust; a kaleidoscope of sensations, all compel you to kiss him again.

he tastes like whiskey — smoke and spice; intoxicating and forbidden. you remind him of an elusive, recurring dream, the wine still sweet on your tongue, his fingers thread through your hair; an attempt to ground himself as he consumes you in the only way he knows how. there’s nothing tender about any of this, but you take each bruising kiss of his, each caress of his tongue, the sinister way your legs give in would be comical if the situation wasn’t so dire.

there’s a flame growing within you, one that matches his; if you pay attention carefully, you’ll find that they’re nearly identical.

when he releases you, it’s only so he can reach around and open the door; a thick haze coasts around your mind, you make your way into his room with little issue, which pleases him immensely. he hates having to waste time explaining things. as a reward, zoro is on you again, foot kicking at the back of his door to close it, his hands exploring the curves along your body as he places kiss after kiss down your throat, tongue gliding along the skin. insatiable and troublesome — that’s what he is.

but, that’s not what comes out of your mouth when he sucks on your skin. you moan his name, quietly at first, hands working to rid him of his clothes as he does the same for you. his body is far from a work of art — it’s an immersive experience. feverish and possibly delusional, you wrap a hand around his cock, pumping slowly, his thick length hardening even more under your touch. he’s kept it together for so long, he’s at his breaking point now.

pre-cum trickles out of his slit, your thumb swiping at it absently; you lick it off, enjoy the slightly salty taste, the look on his face only tells you one thing — you’re in for a ride.

zoro pushes you onto his bed and follows suit, hovering over you as he kisses you fervently, tongue brushing against yours, your hips lifting as an ache settles deep between your legs. he pushes your legs apart, fingers dipping in between the folds of your pussy, your arousal greeting him like an old friend. your moans give him all the incentive he needs to slip his fingers inside of you; you relish in that delicious pain, inhaling deeply as he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy, the pace setting your skin and soul on fire. he scissors his fingers, your hips buck up against his hand. you’re warm and tight around him, just how he expects you to be — and while he wants to take his time, while he wants to taste you more, while he wants to see you slowly unravel, he can’t. his need for you is too great, he’s wasted enough time playing the role of a jaded ex-lover, despite not actually being your lover. yet.

you don’t mind, though; after he pulls his fingers out of you, you rub your pussy against the length of his cock, and earn a quiet moan from him; his grip on your thighs is firm enough that he might actually leave bruises once he’s done— but you’re far too concerned with having him inside of you to care. and when he rubs his tip against your needy entrance, when you arch your back, whine, scratch his chest, pleading over and over for him to stop teasing you, zoro finally slips inside of you, burying his length in one go.

he pulls back only to slam his cock inside of you again, setting a devastating pace as he fucks you. his lips latch onto your breast, tongue flicking against your nipple, your moans increasing in volume as your hips roll against his. if this is a dream, you never want to wake up; the sheer power behind his thrusts is enough to have you roll your eyes back, nails digging into his skin along his upper back, legs wrapped around him in an attempt to keep him close to you. he’s never felt the need to be this rough with you, but the way your pussy keeps clenching around him, the way your moans grow breathier with each passing minute, the way you arch into him, as if there’s no other place you’d rather be than here with him.

it’s almost too much to handle; but he soldiers on, he has his pride to consider, after all.

you drop kisses along his jaw as his thrusts grow wilder, a little ferocious, every bit as maddening as you thought they’d be. your pussy is the closest he’ll get to heaven, and he has no intention of turning back. he grabs your legs, drapes them over his shoulders, and angles his hips so that he can fuck you deeply.

if you thought you knew pleasure before, you were wrong; so very, very wrong.

this, you tell yourself, this is all i’ll ever need.

it’s a half-truth you don’t mind admitting. your voice grows hoarse, he doesn’t bother shushing you, and you know that your crew mates have probably all heard the lascivious way you keep calling out his name — the way you keep telling him to fuck you harder, the way his balls loudly slap against your ass, pussy making impassioned, lenocinant noises. the sound makes your skin flush, but it all feels so damn good, you can hardly stand it.

it’s when he gives you another toe-curling, highly indecent thrust, when he moans your name in your ear, muttering filthy praises right after, that pushes you over the edge. you cum loudly, messily, and with a lot of vigor. he’s actually impressed, even as his cock keeps plunging into you, wanting to prolong his own release for as long as he can.

your orgasm feels never-ending; even after he gives you sloppy tongue kisses, even after his own orgasm nearly blinds him, his cum spilling inside you, thick and hot. you’re both sweaty by the time you finish, breathing heavily, your own heart threatening to leap out of your chest with how fast its beating.

is it possible to faint from happiness? you’re quite sure it is, because it’s almost as if a weight has been lifted, that uncertainty and unease you felt for months has diminished entirely. on impulse, you kiss him, hands cradling his face, the intimacy making him pause only briefly, but he keeps kissing you slowly, pulling his cock out of your pussy’s tight embrace, wanting to savor whatever this is for as long as he possibly can. you know things will only become more complicated as time goes on, but at the very least, you can say that it wasn’t one-sided, that he wants you just as much — if not more — as you want him.

it’s a comforting thought, to say the least; one that will rest inside of you for years to come. you’re in too deep to want to go back to how things were, and, maybe it’s a bit of wishful thinking on your part, but you’re sure it’s the same for him too.

#i'm...finally done jeez #fic request #one piece imagine #one piece smut #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #zoro x y/n #zoro x reader #zoro smut #all in all much tamer than i anticipated but also zoro is a mess when it comes to expressing himself what can i say #‘i can change him’ 🥴#(probably not)#roronoa zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro smut

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

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Let the Dead Weep | Jimin

→ summary: jimin falls in love the only way he knows how: catastrophically. your heart ends up as collateral damage.

→ genre: royal guard!jimin, princess!reader, angst → warnings: jimin is cold-hearted but only because he’s afraid, jungkook tries his Best to pick up the pieces, heart ache city babey! → words: 5.6K → a/n: this was commissioned by the wonderful @kookiebunnii!! thanks again for giving me the freedom to write my own wips (this is admittedly Very old... so old that i almost forgot this existed in my drafts lol) i hope you like it bc this one is prime zee angst propaganda... sorry jimin but i had to do it to ya (again)

The sound of clicking heels is an unusual occurrence at the royal training grounds. Accustomed to the cacophony of grunting men and clashing swords, Prince Jungkook does not immediately notice that something (or rather, someone) is out of place.

“Your defenses are down.” Jungkook thrusts his sword forward, disarming his sparring partner in one smooth motion. Surprised, his partner yelps as his sword clatters to the ground, his now empty hands raised awkwardly in befuddlement. But his shock does not last long, as his previously occupied gaze returns to where it was, his jaw agape as he continues to stare somewhere just outside the courtyard.

When Jungkook turns his head to the source, he finally understands why he had so easily defeated his distracted opponent.

Your bright white summer dress stands out starkly against the dreary autumn scenery, your skirt bunched up to your knees to avoid tripping over yourself. It seems as though the world has gone still from shock, every man in the vicinity holding their breaths at their first glimpse of the princess from up close. Even from where he stands, Jungkook can see the sweat flowing freely from your temples as you rush towards them, your chest heaving as you dash past dozens of starstruck onlookers towards your destination.

You don’t even spare Jungkook a glance when you pass by him, your eyes trained somewhere behind him as though nothing (or rather, no one) else in the courtyard matters. “Jimin!” you call out, nearly collapsing onto the man you had been looking for as you fail to stop your momentum in time. Luckily, the head of the royal guard catches you effortlessly, his hand previously resting on the hilt of his sword jumping up to find its place on your waist to steady you.

Jungkook watches as Jimin’s gaze sweeps through the sea of heads before landing on him. The guard’s posture stiffens, jaw clenching as the two men size each other up. Eventually, Jimin drops his hand from your waist as if he’d been burned, taking an inconspicuous step back to regain some sort of respectable distance.

Jimin clears his throat, his expression as stern as ever. It only takes a single glare from him for the excited whispers to die in a second. “Well? Did I tell you to stop? Take your positions,” he growls. In an instant, the men around Jungkook rise back to action, the sound of metal hitting metal echoing loudly once more.

“Your Highness? Shall we continue?” The boy he had been sparring with speaks out hesitantly, breaking Jungkook’s trance. Jungkook blinks slowly in confusion, before remembering where he was and what he was doing. He takes one last glance at Jimin’s and your retreating forms, only managing to glimpse the trail of your skirt as Jimin quickly drags you away from prying eyes.

“Your Highness?” the boy repeats, more nervously this time. Jungkook fixes a smile on his face before turning to face him, gently patting the young boy on the shoulder with the ease and charisma only a prince could manage.

“Yes, let’s continue. On your guard,” Jungkook warns, poising his sword forward before taking the first strike.

x x x x x

Jimin drags you away to the nearby armory, causing a domino of shields to topple down in his haste to open the door. He shuts it closed, not bothering to find a light as he pulls you deeper into the large shed. Only the small window by the roof sheds any light for them to see, but it’s enough for you to see the barely concealed annoyance set in Jimin’s eyes.

“What the hell were you thinking? That was highly inappropriate for a princess,” he growls, lips downturned in a frown. He might be well-known amongst his men as a stern and unforgiving captain, but he has never been gruff with you. In any other scenario, you might have been shocked at his sudden change of face, but the news that you just heard from your father is still ringing loudly in your ears, distracting you from anything else.

“What am I thinking? I should be asking you that! How is it that despite being the princess of this damn kingdom, I am still the last to know anything around here?” you shriek, ignoring Jimin’s silent pleas for you to quiet down. No, you are done being quiet; if you had to choose a moment to you would throw away all etiquette classes out the window, it would be now.

Jimin heaves a sigh, rubbing his temples. “Your Highness—”

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss, interrupting him. You hold up a finger when he makes a move to argue. “No, you answer my questions, first and foremost. Why did I only find out from my father just now that you volunteered to get stationed at the border?” You can feel your face heating up from the frustration and betrayal you feel; blood rushes up to your head and leaves you feeling dizzy, but you refuse to stop until he budges.

You’re breathing heavily, speaking so quickly that you doubt you’re making any sense right now. “The king requested for volunteers to fill the station guard units over a month ago. We’ve met and seen each other multiple times since then, and yet here we are,” you spit out, jabbing a nail into his chest. He barely budges, only keeping his head lowered. “Huh? Why on earth would you keep this from me? Answer me, Park Jimin!”

Jimin grimaces, his face contorting as if he’s in pain. He does not make a move to reply, only continues to avoid your fierce gaze. But even from where you stand under this dim light, you can tell from his expression that he isn’t guilty—just forlorn. Heartbroken, even.

You swallow thickly, blinking rapidly to keep your angry tears at bay, but your voice still cracks when you ask, “Why won’t you say anything?”

Finally, he looks at you. “What else is there to say?” He sounds as defeated as you feel.

And yet, you’re flabbergasted. You’re angry, tired, and hysterical—but above all else, you’re hurt. It feels as though a massive rock has dropped in your stomach, crashing waves against your chest like fire licking at your bones. The heavy feeling that has been weighing on you finally has a name, as you have been fighting to ignore what it was for ages now. Deep down, you know that this is inevitable, but somewhere inside you still resides the six-year-old child entrenched in her happy fairy tales, the same girl who believes that good things will always happen to good people.

You hoped that you would have at least deserved a warning. Preparation before this mirage disappeared forever. But Jimin had always been the type to rip the bandage and muscle through the pain, so you shouldn’t have been surprised at all. You just hoped that the two of you would still have more time.

A naive thing to desire, as Park Jimin was never yours to call your own.

You’re struggling to find the words to speak, anything to convince him to stay, even if you know it is not your place. He can see you grappling for straws, and perhaps it is out of pity or self-preservation, but he does not mention it. He does not say anything about you at all.

Eventually, he speaks. “I am… I have to...” He hesitates for a moment, taking one short glance at you before staring at the door. His hand grips the hilt of his sword tightly, though you know it is not because he itches to wield it, but for his ease of mind. You have learned, after years of growing up with him, that his only comfort comes from his own strength, his own ability to control his fate.

“Unfortunately, I must leave for now, Your Highness. Let us speak about this later before my subordinates begin to wonder.” There is a heaviness in his tone when he says that, like it is disgraceful for you to be seen with him. It reignites the fire in your veins once more, and you reflexively reach out to grab his retreating shoulder before the shed is suddenly bathed in light.

“Princess Y/N? Are you alright?” Prince Jungkook stands by the entrance of the armory, sweaty hair matted to his skin from his morning practice routine. For a moment, you almost hate the way he had sounded so… well-meaning, even though he had done nothing wrong to spite you. In fact, Jeon Jungkook has always been the perfect filial son, someone any royal family would be proud of.

And unfortunately for you, that was quite possibly the only reason you were betrothed to him in the first place.

You see him eye the pair of you curiously, his gaze gradually coming to a stop where your hand still rests against Jimin’s shoulder. You retract it immediately as if burned. You clear your throat, curtsying respectfully to him. “I am fine, Prince Jungkook. I am sorry for the scene I caused. I hope I did not interrupt your daily practice,” you say carefully, folding your hands in front of you.

Jungkook nods silently, his expression giving nothing away. Feeling awkward under his scrutiny, you curtsy to him once more. You shuffle away from Jimin without sparing him another glance, but you feel his gaze trained on your back like a brand. You wait for Jungkook to allow you to pass him before scuttling away, the ends of your dress dragging across the dirt path as you rush back towards the castle.

Stupid of you.

Jimin had been right, like always. News spreads fast within these ancient walls, and the chatterings about your emotional display are sure to reach your father’s ears one way or another. You doubt he’d be surprised by it; it’s no secret that your affections have always lied heavily on the royal guardsman. As long as you kept your secret rendezvous a secret, the King is more than happy to turn a blind eye. A reward, perhaps, for keeping your side of the deal.

Except that side of the deal hadn’t meant to arrive until your older brother had been wed, right after his search for his queen consort had been completed. But Jungkook’s family had been adamant to move things along, most likely due to their desperation to form an alliance with your prominent kingdom. As the seventh son, Jungkook hardly had any use for them in their household other than being goods for barter, and in any other case, you might have felt bad for him.

The guilt feels like a dagger pressing itself against your throat, and yet, you do not have the courage to fight against it. You sigh, defeated, as you stay reclused in your bedroom, waiting for Jimin to join you.

You don’t join your family for lunch that afternoon: a bigger mistake on your part, as it probably incriminates you further. Even worse still, Jungkook and his escorts are guests at the palace, and your absence doesn’t look good for your reputation. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to care that day, only offering weak excuses about a headache to appease them.

To your surprise, Jungkook had vouched for you, according to your handmaiden. When you asked what he said, they said he had mentioned something about your pensiveness from this morning. You scoff, wondering if he must be covering your mistake for the sake of your future together.

The sun makes its way across the horizon and still no signs of Jimin visiting your quarters. You pace your room for so long that you fear leaving the carpet threadbare, your restlessness causing spikes of fear to trickle down your spine. Your entire body tingles with the need to do something, anything. Just to feel as though you still have some control, some sense of sanity.

By your dresser, your untouched violin sits, waiting forlornly for your hands to caress it once more. It is a gift from your mother for your birthday, though you have scarcely used it since then. You have always been talented with the violin, but the need to play it had died down once your days had been occupied with a different type of music—the sort of melodies that you could not pull from strings or brass.

You pluck the violin from its stand, the polished wood still smelling of varnish when you place it by your neck. You begin to play a piece from memory—a song that your tutor had once drilled into your head until your hands could move on their own. Even still, you love the piece with all your heart; the melancholy and longing of the notes resonate deeply within you.

You know that what you are doing is cruel, both to yourself and to him. With your window wide open, you are sure that the wind can carry your music to the royal offices, where Jimin is sure to hear it. Anyone would be able to tell that it is you playing, stringing note after note with hopeless abandon. Just to get a reaction, from anyone. Anything!

So deeply are you immersed in your playing that it takes a moment for you to notice the knocking. Your bow stills mid-way, your breath hitching when the knocking continues. “Just a moment,” you call out, hastily placing your violin back on your dresser before ripping open the door to find—

Prince Jungkook still has his hand poised to knock, not having anticipated you to open your door so quickly. “Oh, pardon me. I am so sorry to intrude on your playing. Have I come at a bad time?”

Your shoulders slacken, and your disappointment could not be more apparent. “Oh.”

Prince Jungkook smiles wryly, not appearing to be offended by your less than enthusiastic greeting. “I know that it is improper of me to ask, but could you invite me into your quarters for a moment? I would like to speak to you, if you would allow it.”

“Why would it be improper? We’re promised to each other anyway,” you reply bitterly, the words coming out before you can think twice.

Jungkook cringes, bowing his head sadly. “I suppose that is a bad thing, isn’t it?”

It is impossible not to feel bad after that, your face flushing deeply with shame. “Not exactly…” You offer an awkward smile to compensate, but you doubt that it reaches your eyes. You step aside, allowing him to enter. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

His long legs allow him to take only two strides to reach the center of your room, his large frame engulfing the space. It almost feels suffocating, being here with him. Your mind unhelpfully compares him to the other only man who has ever entered your room, a man who had a much more lithe figure to the one with you right now.

You notice how he scans your room with sharp eyes, how he locks onto your violin immediately. He moves towards it and makes a motion as if to hold it, and after you give him your permission, he picks it up with reverence, turning it over with meticulous grace. “I was not aware that you were so gifted with musical talent,” he murmurs, plucking the strings experimentally.

You shrug, leaning against your door. “It was never brought up during our dinner conversations.” Not that much was said between the two of you during your meals together, as your father seems more interested in learning about Jungkook’s competency in politics than what his hobbies are.

He nods, absent-minded. He returns the violin to its proper place, his touch featherlike and graceful. He might be a violinist himself, you think. “That piece you were just playing… What was it called?”

A common question. “It’s a traditional song based on one of the kingdom’s myths,” you reply easily.

He nods again. “Why were you playing it?”

A less common question, one that you find more difficult to answer. “It… happened to be the first one I thought of, I suppose.” A half-truth, at the very least.

He hums thoughtfully, turning to you with doleful eyes. “Then I suppose that you must be grieving, are you not? if that is the sort of song that first comes to mind.”

You’re immediately defensive, curling into yourself as you watch him suspiciously. “My father… He told you, didn’t he?”

Even though you do not expound on what you mean, the prince is quick to shake his head in denial. “Nothing my eyes have not already seen.”

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, hackles rising as you size him up. “What do you want from me then? A confession? For me to go on my knees and ask for forgiveness?” you spit.

He stares at you, astonished. “Who am I to dole out absolution when I am but only a man?”

“So does that mean you have committed the same mistakes that I have? I find that hard to believe,” you scoff, lowering your guard in your annoyance. He’s only been in your room for a few minutes and already you tire of his company; you wonder how you’ll manage to keep your sanity while spending your life with him.

But in truth, even if he hadn’t irritated you, even if he was the nicest man in the world, he would never compare to the man you have already laid your heart with.

He shakes his head once more, almost as if he’s embarrassed. “Not quite, but I do understand what you’re going through. Somewhat.”

Somewhat, he says. The more you observe him, the more you realize how young he is. Not just in the way he appears, but also in the way he talks and moves, almost like the stars trapped in his eyes have yet to escape. You can imagine him falling for one of the servant girls back in his own palace, secretly swapping lovelorn gazes across polished halls. Unlike you, he must not have acted on his greed, knowing the extent of his responsibility to his house and kingdom.

Unlike you, he does not bear a cruel bone in his body, as he would never subject that poor girl to the sort of heartbreak that only a clandestine relationship could offer.

“I want to make myself clear to you, my princess. I did not come here to accuse you of anything. I came here because I wanted to make myself clear with you,” he says. You raise a brow, urging him to continue.

“I am not asking you to fall in love with me,” he says plainly. It surprises you greatly, to hear him speak so candidly. Ever the perfect politician, he’d only ever spoken with care and precision, always anticipating the other party’s reaction. You have spoken with enough visiting royals to know that he is well-versed in that sort of language, so to hear him speak so brazenly is almost refreshing.

“I wouldn’t have offered, regardless,” you respond, smirking sardonically. He laughs at that, and you can hear the honesty in his laughter, too.

“Fair. But for the sake of the people who put their faith in us, I would suggest,” he pauses, licking his lips as he mulls over his next words, “that we might be sincere with one another. Just so our union may not perish… prematurely.”

You don’t respond, scanning him for any ill intent. As a princess from an illustrious kingdom, you have needed to stave off numerous lords and princes from taking your hand for their own wicked gain. However, none of your previous suitors were like Prince Jungkook, who genuinely seemed to care greatly for his people, as seen by how kindly he has treated his entourage of helpers.

He waits for you to say something, but eventually, he continues, “Princess Y/N, it would be the greatest honor if you would allow me to know you better. I seek nothing more than your companionship.” He blushes slightly, coughing into his fists. “W-well, not that you owe me that, as we could very well live separately for the rest of our lives, but... Umm… That came out a little more awkward than I intended, but I hope you get the gist.”

You realize, then, that he desires to live peacefully with you—guilelessly and unselfishly. Perhaps he is doing this for his parents (highly likely), or perhaps he has no other choice (extremely likely). But the fact remains that in front of you stands a good man with a simple wish: to become friends with you, if not at least become amicable with one another.

“Then I suppose you want to know more about me? About my story?” you ask sarcastically. “Want to know why the eldest daughter of the king is off frolicking with the captain of his guard?”

Jungkook snorts, an easy smile on his lips. “Well, you could tell me that, but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘when did you learn to play the violin?’ and other neutral information. You know, like how normal people converse.”

It takes you a moment to realize that he had been making fun of you. “Hey, watch it, princeling. You’re not in the clear just yet,” you huff, but there is no bite to your bark. You can tell that he knows this, from the way his tense figure has relaxed tremendously in this short amount of time. You notice your own tension fading away too, if only infinitesimally.

“I can start if you want,” he hums, tapping a finger on his chin as he thinks. “Well, I have always wanted to tell you this, but you might think I might be buttering your ass if I did, pardon the language—”

You laugh loudly, baffled by his seemingly out-of-nowhere casual demeanor. In your bedroom, with his shoulders slackened and hair still disheveled from his morning practice, he looks nothing like the perfect prince you had boxed him in as. “Pardoned,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“—but I’ve always found your tenacity to be admirable. Your dedication to your people, evidenced by your tireless work to make their lives better, has always struck me as inspirational. Pardon the cliché, but you really aren’t like other girls,” he says.

You wave off his compliments. “By the sounds of it, you must have this line practiced to perfection. Don’t tell me this is what you say to the other princesses when you confess to them.”

He flushes darkly, stuttering at your brash comment. The sight makes you snort, only worsening his embarrassment. “I have, um, never confessed to anyone before…”

“I find that hard to believe. Sure, you might not be like me—” you say drily. You haven’t sentenced your own life to heartache and misfortune, is what you mean to say. The pang in your chest comes back with a vengeance, but you carry on. “—but I would imagine that you’ve had to sweet talk many princesses before me. I was not your parents’ first choice, was I?”

“Indeed,” he admits awkwardly. “But I am not completely powerless. My father had allowed me some freedom when choosing a bride, and I…” he trails off, swallowing nervously. He gestures to you vaguely, unwilling to keep eye contact as he does.

You gape at him, pointing to yourself. “You… You chose me? Why?”

“It’s exactly as I said,” he shrugs. “I read about the things you’ve done, and I was drawn to you. It seems that my freedom has indirectly caused your misery, however…” he says ashamedly.

Guilt coils up you for the umpteenth time that day, except now it is directed at the boy in front of you. Foolish of you to think that your actions only affected you and your lover. Foolish of you to believe that your actions don’t have consequences bigger than you might have imagined.

“It… is not your fault,” you grit out, though it pains you to say. Not because it is a lie, but rather, it is a painful truth: a pill you have finally been forced to swallow. “My recklessness has caused more wreckage than I would have imagined.”

“I must admit that I have always been in love with the concept of love,” he says. He scratches the back of his neck, shyly turning away from you. “I believe that while love comes in all different shapes and sizes, it is certainly never supposed to be cruel. It is never selfish or… painful.”

Your eyes narrow, fully understanding his implications. “Then you must be as naive as you appear,” you snarl. You step away from the doorway, making your way towards the prince until your chests were merely a breath apart. However, he doesn’t back away like you thought he would. He stands his ground, looking at you through his long lashes.

“You wouldn’t understand. Have you ever loved someone so deeply that even the thought of being apart wounds you? Have you ever stayed awake at night, listening carefully to the sound of your own beating heart, aching for someone you cannot have? It is an ache, Jungkook, that cannot be salved with pretty words and sentiments. It is not a choice,” you finish, vision growing blurry with unshed tears. But you refuse to let them fall, not for a boy who didn’t know better.

His gaze is level with your own, his breathing steady. His eyes look dark to you, no longer sparkling like they once did. But before you can blink, the darkness is gone, replaced with his carefully crafted neutrality. The princely politician makes his return, except he’s a little sadder. Disappointed, even. “No, I have not experienced any of that. I cannot say for certain what is true, but I have always thought that love should be gentle and kind. Something to be enjoyed, and not a cause of strife.”

He steps away from you, his footsteps light as he makes his way to the door. When he twists the doorknob, he stills for a moment. “It was nice speaking to you, Y/N. Don’t… keep hurting yourself, okay? A lot of people care for you, even if they don’t say it. Even if it doesn’t seem that way.”

You bark out a laugh, but it sounds watered down to your ears. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with me already.”

He smiles at you, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs before bidding you farewell.

You’re left alone again, and your room feels significantly more hollow. Your entire body is vibrating, filled with an unidentifiable feeling swirling in your chest like a hurricane. Was it anger? Frustration? Hopelessness? Guilt? Perhaps an ungodly concoction of all four?

You feel nauseous, almost falling over from the strength of it. Everything about today has caused you to lose your hold on your sanity, the urge to scream in anguish becoming more unbearable by the second.

Love should be gentle and kind, he said. Despite how sweet his intentions, his words still feel like poison. How dare he say that to you, when he knows that you wish it was true?

You grab your violin by the neck, your violent grip causing the wood to creak. Your hands shake, tears freely falling into the sea of your self-pity.

You drag your bow harshly against the strings, striking a sound louder than your own frustrated cry. A few of the hairs snap, but you continue, playing like a madwoman possessed. The music is frantic, agonizing—goosebumps trail your skin unprompted. Your pain overflows until even the dead can hear you weep.

Your violin almost drowns out the sound of another knock at your door. “Go away,” you growl, playing more fiercely. The violin groans, as if in pain. “If you’ve come back to lecture me about love again—”

“Your Highness,” a softer voice responds. It’s not Jungkook like you had thought. “It’s Jimin.”

Even if he had not announced himself, you would have known just by his footsteps. You freeze, your heart beating wildly out of your chest. You swipe a hand across your cheek in a futile attempt to hide away the evidence. Even without a mirror, you know that your eyes are puffy and bloodshot.

He enters without your prompting: comfortable enough to invade your space as if he had not torn your heart to pieces just hours ago. His gaze immediately goes to your face, a staggered breath leaving his lungs when he sees your hollow expression. But that moment of weakness disappears in an instant, the same stoic captain from this morning reappearing right in front of you.

“Had you been expecting someone else?” he asks in place of a greeting. There is an edge to his tone, you notice. If you didn’t know better, you might have missed it. Jealousy. How dare he.

You squint at him, but you say nothing. The air is icy with tension, enough to freeze hell twice over.

He clears his throat. “I’ve come to apologize, your Highness. It was out of line for a royal guard such as myself to drag you so brusquely like that. It will not happen again,” he murmurs.

You can hear the hidden meaning buried in his words. It won’t happen again, because I won’t be here to do it.

“Is that all you have to say?” you whisper. You place your violin down carefully, but your vision is already turning blurry once more. You won’t cry in front of him. You refuse to be the only one hurt from this.

He sighs, as if worn by your childish antics. “Y/N, you don’t understand—”

When he calls you by your name, the fraying string inside of you snaps. “Save it,” you seethe. “You’re a coward, that’s what you are. There isn’t anything to understand.”

“No, you should understand,” Jimin steps forward, grabbing you by the shoulders. He shakes you, desperation hanging off every inch of his frame. “As a princess, you should know what it means to serve the people. You should know more than anyone about the oaths I made to this kingdom. You should be proud of me!”

His increasing volume only encourages you to match him, your throat nearly getting torn in two from how loudly you shout. “Cut the patriotic act! Do you think I’ve forgotten all the whispers you’ve planted in my head? About how you wished more than anything to work with your brothers as performers, how you wished you hadn’t been the breadwinner of your family just so you wouldn’t have to sell your strength to my father?”

“I was naive. I should have known it was my responsibility,” he counters.

“Then what about all the promises you made to me during our nights together? You swore to love me forever under starry nights and disheveled sheets. You said you’d run away with me, just so I wouldn’t have to marry anyone else!”

Jimin grits his teeth. “Meer words of comfort. The babblings of a child.”

You shove him away, your skin burning from where he touched you. “Then actions must speak louder than words, correct? You cannot hide from me when your lovemaking spoke volumes. ”

For once, it seems Park Jimin is at a loss for words. He clenches his fists by his side, looking utterly defeated. “Y/N… You know that it’s the right thing to do.”

“I don’t,” you mumble, lips trembling. “I really don’t.”

“Even so,” Jimin says. He lifts a finger, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. “It is better that I make the choice than you.”

Better that he breaks your heart than you. “We… we could’ve found another way,” you croak, helpless.

Jimin only smiles sadly. “The prince… He is a good man. I have been watching him these past few weeks and I know that he will—” his voice catches, and he has to pause for a moment to regain his composure. “He will make a good match for you. It would be wrong for us to…”

It pains you to admit it, but he’s right. Jungkook doesn’t deserve your infidelity. And yet, even if Jimin were to leave, would you ever be wholly Jungkook’s anyway? What would be the difference, if your heart will continue to yearn for another man regardless?

“Tell me this, then. For once, spare me from your half-truths. Drive the final nail into my coffin so that I know that you are truly certain.” You force him to look you directly in the eye, his pupils shaking as he takes you in for what might be his last time. It is almost as if time had stopped, and only the two of you existed in this space. This bedroom that you called your haven, the place where you had fallen in love—the place that will witness your first heartache.

“If our lives could have been different, would you have loved me then?”

Jimin has never looked so weary, so different from the boisterous boy you had met all those years ago. “I’m sure… that I would’ve done what was best. For the greater good.”

“And does that greater good include us? How do we fit in that equation?”

But he only steps away, his hand still outstretched as if to hold you. Then, he slowly tucks it behind him, his posture straightening the way a guard should. “I think you already know the answer to that,” he says, the note of finality ringing loud and clear.

He pries open the door, hesitating only for one more moment before chancing one last glance at you. “Tomorrow… I leave with my men. I would appreciate it if you don’t come.”

The door closes, and your question remains unanswered.

Just like him, the empty silence of your room refuses to respond, no matter how many times you ask.

Because in the sanctity of your bedroom, no promises ever did hold. The Park Jimin you loved was never real in the first place, and no matter how much you slam your fists and stomp your feet, he’s never going to love you the way you want him to.

And there you stand, all by your lonesome, without the prying gazes of those who expect better of you. Gruesomely, and painfully you.

474 notes · View notes

imonthinice · 3 years

Text

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 9/?

Word Count: 1.7k

Author’s Note: Y/N- Your Name, A/N - Any Name (Your Best Friend’s Name)

I am sorry. lmao.

Half of my links are glitched tf out fuck this shit, touched grass yesterday but that grind don’t fuckin stop babey

Warnings: Angst - Injury, Description of said injury, Mentions of Jason’s past, Swearing, Dark Themes, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Jason clutched his right side as he gasped for a long breath of the cold, rainy air surrounding him. Everything hurt and he could barely move enough to text Dick that he was down. He would hold and add pressure to the stab wound sitting directly on his waist, but he could feel the blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers as he held it. His hands were covered by the blood and he was losing it fast.

He wasn’t going to walk this off by any means, he was going to need Dick to go get him and bring him back to the hospital wing of the Batcave because he couldn’t move and he felt his eyes drooping as he waiting and tried to keep his breathing in check, while Dick was scrambling to go get him.

There would be a few questions he would have to answer to Y/N. Not even just Y/N, to Lian, his Goddaughter, who he was planning on seeing in the morning since Y/N was going to a dance competition, or at least he thought she was.

But in that moment, so many memories flew back into his head, the hopelessness as he sat there for a few seconds, bleeding out after the explosion that Joker had set off on him. And then the minutes in the Lazarus Pit as he drowned himself back to life, the water filling his lungs as he cried and screamed. But no one came.

This time, however, Dick came.

Dick swooped his baby brother up and onto his back and he tried to run to the Batmobile as fast as he could, knowing time was of the essence for saving Jason’s life. Jason had broke off from Dick for a few seconds before this moment, and it was the only thing Dick was worried about. That Dick had said to come back to him, alive.

In the car, Dick put his hands on Jason's gaping wound, trying to press his hands into it as well to slow the bleeding, the Batmobile had the ability to drive itself, and Dick thanked whatever God was watching that it did. Jason was struggling for breath at this moment, and Dick was terrified.

“You’re going to be oaky, Jase. I swear. Please. Don’t die on me, it feels like yesterday that I got you back,” he leaned into Jason’s face, “Not again, please,” Dick begged and begged as he rushed Jason to Alfred, who was waiting to operate on Jason.

--------------------------------------------

Y/N woke up as always, this time, without a text from Jason. She thought nothing of it, thinking he was safe in his house with his loving family. She went to go get coffee to kick start her day, and A/N wasn’t in the kitchen. She, still, thought nothing of it, since A/N’s lover was over the night before and she had to turn up her music to ignore the sounds coming from the other side of the house. She sent Jason a quick text,

Good morning, Jay. I hope you slept well.

And she returned to her room, coffee in hand, to write some quick little stories about what she had placed in her journal. Not many of the ideas in there were able to be built off of, but she still tried her best with every idea she had, to see if it could be something more.

It normally never was, but it was always something she craved. The ideas of writing a book always enticed her, but she never thought she was talented enough to do so.

She heard her roommate’s door open and then the front door as A/N waved off her lover. It was a quiet Saturday morning, and Y/N loved that as she dove further and further into her work, immersing herself in the story of two lovers who were destined to meet after one moved to the hometown of the other to pursue criminal psychology.

She couldn’t get her mind off of Jason. They hadn’t even known each other for a week but she knew he was worth her time. A few hours passed by from when she sent the first text.

---------------------------------------------

Dick held Jason’s hand as he was hooked up to many different machines, he could breathe on his own, but the IV and the blood bags were hard to keep Dick’s eyes off of. If only I had been watching a little closer, he thought.

Jason fumbled in his pain-induced sleep, moaning and groaning as he did so when he opened his eyes to find a worried, sleep-deprived and very rough-looking Dick at his bedside, to which, Dick collapsed on Jason in a hug.

“Thank God,” Dick breathed.

“What... what the fuck.... what the fuck happened?” Jason stuttered, like a blanket of sleep and drugs had limited his mobility and brain function.

“I don’t know, Jase. That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me, but then again, your blood alcohol level was suspicious.”

“I... I didn’t drink... drink that much.”

“No, you didn’t. But you did drink, who was with you?”

“I don’t... know.”

“I think you were roofied so they could get the upper hand on you. You almost died, Jase.”

“Come...c’mere,” Jason managed to say, and when Dick came to him, he moved on of his hands onto Dick’s cheek, “Big... big annoying... big little annoying brother.”

“Shhhhhh, little wing,” Dick comforted his little brother, “You weren’t supposed to grow that much taller than me,” he laughed, “Dickhead,” he laughed again, then sighed, and stepped back from Jason to pace back and forth, he was stressed, “I told Roy-”

“Will.”

“Will, sorry. I told Will that you won’t be able to see Lian today, he asked what happened, he might drop by.”

“He should... shouldn’t have to... see me this... this way,” Jason said, eyes pooling with tears, “No one... should.”

“Don’t know how we’re going to explain this to your little girlfriend.”

“Oh... Man... I like... I like her.”

“I know you do, and that’s an issue when you’re high as a kite in a hospital bed, bleeding out, Jase,” Dick tried to explain, “Especially when she doesn’t know you’re Red Hood, dumbass.”

“Oh,” he said.

“I know, Jase. If it was me and Barbara didn’t know, I wouldn’t know what to do,” he sighed, “Haven’t even met this girl,” he laughed.

“It’s... it’s only been... 5 days,” he stuttered.

“and 3 back-to-back, multiple hour, spanning days, worth of dates. You don’t do that with someone you don’t think should meet your family.”

“You’re... stubborn.”

“And you’re my brother. It doesn’t take blood to exhibit the same traits.”

“The meds... are... are wearing off.”

“Do you need more?”

“Not... yet,” he struggled with his words, “Phone?”

“I mean, yeah I can give you your phone,” Dick said as he went to go unplug and hand Jason his phone, realizing that Y/N had texted Jason he said, “Guess you have someone who wants to know where you are more than Will does.”

“Will cares,” Jason said as he took the phone and read Y/N’s text,

I guess it isn’t morning anymore, huh.

Well that’s on me for texting you at 6 in the morning after I know you’ve been working late.

And I’m going to see my Goddaughter today, so I’ve been sleeping in to preserve energy for her.

Can’t forget that she’s what, 1 year old? Girl must have a lot of energy.

Her name’s Lian, and yeah. She’s a ball of energy.

He said as Lian and her dad, Will, formerly known as Roy, walked into the hospital wing of the Batcave. The secret wasn’t hidden to the little girl yet because she couldn’t remember a lot. But, she sure did recognize her Uncle Jay when she screamed her name.

Will brought his daughter up and put her beside her Uncle, and she cuddled into him, he would hold her back.

“Hey... Will.”

“You look like shit, Jaybird.”

“I feel... feel like shit.”

“You’re also talking slow, bud.”

“Drugs... do that... Will.”

“At least you’re not dead, I have no idea how I’d cope or even explain that to Lian.”

“She... she has your... eyes.”

“She’s growing into my nose too.”

“Your nose... looks like shit... on your face.”

“Okay, dickhead. You’re bedridden but yeah, attack me like you used to, I’ll just pull the plug.”

“Lian... would hate you... you for that,” he groaned as he said it.

“Do you need more drugs? I can tell Dick,” Will asked.

“Yeah... I think-”

“Don’t worry about finishing that, Jaybird. I got you.”

------------------------------------------------------

The wet ground surrounding the house Y/N lived in was a representation of what she considered, the bad things, washing away from her life as she got to know Jason more. She wished they could talk more that day, but she did not want to take away time from him and his Goddaughter. Family matters a lot to Y/N, so a thought like that just seemed selfish for her to think when she knew that little girl needed him.

She didn’t think he got injured or anything from the Office, it was a safer place than the fuckin Wayne Manor hallways. She texted Artemis,

So, you’re Wally’s girlfriend, and Wally is Dick’s best friend? Am I hearing you right?

That’s basically the intertwine we have here, yes.

So once you’re in this family, you’re IN, huh?

Nervous?

Not a chance.

The thrill of flipping off pap hasn’t left you yet?

Does everyone know about that? And yes, it’s still massively fun to do.

Wally says Dick is the only one who doesn’t think its that funny.

Lame.

C’mon now, that’s my best friend, but yeah, that’s pretty fucking lame.

You’re the fun best friend, then. You see the fun in making a fool of the pap.

You know it.

Artemis knew of what happened on patrol between Jason and his unknown attacker. Dick had told Artemis to distract Y/N from wondering why Jason seemed drunk, if he seemed drunk. The extents they went to to hide the fact that they were the vigilantes protecting the city, they didn’t know if she was going to be able to keep the secret.

Jason would talk to her after that message,

That storm last night was terrible.

I wish that we were together when it happened. I hate lightning.

Well, you were in Cali.

Did I not tell you? My competition was cancelled because the entire country is fucked with weather.

Oh. That sucks.

Do you want to spend the night here?

---------------------------------------

Do you want to spend the night here?

Jason stared at that text for a while. He did, he wanted to spend the night with her, but he was in pain, hooked to machines, with obvious wounds and bandages. He couldn’t spend the night with her.

I can’t. I’m in Metropolis with Will and Lian. Can we reschedule?

Of course we can. As long as you make sure we actually get to spend the night together.

He asked Dick in that moment, “How... how long... long til I heal?”

“Depends. You’ll be okay-ish in 5 days, but in 7-10 we have to take out your stitches if you’ve been taking care of them,” he said.

“That... that long? Damn.”

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drabbles-of-writing · 4 years

Note

(2/2)

Family to Luz has always been a bit of a blurred line

Without having many friends growing up anyone that even remotely tolerated her she would immediately latch on

But she always kept an arm away because she knew that eventually they’d leave

They always leave

So when she found friends- True friends- she couldn’t believe it

At first she followed the same pattern: latch on but keep far enough so they won’t be annoyed

Without knowing she started to open up little by little

A hug longer than usual

Telling them about her mother

Explaining how she came to the boiling isles: about the camp she was supposed to be sent to

It was painful, opening the door she kept under lock and key for so long

But as soon as the other side opened she realized how much happy she became

How much she trusted her family so much

But even though the other side was open it didn’t mean she wasn’t scared of messing up and pushing everyone away

It was a slip of the tongue during the evening

They had just gotten back from the beach and dissecting another trash slug- she may have sunk to high heaven but her heart was full and her laughter light

“Alright kid you can shower first- I think you’re more slime then human right now”

“Okay mom!”

There’s a pause as Luz realizes what she just said and before Eda can even get a word in to clam her down she’s racing off to the house- all that she can think of is how she’ll be casted out, throw out for being to clingy, that she fucked everything up

By the time Eda gets to the Latina’s room she’s huddled in a corner stuffing her yellow messager bag with everything she can her shoulders stiff and seemingly ready to run at any moment like an animal being hunted

Eda remembers that feeling and is almost taken back to her childhood before the child in front of her is staring at her with wide eyes, tears welling up as she tried to stutter out in her anxiety filled mind that she’ll be out of her hair soon- Eda simply sits in front of the girl and holds her close, letting her owlet with there crying as she overflowed with feelings as if she were a potion pot and not a human

And through the tears and sorrys Luz comes clean about why what she was feeling- all the fears about her being pushed away, abandoned like a car in the side of a road

Eda blames herself about it later- that she made Luz feel like that would happen to her

They sit there until the owls hoots turn into the soft golden rays of morning

Suffice it to say, Luz didn’t go to school the next day

(:3)

I saw the 2/2 and was instantly yeet into the sixth dimension.

Bro you,,,you didn’t have to come for me like that. I just got out of the angst I just got out of th

Luz,,,,she WOULD. She’d be so scared....because she’d feel like she’s being clingy......and she really doesn’t wanna lose Eda but she feels if she tries to explain she’ll look more clingy and dig a deeper hole for herself......

Luz just kinda holes up & insists it was an accident & to forget about it and normally Eda would let it slide and just be proudly called mom by herself but then she sees the state Luz is in...and she’s like “ight guess it’s time to talk about feelings and be very awkward”

Eda is like “kid I swear I don’t mind I’m actually really flattered” n Luz is very?? shook???? because Eda doesn’t mind? That’s such a foreign concept to her. And she’s always asking a bunch of questions like “but are you SURE” and “it’s okay if its not cool” & Eda understands this kid is insecure but for the love of god.

Eda understands her situation very VERY well. She wasn’t a well-liked kid & her dad kinda sucked. If anyone so much as tolerated her she would stick to them like glue and always bother them excitedly because she info-dumped like crazy. Then they would leave and she’d be all alone again. She lost all her ‘friends,’ she never speaks to get father anymore, and even her sister, her best friend, grew distant.

Eda thinks that’s why she, Luz & King all got along so well. They were all weird, lonely and clingy people who never had anyone who truly cared about them wholeheartedly. She thinks she’s selfish in a part of her wanting to keep Luz around, to keep her in the Boiling Isles and relishing in the fact this weird kid looks up to her.

They have Discussions about stuff like that & Eda is constantly assuring the kid that she wants her around. They knew they loved each other, they’d said so that night at the Emperor’s Castle. The mom thing really wasn’t that big of a stretch.

Luz is still a lil hesitant Babey but she’s willing to accept it for now. She kinda feels like she’s betraying Camilia by viewing Eda as a second mother bc for the longest time it was just her and Camilia. Her dad kinda sucked (so she heard) and she was fine with just having one parent but now she got 2 and she feels Very Bad but she ain’t about to tell Eda that.

It ends in a sort of open-ending? They get it sorted out and they both chill, but they both got things they think about. Luz’s ‘betrayal’ to her mama and Eda’s guilt at wanting Luz to stay so they still gotta sort that out. But this is good for now.

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sailorvinus · 4 years

Text

🌙 *sunmi stan voice* stan sunmi listen to ‘tail’ by sunmi listen to ‘tail’ by su-

get to know the mun ! repost, don’t reblog.

——— BASICS.

( PEN ) NAME : rae. but i might change that. 2 many raes. i see rae attached to a promo not by me and im over here thinkin..... did i do some wild shit in my sleep and make another blog...........

PRONOUNS : i dont care about those. u can call me ‘ the only and best bitch to ever do it ’ if u all feel like referring to me to someone else 4 sum reason. we can get this issue out the way if everyone leaves my name out of ur mouth how about that. no but seriously... i dont care. its whatever. we're dying!!

ZODIAC SIGN : capricorn sun, leo moon, leo rising, scorpio venus. sexxxxxiiiiiiiiiii!

TAKEN OR SINGLE : gettin’ married 2 @notevenjupiter :)) we’ve been together for 10 years!! we were rp partners!! u might meet ya future spouse out here......

——— THREE FACTS.

i was gonna go to wrestling school because nothing thrills me more than bodyslamming the shit outta someone or at least be able to get them held up in a figure four lock. was gonna front missile drop kick my way to the top! i did a lot of military / marine style fitness in high school. but due to Injuries™... womp womp. i am now returning to my job as a preschool teacher soon. i am hesitant because we are still in a deadly Pancake.

i can play over 10 musical instruments. was a drum captain, a woodwind section leader, part of a jazz ensemble, and a college orchestra. and im ok at digital production in a way that i can put together a simple drum loop before i get distracted by things. im hard of hearing, deaf in my left ear. so not 2 shabby 4 the deaf person!!! might make a metal band just because.

as someone who lived up surrounded by nature, was captain of the horticulture team, and worked as a nature photographer gathering photo of native plant life species in my area and real estate portfolio junk, i can identify over 50 plants, flowers, and trees off the top of my head. i can identify most types of wood, too. i also took plumbing, welding, automotive class, electrical work, so i can fix ur house and ur car....... i also took cosmetology and can do ya nails and hair, too. an overachiever in collected skills if u will..... also im a beauty pageant contestant and winner so i also have accolades just for being beautiful. wow.........!

——— EXPERIENCE.

ive been on this internet pretending to be pretty hos since 1999. aol, msn, livejournal, deadjournal, xanga, gaiaonline, vampirefreaks, forums, forums, forums!!!

——— MUSE PREFERENCE.

i’ll adapt to anything and everything but i love writing villains above all else. not even villains u can like. the most evil people in tha story... those r my favorites. i dont do canon muses because i spent so long doing them in the 2000s. every single anime villain........ Me, babey. vis probably one of the nicest muses ive ever had and even then if he sees someone yelling at a child, he will meet them at them doorstep and beat the shit out of them with nothing but a brick, a fist, and a willingness to make sure theyre dead.

——— FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT.

FLUFF : fluff but i’d like it to have a point!!

ANGST : vi’s crushed soul is angst........ if u say hey to him ure greeting someone in so much emotional pain he could just Die from it.... but he can’t because u know. immortal half-alien deity.... it be like that.

SMUT : vi can’t get laid to save his life... i luv smut but. lol.

PLOT / MEMES : i’m allergic to plotting................... allergic!!! like plotting is fine for muses that’ll stick to the script but since vi is always 2 seconds away from setting himself on fire and summoning satan because he’s erratic as shit, it dont work for him. he changes like the wind.

✨ TAGGED BY: @wwxnka a dash board gem........... ty!!!!! ✨ TAGGING: @agathokakology @vendettacanons @maximuses @fuckingvictus @dreamhued @oplitis @rcrdplyr @cansizlar @armsdealing @lovedefiant + hi..... tagged if u wanna Do This:)))

#( 🌙 OOC! RULER OF THE VOLCANIC DIAMOND PLANET. ✨ )

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dreamnap · 4 years

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[fic] oh, i miss when we first met (take me out baby)

pairing: onesided sapnap/dream (dreamnap), background dreamnotfound

rating: g

genre/tags: angst and unrequited love babey! oh, and did i mention pining?

notes: me and @dream-not-found are twinning with unrequited dreamnap. go read her fic and weep. special shoutout to mitski, who i listened to exclusively on loop over and over again while writing this fic

summary: It was as much of a confession as he was going to give.

ao3 link

It could be love.

Sapnap stared at the phone, the remnants of Dream’s voice still echoing in his mind. It had been the first video call they'd done in a while— a celebratory thing, really, where he had popped in with a quick happy birthday as the clock rolled over to midnight.

Dream’s face, though blurry from the dark lighting, was still clear enough for Sapnap to get a good look at him. The last time he had seen him on camera must have been years ago, and Dream had changed immensely since then. His body had filled out some, from what he could tell, broader than before, and he now held himself with a sort of modest confidence.

It could really be love: churning, heavy, pooling into his gut.

He was handsome, in a way that still retained that characteristic boyishness Sapnap had grown familiar with from when they were kids. Handsome in the way his smile stayed in his thoughts even hours after he’d hung up.

They were friends⁠⁠—best friends, even. Nothing more than that.

It shouldn’t have been anything more than that, and yet Sapnap had been grappling with the idea for a while now, turning the words over and over in his mouth as he lay under the covers, remembering the way Dream curled up into himself a little when he’d laughed, tucking his face in the crook of his elbow as he wheezed out some stupid joke he’d seen earlier that day.

Love isn’t what he wants. It shouldn’t be love. And anyways, Dream had been mentioning a girl he'd met recently, seemed to have really hit it off with her.

It would pass. Sapnap would make sure of it.

⁠—⁠—⁠—⁠—

Two weeks before high school graduation he gets asked out.

“I know it’s kind of late,” she said, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear. “But you should go out. With me.”

He did his best to remember who she is, but all he could think of was one of his woodshop classes, where she camouflaged into the crowd in the back. She had brown hair. Green eyes. Not memorable in many ways, but the relaxed smile she had given him on occasion when they walked in together had left Sapnap with all sorts of strange, familiar feelings.

She left him her number this time instead.

He pulled open her contact, and stared at the text box.

They had joked about it before, sometimes.

When you come down to my place, where should I take you out?, innocently thrown into the recording. Like as a date?

It was too flippant to be real but it had always made Dream happy, even if he cut it out from the final video, and so Sapnap knew it was never a big deal, really. Besides, it was fun to joke around with him, and everytime he laughed there was a tide of affection that rose through Sapnap⁠— slow, crashing, like the way a wave rolled into shore. The idea of love⁠—forsaken as that was⁠—always gave him a little rush of hope, almost pathetic in a way, that made him wish he’d get an answer out of him one of these days.

What kind of flowers should I get you? Roses? They’re your favorite, aren’t they?

He thought about the facetimes at midnight, where the room was so dim that his hair had looked brown, and the green of his eyes; the way he grinned so bright whenever he talked about his girlfriend.

It wasn’t his to take.

So, he texted. When would you be free?

He could work this out.

⁠—⁠—⁠—⁠—

“I don’t think this is working out.”

She was sitting in the passenger seat next to him, the car parked outside of her house, quiet as radio played some generic pop song that melted into the next.

“I know.”

She wasn’t looking at him, which made it almost worse than it already was. She wouldn’t say a word, she was staring out the window. Her gaze was almost unfocused, as if she were watching something very far in the distance. The reflection glared back at him in the dark of the evening.

And maybe it was cruel but he couldn't help but feel indifferent at it all. There was pain, sure— the same kind of pain that came with letting anyone go, but it was lighter. Different. It was mutable in a way, easy to ignore, and he found himself thinking about what to make for dinner instead, or if he had any homework due before his lecture tomorrow.

The car door opened. Closed. She never even said a goodbye.

He couldn’t blame her for that.

The music in the background kept going until the words and the melody faded into a dull static, and when he got home he crept up to his room.

He debated checking Teamspeak to see if anyone was online. There was no way he was going to be able to find Dream that night: he’d messaged him about big plans and she’s gonna love this gift I got her as they’d chatted aimlessly in his discord earlier.

I’m thinking maybe a fancy restaurant but— how fancy is too fancy, do you think? he’d asked. A dinner date, then. Sapnap couldn't help but close his eyes, and thought about Dream dressed all slick, and as the heat gradually rose to his face he knew he'd never be satisfied.

But Dream had a girlfriend who he loved very much; he stood no chance, regardless.

He glanced at the monitor. Maybe if he stayed up long enough he’d catch George and convince him to do a quick PVP match, if he woke up early. Sapnap’s first class tomorrow wasn’t until sometime midafternoon, anyways, so he could afford to stay up late.

His phone remained silent from its perch on his desk. She didn’t call or text him back, and he never did either.

⁠—⁠—⁠—⁠—

>i don’t think this is working out.

Dream’s message startled him awake as the small notification went off in his headphones.

There were papers scattered all over his desk, layered over the top of his keyboard and everything around it. It was normally never that bad, but now, knee-deep in midterms, organization has taken its role as the least important thing to worry about. Sapnap shoved them aside into some poor, forlorn pile to his right as he grabbed his mouse and opened up Discord to type out a reply.

>what??

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, glancing at the clock in the corner of his screen. One in the morning, which meant he had dozed off by accident over an hour ago. Another sound went off as Dream finally sent something back.

>how did you get over your breakup?

Breakup.

Breakup?

When had they broken up? Dream had seemed fine just yesterday, from what he could remember. He’d never come to him about any fights before, seemed happy. He sat there and looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember the last year, but all he could think of was the sound of Dream’s voice.

>just stay strong man

>it only hurts for a week

>or two or three

Sapnap watched the three dots fall as Dream stopped typing, and waited for a bit for a response. Minutes passed, and then an hour, and Sapnap went back to looking at his notes. He knew Dream better than almost anyone else, and he knew when he needed his space.

⁠—⁠—⁠—⁠—

“Don’t you think George is kinda cute?” Dream had asked one day, while they were playing on Hypixel together.

Sapnap's first thought is what?, and he sat there, dumbfounded, until he realized that it deserved to be said out loud.

“What?”

“You know what I mean! Kind of like a cat!”

Sapnap, in fact, did not know what that meant. He hadn’t even really known George all that well up until about a year or so ago, when Dream had pulled them in a Teamspeak channel together one day while brainstorming ideas for his new video.

Objectively, George was no cuter than a pigeon or something he’d pass on the street. He was fine, really, but Sapnap couldn’t see anything overly remarkable about him. Sapnap loved to bicker with him, and he was funny⁠—a little crazy, even⁠—but Dream thought he was hilarious even doing nothing at all. Dream waxed terrible poetry about his smile, praised the way he programmed, and always talked about the way his eyes had looked the one time he did a face reveal for a video.

Sapnap wasn’t really sure what to do with this information.

Dream likes him, he thought to himself later that night after George had joined the channel. Dream tried goading him into saying I love you while he was tossing him a stack of roses in-game, and George’s face flushed a funny shade of red as he finally said the words to get Dream to stop.

Sapnap looked at the two and buried his head in his hands. He stayed like that for a very long time.

⁠—⁠—⁠—⁠—

Eventually he had hit a breaking point.

They were streaming together, that’s how it went. They were streaming together, and Dream was riding off on another horse he’d picked up somewhere out in the near distance of their survival world. He was on his way to gather some more wood while he chatted with the viewers on Twitch in a relaxed lull.

Sapnap had been quiet for the most part, contented in his own small journey traversing the stripmine. He hummed along to some song from the chill beats playlist he’d pulled up half an hour ago as he tossed out andesite from his inventory. They had put George in charge of fixing a ruined flat of land near the tree farm, where it had only recently been wrecked by some creepers and poor timing. The battered holes had remained in the ground for about a week, until everyone was tired of being lazy and finally decided to do something about it. George sat there, where he complained for what must have been the last ten minutes about the lack of cobble to make stone bricks with and, well, Sapnap had figured he might as well get some more iron for all of them while he was at it.

“⁠—thank you for the dono,” Dream’s voice cut in, the rhythmic lilt of it so jarring that it snapped Sapnap out of his near daze as he dug along the grid patterns cut through stone. “Hi there. I love watching all of your videos! Can you tell George that you love him? And can you get him to say ‘I love you Dream?’ too?”

Sapnap looked over to the second monitor on his left, the donation box fading from the screen by the time he glanced at it. Dream’s stream silently continued to play in the background. He was towering up to reach the farthest edge of a large oak tree, inching towards the last log buried somewhere within the leaf blocks. The chat picked up as some fans started to bicker amongst themselves. Dream didn’t mind them—never did, really—and plowed on through with his reply.

“Haha, thank you. I’m glad you love watching them,” he said, not even missing a beat. “I tell George I love him all the time! He’s the one who never says it back. Geooorge, I love you.”

Suddenly how all of his collected material was sorted became the most interesting thing in the world to him. Sapnap took his time as he meticulously lined up the stacks for what felt like an hour. A second passed. George gave some kind of stilted laugh, the kind that he lets out when he feels too embarrassed to properly respond. Sapnap’s only thought was about the singsong way Dream called out that name in.

“See guys? It’s not my fault, I have no problem saying it! C’mon George, do it so they don’t waste their money. Just say I love you Dream.”

“I’m not saying that,” George butted in, his mic crackling a bit. His video was off but even then Sapnap could tell from how he said it that he was practically squirming in his seat. Coward. It wasn’t as if he’d never said it before, but he was always so camera shy⁠, especially with his crush—

Dream was still play-pleading for an answer, and so Sapnap decided to indulge him.

“Aww, Dream, you know I love you. You’ll always have my love, even if Georgie hates you.”

That got a reaction. Dream burst out in laughter as he breathily wheezed out a silly, off-tune heart been broke so many times while George started sputtering, trying to deny it.

Those two idiots. Sapnap’s been around them enough to know what flirting looks like. He thought about Dream, with his late night calls, where he bounced ideas off of Sapnap on what would get the best reaction from him in his newest video, and the way he had been doing it on and off for the past few months, now; George on his tiptoes until he ultimately stumbled into Sapnap’s DMs on Teamspeak, flustered over something Dream told him.

Coward, Sapnap thought, as he watched the two of them do their dance. He and George both were, he’d give him that.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

It was as much of a confession as he was going to give.

#dreamwastaken #sapnap #dreamnap #drapnap #DOES ANYONE USE THAT TAG???? IVE NEVER SEEN ANYONE CALL IT THAT #dreamnapists wya i'm here with some food #*shakes a box of cat treats*#howlfic

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cescalr · 4 years

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This or That? Tag Game!

@livingincolorsagain >-> thanks man!!

What can I say? I’m indecisive. :D But I’ll explain myself:

1) i know nothing about either but flowers make me sneeze as much as some of them are pretty >:| so coffee it is

2) i do AU fix-its so it’s not an either or!! best of both worlds babey

3) can we not have best friends to enemies to lovers hmmmmm...the drama... that might be why i ship steo

4) i’m bad at cute shite, also i easily get second hand embarrassment.. you cannot get second hand embarrassment from A N G S T.

5) love at first sight? Eh. Pining? The potential drama, the angst, the complicated dynamics and reactions and relationships, mhmm, yay. Fun. Love at first sight works with some pairings, though. I like Hughie and Annie, after all

6) most of my modern AUs are technically historical AUs BUT anyway the point is, i love them equally but i’m too ignorant to write historical AUs, so; i read mostly b but I write mostly a you get me?? also. Vintage Clothing. That’s enough said, really.

7) look i’m good at angst, but, unrequited love??? no i can’t sorry bye

8) it’s hard to choose ok

9) im bad at fluff

10) i tend to mostly write ER but read GT... i’m weird like that. That’s a joke. I’m just kind of bad at the establishing part of things, which I’ve been trying to get better at recently :D it’s going! Slow. But going. I don’t really like ET for non-canon pairings. idk why. Just... feels a little off.

11) i repeat: I’m bad at fluff. It makes me feel kind of awkward lkaj;glkdja;sgd like im intruding??? idk second hand embarrassment is weird ya know,,,, oblivious pining just makes me go ‘oh my Stupid Children’ and laugh at them

12) i don’t like. Pain. Which, hi, your resident angst writer doesn’t like pain, more weird news at 10, but, i don’t. H/C is also hard because i’m bad at C in real life let alone on paper. Plus, Crack is just so goddamn entertaining.

13) Oh god the embarrassment from option a, no thank you!!! Meet Cute is always really sweet though and i appreciate that shit

There ya go! :D uhhhh

tagging: anyone who wants to!!! uhhh yeah!

here’s the clean one:

#i'm 10000% always scared of tagging people so just you know: if we're mutuals and I wasn't a coward i'd have tagged you most likely #tag game

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reverseblackholeofwords · 5 years

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Do’s And Don'ts With A Reunited Legion, Part 3

AKA This is the fifth closet Legion popped into, because the first four were occupied by Anti, Bim, Sharper and Ollie respectively. In all seriousness, I originally planned for this story to be very angst-filled with a side heaping of the noose dealio that @ferociousfangirlofmanyfandoms wrote. Lucky for you folks, that never made it in, but I’m saving it on the back-burner for the next angst surprise. Also, since this is a double whammy with a second submission, the next piece is not angsty! Have fun.

…

Eric hadn’t spent as much time with Legion as he wanted to when they got back, considering the fact that Mare stayed rather close to them. And despite the ghost’s apparent friendliness, Eric was still pretty terrified of him.

That wasn’t to say that he had avoided Legion. They would spend small moments together, usually with him knitting and them watching intently while they sorted out the yarn. Or talking in soft voices when headaches came along, each respectful of the other’s pain. One time he even cooked with them, and it’s then that he learned Legion had a selective range of cooking abilities and that they were terrible when it came to high-concentration cooking. Like making sure the pot didn’t boil over. At least there wasn’t a fire.

When he looked back on this, Eric had no real idea why he was in that particular hallway. It was nearing the evening, and the slowly falling sun casted distorted shadows through the window panes. Some of the trees helped to give each shadow it’s own shape, but they were light enough to be rendered separate from Dark or the Void’s signatures. Eric remembered the sensation of warmth against his skin, probably falsely conjured up in his own subconscious, but it felt lovely. The air was tranquil and there was no booming floor, rattling doors or even a groan of defeat (those were caused by the ‘old folks’, mainly Dark, Phantom, Mad, and Google). Just blissful quiet.

…And the barely noticeable hiccup that came right after a long, hard wail from sobbing.

What?

Eric wasn’t one for confrontation, and if this were any other time and any other place, he would’ve ran off to grab his Dad or most anyone else for backup. But with the peace of the previous moment still within him and a sense of curiosity that had begun blooming again (once he moved here), he wanted to see what was happening. Of course he knew that sound, he had sounded like that many times in the past, usually on the cusp of or already into a full blown panic attack. So to hear someone else sounding like that, well, loneliness wasn’t good for situations like that. He could help? Right?

He moved slower to trace the sound, and he eventually got to a plain looking door, no label to it. Probably a broom closet or something. A perfect place for someone having a panic attack.

Personally, he preferred the closets on the ground floor.

Don’t think like that. He scolded himself, before taking a deep breath in, trying to instill his confidence before raising a fist to knock against the door. The wavelengths shattered the silence, canceling out all other thoughts and sounds. Including the weak gasps.

“H-h-hello? Uh-um, an-anyone th-there?” Nothing greeted his question, and he began to wonder if he was hearing something. But that sound was so accurate…? “Its-s-s Eric-c?”

hic

There it was again. The barely perceptible sob. “I-I’m com-m-ming in? No-no, I’m coming i-in.” He grasped the handle and tried to turn it, but found it was locked under his grip. His fingers were already trembling, and he had to take another breath to try and steady them. “Cou-could you open t-t-the d-door?”

“No,” The voice took him by surprise, but he recovered once he realized who hid beyond his reach, separated by an oaken wall.

“L-L-Legion?” Oh goodness, this wasn’t good. He had yet to see them hurting like this, besides when they had first come back from that place, when they had been with that scary man. He could remember those moments when the Actor was in the house, the way the terror of his presence constricted his throat and his lungs. And those visits were short, lasted fifteen minutes at most. Legion was with him for weeks. Stuck beside him with no escape.

Eric knew he wouldn’t have made it, and standing outside this door, it finally struck him that Legion couldn’t have gone through all that unscathed. They had to have been hurt too. And now, now maybe they were working through it.

“L-Legion,” He started, slowly settling himself onto the floor beside the door, taking time to lay his prosthetics against the carpet. “Legion, I-I’m here. An-and if y-you need me o-or you wa-wanta talk about it-t, I-I’m here. You-you’re not al-alone. N-n-not anymore.” He settled himself beside the door and waited, letting the silence settle within the hall. Letting the fading sunlight warm his skin. Letting himself hope that his presence in the hall would be enough for Legion.

Legion, that silly ‘kid’ who knew more than they let on, who held in their eyes ages of knowledge that betrayed their form. Eric saw them as an older sibling, playful and confident of themselves, always encouraging what he wanted to do and serious in their promises. Host’s kid, the one that he knew the older man would fight for. Just like his Dad.

And wasn’t that something amazing? That he had a real Dad now. And that Legion had a Dad too. They both had someone that loved and protected them, that didn’t want anything from them. It still took Eric by surprise sometimes…

“Eric?” The voices asked hesitantly from the wood, speaking through the crack between the frame and the door itself. Eric shook himself out of his musing, turning his head so that his ear was beside the crack. He wasn’t sure why there were multiple voices, unless this was what Legion meant when they said they weren’t alone upstairs.

“L-Legion?”

“We’re sorry. For keeping you here. We’re… we’re fine.” That was a lie, and he knew that both of them knew it. And well, he wasn’t going to be dissuaded that easily this time.

“It-it’s fine. Hon-n-nestly Le-Legion. I g-g-get it. S-s-sometimes-s you need to b-b-be alone. S-sort through it-t. Y-ya know?” There was a weak laugh from the crack, a hollow laugh.

“Never really alone. Not with so many of us fighting. To be heard, to say Something. To be alive in us.” There was a pause before they continued, their voices tampering down into one again, even if there was the slightest reverb to it. “We were beginning to lose it, and we didn’t want to scare anyone. We get, scary when we’re losing it. Didn’t want to worry Dad or Mare. Just… just needed to breathe again. Breathe without scaring anyone.”

“A cl-closets-s nice l-like that.” Eric said, trying to keep his voice steady. “S-small to k-keep the w-world from cl-closing in o-on you. Its secluded, q-quiet and m-makes you b-big.”

“Yeah, I guess a closet is ideal. Bright side of things.” There was some shuffling, and beside Eric the lock popped open. “You can come in, if, if you want?” The nervousness in their voice was obvious, but they were in good company. Eric was always in a state of nervousness.

“Sure,” He reached up and grasped the handle, turning it with ease this time. He gave it a gentle tug and opened a crack, letting enough fading sunlight in to illuminate the figure in the little room. Legion was bracing themselves against two shelves, their hair falling in messy, tangled waves around their head. The hood hung like a deflated balloon on their shoulder, and the cloak had stretched to cover all of their body. Like a giant blanket. Protective and cuddly.

“Nice place y-you got.” Legion titled their head, their eyes lighting up despite the redness that tainted them and the puffiness of their skin.

“Prime real estate.” Eric pulled himself in, opening the door wider to paint Legion in the last rays of orange light. They glowed radiantly, like something out of folklore. “Eric, you sure you aren’t an angel?”

“Huh? What d’ya m-mean?” They grinned.

“The light is a halo around you. You look like an angel.” He blushed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Th-thanks!” He settled beside them and they stared out the top of the window, holding hands up to keep the bottom rays from blinding them.

“Makes us think of that time we tried to convince everyone Dark was a vampire in the Retro.” Eric turned to them.

“What?”

“Oh, that story’s great. Okay, so, it was right after Dark over in the last universe had kinda turned over a new leaf and we wanted to give him a proper ‘welcome back.’ So, first we rigged up this giant spotlight with Wilford’s help…”

Submitted by: @englishbreakfastandquills

*to the tune of John Mulaney’s Monkey Man joke* Babey, babey, babey man

#eric derekson #the legion #darkiplier #submission

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winding-gulch-blog · 5 years

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Feisty Flower Bud (A Smile For Me Fanfic)

Putunia Mollar is the town’s greatest hero (self-proclaimed). She throws hands with big bad villains in the name of JUSTICE! But when the evil in her life is a bit too close to home, she finds sympathy at the side of a highly punchable, highly bonkers, and highly soft green menace.

(It happens once in a blue moon. A video game strikes just the right chord in me to write some fanfic. Smile For Me is one such blue moon creation. Take my bubbling found family angst and fluff before I explode beyond my ruptured appendix five years ago.) (Highly recommend you look at the wiki page for Putunia before reading. I’m expanding with my own headcanon into her family life for the purpose of this story.)

—

“KA-POW!”

“KA-KICK!”

It wasn’t as exciting to fight a pillow back home. But with the Habitat closed down, Putunia had no other place to train for her inevitable upcoming battles with all the world’s superest of supervillains.

“KA-WHOOSH!”

“KA-PUNCH!”

“KA-BOOOOM!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” A female voice that rivaled hers in volume interrupted her. She sealed her lips immediately, going rigid. Luckily, there was no sound of footsteps on stairs. Spared an earful, or more.

“Ka-blaaam,” she whispered, knocking the pillow with her gloveless fist gently. She held it there, and ran her tongue across her teeth, feeling the space where a tooth once was.

She was lucky, in hindsight—it was a baby tooth, and she could feel the little spike of the permanent one already poking out. And she knew it wasn’t intentional. It was just late, and her mom was exhausted from another long day of work, and hadn’t expected to be playfully pounced by the eager child at the top of the stairwell. Still, the following shove and tumble down the stairs was painful. Even the way her mom picked her up, apologizing profusely in a rare hushed tone, felt as hollow as the space in her gums.

This happened often. A thrown glass, or three. A brief yank of her hair. A raised hand. A small bruise or scrape she could claim as her battle scar from fighting baddies. A “CLEAN UP THE SODA CAN MESS YOU MADE DOWN HERE!” Or “KEEP YOUR DAMN HANDS TO YOURSELF.”

Followed by:

“Hecks, I’m sorry, Putunia. Long day.”

Putunia didn’t mind noise anymore. In fact, she’d adopted the powerful ability to project her own vocals. But it wasn’t always nice to be spoken to like that from bigger people—especially those with a fiery, paper-thin temper like her mom.

She didn’t ever expect things to change. She just missed going to the Habitat to have a break from the shouting and other things.

Which is why it was so unusual when she heard a knock on her door while her mom was working the weekend shift.

She pushed a chair up to the door, and climbed up to peak out.

She recognized her comrade immediately.

“HEY FLOWER POWER!” She opened up the door with a big smile. Flower Kid smiled back; their teeth were extraordinary white, almost to the point of looking fake or like they were replacing what was there before. But that didn’t make their smile any less warm and inviting as its always been when they come and visit her.

“WADDUP?” Putunia asked. She remembered they didn’t talk. “COME TO SEE ME?”

A nod.

“WANNA COME IN?”

A shake of the head.

“WANT ME TO GO WITH YA?”

A nod.

“KAY!” Putunia almost darted out before pausing. “WAIT. MY DUTY IS TO STAY HOME. I HAVE TO COOK FOR MOM TONIGHT.”

Flower Kid dropped the smile and shook their head.

“WHAT?”

Flower Kid just held out their hand. Putunia tentatively took it.

The rest of the day happened quickly. Something about an investigation, based on information her floral friend had gleaned from Putunia’s home life in their visits, and having to stay at Flower Kid’s family house for a while as she had no immediate relatives. Putunia didn’t mind, it was like having a sleepover every night with plenty of superhero movies to watch, but she was confused what was happening.

But she was even more confused the day she and her short-term guardian went to the town park, and began approaching a villain.

A big, verdant, smiley one.

“GREEN MENACE!” Putunia put up her fists in time with Flower Kid grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back. “SO WE MEET FOR OUR FATED BATTLE!”

Habit lost his smile for a moment. “No punching, plez.”

That was like telling a fish not to swim. But Flower Kid was persistent in holding Putunia still.

“DID YOU FIGHT HIM ALREADY?”

A nod.

“DID YOU BEAT HIM UP?”

No response before a shake of the head.

“SO I SHOULD BEAT HIM UP FOR YA!”

A shake of the head again and gentle but firm tug.

Putunia looked between them.

“WHY IS THE ENEMY HERE, FLOWER POWER?!”

“I’m here to halp out!” Habit explained brightly. “Flower Child has asked me to sit on you, because your a babey. I will watch u while they’re off being a busy-bee making everyone happy, happy!”

“I WILL NOT FORM AN ALLIANCE WITH A VILLAIN!”

But it was no use. Her loyal floral comrade gave her a light pat on the head before ushering her over and leaving her alone on the field of battle.

Habit smiled again at the tiny person, thinking of ways he might entertain her. He recalled Putunia being full of spunk during the time she spent at his Habitat. How she managed to figure out he was…somewhat unsavory at the time was a mystery. But he was better now. Flower Kid leaving this smaller kid with him proved that he had earned their trust. “Lots of time for fun-funsies together! We culd…go splishy splash in the lake, or go pet the horsies at the farm. Or make sock puppets!”

Putunia stood up on tiptoe and pouted, trying to look intimidating.

“YOUSE A BADDIE!” She declared after a moment of searching his face. “BIG GREEN BADDIE! I DON’T PLAY WITH BADDIES! I FIGHT BADDIES! WE’RE GONNA FIGHT IN A DESTINED BATTLE! BUT…NOT WITHOUT MY HERO GEAR!”

And Putunia was immediately bolting through the park.

“Oh dear. :-(” Habit helplessly watched her vanish into distant bushes. Being a babysitter sure was harder than it sounded, and it definitely didn’t involve sitting. Flower Kid would be very upset if he lost her. But he was unsure how to keep her still. It was much harder to make people do what he wanted out of his Habitat, in a much bigger world that wasn’t his own to rule. Even if Flower Kid had coached him on not always getting what he wanted, it didn’t make it any easier.

Luckily, Putunia hadn’t gone too far. He found her rummaging around in a pile of dead leaves.

And then, a great idea struck him, as they always did. Habit may have been ‘eccentric’ in his thought processes, but he was very clever.

He crouched next to her in the leaf pile.

“Lemme halp you,” he offered. “What r we looking for?”

Putunia leapt away a moment, narrowing her eyes at him warily. He smiled in what he hoped was an inviting, not creepy way.

“…MASK,” she finally told him. “AND A CAPE. AND A PUNCHING GLOVE.”

“Punching iz mean. :-/”

“PUNCHING IS HOW YOU BEAT BADDIES!”

Habit entertained her by searching with her through the leaf pile. The search was fruitless after a few minutes, so she sprung up and headed off to another part of the park, Habit doing his best to keep up.

She didn’t seem to have much luck in finding her items, no matter how far and wide she searched. Another idea struck Habit. He was full of good ones today!

As she dug around in a sand pit, he carefully removed the cloth around his neck and placed it on her shoulders. “Is that cape-ish enuff?”

“HM…I ACCEPT IT!” Putunia concluded after a moment, doing a little twirl to test its movement in motion. “BUT I STILL NEED MY OTHER THINGS.”

The search took them past a park vending machine. Putunia insisted they stop and get sodas, even when Habit told her it was “bad for teef” and that he “didn’t like the bubbly tummy feeling”. But he gave in and got them; she was so eager, and he wanted her to smile.

They eventually found an old paper bag to work as a mask, smelling faintly of apples. Not perfect, but with eyeholes punched out, it was better than nothing.

“TA-DA!” Putunia stood up proudly on the park bench they were resting on. “I AM THE MASKED DRIVER JR! I AM AMAZING!”

“U are! :-)” Habit encouraged, giving a polite clap.

“THE BADDIES TREMBLE IN MY PRESENCE!”

Habit tilted his head. “Putunia?”

“YES, MENACE?”

“Fiting the baddies makes you habby, right?”

“YES!” She plopped back down and slid off the bench to admire the park in her heroic glory.

“What makes a baddie a baddie?”

“OH! UH. WELL, A BADDIE IS SOMEONE WHO HURTS PEOPLE! AND SCARES PEOPLE!”

“I sea…” Habit looked down at his empty soda can a moment. Two things he had done before, even if he wanted to do it for the greater good in his mind.

Putunia went on in her tirade of justice.

“THEY LOOK SCARY! AND THEY TELL YOU TO GO TO BED ON TIME! AND THEY YELL AT YOU! AND BREAK GLASSES! AND PUSH YOU DOWN STAIRS! AND—“ Putunia stopped herself immediately.

No, that couldn’t be right.

Her mom was her family. Her only family. Family weren’t baddies. Family weren’t baddies, right? Family weren’t baddies…

She thought about everything that happened, and Flower Child taking her away, and her missing tooth, and felt sick to her stomach.

Habit noticed her distress (and rather troubling examples of what baddies do—he is sure he never did those things, because his office had an elevator, not stairs, and he gave the kid Habiticians plastic cutlery to prevent breakage) and frowned. “R u okay…?”

Putunia nodded in fierce denial. “Y-YEAH! I AM! BECAUSE…B-BECAUSE...” She pointed at him defiantly. “BECAUSE THE ONLY BADDIE HERE IS YOU! GREEN MENACE! YOU HURT FLOWER POWER. YOU MAKE PEOPLE SAD. YOU HAVE A BADDIE ACCENT AND YOU HAVE SCARY TEETH. I DON’T GOTTA FACE ANYONE ELSE BUT YOU! L-LET’S FIGHT…!!”

And so began their fated battle.

She went in bare-fisted (a true heroic feat) and launched an impressive flurry of tiny punches into the green menace’s…knees? Ankles? He was so tall it was hard to tell.

Habit did nothing to stop her. He just carefully pulled the paper bag off her head so she could see better, and stared down at her.

Her efforts became slower as her frustration increased, and finally she dropped both of her fists, panting heavily. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“N-NO...” She managed a strangely loud whisper, voice hoarse, inhaling sharply to stop anything dribbly and gross from coming out of her nose. “I-I DON’T WANNA…”

Putunia was sad. Habit had another idea. It was something Flower Kid had taught him to do. A kinder method to scrub away frowning faces.

The green man got off the bench and crouched, and wrapped his arms around her. But it wasn’t a violent constriction or attempt to yank her away, like she was used to. Just a gentle hug, as if she was as delicate as a flower, while she sniffled into his coat.

Her voice got the quietest it’s ever been.

“I don’t wanna hurt anymore.”

“I know. Me neether.”

Putunia sobbed for a while. Habit didn’t talk, just lightly touched her hair or rubbed her back or did whatever he could remember Flower Kid doing for him on bad days.

As she calmed down, Habit took his coat sleeve and wiped away her tears.

“Kno wut Flower Child taught me?”

“W-WHAT…?”

“Sometimes frownies and tears are o-kay. They can just mean that u are asking for halp from people who love u.”

“I’M NOT CRYING,” Putunia said adamantly, wiping her eyes. “I AM TOUGH.”

“Your tough,” Habit agreed softly. “You are the toughest.”

Putunia stared at the ground. Did she win the fight? She wasn’t sure.

Habit spoke up for her.

“Ur right. I’m…not that good. Flower Child, now they’re good. They’re sweet. I am not so sweet. I have bean so very sour. I have been a big baddie, a mena-ce. But, I’m trying to du better. I learned people aren’t meant to be cracked like eggs. The only cracking they should be doing is cracking smiles.”

He stood carefully, and lifted her up onto the bench with him. He let his speech flow a bit more like the others in town. It didn’t come naturally to him, and he still struggled with it, but he tried his best. “I never got to be happy when I grew up. I want you to grow and be happy and smile like I never could. If that means being a hero, u should be a hero. And if that means punching bad people, maybe u should. But you should sometimes give them something nice, too, if they seem rlly sad.”

Putunia looked up at him. “IS…IS MOM SAD? WOULD…WOULD MOM NOT BE MEAN IF I GAVE HER SOMETHING NICE?”

Habit thought about his parents. He held her a little tighter. “Sometimes…sometimes baddies are the ppl that are supposed to love you. And maybe they’re sad, but…little ones aren’t supposed to be hurt becuz of it.”

“WHAT SHOULD I DO…?”

“Let grown-ups handle it. You’ll be safe and snug and sound no matter what. And if your dream is to be a hero, you’ll be the greatest hero there ever wuz.” It was the best answer he had. He didn’t know what the future held for little Putunia. But if he had any say at all, he wouldn’t let history repeat itself and make a tiny, punchy, sad villain out of the kid in his lap.

Putunia was unusually quiet for a few moments. And then:

“…GREEN MENACE?”

“Hm-hm?”

“MAYBE YOU’RE NOT A MENACE NO MORE.” She considered her words. “DO YOU WANNA BE CALLED SOMETHING ELSE?”

“Oh! Like…Dr. Habit?” Habit wasn’t a dentist anymore but didn’t really have any other names for himself, outside of his first name, which just made him think about mean people making fun of him anyways.

“NO. LIKE…GREEN HERO!”

“Hero?! Wowzie…! Am I worthee?” Truthfully, he always wanted to be a hero. Everyone’s hero. But Flower Kid got that title. They sure made people happier than he did. He used to hate them for it, but nowadays, he understood. They were really great.

“YOU ARE TO ME!”

Her energy was vibrant and blue and sparkly. Habit smiled with all his teeth showing, from genuine joy.

Putunia didn’t even notice. She just gave a little yawn.

“Feeling woozish? Is it beddy-bye time for Putunia?”

“MMMMmmm…no…I aM aWAKE…” Putunia protested, although her desire to rest after feeling all those emotions was catching up fast. Habit retrieved the ‘cape’ from her shoulders to put back around his neck, and pulled his coat around her like a blanket.

“Have naps. Flower Child will be bac soonish.”

And they were. They never truly left, and kept an eye on everything from afar—to say they were proud of Habit was a vast understatement. The sight of the two on the bench made their heart feel very warm indeed.

“Look, Flower Child!” Habit said with much pride of his own as they approached. “I successfully sat on the babey!”

Flower Kid gave an encouraging nod, and held out their arms to take Putunia from him.

Habit looked down at the sleeping girl. She was a tiny, bright, eager flower, just like his lily. He wanted her to grow big and strong and happy. He smiled, kissed her forehead, and carefully handed her off to Flower Kid.

“Take gud care of her?”

Flower Kid nodded with a warm smile.

Putunia shifted in her sleep and joined the two in smiles, prepared to bring her blazing spirit to wherever she ended up, and whomever she ended up with.

In the meantime, she was happy to be surrounded by her heroes.

END

#Smile For Me #putunia mollar #dr habit #boris habit #flower kid #I forgot the word for bud and had to search 'what is a flower baby called'#I wrote this at 2 AM so the Habit typos are extra authentic #now back to writing my cover letter #happy Sunday all #I hear Nikki from Camp Camp's voice with Putunia dialogue but like 3x louder

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hearts-hunger · 5 years

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So Much Better || Poly!Queen

Summary: Freddie comes in to rehearsal with a hangover, and his boyfriends fuss over him. Companion to this mini fic!

Pairings: poly!queen

Genre: Fluff, a tiny bit of angst if you squint

Word Count: 1.6k (she’s babey)

Warnings: None, besides my own unbeta-ed writing :P

A/N: This one’s for the sweet nonnie who asked me to expand on the poly!queen drabble I wrote for when Roger comes in with a hangover. It’s a bit long to put as an answer to an ask, so I decided to give it its own post. I hope you like it! ♡

Freddie stumbles into rehearsal with barely a minute to spare. He’s grateful for the dimmer light of the studio compared to the irritatingly bright morning sun outside; in fact, everything about the studio is especially nice considering the massive hangover he’s only possibly living through at the moment. It’s dark and cool; he smells coffee brewing, dark, just like John likes; the sounds of the street outside dull as the door closes behind him and the soft hum of Red Special drifts through the air. He takes a moment at the door to collect himself before heading in to greet his boyfriends.

Brian’s sitting on the floor, his long legs taking up an endearing amount of space on one of the soft Persian rugs that cover the studio floor wall to wall. He’s cradling Red Special in his lap, re-stringing the E, plucking gently and drawing a soft twang from the string as he tightens it. His curls fall over his face and his lips are parted slightly in concentration.

John is sprawled over the couch, one of his legs draped amusingly over the back of the sofa as he frowns at the piece of paper in his hand. He bites the end of his pencil, muttering quietly to himself, working out lyrics in his head. His expression brightens when he finds the right word, and he hastily scrawls it on the slightly crumpled sheet of notebook paper.

It takes Freddie a minute to spot Roger, but eventually he finds the blonde tinkering away at the underbelly of his drum kit. He adjusts the height of the toms, letting out a sharp curse and snatching his hand back as he pinches his finger in the process. Freddie chuckles; no matter how many times Roger adjusts the kit, he almost always has a wound to show for it. Roger tucks his hair behind his ear and tries to be a little more careful as he returns to fixing the offending drum.

“Sorry I’m late,” Freddie ventures after a moment, his voice louder than he’d expected in the comforting quiet of the studio. All three of his boyfriends look up, not having heard him come in; their expressions range from happy to worried to amused as they take stock of him.

“Fred!” John says cheerfully. “You came!”

Freddie can feel a slight blush warm his cheeks. “Of course I did, silly. We have rehearsal.”

“Yeah, but you look bloody knackered, love,” Roger says, hopping off the drum risers. He sticks his hands in his jeans pockets and gives Freddie a chaste kiss. “You sure you’re alright to be here? You had an awful lot to drink last night.”

Freddie gives a flippant wave of his hand. “Don’t I always?” he says, deflecting. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. I’m here, aren’t I? So let’s get this show on the road.”

“You’re sure?” Brian asks, getting to his feet and putting Red Special in her stand. He comes over to Freddie and brushes his cheek with the back of his hand. “We were going to let you sleep it off.”

Freddie sighs at the soothing coolness of Brian’s skin against his. “Yes, darling, I’m sure,” he insists, though his stomach feels a bit too rocky for it to be the truth.

John folds his paper and shoves it in his back pocket before coming up to Freddie and taking his hand, kissing his knuckles in a sweet gesture that’s very like their youngest boyfriend to give. “Fred - ”

“John, my flower, I love you more than anything; but if you also ask me if I’m sure I’m alright, I won’t speak to you for a week.”

John’s smile is cheeky and he beams under the pet name. “Okay, Freddie,” he agrees, though he does it more to please his boyfriend than because of any real assurance that Freddie is as fine as he says he is. He kisses Freddie’s cheek. “Whatever you say.”

“Now, that’s more like it,” Freddie says briskly, trying his best to put on the front of the lead singer who’s all business rather than the pathetic, dreadfully hungover boyfriend he is. He claps above his head and they disperse to their spots, retrieving instruments and settling for the first run-through of the morning.

“What’s up first?” Freddie asks Brian, who’s always the most organized of them all and actually keeps track of what songs they have to get through.

“I thought we’d try Deaky’s new song,” Brian says, giving the bassist a gentle smile. “We sort of went through it before you got here, Fred, and I’d like to see how it sounds all together.”

John blushes. “Oh, well, it’s not quite finished,” he says bashfully. “And I don’t know if it’s any good, really, it might be complete rubbish.”

“Not possible,” Roger says firmly from his seat behind the drum kit. “Besides, what we worked through earlier was quite good. Go on and count us in, lovely.”

John beckons Freddie over, and Freddie stands beside his youngest boyfriend to look over his shoulder at the lyrics scrawled on the paper sitting on the music stand.

“Just, y’know, I was thinking that you’d start just after Rog comes in - ” His eyes light with excitement. “And maybe you could play some piano for it, if you wanted, I think that might be nice.”

Freddie chuckles. “If you want me to, my love,” he says sweetly. John has a tendency to get ahead of himself when it comes to songwriting - he’s got a whole vision in his head from the beginning, and it all comes tumbling out in an enthusiastic, chaotic jumble. “Let’s go through this first run-through, and then we can talk about piano, ok?”

John flushes. “Right,” he says with a laugh that sounds a little embarrassed.

Freddie kisses his cheek, right where the endearing pink of his blush shows, and John giggles.

“Alright, flower, show me your song,” Freddie says. He hopes none of his boyfriends notice how feeble his voice sounds - he really feels quite poorly, but he’d hate to hold up rehearsal any longer than he already has. After getting confirmation from Roger and Brian, John counts them in and starts the song off with a lovely little bass riff, a waterfall of twangy notes that Freddie thinks is quite clever. He’s about to say so when Roger comes in with a run down the toms that leads into a splashy finish on the crash cymbal, and Freddie can’t help when he winces and sucks in a sharp breath at the way the sound sends pain spiking through his head.

“Oh, Freddie,” John says sympathetically, immediately forgetting the song and letting his bass hang on the strap over his shoulder so his hands can go to to cradle Freddie’s face. Freddie unconsciously puts his hands over John’s, keeping them there, trying to quiet the ringing in his head that remains even after Roger has grabbed the cymbal to mute it.

“Sorry,” Freddie says pitifully, embarrassed and trying to make light of it, but his voice is so weak that his boyfriends see right through him. The headache has made his rocky stomach even worse and he draws a shaky breath, trying to steady himself.

“Jesus, Fred, I’m sorry,” Roger says, hurrying out from behind the kit to stand nervously by John’s side and look up at Freddie with an expression of guilt and worry. “I didn’t even think about - God, that was really stupid of me. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Freddie says, though he can feel the sting of tears as his head continues to pound. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have gone on such a fucking bender the night before rehearsal.”

Brian chuckles as he runs a soothing hand through Freddie’s hair. “You make it sound like none of us have ever partied all night and come in to rehearsal with a massive hangover, sweetheart.”

“But it’s such a bloody pain to deal with me,” Freddie says miserably. “I’ve kept you all waiting and now Roger can’t even play because of me.”

“I don’t mind,” Roger pipes up, his guilt still evident in his voice. “I’ll sit this one out, it’s ok.”

“Better yet,” Brian suggests, “why don’t we all have a bit of a break, and we can get some medicine into you and hopefully get you feeling better.”

Freddie looks up at Brian with eyes pooled with tears, partly from the pain in his head and party from the tenderness his boyfriends are showing him. “Are you sure?”

“Now, Freddie, love, if we can’t ask you if you’re sure, you can’t ask us,” John says, teasing and sweet. He runs his fingers over Freddie’s cheek to catch the few tears that fall.

“Oh, you poor love,” John coos. “Come on, Roggie and I will cuddle you while Brimi gets your medicine.”

Roger looks a little uncomfortable, scuffing the toe of his sparkly pink converse against the rug. “I don’t have to - I mean, you know, if you don’t - ”

“Oh, hush,” Freddie says, taking Roger’s hand and pulling him close. “You’re perfectly alright, my darling. No need to fuss. Leave that to Brian.”

Roger chuckles as he leans closer to Freddie. “Okay.”

“Come on,” John says, separating himself from the two of them to put his bass on its stand before taking their hands and leading them to the couch. Brian brings water and painkillers as they settle Freddie between them. When Freddie’s taken his medicine and finished the water, as per Brian’s instructions, Freddie lays his head on Roger’s lap. John runs a soothing hand over Freddie’s thigh and Brian sits on the floor facing the couch, gently combing his fingers through Freddie’s hair.

“Better?” Roger asks.

Freddie presses a gentle kiss to Roger’s leg. “Yes, my darling. So much better.”

forever taglist: @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl @hazah@dashlilymark@punkgeekchic @harrisunn @stephydearestxo@luckytrashgooprebel @someone-get-a-medic @chlobo6

#i hope you like it!!#i think it's pretty cute #maddie writes stuff!#poly!queen fluff #brian x john x freddie x roger #poly!queen angst #poly!queen fanfiction

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emikvs · 5 years

Text

﹤𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙰 𝙺𝙾𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚂𝚄, 𝚂𝙷𝙴 / 𝙷𝙴𝚁, 𝙲𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴﹥; * - hello EMIKO " EMI " SATO. long time no see. i know a lot about you. like how you're TWENTY ONE, how you're a CLASSICS major, and in fact.. how you LIE AND TELL EVERYONE YOU STUDIED ABROAD FOR A YEAR WHEN YOU WERE ACTUALLY IN REHAB. would be a shame if it got out, wouldn't it ? so let's play a game. 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷 𝙾𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙴 ?

*itzy vc* hey hey hey ! SDBJWBDJW what’s up......its xan aha ... this is gonna be the biggest mess ever ...just winging it as i go. and u know what ? thats on on brand babey ! lets get it ...TW: drug use/mention, accidents/hospitalization ( just in case)

backstory

virginia born and raised babey ! she’s the youngest of five siblings and ...it shows. SJDBJWBDJW growing up would have been pretty chaotic had it not been for the fact that her dad was a pretty well-respected police officer in their town ! him & her mom were high school sweethearts which made no damn sense to emiko considering they’re still happily married...the concept just seems fake to her </3

while her parents had a lot of mushy love for each other, when it came to their kids they opted to take a more emotionally distanced kind of parenting style bc they didnt wanna like spoil their kids or anything but.....it wasnt exactly the best plan ! emi and all her siblings just learned to be very good liars JDSBWBDJW as kids with strict parents do

being the youngest emi took a while to get into her rebellious phase. for a while she’d just watch her older siblings sneak out and party and do walks of shame and all that jazz...and while she was always down to help them get out of trouble none of them ever really trusted her ? since she was the baby they figured she’d be the most likely to snitch which just made her really ///: bc she wanted to be included so bad

flash forward to senior year of high school and finally emi’s like . okay fuck this it’s MY turn ! her dad had recently decided to get into politics with some encouragement from the police chief so he was busy with his career and her mom was busy helping him. it was the perfect time to do what she wanted since it was less likely she’d get caught

so she goes to this graduation party.....and it’s BAD like she gets fucked up & carried away so she calls her oldest sister ( who had come back into town for emi’s graduation ) to come pick her up & on the way to get emi from this house party, her sister ends up getting into an accident

she didn’t die though JSBJDSBBWJDBWJDBJWDW just broke some stuff and ended up needing surgery ): and emi obviously got busted that night by her parents which ... wasnt pretty at all especially bc they low key blamed her for her sister’s accident which just made emi feel like pure shit babey !

visiting her sister in the hospital is what kinda sparked her fear of hospitals ! bc emi was like super guilty and paranoid that maybe her sister was gonna die or her surgery would go wrong and she’d essentially be at fault...it was just a lot of anxiety that turned into a genuine phobia of hospitals after that

but her sister made it she was okay and her dad used all the buzz and tragedy around his family to kinda boost his political career....which was ugly. her sister had been prescribed some pretty heavy pain killers for the pain & thats where things got.....messy

emi isnt sure when exactly it started but between the guilt she was harboring over her sister’s accident, the stress from her parents as her dad got further and further into virginia politics as well as college anxiety since she was about to start at the universoty of virginia.....she stole some oxy and thats what started what would be a very messy and tumultuous addiction

as soon as she started college, emi felt as if some of the weight had been lifted. she was living away from her family for the first time and dorming so she promised herself she’d take these four years to grow and figure out who she is......except that didnt exactly happen. instead of exploring herself in a healthy way, emi was using drugs as a sort of escapism from her “old” self. she’s extremely smart and she loves her major, but her professors would often comment her papers had the energy of a “rambling and troubled mind”. by the time she was about to finish her sophomore year she was getting so high people would find her literally passed out in the dining hall. but no one was that worried bc for a good two years, she was a pretty high functioning addict.

cue the summer after sophomore year when emi overdoses at a party. she woke up in a private hospital room with only her father sitting on the couch, the look on his face something she’ll never forget. while him and her mother knew exactly what happened to emi, they hadn’t told any of her siblings. or anyone at all, for that matter. instead her dad had informed the university emi would be taking a year off to privately study abroad and told emi that’s what she was going to tell people bc he’d just decided to run for mayor ! he essentially guilt-tripped her into thinking telling people the truth would be a selfish act, and one that would basically ruin the family reputation and make everyone really miserable JSDWDBWBDJW he also tells her she’s gonna be shipped off to rehab !

so she goes to rehab for a good seven months. everyone at school thinks she’s studying abroad in italy, and emi is literally just counting the days til she can go back home to her dorm bc she’s lonely !!! in rehab !!! and she gets that she should take it seriously but shes just so mad at her dad and herself and the world too ig ... just some good old fashioned angst ! but she finishes rehab and her dad got elected as mayor of her hometown in virginia and shes like good for u can i go back to school please JSBDWJDBJW and he says yes

so she’s back ! ready for the universe to give her a break.....ahaha.....

personality + tidbits

so emi......my baby......she’s a strange one. she’s that bitch that’s super nerdy but in the weirdest way like the stuff she’s into is so specific and just....generally stuff literally no one else would care about but to emi it’s like holy shit this is the coolest thing in the world JSBDJWBDJWBJD she knows a little about a lot so she has the tendency to come across as pretentious if you don’t know her outside of class when in reality she’s just read one too many random facts. also weird in the sense that she’s a STRONG believer in the paranormal and in aliens and in witchcraft and stuff like that as well as believing in things that seem “logical”. it can be confusing to people who view that stuff as silly that someone so smart would be into it.

speaking of smart.....she’s a polygot which basically means she can speak a bunch of languages ! she’s self-taught, and since she’s a classics major some of her favorites to study include greek and latin ( dead language who ? ). she’s pretty chill about it though and if you wanted to learn she’d be the type that’s 100% down to teach you. she always learns the curse words first just you know....for the fun of it ! she probably has very specific “pet names” for everyone in the friend group in random languages

anyway she’s also stupid. ASDJWBDWBJDBWJDWJD i mean like in the way that she makes the most .... impulsive decisions that usually have negative consequences. she’s the type to convince herself she knows exactly what she’s then come up with the worst plan you have ever heard in your life. an example of a dumb decision emi has made ? your girl ate a pot brownie the day after she got back in her dorm after rehab bc she convinced herself it was a good way to de-stress. some other dumb decisions include various drunk tattoos ( which thankfully haven’t been too bad save for the words eat me tattooed in small font on her ass ). also owns a stick & poke gun so she’s for sure tried to tattoo friends while intoxicated despite.....not being a tattoo artist ... she’s not even an art student .... SJBDJWBDJW....but she’s very very good at convincing people to join in on her dumb antics so be weary

big on photography !!! she loves taking pictures. always that one friend who reminds you to document the moment and you get annoyed but then when you want to post a picture on insta you’re thankful she was there <3 she has the energy of like .... the dad friend when you need support JSDBWBDJWBDJW she tries to be caring but it just turns into like ... emi high off her ass putting her hand on your shoulder and being like “you know fuck it man you’re amazing” not that good at the emotional stuff like she really wants to be but she legit doesn’t know how.......kinda accidentally turned into an emo kid bc she channels her feelings though some kick ass playlists and the notes app in her iphone instead of talking to people JSBDJWBJDBWJDBJ

she’s high key struggling but she’s the type to be like no its fine this is fine life is a ride babey better hold on ! tries to keep things flirty and fresh 99% of the time but then you’ll witness the rare emi breakdown which.....involves a whole lot of tweets that will all be deleted within 24 hours and emi will in fact deny they ever existed

really a laid-back girl but the chaotic energy is there folks......she can also very easily get into her youngest child complex if she’s upset which just involves emi being a pain in the ass and everyone having to deal with it JSBDWBDJWBDJWBDJW she likes to make it hard to say no to her.....not exactly manipulative but sometimes she can get close /: not listed in her fears but she is in fact scared of genuine love and affection ! it’s like she craves it so much she’s terrified abt what will happen if she ever gets it.......so she makes sure she’s never in danger of that by never getting into anything serious.....but then at night shes like damn . kinda want a freak to hold my hand rn and tell me they love me ... JSDBWBDJWBDJWBJDWJDW it’s all fun and games.............

ok thats it im done rambling.................this is so long..............and for what !!!!! i made her more of a clown than i intended but thats okay (: JSDBJWBDWJDBWJ emi might hate clowns but im embracing them !

#╰ ♡ . 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒋𝒊 ── ooc ! ┘#what if......u read this......and plotted with me.....aha just kidding.....unless ?

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