#maybe they were so busy with daily life they never opened their blog again in years but it still logged on their browser if they remember -

[nofuckingbody]

what I often think about is abandoned blogs .....you never know about the owner, there must be so many blogs who used to run is dead now, became a millionaire, or lost everything while gambling, or is living in the woods far from everyone theyve ever known, or is in jail. there's infinite possibilities of reasons why they aren't active anymore, that makes me go insane

[aluciahaz]

may i just say that your character writing is AMAZING! i honestly don’t check up on your blog a lot but when i do i’m left SHAKING because your shit is soooo hot.

Anyways i humbly come requesting mommy kink with vox because you know i’m all about that. he’s so desperate for validation and scared of rejection i feel like he’d be weeping at a domme mommy type reader. Anyways, do what you want with this!

once again i love your work! sincerely, bimbo <3

oh my god it's one of my favorite writers on tumblr🦅 thank you so much for the compliment it means a lot 😭 also i loved writing this ive desperately needed more vox asks! hope you enjoy! (kinda went ham on metaphors 💀 mb)

greed never stops

—vox x f!reader

—includes: overstim, tons of crying, begging, light bondage

vox was a walking, living(?) juxtaposition.

he’ll go barking orders to his subordinates, control most situations with smooth, quick thinking, and command his business with an iron fist.

but with you, the other side of his screen is on full display. his vulnerable, attention-desperate, failure-fearful self. you’ve seen it enough times to notice how it seeps into his daily life. how his control is really just a mechanism to take hold of his vulnerability, hiding it behind a mess of steel wires to make anyone who would try and reach it get tangled in its grasp.

but the moments he lets you untangle his facade, allowing you to see his true self, he feels free. even if most of the time it was during more intimate moments in the night. it was where he could truly indulge in his unfamiliar desires, crying and begging for the validation he was always seeking.

and you were the one he needed it from.

your praise was one of the highest in the hierarchy of compliments, making him feel like he was burning up, frying his brain in a way that made him feel like he’s short-circuited, but the feeling of fuzziness was intoxicating. he could never give up the taste of your compliments.

“come on, aren’t you a good boy? you can hold out for a little longer.”

those words were like rich liquor, and vox was an eager drinker. it swirled his thoughts into a never-ending spiral, and he could only cry in response as you touched his face with a gentleness that rivals an angel’s.

“b-but, mommy—!” he sobs as your fingers drive into him for what seems the thousandth time, his voice module starting to struggle as he tries to speak.

“oh?” you raise your eyebrow, feigning shock before narrowing your eyes, pressing him further down the sheets in disdain. is he still being ungrateful?

“but what, huh? don’t tell me you need more already! you’re such a greedy fucking slut,” you spit out, watching his eyes shoot open from the whiplash of your cruel words. “maybe i should stop—,”

“NO! nono, please! no! i’m sorry—!” he keens as your fingers slowly start to slip out of him, the sound so indecent it makes him shiver.

he pushes his hips up into your hand, trying to follow them only for your other hand to shove his hips back down on the sheets, your fingers twisting nearly all the way out before ramming back in, curling in wickedly that seems to shut him up briefly as he catches a breath that ran away.

vox weeps, unable to do anything else as his claws rip into the mattress, his legs shake and tremble as though they weren’t practically crushing you before. he seems so fragile at this moment, yet you knew he could take much more.

he just didn’t deserve it.

he whines and screams at your touch, tears starting to fall down his pretty little face as the small amount of dignity he had seems to get lost, overrun by your torturous fingers and unyielding pleasure that shoots through his body like a current.

“mommy—ha—please jus—zz—t fuck me, oh, god!” his head drops back down onto the pillows as your fingers wrap around his weeping cock, making his back arch as he sobs out noncoherent pleads. it’s beautifully pathetic.

his legs, weak and feeble, were strewn across the bed with previous markings trailing up his inner thigh, his neck even more decorated with a necklace of red, the glimmer of sweat that covers his whole body making those bites shine similar to crude rubies.

his hands, now tied with his own wires behind the bed (he charges there before he goes to sleep) were sullied with crimson from the tightness of the metal around his wrist, but not as bright crimson as his eyes, which flashed with bright red hearts intermittently. it was always a pleasant surprise, and a sign that he fucking loved this. no matter how much he complained at the start, his eyes spoke the truth.

which is why now, as you replace your fingers with his favorite strap, you know he’s absolutely overjoyed as those beating hearts seem to overtake his pupils once more, pulsating with a hypnotizing spiral.

“finally—! oh—zzz—FUCK!” his last word is practically inaudible with the airiness in his voice, his tone starting to distort, yet, your pace was slow. shallow, even. tears of frustration started to form at the ends of his eyes, his whines more pitiful as he tries to fuck himself back on your strap, only to be stopped by your sturdy grip on his hips.

“what do you say, vox?“ you asked, irritation slipping into your voice. how could he still be so ungrateful? but, he catches on fast, looking up at you with round, glossy eyes.

“thank you! thank—thank you, mommy!” he stumbles out before you switch up your pace instantly, brutally ramming into him just how he likes it. it makes him unable to fathom he could have been known to be anything but yours, surrendering his well-built persona to you. all of it, for your praise.

“such a good boy.”

those words were priceless, but he always ends up trying to buy them with obedience. and even though he’s successfully checked out with such praise, they still have the same effect on him every time.

he shudders and wails with ruined pitch, his screen flickering in and out of error messages and his lovely expression as he gets his reward. there was just something so satisfying about earning your praise.

sure, he can buy pretty much anything, and yes, he can get people to kneel at his feet, but he can’t cry without shame, or indulge in his true desires of being completely wrecked with soft words and fast hips with anyone. no, it could only be you. and even if he practically has everything under his hands, he will always be greedy for your affection, begging, screaming for a chance to have it set his whole body ablaze with its foreign warm feeling.

it makes him lost. no matter how much intelligence vox has, he always finds himself unable to search his way out of the feeling of pure lust overtaking his senses when you fuck him with abandon, his need to keep face seemingly never being there in the first place as tears make him short-circuit, and pleads for you to never stop. he doesn’t want to leave this labyrinth of carnality. he wants to stay lost in it forever.

it’s why even after he cums with a high-pitch sob so loud you thought his volume module broke, he kept weeping incoherently as the lights flicker in the room, his legs practically numb. and finally, he looks up at you, sniffling and choking on his words he’ll pretend to regret the next morning.

“m-more. please, mommy—! AH!” his whole body jolts as you heed his wishes, leaving him to fall back into the pleasure that he craves. he babbles on and on with thank yous and nonsensical sentences, the night seeming to become never-ending even with daybreak inching closer and closer.

vox is unable to speak at the end, and god does everything fucking hurt. his arms ache and his legs are definitely going to be an issue when he has to walk. there are marks all over his skin that will never see the light of day, yet be around for plenty of nights.

but you both know he’ll come back for more. his greed is an unquenchable thirst, and your praise is the only fountain that seems to satiate it, even if only for a little while.

(i totally didnt forget to tag)

tags: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @mvskedxrtist @drlucichen @luciferspetduck

[lvlyghost]

Heyyy 🤗🤗 I just discovered your blog but after binge reading almost all your writings I just have to request something cause I love your writing style so much

How bout a ghost x reader where he has a nightmare about losing the reader could be angst to fluff to smut

Midnight Rain

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Bad dreams were not strange to Simon, but ever since you came into his life there's one thing he feared the most: losing you.

Word Count: 1.0k

Tw: smut! But nothing too explicit. self-doubt, angst, comfort. Poorly edited. you know the drill.

A/N:I'm so sorry this took so long to get out but life happened 🥲 I wish it was longer and far better i hope you like it.💛🩵 also since i got two similar requests decided to make one for both🥰✨

Masterlist✨

He doesn't scream when he jolts awake from his bed. It's always like that. The dreams. The nightmares. Simon was cursed, tragedies seemed to plague his life on a daily basis that's why he was so adamant about letting you in at first.

Slipping off the bed he fights the way his heart is racing nearly beating out of his chest. The clock marks the time.

5:31 A.M

The sky is gray outside the soft morning rain tapping against the window reminds him that he's supposed to be at Price's office by six.

Yet his mind is purely set on you. On that horrific imagery of his nightmare. He knew that the possibilities of it happening were high, and it didn't help to stop his growing anxiety. To think of someone so small and fragile, dead and without possibilities... fucking hell he knew you were capable of many things. He knew about your strength, resilience. Yet he had a strong sense of protection when it came to you. Death was something he couldn't keep you safe from, thought he'd die trying. Simon would happily trade your life for his if it were in his power.

'Just let it be me not her. Never her.'

Needless to say he didn't get any proper rest. He was thankful for the mask and face paint covering his face, otherwise anyone could see the tiredness in his features.

But you knew better.

You always knew better.

Always seeing through him.

You're laughing at something Johnny's saying, he couldn't attend training this morning so he hadn't had the time to talk to you. And then the sight of you getting shot appears in the back of his mind agains, your body falling limply to the ground next to him.

Dead.

On his watch.

He shifts his weight from one foot to another, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

All the bloody morning his head has been spinning. Unable to get a grip on reality, Simon forces himself to turn away.

You watch from the other side, smile faltering. Why hadn't he joined you? You were about to wave at him. Maybe he didn't want Johnny to be there... Simon was a private man and he wanted to keep a low profile regarding your relationship so you decide to follow him, saying a quick good-bye to your teammate and trotting after Simon.

The door to his office is closed, knocking twice then waiting a second and you knock again.

He doesn't respond to you but you open the door nonetheless. You poke your head enough for him to see you.

"Hey..." you greet him with a warm smile. Simon breathes deeply. "Didn't come to say hello today." You point out, closing the door behind you. He looks down where he's signing a stack of papers.

"Didn't want to interrupt." He gruffly answers.

"Come on..." you reply. "It was just Johnny and I... everything alright?" You question him. The grip on his pen is painfully hard to the point his knuckles turn white.

"Jus' busy, that's all."

Something's not right. You take a deep breathe and walk towards him until you're standing next to his chair. Simon doesn't look up nor acknowledges your presence.

"Simon..." you try again.

Suddenly in a swift movement he's standing up, grabbing you by the arm and leading the two of you out of the office and to his room. You don't say anything you just let him guide you. Whatever it was you'd work it out. He locks the door once you're both inside, his big calloused hands grabbing you by your cheeks. His eyes are frantic, bouncing from your lips and back to your orbs. As if trying to remember the sight of you before him, the sight of you in his room.

"Talk to me. Please...." it's a soft plea. You know him, you recognize the sadness in his honeyed eyes. You know despair when you see it.

"I can't lose you." His voice shakes, as does he. His hands are trembling, buzzing with worry.

"You're not gonna lose me, Simon..." your own hands, much smaller than his come to rest above them. "I'm right here." A brief moment of silence passes by, until he releases a shaky breath, he retreats enough to slip the fabric of his mask off. It was getting hard to breathe for him. "Come with me... please."

You drag him to the bed, motioning for him to sit down you help him unlace his boots then you do the same with yours.

He lays back as do you, Simon brings you closer to his body wrapping one arm around you. Hand tracing soft circles on his chest, hearing the rhythmic beat of his heart underneath you.

"You were dead." He begins. "Right in front of me and I couldn't stop it," your motions stop. Brows knitting together. "I...-" he trails off. "I'm nothing if I can't keep you safe."

"Simon don't ever say that again." You scold him. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes. "Don't you dare think such things."

Standing you're quick to straddle his lap, strong arms hold you close to his body. You slam your lips to his, Simon welcomes the warmth of your mouth against him. Your hands caress the back of his head, fingers threading through his blond locks. He hardens under your body and murmur something into your ear. Something that sends you over the edge. Soon, your pants are discarded on the white floor, he lets you ride him, merely looking at your eyes never leaving your face. If he could capture this moment he'd do it. He'll save it for the rest of his life. Treasure it. Wrapping your arms around his shoulder you kiss him hard. You're so close your mind is in a haze, and when he grits his teeth you know he's close too. The pure adoration in his eyes is enough. There'll never be anyone after him.

"You're stuck with me."

His lips curve into a barely-there-smile.

"Yeah..." he gasped. "Jus' keep looking at me, love. And stay with me."

As if you could ever say no to him.

[crepesuzette2023]

Ivan Vaughan writes about John and Paul

This is just a relatively brief excerpt from Ivan Vaughan's book, which, for the most part, focuses on his life with Parkinson's disease. (From what I can tell so far, it's absolutely fascinating: far more than 'simply' a memoir, it's a reflection on illness, the mind-body connection, science, psychotropic drugs, patients' autonomy...and much more.)

But since this blog is climbing the drainpipe to the John & Paul business, and there's been some recent discussion of Mark Lewisohn's claim that John was such a bad boy Ivan's mother sent her son to a different grammar school to separate the two, I thought the following might be interesting.

And the ending of this chapter also gives some context to Paul's reaction to John's murder—another topic about which ML has interesting opinions.

This isn't to pile on ML, but more...as words from someone who was there.

(CC: @mythserene, @anotherkindofmindpod) I met John when I was three or four years old. One wet morning there was a knock at the front door. My mother opened it, and looking down, found a boy a bit older than me, smiling, but preoccupied with the effort of remembering what he had been rehearsed to say.

‘I believe a little boy lives here. I wondered if you might like to come out and play.’ He stood there in the porch, rain pouring down behind him, with a pair of slippers under his arm.

‘Come on in. What’s your name? You live round the corner don’t you?’

Next day I went around to the house where he lived with his aunt and uncle. We played with Dinky cars. I was surprised by his generosity and willingness to share his toys; he was happy even for me to take some of them home. When his Uncle George came home with some sweets John readily shared them. There was an immediate bond between us. He was older, read books, and his great intelligence and experience were apparent. I accepted his leadership but I was determined to preserve my independence. From the warm security of Aunt Mimi’s control, John accepted me into his life.

John was a member of his local library and immersed himself in books so that by the age of five he was already a fluent reader. I was still in the infant school when he started at Dovedale Road Primary School, but we played together after school and weekends. There were numerous parks, a golf course, and fields full of tangled growth and trees — just right for playing cowboys and Indians. In one barren area with large lumps of hard earth we played football and cricket. We spent hours digging all tracks to race our Dinky cars. Our most exciting game, though, was ‘fires’. We would go to a large area of waste ground and simply set fire to the straw and watch the place. I have never understood why nobody stopped us.

John’s gang comprised, besides himself, Pete Shotton, Nigel Wally and me. I was the youngest and was constantly having to prove my worth. I feel privileged to be John’s friend since he was nearly two years older. He protected me against Timmy Tarbuck and his gang on the rare occasions when I made the mistake of confronting one of them.

John and I went to different grammar schools, but I used to hear about the chaos and riots that seem to be a daily feature of his schooling. I’d rather lost touch with him when I went to university, and did not see him again until sometime after I was married. Then one day, as I was playing with my little boy Jus on the steps of our house in London, white Rolls Royce turned into the road. John jumped out followed by a woman I have not met before.

‘Hello, Ivy! This is Yoko.’ (…)

My attachment to both John and Paul ran deep and occasionally I would go to great lengths in order to see them at a moment’s notice. Maybe Paul saw our continuing friendship as a way of maintaining simple values he held dear. Jan liked Paul, though she did not see much of John. She was not the least bit mesmerized by their fame. She enjoyed eating at expensive restaurants in sampling London’s nightlife, into which Paul took us from time to time. But, should the effort to come to great, she was willing to let the relationship fade.

A month after telephoning John in New York [with the news of the Parkinson’s diagnosis; their first conversation in years], a heavy parcel was delivered. It was not until I was reading the titles of the books it contained that I realized they had been sent by John and Yoko. There was one by Arthur Janov, author of the Primal Scream, and one entitled Mind Magic. How to Get Well had on the fly-leaf a message from John that read ‘to start looking’, and The Snow Leopard had a note saying ‘to relax’. This last book gave me the greatest pleasure and I frequently re-read passages from it. Its author, Peter Matthiesen, lost his son through illness and journeyed in Nepal and in Inner Dolpo on a completely pointless journey to catch sight of a snow leopard. The peace he found travels across to the reader from each page.

John’s accompanying letter urged me, in punning language, to keep my spirits high and strongly suggested that it was up to me whether I sank or swam. I must not lose faith in myself.

Ten weeks later he was shot dead. Paul and I did not contact each other about it; in fact, we never brought it up in conversation. I hardly reacted outwardly at all. The day after John’s death, however, a colleague said that he supposed I was very upset at what it happened. I heard myself say: ‘I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know that I feel much at all’. As soon as he had gone, I instinctively made my way to a room where I knew I could be alone, and I wept profusely.

-- from Ivan-Living with Parkinson's Disease by Ivan Vaughan. 1986.

[archinform]

Life is…Life

"A plate is a plate. A man is a man. Life is ... Life."

Reflecting on Jean-Luc Godard's Vivre sa vie

[I originally published this post on September 4, 2009, in my blog Running Into Myself, while living and teaching in China.]

"...I don't think there's any better way to fight off the chill of winter than a big bowl of carbohydrates swimming in melted butter." David Lebovitz, Wed., Dec 31, 2008 Imagine if all the tumult of the body were to quiet down, along with our busy thoughts. Imagine if all things that are perishable grew still. And imagine if that moment were to go on and on, leaving behind all other sights and sounds but this one vision which ravishes and absorbs and fixes the beholder in joy, so that the rest of eternal life were like that moment of illumination which leaves us breathless. Saint Augustine

Anna Karina in Vivre sa vie

Among my obsessions lately have been all things French; witness my continual references to David Lebovitz' blog about food and Paris.

I've also been watching a bunch of French films recently.  Is it my imagination, or am I understanding more of the dialogue, since the downloads and DVDs don't include English subtitles?  Jean-Luc Godard's Vivre sa vie (1962), which I watched again last night for the third or fourth time, is rapidly becoming one of my favorite movies. 

Nana in a cafe, opening scene of Vivre sa vie

I was mesmerized by the unusual, voyeuristic camera placement that often photographs conversations showing the backs of people’s heads; by the informal, everyday atmosphere of Paris in the early 60s; and, most of all, by the images of Anna Karina (then married to Godard).  The film, above all, seems to be a meditation on her face in its many expressions and moods.  It's a many-layered evocation of life, living, choices, and death, through masterful use of sound, silence, symbolism, dialogue, and camera work.

"The film was made by sort of a second presence," Godard said; "the camera is not just a recording device but a looking device, that by its movements makes us aware that it sees her, wonders about her, glances first here and then there, exploring the space she occupies, speculating."

Anna Karina

The streetwalker's endless beat begins

The story in brief: a young woman's loss of income leads her to become a prostitute; she hooks up with a pimp, eventually finds love, and finally, er, suffers a tragic and abrupt end. Can you even imagine an early 60s American film dealing matter-of-factly with prostitution? (Vivre sa vie includes a voice-over, clinical dissection of the facts and daily routine of a prostitute's life) Yes, I know Shirley MacLaine played a whole series of hookers-with-a-heart-of-gold, but the word was never used. Nor did money change hands. Nor did we ever get a great shot like this:

Some things are slightly less obvious, though:

Anna Karina as...Louise Brooks?

Louise Brooks, 1920s

Compare the expression on Karina's face above with with that of actress Ellen Andrée in Degas' painting of L' Absinthe below:

Edgar Degas, Dans un café (L'Absinthe), 1875 -1876, oil on canvas,H. 92,0 ; L. 68,5 cm. Musée d’Orsay

This has always been one of my favorite paintings, maybe because of the deep alienation and sadness in the woman's downcast eyes. She also reminds me of my mother, who had a lot of her own sadness.

Enough said. You'll just have to watch the film, or read an excellent interpretation here:

https://www.sensesofcinema.com/2000/cteq/vivre/

Oh, and don't let the conversation about the chicken confuse you:

 Nana's lover tells her about a homework assignment submitted by a little girl to his father the teacher. In this essay, the little girl writes: "The chicken has an inside and an outside. Remove the outside and you find the inside. Remove the inside and you find the soul."

Criterion trailer for Vivre sa vie

[unohanadaydreams]

DAMAGE DONE FOR KENPACHI SOULMATE CAN YOU IMAGINE THE A N G S T AND CONFUSION

 I know ppl who follow this blog have taste because you were the the first of four ppl to ask for this exact combo jdhdjsjs. We are all Kenpachi brain rot compliant.

Features: Cutting/self harm, a real shit start to a relationship, and angst.

Bleach Your Soul: Ask Meme

Kenpachi Zaraki + Damage:

So much of your life was defined by isolation. A patient treated terminal. Everyone paid you the same attention they would a ghost, fleeting smiles and tears that fell over your bed as though it were a grave.

How could you not feel tortured and angry, to be saddled with a soul mate determined to drag you through hell with them? There were times you truly believed were your last. Stabs too close to your guts. Slashes peeling open to far towards your heart.

There was little room in your thoughts to worry about who suffered with you, other than to curse them. Whether they struggled to live or delighted in violence, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. It was hard to care about anything while laying in your deathbed. Through childhood, your heart withered like the flowers always dying on your window sill. If only they’d throw you away for good, as well.

You garnered hobbies to keep busy rather than to enjoy them. Your stitching, calligraphy, and precocious little drawings stained in blood more often than not. The 4th division was your jail. Your soulmate, your warden. Keeping you there, always.

For years, you begged them. Desperate to be heard--to have a modicum of fucking control--, you carved words into your skin. Were they scared the first time you did it? Did they hate it? Did it hurt them?

Vindictive, you hoped all your horrible thoughts were so. When you cut ‘stop. stop. stop. stop.’ you did it on your side and hip, so it would reopen. Again. And again. And again. And--

They never responded. No matter what you wrote. ‘Please stop.’ ‘It hurts.’ ‘Doesn’t it hurt you?’ ‘I hate you.’ ‘Who are you.’ ‘Don’t you care?’ ‘Kill me.’ ‘Die.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Slowly, then suddenly, the damage that had been near daily stopped for so many years stopped. Your family settled you back in the home, a living urn. They said your name and stroked your cheek and smiled too small when you spoke.

Your skin buzzed with the absence of what had plagued your entire youth. Was it sickness or shame that drove your blade through your skin still? Did you just miss it? Was the violence boiling you alive with no where to spill out anymore?

There were times you swore minuscule nicks would appear, healing too fast to smooth over, but staying long enough to feel. Older, able to be among people, you realized what that could mean. What kind of person you’d told to die as a pithy little tween.

Were they alive--really alive? Did anyone else care or were you the only one?

‘Songbirds.’ ‘Hello.’ ‘Your name?’ ‘Sorry.’ ‘Work sucks.’ ‘Too hot.’ ‘Alive?’ ‘Hotpot.’ ‘Cut words.’ ‘Please.’ ‘Alive?’ ‘Shinigami.’ ‘13th.’ ‘Rank?’ ‘Rukongai?’ ‘I’m sorry.’

@

Retsu Unohana, the only woman he couldn’t quite look in the eye, was there to smile all serene-like over him. After he’d lost. Figures she’d be there when he fucking lost.

She asked him all those annoying questions about how his body felt and told him all the things he needed to heal from. He wanted to shake her like Yachiru did when he wasn’t paying attention enough for her liking. Who gave a shit about all that--he lost and got what he deserved. He had to get stronger. Just because she’d abandoned her pride didn’t mean he would. 

“Your soulmate is here, too.”

Kenpachi couldn’t ignore that one. He never ignored that one. Not that they let him, with all their fucking writing. Saying the strangest shit sometimes too.

When he was young, he’d been paranoid, not knowing what the fuck was doing the writing. He’d swing his sword over his calf or side or thigh, expecting to lob and invisible arm off. Running, Kenpachi would try to out pace the fucker.

 Yumichika explained it like having one was exciting. Ikkaku had yelped for Yumichika to knock it off as the man with beautifully kept hands had given himself a paper cut.

“See? It means the person you’re meant for feels everything you do on the battlefield.” His colorful eyelids narrowed, sights shifting between his captain and Ikkaku. “Or in the file cabinet, if either of you would bother to help out.”

The more he understood--and thought about it--the less he wanted to meet them. His soulmate. Kenpachi wasn’t a person who forgave weakeness and anyone meant for him wouldn’t either, right?

He’d been consumed by sleepless nights, futile attempts to nap, and brutal training sessions, trying to keep his failures out of mind after the realization. What if Yachiru had been forced to take every blow the same as he had? Whenever he tucked in his lieutenant, the question ate at him further.

With time, there had come some form of solace--one day he’d find the thrill of a horrible battle again, to drown the thoughts out. But what Ichigo Kurosaki had offered hadn’t been horrible in the way he’d imagined. And here he was, face turned away from Unohana’s thinly veiled impatience, his feelings too complicated to bother with fully.

“Well?”

Unohana stood, like she was disappointed and Kenpachi couldn’t help but snap at her, “Fine. Whatever.”

She smiled, soft as she’d gotten, and went to the door. “Fine to what? I only told you they’re here. But if you’re so determined to see them, Captain Zaraki, follow me.”

@

Grumbling about how much he hated ‘that sneaky shit’, Kenpachi did follow her, and went through the door she gestured at before being closed in with your recovering body. Your body hadn’t healed as fast as his, but that wasn’t a surprise--you’d be a captain for sure if you could pull that shit off.

Worst of all, you were awake, the scar lining one side of your face as thick as his own. No one else was in the room with you. There were no flowers or cards. And your mouth was hanging open.

“You’re alive.”

“Yeah well,” Kenpachi didn’t know what to say, trailing off as one of his fingers brushed over his thigh.

“Everyone is talking about your fight,” you said, filling his silence with a light shrug. “I figured it was more than coincidence that I ended up like this at the same time. I’m glad it was you and not the ryoka.”

“You thought that kid was your soulmate?”

“How was i supposed to know? No one’s seen him since your fight, or so they’re saying.”

“The scar’s pretty fucking obvious.”

“Uh, I’ve never seen you before and it’s not like you’re ever in the Seireitei Bulletin or...or wandering around where people could find you!”

Kenpachi winced, not because of your words, but because the closer he got, the more your sweat and shaking arms showed. You must’ve been like this for a lot of your life. A worming feeling of guilt he seldom felt curled in his belly. Now that he had a person to pin to the thought, it swelled large.

Maybe if he were a softer person, someone rounded out like the long gone Yachiru turned Unohana, he’d say something comforting or concerned or even charming. But his hand was still on his thigh and his mounting frustration at himself, all revolving around his lack of strength, felt thick on his tongue.

“This mean you’re gonna stop with the fucking words?”

You pulled your head back slow, looking up at him like you couldn’t decide between succumbing to exhaustion or lunging at him.

“What if I don’t? What if I just keep going till you respond?”

“You’ll keep going until ya die.”

“Well, great! There’s you’re answer,” you scoffed. “You’ll have to kill me.”

It was a shit start, all things considered, and the silence that took over the room as Kenpachi sat on the nearest chair, so hard it almost cracked, felt as horrible as his zanpakuto refusing to answer him.

“The name’s Kenpachi Zaraki,” he said, resolved to at least get your name.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Damn right, you do. Now tell me yours.”

You wouldn’t have introduced yourself if he hadn’t looked so...well, you couldn’t quite tell what he looked like. Tired, maybe. Tired and wanting something.

So you gave him your name, your relief that he was alive, that you hadn’t wished him to his grave in your youth, outweighing your anger. An apology for putting you here was like grasping at the sky and hoping to hold a star, if his reputation proceeded him. So you let it go as best you could.

And Kenpachi settled back in the chair, grunting in acknowledgement. He didn’t think learning your name was gonna make him stronger, but it felt nice to hear someone talking to him like a person and not a beast.

If he was being honest, it’d always felt nice to be given your words, when so many people refused to give him any. A bit awkwardly, he stayed while you fell victim to sleep, your breath slow before he spoke again.

“Thanks.”

[lsholland]

London Lights (pt. 1) - Tom Holland

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (1st person)

Genre: Party!Tom

Warnings: swearing; alcohol; nothing much but I don’t recommend -18 to read.

Word count: 1.9k

Author’s note: Hey guys! That’s my first story on this blog. I hope you’ll like it. I’m not native so there may be a few mistakes. I’m trying a new genre of fiction. It’s my first Tom Holland fiction. It’ll be a series of 2-3 chapters. If you want to be part of the master list for Tom please like this post and message me. 

Synopsis: Quarantine has been tough. I’ve lost my boyfriend, and I’m feeling lonely. Clubs and restaurants are open again, but I feel like it’ll never be like it used to. My friends have been pushing me to install Tinder and go on dates. Well, tonight, I’m going on a date. I don’t really want to but I’m going to try and have fun for once. Just a few drinks and I’ll go home. What else could happen?

PS. You can read the story on Wattpad.

What am I doing here? I think to myself.

I matched with this guy on this famous dating app . . . And now I'm supposed to meet him here, at this bar. But I don't want to. I'm just hoping he won't show up so I can escape from this shit-place.

I've been seated at the table for a good 5 minutes. The waitress cleans up the table next to mine and asks if I'm ready to order.

No, I want to leave.

I quickly glance at the drinks menu.

"Ehm . . . A pour over Irish coffee, please."

She nods and leaves. I don't even know what I just ordered. I hope it tastes good. Hopefully it'll make me drunk enough not to remember this awful date.

It hasn't even started yet.

I'm sweating.

"Hey there" says a husky voice right behind me.

I turn around and see my date. His name is Jordan. He's good-looking and I bet he's intelligent, but I don't have this feeling with him. I don't know why I accepted to go on a date in the first place. It's awkward.

"Hey!" I grin.

"Have you ordered something already?" he asks, touching his short, clean beard. "I'm thirsty!"

He looks nice.

*

The waitress hands me my third drink. They help the clock tick a little faster.

He's been talking about his job, his passions. He loves football and practises daily. He has 2 sisters and lives in Camberwell.

Cute.

For a moment, I feel sad for him. He drove all the way to this East London bar, put effort trying to look nice and being cool . . . and yet, he doesn't know it but he has no chance to get lucky tonight. Not with me.

I shouldn't be sorry.

But I am.

I glance around looking for something that might be a little more entertaining than him. I realise I've avoided eye contact since he arrived. I finally glimpse at him. He has beautiful hazel eyes.

Still not enough.

I quickly check my phone. It's getting late. I don't know how to end this.

"Look," I slightly bend over the table. "I'm so sorry but I don't feel like it tonight"

"I noticed." He smirked. "Kinda awkward, innit?"

I chuckle. I am so embarrassed.

"It's okay, though." He added. "I'm just trying to meet new people. I broke up with my ex-girlfriend a few weeks ago. My mates told me I should try these apps."

Okay, now I feel worse than ever. He's been so nice with me and that's how I treat him. I grab my drink and gulp it down.

I shouldn't have done this.

"Let's go dance. I owe you one." I say as I grab his hand and walk towards the dancing area. It becomes difficult to keep my head straight.

I'm drunk, I must admit.

I'm going to regret it, my sober-self shouts in my head.

I don't care is what I reply.

The dancing area is not crowded, but there are already a few people. Most of them are girls.

Girls . . . I wish my friends were not so busy all the time. I would've come to this bar with them instead of wasting my time with strangers.

I start dancing. I stare at him. He looks amused.

A group of guys join the dancefloor and all the girls on my right start screaming. It's so high pitched I cringe.

"What the fuck guys?" I shout, trying to focus on the music.

"Woah, that's Spider-Man!" says my date. He grabs my chin and makes me look in his direction.

No way, I think. It's actually him.

I know he lives in the area, but I've never met him before. It's always weird to see movie stars in real life. They look so much more attractive.

He is so much more attractive.

I try not to be a drunk fangirl and shyly wave to him. He doesn't notice.

"You wanna go and take a picture with him?" my date asks.

"Oh, no, no!" I answer. I'm blushing. "I don't even know what I'd tell him."

He laughs.

The worst thing that could happen is to annoy him during a night out. He needs privacy and I must respect it.

But it's so difficult.

I can't stop staring at him. I don't even control it. Being drunk doesn't help.

"D'you want a beer?" I ask my date whose name I completely forgot.

He nods.

I weave my way through the crowd. I can't believe there are so many people on the dancefloor. The area is so busy since the Spider-Man actor walked in.

Even the bar area is crowded.

I let my body rest against a barstool but quickly lose balance and almost fall on the dirty floor. The flickering lights are making me feel dizzy. I grip the counter and get up. I peer around to make sure nobody saw me.

He did.

I dust off my dress trying to save the dignity I have left.

"Want something?" someone asks behind me. I turn around, it's the barman.

"Two pints of Guinness, please."

I glance back at the same spot, but he's gone. It must've been a dream. I'm so drunk I can't trust everything I think I see.

I'm grabbing both my drinks and look around trying to find my date, but there are too many people. I take a sip of my beer and hold the other one above my head.

Someone hits my arm.

Oh no.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry!" yells the drunk blond girl.

I look at my dress. It's soaking wet. I politely smile at her. "It's okay," I mouth.

What a mess. I glance at the lavatory door. I need to go and save my dress.

"You haven't been lucky here."

I turn around to find out who's talking to me.

It's him. Tom Holland. Talking to me.

"What?" is all I manage to say.

"Do you need a hand?" he politely asks.

I blush so much it's noticeable in the dark.

I'm choking. I'm panicking.

I give him my two beers and walk towards the lavatory. I'm surely starstruck. And drunk. This isn't a good mix.

Once in the room, I grab a handful of tissues and try to soak up my dress. I groan. Did I expect to make that beer mark disappear? Yes. Did it work? Of course not.

I watch my face in the mirror.

I look like shit, I think.

A door slams shut. Two young girls just walked in.

"OH, MY G—THAT'S TOM HOLLAND!" shouts one. They are both panting.

I roll my eyes.

Oh . . . I've given him my beers. What about my date?

"Shit!" I hiss.

I violently open the door and frown my eyebrows as the lights blind me.

He's just here gazing at me. Two beers in his hands. One of them is half empty, the rest being displayed on my dress.

"I'm so sorry!" I say embarrassed as ever.

He smirks. "No worries." He hands me the full glass of beer.

I give him a questioning look as I grab it. What about the other one? Oh, right—He's drinking it.

"What's your na—"

I stop him.

"I know who you are." I peer down. "I'm sorry I didn't wanna disturb you" I say as I'm walking away.

This time I'm smart enough to avoid the crowd on my way out.

"That's rude to leave without saying goodbye!" Tom shouts from a distance.

I turn around and stare at him. He's got a soft smile; he doesn't look drunk at all. I wave him goodbye.

Now, he's approaching me.

"I meant to your boyfriend" he nods in the direction of my date who was dancing with a group of other people.

"He's not my—" is all I can say before he chuckles.

"I figured."

"How?" I clench my jaw. I'm hypnotised by his hand running through his hair. And his smile. And his lips.

"I can barely hear you," he points at a booth in the corner of the room "maybe we could sit there" he suggests.

My mouth softens into a smile.

It's difficult to walk with Tom Holland. Every couple of seconds he's stopped by fans requesting a picture. And he accepts every time.

I'd never be so patient.

"What's that?" he asks.

"It must be so annoying sometimes." I tell him as I sit on the booth.

"When they're nice and ask me, it's cool." He chooses to sit next to me. I can feel his arm touching mine. My heart is racing. He uses his other arm to hold his chin; he looks at me with so much intensity. Sometimes peering down my lips.

His face is so close, but he keeps talking. I can feel his breath on my skin. I'm going to burst into flames. "But when they're taking pictures without asking first, that's delicate."

I nod. I can't really listen to what he's talking about. I'm trying not to lose control.

"So, what's your name?"

He smiles when I tell him. "Why did you leave your date alone?" he asks.

I'm so nervous I stutter. I can't find my words. "I . . . I wasn't in the mood. He knows it. I shouldn't have come here."

"I'm happy you came." He says looking me in the eyes.

I raise my eyebrows. "Are you flirting with me?"

He barks out a laugh and breaks the eye contact. He rests his head on the wall behind us.

He isn't as confident as I thought he'd be. I don't know what's up with him, but I enjoy it.

I suddenly remember he's a movie star. He's always being watched. I glance at the crowd and see flashing lights. They're taking pictures of us.

I'm getting dizzier.

I don't want to see my face on a dumb article talking about Tom Holland's mysterious partner. I don't even know him.

"This is stupid" I mumble.

Tom is intrigued. He hasn't got a clue what I'm talking about. He hasn't even noticed the fans stalking him.

"I'm sorry, I gotta go" I abruptly say as I stand up. "Have a good night."

I grab my phone and leave the venue. I'm upset because I really wish I could've met him in a different context. I open my Uber app: there's no driver available.

Shit.

How's that even possible on a Friday night? In London?

I refresh the app, but it doesn't work. I guess I'll have to walk home.

A part of me wants to go back in this bar and spend time with Tom. He's sweet and I'm sure we would've had so much fun together. I glance through the window trying to see his face one last time, but I can't find him.

"What are you looking for?"

I cringe.

"Oh, sorry I didn't mean to startle you."

It's him. It's Tom.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Going home too. The fun of the party is leaving . . ." he sighs. I smile back at him. I'm embarrassed.

I stand in front of him, none of us say a word. It's awkward. I'm getting anxious and walk away. I'm so overwhelmed.

He grabs my shoulder. "Wait, are you walking home?"

"Yeah, it's okay don't worry." I smile.

"I can drive you home."

"Sorry, but you've been drinking. I won't let you drive me." I curtly say.

He grins. He looks at one of his mates and nods.

"No way I'm letting you walk home alone," he sighs "besides, you're drunk."

"Come with me then" I instantly reply without thinking.

He nods.

What?

He's coming with me. My heart is racing. I won't survive a 30-minute drunk walk with him.

Not with his beautiful glossy eyes staring at me.

Not with my burning desire to kiss him.

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.05

10/28/2020

Preparations

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 6,652

Warnings: angst, slight smut?, language, fluff

A/N: Thank you everyone, for putting up with my emotional ass. After some thought, and when I was feeling better and not so sad (?), I really didn’t wanna make those of you keeping up with the story wait for the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy this one and if you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other blogs or sites.

REBLOGS are always welcome!

The city is lively with beautiful Asgardians rushing about their daily lives. In the time since it’s completion, New Asgard and its inhabitants have settled into a routine. New lives on a planet now once again full of growth, community interaction, and celebration when the time is right.

“We’ll give you a proper tour tomorrow.” Brunnhilde says, reaching forward to tap the shoulder of the man driving you both. “Stop here.”

“Wait, aren’t you coming with me?” You ask, startled as she throws open the back door of the sleek black sedan.

“No. I have other things to prepare for the wedding and then I have to check in on my Valkyrie. Your escorts will meet you at the shop.” Brunnhilde assures you.

“But-”

“Bye!” She smiles at you and slams the door in your face.

You sit there, confused and at a loss. Your anxiety begins to mount when the driver, a handsome young Asgardian man with long braided black hair, clears his throat and draws your attention to the front.

“Shall I drive on Your Highness?” He asks, glancing in his rearview mirror at you.

“Um…” You’ll never get used to that stupid your highness stuff. “Yes.”

“Very good, Your Highness.”

“Can’t you just call me, Y/N?” You ask, feeling awkward.

“No.” He says, a smile on his face. “I cannot. I can see why his Majesty has chosen you.”

You’re surprised by this statement, and you’re pretty sure it’s insolent maybe? You don’t know because this is all new to you, but you don’t really care either way.

“Why?”

“You don’t remember me?” He asks, as he drives down the street.

As they pass, the Asgardians stop in their walking or talking or errand running to watch you drive by. Some of them smile with excitement, even moving with the car a few steps before stopping.

They’re all dressed normal. Asgardian garb abandoned to fit in on Earth. Not all of them. Some still wear their own clothes. Some of them wear a mixture of both. It’s a mish-mash of two cultures and you understand the need for a human Queen a little more.

“No.” You shake your head, giving the driver your full attention.

“I didn’t think you would.” He admits, smiling still. “You were very nervous when I first drove you up to the palace. Quite literally shaking in your pretty shoes.”

Was he your driver then too?!

“Alas, I understand his Majesty’s choice because you were the only woman that sat in my car and spoke to me. You may not have been aware enough to remember me, but you were very kind. Very concerned about me despite the stress you were in.” He looks in his rearview mirror again, meeting your eyes. “My wife gave birth, by the way.”

“Oh!” Your mind is struck with an unfocused conversation, hazy but you remember the pregnant wife. “I remember!”

You’re way too excited about remembering and the driver chuckles.

“Was it a boy or a girl?” You ask eagerly.

“A girl.” He smiles. “We’ve named her Luta.”

“Congratulations!” You exclaim gently, so happy for him.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I’ll tell my wife you said so.” He promises.

“I’d love to meet her.” You hope, leaning forward to get a better look at the side of his face.

“I’m not sure that will be possible. You’ll be terribly busy, and my wife is also with our little girl.”

“What if I came to pay her a special visit?” You really want to meet her.

“If you could find the time, Your Highness, my wife and I would be happy to receive you.” He smiles.

“I’m sorry if you told me last time we met, but what is your name?”

“Armod, Your Highness.” He tells you, turning down a second and smaller street.

The people are still dense, gathered around stalls and smaller shops as Armod drives a little slower to keep a careful eye on the families attending what must be an early morning market.

You take it in as quickly as you can, devouring the sight of these beautiful people and in return they turn to watch you go by.

They turn to each other, have quick and silent—to you—exchanges before a few of them begin to turn and wave.

Nervous, you wave timidly, smiling because you can’t help it. It isn’t a conscious decision.

The side street is so packed with stalls that it makes it impossible for people to follow the car at the speed it’s going, even reduced.

You’re a little grateful. You don’t want to get mobbed without someone else here to dilute the excitement.

“The people are very excited to see their future Queen.” Armod explains, “Forgive them their exuberance.”

“I hope I don’t disappoint them.”

As the crowd thins out, and Armod pulls the car into a gentle stop, he shakes his head, “Trust me, Your Highness, you won’t.”

Your car door opens. Into your view slides a pale white hand, luxurious suit jacket sleeve barely hiding the equally expensive white button-up underneath.

“Your Highness,” greets a familiar voice.

Taking his hand, Loki pulls you from the car, helping you stand and even reaching down to adjust the long train of your right sleeve.

The dress is sparkling blue, a body-hugging gold silk dress underneath the top sheer voile blue layer on top. The right sleeve is long, ends at your wrist, with a train that flows down at an equal length to that of your skirt. The left side is sleeveless.

You’re nervous about the deep V of your bodice, the scrunched-up shoulders of your dress carefully balanced there but too precarious for your liking.

With he sun out, the chill in the air isn’t so bad, but here in the shade of what must be the bridal shop, you shiver.

“You look lovely.” Loki smiles.

“I look stupid.” You counter, feeling very exposed and not at all pretty with how tight the dress feels.

“Allow me to politely disagree.” Loki takes your hand and leads it around his elbow as become aware of the people gathering around to catch a look at you. “I think the crowd would agree with me.”

“Can we go inside, please?” You beg, waving at the small group as other begin to flock from their spots at distant stalls to join the crowd.

“Of course.” Loki taps your hand then escorts you into the shop.

You relax a little once you’re inside and warm.

A middle-aged looking woman moves towards the two of you, her hand subtly stroking a large fold of crimson fabric on the low center shelf before she reaches you and then dips into a low curtsy before rising and grabbing her hands to hold at chest level.

“Good morning, your Highnesses!” She exclaims, gushing to an embarrassing degree.

“Good morning, Gorm. How are you?” Loki asks politely.

He doesn’t seem truly interested in her answer, but he waits kindly while she flusters with the honor of his polite concern.

“I am much better now that you and our King Thor’s lovely intended have arrived. Such an honor to meet you, Your Highness.” She says, addressing you directly.

“Thank you.” You reply, startled by her a bit. “It’s so great to meet you.”

“Tell me, Gorm, have you received His Majesty’s instructions on the dress we’d like?” Loki checks.

“Oh, yes, Your Highness! I’ve been working non-stop on several options since I received them.” She assures him, gesturing back towards a doorway past a long wooden counter with a modern cash register and signature pad for credit cards.

“Excellent.” Loki smiles. “Now, while I hate to do this to you, love—do you think you can handle a few hours alone with Gorm to do your fitting?”

“You’re leaving?” You ask, once again shocked, just like with Brunnhilde.

“I’m afraid I have several other things to do for the wedding and with the Earth and Asgardian ambassadors eager to have the wedding as soon as possible, I have to take every chance I can get to run these errands. Not like I have anything better to do…” Loki’s voice is slightly bitter, but only for a moment before he taps your hand again. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back long before you’re finished. Gorm doesn’t leave anything to chance with her gowns and this one is the most important one you will wear in your life. We have to get it right, don’t we Gorm?”

Gorm is already nodding, her blonde graying hair flowing like waves across her shoulders as she does. “Oh, yes, Your Highness. I will make sure that not only will the dress fit His Majesty’s expectations, but you too shall feel beautiful and like the dress was made just for you, Your Highness.”

“There you are.” Loki smiles. “I’ll be back.”

He pulls your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles before letting it go and moving towards the door, leaving you and Gorm to stand awkwardly for a few moments after the door shuts behind him.

“Shall we?” She gestures back towards the doorway and since there’s no way to get out of this, you fix her with a nervous smile and nod.

“Yes.” You sigh, and follow her, making sure to hold onto the counter as your round it so that you don’t trip on your train.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stomach absolutely growling, you slip your arms through the sleeves of the dress you’ve pretty much settled on.

The past five hours have had you step in and out of two other dresses three times, and this one a total of eight times. Each time so that Gorm can make alterations to length and cut and detail.

It’s surprising to you that this particular dress should need so much maintenance when it’s the simplest of the bunch.

You’d fallen for it almost at first sight but had tried the other two more frilly dresses to appease Gorm since Thor had requested something feminine to counteract the armor you’d be wearing on the day.

Armor you had no idea would be required in your wedding until Gorm explained the necessity for bodices without much flair.

“Alright, Your Highness,” Gorm smiles at you, holding the dress low and open for you to step through. “Once more, and then I think we are done.”

You let her slip the dress over you, layer after layer of smooth satin with one final crepe layer on top. The dress is eggshell white, soft, and easy on the eye.

Some white fabrics nearly burn your retinas, but this one is pleasant to look at.

It stops just around your shoulders, leaving them exposed. The neckline curves down with your bust just a little making the top look like a heart, the point of which is followed all the way down with a line of stitched white buttons.

They’re purely decorative because behind you is where Gorm stands to zip the dress closed.

She closes a small clasp and then folds out the layers of skirt around you.

It’s not as long as the blue dress you wore here today. Simpler and easier to walk in. The sleeves themselves are long, which you appreciate very much in this weather. Every bit of the dress now settles along your curves just right.

“Oh, this was the right choice, I think.” Gorm smiles wide. “You look beautiful, Your Highness. His Majesty is a very lucky man.”

You smile in return, flattered by her words for a moment because you forget that Thor has been with Jane all morning. As you remember, your smile falters then fades as the worries you had this morning come rushing back.

“You don’t like it?” Gorm asks, reaching down to stroke the long and beautiful skirt.

“Oh, no. I love the dress, Gorm. I’m just…worried about His Majesty liking it.” You smile at her, to reassure her. She’s done such amazing work. You might have her make all of your gowns from now on. Unless…?

“Gorm? Were you the one that made the dress I came in wearing today?” You wonder.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m afraid I did not have that pleasure.”

“How much of an imposition would it be if I made you my sole dressmaker? His Majesty has bought me some gowns to wear when appropriate, but I don’t feel like they’re my style.”

“Oh, Your Highness! It would be an honor to be your personal dressmaker!” She’s so flustered that she excuses herself and vanishes into the front of the shop to get her water.

You turn your gaze onto yourself in the mirror, all three angles looking back at you.

The dress really is unbelievably beautiful. You would never have thought that this dress and its style would have looked good on you, but it fits around your curves so seamlessly. This dress was literally made for you and it’s very noticeable.

As you turn around one final time, a small chuckle from the doorway pulls your eyes away from your reflection.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t put up such a fight over this.” Loki moves towards you, stopping a few feet away with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You should have seen me wrestle with the other two.” You sigh. “Can we go? I’m so hungry.”

Almost as if on cue, your stomach growls.

“Yes.” Loki nods. “We can go. I’ve got lunch waiting for you back in the palace.”

“Is Thor back?” You hop off the box you’d been standing on, grabbing your skirts and then dropping them to cascade around your legs like a milky waterfall.

Loki’s smile falter. “I’m afraid not. But don’t worry, he’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

You’re so disappointed you wander away from him into the dressing room to change back into your blue dress without giving him any sort of answer.

He’s got you in the car, your forehead resting against the glass of the window, lost in thoughts of Thor and Jane when he speaks to you again.

“Might I ask you a favor, sister?” He probes gently.

Him calling you his sister makes your stomach tumble.

You have a brother! How can you ever explain this happiness?

“Sure.”

“I hope you don’t find me insolent, but-” He hesitates, thinking about the words he’s about to say hard before he meets your eyes and that seems to strengthen his resolve. “Don’t fall in love with Thor. Not yet. Don’t let him pull you in right away.”

“You think he’ll leave me for Jane?” You wait, watching as Loki thinks through your accusation.

“Not exactly, but yes. I suppose that’s a possibility I hope you can avoid.”

For a few minutes while Armod drives you back to the palace, you say nothing. You consider his request and the honest concern that he seems to have for you.

As Armod pulls into the large multi-car garage at the back of the palace, you turn to Loki and stare sadly.

“I can’t make that promise, Loki.” You shrug. “It’s already too late for that.”

“You love him?” Loki realizes.

“No!” You deny, “Not exactly. I don’t love him yet, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t very fond of him already. He-he kissed me last night.”

Loki’s brow furrows.

“A lot actually. He begged me to try and love him just as he would try to love me. I promised him I would try.” As if you’ll need to try.

You’re already hopelessly possessive over him. Maybe not him as a person, but rather those kisses he gave you. Those are your kisses now. Those thick arms he held you in, those are your arms—your hugs!

And now he might be in the United States giving those very things that are now yours alone to Jane who wouldn’t even marry him?

“It’s too late.” You reiterate, feeling absolutely lost.

“Come on, Your Highness. Let’s get you a late lunch.”

~~~~~~~~~~

If there isn’t a trail across your floor after all of the pacing you’ve done today, you’d be surprised.

“This won’t make him come back any faster.” Brunnhilde points out.

“Do I really have to model the wedding dress for him?” You ask, twisting your fingers nervously as you move up and down your room.

“I think it would be good for him.” Brunnhilde explains. “And yes. He won’t see your armor until the day of the wedding, but the dress will help make it more real for him. He needs that. So do you.”

“It’s already real for me Brunnhilde.” You lift your thumb nail to your teeth and nip, like a nervous pup, stopping at the heavy doors of the balcony.

They’ve been thrown open and the chilly air filtering in makes you shiver.

“Hilde.” Brunnhilde corrects, then moves to take a long wine-colored woolen shawl and drapes it over your shoulders as you stare out at the bustling city.

You can hear laughter, lots of merrymaking. The Asgardian people know how to enjoy their free time, but you’ve seen how hard they work too. As a whole. Loki assured you on the way home that there are just as many lazy time wasters among them as there are humans.

“Why are you fretting?” She sits at the desk, staring up at you with curious dark eyes.

“Because he’s been with Jane all day.” You lash out.

It’s not a scream, just pure exasperation. And immediately, you feel sorry.

“I’m sorry.” You sigh, dropping your hand but pulling the shawl around you tighter.

You notice it finally.

“Oh, thank you.” You really feel bad now.

“You’re acting like you’re already in love with him.” She teases, not caring one bit about your little tantrum.

Through the corners of your eyes you look at her, avoiding her piercing look.

“Y/N…?” She wonders, leaning forward to get a better look at you.

“I don’t love him, alright? I just…” You sigh. “No one’s ever kissed me before.”

Your feel your neck and ears burn, scorching with embarrassment as you admit just how much of a maiden she’d found for him.

“So, you really are a virgin?” She gasps, leaning almost her entire body along the desk to look at your face.

You frown at her. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No.” She hakes her head. “No, not at all. You’re just so…well, you’re beautiful.”

The laugh that slips through your lips is sudden and honest.

You stare at her, shaking your head because you don’t believe her one bit.

“I’m serious!” Hilde assures you, smiling and amused by your reaction. “It’s a little bit of a shame that you haven’t been fawned on before.”

The sprinkle of sadness in her voice exposes her real meaning and it wipes away all traces of flattery.

“You mean, it’s a shame that I haven’t been with someone who will really love me because they choose to? And not like Thor because he has to?” With a bit more desperation, you look for Armod’s car, needing to see Thor.

Everything that happened last night feels like a dream. Made up in your mind to make it easier to marry Thor. Was it a dream?

You don’t remember him telling you goodnight. You have the vague memory of falling asleep with your head on his shoulder but you’re not sure how real that is with how hazy it feels.

What if his kisses had been a hopeful wish?

You bite your bottom lip, the heat and weight of his lips still fresh in your memory.

It can’t have been a dream. It felt so amazing. You could never have imagined the way it felt for him to invade you the way he did, pulling your body against his.

“He doesn’t come by car, y’know?” Hilde says, sitting back in her seat.

“What?” You turn to her, eager for explanation.

“Thor?” She gestures at the sky outside, drawing your eyes away from the city in the distance and up to the stars. “He flies here on Earth. It’s faster than flying by plane, but not by much. He’ll be going straight to his room as soon as he gets back.”

“Oh.” Your disappointment is suffocating and because you have no reason to keep freezing to death, you close the balcony doors.

With the cold shut out the heat from the hidden vents in your room saturates your shawl and envelopes you in a cocoon of heat.

“He might not want to see me tonight.” You accept, knowing that even if things went as best as they could have, Thor will still be heartbroken.

Having to give up on a relationship he had been so invested in? Even if he’s been unhappy with it lately, it must be difficult.

“No. He might not. But he has no choice. The wedding is in three days, so we have no time to wait for him to be ready to see you. We need approval on the dress.” She explains, leaving no room for argument.

Which is a shame because you would rather not see him all torn up about Jane. Not that you wouldn’t like to give him comfort. But you doubt that seeing you is something Thor would want. Not when it’s your fault that he has to break up with Jane to begin with.

“You know what? I’ll go check to see if he’s back. Gorm already sent us the dress. I’ll have Estrid help you put it on.” Hilde rises, moving out of the room without waiting for you to agree.

Five minutes later, Estrid moves into the room, her arms cradling your beautifully crafted wedding dress.

“Shall I do your hair too, Your Highness?” She asks, and lays the dress on your bed, the color such a beautiful contrast to the deep plum colored sheets.

“My hair?” You look in the mirror and the fancy thing they’d done with it this morning is falling apart. “No. I’m okay, Estrid. Thank you.”

“Very well, Your Highness.” She smiles kindly then moves towards you and takes your shawl.

You turn for her and she begins to unzip your blue dress, your mind on Thor and the mood he might be in when you see him again.

~~~~~~~~~~

The hesitation is in more than just your fist, hovering over the dark wooden of Thor’s bedroom door. It’s tall. Taller than it probably needs, sitting within a stone arch decorated with stunning golden engravings.

You’re not sure why Brunnhilde left you to do this alone. Loki is busy with something secret that he doesn’t want to share with you yet.

Not wedding related. He says it’s important and it involves you to some degree, but it’s not necessary for you to know until it’s necessary for you to know. Which is a circle-jerk kind of logic that you’re kind of annoyed by.

He’s nicer than previous opinions of him have made him seem. You suppose that has to do with the growth he’s made since he was last on Earth.

New York hadn’t been a great time for Loki, and he could only go up from there.

Brunnhilde had also neglected to tell you how Thor was feeling. Or looking? Either would have been great before you committed to coming up here on your own.

Thor’s bedroom is at the highest point of the palace. That is, highest save for the last floor which is mostly a defense tower full of weapons and a constant guard to keep Thor and his future wife safe. Which is now gonna be you.

Unless you go into his room and he tells you that he can’t stand being without Jane and rejects you and this pretty dress and you have to go back home to live just as you had before you met him. Only now with his kisses in your mind, his massive body pressed to yours, you won’t be able to get over the future you’d been promised.

How had you gone from refusing to marry him to wanting nothing more than to be his wife and even if all he was able to give you was one of those stupid kisses from last night, you’d be satisfied?

You drop your hand, almost with your mind made up to give up and just go back to your room because you don’t think you have the nerve to go through with seeing him today.

The part of you that disagrees, that remembers last night and wants more lifts your hand and knocks on his door.

In shock, you wait until his voice comes through and finally take a breath.

“Estrid? Is that you?” Thor’s voice sounds tired, not broken, but you can hear the weight in his heart by the sound of him.

You open the door and peek in, just one eye and the room is astoundingly beautiful.

If you weren’t so scared of what you’ll find in Thor, your jaw would drop ant the stunning image. To the left are two doorways, one is open, and you can see a large bathroom within. At the center of the room is what looks like a small kiddie pool, recessed into the floor, but probably deep enough for Thor to stand in?

There’s a part on this floor that’s shaped strangely from the outside and wonder if that’s what it is. The floor is dark stone tile, smooth and probably treated for waterproofing. Along the far wall of the bathroom, you can see a long wooden bench, dark oak like all of the other woods in the room from what you can see.

The toilet must be somewhere to the left where you can’t see from where you stand.

The other door is shut but since there is only an ornate set of drawers to the right of it, you assume that inside must be a large closet.

To the right of the room is a large bed. Large bed. You’ve never seen one so big.

It must be a California King? Which you’d stumbled upon in your search for mattresses when you’d first moved into your home. An accidental find and completely unnecessary.

That is, until now, when the thought of Thor laying in your very normal sized bed flits across your mind and suddenly the large King makes much more sense.

The bed is covered in soft looking gray flannel sheets. The comforter is gorgeous too, luxurious in its cotton ball soft appearance. Black with golden swirls and lines stitched across the top and bottom. The number of pillows is silly. All sizes too. Large ones at the very back and then several smaller ones until the ones at the very front are for mere decoration only.

Despite the more rustic look of the walls in the dark oak and stone base, the bed and furniture is slightly more modern in design. The headrest is cream white, ridged, and padded, as is the foot of the bed, but flatter than the headrest.

Two bedside tables hold various books on one and a lamp on the other. Behind the bed is a wall with a great big tree carved, flowing the length from top to bottom.

You swear you’ve seen that somewhere before.

The entirety of the wall opposite the doors to the room is made up of windows. Each window has been thrown open and the floor to ceiling curtains flow in the cool breeze.

They avoid the small breakfast table, laden with an untouched plate of the chicken you’d had for supper. On the other side is a large heavy looking desk. It’s sturdy. Big like Thor with papers and scrolls and folders. A laptop sits shut at the center and in the chair turned to face the left side of the room sits Thor with his shoulders hunched, elbows on his knees, hands supporting his face as he keeps it covered.

His body tells you everything you need to know about how he’s feeling and though you hate it, after so much worrying about what you’d find in here, you’re grateful to finally set eyes on him.

“It’s not Estrid.” You say gently, afraid to speak any louder and disturb him more than he already is.

His head whips towards you, faster than you expected.

Your hands go numb with nervous energy as he stares at you, his electric blue eyes scanning you very slowly from head to toe, then back up again. He takes his hand as he does so, covering his mouth with it, stroking his beard slowly as if fixing it.

Taking the opportunity, you note the plain jeans he’s wearing, the white t-shirt that stretches across his wide chest and strains to keep him covered. The hem of his sleeves struggle to keep his biceps contained. His golden hair is windswept, short as it is, it sticks in all directions.

He looks so good, so perfect, except for that sadness on his face.

You can’t bear to ask him anything about her.

“Gorm is lovely.” You tell him, forcing a smile and a quick nod.

He meets your eyes with his own, dropping the hand he’d used to shield his mouth and allows both his hands to dangle between his knees.

“She’s the best in the city.” Thor nods, devouring your dress again.

He suddenly rises and you teeter backwards with the sudden rise.

He steps towards you, his feet falling heavy on the floor.

You really like the way he struts towards you. There’s a slight sway to his hips.

Lips feeling dry and cracked, you freeze as he moves past you at the last moment.

The sound of him sitting on his bed pulls you around to look at him and he sighs, reaching his right arm up towards you.

With a swallow, you move towards him. The luscious short train of your skirt follows in your wake, flowing like water.

When you’re within reach, his places his hand on your waist, pulling you closer until you’re standing before him. He takes his other hand and places that on your waist too, making your breath shallow.

He looks up to meet your gaze.

Hands balled into fists; you wait. You’re not sure what he needs. What you need from this moment. You’re only sure that you’re glad you don’t seem to have dreamed up last night.

“You look beautiful.” He says, voice penetrating into your chest to restart your heart at double the speed.

“It’s a little simple.” You observe, remembering the other much frillier options.

“It suits you.” He lets his hand trace down along the side of your hip, stealing your breath before sliding his hand back up to your waist.

He gives you a little shake and you reach out to place your hands on his shoulders to keep from losing your already fragile balance.

“Brunnhilde told me that you were very anxious today.” He sounds worried, his brow puckered, eyes crinkled at the corners from concern.

You shrug for him, intending to play off the exact amount of worrying you’d done today because you don’t want him to know how invested you already are.

“I ended it with Jane.”

“You don’t have to-” You begin, but Thor makes a dismissive noise in his throat and cuts you off.

“I owe you an explanation.” He nods. “When I gave you that ring on your finger, I became your intended. Officially ending things with Jane was only out of respect for who we were when we were together.”

“Thor you really don’t have to tell me about your breakup with Jane. It’s private. It’s before me. Whatever happened between the two of you today is now in the past.” You sigh, trying not to think about what kisses might have been shared.

Maybe more?

You make a mental note to never hold it against him if he ever tells you that he slept with her today.

He was hers long before you agreed to marry him.

“I want to be honest with you.” He sighs. “I want us to be open with each other. I want us to talk about anything that may be troubling us.”

“We will.” You nod, giving his shoulders a small squeeze. “I promise.”

“Then tell me what you were worried about today.”

You already regret your promise.

“I thought about what you must be feeling. Wondered if you might change your mind.” Answering honestly is actually cathartic. Though you usually do it on reflex, choosing to do it feels nice.

Thor only watches you, waiting for you to get it all out, his large hands caressing the sides of your waist and making you tingle.

“Keep going.” He urges you gently.

“I’m embarrassed.” You admit, and Thor’s face relaxes a moment, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips.

He doesn’t prompt you again, just waits.

There’s a peace in this silence of his. An acceptance. A sense of time to just be.

“I was afraid that I’d imagined last night. I don’t remember falling asleep. I just woke up and it was this morning. And last night was so…” You stop, realizing that as much as you’ve thought about last night today, for Thor if there are any kisses that he wants to hold onto today, they’re probably from Jane.

This fact suddenly hardens your heart and resolve. You reach to grab his wrists to pull his hands off of you, but he doesn’t budge. You couldn’t move him if you pushed as hard as you can.

“It doesn’t matter.” You brush it off. “You probably want to just be alone and I was told that you need to approve the dress? So, tell me what you think, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Have I upset you?” He asks, face shifted back into that slight pout he’d been wearing before.

“N-No.” You shake your head.

“Then why do you want to leave so quickly?” He demands, voice rising in pitch at the end.

“I just…after today, I just thought that maybe you’d want some space?”

“Then you aren’t angry with me?” He checks.

“No.”

He leans forward and presses his head against your stomach, eyes shutting as his arms wrap themselves around you and pull you closer.

You don’t quite know what to do with your hands, so you stand there, holding them over his shoulders, fighting the desire to hold him back.

“I’m so tired.” He admits to you, and it settles in your heart.

You drop your arms, resting them against him before you embrace him, hands splayed along his wide back.

He exhales, relaxing against you. “Thank you.”

“For what, Thor?” You whisper, too overcome with all this hugging to speak any louder.

“For hugging me.”

Your heart breaks for him, and you hold him tighter.

“May I be honest with you about something?”

“Yes.” Here it is, the truth about Jane and him today.

“These moments with you have been the most enjoyable and special moments I’ve spent with anyone in a long time.”

Does it really matter if he slept with Jane today? Kissed her? Hugged her?

Was he this sweet with her too?

“I love you in this dress.”

You sigh, the first three words of that declaration sending your heart into a frenzy.

“You do?”

“I do.”

You smile, liking that very much.

Thor’s blue eye shifts with electricity, literally, and he pulls you down onto his lap with a demanding grip on your waist.

Your arm is still around his shoulder, the other moving down to rest over his hand which he brings around to rest on your lower belly.

“Are you happy?” He wonders, catching your fingers within his.

“Relatively.” You nod. “I’m still worried.”

Honestly, right?

“Why?” He laments, caressing your waist.

“I’m liking you more and more too quickly.” You sigh. “I don’t want to disappoint you or the people. I want to do well. Both in our marriage and with the kingdom.”

Thor caresses your side, then slides his hand down further, large hand sliding along the fabric of your dress down over your thigh.

There’s a subtle tickle between your legs. It startles you and you have to physically force yourself to relax.

“You’re already better than anyone else I might have chosen.” Thor whispers, leaning in closer until his lips are pressed to your ear.

You remind yourself that you made him promise not to do anything he doesn’t want to do. No forcing himself to be affectionate if he doesn’t feel it.

“Thor…” You gasp, just a flurry of the air left in your lungs.

“I’ve been thinking…” He admits. “Since I left you last night, about how we might be able to prepare for our wedding night.”

How do you breathe again? Where does the air go?

“Do you trust me, cherub?”

That pet name hits you just as fiercely as it did the first time and all you can do is nod.

Thor suddenly throws you back over his arm onto the bed. Landing with your head on the pillow, you gasp, chest rising and falling dramatically as you struggle to catch your breath again.

He leans down and hovers over you, waiting as you do, staring into your eyes.

“I’ll make certain you know this is not a dream.” He promises, then leans down to press his lips against yours.

You sigh, grateful for his taste as if it were a drug, removing an ache you’ve been feeling all day. Your arms come up on their own, trapping his torso down on yours as his hands trace your sides slowly.

This time you’re the one seeking more, pressing the tip of your tongue against his lips until he opens them and kisses you back.

He inhales your kiss, breathing in until you hear the vibration of a moan rip through him into you and you have never felt your body burn this way before.

You want him to make more sounds like that. Over and over if possible.

He pulls away too quickly, making you lift your head to follow him, but you fall back onto the bed, gasping for breath.

“Do you really trust me?” Thor checks again, his hands moving down along your sides until they stop at your hips, hands flexing and squeezing.

You’re shifting on his sheets, body squirming from energy you don’t recognize.

You know that he probably needs to be close to someone like this after today. After whatever he lost with Jane, even if he won’t let you see just how much it really hurt him, he probably needs this closeness.

“Yes.” You breathe.

With one hand he reaches down, staring into your eyes as he does. He finds the bottom hem of your dress and flips his hand underneath, then takes hold of your ankle.

He turns to face your feet, sliding down to the end of the bed then removes the flats you’d switched into, along with the thick socks you’d found to fight the cold.

It’s so chilly in here you shiver.

“You won’t be cold for long, cherub.” He promises.

After dropping your shoes on the floor, he rises then crawls onto the bed to where your feet are, grabbing hold of your ankles to pull your legs open a little.

“Easy.” He tells you gently. “You’ll still be a maid on our wedding night. This will be just a taste.”

He flips your skirt over his head, disappearing from view.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, curious and just as nervous until you feel the pressure of something wet slide up along your slit and you throw your head back, an uncontrollable moan ripping through your lips.

You hadn’t realized the taste would be for him.

[thesaltminesrph]

PSA: Be Upfront

Communication is important in RP.

Now, to preface, I am not going to use the really awful phrase "it's a hobby not a jobby" because this is a really sketch take on what is important to people. You can have a hobby mean a lot to you, be you a collector, a gardener, someone that builds model airplanes, a writer, an artist, etc. Those are all hobbies, and the fruits of your labor are NOT only valuable to you and others if you are paid for them. This saying implies that should you never be a published author, never have a painting sell, never do something that can be sold or have a time clock punched, it doesn’t at all matter. It’s a really discouraging thing to be telling people, quite honestly. I have multiple hobbies outside of RP. Kind of really sucks to see constantly they don’t matter because nobody pays me for what I do. I know I’m not the only one who has said this, but the majority aren’t willing to say it amongst the clamoring of ‘rp isn’t a job’ because then you get people jumping down your throat. Hear me out though! I’m not done.

“BUT I HAVE REAL LIFE!”

Yes! So do we all! We all have problems, and things to take care of. The RPC is littered with people with mental illness, neurodivergence, chronic physical illness (I hit all three categories multiple times, LUCKY ME!). Do not, I repeat, do not ever feel like you need to put RP before: bills, marriage/children/other relationships, your health. Literally, do not have your takeaway from this post be these are secondary to your hobby. They are not. Do not get evicted because you were too busy doing RP at your desk at work, that’s just plain dumb af.

You owe people decency means:

-if you can only do aesthetic posts this week because you are low on writing spoons, that’s fine

-if you had work/health/mother-in-law take over you life this week and you literally didn’t have time to log-in even though you wanted to, that’s fine

-if you are sick in bed and can’t bother to write, that’s fine

What it also means:

-dropping what was supposedly a years long ooc friendship because the other mun isn’t dropping their current muse for you and following you into a different fandom ‘because they’re now boring’ and telling them as much in a message...is shitty behavior.

-daily reblogging multiple memes that people are sending in to you, your wire, your discord, ignoring both those and messages to plot, then whining on the dash that no one wants to write with you (also known as trying to guilt trip interaction, obviously you only wanted it from one specific person not the people actively engaging you)...is shitty behavior.

-claiming you’re open for plots and memes, then only replying to the one or two people consistently for 6 months...is shitty behavior.

Again, in case it wasn’t clear- it’s your blog, it’s your life, it’s your health. That’s not in question.

HOWEVER- be upfront and give people some honesty! What do I mean by that?

If it’s feasible, post that you need a writing break, even if it’s going to be indefinite. Take as many fucking breaks as you need to for your physical and mental health to be the best they can be (I’m not going to say great, as I know what it’s like to just have a ‘good’ health day mean ‘it’s less shit than it could be’).

But if the situation is really you only want to write with these one or two people, just say so! It’s your blog, you’re allowed to decide you’re closed for plots, asks, etc. Just don’t lead people on. Don’t say something and mean something else. Don’t keep reblogging your promo and really you don’t want to write,  and you don’t plan on taking on new mutuals, and don’t plan on replying to dms or threads from anyone else.

I’ll repeat it a little differently to be sure it’s clear- you dictate your activity level and number of mutuals, when you answer asks, threads, etc. This should be at a level that is suited for you and your life, health, etc.

BUT when you engage in RP you are involving someone else’s free time with yours, and it is not fair to them to act like they do not matter. You have involved someone else. Until you disengage from them, be courteous.

I’ll give you an example. When you ask for that starter on both your dash, then DMs, and act super hyped, getting the other mun excited for it, and then they put the time and effort into writing it up and posting it for you, expecting a reply? Only for you to go and make new blogs and immediately ditch that muse without a heads-up? That’s not really fair to the other mun. You communicated you wanted to write this, you hyped them up, they spent their time and writing spoons on your starter...and then you told them other people were more exciting and a better use of your time.

“BUT I DIDN’T TELL THEM THAT!”

Okay, so you didn’t message them ‘Hey loser, your starter sucked, your muse is boring, and honestly, a different fandom is better! Bye!’ But your actions sure give that impression, and unless you communicate otherwise, it’s a shitty move.

Now yes, sometimes you genuinely forget a starter was written because you thought it was drafted and it wasn’t, dumblr is an ass and loses your draft and then you forgot it, something came up that day and bumped it from your mind, etc. NONE OF THESE ARE WHAT I AM REFERRING TO. I have ADHD, object permanence is the thing my brain does where often unless it’s directly in front of my face, it doesn’t exist, until I find it again. I’m aware these things happen, as are most muns, and we don’t mind! Hell, we usually have in our rules “hey if it’s been a hot minute and we haven’t replied to this, feel free to give us a little nudge to see if it’s been lost” because we all know between brains and dumblr’s everlasting fuckery...shit gets lost.

I’m talking about those times where you just up and leave someone hanging without communication. I’m also not saying it might even be on purpose. What I’m saying is you should consider how other muns feel when you do this, and if you cannot avoid it, at least communicate with them.

“Hey, I’m just no longer going to be writing this muse. Sorry I had you write that starter. Do you want to try something with this new one? This is where my brain is at right now.” “Hey I really can’t be online this month thanks to fill-in-the-blank but I do still want to write when I am able.” “Hey, I see you sent in that ask. I’m only interested in this one ship, and I won’t be taking on new threads, but you’re welcome to follow and maybe I’ll take on new threads later. I’m just writing with these two people right now.”

Communication is something that is a requirement in a collaborative hobby.

I know it can be scary. I know the mentality ‘well they reblogged that meme but it’s not for me, I know they said they want to plot but they don’t mean me’, but you really have to get past that when you roleplay to be fair to other people.

Spoiler alert: the examples of shitty behavior further above are what help feed this ‘that post/meme isn’t for me’ mentality, when you do those things you’re fostering people’s anxiety and rejection sensitivity...just saying.

If someone gets mad at you for communicating with them, they’re a shitty person and block them. Literally if someone has a problem with you for trying to start something, especially as mutuals, you’re losing nothing by not writing with them. Find nicer people. So don’t  be afraid to communicate you can’t write currently, you need a break, you’re only writing with these certain people. And don’t be afraid to send in the meme. I promise you, the right people appreciate courteous communication. The ones that don’t...

Again, no one is saying put your life on hold for RP, you’re never allowed to narrow your scope, you’re supposed to always have writing spoons, you need to produce five replies a day or you’re wrong, you always need to log-in to communicate you had a family emergency/depressive episode/etc.

What I am saying, is if you are capable of communicating, respect the time and energy of your fellow muns who may also be very low on spoons and free time themselves, and be honest about where you are at when it comes to taking on new threads, new asks, new partners, etc. Treat others how you want to be treated, and consider you probably wouldn’t like being on the receiving end of the behaviors I’ve described. If you need to be on the clock being paid to be a nice person...please re-evaluate.

[donaidk]

Eyes Off You - Mick Schumacher

*Repost as I wanted it in a separate post rather than an ask, to make my blog organized. Hope you guys don’t mind :)*

I have changed things up a little but I hope you will still enjoy this! I loved writing it and tried to use everything you mentioned. Thank you for requesting and also reading!

TW: Body image issues (mild)

Note to Anon: Please never ever think like you’re not worth it just because you’re ‘out of someone’s league’! I wasted years of my life hating myself and feeling like crap just because people made me think I wasn’t worth anything. You’re unique and they’re just blind to see it. Rock on and show them that they’re the ones who are not worth your worrying, anxitey and thoughts! Love you! ❤️

Masterlist | Request

Links - Inspiration song | Dress (in deep red) | Jewelry

When Mick asked me to dress up and meet him in the park close to our house, I can’t lie that it wasn’t a bit confusing. I didn’t remember the date to be anything special really, and I couldn’t get myself to remember if we had anything planned for the day previously. He just got back home for their usual longer summer break between race weekends, which we usually spent laying around in bed for a few days before we felt energized enough to spend time outside the confinement of our home. But now he was up on his feet already on the first day, making us take a walk around the city and as it turns out he had plans for the following days as well. I couldn’t lie, it made me excited but at the same time so confused, about where all of this energy was coming from. Normally I waited with my vacation time off work for him, and only took out days when it was sure that he was going to be free. This meant I was quite busy with work during the remaining days of the year, making me tired and grumpy for the first days I had off in between. It was lucky that on most occasions we had at least a week together, which meant I could lay around lazy for a few days before we would get on with our planned activities. He did surprise me by not letting me just waste a day or two.

My mind started running at the speed of light when I found the little note on our bed, telling me to dress up pretty because he would take me out as soon as he’s gonna be back from his family’s place. I always loved surprises, even more the ones he planned out for us, but knowing we had to go out or it stepped onto a territory that made my anxiety skyrocket. I was never the social type, as I felt content with the group of friends I had since our high-school years. I knew I could trust them and never really tried to meet other people, be it a party or any kind of set up where you had to communicate with strangers. That’s probably why I never really accompanied him to any ceremonies or team parties when I had the chance. It was clear to me that I would just be an anxious mess, and I really didn’t need his friends and colleagues to realise how much Mick and I didn’t match. It was enough when my own brain stood against me and tried to persuade me into believing what we had would never truly work out in the long run. In moments like that I couldn’t even make out how we went from meeting at the beach in Hawaii to today.

° ° °

I didn’t really know how my friends got me to go with them to Hawaii as a summer vacation, and having been here with them for the past half a week I have felt a bit of regret. What was strange that I did enjoy myself and all the plans we had, even if every night I felt like I would rather be home and just relax in my own bedroom, maybe going out with my family for walks or meals at max. That was enough for my social side usually for a whole year. Having people around me 24/7, that tried interacting with me all the time was exhausting. The only thing that made this holiday bearable was that they knew all of this and gave me space when they saw I would need it, but pushed me to take part in the original plan when I was just making up excuses.

Our usual plans consisted of sleeping, eating, going to the beach, taking walks and repeating all four of those activities until our holiday would end. It was usually the beach that I missed out on when I needed a bit of time for myself, but still made sure I spent more time with them than I did alone in our rented house. It would have been a waste of time and money if I didn’t challenge myself a little bit, to be more outgoing. I still wasn’t adventurous enough to for example be in front of them in only a bikini or bathing suit, but I luckily never felt overdressed with my shorts and sleeveless shirts while playing some kind of sports in the sand. Thanks to the boys in our group it was usually football as there were some goals set up in the shade, but we sometimes could get them to play some volleyball too. I probably looked out of place next to all of them wearing their bathing suits or pants and then there I was in full clothing. The only way I could distract myself by only paying attention to the games we played trying to win for our team.

It was maybe our fifth day when we started to see another group of people around our age attending the beach every day. We spent a day just passing each other before one of them challenged us for a volleyball ‘tournament’ and then the next day a football one. It turned into a daily activity and even I was surprised how much I enjoyed it, both the games we played and the conversations we had. They seemed really cool and with several of them I felt like we would be quite good friends outside this holiday. One of them stood out to me even more than the other few guys, by the name of Mick. The girls of course saw it from the outside and I was teased for until the last day when I got myself together and in the end swapped phone numbers with him.

I still didn’t think too much into it, knowing we will probably just forget about even meeting each other. I can still remember how surprised I was when just days after getting back to my usual home routine he texted me, announcing that he’s gonna be in my hometown soon and that he would live to meet up with me. And he didn’t disappoint, going for lunch and a walk around the city with me in just a few weeks time. I can still feel how fast my heart was beating when he revealed to me why he was here and how I felt like a complete fool for thinking he was just a normal kid. I couldn’t have been farther off the truth. That was the first day when I could laugh at my own stupidity whole heartedly, as I couldn’t hold back my embarrassed chuckling at hearing him laugh. If someone told me I’ll get the chance to listen to his laugh almost every day in our future, I would have called them crazy for sure.

° ° °

Putting the little note aside onto the bedside table as I sat down on the mattress, laying back still trying to figure out what he could have planned for us. I was just turning a bit to get my head on my pillow, with my hand sliding under it as I usually liked to sleep when my fingers met with something there that felt like paper. Pulling it out my eyes met with another now purple colored post-it, with his handwriting on it, saying ’It’s gonna be just the two of us, don’t stress about it’ and a little kissy face making me chuckle. He knew me too well and this note showed that he really did think about any possibility so he wouldn’t have to be home to get me out of the house. With a sigh I pushed myself off the bed so I could open up the wardrobe and in a way I knew there would be a twist even before I could see inside. Next to all my usual dresses and blouses hanging under the shelves was another black hanger with a white protector fabric encasing the dress it was probably holding up. The note on it was a simple winky face and I took it out with my head shaking at his antics and how I should have known he would get me something to wear.

I laid it onto our bed, opening up the protector’s zipper and my smile grew wider as my eyes caught the deep red colour of the silk that was hiding under it. Seconds later I was already lifting up the hanger, the dress itself following it flowing through the air with such an ease it made you think it was probably made from it with how light it was. When I turned it around my mind was just about to go into panic mode again at how open the backside was, but the note I discovered stuck to it made me take a deep breath and calm down instantly. ’Remember Hockenheim in 2018?’ I read the words slowly and couldn’t help but smile at the memory it brought up in my mind.

° ° °

When Mick invited me to the Hockenheim GP, the last three races of their season, everyone knew it would be a weekend for celebrations as whatever would have happened he was winning the Championship and no one could stop him. His point advantage put him into a position where not even the driver who was in second place could switch him out, even if they won all three races and Mick would miss out on them. Everything seemed relaxed around his part of the team as everyone knew this last weekend was like a celebratory run for them after all the hard work they put into the season.

The first race wasn’t his best ever but then took second place in both the second and third one, securing his title for the season. As soon as he was out of the car it was all about celebrating both his and the team’s performance. I had the widest grin of my life on my face as we watched him step onto the podium receiving his P2 trophy  and  then later the one for the Driver’s Championship. It took us three times the usual time to get back to the hotel as everyone was taking pictures with him. Even I got one with him, with which I couldn’t hold back from posting about his achievement. It felt like eternity until we were back at the hotel, and the P2 trophy was still in my hand as we entered his room. I was holding it right until he swept me up into a tight hug and I rather placed it onto the coffee table, before I would drop it.

It wasn’t a surprise when after dinner and a couple of drinks we ended up in the bed together with his shirt already off and mine pushed halfway up my torso when I came to my senses. My mind panicked immediately at all the imagined scenarios coming to me, about him leaving after seeing how I actually look. I was always insecure about my whole body, but mainly my back as my skin there was always full of spots and scarring. The thought of him seeing it freaked me out, don’t even start me on thinking about him touching it. Coming back from my thoughts I took in a shaky but deep breath making him glance at me, pushing himself up a little. I just tried kissing him, to get him to continue but there was worry in his eyes and even though he quickly pecked my lips once again he wasn’t getting back to his previous actions.

“ I’m not going any further until you tell me what got you so out of it. ” He stated, still looking me in the eyes and making me gulp. “ What’s the matter? We don’t have to do anything, there’s no musts here. Just tell me what’s wrong, please. ” He asked again, making me just shake my head as I didn’t trust my voice. I felt like his eyes were boring into me so deep he could see my soul.

“ It’s stupid… but I’m just not… not perfect in any way? ” I finally spoke up, making him furrow his brows in confusion as one of his hands came up to my face to get my hair off my cheek. I knew he was trying to get more info out of me.

“ What isn’t perfect? ” He asked like I just told him something stupid, that doesn’t even exist. I debated telling him or just  making a run for it and maybe never talking to him again as anxiety made my throat close up for a second.

“ Everything? Mostly my back. ” I answered him in the end, my next blink lasting longer than usual as I needed a second to compose myself. “ It’s just bumpy and gross. ” I added, not really knowing where my sudden courage came from. When my eyes opened up he was still looking at me but then pushed himself up a little, my hands falling onto my stomach from his sides.

“ Turn around. ” He said, making my heart miss the next beat and my eyes widen. “ Please.” He added with a sigh, sending me a calming smile and my body moved on it’s own sitting up before I turned my back to him. “ Can we take this off? ” I heard his voice as two of his fingers came under the material of my shirt. I was about to shake my head but then it ended up as a nod. If I trusted someone it was him.

After helping me pull my t-shirt off he let me lay back down and I turned my head to the side as it was back on the pillow. Like this I could also see him, giving me the possibility to stop him he was about to do something I wouldn’t have liked. He first just left a little kiss on my cheek, making me smile contently and almost forgetting what was happening, before he went down my neck and my back with his lips. My breath was stuck in my throat until his face came back to mine and I forced some air into my lungs.

“ There’s nothing wrong with you, your body, your back or your skin. Yeah? Nothing wrong. ” He told me again, laying back down next to, with his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “ The only thing wrong here is the idiot who made you think you’re any less than perfect. ” He added, kissing me and I felt like I would never be able to separate from him. Lucky I wouldn’t have to for at least the next month.

° ° °

As I took the little slip of paper off my fingers ran over the silky fabric, the delicate little chain catching my sight with the sparkling diamonds following each other for the whole length of it. It was a strange jewelry and took me a second to understand it was deliberately placed at the back and not in the front of it. The image inside my head made me gasp as I imagined how it would look on someone and how it would accentuate their back, the shiny metal catching everyone’s glance. Even though my skin was in it’s best ever state I was still quite conscious about it, and made sure most of the time to wear things that I knew would cover any imperfection of it. I knew that his plan with this was to make sure I finally embraced it, how I should have then even back then.

I fought with myself for a bit but then took the dress off the hanger and laid it down onto the bed. I still had to take a shower and do both my makeup and hair. I stayed with the most minimal amount of makeup, mostly focusing on my eyeliner and mascara with some nude colored lipstick that wasn’t far off the original color of my lips. I didn’t spend lots of time on my hair either, letting it flow freely after going through it with a brush and parting it at the usual place. The last step was getting into the dress and zipping it up on the side. When I felt like I had everything with a last check in the full body mirror I was about to change my mind at my reflection when I noticed one more little note from him. ‘You look perfect, don’t question it. Car waiting for you in front of the building.’ There was the time too, when the car would arrive at ours, which was minutes away and with a last sigh I took a thin blazer from the wardrobe before putting on my heels and leaving the house. I locked the door, making sure I won’t be able to get back inside easily, so I couldn’t change my mind.

I didn’t even have to wait a minute longer for a car to park down in front of the exit and I got in without a question when the driver called out my name. I wasn’t even anxious anymore when he restarted the engine, more like excited. So much I felt like I couldn’t sit through our drive. We were waiting at a red light and from my seat I could see the park, which was Mick’s and my favourite place for morning runs or even picnics, making me reach up to my neck, my fingers immediately wrapping around the little pendant that was hanging there on a delicate gold chain.

I remember seeing him crashing into a tyre wall and waiting for him to finally confirm that he was alright. It was the first time since I started watching the races that I saw him getting so close to being hurt and I wasn’t looking forward to any more of these. He probably knew that I would be a bit upset, worried about his well being after realising how dangerous their job actually was. It was just two days later when we were already home and he gave me a little box. It contained a medium sized pendant, quite similar to his. I knew his was from his family, to bring luck to him and I hoped mine would bring some more luck not even just to me but him too. From the moment I put it on, I never took it off again for longer than an hour.

“ We’re here. ” The driver’s voice made me blink away the memory that came up for me, making me turn my head towards him. “ He’s waiting. ” He added with a smile, pointing towards the entrance of the little park that I knew so well.

I quickly thanked him for getting me here before leaving the vehicle and going towards the open gates. We usually just walked by this place and I always found it astonishing as it looked like a fairy land with the lightning all around the place and the pagodas, where people could just sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee or tea with some desserts. However, now it was empty, and the only thing that I could hear was soft music playing in one of the small buildings. Having no clue about where I should go my only hope was following the sound to one of the more hidden pagodas, that was lit up outside even more than the others. I was getting confused and almost giving up when he finally stood up and I could let out a relieved sigh. There was a huge grin on his face, making me smile too although I felt a little embarrassed even though it was only him standing in front of me. I knew he would never give me a reason to feel bad about myself or what I was wearing.

“ You look stunning. ” He came up to me, pulling me into a hug and leaving a kiss on my lips. “ I’m really happy you stayed with the dress. ” He added, making me smile up at him as I initiated another kiss between us, before I let him lead me into the little building.

“ Thank you. This is fabulous as well. I knew it was beautiful, but never thought it’s this cozy. ” I looked around again, not even paying too much attention to him, completely missing him taking my blazer off my shoulder so he could hang it on the wall next to his one.

“ I've wanted to take you here since we first saw it. It was just never the perfect timing. ” He let out a sigh, his hand coming up to my back and it sent a shiver down my spine as the jewelry’s colder chain got in contact with my skin. I knew he saw and maybe even felt it, but never commented on it, deeming it a normal reaction.

“ It would have made it the perfect timing. ” I shrugged a little, sitting down on the chair he pulled out for me, before sitting down opposite me. “ Other than it being too cold to just sit around, I can’t really think about anything that would make me wanna leave early. ” I looked around again. My eyes followed the fairy lights’ cable running all around us and up a tree next to the pagoda.

Having the place for ourselves made it even more magical than how it would normally feel like. Even though we weren’t served by a waitress he had everything we could need, next to the table. He prepared sandwiches with little fruit salads and also our favourite drink. I’m sure we would be having coffee if we were here in the morning, but I also knew we would never sleep if we got caffeine in our systems now. From the outside it probably looked funny as we ate the sandwiches while wearing clothes that would fit into the poshest restaurants but I wouldn’t have changed one bit about tonight. Everything was part of what when considered a perfect date, even if it wouldn’t mean the same for another couple. Everyone’s taste is different and that’s what made it even better, that I could see how much Mick knew my favourite details. I still couldn’t believe what I did to deserve the life I had now and all the changes Mick brought into it by being next to me whenever I would need him and the support.

I was about to thank him for everything, that he made this happen, when he pulled his phone out and I could see as he opened up his camera started recording a video. Instead of lifting it up to record us, he propped it up on the table in a way that it would take in the space next to our pagoda, before standing up and going to the music player that controlled the whole system around the garden. I followed him with my eyes, curiously waiting to hear the song he would choose. I recognised it just two seconds into the start of it, making me not even think about it when he reached out his hand towards me. It was our song, however cliche that is, that we danced to in Hawaii, at the beach party that we attended on the last day of my holiday. Back then I thought we would never ever meet again in person, thought we would be parting ways forever as I had to leave with my friends. It would have been a perfect last memory for the few weeks we spent there, but it became even more magical when there was a text waiting for me to turn on my phone that turned into us talking on the phone constantly and then meeting again in my home town just a few months later.

Even though neither of us was a good dancer we made it work, swaying left and right to the slow beats of the song with my arms around his neck and his circling my hips and resting on the small of my back. I let my eyes close and my head slowly fall forward until my forehead was resting on his shoulder. I felt as he rested his head on mine for a second before his lips left a kiss on my jaw and then neck, followed by several on the skin of my shoulder.

“ This is perfect. ” I sighed out, and I was sure my mum would tease me about how I was beaming with a smile so wide the Cheshire cat could be jealous. I wasn’t ready for it to end and was glad of his choice when the song restarted, meaning the silence didn’t break the moment.

“ What do you think about making our forever this perfect? ” I felt his breath on my neck from his whispering, and I nodded with a smile, not thinking much of it. It was when he stepped back a little and I could see the little box in his hand when my hand came up to cover my surprised expression. “ I know you never thought a silly holiday with friends would end with something like this, but I’m planning on making that just one of the things that worked out quite well in our life. Will you be my partner in making everything better and marry me? ” He asked, already on one knee and opening up the top of the box, revealing a ring that was shining in the light coming from the lanterns and fairy lights.

The only thing I could remember after that was him standing next to me again, the both of us enveloped in a hug while I could already feel the comforting weight of the ring on my finger. The song was still flowing through the air around us, making me feel like I was part of the imaginary world built up inside my head, that I thought would never be my reality. I couldn’t wrap my mind around all the images and thoughts that were running around my head about our future, but feeling his embrace around my body I knew it would all workout. I already had him and that was everything I needed to live my life happy. Or should I say our life now?    

[mrvdocks]

Nightcall P.1

Request/Summary: Kurt is obsessive over a model and kidnaps her, taking her along for the ride of the night. 

After

The flurry of phones ringing off the hook and background noise felt foreign to you, it was just a buzzing in your ear. You pulled the safety blanket around you closer, grabbing it in fistfuls. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, but it feels like hours. The fluorescent in the room probably only made you look even worse for wear than you were hours before, but it didn’t matter now. In a span of 24 hours, your life had changed. 

The guarded door opened and an officer pulled up a chair in front of you, dropping photos of the gruesome scene you’d seen firsthand. She slides the photos closer, her thumb obscuring the killer’s face. You didn’t need to see it a second time.

“You were found in the residence of Mr. Kunkle, with one Jessie Adams and a John Doe, who seems to have been the victim of Mr. Kunkle’s spree amongst others.”

Even his name brings chills down your spine. 

“I already told the police everything.” You say groggily, your throat still sore from the whole ordeal.

“Yes, but there seems to be some doubt on your partnership with Mr. Kunkle. Footage, eyewitness accounts,” she’s studying you no doubt. Any sort of tick or movement you made without thought that could somehow lead her to think you were lying about anything you had explained earlier. 

“What was your relationship with Mr. Kunkle?” She pries, bringing multiple photos of Kurt to be splayed out in front of you. Some good, some bad, some….disturbing. 

“I - none. He just knew me through the socials.” 

“And you were also the target of his mania.” There’s something unsettling in how much she’s liking interrogating you. You ignore it. 

“You think it’s my fault he did this.” 

It was not your fault. None of this was. Kurt was just too power hungry. Maybe you were too trusting. You didn’t want to see Kurt for what he really was until it was too late. 

“I’m not saying it’s your fault, but your compliance does seem suspicious.”

“I-I didn’t know him very well. He was just my Spree driver for a day. But he was always nice to me.”

“He was also your kidnapper.”

“Like I said, he was a nice guy.” Your voice breaks. 

They’re all nice guys until they aren’t. 

“And you didn’t think to call the authorities when you were alone? Were you helping him lure these people?”

You can feel her eyes burning into you. 

“I’m not stupid,” you cry. “I know how this sounds. But I’m telling you, he gave me a ride and then he - all of this. Oh God.” 

You bring your shaky hands to run through your worn and tired face, specks of dried blood still prominent even through many washes with soap. It’s another way Kurt managed to stay with you. 

“Let’s start at the beginning,” she sits back with her arms folded. “And spare no detail.”

Before

He scrolls through your feed for the millionth time today.

Photos of you on your daily walks, exploring hidden LA gems, posting places you were shooting at, people you were hanging out with, all at the touch of a button for him. The bell notification alerts him, telling him that you’ve posted. He taps the screen in the blink of an eye, meeting your face as you giggle about falling while skating. 

You pout as you show the damage, remarking that it was lucky you weren’t shooting that day otherwise you would’ve had to cover up on such a hot day. 

In a vain industry, you try to keep yourself humble and that’s what he loves about you. Though he’s never met you, he thinks you could live up to the image he’s created of you. One that matches your optimistic and humorous one. 

He re watches your story, pausing at random moments where he screenshots and saves to his photos. His home screen is a shot of you in black and white, seemingly topless from chest down and looking back with an enticing smile. He loves the way your hair frames your face, the way pieces of it were meticulously picked out to give it a sort of messy look.

You could make anything look good, he thinks.

Bobby gives him a hard time about you, bragging about how he knows you and that although you’re more well known than he is, you are the one who should be grateful for his exposure.

Kurt thinks it’s bullshit but he wouldn’t be surprised if it were true, maybe you’d come around to meet him one day.

The vibration of a text brings him out of his daze, seeing Bobby’s name in big bold letters. 

He can’t believe his eyes when he opens the text. It’s an off guard video of you behind Bobby, giggling at something on your phone before noticing that he’s recording and flashing a cheeky smile and a peace sign.

“Found your girlfriend.” Bobby mocks before erupting into hysterical laughter.

Kurt replays it until his phone dies, Bobby’s words echoing in his head.

An idea pops into his head, it would be difficult if he didn’t know your exact routine but thanks to your fan accounts and the power of gossip blogs, it’s a definite success. 

He calls Bobby immediately, hearing him and his entourage in the background as they talked about a video idea. 

“What do you want, Kurt? I’m busy right now.” His annoyance is clear but Kurt is way too focused on you to notice.

“I need a favor.”

It’s amazing what the internet contains about a person. It’s also quite terrifying. Through just a few minutes of research, he’s found out your schedule along with where you went to school, where you live and your closest friends. 

In a photo Bobby had taken, the location of the next shoot you had taking place somewhere was barely visible.

He connects the dots, thinking about how your involvement could help him get  #TheLesson out and make him a household name. 

And it’s exactly what he does the day of. He parks near your neighborhood, foot bouncing and anxiously looking at his phone. He declines the others in hopes of finding you according to the schedule. You almost never use your real name on anything when going out but he recognizes your fake name and location, he puts the car into drive and talks himself up. 

He parks across the street, giving him a better view of you.  

His heart skitters when he sees you look in his direction, your brows quirk up as you give him an easy smile and cross carefully. 

You stop and bend to meet him at the passenger window, “Kurt, right?”

His name coming out of your mouth is something he’s dreamed of since he first saw you. He almost pinches himself to know if this is real. 

He knows he’s grinning like an idiot because you laugh at his speechlessness. 

“Sorry,” he motions to the backseat, “Hop in!” 

“I take it you know who I am.” 

You’re not oblivious to your recognition, but with some guys it was just always a hit or miss. They either wanted you to take your top off or asked for some weird things.

“Are you kidding? I’m like your biggest fan.” He beams, going back on the road. 

You’re not good at accepting compliments, so all you can manage is a shy smile and a, “Thanks!”

You notice his set up of cameras and ask him about it, to which he says they’re just for protection. Throughout the ride you learn more about him, particularly that he was going something the next day called The Lesson. He had a very particular view about this digital world you both lived in, talking about these odd jobs he’d been doing along with trying to build up his following. In between talking about himself, he mentions Bobby and the events of last night from the video. 

“Oh right, Bobby.” You roll your eyes at the mention of his name. 

Bobby was a pain in your ass sometimes, acting all high and mighty all the time and just like he was the overall shit. 

“Yeah he’s alright. He could just tone it down a little.”

“Oh yeah - definitely, he was the same when he was a kid. Just pure chaotic energy.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

In between other conversations, Kurt brought back the spotlight to you, asking you about different people you hung out with. It was pleasant conversation, you felt like you were talking to an old friend and letting off some steam. The red flags hadn’t gone off just yet. 

To let loose and make you live a little, Kurt races past a red light and nearly misses being in a collision. 

It startles you but he assures you there’s no danger. 

“You trust me right?” He asks, glancing back to you.

“I mean, yeah.” 

The confirmation is validation to him. It’s all he needed to begin.

He picks up another passenger, an older man who definitely did not hide the way he was staring at your body. You’re thankful for sitting a little father from him but when Kurt initiates conversation with him, everything goes downhill.

“I know you from somewhere.” The man points out, his obvious staring makes you cringe as you stay silent.

“You’re that model, I’ve seen your stuff around Westwood. Bangin’ body.”

You can feel the anger in your chest rise as Kurt finally notices.

“What’s going on?” He glances to the back, meeting your shifting eyes.

The man ignores him. “Sweetheart when someone compliments you, the nice thing to do is smile.”

That did it.

“Excuse me? I don’t owe you shit!” You grit.

“Whoa! Whoa! Sir you can’t be saying that anymore.” Kurt changes lanes, ready to stop if the situation gets worse.

“She should be proud she doesn’t look like her people. All of ‘em just fat and lazy.”

“Excuse me?! My people?” You’re sure you don’t look the least bit intimidating but it doesn’t matter. You were willing to kick this man’s ass if need be.

Kurt pulls off the the side of the road, “Alright, get out.” 

“What? No, I paid for this ride fair and square. I’m not leaving for shit. I can say what I want.” He says adamantly.

“Sir if you make those comments again I’m going to have to cancel the Spree.”

Something clicks in Kurt’s head as he remembers the water bottles. 

He motions for you to take the passenger seat which you do without much hesitation. 

Kurt waits a minute before merging again, glancing at the man every so often and taking more desolate streets. You don’t notice the absence of cars and you definitely don’t notice when the man takes a bottle and practically chugs it. 

Kurt smirks as he slows down. “Hey maybe you should let them know you’re not going to make it.”

Confused, you glance at Kurt and then at the man who’s now starting to grab at his throat and coughing violently.  

Your eyes widen as you attempt to get Kurt to stop the car but he doesn’t move, instead he keeps his eyes trained on the road.

“Kurt, stop the car.”

The man’s coughs get worse by the second and he turns a very bright red. 

“Kurt! Stop the car!” 

You’re frozen, helpless to watch the man as he tries to grab at Kurt from behind but coughs up blood and passes out in the backseat. You slink back in your seat, utterly terrified of what just happened. 

Adrenaline and fear course through you. You side eye Kurt who is not as affected by this as you are as he merely readjusts his camera. 

You begin to hyperventilate and try the passenger door. When it doesn’t budge you shut your eyes and cry.

“I won’t say anything. I won’t I promise. I promise, Kurt. Please.”

Kurt sighs as he retrieves a piece of cloth from his pocket. Your eyes widen as he comes close and pins you in your seat and smothers you with the cloth. You struggle under him, pushing against his chest to no avail. 

The smell of the chloroform inundates your senses and in a matter of seconds you feel your eyes roll back and everything go black. 

Once you’re knocked out, Kurt takes both your phone and the other passengers to knock suspicion off of him. He has plans for the racist prick in the back, but for you, he has much bigger plans.

[partnersatfazbear]

Fazbear Frights: What We Found Analysis

Here’s my analysis for What We Found, the third story in Gumdrop Angel. I wrote this as I read so it may be a little different than my previous analysis where I read the story first and went back.

If you’re a Michael Afton fan I highly recommend this. Also, there’s possibly some insight into William Afton, Mrs. Afton, and Henry too, so it’s worth a skim.

Pg 144 '...a place thirty-some years forgotten' Just reconfirming FNAF 3 is 30 years past *one* of the FNAF closings, presumably FNAF 2 location.

Pg 145 "The whole building was giving him [Hudson] a headache." FIX THE VENTILATION BRUH

Pg 148 '...they were able to use salvaged derelict equiptment original to the old pizzerias.' Another confirmation of something we heard from Phone Guy.

Pg 147 "How old are you?" "Twenty-three, same as you." I think this gives us Michael's age during FNAF 3.

EDIT: This kept me awake last night. Obviously this is impossible because he has to be alive for at least 10 years before 1983, BUT maybe its just reconfirming FNAF 3′s year? 2023?

Pg 149 "Hudsan's dad died and his mom married Lewis, a ridiculous balding man who wore plaid vests and smoked a pipe" Did... Did this book just seriously imply Mrs. Afton left William for Henry? Really? (Yes, there's differences; the husband is dead and the man wears plaid 'vests' but it seems very odd to include that detail. This could just have been the writer's own imagination, though.) I have seen this as a fan theory and 100% explains the jealousy aspect of William, but I can't help but kinda hate it. I think this is very important, though, and probably Scott's intention. "This horrible little man [Lewis]... would make Hudson's next ten years a living Hell" This REALLY intrigues me given the context I just went over. The text implies Lewis was fairly neglectful to our main character / Michael stand-in Hudson. Maybe I'm wrong and for some reason Mrs. Emily left and went to William? XD Haha, I'm reading too much into this page. Maybe I'll come back to this later. I figure it's more of Scott possibly including double-details (contradicting stuff with the same character that really applies to two, which has been something I heavily pointed out in previous anaylsis on this blog) Having said that, I'm going w/the former because I can't imagine Henry being abusive (neglectful yes, abusive no) and he's never been portrayed that way in official works like William has in the novels.

Pg 150 "Hudson began to screw up in class...a product of spending the night in fear that his stepfather [Lewis]... [would] beat him just for the fun of it." Ooof. Big confirm on William actually being abusive. Unless we stick with the Henry theory for Lewis (combined with Midnight Motorist Henry theory / alcoholic). "...near-daily beatings..." "his mom started taking pills to get through the day..." So, whoever Mrs. Afton is, she was definetly not paying attention. But then, most people married to serial killers either don't notice because of denial (like this) or because the killer is so manipulative / careful they can't notice.

"Barry, who had red hair and freckles..." Yo?! Is that a description of Fritz?! These friends in the story could be the other kids Michael knew's stand-in's, aka the two gravestones with names he used (Fritz and Jeremy), as shown in the checks for the games and FNAF 6. I've long figured Michael was probably friends with the victims--it makes them easier, although riskier, targets [for William]. The two friends are male, too, like Fritz and Jeremy. If you're curious about Duane's description (our stand in for Jeremy), it's "tight black shirt... muscles... black hair long enough for a glossy ponytail..." I'm not sure if this matches anything found in the novels or contradicts them, though. (The novels = TSE trilogy)

"And so it went... until the night of the fire." For context, this is before FF burns down. We're learning of Hudson's life from his close friends in childhood, his father's death, his mother remarrying, to his abusive stepfather, to his grades slipping to this line. This would be a new fire not seen/mentioned in the games...

Pg 151 "...go to Charlie's for a sundae..." Really. Really Scott. Just gonna use this name again. OK. I'm not even gonna discuss this because it's probably irrelevant. *This is confirmed on pg 158 to be an ice cream shop. No lore relevance aside the annoying name coincidences Scott loves to troll with.

"This is not... an advance into enemy territory, a fight with demons, or a descent into Hell..." Uh, what? What is Hudson talking about? XD I'm only noting it because it seems so out of place. He's probably talking about video games or something.

Another note, although I don't have a specific reference since it is mentioned off-hand many times, is that Hudson keeps referring to his "history" which is implied to have kept him from getting a well-paying job and a girl he's crushing on doesn't know this "history" which is good for him. Seems good old "Michael Stand-In" has done some jail time or something. Edit: On pg 154/155 the girl asks Hudson, "Did you do it?" Seems he may have killed his stepfather or been involved with something else just as bad. Edit 2: No, I was thinking too deep into it. This probably refers to Evan's death at Fredbear's. DUH.

Pg 156 describes an actual "prize corner" in FF! What am I even reading? IIRC this is in FNAF 3, too. So they just hand out these scary gift boxes to people that complete the attraction? (Hudson says he *would* have fun handing out the scary toys to kids when this location opens--kind of a bully thing to do, eh?)

"[Hudson] avoid[ed] glancing in any of the mirrors..." I'm only pointing this out because it could be reference to one of two things. 1) We know because of one of UCN's music tracks, William has a fear of his reflection. Michael probably shares this trait, especially since 2) after Ennard and all... and later on pg 157 it also says, "he never wanted to face: himself" Sounds like guilt, my guy.

Pg 157 "blonde hair... blue eyes..." Hudson shares an eye color with Michael. It's possible Michael had blonde hair as a child and it changed to brown (it's common, something I personally went through being technically blonde/ blue eyed myself)

"He [Hudson] knew from personal experience that toys could turn from fun...to torture ina heart-beat" Fairly self explanatory. Either Hudson's worked at a creepy location before or he doesn't like remembering Fredbear's.

*checks how much is left.* There's still 35 pages (not counting back/front) left of this... This is gonna be a lot of notes.

Pg 158 Hudson doesn't have a car. Poor Mike, probably having to walk everywhere. Especially as a corpse.

Pg 160 This page describes many physical issues Hudson has that prevents him from entering the Navy, all from the abuse of Lewis. Obvious paralell to Michael becoming an undead [because his father sent him to CBPR indirectly causing his condition]

Pg 161 "How's your granny, Hud?... ...Is she still alive?" "I don't think she can die." Does anyone in the Afton family really 'die'? XD

Pg 162 These few pages discuss Hudson's grandmother. She's described as "a seer who claimed to know the future... ...wore big men's plaid flannel shirts with baggy jeans" Um, more plaid / flannel? AGH. STAHP. Lowkey, I would totally headcanon my Aunt Jen like this, though.

Pg 163 "Hudson's mom... the way she was before Hudson's dad had died... never... particularly warm and fuzzy... but... effiencient and responsible..." More about Mrs. Afton, so that's kinda neat.

"Hudson's dad was fun and attentive." There's a good Dad in this series?

"Unfortunetly, he also struggled with mental illness." "invisible low points" (Pg 164) Kinda reminds me of how Henry is described after Charlotte's death in the books.

Pg 164 "When Steven got himself into a bad deal that cost him his small business... he'd taken his life." Oh, it is Henry! SMH. Way to use confusing paralells. So, from our understanding thus far, Hudson's real father, Steven, is our Henry stand-in. His step-father despite being described similar to Henry, is actually our William stand-in. Fair game, Scott.

Pg 164 "...he [Hudson] was locked into a supply closet..." Oh shit, you guys. So, let me go on a tangent here, because this IS important! I just watched a retrospective on Sister Location and FNAF 6 earlier and one theory for Midnight Motorist was the person in the chair was the mother and the kid was Michael. I think this little line may confirm that. In fact, the story may be the key to figuring things out. Obviously, the line is a paralell to FNAF 4's scene in which Crying Child was locked in the supply closet of Fredbear's. I know some people, including Matpat, believe[d] CC was Michael, and in this book's context, it sort of works. This does contradict Step Closer and 1000 other things that make Michael the older brother, but maybe it's hinting at MM? Abusive stepdad (possibly Henry... maybe William is gone at this point), checked out Mom (hey, grey couch lady with Foxybro's font). IDK, but its definetly something to think about.

Pg 165 Lewis is mentioned as calling Hudson "nothing" and saying "you're nothing" on several occasions on this page. Just more abuse, for those accurate fanfic writers like me. Also I kinda wanna watch Morel Orel again. Yall know my fav character is Clay. Yall know.

"You're smoke." <-- Lewis / The text later reads, "...there was some irony, given what eventually happened." BRUH. Why did your stepdad die in a fire? :V TELL ME.

"When his family's house burned down at the end of his senior year..." Huh. Is there a fire we don't know about in the game-verse? Could this explain what happened to the FNAF 4 house before MM house?!

"...it purged Hudson of Lewis and his mother." MRS. AFTON BURNED ALIVE, TOO? Bruh. I can't with this story.

The text later describes the fire is concluded to be man-made and Hudson was blamed for it. Can't say if this ties to Michael, but it IS interesting... TBF, there is a small paralell to draw between Henry in FNAF 6 and his history of suicide in the books, too.

Pg 166 "...this place's [FF] busted thermostat.." I just find this line funny.

Pg 167 "...after three weeks of keeping an eye on the place" Some more timeline context for FNAF 3. We know that Michael worked there a little while before we start playing the game thanks to one of the phone calls, IIRC, so this makes sense. If Michael was accused of [something] and also wanting to hunt down his father, then it makes perfect sense why he's working a dead end job at Freddy's over and over and over. Fun fun fun.

Pg 169 "He hated to think about a functional character [Foxy]" This line is in regards to Hudson not liking the set up of Pirate's Cove and Foxy's hook to scare people. Sounds familiar, don't it? (For Michael anyway.)

Pg 173 "Some big find is arriving tomorrow." SPRINGY BOI! COME ON BOOK, get on with the show?

Pg 176 "Granny was wearing a red-and-green plaid shirt and her baggy jeans." Nothing special, but it was specifically brought up twice. I'm kind of racking my brain trying to understand what the point of this character is outside of "woooo everything is haunted don't you know that" kind of character.

Pg 180 "...dropped the crate on the linoleum with a resounding thud." HEY. Poor Springtrap, just gettin' tossed around like the trash he is.

Pg 186 "If you weren't so stupid, I'd tell you more about it." Springtrap bringing the burn. =:)

"A voice with a burr-like rasp...hint of a Southern accent" I'm going to assume this is because it's Lewis probably in the suit in this story and not our old British lad.

"It's was Mr. Atkin's voice." THE MATH TEACHER? *goes back to check* 'The algebra teacher'. Okay...

Pg 190 Okay, so Hudson hear's Lewis' voice this time. Okay, I get it now. Springtrap in this kind of imbodies all of Hudson's old bullies, including the teacher. He also has PTSD, just FYI. IDK if anyone finds that important, but it's fairly obvious by the line "He wasn't in his bedroom. Lewis didn't just slam his head into a desk; his head had been slammed into the [arcade] game."

"Why did he hallucinate a scene from his childhood?" Oh, it's not PTSD, then. It's just the VENTILATION ERROR. lol Okay.

Just a note, as I'm reading through the more action-based stuff, I kind of feel bad for Michael if he had flashbacks like this guy. They're intense.

So, Lewis' voice finally comes out of Springtrap on Pg 213. There's that.

Pg 220 "You can just stay there [in his room]" Kind of a paralell to Midnight Motorist. Lewis is saying it to Hudson. I really feel like the kid in the MM game is Michael because of this story...

Pg 223 "Heat purges. Fire heals." I'm sure that's Henry's life motto.

The ending was stupid, but most in these stories are. Hudson is hallucinating and is implied to have burned himself alive in FF's oven. Meh? The first half of this one is A TRIP and a little insight into what I 100% believe is Michael's childhood. I think the saddest part of it all is that we never got Springtrap speaking to Michael in FNAF 3--and if it's ever remade I hope we get more of them interacting.

[aprilgloomaries]

Whoa- I haven’t been on this website since I was in high school! Welp, I’m 26 now and I’m feeling a lot of feelings that I figured I would just write/blog about because why the fck not. Maybe I’ll include stuff I feel/deal with daily or maybe weekly to kind of just take the weight of everything off my shoulders. I’m feeling very lonely and alone and both aren’t quite kind emotions. Don’t get me wrong, I have friends but we all lead very busy adult lives far from each other and I’m getting kind of sick of trying to make time to hang out with people and being met less than half way.

I have two closest friends- I have one that after asking him to hang out so many times and him telling me he’s busy or “maybe next time” or rescheduling on me once or twice, kind of made me catch the hint. I’ll never forget that we once went to an event I was really excited to go to and I thought he was too because we both seemed to be having fun, as we were leaving I asked him if we could take a picture and he said he wasn’t feeling it and didn’t want to. Listen, I get it. I have moments I don’t want pics at all so I let it go. I asked if he had fun and he said “not really.” I felt sad because I legit thought we had fun spending time together.. but then he said “he didn’t want to even come” and that lowkey shattered me and I had to hold back tears. I never actually admitted this now that I think about it… I felt like I had FORCED someone to spend time with me and idk it just made me sad. But I love him dearly, and sometimes I just wish we had all the time in the world to spend time together. I’m lucky if I see him once a month, but we both work a lot so that’s understandable. When we get together it’s like nothing changes. We’ve been friends since like our sophomore year in high school lol.

My other very close and dearest friend. Man we’re legit the same person, at times it gets scary how alike we are. But just how alike we are, we are so very different. I feel like with her I always come in last as a friend. I’ve realized that unless I make a step to move forward and want to hang out, I get ignored. She really made me feel like complete trash planning a party recently. I know I get very anxiously annoying when I party plan but she was legit ignoring me for two whole weeks and gave me the cold shoulder on the two occasions we got together to plan things last minute. I’m legit crying typing it because I felt so bad.. I feel like a weenie and you might think that too but these are my fragile ass emotions so stfu and don’t judge me. The party was fun of course but that moment still lingers in my mind. We have gotten really close over the last few years but I’ve noticed that when one guy who is complete trash, makes his way into her life again, I get completely tossed to the side.. I’ve noticed this on about five occasions. Mind you this is a man that has legit destroyed her life in so many ways and her confidence. Even damn near lost a different friend over this guy.. but that’s not my story to tell. I love her dearly but I really wish she would mature more and prepare herself for real world adult shit. My love for her has legit had me leave work early to rescue her from situations, drive 2+ hours to make sure she’s okay, open my house up to her etc.. I think in a way, I need to grow up more too and not let my emotions get in the way of so many things. I think that’s why at times I distance myself from everything and everyone and just stick to a routine because I want to stay busy. I know that if my mind isn’t busy, it starts to wonder off and then I get sad and start thinking unhealthy thoughts.

I’m working on it though.. slowly but still working on it. My love languages, quality time and physical touch are just suffering a lot right now. I’m off from work tomorrow so I’m just going to implicate some little self care moments into my day. Starting with, the GYM! I started going to the gym like two weeks ago. Nothing too crazy just legit an hour of cardio. Starting with some treadmill time on incline. I wanna build my stamina up a bit and then work towards getting fit and healthy. I’m also going to do some laundry because my room isn’t the tidiest right now and although I have no MF funds to fix/put my clothes away- ima try to make it work somehow lol

BUENO PUES- that’s all I have for now. That’s legit what’s on my mind right now. Ima finish my green tea listen to bad bunny for the next hour and then fall asleep to some billie eilish. Buenas noches.🌙

[jawritter]

His Old Ghost

Created For: @spndarkbingo

Summary: Some things from the past just never really want to let go, do they?

Square Field: Mobster AU

Rating: Explicit 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x John Winchester

Word Count: 1672

Warnings: Heavy Trigger warning!! Suicidal!Dean, heavy suicidal ideals and implications as well as prompts, control, manipulation, talk of death past and present, depression, language, angst, I think that’s it. Sorry if I missed something.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons! <3

A/N: As always please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! This is the last fic for this Bingo! Hope you all enjoy!

**Masterlist**   ~  **Become A Patreon**

The deep amber brown liquid swirled easily around the tumblr that Dean  held tightly in his grip. His gaze was fixed on large rain drops falling against the window that was behind his desk, blurring the lights of the city that seemed to sit miles below his penthouse office on the 51st floor. 

Below him were thousands of people, young and old, going about their daily lives, only worried about their own little bubble of problems. Most of them were unable to even see past the cell phone that seemed to captivate their attention as they moved about amongst each other. 

With a disgusted snarl on his lips, Dean lifted the tumbler, and downed it in one pull. The burn of the alcohol has stopped affecting him a long time ago. Now it was the only warmth he felt.. 

“Those people, they’re ungrateful for what we do son,” John’s voice sounded from somewhere in the back corner of the room. 

Dean had known he was standing there watching him. When you have lived many years with people trying to kill you, tend to heighten your senses in a way you couldn’t turn off. 

“Get out of my head old man,” Dean’s voice drew out unamused. “I couldn’t give a fuck what they want or don’t want, see or don’t see. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

Dean could hear John moving closer to the desk, and the wood creaking attop it, as the smell of cigar that seemed to constantly linger around his father, misted with just a hint of some expensive Italian cologne and whiskey let Dean know he’d perched himself on the corner of the desk.

“If it weren’t for us, half of this city would be in ruin. Their businesses  would be shut down, their schools and churches would be sitting empty, and they wouldn't even have a roof over most of their heads. Still, look at them down there, walking around without a care in the world, and you’re  telling me that doesn’t bother you? Not in the least?” 

In truth, it didn’t bother him. He wasn’t mad that most of them were ungrateful, and lived in blissful ignorance.In fact, he envied them. He wished he could walk around in the same happy little bubble they walked and lived in everyday, not knowing what really went on behind closed doors, or the sacrifices other people made at their expense. “It’s just good business,” or so his father always said. Dean was starting to beg to differ. 

He hadn’t  known when he’d take over his father’s ‘family business’ it would come with so much pain, and heartache or so much death. Now here he was, The Godfather, as it were, but it wasn’t anything like it was in the movies. No, it was darker, and colder, and lonely as the grave he’d seem to keep lowering his friends into. 

He thought he could have it all when he was younger. He thought that he could have it all, ruling the city on his throne of control as the people  moved about like his little pawns in a game of chess only he could master. He was wrong. So very fucking wrong, and now? Well, now he was just left with the ghost of the past.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Dean said with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. John’s dark chuckle sounded from behind him as he got up and moved closer to the window, putting a hand on the cold glass as he watched the rain slip down the pane, determined to ignore the old demon that seemed to come and visit him after every failed job. 

“Sure is a long way down isn’t?” John’s voice said from directly next to him now, as if he was looking down at the city below him just as Dean was now. “You know, it wouldn’t be hard right? The fall? In fact, it would almost be peaceful. Hell, they say by the time you hit the ground from this height your heart’s already stopped anyway, and you're dead before you even hit the ground. It’s as easy as falling asleep.” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he closed his eyes and fought against the thoughts that were clouding his judgement. “Fuck off,” he growled, but John just laughed in earnest, sending a familiar shiver down Dean’s spine. 

“Come Dean, what do you really have to live for anyway?” John taunted, walking around him like a lion stalking down his prey, getting ready to land the deadly pounce that would ultimately destroy the poor, worthless beast that was weaker than he.

“She will never love you Dean, you know that right? First time shit goes sideways, she’s gonna do the same as every other bitch you have ever used to get your dick wet. She’s just there for the money you hand her, and you know it.” 

John’s hot breath blew against the back of his neck as the next passing words were made in a whisper against his sweat damp skin. 

“But, you had to fuck around and get feelings, didn’t you boy?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Dean roared, but it only seemed to edge on his torturer even more. 

“No! Feelings make you weak, make you vulnerable!” John’s voice sounded louder than his own, and Dean flinched as if he’d raised his hand and struck him. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised, you always were too weak. You and your feelings were the reason I’m dead today Dean. Sam would have made a better leader. He was smarter, stronger.  You were never even able to protect him.That’s why you let him go off to Stanford, isn’t it Dean, because he’d be safer out of the life.” 

Dean’s fist pounded against the glass in a hollow thud, and he gritted his teeth almost painfully, “Sammy deserved better than this. He deserved to get out.” 

“Is that what Benny deserved today Dean? Was that round through the heart his way of ‘getting out of the life’.He’s in the ground right now because you sent him on that delivery Dean, he’s dead because of you.”

“I said, fuck off!” Dean growled, but to no avail. 

“Do Y/N a favor. Open the drawer where you keep that 45, and end it. A simple shot to the temple and it’s done. She’ll be free of the coward that she’s tided too.”

Dean’s eyes shot to the small drawer at the bottom of his desk, and his pulse quickened.

“That’s it son, do it, end it.” John's voice growled deep in his ear, as one large tear rolled down Dean’s face. 

His legs felt weak. His breath was coming in short spurts as a grip tightened around his pounding heart, like a vise in his chest. John’s voice repeated, growing in his ear to “end it, do it now.” the same tone he’d used his whole life to order him around, and Dean had never been able to disobey an order. 

Maybe his dad’s ghost was right, and was weak. Maybe you would be better if he just ended it, took the cowards way out of this shit show, and let you move on. He’d make sure to leave you enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life.You’d be better off if he were dead.

Before he could even move from his spot against the window, two hands, much smaller than the ones that felt as if they were gripping his throat, slipped around his chest, and your scent seemed to push through the fog of self hate and regret that was weighing on him from years past. 

“Dean, baby breath, it’s okay,” your voice soothed over him, and he turned to lean into your embrace, thankful that you had come in just in time to once again chase the old ghost away. 

“I know, it’s just one of those nights,” Dean murmured into your hair, letting the scent of his favorite shampoo that you always used calm his racing pulse. 

“It wasn’t your fault baby. I can see you literally blaming yourself. Benny knew the risk of what he was going to do, he knew that it could go the way it went. You couldn’t have stopped it if you wanted to,” you try to sooth him. 

Dean’s eyes flickered to the corner of the room, where a pair of glowing yellow eyes shone like cat eyes in a dark alley, and his father’s face disappeared into the darkness. He was never gone forever. He was always there, always lurking, always haunting, taunting him. 

“Come on handsome, let’s get some sleep,” you tell him, grabbing his hand, and leading him from the dark, cold office to the master bedroom were you could keep an eye on him, keep him close to you, and help fight off the old ghost of his past that never seemed to want to let go. 

Tonight he’d win against them again, but there would always be a battle, always a struggle with demons that had their hooks in him so deep, that one day they’d drive them to his grave. Tonight though, he’d hide in the safety of your arms, and your warm embrace to get up and do it all over again tomorrow. Until one day, by an enemy or by his own hand, he’d be lowered into the ground, and with a hero’s funeral to cover up a black soul that had more blood on his hands than the devil himself. 

As long as he had you, and as long as you were here, he could find his resting place here. This was as close to heaven as he’d ever get, and when he’d died, and they covered him in gold, he’d be able to say he had you, for just a little while. For just a little while, he got to see heaven, and it was all because of you. His hiding place. His sanctuary. A place where his ghost couldn’t find him. 

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @deanmonandnegansbitch @hayleeharling   @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @thoughts-and-funnies @hearteyes-j2​ @miss-nerd95​

[kettle-on]

(Oh woops, this is a lot longer than it was supposed to be, but I got carried away. Still not super happy with it, but I figured I'd post it sooner than later, before I changed my mind completely!)

Monty Python and the Barbados Fic

Eric x Michael x OFC

Chapter 4

attn: @jessm78 @coincidence-ithinknots-blog

Evenings at Heron Bay were lively, silly, rowdy, and populous. The Pythons had decided they would have guests to dinner every night, and surprisingly this proved not too difficult. Apparently Barbados was hopping with friendly famous faces at this time of year.

Mick Jagger continued his regular visits with Jerry on his arm, and one or two pairs of glamorous mystery Misters and Misses. It was revealed through many rounds of Charades that the Rolling Stone had an extraordinary talent for both miming and deciphering interpretive dance. His rendition of “the eruption of Mt Vesuvius” was met with roaring applause, and his “Sex Pistols” brought the evening to an un-toppable peak.

Things would take a turn, however, when an entirely sober Graham introduced a favourite game of his called “Poor Pussy” in which the chosen “pussy” approaches guests and, through meowing and distinctly feline behaviour, must make the guest laugh whilst they attempt to pet pussy’s head and say with a straight face three times: “poor pussy.” When one does laugh, they become the new “pussy.” This last rule changed quickly when it arose that multiple “pussies” had taken over the room, and hardly a word could be spoken from the guests through their laughter.

Perhaps the most uncommon news, however, came from casual chat. A visiting Keith Moon explained his plans for a new house in Malibu, anxious for acres of privacy and leaving behind his celebrity neighbours. Jagger the Charades king told of all-night New York City parties, to which Graham countered: “At least in London, one has the good sense to wrap up before sitting down to breakfast.”

Y/N was sure that, had she been keeping a list, she’d have been privy to the business of every star in modern comedy and rock and roll.

The next morning came too early once again, but Y/N was this time drawn to the bedroom window. From here she could see the team of gardeners hired to keep Heron Bay looking lush and groomed. She couldn’t help but feel that with each day that passed she was floating further and further away from what she remembered normal life to be like.

Not wanting to disturb a sleeping Eric, she made her way to the morning room that looked out to the curved courtyard. At one end of the room was a large painted screen of columns in some beautiful ancient scene. Each table surface in this room was topped with a floral arrangement, antique candlesticks, and photographs of visitors and houseguests. Decades of beautiful faces and elegant dresses, men in uniform, and posed portraits looked back at her from their frames.

What was this world? she had long wondered. Painted screens, stone pediments, beaches, house staff, tennis courts, and private ponds. Marriages, affairs, and cover-ups. Churchill, the Duke of Edinburgh, Lord and Lady Something of Somewhere Unpronounceable, and movie stars and rock n roll gods. And who was she in all of this?

From the near distance, she heard puffs of exertion and approaching steps. Michael had committed himself to continuing his disciplined daily morning jog and here he was returning.

“Ah,” he panted, “Morning.”

“Good morning. Nice run?”

“Well,” puff, “it’s not Holloway, but it’ll do.”

When he caught his breath, he noticed her uneasiness. With a smiling face and a tone he’d learned from his mother, he suggested:

“Tea?” --

It was much later that night that Y/N found herself again wandering the corridors alone. The afternoon had passed with a visit from Eric’s friend Ricky Fataar with whom he’d made The Rutles the previous year, and his wife, Heron Bay’s proprietress Penelope Tree. The couple had dropped in for what they called a “business luncheon,” and extended an invitation to the Python household out for a “business dinner.” The two Terrys and Eric accepted, (the Terrys hoping they might throw in a bit of “money talk” regarding their upcoming film budget) and by the time the day’s activities had come to a close, the outward dinner guests had yet to return.

In the rare quiet of the late-night, Y/N knocked on the door to the room where Michael was staying, and a friendly hum invited her into the room. A single lamp lit up the walls and floor, and a Michael in repose who was making edits to his well-kept journal.

“Do I recall correctly you said you’d brought a small library with you?” asked Y/N from the door.

“I did, indeed!” he responded, setting his journal on one of the nightstands next to the bed. “What’s the matter – can’t sleep?”

Y/N shook her head with an apologetic smirk.

“I see, and what sort of thing are you after?”

“Something, uh... gentle, I suppose. Something to escape.”

“Escape? From here? A tropical island and you’d like to escape – now that’s puzzling.” He drew back the thin blanket that covered his lower half, and swung his mostly bare legs over the side of the mattress.

“No, no,” she started, “Just something to, y’know, get out of my head for a bit.”

“Mm, is there something troubling you?” Michael eyed the three stacks of books casually adorning a side table, and inspected the choices of titles.

“Just feeling a little…” Y/N searched for a believable excuse, “homesick.”

He was not convinced. Putting his book task on pause he raised his eyebrows, requesting her further explanation. Y/N both appreciated and hated this look. Michael, though the gentlest and kindest of the troupe, would not let anything go unexplained or hidden for long, and his generosity and patience invited her to open up.

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing here,” she confessed. “I feel like I’m just getting in the way, y’know? You’re all working hard on what I’m certain will be a brilliant film, and what am I here for?”

“You’re on holiday,” he declared with what he hoped was an assuring smile.

“A holiday from what? What do I even do?” She felt the agitation rising in her voice. “It’s like I just exist day in and day out with no purpose or point. No goals and no…”

Michael’s stare was intense and he waited for her to continue.

“…future.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper when she noticed she’d drawn his undivided attention. A quiet Michael was a rare thing, and the silence stilled the air between them.

“So, I thought... maybe a… a book might help,” she attempted, but Michael was already smoothing down the bedspread, offering a space beside him which she gratefully filled.

“Is this what it’s like being famous?” she asked heavily, taking a seat. “Always surrounded by extremely talented, important people, and constantly comparing your own worth and accomplishments?”

“I suppose it is, yes. Sometimes.” Michael was usually very good at telling the truth in a palatable way.

Nevertheless, this acknowledgement only supported her anxiety. Her face fell and she closed her eyes, sensing exhaustion was on its way. She silently prayed for one of Michael’s rambling speeches, and he intuitively delivered.

“But it doesn’t have to be,” he began. “None of this comes with the expectation that you’ve earned your right to enjoy things. You don’t need to have won a Nobel Prize or sold a million records to deserve fine cutlery. But when you’re well-known, everybody wants to know you and bring you lovely things, whether or not you think you deserve them. When that happens, I think what helps is to recognize what’s there for you, and appreciate that there are all these things you can access if you’d like to. What’s important to remember is that you have options, and lots of good ones, too.

“And as far as goals and a future, well… I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that you’re already building a future just by living. And learning, and asking questions, and thinking, and wondering, and loving, and caring.”

Y/N had stayed quiet. The past few weeks of indulgence, creativity, and celebrity drama had left her feeling in a way excluded, and far away from herself. It wasn’t something she found she could explain to Eric without seeming ungrateful.

Michael continued:

“So right now, you’re on holiday somewhere you’ve never been, and learning how the other half lives. And what am I doing? Well at the moment I’m enjoying a few weeks on a beautiful island, with marvelous weather, with my wonderful friends. Together, we’re finishing up a script for a film which, if all goes well, we’ll be making later this year. That’s my job, and it keeps me working, but I’ve got the rest of my hours and days, too, and that’s when I’m living. That’s when life happens, you see, in the in-between time.

Y/N had secured a point of focus on the floor, and found it fitting that Michael’s was one of the few rooms in the building with wooden floorboards instead of the palatial stone. In this room she could be almost anywhere in the world, and at this moment she was happy to be somewhere closer to home.

“There’s no rush,” Michael added, noting her half-daze. “Life is short, but... there’s so much of it. You can stop and start and chop and change as many times as you like. It’s all life,” he slowed his pace, carefully observing her softened expression, “and it’s all yours.”

Y/N leaned back onto her elbows and contemplated her bare knees.

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” she mused. “Hm. I’ve got a lot of time to fill, haven’t I?”

Michael gave a warm hum of agreement and joined her sideways, propping his head on an elbow, attentive as ever.

“And what are you going to fill it with first?” he asked.

This prospect was suddenly overwhelming, and it showed in her eyes. She took a breath and decided to choose levity for a change.

“I could work on this tan, I guess,” she playfully suggested, kicking a leg up and indicating her knees, “What do you think?”

“Very nice,” he approved. In fact, he had long admired her knees, and was grateful to the January Barbados weather for getting them out of trousers and wool tights. The previous summer at many a pub garden evening, he’d envied Eric’s long fingers resting atop Y/N’s knees, giving an occasional squeeze, and more than once catching sight of a slow glide up a thigh, disappearing under a skirt hem.

“Looks like you’re off to a good start there,” he said, allowing himself an extra-long, fully permissible eyeing up of her legs.

“And you?” she asked, “What’s next in the in-between time?”

“Well, I thought I might see what life by the ocean is like. I don’t see it very often. They’ve got waterskiing down at the bay - I might give that a go. I doubt I’ll be any good, but at least then I can say I’ve done it. Obviously a very valuable skill in London. I can see it: there I am, shooting across the lakes of Hampstead Heath. Or better still, an aquatic commute! I could start off from Blackfriars in the morning, and be in Molesey by tea-time, how’s that?”

Y/N laughed, tired from the day but grateful for Michael’s silliness. She liked this. Why couldn’t Mike be around more often? Or could she have a mini-Mike to keep in her purse and take out for impromptu pep-talks and compliments, please?

“I wonder,” he said carefully when her laughter died down. “Rather than in the way, do you think perhaps you might be feeling a bit overlooked?”

This caught her off guard. Overlooked? She never felt ignored or unappreciated. On the contrary, Eric’s attention and gestures of love came in spades. But what was it for? What really did she have to offer? She hardly expected to stand out next to her accomplished and celebrated partner and his career, nor did she wish to dull his accomplishments or stifle him. Stability would be very nice, but so too would making a name for herself be. So what did she want – life or recognition?

“Maybe,” she finally said in a small voice, too tired now to analyze any further.

How fragile she now seemed to Michael. She had opened her heart to him, and the sense of duty and the care with which he held it felt so natural. He wished he could hold it for a little longer.

Stroking kind fingers down her forearm, he took her hand, willing her out of her trance. With a closed-eyed focus on her hand, he drew her knuckles to his lips.

“So I’ve got options,” Y/N re-stated.

“Mhmm,” sounded Michael, whose lips were still appreciating her fingers.

“And I’m building a life every day,” she continued.

"Every day,” he repeated, his thumb now taking over addressing her knuckles.

“And mine is no less important than anyone else’s?”

She knew the answer, but the question brought their eyes to meet, and he held her gaze with tenderness.

“I think anyone who meets you feels lucky that they did. I know I do.”

Y/N felt whatever was left of her distress dissolve with a heavy breath. She had been heard, and she knew with certainty that her cares were safe with him.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his torso, and he enveloped her shoulders with a tight grip. His voice was low in her ear:

“You know, if it was a book you were after, I rather thought you’d have asked Terry.”

Y/N wasn’t going to bother mustering the energy to protest or to come up with a nonsense reason why she’d chosen to see Michael. She was here now, and she was perfectly content with it.

“I’m very glad you didn’t,” he confessed, and having exhausted all words, he began a slow exploration of her neck, starting with nuzzling the delicate space beneath her ear. Sensing no resistance, and hearing her approving sigh, he continued down to her shoulder, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses as he went.

He was kind and patient and open, Y/N remembered as she felt herself giving over to the moment’s tenderness, her curiosity duelling with her fatigue.

With restrained eagerness, he moved along the underside of her jaw before,

“Stop stop,” she hushed.

She was fighting with her enjoyment, but this was not a good time to discover feelings. All she wanted now was comfort and sleep. She looked at her kindred Michael half-apologetically, and he shifted aside, making a space for her to lie down and sleep. He reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, and gently pulled the sheet up to cover their spooning bodies.

Out on the patio under the moonlight, Eric lay on a lounge chair, gazing into the sky and contemplating several things: Ricky and Penelope’s marriage, Mick and Jerry’s affair, and the concept of unfaithfulness. And the very nature of frivolity, and luxury, and everything he learned from the swinging sixties of liberation and self-indulgence. And, unexpectedly, Michael.

He wriggled in his spot, unable to relax. I need to write this, he thought. He worked most things out through writing, and now he would turn to his typewriter, get his musings out on paper, and try to make some sort of sense of his brain soup.

[wallwriterstuff]

Am I allowed to place in a request for Mr svelte tracker boi Demetri? I need my greek boi fix. 😅😂 My stimming (due to my slight autism and anxiety) has been kinda bad lately and I was wondering if you could do some headcanons on how he would be with a reader who has that going on? (For example, some of my stimming signs are restless, uncontrollable finger twitches sometimes, and sudden limb movements and facial twitches I can't control 😅) Thanks! Also, sorry if this is too touchy a subject!🙈

You most certainly are allowed and I cannot express how hard I fangirled when I realised it was you in my ask box. I played it very cool but just know I was dying inside from the moment I saw your username come up XD 

TW: Mentions of anxiety and sensory overload. If that’s a little personal to you please be cautious about reading this one!

I’m incapable of writing short things it seems so it’s another long one.

Self-stimulating behaviour, known more commonly as stimming, usually involves repetitive movements and/or sounds. Though it is most often associated with autism (I know when I first saw the word stimming that was where my mind immediately went to) everybody stims in some way, shape or form to relieve stress, tension, anxiety, boredom etc. Some ways are less noticeable than others such as nail biting or finger tapping, while others can be more obvious and disruptive to your social/daily life like licking certain objects or scratching at skin.

I learned all this from doing a bit of reading before taking on this request and if you want to know more then the link to the article I read is right -----> HERE <------ ! It’s informed my ideas for this headcanon request and though I’m open to discussions about the topic to help educate myself and anyone else who wishes to learn more, what I will not tolerate is any sort of hate or discrimination based on the links to developmental disorders and mental illness that stimming has. This blog has and always will be a safe space for anyone and everyone and a little respect for one another will help keep it that way. Be kind folks!

So without further ado, how would Demetri react to you stimming I wonder?

Part 1: Headcanons below the Keep Reading Line Part 2: Teeth (fic) Part 3: Control (fic) 

·         He honestly wouldn’t really notice for a while because, well, humans aren’t exactly designed to be as flawless as vampires

·         Impromptu nosebleeds, migraines, sneezes…they’re just glitches in a faulty system so why is the way your leg just bounced up off of the floor while your sitting any different to those other equally as involuntary things

·         He’s struggling right now to, after all he just met his very human mate and it’s quite overwhelming for him to have to adapt to all these new feelings and situations he finds himself in, but he deals because he can

·         Some days, you just…can’t

·         Getting attacked by a man with some bizarre fascination with your neck is bad enough but being whisked away by strangers is somehow even worse. At least in the first scenario once it’s over it’s over, now you’re just living an anxious person’s nightmare in a new place full of new people

·         Volterra was beautiful, but it wasn’t home. No cosy apartment, no neighbours cat to feed, no monotonous shifts at work…

·         Actually, most of the time you’re left utterly alone to navigate an unfamiliar castle, and the times you aren’t alone is when there’s a man claiming to be your eternal lover in front of you

·         Try to convince me this man doesn’t rip the band aid off and profess his love for you with dramatic flair just TRY

·         Your days are filled with endless boredom where you’re doing nothing at all until someone checks on you, and then fight or flight kicks in because oh HELLO Mr Vampire guard are you here to give me lunch or kill me?

 ·         Demetri had thought that perhaps you were okay with that, since you hadn’t really outwardly reacted beyond the way your cheek twitched up into a smirk once or twice as he spoke. Hell, you’d even winked at him…right?

·         You did that a lot so he really genuinely thought that maybe you were just trying to flirt with him, build a relationship with him. Your constant little winks and the way your fingers twitched when he was nearby, like you so desperately wanted to reach out to him…

·         It took a few weeks before he realised how wrong he was

·         You’d reached for a sip of water and your arm had just whipped outward from your body

          + You’d absolutely drenched him with your entire glass of water and could only stare in abject horror wondering what the supposed vampire would do next, since you’d interrupted him rather smugly detailing his plans for your first date

·         Silence

·         There was just silence

·         It only made your anxiety worse and the muscles in your face just spasmed without your permission and - god did you just smirk at him again, oh no        

         + “I’m glad one of us finds this amusing. If you did not like the idea there were other ways to tell me so.”

 ·         You almost want to cry from sheer embarrassment at this point because the date really had sounded like it could be fun and now you’d just straight up thrown water in his face like he’d insulted you in the worst way imaginable

·         So you come clean and tell him about your stimming

·         He’s really worried at first because autism? Anxiety he’s heard of but autism sounds very dangerous, are you dying? You’re probably dying. He’s going to lose his mate –

·         Another involuntary finger twitch from you forces him to calm down because your anxious enough without his worrying on top, so he kind of brushes it off and makes no big deal out of it

·         Squeezes your hand and kisses your forehead to try and reassure you all is forgiven, even if he does have to go change a very expensive looking designer shirt and god you’re so sorry

·         Of course, that kind of makes it worse for you because anxiety brain is activated and your 99.9999% sure he’s actually furious with you still and has only pretended to forget it while he’s plotting his revenge

·         You see him late at night when you struggle to fall and stay asleep, reading in the low lamplight at his desk across the room, his laptop propped open and a notebook before him but you’re too scared still to ask what it is he’s reading so intently (probably good suggestions on places to bury your body welp)

·         It’s a complete surprise to you therefore when he does take you out on that date he promised you not two weeks later

 ·         He’s chosen a nice overcast day so he’s in the least conspicuous clothing he owns

            + Demetri’s least conspicuous clothes still consist of the most chic and expensive brands you know of and he sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the quaint little market stalls he’s brought you to see

·         Despite the gloomy weather the people of Volterra are out in full force though, swarming the market stalls and chattering and laughing as flashes of gold and silver from jewelry hit your eyes, bright coloured fabrics following

·         It’s all just too much

·         There’s people everywhere and so much noise, so many colours and lights and people brushing past you…

·         Your fingers clench tight around his, his hand immersed in a glove to keep his freezing skin from chilling you too much

·         He squeezes back lightly, eyes shifting to glance down at you with the kindest smile on his lips

         + “Keep squeezing my hand whilst we find somewhere quieter to stand.”

·         Your fingers seemed to take turns pressing into his rock solid skin, an odd sort of comfort coming from the fact you know you can press down hard and he won’t so much as register the sensation, and Demetri squeezes back, just firm enough he knows you can feel the pressure of his palm on yours

·         He takes you to a quiet little side road where the noise is much more faded and there is so much free space around you you feel like you can finally breathe again

·         He still hasn’t stopped squeezing your hand, taking turns with you as you take some steady breaths and try to focus your senses a bit, one thing you can feel, two things you can see, three you can smell...

 ·         “I hope you can forgive me, I did not expect the market to be so busy today with the weather like this.”

·         His apology takes you completely by surprise because how would he even know you struggled with crowds? You barely know each other?

·         Seeing your surprise Demetri rather sheepishly admits as to what exactly he’s been reading all those nights you’ve seen him at his desk, and you’re a little overwhelmed to realise he’s been reading about you

·         Medical journals, mummyblogs, charity websites and more, if it had any information about autism and stimming he’s browsed through it and taken copious amounts of notes, observing you religiously to see what might be relevant to you and how he can help ·         +  “I read somewhere you self-stimulate to calm yourself when you are anxious or your senses feel overwhelmed, is that what happened?”                                    “Well, yes, actually, I…I…”

            “And did it help? Taking you away from the source of stress and letting you squeeze my hand like that?”

·         It had actually, you felt much calmer and Demetri’s obvious acceptance and willingness to help you manage your stimming and anxiety today were one of the first little moments you fell in love with him, looking back on it 

·         He didn’t stop there either. Together you sat down and made a list of all the things that you found most often triggered your stimming, and all of the things that brought you joy so he could figure out things to avoid and things you might like for your future dates

·         Within hours of arriving home you’d gotten a whole new daily routine set up so you weren’t left to languish and wonder what was going to happen next

·         Three days later an express shipment of your favourite smelling scented candles arrived alongside a Bluetooth speaker, supplies Demetri insisted were necessary for nice calming baths on the days your anxiety was playing up

·         He started doing mindfulness practices with you in the evenings

·         He never touched the volume controls for his laptop, speaker or TV, leaving it to you to control the volume so you could set it to a level you were comfortable with, and he religiously policed the noise on his floor to           + “Where are you going? The movie just started…”                                                    “To tell Felix to turn his music down.”               “You’re vampiring again Metri, I can’t even hear that.”

·         When he signed you up for Yoga and meditation classes at a centre in town you drew the line and told him he was going overboard, but bless him he had tried

·         Overall he’s a solid 15/10 for effort, even if some ideas are still experimental - you’re enjoying the deep pressure massages a lot though – and he sometimes goes a bit mother-hen trying to get you out of situations he thinks you’ll struggle with, when actually you’re coping just fine today

·         You love him dearly for it