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kafkasmuses · 3 days

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KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons.

tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader)

a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs

thirty minutes ago.

art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you.

art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren’t worth his time.

“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.”

ahem.

you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression.

you blink at him, once, twice.

a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.”

it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him.

and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better.

you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“

“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.

he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint.

your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement.

maybe silence will earn points back from your coach.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

silence did not earn anything.

art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up.

the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.”

“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it.

if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first.

he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?”

“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.”

art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing.

to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.”

you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back.

smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.”

he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?”

ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him.

and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?”

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

art said he forgave you, right?

ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.”

“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you.

“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind.

“whatever helps,” you remark.

“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle.

once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.”

eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable.

“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?”

you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.”

“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.”

“with tennis?”

“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.”

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you.

“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds.

yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really.

“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet.

he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors.

“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before.

“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually.

“like your wife?”

“like you.”

art corrected you.

he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well.

the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe.

at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose.

“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty?

gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy.

“what?” you frown, confused.

“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing.

“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple.

“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?”

“what do you mean?”

art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“

“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours.

“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..”

“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.”

“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now.

“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?”

you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you.

when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying.

he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.”

“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin.

he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.”

“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to.

“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath.

“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness.

“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?”

“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part.

“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.”

he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks.

soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him.

he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance.

“ready?” he hushes out.

“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already.

“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more.

his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well.

sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas.

“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches.

in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm.

he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.”

#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #art donaldson smut #art donaldson challengers #challengers #challengers smut #mike faist smut #mike faist challengers

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eveningepiphany · 4 months

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something about the legs | h.s oneshot

summary: something about your best friends legs really does it for you, especially in skinny jeans…

warnings: besties with unexpected and very impulsive benefits, oral sex (mrec), lots and lots of talk about those mfing legs and thighs, dirty talk, h not expecting you to be like that until you are.

a/n: so it’s been a hot minute… hi again�� but something rlly just sent me spiralling with this pic of h’s fucking legs. look at them. anyways, enjoy me being a slut and channeling it into some fine literature, enjoy xoxo

———

Ovulation week is a curse. An absolute, utter curse.

Between the multitude of random fluctuating symptoms and skyrocketing hormones, you feel dreaded enough as it is. But the worst part, is every fucking month you become absolutely manic with need.

Some are increasingly better or worse than others, but this month is something off the charts.

There is no warrant for you to be this fucking horny at 9:32pm on a Thursday night. Yet here you are, squirming because you’re around someone that already riles you up enough as it is.

Harry is your best friend. Has been for years. Since the awkward starting phases of middle school. All braces paired with horrendous fashion choices. And into the ages of highschool throughout all the drama and predictable thematics. Into the present, where life throws you curveballs as you enter the world as young adults, and now that he’s in one direction. You can’t imagine going through all that with anyone else.

Actually, maybe it’s fit to mention you’re almost certain that this man never went through an awkward phase… despite the fact possibly everyone else on the planet did. Harry did not.

He was cute from the day he was born, it’s evident in the pictures, up until he hit puberty, then he became some ungodly mix of both cute and ridiculously hot.

It’s disgusting that someone can do both things at the same time. And also revolting that they can have no idea at all.

But tonight, he is all hot. Between the way he’s dressed, the way he’s walking, and the way he’s talking. It’s close to killing you where you’re sat.

Thighs clenched together like there’s a thousand dollar check between them, you sit on a outdoor couch at your family’s holiday house.

It’s just the two of you outside on the large decked patio. It’s a huge house by the lake that your parents and grandparents own, so you invited Harry to come stay for the week. Your family were thrilled you invited him, but have already turned in for an early night. Since they planned to be out on the lake for a day of water activities almost before the damn sun was even fully up.

Harry has a glass of alcohol in his hands— one that is completely dwarfed in his hold. It’s condensation forming small droplets over the ridges of his fingers.

He hasn’t realised the staring you’ve been doing, as he paces the deck talking about something to do with a recent song he’s been writing.

You’re sliding in small hums of agreement at the appropriate times without even hearing what he’s saying. Only the pleasing lilt in his voice that tickles your ears as it enters them.

He’s got those black skinny jeans on, the pair that cling to his hips for dear life. And not only are they fit to his hips, but they hug every single curve on his legs. The thick of his thighs all the way down to the muscle of his calf.

And if anything was the killer for you tonight, it was those.

You’re surprised you’re not drooling on yourself. Which is fucking disgusting, but fact. As there is an over-production of saliva in your mouth right now just looking at his legs.

He is so muscly there. The presumed strength of his thighs makes you actually pant, and you never thought legs did it for you like this. But my god right now, they certainly are.

“But I jus’ dunno Y/N,” he turns to you, causing you to snap your gaze from the curve of his ass which you were shamelessly just staring at, back to his face.

It doesn’t get better for you anywhere you look. The man was built and sculpted by a god. Every feature was painstaking to look at, and not be able to touch.

“What d’ya reckon would sound better?” He asks, nonchalantly, unaware you were just eyeing him up.

You feel some shame now, as you scramble to find an answer for the question you don’t even know the context for.

“Well, i think whatever you feel flows better. Yknow?” You swallow, praying to god it’s diluted enough of an answer that he’ll just take it without question.

He nods, and relief floods through you, “i s’pose you’re right.”

However that relief hardly lasts long, because he’s not as clueless as you’d presumed, “You’re pretty good at giving advice even when you’re only half listening.”

He saunters over from the span of deck he’d been pacing the last 10 minutes, sitting down next to you with a smug look on his face. You feel the cushions dip with his body weight, and you’re so delusioned that even a part of you twinges with desire at the understanding of his weight. The idea of him pressing it down on top of you during—

“What’s on ya mind, love, why are you s’faraway lookin’?” He asks, sipping at his drink with a quirk of his dark eyebrows.

“I—“ Christ. He’s manspreading a bit right now… thighs pushed apart, “I’m just tired. Been a big few days.”

His curly, and boyishly-messy hair is cascading over his forehead and casting a shadow of his green gaze, the same one that’s nailing you where you’re sat right now.

He doesn’t look very convinced. And he’s watching your eyes flicker around, looking guilty of a lie, presumably the words that just came from your mouth.

“You don’t have t’lie, dove.” He laughs, a soft songbird-like chuckle that somewhat eases your tenseness.

You feel so dirty for thinking about him like this. When he can’t tell you it’s okay to be imagining absolutely sinful things you’d do… or let be done when it comes to him. However, you are so hormonal right now, that you don’t have it in yourself to stop.

He was just simply the wrong person, in the wrong place, at coincidentally the right time in your hormonal cycle.

And you feel even worse because there’s years of history behind the two of you. And friends are not meant to think of each other like this, it makes things quickly complicated. And this is not a hallmark film.

“I know.” You sigh out, “it’s not you, H. I’m just… hormonal.”

His first thought was that you were on your period, a look of tender concern flitting across his face.

“Oh, is your period making you feel sick?”

You could laugh at the irony. You are infact neither of the things he thinks. Not bleeding, and not ill.

He has looked after you before when you’ve been in the trenches with your period. He is always so willing to get you anything when you’re not feeling well.

And you can tell by the look on his pretty face he’s about to ask you he can get you anything to help— pain relief, water, snacks or simply a hug.

A gentleman, as always.

But if he asks you if you need anything, you only have one answer and that’s him. You need him, and not in a platonic way. So you interject before he can ask,

“No, quiet the opposite.” You shake your head, pursing your lips.

“But it’s fine,” you amend curtly, “just girl stuff.”

The two of you get consumed by a momentary silence, he was waiting for more information, which you simply were not giving. After a few seconds, he sputters out a sudden laugh.

“You can tell me, if you want, idiot.” He laughs, nudging you with his knee. His very attractive leg being left pressed into yours. “Gross details and personal stuff never usually stop us.”

Your whole body is burning up, overwhelmed. He is so fucking hot, and caring. You want him filling up your goddamn throat.

“No, trust me. This is all left best untold and ignored. I can’t help it, so we’re just ignoring it.” Your tone is certain, and to this he nods. Able to tell that’s as much of an answer he’d be getting for now, so he begrudgingly accepts it.

“Fine, fine, you’re just so stiff. Need t’relax.” He slides his free hand behind your back to pull him into his side.

Tugging you the small distance between you two, your head comes naturally to rest in the crook of his neck. Nose inhaling the woodsy scent of his cologne, smelling like the refreshingly cool breeze on a muggy summer night.

His thumb strokes a delicate back and forth rhythm on the bare skin it’s found between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your fitted top.

It’s killing you, because he’s so gentle with you. Such a sweetheart really, but you’re breaking out a sweat at the feeling of his fingertips against your skin. You need a cold shower.

You try not to let your eyes wander down to the legs in those fucking jeans.

“S’long as ya alright,” he murmurs into your hair, “is there anything you need from me? ‘Cause if I can do anything for ya, yknow I would.”

Your stomach drops, how are you even supposed to answer that. Your face heats with even more guilt.

Your internal voice drops in her two cents on the question— your cock, she confidently stated. That was what she wanted.

“No, nothing you can do that’s reasonable, H.” You say, too dangerously close to him dragging the truth out of your needy mouth for your liking.

He tilts his head down to look at the profile of your face, curiously prodding further, “How unreasonable are we talking?”

“Ridiculously and foolishly unreasonable.”

“Why?”

“Sh. Don’t make me tell you, because I don’t want to.” You state defiantly, rolling away from his hold, since now you’re talking about it— although vaguely— it’s just making it worse.

Focusing on it is making the need more intense, your eyes feasting unintentionally on his muscled body relaxing on the couch.

He’s got this smirk on his lips. One you want to kiss off.

“You’re blushing, is it that bad?”

You scoff, “Yes, that bad.”

“Okay… so, it’s not your period, and it’s technically fixable— since you just said it’s unreasonable for me to do it… not impossible.” he’s wondering out loud, watching your every move.

Which now you’ve stood up and started pacing, trying to distract yourself from the pulsing between your legs and the begging voice in your head that wants to touch him so badly.

“Stop being nosey! God!” You frustratedly whine out, and he laughs at your sudden anger at not only him, but at seemingly just being a woman.

“Just trying to help, baby, don’t get mad.” He teases, and between his suddenly mocking mouth, your resolve snaps like a fickle twig.

“Fuck, I’m horny. Harry!” You groan out, covering your eyes over with the palms of your hands so you don’t have to see his likely disgusted face at your confession.

But now that you’ve started you can’t stop, “You just… your fucking legs and thighs are just… I don’t know! I’m ovulating and you’re just really sexy, it’s frustrating and I really want to die right now, H.”

In reality, his brows had just shot up with surprise, lips parting in shock. He could not believe you just admitted that.

He glanced down to his legs. He’s just in jeans, it wasn’t like he felt as though they were anything to write home about.

It shocked him that you even… well obviously the two of you are best friends. But it was rare that topics of sex came up, so all the sudden the conversation being about that and also about you is making his head spin.

Yet something comes over him, he doesn’t think as he speaks his next words, “Tha’s not as unreasonable as you made it out to be.”

You snap your hands down from your face, eyes locking onto his— he doesn’t look repulsed or uncomfortable as you had originally expected. He looks inexplicably open to the topic.

“I’ve got somethin’ you need, somethin’ that can fix it, love.” He states, shrugging his shoulders, his voice going almost sultry, “An’ yknow what I said, hm?”

At your silence— because you’re too stunned to even speak— he finishes the sentence for you, “Said I’d do anything for ya.”

Oh, is this quickly snowballing.

“Harry!” You shake your head, it feeling so wrong to be talking about this with him.

He abandons his drink on the small side table beside the couch, standing up and breaching the distance between you.

“Jus’ say the words, and then im yours.” He lowly whispers, and this is about to make you pass out. You’re clenching around nothing in your underwear, and the proposition is so tempting.

“We shouldn’t though. It’s not your responsibility to… satiate me.” You gulp out, nervous, yet body flaming with heat.

“Y/N, best friends help each other out… tha’s all it has to be, jus’ me making y’feel better.” he says, hand coming to run down your upper arm. And the second you started talking about this, his cock has been twitching where it’s confined his jeans.

“You can make all the decisions, all the calls, m’kay?” The statement was reassuring.

You lean into his touch, caving without anymore of a fight, “Okay… alright. Just… tell me if you change your mind. Please?”

His lips curl into a satisfied smile, feeling his hand get taken by yours. It’s much to risky to be fucking around with your best friend on the families patio, so you lead him down the steps into the dark, open backyard.

They have a pier, that’s lit with small solar lights, and that’s the first place you can that is reasonable enough to go. You tug him along the wooden decking it has, feet drumming against it.

Against a tree was too dark, and you at least want to see his cock if you’re getting the opportunity to touch it.

“On the pier, hey? That desperate.” He teases, and you push him with your free hand into one of its big wooden pillars.

“I want your cock down my throat, how’s that for desperate?” You scoff, pulling a laugh of pure shock from his own lips.

“I’m serious, H.” You look at him, stone cold expression. You are so riled up and ready to touch him that you need immediate confirmation this is something he wants.

“Go on, said you wanted it.”

Before you sink down onto your knees, you question him further, “you want this, though?”

A smile spreads over his mouth, “baby, you’re gonna be able to feel just how much i want this when you get down there. I was bricked the second you said you were horny.”

That was all you needed, dropping to the ground on your knees— now with his consent, your filter completely disappeared.

“Fuck me, Harry. I don’t think you understand how sexy you are.” Hands immediately coming up to squeeze the muscle of his thighs.

He hums a noise as he looks down at you on your knees, “Never thought legs would do it for you, but here we are.”

“Only thing i could think about is digging my nails into your thighs…”

You drag your hands back up to where the buckle of his belt laid, grabbing at it and undoing it. Slipping it out of the loops in his pants in a swift movement.

Leaning forward, you lift the hem of his black shirt, pressing your mouth against his happy trail.

You’re a slut for that little teasing patch of hair that dips below his low jeans. It causes you to whine out, a wordless sound of appreciation as you peck kisses over it.

The button and zipper quickly got undone by your nimble hands, and you finally brush over the prominent bulge that’s perked up in his boxers.

A realisation that you’re about to see your best friends dick for the first time kind of hits you, causing you to roll your lips between your teeth.

His suddenly strained voice comes from above you, “fuck, Y/N, don’t get shy with me. Y’can take me out.”

He’s almost ready to beg, even though this is all technically for you. But he didn’t anticipate how sensitive he would be when it’s a special girls hands running over his bulge.

However that’s exactly how it is, he’s already biting his lip as you cup him through his briefs, head tilted backwards with a sudden shared need.

You draw his jeans further down, “patience, im just enjoying you, pretty boy.”

The doting nickname earns a small groan from his lips, paired with the fact you’re now mouthing at his inner thighs. They’re warm and firm, dusted with dark hairs. You suck the most inner and upper part of his thigh into your mouth, causing him to grunt out.

You busy yourself with that particular part of his skin for a moment, rubbing the backs of your hands around the flesh of his ass. Still unfortunately covered by his briefs.

“So fuckin’ good to me, H.” You muttered into his soft skin, dragging your nose over to kiss the fabric covering his hard cock.

It makes him twitch, “letting me do this… and touch you where I want.”

You sound so out of it, replacing your mouth with your hand momentarily so you can go back to kissing his thighs, teeth impulsively barring over them. He shudders at the sensation.

After a bit more teasing, you finally start to pull the waistband of his black calvins down.

When his cock is fully out, you moan. You straight out moan at the sight of it. It’s glistening tip is a flushed red, beading out a sliver of precum for you, and it was safe to say he’s well equipped.

The two of you curse in sync as you hold him in your hand, feeling the weight as you stroke gently.

“Christ, tha’s good.” He curses out, hips stuttering forward slightly. You take a moment to look up at his face.

His cheeks have gone a slight red, and his lips are shiny from his teeth and tongue constantly running over them. Not to mention the way his lidded eyes are gazing down at you.

You hold eye contact as you lean in to lick over his tip in one solid stroke, watching his face twist in pleasure.

It makes your core drip. Seeing his cock, tasting it, watching him react to your touch. It fuels you to take his tip into your mouth, giving a gentle suck.

Your fingers take refugee digging into his thighs, and you are already loosing you mind with him between your lips. Somehow, you’re almost convinced you could come just from sucking on his dick.

Your self control is completely shattered now, you draw back and spit over his length, listening to him groan out as he watches the action.

“Drool on me, darling.” He says, the gentle demand makes you eager to impress him. You liked the idea of him telling you what to do… maybe even forcing you.

Fuck, you are sick and twisted, you scoffed internally at your self. Yet proceeding to gather your saliva and let it dribble down onto him.

“Thank you, thank you…” you murmur against him, and he twitches at your still airy voice. He would kill to know just how wet you were between your legs.

It was such a sight for you though, seeing him start to get slicked up with your own spit. Your mouth reconnected with him, sliding further down, hand coming up to massage his balls.

You’re whining around him now, starting to move in a sort of rhythm over his cock. You can’t help it, you were becoming frantic at him filling your throat.

The vibration of your mouth sends his hand flying into your hair, drawing a cuss from his lips, “fuck, Y/N…”

You get his cock as far as you can into your mouth without gagging— you’ll leave that for a little later— stroking the remainder. There’s something about the way he takes up the space between your lips, the feeling of his thick cock atop your tongue.

You glance up at him, fingertips teasing the inner parts of his thigh. Just as you look up, you give a harsh suck, hollowing out your mouth and lathing your tongue on the underside of him. Feeling the vein that runs along him.

His head almost bangs back against the wooden beam he’s leaning on, you feel the slight stutter of his hips.

A moan reverberated around you, filling your ears pleasingly. You draw back for a breathe, “you taste so good.”

His hand curls in your hair, panting out, “You’re such a needy girl…”

“Like that?” He asks at the whimper that come from you, “like being told that I see how desperate y’becoming?”

You nod immediately, “please…”

At your way of asking for more dirty talk he smiles, “becoming my little slut? Warming my cock with your mouth just because you’re so horny for it.”

When you don’t reply with words, and only a senseless moan, he taps your mouth with his fingers gently.

“Show me, baby.”

You part your lips almost instantly at his command, jutting your wet tongue out, ready to take him back into your mouth.

He guides his cock back between your lips, and that’s about as far as he gets before you have to take over from him again. All he can register is how hot and warm you’re mouth is as it wraps around him again.

You start to bob your head, taking him all the way down your throat with a slight gag. You’re whining without warrant now, all over his spit slicked cock.

It’s paired with his own moans of pleasure and words of praise as you suddenly draw back, flicking over his wet tip with your tongue, teasing it and making him grunt.

Your soul existence quickly slips to being just about his cock and hearing his noises. Being able to look up at him and see the sweat beginning to sheen over his forehead, and the mess of his soft hair.

His eyes are squeezed shut, and he has to forcibly open them every so often to see you. A reality check for himself that down on her knees, is his best friend. Drooling all over his prick with a insatiable need.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He states as you take him all the way down your throat again.

“Taking me like the slut y’are. Might ‘ave to fuck you like one later, how’s that sound?” His mouth has gone loose now, brain muddled with only thoughts of you in it.

You suck and nod over him, brain rioting with a yes at his question.

“Probably so wet, so warm.” He mutters in half thought, and the idea of him even thinking of you like that makes you clench multiple times in your panties.

You roll you hips against nothing which he is grateful he caught with his half lidded eyes. The look of sheer desperation that crossed your face.

Moving faster, you starting taking his cock at a pace that immediately made his hand coil tighter in your hair.

“Fuck… im gon’ come faster than I’d like if y’keep— shit— doing that.” He moans, and you draw back quickly.

“Need to taste it… please, Harry.” You beg, forcing your throat back down around him once you’d got a breathe.

You gagged around him in full this time, earning his hips bucking against you.

Strings of dirty talk and cusses were flying out of his mouth, like a litany being repeated over and over. He kept praising you.

“That warm mouth…fuck… fucking me so good baby. Want to keep y’down there for hours, like m’personal little cockslut.”

Your nails dug into the backs of his meaty thighs, making you moan around him. Spit was covering your chin as you moved hastily over his hard prick.

“Like that idea?” He asked gruffly, “making you drool all over me like this until I’m empty, an’ y’ve come in y’panties to the point you’re dripping.”

You feverishly bob your head, sucking hard against him. If his bucking hips and loose mouth are any indicator, he’s getting close.

A few more minutes of your mouth, and he’s swearing, “im gonna come, dove— fuck— where do y’want it?”

Trying not to stop to long, looking up at his flushed face and blown out eyes, you lowly plead, “on my tongue, please…”

“Good slut, good fucking girl!” He slurs out.

You draw back to his tip, eager to taste him properly. You spit messily over his pulsing red head, kitten licking over it while your hand fucks the rest of his length at a fast pace.

It has him a wreck, and before he know it, he’s moaning out so loud he’s almost scared he woke someone in the house up.

“Fuck! I’m going to come, baby, im gonna come!”

You watch in completely infatuation as his eyes screw shut and his mouth drops into a gasp for air. You feel his hips stutter, and his cock pulse and twitch as it releases onto your awaiting tongue.

He tastes so good. You feel ashamed for even liking it that much, but as it spurts out his tip and drips onto your lower lip, your insane over it.

You rub it in with his tip, coating it over your tongue, and he pants as he opens his eyes to watch you.

It’s a sight etched into his mind forevermore. The fact his come is painted all over your tongue right now.

“Swallow it, pretty girl, let me watch.” He exhaustedly instructs you, voice raspy and deep in his post orgasm haze.

You do as told, and realising some has spilt even onto the corner of his thigh now that you’ve let him go.

Not letting it go to waste, you clean it off with a lick of your still eager mouth. Gently kissing over the spot as well.

“Taste so good, H.” You whisper against him, moving over to kiss his tip a final time.

“Thank you, again. For letting me do that…” You almost feel more satisfied than you would have if you had gotten to come as well.

“Made me feel amazing, baby.”

Or so you thought, because once he raised the point again… “If you want, since I can only imagine how desperate your little cunt is, I can return the favour somehow?”

And it was impossible to say no when he looked like that, boxers still half down his beautiful legs and face flushed that sexy shade of red.

You were in for a night, that was for sure. So much for an early morning.

———

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #he’s so #fuck me I need him so bad #anyways #hope you enjoyed #ily #last oneshot of 2023

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indieyuugure · 3 months

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How do u draw your characters bc I want make a comic series just like you but my art teacher isn't teaching me shit so I was wondering

Should I do paper comic (doing it on paper)

Or digital (which might be a bit hard to step as I wouldn't have the stuff on hand)

Ps art style is fantastic 👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

Lol, I’ll try to help the best I can!

Okay, so, I’m not exactly sure what you’re having trouble with specifically, so I’ll just try to keep it general.

For starters, drawing a person at all, typically I start with a sketch that looks something like one of these:

Notice the usage of circles as guides for the joints. I find that this helps me to understand where in 3D space the character’s elbow or knee or shoulder or wherever is and can also assist with proportions before the drawing is being finalized and would be a pain to fix/erase.

Not sure how helpful this is, but here’s showing how the drawing evolves as a sketch. The circles help to predict where things’ll be so when you go to draw a rough outline, you have a guide to help you.

I draw chests as usually a trapezoid-esk shape and the hips as triangles(however I recommend drawing it more like a heart when doing girls). The head is kept a circle or oval depending on the character’s face shape and things like hands and feet are basically just a mix of squares and triangles.

Something to keep in mind, is the lack of detail on basically everything. I know from experience how tempting it is to do the detail as you go, and it’s not a good habit to have. Always try to sketch everything in as little detail as possible.

Once you’re done with your sketch, though, you can go crazy!

Here’s the second picture I did with some details.

Unfortunately, I can’t really help you with detailing since this step starts incorporating your own art style, personal flourishes, clothing taste, even level of detailing, it’s really something you have to learn on your own.

But, GENERALLY, this is where you establish key characteristics like the face, anatomy, clothing, hair, etc. Aka make it pretty!

Again I’m not super sure where you’re struggling, so this is just a general how-to, though hopefully it was helpful!

As for what medium to do your comic on, I suggest doing it in whichever you’re the most comfortable in. If drawing on paper is better for you, sticking with it is perfectly fine. I will say though if you ever plan to post said comic on the internet, digital is a lot easier to upload on the internet. But as I said, which ever is most comfortable is probably best.

If you have anymore questions about this, feel free to message me, I’ll try my best to help you to the best of my ability!

Good questions! :]

#q&a #drawing #drawing tips #character design #art #art tips #drawing stuff

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kiwi2229 · 9 months

Text

My boyfriend

(James Potter / Regulus Black | 737 words)

For @jegulus-microfic prompt: kitchen

James is more nervous than he expected. He could postpone it, but he doesn’t want to. Not really. He just wants to have it over as soon as possible. His father is at work so it’s the ideal time to talk to his mum. He always knew she will be the first to tell.

As predicted Effie is in the kitchen preparing lunch. He stops before the door to take a deep breath. He wished Regulus would be here with him. The boy offered, but James refused. He has to do it alone. But he still would appreciate his touch right now. It always calms him.

His mum is mixing dough in a big bowl, her back turned to the entrance so she doesn’t notice her son at first. “Mum?” James calls for attention and he goes to stand next to her leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Jamie, here you are!” His mum smiles at him. Everybody always tells him he looks like his father, except for a smile. He has his mothers. “I’m making the apple pie you love so much.”

James gives her a tight smile trying to calm his nerves down. “That’s great. Ehmm, mum? Can I talk to you about something?”

Effie doesn’t look at him as she nods encouraging him. Before James can say anything, she looks at the recipe. “Oh, can you pass me the sugar?”

Sugar. Okay. He can get sugar. It’s fine. James walks across the kitchen to get the sugar. He places it next to the bowl in silence. “Thank you, honey. So, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

James opens his mouth but hesitates. He is pretty sure his mum will be alright with him. She always told him that all she wants is for him to be happy. And he is. Effie stops what she is doing to look at her son. “Oh, it’s serious. Sorry, hold on.”

She wipes her hands with the kitchen towel and turns towards James to give him full attention. “I’m listening.” James can see the worry form in her eyes. Right, staling will only make it worse.

“I met someone,” James says because it’s the easiest way to start. And honestly, Regulus is all he can think about these days.

“Really? That’s great, James!” Effie smiles and James prays he won’t disappoint her.

“It is. I’m really happy Mum. He makes me happy.” James says and holds his breath. It takes a second before the meaning of his words reaches his mother.

“So, you are dating a boy?” Effie asks carefully and James just nods not sure what his mom is thinking. When she doesn’t say anything else James’ nerves cracks and he says all in a breath.

“Yeah, I’m. I found out that I like boys too. So… ehm... I... boys too so that means I still also like girls. But well, I just don’t care about the gender, and he is really great. And…” James cuts out because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Honey,” Effie says softly. “Thanks for telling me. You know I love you and want you to be happy.”

And James breathes out in relief. He really needed to hear this. He was almost certain his mum won’t mind. But the almost was killing him. And hearing her say that she still loves him the same. He can feel the tears fighting their way into his eyes.

“Come here,” Effies says and wraps him into a tight hug. James goes pliant in her arms grateful for his family. He receives a kiss on his head before Effie slightly leans away. “So, do you want to tell me about him?”

James quickly wipes his eyes. “Yeah, he… mum he is so great. His name is Regulus, like the star and he’s so smart and reads all these books. Honestly, I probably never saw him without a book. And talented. You have to hear him play the piano. He is so good. And also, so handsome.” James reaches out for his phone to show a photo of him and Regulus.

“Does he treat you right?” Effie asks.

“He does.” James looks at his mum from the phone to see her smiling at him. “I can be just me with him and it’s enough. He makes me feel I’m enough.” Effie wraps him in her arms again.

“We should invite him for lunch soon.”

#I'm little late with this one #Also projecting #But writting is my therapy so...#james potter #coming out #euphemia potter #She is the best mother #regulus black #jegulus #james potter x regulus black #james x regulus #jegulus microfic #marauders #marauders era #kiwi2229 writes microfics

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voxofthevoid · 5 days

Text

We're at Shibuya Swap Wednesday #9, and I still can't predict an end. Part 3 was largely unplotted when I started writing it, and I think I can see the end—and it's miraculously shorter than I anticipated—but let's see how the path there looks.

I didn't write a lot this week, so the fic is at 85k and halfway through Chapter 16. There's a fuckton of conversations in this part because I'm still reaping what I sowed in Part 1. Several bits were like pulling teeth, but I'm happy with the final shape. The following section is a goyuu reunion of sorts:

Yuuji opens the door and steps into the dark.

His eyes don’t need an adjustment period; he’s always had good night vision. The tall figure standing stock-still, silhouetted by the sparse moonlight outside an open window, still makes him startle. A second later, two pools of radiant blue cut through the dark—Gojou’s open eyes, fixed right on Yuuji.

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji breathes.

“Hello, Yuuji,” comes the soft reply.

The door gently clicks shut behind Yuuji, almost making him jump. His heart is in his throat, and it stays right there as the seconds stretch on, held in place by reasons better and worse than a door closing on its own. On the opposite end, Gojou is still and unmoving. His features are blank, the shadows on his face made strange by the glow of his own eyes. Yuuji’s known for a while that Gojou’s eyes have their own fire, but he’s never seen them like this.

He’s never seen Gojou like this.

“Sensei,” Yuuji says, speaking in hushed tones on instinct, “I’m gonna turn the light on.”

“Go on,” is all Gojou says.

Yuuji gropes around the walls beside the door, and it’d be easier if he just looked, but he finds that he can’t take his eyes off Gojou. A part of him is afraid, not that Gojou will do anything but that he’ll melt into the shadows if Yuuji takes his eyes off him, vanishing like he was never here.

He finds the switchboard and promptly blinds himself.

“Shit,” he swears, slapping his hands over his eyes. He rubs the tears away, peering out from between his fingers and getting smarting eyes for his trouble. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Gojou says, sounding amused; the familiarity of it makes something in Yuuji unclench.

He blinks and squints until the light don’t feel like it’s stabbing his eyes anymore, and then Gojou’s there in full color, eyes bared and hair down and smiling at Yuuji, as solid as a dream can ever get.

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji says helplessly, “you’re back.”

“I am. Miss me?”

“I—yes, I was—”

“Worried?”

“…Yeah.”

Gojou’s smile widens. It’s not really a nice expression, too sharp around the edges, but Gojou means these smiles. They’re real, even if they’re poised to cut.

“I’m not the kind of man,” Gojou murmurs, “you should worry about, Yuuji.”

“Yeah, well…” Yuuji shrugs. “Can’t help it, I guess. And it’s different this time.”

“Oh?”

“You were walking into a trap, weren’t you?”

“Oh?” Gojou repeats with an unholy amount of relish. “You really have been thinking about me.”

Yuuji fights down the urge to throw up his arms. “I just told you that!”

“So you did,” Gojou admits. “No need to worry about your dear teacher—I won’t be outmaneuvered twice by the same person. Once was enough. My pride won’t survive a repeat, and we’d hate that, wouldn’t we?”

“Uh, sure,” Yuuji says, not sure how to say Gojou’s pride isn’t what he’s worried about.

Gojou chuckles like he can tell anyway. “Your mother’s a wily bastard, by the way. I hope you haven’t inherited any of that. I quite like how straightforward you are. You’re not hiding some Machiavellian cunning under all that cute pink fluff, are you?”

“What?” Yuuji asks, his brain stuck on cute pink fluff.

“No.” Gojou tilts his head, humming. “No, you’re a different breed.”

“Okay?” Yuuji wrenches his attention back to the point. “How’d it go? Did you find them, did you—”

“I found the body,” Gojou answers. “Booby-trapped to hell, with the most innovative mix of barriers and seals I’ve ever seen. Maybe I should start teaching you those. See if you’ve got a knack for it. Genetics isn’t everything, but for sorcerers, it means something more often than not.”

Any other time, Yuuji would have leaped at the chance to learn more and get stronger, but right now, all he can focus on is—

“The body?” he asks.

Gojou blinks once; his eyes are glowing even in the bright light. “The brain was absent. The residuals led me on a wild goose chase for a while, but they didn’t lead to anything. I knew it wouldn’t. I was tracking that body’s cursed energy, you see. And I found it. It’s all I found. We should have killed them at Shibuya. But every version of you will be a sentimental fool, won’t you, Yuuji?”

Yuuji takes half a step back before forcing himself to stop. Gojou’s stare is a piercing thing, like twin lasers—hotter than the sun, with none of its warmth. Yuuji feels like it’ll sear off his flesh, chunk of cooked meat falling to the ground at his feet.

He can’t feel Gojou’s cursed energy at all.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuji says very gently, “about your friend.”

Gojou stills, somehow without moving a single muscle. Something seems to suck the air out of the room.

Yuuji smothers the urge to yank the door open and throw himself out of this room. It’s not real anyway. Yuuji doesn’t actually want to run away from Gojou. He’s not scared. It’s just that, sometimes, Gojou gets like this, all silent and still, and every animal instinct Yuuji has starts screaming. It happened with Sukuna too, the one time they met face to face, but Yuuji was too angry then to feel anything else, and it was only later, when the way his spine writhed as Gojou bore down on that volcanic curse felt oddly familiar, that Yuuji even realized that a part of him had responded the same way to that blood-and-bone domain and its vicious master.

With Gojou, there’s no anger to swallow everything else, and Yuuji’s left to grapple uncomfortably with the disconnect between his instincts and his feelings. It makes him feel guilty too. Gojou’s on a whole other level as a sorcerer, as a living being, but he’s still just a person. And he’s Yuuji’s teacher. Yuuji likes him; he worries about him. There’s something profane about any part of Yuuji reacting to Gojou the way it did to Sukuna, and Yuuji has a hundred reasons to want to get stronger, but one of them, close to the top of the list, is that he wants to bear the brunt of Gojou’s power without even a sliver of his soul squirming.

He takes a step closer to Gojou, not once looking away from the violent supernova of his eyes.

Something shifts in Gojou’s expression. It doesn’t soften, but it’s less blank, less alien.

“I’d ask who’s been telling tales,” Gojou murmurs, “but it doesn’t matter, hm? You should save your pity for the ones who matter, Yuuji. My old friend lost that right years ago.”

Yuuji…has no idea what to do make of that.

But he knows one thing. “It’s not pity, sensei. I just wish none of it happened to you.”

“And what would you know of what happened to me?”

Yuuji shrugs, trying and failing to shake off the discomfort layering his skin. “Not much. Just that your friend became a curse user and, uh, died. And then Kenjaku took his body.”

“That’s not all you know,” Gojou says with damning certainty. “Tell me how he died, Yuuji.”

Yuuji looks down at his feet for a moment, breathing in deep. Getting air into him still feel like a fight, and his heartbeat is echoed all over his body, from the skull to the soles of his feet. There’s something unnatural happening.

But he trusts Gojou.

Yuuji looks him in the eyes and says, “You killed him.”

“I did. Are you sorry about that too?”

“Yes, sensei.”

“What if I told you I didn’t even hesitate? He was my best friend, you know. The only one I ever had.”

Yuuji’s eyes smart again, his chest squeezing tight. “That must have felt terrible.”

Gojou blinks.

The air lightens.

There’s a long, heavy sigh, followed by Gojou slumping back against the open window, his entire torso supported by empty space. His eyes haven’t wavered from Yuuji or lessened any in intensity, but there’s a pout on his mouth that doesn’t suit the situation at all.

“Are you for real?” he complains.

“Uh, yes?”

“I don’t believe it. Come here, I need to pinch you.”

“What? I’m not doing that!”

“I’ll come there then.”

“No—eck.”

Yuuji didn’t even see Gojou move, but there are fingers pinching his cheek and a toothy grin filling his vision, and his instinctive struggling does down as he processes the new proximity, the rest of the world fading to make room for the warmth and size of Gojou’s body. He’s so close to Yuuji, their chests almost touching, and more and more of his features burn themselves into Yuuji’s vision. His jaw is a sharp curve, the kind you could cut yourself on, and the rest of his face isn’t any better, painfully pretty. Yuuji can’t help noticing that his lips are cracked, without a hint of their usual glossy sheen. It only becomes more obvious when Gojou’s impish grin eases up, settling into a quiet, crooked smile.

Yuuji stares at them for a very long moment, his mouth drying out to match Gojou’s lips.

He looks up. Radioactive eyes gleam a hot blue, threatening to swallow him whole.

#goyuu #jjk snippets #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #wip wednesday #my fic #fic: how the story changes #divider credit: saradika-graphics

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strawberrylabs · 7 months

Text

Whumptober day 7 with Kokomi!

Prompt: "can you hear me?"

Whumptober masterlist

Summary: Even a master strategist fails sometimes. What a pity that this time her failure cost more than usual.

Warnings: war, corpses, death, injury, blood, drowning

The strategy was flawless.

Gorou was leading the Vanguard, while you lead the second force around the island the day before the battle to cut off the enemy supplies.

It was a great plan, as expected of the high priestess of Sangonomiya.

It was noon the day before the battle, and it was time for your team to leave so you'd get to the beach in time.

"Good luck. Please be safe my pearl." Kokomi held your face as she looked into your eyes.

You smiled at her, before leaning in to give her a gentle kiss.

"Everything will be fine. It is your plan after all!"

You waved her off as your team moved out of the camp.

Kokomi was always worried whe you went off into battle.

As the strategist, she was never present during battles, she simply saw the outcome.

You often likened her to a chess player.

Watching over her pieces on the board, but never actually being the one in the battle.

She had joked that you meant she would sacrifice people for the greater good.

You corrected her by saying

"Actually, you more remind me of a kid who started learning chess and still gets upset when losing pieces, even if there was no way around it."

You had meant it in a teasing way, but it meant more to her than it should have.

It meant you knew she would always try to save everyone with her strategies. Including this one.

The strategy was flawless.

Gorou was leading the Vanguard, while you lead the second force around the island the day before the battle to cut off the enemy supplies.

It was a great plan, as expected of the high priestess of Sangonomiya.

So then why

Why was Kokomi standing on the beach that served as a battlefield, mere hours after the Resistance's devasting loss, looking at her fallen comrades.

The plan ended up a disaster. The enemy managed to get reinforcements and supplies through their line- something your team was supposed to stop.

Which begs the question...

...what happened to your team?

As much as Kokomi wanted to run to your supposed location, she had duties here-

"Go. I can handle this." Gorou looked at Kokomi with sympathy and understanding.

"I..." Kokomi looked around at her comrades. So much blood. So much death. So many corpses. She knew she had to be here.

And yet...

"Thank you"

She ran.

Many had not seen the Divine Priestess run, and those who had would say she ran as gracefully as her title suggested.

If people were to compare her every movement as being as graceful as water, then her movements now were a storm.

Tripping over bodies in a morose display of failure.

She would not cry. Crying was as good as admitting you were dead.

But Kokomi was smart

She knew the odds were stacked against her, as if the archon's themselves had turned their backs on her.

She made it where your squad should be.

Another sea of corpses awaited her. Enemies and friends alike skewed across the sand, as if someone had dug out graveyard.

Your team was overwhelmed. By the looks of it, the enemy predicted what Kokomi planned, and had set a trap for you.

Kokomi began to slowly wander around the lifeless mounds of flesh, praying to whatever god, archon or even curse was listening.

She called you name

"Can you hear me?"

She almost felt tendrils of hope wrap themselves around her heart

Until the claws of despair sink themselves in instead.

She sees you, face down in the shallow water of the shore.

If it weren't for the multiple arrows in your back, she would have worried about you drowning.

Kokomi fell to her knees

The blood of her friends, enemies, and most of all her lover mixed sickeningly in the water beneath her, staining her robs and skin.

She knows that she'll never be able to wash the feeling of the viscous solution off her skin.

She pulls you into her lap.

"I'm sorry.."

"Everything will be fine. It is your plan after all!"

"I'm so sorry..."

In the solitude of the seaside execution sight

The Divine Priestess of Watatsumi island allowed herself to weep.

#whumptober2023 #no. 7 #kokomi x reader #death tw #war tw #blood tw #drowning tw #kokomi x reader angst #genshin impact

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missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway · 24 days

Text

Let Me Spell It Out For You

Jax Teller x Rockstar!Reader "Firefly" Ex Bf!Rockstar!Steve Rogers x Reader

Wordcount: 2599

Summary:

It’s Battle of the Bands Night at your local hole in the wall bar run by SAMCROW. You're currently dating their prez Jax Teller. Your lifelong best friend and first real love. Somehow your ex, Steve Rogers and his band The Howlies have shown up, vying for top spot and the cash prize. Such a shame they’ll have to go against you and your all girl group Serenity. It’s going to be a verbal bloodbath and you can’t wait to humiliate his arrogant ass.

Warnings:

Smut, Shameless Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Exes, Jax Teller Being an Asshole, Semi-Public Sex, Voyeurism, Accidental Voyeurism, Fuckboy Steve Rogers, rubbing it in your exes face, Teaching A Lesson

Notes:

Hello Heathens, I was feeling some type of way and well this is what came of it. Enjoy the fuck you Steve vibes. Songs lyrics used are in bold. All songs will be credited in the end notes :) HAPPY READING!

Divider @firefly-graphics Banner @cafekitsune

The energy in the bar was none short of chaotic. Between the loud music, the alcohol flowing and the rowdy mix of bikers and patrons it was looking to be a night to remember.

“I can not wait to get up on that stage and destroy some wannabes!” Zoey practically shouts while strapping on her electric guitar.

“Nothing beats that high,” I smile devilishly. “Well except for sex of course.”

We all laugh as we hear our band being called to the stage. “Next up, Serenity!”

It’s the first round of Battle of The Bands Night. I’m not worried about making it to the final round and grabbing the cash prize. Most bands here are so fresh they haven’t performed as a group much yet. So that leaves us at an advantage. We’ve been thick as thieves since high school when we used to skip class and jam out in my garage.

Not wanting to blow our load on the first round we chose to start with “Becky’s So Hot” to show off our sex appeal and my vocal talents. I may be singing about Becky, but in actuality it’s about the time in my life when Jax was dating Tara when he and I were broken up.

I wanted to destroy her for having the audacity to be with him. While at the same time I wanted to know first hand what made her so special that he kept her around as more than just a lay. The feelings were so conflicting, the only way I could work through it was to put it into a song.

Fine, okay, I'll say, I went and stalked her And I don't really blame you 'cause Damn, the waist, the hips, the face, this is awkward Are you in love like we were? If I were you, I'd probably keep her Makes me wanna hit her when I see her 'Cause Becky's so hot in your vintage t-shirt Ooh, she the one I should hate But I wanna know how she taste I kinda wanna hit her when I see her Becky's so hot in your vintage t-shirt

As we reach the interlude, my eyes catch the familiar frame of one Steven Grant Rogers. My ex and lead singer of The Howlies. Standing to his left, bass strapped to his chest, is of course Bucky Barnes. Steve’s best friend and cliché fuckboy musician.

He happens to also be Zoey’s ex. This is going to be interesting to say the least. It’s been months since we’ve seen each other. Much less been in the same room competing to see who the better band is.

It’s us of course. The Howlies are good. But they rely heavily on their good looks to fill seats. About 80% of their fans are of the female variety. Where ours is ratioed at about 60/40.

I turn to Zoey. She gives me a subtle nod. Acknowledging she’s aware of their presence and that it’s playtime.

I scan the crowd for my favorite blonde haired biker until I lock eyes with Jax just as the final chorus begins. I sing to him for a moment before turning my attention back to enticing the crowd into wanting to see more of us.

I sing the last line and drop a kiss to Zoey’s neck, as I stare down our exes. A challenge in my eyes. Tonight just got so much more entertaining.

As predicted, The Howlies make it to the next round. This time we were afforded the chance to watch them go before us.

They leaned full on into the whole sexy bad boy thing, playing “I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE”. A song I helped Steve write. It’s a great song. Really gets the ladies hot and bothered. Never ceases to get them laid. Regardless of if they’re attached.

It’s cute that they think they somehow have the upper hand. I have more talent in my pinky finger than the lot of them combined. Plus all that feminine rage to go with it.

With a whispered last line, the song is over. We wait for the next band to finish before we take the stage.

Where The Howlies went for a sexy hair band vibe for this round. We’ve taken the gritty and dirty approach by performing “Drain The Blood”.

See we’re no one trick pony. We can growl and scream with the best of them. While still remaining soft and feminine at the same time.

This song always gets the crowd going. I can see elbows benign thrown and shoulders getting checked from my vantage point on stage. I just feed into the frenzy, hypnotizing the bar with our haunting harmonies over rough chords.

Another round in the bag.

As the night carries on, both of our bands make it to the final round. This is where we pull out all the stops and show them who the better band truly is.

Man is this going to feel great.

The time has come to begin the final round.

It’s just us and The Howlies up on stage ready to give one final performance each. Facing off against each other as we share a stage.

We flipped a coin and the boys won, choosing to go first. Steve saunters up to the mic as the familiar beat of “Tear You Apart” begins behind him.

I’m not surprised they chose to perform this song. It really is their best. Get’s the girls going crazy. They may think they have it in the bag with his haunting tune.

But they couldn't be more wrong.

I watch from our spot at the back of the stage, as Steve swivels and sways his large body to the beat. Singing about crossing the line from friends to lovers. The obsessive need to devour and take control.

He once told me that I was the inspiration behind the music. That he had hungered for me from the moment he met me. That he spent days just biding his time, his mind obsessing. Playing an endless loop of me smiling sweetly. My touches, innocent in nature, felt anything but to him.

I was fuel to his creative mind. The ache he could not soothe until I was unattached.

When I was free from that biker shaped attachment he made his move.

It was intense and volatile. Burning out as quickly as it was set ablaze. For Steven wanted my heart when it has always belonged to another.

He makes a point to turn his back to the audience and move his hips like a hedonistic Elvis. We lock eyes as he sings the last line.

Give me those Ocean eyes all you want, pretty boy. I will never be yours for more than the memories I left your damaged soul with.

If he thought singing that song was going to throw me off somehow because of my affiliation to it, he was more delusional than I thought.

Two can play that game. And I am far better at it.

We wait for the swooning women to settle down as The Howlies step to the side of the stage and take our places. I make a show out of lowering the mic stand while Zoey begins strumming the opening chords to “abcdefu”.

I kept it calm and cute as I sang my own song inspired by Steven.

I swear I meant to mean the best when it ended Even tried to bite my tongue when you start shit Now you're textin' all my friends asking questions They never even liked you in the first place Dated a girl that I hate for the attention She only made it two days, what a connection It's like you'd do anything for my affection You're goin' all about it in the worst ways I was into you, but I'm over it now And I was tryin' to be nice But nothing's getting through, so let me spell it out

I rip the mic off the stand, turn towards The Howlies and flip them the bird as Zoey joins me in singing the chorus.

A-B-C-D-E, FUCK-U And your mom and your sister and your job And your broke-ass car and that shit you call art Fuck you and your friends that I'll never see again Everybody but your dog, you can all fuck off Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah

The look on their faces is priceless. Our song is catchy as fuck and by the time we make it back to the chorus the crowd is already sing along with us. All the women who were drooling over them minutes ago, have now all tapped into their feminine rage.

It’s glorious.

We brought it down to just me and Zoey's guitar as I lightheartedly told them they could all fuck off for the last time.

There was a beat of silence before the crowd erupted and ‘Serenity’ chants began. It was safe to say we won the battle. This particular victory never tasted sweeter.

After accepting our prize and bragging rights, we made our way over to the MC is holding court in their favorite booth.

As we reach the table, Jax stands up and grabs my hand. Pulling me along behind him towards the closed off hall that leads to the extra rooms.

As soon as we clear the doorway, he has me pinned against the wall with his lips locked with mine in a fevered dance.

He pulls away when we are both in need of air. “You are so fucking hot when your up on stage. Even more so when you're being bad. Tell me, darlin’. You wearing anything under these leather shorts?”

“Do you see any panty lines?” I quirk a brow at him.

He literally growls at me before dropping to his knees and untying my shorts. He pulls them down, over my ass and thighs until he reaches my knees. “I only need you to pull one leg out for this.”

“And what pray tell do you have in mind?” I ask as I remove my right leg from the skin tight fabric. Leaving my shorts to gather on my left ankle.

He rises to his feet, unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out. It’s rock hard and angry. A bead of precum perched at the tip ready to drop at any moment.

“Jump.” He demands and I oblige. He grips onto my thighs. Wrapping them around his waist as he slides himself inside me. Pausing when our pelvis’s touch.

The stretch of my walls accommodating his thickness steals my breath away.

We make eye contact as he pulls back and slams forward. I have to bite my lip from moaning out and alerting the bar to what is going on.

Jax ruts into me with the skill and precision of a man who knows all too well what my body craves. But all I can focus on is how amazing his dick feels inside me.

Without a care in the world, he continues to fuck me. He’s so engrossed in trying to take me apart that he doesn't hear the door creak open.

But I do.

I watch over Jax’s leather clad shoulder as Steve walks in. I gasp at being caught by my former lover.

Jax turns his head to the side to see what’s going on. He quirks a brow and then turns back to me, pressing his forehead to mine as he fucks me even harder. Almost as if he’s taunting him.

"Go ahead and keep your eyes on him, darlin’. Watch as he remembers what you look and sound like lost in pleasure. Watch what it does to him.” He states aloud.

I lock eyes with the heavily tattooed blonde Adonis spectating our coupling. Noting the heat and hurt in his eyes. He refuses to move along though. Almost challenging me to follow through and enjoy what is happening.

Alright then, Stevie. Challenge accepted.

I turn my gaze back to the man who owns my heart. Whispering for only us to hear, “Do your worst Jackson. I’m so close, baby. Go ahead and destroy me. Remind the whole bar who I belong to. Then we can get some good food on the way home and then get lost in each other all over again.”

I feel his chest vibrate against mine as he hums his satisfaction with my suggestion.

He pulls his hips back until just his tip remains cushioned by my slightly swollen lips. He takes a moment to turn my head toward a stoic Steve, still taking up space in the small hallway.

“Don’t you dare hold a single moan in. Let them all know. Especially him, why we’re so good together. Understand.” Jax commands.

I barely have a moment to nod my head in agreement before he snaps his hips forward and sinks back deep inside me. A moan escaping my throat at the feeling of being so full once again, so intensely.

Mind set on staking his claim for the whole bar to hear, Jax sets a ruthless pace. My eyes catch the ocean blues of Steve’s once more.

The lust is clear, seemingly overshadowing the hurt for the time being. I don’t shy away from their harshness. I lean into it. Allowing it to fuel the flames of my impending orgasm.

He can be jealous and angry about the current situation all he wants. It won’t change a thing. Hopefully this little display will finally kill whatever thread of us being together he’s holding on to.

I put the thoughts of Steve aside. Focusing on the man between my thighs, thoroughly taking me apart. Placing every bit of love into each wicked thrust. He does that thing I love with his hips. Pivoting them a certain way that allows his tip to graze against my sweet spongy spot.

It’s like a direct line to my climax. With each pass I can feel the coil tighten and a tingle begin at the base of my spine down to my toes.

I’m panting and whimpering, uncaring of my surroundings. I can barely make out Jax’s encouraging words in my ear of how I'm a good girl. That I’m taking him so well.

With a well placed thrust, followed by a grind that has his belt buckle teasing my clit. I give in and succumb to the pleasure of my orgasm taking over me. I sound loud even to myself, as a guttural moan fills the air. I’m barely aware of Jax’s name being screamed out, along with the words yes and oh fuck on repeat.

I can just make out his own roar as he loses himself inside me. Filling me to the brim while he growls sweet praises in my ear as the world seems to fade away.

I have no idea when I closed my eyes, but upon opening them, I see that we are alone again.

Jax takes that moment to grab my chin and lay the softest kiss to my lips. I can’t help but lean into the sweet gesture.

“Come on, darlin’. I’ve been told I need to feed my girl some greasy food before we settle in for the night.”

He helps me back into my shorts before pulling open the door that heads back into the bar. A ruckus of applause meets us as we navigate around the drunken bikers to the exit. Hoots, hollers and whistles follow us out into the night as we climb onto his bike and make our way home.

Notes:

Songs used in this story. I do not own any of the rights these tracks. Please go give each artist a listen. Becky's So Hot - Fletcher I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE - Maneskin Drain The Blood - The Distillers Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge abcdefu (angrier) - GAYLE If you made it to the end, THANK YOU! If you liked it please feel free to let me know (but it's not required); and if you didn't, that's okay too, I still thank you for even giving it a chance.

#poc reader #jax teller x reader #jax teller smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #avengers au

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tomystars · 8 months

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raysand/sandray theories + analysis

(because im insane)

This is a little post where I'll be focusing on what's to come for raysand mostly based on the trailer (original trailer too) and what we already know from the episodes that have aired already. I'll be using pictures so the text doesn't feel too eavy.

Also want to mention I didn't think about all of this myself, it's mostly a compilation of me and my friend throwing ideas and thoughts at one another and I decided to make a post on this now because me and her predicted something that happened on yesterdays episode...

Before I begin, considering it's based on our thoughts, ideas and what we know of the trailer (which is often edited in a way where sometimes certain dialogue doesn't end up being the same one we see on the episodes) please take everything with a grain of salt. If you want to share your opinions, feel free to do so my inbox is open!

Let's begin!

Although this is mostly a theories focused posted, I do want to first talk a little bit about how Ray & Sand's relationship is at the moment.

We all know things are going to escalate more but for now both Ray and Sand consider each other as friends. I've mentioned this in another post before (that has recently been deleted because it wasn't very well written) but one of Sand's best qualities and what makes him, in my eyes, the best character in this series, is that out of everyone else he's KIND.

First episode we have him meeting Ray for the first time and the only reason he got mean was because Ray was being an asshole first. Yet, after all of that, he still understood Ray was drunk and he gave him a ride to his own home, let him puke on his toilet, gave him a place to sleep on... All of this to a complete stranger by the way! You can't with certainty tell me everyone would do something like this. In return, Ray acted like an asshole once again which lead him to being kicked out of Sand's place (later on I'll talk about why I think Ray reacted that way), and eventually Ray did end up apologising which I think was something Sand didn't expect.

Another thing that made it more easy for Sand to forgive Ray was when Ray said "Thanks for saving my life." which was a very honest thing to say and Sand realised that, he kind of got a little bit of an insight of what Ray truly is like. I often see people commenting about Ray being dramatic by saying that when he was not. He meant what he said and frankly Sand DID save his life. Had Sand left him alone, Ray would've driven while drunk which could've very well ended in an accident.

Fast forward, Ray keeps seeking him out (another thing that will come into play later on), hires him to be his drinking buddy, convinces him to leave a girl Sand was trying to take home to drive to drive him instead, they have a talk, seem to be on the same page, hook up and everything is fine. For now.

This is the first fight they have in the trailer. I think, at this point, they have already started to hang out more and being more close together, so Sand is starting to expect more from Ray, specially the way Ray acts around him, always being flirty, always saying certain things ("I care about your feelings. That's why I'm here." previews are always a bit deceitful so maybe Ray isn't even saying this to him but we move), always going after him, always wanting Sand to spend time with him, but at the same time saying they can never be more than what they already are, which will most likely give Sand a lot of mixed feelings.

Just like we saw on yesterday's episode, Ray will most likely keep leaving Sand for Mew, which I don't really mind considering that Ray is a girls girl and he will always put his friends above himself, but at a certain point I get why Sand would get upset considering they are friends too and it's just very horrible being the one left behind specially when you keep get mixed messages from this guy you're starting to like. He'll probably realise there's something between Mew and Ray too.

In this fight scene, Ray is probably once again leaving Sand for Mew which is why Sand says "Focus on me for once will you?". In return Ray says this:

"What are we to each other?" is a very key sentence in their relationship. The way I see it Ray will too start questioning their relationship, thinking "What are we?" because they'll both be floating around each other but no one will ever say anything. I'll get a little bit more into Ray's personality later on but Ray might be just as confused as Sand, he probably never had a relationship quite like what they both have and it's scary. At the same time, he could also just be saying that to be mean (I'm not trying to paint him as a villain, I love him and this all ties in with what I'll be saying later about his personality."

The second fight scene we see in the trailer. I don't know if any of you remember but in the original trailer there's a scene where they're both in the car and Sand says "I don't want to be in anyone's choices." (there's also a scene where Ray gets arrested but we won't talk about that), which could mean Sand doesn't want to be a choice, someone in a "competition" with someone else, but the one Ray would want to be with no matter what.

This scene we're seeing is most likely the equivalent of that scene in the old trailer. I think at this time in their relationship Sand has already confessed that he wants more from Ray, that he doesn't want to keep being a "choice" and that he wants them to be in a relationship which leads to them having a fight, and eventually to Ray saying this.

Now, I can finally get into Ray's personality and the reason why he acts defensively in both of these scenes with Sand. Ray is scared. I do think Ray has a crush in Mew but I don't think it has ever been more than a crush, Ray just hasn't let it go because it's safe and easy. He likes Mew, Mew doesn't like him back and that's it, he doesn't have to worry about complicated feelings. But then Sand comes along and he is unbelievable KIND and he treats Ray like a normal person, he's honest, he doesn't push back and even apologise for being nosy about Ray's mother, he worries about him when he's drunk, he talks back and he's FUN to be around, he never wanted anything from Ray even after taking him home when he was drunk, he refused to accept money from them hooking up, he gave up one of his nights to sing at Yo's bar just so he could sing at Ray's party...

I mean, since episode 1 we've been getting a look into Ray's self worth. He thinks he's worthless and a burden, probably because he's an alcoholic, and I'm sorry to say but his friends don't really help him when it comes to that. He doesn't want to keep burdening his friends with this so he turns towards Sand, hires him as his drinking buddy, to just listen to music with, have fun and relax, he even says "I just don't want to be alone." and even later on Sand sayshe can be his friend without having to hire him he even says "If you're my friend, you have to look after me in every way." and Sand does just that!

Ray is confused and he probably has never had someone to be this way towards him in his life, someone that wants to help him (with his alcoholism as well I'm fairly sure), someone that cares this much about him, but most importantly, confused as to why he's feeling this way thinking "Don't I like Mew? Why do I feel this way towards Sand?", so of course he's scared about what he's feeling and he's scared of being vulnerable and ending up being hurt, so he pushes Sand away by being mean. It's all too much for him.

What's worse is that Sand has been the only one setting up rules like the not sleeping with each other more than once, saying he'd never date someone like Ray and other less significant situations but Ray always convinces him to break those same rules (wonder why that is...) which Sand is at fault too like, my guy you need to be confident and just say no. Sand most likely set those same rules precisely because of an old relationship that started this way and ended up horribly so he's trying to not commit that same mistake again. This time I think Sand will fight back instead of just letting go like his old relationship, probably because he can tell Ray feels the same way as him.

Then we have this scene, It's a bit ambiguous because it's impossible to know exactly in what part of the timeline of this relationship this fits in but I personally like to think it's after all the fights Ray finally takes some time to think and get his feelings in order and realise what exactly Sand means to him and this is the scene where Ray goes and finds Sand to apologise and I guess 'confess'. It also fits really well with the last scene I'll talk about which is the bathtub scene.

In this scene we can clearly see Ray breaking down crying in a bathtub while Mew is hugging him from behind (in the old trailer Mew had clothes on so this doesn't really make me think much). Personally, this is probably a scene where Ray feels horrible for hurting Sand and might also be the moment he realises how he truly feels for him which of course has him feeling like this. Gut wrenching heartbreak. My friend thinks it might be a time where Sand has decided to stop talking to him, refusing to see him which could also make everything worse.

To end all of this I think it's very important to note that by no means do I think either of them are in love already but no one can deny they're clearly attracted to each other and that they have a connection, but most importantly they ARE friends and they consider themselves as such no matter what, they would do a lot of things for each other, Ray even as far as defending Sand's band to Top (it's Top we're talking about whom he hates, but nevertheless) so that's something to keep in mind.

#only friends the series #raysand #sandray #nyx speaks #really woke up and decided to type all of this out wow....

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nerdieforpedro · 4 months

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Weekend Update - 12/31/2023 - New Year’s Eve

Hey Nerdie! Looking forward to the New Year?

Hello! And yes I am, new beginning can be scary but fun. I’m looking forward it.

You have any lessons that you’re going to carry into the new year?

*Is shocked that she is being asked for advice*

Er…Not sure if you should ask a Hornado Hooligan for life advice, but I’ll do my best.

Skip number four if mentions of mental health, depression and/or suicidal ideation are triggering for you.

1. If you love something, keep doing it. Writing, singing, dancing, reading, walking, edits, watching TV and movies of a certain man with excellent hair, large hands and a prominent nose, painting, playing an instrument, whatever gives you peace and joy.

2. Write the things you want to write, all fanfics are self-indulgent. It’s encouraged, we all want to read all the things. Lord knows all my fanfics are and I would not have them any other way.

3. Find a lovely group of people to nerd out with, chat with, cry with, and have plenty of belly laughs with. The Hornado Watch (to which I am the resident hooligan who inspires many a giggle) has been saving grace for me this year with their support and care in just these last few months. 🥰

The following does contain mentions of mental health and suicidal ideation.

4. On that same note if you don’t feel quite right, mentally or physically, you should tell someone you trust and seek out help. My personal battle with mental health has been ongoing for roughly half my life, it’s hard to remember a time I didn’t feel depressed. I had been managing with medications and drowning myself in work but that will only stave the dark edges off for so long.

It was earlier this year, about August and September when I re-joined tumblr after one of my younger patients who saw my water bottle all Pedro’s characters’s stickers all over it and asked if I read any of the Fanfiction about him because that patient read Loki fics on there. I hadn’t and was surprised to note that my Tumblr log-in infor still worked. I was going through the motions of life and felt hollow to the point where for the first time since high school I had thoughts of “if I wasn’t here, would everything feel okay? Would it stop? If I don’t wake up, and everything stayed black it would be fine.” Then came the insomnia where I just wanted to sleep maybe forever and my body wouldn’t allow me as a special kind a torture. At least that’s how I thought of it at the time.

Oddly enough my first fics were posted between September and October so I was trying to work out the feelings I had which helped some but wasn’t enough so thankfully I was able to find a doctor who’s listen to me when I said my meds aren’t keeping me even keeled any more and started me on a new medication which has been working well for me.

Since then, I’ve enjoyed writing up a storm on all sorts of subjects that I’ve thought about, wanted to explore and just thought, “don’t see that anywhere, let’s do it.”

I’ll keep writing as it really does help keep me sane and interacting with all you lovely peeps 🐥 as it’s often a highlight of my day. 🫂

Especially my Hornado Watch group, I’m your resident hooligan and weather report expert. I predict more flooding and downpours of thots with some support mixed in there. A high chance of fluffy feelings and rainbows in the clouds ⛅️❤️

Stay warm, safe and see you in 2024! 💚

Love Nerdie ❤️

#Nerdie speaks #weekend update #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #new year's eve #december 2023 #2024 soon

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allwaswell16 · 1 month

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Hiiii girly, do you know fics that fit the "grumpy x sunshine" trope? I picture H as de sunshine one, but im open to anything thst fits the trope haha thank you so much love

EDITED TO ADD: ffs I thought this was to my other blog sorry lol. I didn't notice until after I published it. so that link below is to a rec I did there. But if you end up wanting a longer rec than the 6 fics I'm putting here, feel free to send me another ask and I'll put it on my pinned post to do list! Hi, anon! You're very welcome! So I have this rec:

✤ Grumpy Harry/Sunshine Louis

And here are a few with it the opposite way...

You're Not My Type (still I fall) by Imogenlee / @imogenleewriter

His mum is going to kill him!

Well, not kill him. Just give him a right telling off, make him admit she'd been right, then try to confine him to his room until they found a hefty Alpha to look after him and rein him in or something.

She wouldn't manage, of course. Harry is only twenty-four and has no inclination to settle down at all, especially not at the behest of an Alpha.

But, as his mum would point out, that was the same stubborn attitude that got him here: in his car, in a thunderstorm, on the side of a forsaken lane of some little countryside town in Yorkshire. His mobile's got no signal, his GPS isn't working, and he's running low on petrol, so he can't even use the heater.

Oh, and most importantly, his car is stuck in the mud, so even if the GPS was working and he knew where to go, he wouldn’t be able to.

He's been in stickier spots; he reminds himself. Way stickier. This is just a bit of rain; it'll blow over. Then Harry will just... well, alright, he isn't entirely sure what to do when the rain stops because he'll still be stuck and lost. But, hey, there won't be any rain, which is something to cheer about.

Hidden Gardens by pinky_heaven19

Harry burst out laughing, the sound mixing with the loud chatter as more people entered the pub.

“I knew you'd say that! It's just too easy to get you riled up, isn't it?” Harry took another sip of his beer, cleaning a little foam off his upper lip

“Why do you like to piss me off so much?” Louis said, rubbing his closed eyes with the tip of his fingers. He didn't feel as angry as he looked, but apparently he had a reputation to keep.

“Believe me, the only time I did it on purpose was just now. Hey, is this going to be our dynamic forever? I come here, you snap at me for no reason at all, throw me out and I come back? It's getting pretty predictable.”

“Why do you keep coming back, exactly?” Louis said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I like your pretty face. And Niall has sick jokes. The beer is fine, too."

OR the one where Louis owns a pub and Harry is a photographer who needs his help for a project. Louis is grumpy, Harry is not. Louis has a secret. There is some pining and a lot of fluff.

and then there was you by littlehazandlou

"Well Louis who broke into my garden. I'm Harry. This is my garden." the guy, Harry, says, his face breaking out into a bright grin and spreads his arms wide to gesture to the garden.

"Uh... Yeah. 'S nice..." Louis mumbles, looking at the guy suspiciously, "You aren't angry?" He asks "I just broke into your garden."

Or, the one where Louis is a grumpy author and Harry is the hippie who lives at the end of his garden. Sort of.

#ask #anon #ficrec #minificrecs #littlehazandlou #pinkyheaven19 #imogenlee

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bookaddict24-7 · 3 months

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REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

EVERY WEEK I WILL POST VARIOUS REVIEWS I’VE WRITTEN SO FAR IN 2024. YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY GOODREADS FOR MORE UP-TO-DATE REVIEWS HERE.

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24. Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Re-read January 2024

I've been wanting to re-read this series for a while because I never finished it. I remember really enjoying this first book in the series because of the competition aspect of it and I'd say I still enjoyed that!

I also see the foreshadowing for the MC's ability to attract all of the men in her life LOL. While I might not have enjoyed it as much as the first time, I still enjoyed it for the most part. There were a lot of things I forgot about and was delighted to be reminded of. The MC is a badass, but her constant "I could kill him with two moves" comments at the beginning had me rolling my eyes a few times.

Even though I know book two will break my heart again, I can't wait to pick it up. Also, SO MANY clues in this one about her identity that I missed the first time around. Definitely one of those books that is worth reading more than once just to catch all of the little pieces of the overall puzzle.

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25. Mixed Signals by B.K. Borison--⭐️⭐️⭐️

I have a bit of a gripe with this author. While I like a good chunk of the books she writes, the third act breakups are so infuriating. They take away all of those happy feelings that were building up throughout the book because the drama and miscommunication for the third acts are freaking ridiculous.

I was listening to this book last night when it happened--the inevitable "I'm afraid and a coward and let me let you stew in this miscommunication so that it somehow makes sense for me to break up with you because I'm so scared." Listen, as someone who has anxiety and has relegated herself to singledom because I don't want to deal with the messy emotions, I UNDERSTAND. It's freaking scary. BUT. But for the love of god, there are better ways around this. This manufactured and forced drama is so frustrating. I literally wanted to throw the book out the window.

These characters deserve better.

Three stars because I loved them when they were actually functioning like human beings and not drama puppets. Three stars for the small town side characters, who I have loved the whole way through this series (I'd give THEM a higher rating). And three stars for the diversity of a Latine character (even if the Spanish was sometimes questionable.)

Will I read the last book? Of course. I want to read about the other couple, but I KNOW that I'm going to be frustrated as well. Listen, I didn't think I was going to get as annoyed as with the climax of book one (because book two was actually kind of okay with the climax), but oh man. The FRUSTRATION.

Sigh. Moving on. Read this series if you want cute moments and sexy characters, but be prepared for the moments of frustration. This FMC has a lot of things to work through and I think one of the things that frustrates me the most about these third act breakups is that they feel like they come out of nowhere. They're fine in the moment and then boom, "I'm a coward."

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26. Breathless by Amy McCulloch--⭐️⭐️⭐️

One of the issues I have with adult thrillers is that I sometimes build them up a lot more in my head than the story itself. While BREATHLESS kind of suffers from this, it had its interesting and captivating moments.

I thought the mountain climbing aspect of the book was really cool and I wanted the MC to prove everyone wrong, including her awful ex-boyfriend. Granted I know nothing about mountain climbing, but that aspect of the book is probably one of the main reasons why I kept listening to this audiobook.

The mystery was not predictable but also it kind of was? LOL. It's hard to explain--I didn't actively think it was one person, but when it was all revealed, I thought it made a lot of sense. Like I said, I thought the mountain climbing was the true thrilling aspect of this book.

Overall, this was fun and I loved that ending, but it wasn't something I think I'll be thinking about a month from now. It was good, but *shrug*.

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27. Slewfoot by Brom--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I didn't know what to expect from this beautiful book. I purchased it a couple of years ago because all of my friends were talking about it, so of course I fell to the peer pressure. Just like the beautiful and eerie artwork, the story itself is unsettling and straddles that morally grey line of justified vengeance and anger versus a society's portrayal of evil (ie. a woman refusing to be cowed by a male's authority.)

Reading this gave me this odd sense of satisfaction when everything came to a head--especially thinking about all of the women who were accused of witchcraft and murdered. I especially felt this anger when I think about how many people the MC helped and how those people let their fear and hatred guide their actions against her. I think, beyond the cowardice of a man not accepting defeat, that angered me the most--women turning on each other because of a male dominated society's idealism and "godliness".

Needless to say, I loved this and couldn't put it down. I wanted to know what came next, even though I KNEW it wouldn't be something good. I'm just grateful that Brom knew that I would be looking for those satisfying moments of vengeance.

Also, I'd call this terror in the sense of that overhanging fear of what comes next. But even with the gory bits and the blood lust, I'd say the real terror in this book is humanity and how easily they are swayed. It all leads to me wanting to ask: who is the true devil here?

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28. From Dead to Worse by Charlaine Harris--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I can't believe I've made it this far! Although, I have this feeling I have because the deja vu is hitting me HARD.

FROM DEAD TO WORSE had so much going on, but unlike some of the other books before this one, this one actually took place closer to home. I kind of missed reading about Sookie's misadventures near her home. We got to revisit a lot of her relationships with the men in her life in this one--like the cleanser book for any ends that weren't fully cut clean.

I may have been spoiled for who's endgame, so I am totally seeing how Harris starting laying down the little hints here and there. But even so, knowing this doesn't stop certain moments from feeling bittersweet for me.

More things were revealed and Sookie grew even more as a character. I understood why she made the choices she made because she's finally putting her self-worth above those of the men in her life, but I still DID feel a little bad for her beau in this one. But again, I am on her side because she's been dealt some shitty men cards in the last eight books.

Onto the next one!

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29. The Fake Mate by Lana Ferguson--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

After trying and failing to read Ferguson's THE NANNY, I really wasn't sure what to expect with this vastly different genre of a book. I'm honestly so glad I decided to give this a shot anyway because THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN.

I was hooked onto the story and I loved the different tropes that were used. The whole grumpy/sunshine thing will always be a winner with me, and I am a puddle for this kind of tension. And don't even get me started on the smut. Omg, this man. The dirty talk in this was *chef's kiss*. This man is hot HOT.

I also really liked how the climax of the story was handled, even if one of my least favourite tropes was temporarily employed. I admire a self-sufficient FMC who can slap some sense into the MMC.

I do recommend this book to romance lovers, but I know that the topics explored in this book may be new to some. Research beforehand might be an awkward time LOL.

___

30. Just Happy to Be Here by Naomi Kanakia--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I want to preface my review by stating that I am not a member of the Trans community, so my opinions on this book are from an outsider's perspective.

JUST HAPPY TO BE HERE was an intense read, both because of the clear transphobia and because of the MC's youth/naive nature about the people around her. The number of times she was cut off by those around her, or had such clear transphobic comments and actions done against her and she brushed them off was rage-inducing. I think I know why she does this--especially at the end, when it all ties up really nicely together, but in the moment, I felt immense rage towards the people around her.

Kanakia's novel touches on so much happening right now in society and how people twist narratives to fit their agendas and their means. How some people can see one person as an "object" to further their ideologies.

This book just made me feel a lot and made me so angry, but I know I am privileged in my cis-life. My heart broke for the kids who are in these situations and/or are surrounded by people who just refuse to see beyond their own biases and hatred.

I also appreciate the representation of the complex familial relationship between the MC and her parents--it may have been imperfect, but as an adult, I can see the love there for their daughter.

Between the beautiful cover, the emotionally stimulating and thought-provoking story, and the raw reality of a young character trying to figure herself out, I do recommend JUST HAPPY TO BE HERE. I do also recommend that the TWs be heeded: transphobic language, transphobia, internalized racism, transmisogyny. Read with care--but know that this is a pretty important story. Also, Kanakia has a pretty great author's note at the end!

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31. The Probability of Everything by Sarah Everett--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

THE PROBABILITY OF EVERYTHING was so much more than what I was expecting and although my heart feels wounded and my eyes are still feeling that aching pressure after a good cry, I'm so grateful I was able to experience it.

Twelve year old me wishes she had this book to read when my world changed so irrevocably, much like the MC of this book.

This heartbreaking novel follows a young scientist-to-be who likes to deal with probabilities in exchange for the anxiety surrounding her world ending. We are faced with a family grieving the end and how everyone handles it differently.

I don't even know what else to say about this book for fear of spoiling it--but know that it is powerful, important, and heart-rending.

___

32. Long Shot by Kennedy Ryan--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Re-read: January 2024

I've been wanting to re-read LONG SHOT for a while, even though it is a very heavy and dark book. I had forgotten just how dark this book gets and while I highly recommend it, I do still super recommend you check out the trigger warnings.

Despite the dark and the abuse, the shining light was the blossoming romance between the two MCs and how, if something is truly destined for you, it'll happen.

LONG SHOT is a book full of emotion, heart, heartbreak, and a bit of magic in the sense that Karma is a bitch and it comes for all. Also, the FMC is one strong woman who did everything she could to protect those she loves. Kennedy touches on the misconceptions that haunt survivors of DA, which I thought was a very important aspect of the book.

Now I want to read the rest of the trilogy, which I never read after the first time I read this one.

___

33. Two Twisted Crowns by Rachel Gillig--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I am always wary of sequels--especially when it's for fantasy books I initially really enjoyed. Somehow, Rachel Gillig delivers a sequel that was even better than the first book. TWO TWISTED CROWNS was a delight of a read full of dark moments, high intensity, anger, and a love story I felt more deeply than in book one.

The angst alone between two of the characters I wasn't expecting to see together was better than I could have ever hoped for. This was what made this book even more fun--just me casually waiting for these characters to just cross that line with each other.

Also, I found that TWO TWISTED CROWNS had me reacting more viscerally towards the hateful villains. The way I wanted to smack a bitch in this book because how dare they hurt these precious beings?

And, hi, I wasn't expecting to cry? Imagine that I'm enjoying this darker fantasy novel when all of a sudden, my eyes start to water during an emotional scene.

Let's applaud Gillig for making this a duology (hopefully) and not dragging this in a ten series saga. This whole series was such an incredible piece of fiction. I'm glad I fell into the hype and read these two books.

___

34. Holes by Louis Sachar--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Re-read January 2024

I don't even know how many times I read this when I was a kid. Reading it as an adult now was such an interesting experience. For one, the story felt a lot shorter and quicker than I remember it being. I also remembered everything because I'm not kidding when I say that I read this A LOT as a kid.

Being an adult, I can also see how truly sad this story could get--especially one of the historical stories told throughout the book.

Such an amazing classic and truly a gem.

___

Have you read any of these books? Would you recommend them?

___

Happy reading!

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loserchildhotpants · 11 months

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a little destiel drabble written for @atomicteaparty who posited (and im paraphrasing here) ‘what if Dean never hugged Cas after Lucifer stabbed him and he came back? he’d be really hot and cold w Cas bc he rationally thinks he should push Cas away to protect himself from ever being so hurt and lost again but also he gets pissy when Cas DOES pull away, so Cas is getting a lot of mixed signals and is secretly and quietly just v sad that Dean hasn’t hugged him - but then ofc something goes wrong on a hunt, and Dean sees a flash from far away or something and he thinks it was Cas’ Grace being burned out again and he rushes to him and Dean hugs him for like half an hour straight’

i took some creative liberty but here have a drabble of that What If:

_______

Breathlessly, Sam and Dean rush to Cas’ aid, and Dean knows the terror that must be writ across his face; he never learns.

Pushing away never works, pulling close is a death sentence, and with Cas, there’s never any in-between. But he’s known for a long time now that he’d rather have Cas around than not, and so if it’s all or nothing - for Cas? He’s all in.

And he should’ve made that clearer in recent weeks.

He never learns.

Dean and Sam are shouting Cas’ name across the open field behind the barn Cas disappeared around; out in the boonies like this, it’s like the night and woods can swallow up all the sound. It’s like shouting into space; the sound doesn’t even seem to travel anywhere.

Eventually they find him, though, standing in tall grass.

Bodies are scattered across the ground with burned out eyes, and some with heads that appear to have imploded.

Lovely.

And not Dean’s immediate concern.

He sees Cas standing in front of the carnage, splattered with some blood, but otherwise looking okay, if a little uncharacteristically exhausted.

“Cas,” Dean breathes out, running to stand in front of him, “Cas, you okay? I - we saw a flash...”

“I was being swarmed,” Cas tells them both, glancing over at the bodies of shifters, “I deemed you were both a safe enough distance away that I could allow some of my trueform to disable them. It seemed a more efficient method than to use my blade on them all.”

“You look sorta pale,” Dean mentions, nearing him, standing close, wanting to be closer, “are you hurt? You need anything?”

Staring resolutely at Dean, Cas firmly plants his feet down, lifts his chin, and tells him, “... a hug.”

“... what?”

Dean thinks Cas must be joking, but, frankly, Cas isn’t that good at joking, and he looks entirely too serious.

“I don’t feel perfectly well. What will make me feel better is a hug.”

When Dean huffs a half-laugh and rolls his eyes over to Sam, Cas specifies, “from you.”

Face flushing, Dean hates how pleased he is to hear Cas say that.

That’s idiotic, maybe. He’s been blatantly avoidant of Cas lately, and maybe this is just Castiel, the Rebel Angel, calling Dean on his bullshit, because when he sees an immovable object, he becomes an unstoppable force, and he becomes an immovable object when faced with an unstoppable force.

This is just what Cas does.

“... seriously,” Dean says more than asks.

“Yes.”

As if Sam’s surprise-slack face will provide any kind of out, Dean looks to him for help, but predictably is met with a shrug.

Turning back to Cas, whose eyes have not left his face for a second, Dean feels his heart thump hard, and that makes his embarrassingly warm face even warmer, which makes his hackles rise defensively.

Cas doesn’t say anything about Dean’s probably very obviously red face, though; he just stands there, waiting.

Dean doesn’t have any good excuse out of this, not when he’s being asked so directly.

“... God, fine, you little weirdo,” Dean mutters, stepping up close to Cas to take Cas into his arms.

Cas has this habit of hugging Dean around the neck, and, being that Cas is just a smidge shorter than Dean, it forces Dean down a little bit, maybe just an inch, but it makes Dean feel... big.

It occurs to Dean in this moment that Cas maybe does that on purpose; he knows Dean, he knows Dean more intimately than any other being would or could, and not in the academic sense - he doesn’t know all of Dean’s funny one-liner’s or embarrassing childhood memories, but he knows the fabric of Dean’s soul.

He knows the often times contradictory and paradoxical desires that make up Dean’s impossible dreams; he knows Dean wants to feel big and strong, and Cas is a giant in that vessel - he’s stronger and larger than what Dean can fathom, and he hugs Dean around the neck, as if to make himself smaller. As if to give Dean a moment of feeling like he’s the one protecting Cas.

Cas does that now; his arms loop around Dean’s neck, and Dean’s hands waffle near Cas’ sides for a second, but then plant themselves as Dean inwardly chants to himself that this isn’t awkward (which is probably making it awkward).

After a few beats, he pats Cas’ back to signify the end of the hug, but Cas doesn’t pull away.

Cas stays right where he is, and Dean suddenly realizes he’s hurt Cas’ feelings by avoiding him this long.

Oh, Dean thinks to himself, I was just thinking about myself again. I do that too much. Fuck. Did you think I wasn’t happy to see you? I could’ve leapt to the fuckin’ Moon when I saw you standing there, Cas, you stupid son of a bitch.

A little more repentant now, Dean slithers his arms more securely around Cas’ waist, gives him a proper embrace even as his hands start to shake, and he hears Cas sigh happily; Cas making that sound of relief is instant dopamine to Dean.

Their chests are pressed together, Dean thinks Cas can feel his heart beating harder than usual, but he tries not to mind Cas knowing; Cas would probably know even if Dean were at the bottom of the Atlantic.

“‘m sorry,” Dean mumbles quietly behind Cas’ ear, “... I’m sorry, Cas.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Cas assures him, his arms tightening, keeping Dean close, a hand coming to the back of Dean’s head, “I missed you very much, Dean.”

Beyond Dean’s control, tears well up in his eyes - he did miss Cas. He missed Cas more than he can safely say. He missed Cas so much, he wanted to fucking die.

He missed Cas and Cas doesn’t even know, he doesn’t get the scope of it, he probably wouldn’t believe it even if Dean were to try and explain it (with words he is very sure he doesn’t possess), because Dean’s spent weeks avoiding him, arguing with him, never happy with Cas staying or going.

They curl more into one another, slotting into place like puzzle pieces, and Dean’s hands smooth across Cas’ back, feeling at the broad strength of him, dragging that holistic comfort into him like he could shove Cas into his ribcage and put him there for safekeeping.

I’d quit hunting, Dean thinks to himself, nonsensically imagining Cas small enough to fit nestled next to his heart, I’d never put my life in danger again. I’d keep you right there, and I’d wear chest armor and I’d keep you safe with me, right there, forever. Part of me, where you belong, where I could protect you.

Dean knows that’s fucked up and codependent of him or whatever, but Cas never minds those fucked up parts of him. Cas is never fazed by how sick in the head Dean is, he barely ever bats an eye.

Even now - Cas isn’t letting go. He’s staying as long as Dean will keep him, and Dean knows he’s unwell, he knows his attachment issues are off the charts, but God, there’s such a profound comfort in the thought that as long as Dean keeps him, Cas isn’t inclined to stray.

If Dean doesn’t want to pull away, Cas won’t, because he wants however much Dean wants - or however much Dean is willing to take.

All this pent up, unspent tenderness rises up in Dean; he feels stupidly sentimental, protective, and much too comforted.

The soft shush of their hands moving across clothing, the light scrape of Cas’ dull nails across the nape of his neck, how they breathe in tandem, never pushing one another away even by a centimeter; it’s a sedative like Dean can’t remember last having.

I missed you. I missed you like crazy, Cas, Dean thinks at Cas, pulling away in this slow, syrupy way that doesn’t actually indicate he wants to stop touching Cas, and Cas actually picks up on that subtle cue and keeps Dean in his arms, though loosely enough to let Dean’s nose trail across his stubbled cheek.

Up this close, there’s the smell of Cas, his vitals there for Dean to track, to keep count of, to let lull him into a dream-like state of calm.

He doesn’t mean to kiss Cas.

It’s like he’s sleepwalking; dazedly, he just turns his head, lets his nose and lips drag across Cas’ face, and he naturally slots into place there. He kisses Cas because Cas is there to kiss, and it only makes sense. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.

Not a single thought is crossing Dean’s mind when he does it. His eyes are shut, he’s breathing in deeply, moving his lips just so, sleepy, lazy, even. He doesn’t know where his hands are. He’s floating.

His tongue is met with zero resistance, his blood flashes hot across his body, his dick twitches with interest, and it’s like his whole body is thrumming with; Cas, Cas, Cas, smell of Cas, sound of Cas, taste of Cas, feel of Cas, Cas close, Cas good, Cas safe, Cas mine, safe with me, in my arms, need to touch, need to protect, missed him, love him, love him...

Something Dean does with his tongue in Cas’ mouth makes Cas’ breath hitch, and that’s when Dean’s frontal cortex comes back online and he realizes he is kissing Castiel on the mouth.

As if he’s stuck a fork in an outlet, Dean flies backwards, scrambling away from Cas, realizing with mounting terror what he’s just done.

His heart rate ratchets up, his stomach twists into knots, he remembers Sam is right fucking there, and he looks over at Sam, who’s looking at him in shock - having known each other all their lives, they have one simple exchange in silence.

Sam’s face says, I can’t believe you just did that!

Dean’s face replies, panicked, this is why I was keeping my distance. This is why I wouldn’t touch him. This is why I wasn’t supposed to touch him.

Sam’s face falls - Dean can’t tell who he feels sorry for, but either way, he hates it.

Too scared now to look back and see the state of Cas, Dean silently begs Sam, ... what have I done?

#destiel #deancas #melanie writes #melanie has friends #to be continued ...?#drabble

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cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal · 4 months

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Okay! This is the second piece that I'm tossing out. This one took me a long time to let go of because I really liked a lot of the writing of this one. Unfortunately, the tweaking I'd need to do to save it would absolutely shred it, so it's time I let it go.

This is Built on Lies, a rewrite of the self crash scene from Ortega's perspective involving my Sidestep Rashad Basri. This was written immediately after their first run through Retribution when they were closer to Canon characterization Sidestep and when they went to HG themself (because it was my first run. Of course I was going to see HG). It also plays around with the idea that, while Ortega can't have their mind influenced or manipulated by telepathy, that it didn't mean they weren't psi-sensitive. This has since been shot to hell (/lovingly and teasingly said) by the Rydén himself, hence another reason I just have to let this one go.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I really liked working on this one. Happy reading!

The silence is insufferable. Ricardo doesn't generally like the quiet. He usually finds any excuse to fill it, with idle chatter or flirting or gentle ribbing, anything really. The silences with Rashad are different. He doesn't feel the need to fill up the space between them. Rashad may be unable to read Ricardo's mind, but that resulted in Rashad dropping their mental shields around Ricardo which, in result, means they accidentally projects their thoughts and emotions out and around them.

Ricardo has never mentioned this. He's too worried that if he does, those walls will slam right back up. And he'd miss the heady mix of desire, nostalgia, fondness, and nervousness that radiates off Rashad's mind like the steady waves of the ocean. Rashad's anxiety feels different this time. It chafes against Ricardo's mind as if they don't fit together here. Not now. Not after what Ricardo had seen.

They sit in the front seats of a stolen car - a car Ricardo watched Rashad steal not five minutes ago. Hollow Ground’s haunt is still within view. Rashad is wearing a fine pressed suit that Ricardo has never seen. He would have never guessed Rashad even owned a suit. Everything about the situation makes Ricardo’s stomach twist in unpleasant knots. Nothing feels like it’s as it should be.

"So…" The word hangs between them like a guillotine blade, just waiting to see whose neck it severs first. Ricardo stares at Rashad. His love. His friend. His family. The glare of the Los Diablos sunset pierces through the windshield, painting Rashad's dark skin in warmth. It makes their eyes turn from near black to molten gold. Ricardo wants nothing more than for Rashad to look his way. To say something, anything.

Rashad, as is their wont, says nothing. They stare straight ahead, ignoring Ricardo altogether, their lips pressed into a harsh line. They're driving faster than the speed limit is set, their gaze jumping to the rearview mirror every couple seconds, but with Ricardo in the car they're not likely to be pulled over.

"Talk to me." The words come out of Ricardo's mouth harsher than he intended. He's tired of begging Rashad for every inch. He's tired of pretending to be in the dark. Tired of pretending to simply take every one of Rashad's idiosyncrasies in stride. "You just stole a car. I'd hate to think you did that for no reason."

Rashad hunches their shoulders, their knuckles paling on the steering wheel. "I thought I was being followed, alright? I couldn't tell it was you." They shoot Ricardo a sharp look. "Besides, the driver was drunk. I did him a favor."

Ricardo grits his teeth. There's a vice on his heart and with every word it tightens. Maybe it will be crushed beneath the weight of what's between them. He hopes not. "Why were you in Hollow Ground's club?"

Something hardens in Rashad's dark eyes, but something else begins to crack. This mask won't hold for long, so Ricardo presses harder. "I need to know."

Rashad's irritation is just as predictable as their silence. They switch strategies like clockwork - dancing the same dance they always have. "What were you doing spying on me?"

"I won't let you make this into an argument," he says softly. He means it. He'll press, but he won't fight. "Not this time."

"So I see." Back to silence. Ricardo's never seen what happens if he doesn't give in to the fight. If he keeps needling, will Rashad open up or shut down. He prays it's the former.

"Look." Ricardo sighs deeply. No other way but forward. "I didn't want it to come to this. I had hoped you'd trust me with the truth, but-"

"But what?" Frustration again. Without Ricardo giving in, Rashad’s tactics seem to be stuck in a loop like a broken record.

“I know it must be hard on you.” Ricardo tries to keep his voice soft, consoling. He honestly doesn’t know what he’d do if he was in Rashad’s place. He can’t imagine what it would feel like to be torn between his family and his partner. “I just need to know if you’re on my side.”

There’s a flash of fear in Rashad’s expression before they school it back into ambivalence. Their voice still shakes when they say, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ricardo sighs again, but it’s more in relief than anything. This admission is, at least, a reassurance. He stills wants Rashad to say it out loud. “You know why.”

The stiffness that settles in Rashad’s jaw only lasts a few seconds before everything slips out of place. Their posturing and mask fall away like pieces of jagged glass from a broken window. They look more tired than they've ever seemed before, but also there’s a hint of relief there. “You’re right.” They take a long, slow breath in. “I should have trusted you with this long before now.”

“Finally.” It takes all of Ricardo’s self control to bite back the sharp laugh at the back of his throat. “I was starting to think you’d never tell me.”

“It’s not an easy thing to confess, even when you know.” Their warm voice is soft, hesitant. There’s so much grief weighing down his words. “I should have known you’d find out I’m Heartbreak sooner or later.”

All of Ricardo’s thoughts come crashing full stop like a train into a cliffside. He feels as though Rashad has knocked every breath out of him. He wades through his thoughts, struggling as though pushing through knee-deep mud as the sentence sinks slowly deeper in. He stares at Rashad, jaw working with countless words to be said, but nothing makes it past his teeth.

Heartbreak. The snake in the grass and bane of Los Diablos politicians and corporate bigwigs alike for the better half of a year. A ghost that stalks the shadows, stealing and extorting as he pleases, ousting people from power like it’s a game of chess and he’s simply picking pieces off the board. Ricardo can still see that mirrored helmet, cold and alienating, when he closes his eyes. He still remembers the way Heartbreak’s boot felt against his ribs.

Heartbreak is Rashad. Rashad, who always throws themself into a fight for the weak. Who tries to reach out to every animal that crosses their path. Who cries at corny tv movies. Who looks at Ricardo like he’s hung the moon every time he says something silly. He can’t justify the idea that the person who cried into his arms not a fortnight ago is the same as the villain who sent Herald to the hospital at the Memorial Museum. No, that can’t be right. It doesn’t make sense. “What are you talking about?”

Ricardo sees his own horror mirrored back to him in Rashad’s expression. “You didn’t know,” Rashad says slowly. They look like they want to bolt, even from the moving vehicle. Unfortunately, neither of them can. “Fuck.”

The silence gives way to anger and denial. No. Rashad wouldn’t choose this for themself. They were pressured. They must have been. “Did Hollow Ground force you to do this?” Rage tempers the question into something cold and hard. What could that bastard possibly have over Rashad?

Rashad’s brows furrow. “What makes you think that?”

“It can’t be easy to go against your family…”

“My family?” Rashad draws back like they’ve been struck. There it is again: that fear. Whatever it is that ties them to Hollow Ground must be heavy. “What do you know about my family?”

"Hollow Ground." Ricardo clarifies. But there's something wrong here. He can't quite put his finger on what. "I've seen his face. And I had to know if I was imagining things. So I did some digging, found your arrest records. You were just a kid, but you didn't look so different back then."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" There's a quickness to Rashad's breathing that catches Ricardo's attention.

He supposes it was a breach of privacy. It hadn't been easy finding those records. They'd been sealed and buried and it had taken more than a few greasing of palms to get them. "It must have been hard, breaking from the family business, but I didn't want to dissuade you back then. So I kept your face out of the papers." Ricardo looks down at his hands. He balls up his fists as he lets the anger wash over him. "I guess I should've worked harder. He found you anyway."

“Ricardo-” Ricardo can hear the beginnings of an admonishment. It doesn't come. He trails off, their eyes unfocused as they do so often when something catches their attention telepathically. Their attention zeroes in on something in the rearview mirror in the next second.

Ricardo glances over his shoulder, but not fast enough to see anything before Rashad hits the gas. "Shit!" He presses himself hard into his seat, trying irrationally to put any space between himself and the cars they’re now weaving through. “Watch it!” he shouts as Rashad nearly clips a car they speed past.

Rashad stares out the windshield, intent on finding the fastest ways through the traffic without scraping up the car too much. Their knuckles are pale on the steering wheel. Ricardo can feel the eclectic panic sparking from Rashad’s mind. “We’re in trouble.”

“That’s nothing new!” Ricardo’s voice pitches up on the last word as Rashad pulls a sharp turn.

Ricardo is just barely aware of something streaking past when a sound like a small explosion goes off not far behind them. He can see sparks streaking off the now exposed rim of their back tire as it scrapes across the asphalt. Instinctively, he ducks his head down and out of view of the windows. A gunman? He tamps down on his growing panic. He knows the drill. He's trained for something like this. Back to familiar territory.

His thoughts begin to speed by as Rashad pulls another hard turn. Something isn't right here. Hollow Ground wouldn't have had the time to set up a gunman, especially when stealing a car was a spur of the moment decision. The timing is all wrong, even if Ricardo can see a sliver of motive.

Another shot and his heart skips as they take another jolt. The wheel jerks out of Rashad's grip. There's a split second where Rashad's hand is on his shoulder, grip tight, before he shoves Ricardo back and upright in his seat.

Ricardo tries to protest. They both know the safest thing to do now is duck, not sit up. He only just notices the truck before it makes impact. The airbags explode out and the world goes black.

~ ~ ~

Ricardo comes to as though he has to swim through molasses to get to the waking world. His eye stings in that familiar way that tells him blood is dripping into it. Every muscle in his body aches. He can feel the bruises beginning to form. There's a sharp, spasming pain in his left arm - a malfunctioning emitter, he realizes. That's going to be a problem.

It takes a minute later for him to realize he's hanging upside. Or rather, the car has flipped. Ricardo fumbles with the seat belt, falling to the roof of the car with a groan. He sits there, leaning against one of the slowly deflating airbags, and takes stock of himself. He's not too badly off, all things considered. Sore and bruised, a twinge in his neck, and the malfunctioning emitter, but all in all he's been in worse scrapes. If Rashad hadn't -

His eyes snap open, turning to look at the driver's seat so fast, his neck protests. Rashad is hanging limply in their seat, held only in place by their seat belt. Their face is starting to swell and bruise. They aren’t moving, completely silent, and Ricardo could swear they’re barely breathing.

Panic begins to set in.

"Rashad." Ricardo lightly touches Rashad's shoulder. He gives his love a light shake. "Queride?" He touches Rashad's face as gently as he can manage. They don't respond to the touch. Their breaths are shallow and far between.

Ricardo lunges for Rashad's buckle, making his head swim in the process. He manages to catch Rashad against his chest as they ragdoll down. Just from a glance, Ricardo knows there's something wrong in the way their legs land. He cradles Rashad closer to him, brushing their messy black hair out of their face. "Stay with me, mi amor," He begs, pressing a desperate kiss against Rashad's forehead. "Don't let go."

The thought of losing them should not cut him so deeply, not in light of what he's just learned. It isn't just Rashad he's holding in his arms, it's Heartbreak. He's holding a supervillain, weeping into a supervillain's hair, begging a supervillain to cling to life. He can't seem to find it in himself to care. The thought of losing Rashad again makes Ricardo feel as though he can't breathe. He can't go through this again.

He shoves his hand into his pocket, praying that his phone survived the crash as he fishes for it. He flips it open and hits the emergency line saved in his speed dial. It rings once before someone picks up. "Location?" The curt voice says.

Ricardo glances out the shattered windshield, squinting past the pileup of cars. Between the panic and confusion, he can’t seem to locate the signs. “Corner of Eighth and Maple.” It’s a rough estimate, but it’ll have to do. “I need an ambulance!”

#cigs writes #fic: rashad #ricardo ortega #chargestep #Cigs' trash bin

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cboffshore · 2 months

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*Chubbyemu voice* GLOOM DIVISION drops in four days. Here's what that's going to do to my Ninjago brain.

(IDKHOWers who see this: this ain't gonna make a LICK of sense to you. This one is for the Ninjago fans who know me already.)

TLDR: if you liked the Nadakhan analysis Fall Out Boy playlist I made, buckle up. It's about to get weirder, and I'm bringing a different band into the mix.

I'll keep this short. When IDKHOW dropped "INFATUATION" a few weeks (or should I say Weekes?) ago, a friend of mine in NWOD and I determined that it was practically a perfect Nadakhan song in every way. I'm not getting into that here, and honestly I may never, because that track is STUPID straightforward. Have a listen, maybe check out their social media posts on it, then come back and tell me I'm wrong:

youtube

Anyway, I'm giving "INFATUATION" a solid nine out of ten on the Is This A Nadakhan Song scale. I said practically perfect - there's room for improvement. Not a lot of space, but I have to give the other songs a fighting chance to make this worth it.

Obviously, I want to appreciate this album on its own first and foremost. That being said, since I'm on a self-imposed writing break, I do want to keep my Ninjago brain running. For that reason, the bonus game I'll play when GLOOM DIVISION drops for real is: are any other tracks a better fit for Nadakhan?

Here are my title-based predictions for the entire tracklist, with a side of advance review info from this article where necessary. Minor spoilers.

DOWNSIDE: Not sure how to feel about this one. Rumor has it it's done in a deeper register than normal, though, so that could be good for something.

GLOOMTOWN BRATS: Nope. I've already got this on my OSSAS playlist, it's clocked as a Nya song IMO.

INFATUATION: our baseline. If no other track hits the mark, this one will do just fine.

WHAT LOVE?: Also a nope. We've had this for months, and while there are certainly shades, I'm inclined to throw this at Jay instead, especially within the context of Skybound.

SPKOTHDVL: I'm pretty confident about this one, even if it's just tonally - the band teased this one as "SLEAZY GUITAR RIFFTOWN", and Cheeto bastard is nothing if not distilled sleaze.

SIXFT: The advance review article mentions this one is similar to IDKHOW'S other classic creepy tracks "Mx. Sinister" and "From The Gallows", which is VERY promising! Also, this one has been teased as "30s + 00s GARAGE ROCK", and we love a good genre blend when it comes to Nadakhan musical analysis.

FIND ME: Something about this title has me very confident in it. Can't say why, but the vibes work.

KISS & TELL: See above.

A LETTER: Hard no... for now. This song already exists, and while you COULD probably get it there through intense mental gymnastics, that's not the priority of the song. We'll let this one stay a happy fandom tradition until I inevitably get the itch to do something to it.

SATANIC PANIC: Hmmm. Name suggests mass hysteria and succumbing to influence; advance review calls the vocals "almost whispered" and notes that the track seems screamable at concerts and has a brass-and-bass intro. Sounds bombastic! I'm going to say this one's got a decent chance at beating "INFATUATION".

SUNNYSIDE: Another nope for now - what the article has to say makes me think this is better suited for Jay.

IDIOTS OF Oz: Seems cynical and mysterious, but the vibes are off. I guess we'll see!

#Ninjago Skybound #Ninjago Nadakhan #Lila speaks #idkhow #analysis freak lila back on her bullshit #gloom division

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lulaypp · 6 months

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Lulaypp's Foliage of Lost Fics #1: Psychedelic

Note: Welcome to the first of few. The first of my unfinished/abandoned/kind-of-terrible fic dump collection thing. This is one I love a lot, the concept and torture was fun. But the pacing and decline of mental state had never sat well with me, and a few touches goes into ooc territory, and some lines ended up being weird.

Details of Fic: Nearly 7k words, Batfam Fandom, Jason-centric (and really there is barely anyone else around aside from some nameless villain), Whump with Emotions. Contains Hallucinations (ranging between just strange and gruesome), Non-consensual Drug Use (a heavy theme throughout the fic), Torture, Electric Torture, Broken Bones, Blood & Injuries (vivid, some hallucinated and some real), Sleep Deprivation

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Jason ground his teeth against the cry that wanted to tear out of him. The sharp, painful prickling insistently charged throughout his body as he convulsed uncontrollably. He tried to still his limbs against the spasms; locking his joints, clenching his fist or pressing down onto the cold metal surface, keeping his eyes screwed shut and pushing his head back into the table. Predictably, none of it worked, and the involuntary jerks alone were starting to hurt horribly. Mix that with the steady flow of electricity thrown into him through the table he was strapped to, his broken bones forcibly shifting with each convulsion despite the restraints holding down his limbs, the searing headache that had been plaguing him for far too long, and his lungs feeling tighter and tighter as seconds ticked by.

He struggled to get a breath in, air coming in slivers before forced back out. A whine slipped past his throat as the pieces of bones in his broken leg moved. He wasn't sure if he was pulling against the cuffs around his wrists or they were just happily jerking away on their own.

When the electicity finally stopped, he gasped, chest still feeling tight, but he could at least breathe and that is good right?

It definitely shouldn't hurt this much.

"Identities," a voice boomed into his ears making him wince at the sheer volume off it.

Jason wet his lips, tasting the iron of a split, and coughed out a glob of blood before answering, "Wha' 'akes you thin' they-" He was forced to paused to suck in a painful breath and he knew that something was really wrong with his body. "-that they have... i'ntities."

"Answer it, Red Hood or we'll go for five minutes."

He tried to not flinch at the threat, rolling his unmasked eyes. "Fine fine. Batman is Bats One. Nightwing is Bats Two. Bats Four is, obviously, your's truly. Or maybe it isn't obvious since Three came in after-"

The was a sigh in response, quickly followed by a backhand. Apparently, this guy lacks a sense of humour. How was it that Dick managed to win all the villains over by cracking jokes? How unfair. "Five minutes it is."

Jason closed his eyes against the erratic thundering dread in his ears and heart. A scream tore out of him as strong volts charged into him. His bare back felt like it was burnt from where it was directly touching the table. He struggled to jerk out of the leather cuffs holding his limbs as he spasmed and gasped. His heart and lungs felt like crumbling and bursting at the same time. Seconds passed, minutes. He must have blacked out at one point as when he dragged his eyes open, the electricity had stopped, and he was certain it hadn't been five minutes yet. Unless if his internal clocked was far too messed up by now. Which, while not too surprising, just showed how long he had been here.

"Identities," the voice demanded again.

It was a bit of a struggle for him to turn his strapped-to-the-table head, but he managed it and glared at the guy. He was far too tired for coherent words.

"Still a no? How about we switch up the power. That was two, so does four sounds good to you?"

Jason wanted to curse the man out but only managed a tired snarl. His breaths were coming in stuttered, laboured gasps, his heart was trying to break out of his already partially broken ribcage and his brain could hardly process any coherent thoughts.

"Power five for two then."

That was the only warning he got before the volts started again. His back arched from the table as a breathless scream-whine trailed out of him, his vision going white. He clawed, at the metal suface, at the cuffs, trying to get away. The bliss of unconsciousness was quickly approaching when it stopped, giving him several seconds of break before starting up again. He trashed against the restraints, scrambling and clawing and tugging. He barely felt the wounds around his wrists reopening and his sprained ankle screeching in the midst of the flooding electricity. The volts would stop periodically before running again, successfully keeping him awake and in pain. His chest felt tight and the bones of his broken arm ground against itself.

When it finally stopped for real, his mind was reeling and nauseous. He collapsed limp against the table, drained and exhausted, sucking in desperate breaths.

"Identities," was repeated.

A tired groan left him as he tried to pull his eyes open. He wasn't successful. "God. Stop it already," he hissed between short puffs of breaths. "We both know... know that... I wouldn't tell you even... if I do know."

"Oh, we both know that you do know who they are."

"Then 'm not-" He coughed, lungs bursting and clenching, and he gritted his teeth against a pained moan.

"I will let you reconsider your choice."

He heard footsteps fading away before a door screeched open and slammed closed, the grating, loud noise making him wince. Edges of sleep pulled at his mind, and he couldn't fight it.

But something pulled him back. A sharp, short burst of electricity pulsed from underneath him and jolted him awake. His eyes were slipping shut and it happened again. And again.

He cursed. Cursed the man, the table, the cuffs, his situation as a whole. He wasn't getting any sleep any time soon.

He moved his eyes to the door as it swung open. His mind and sight were muddled with exhaustion and pain, a thick fog hazing over his vision and thoughts. He had passed out at one point, but someone had come over and slapped him awake before threatening to waterboard him if he fell under again. Jason hated bending down to threats, but he wasn't interested in getting drowned either.

The blurry moving dots that he assumed was the tormentor entered, closing the door before approaching. "I don't suppose that you have changed your mind."

"Bite me," Jason snarled. "Why don't you go back to where you belong?" A hand suddenly patting his cheek roughly made him jump.

"I don't doubt that that is where you belong as well, even if you are on the opposite side of crime. But that is no matter."

There was a heavy thunk followed by sounds of rummaging, the sound reminding him of Bruce or Tim shifting through their toolboxes and the comparison did not help his feeling of dread. He startled when something cold and heavy tapped on his right forearm, slowly moving to his wrist and hand. His first guess was a crowbar, which fuelled his panic, but the weight felt different (perks of being beaten to death by a crowbar!). Heavier. Specifically, the head that was softly landing on... It was a hammer.

It was then that the tool was raised higher and slammed down onto the back of his index finger. He hissed, reflexively trying to pull away as another hit smashed onto the knuckle. The hammer continued to move to his other fingers, hitting the joints until they break and shatter. It hardly paused between one pound and the next, leaving him gasping. His entire hand was radiating with burning hot agony that licked fires up his arm, but he refused to let out any more than a hiss. That was before three of his broken middle fingers the grasped tightly and pulled and twisted roughly, making him scream, vision sparkling.

"Identities."

Wow, he was starting to hate that word. He tried to conjure and throw a fancy mix of profanities, but the man probably had seen it coming as the hammer slammed onto the back of his hand. Repeatedly. He bit his lip against a cry. It felt like his entire hand was shattered. He did scream, however, when something dug into his hand, hooking onto the broken bones, and pulled. His struggles made it worse, causing the claw- it was the hammer's claw, it had to be- to bury deeper.

As he was trying to breathe through the agony raging across his limb, he felt a hand pressing down onto his probably dislocated knee. "'go of me, you jerk," he hissed, trying to move his leg away without making it painful.

"You tell me their identities, then I might," the man said as he pressed harder onto the joint before something smashed onto it.

Jason let out a strangled noise as the thing slammed repeatedly in rapid succession, making his vision spark and spasm. He clenched his fists, regretting it as it pulled against the hammer dug into his right hand. Something pushed down onto his knee and his lips bled as he bit it hard, screwing his eyes shut against the onslaught. He didn't get to hold back the scream that left him as the table charged to life, electricity crackling into him. Every convulsion caused blinding agony to burn from his broken leg and hand, pulsing into his mind.

It stopped just before he could have a chance to black out. His mind was left thrumming with exhaustion and pain. He was really tired.

He felt something cold and metal grasping his broken little finger before it squeezed and twisted. He clenched his eyes shut and could only try to breathe.

Jason grumbled out a curse when he noticed that his broken right hand was kindly wrapped in a bandage of sorts. It just meant that they were intending on keeping him around for a while. At least the hammer was gone. He had woken up again to the room being empty and the table, thankfully, turned off. He didn't dare to shift his lower half, not wanting to risk aggravating that newly broken knee and the older broken calf, as he tested the leather restraints again, pulling and twisting. They dug into the existent chaffing on his wrists, but he kept at it. They were wrapped tight around his limbs with no obvious latches, he assumed they were probably hidden somewhere underneath the table. The other possibility, which he'd rather not be a reality, was that there were somehow no latches or locks, the ends of the cuffs sewn together or something. The leather was definitely of good quality, not wearing even a bit no matter how hard he tried scratching and clawing at them. Whoever this guy was, he definitely had good funding or just happens to have access to a lot of quality stuff; the table, the cuffs, the fact that Red Hood was still unable to escape for an estimated week.

He hated that he had no idea who the person who caught him was. Red Hood had just happened to be checking in on a suspicious looking dilapidated warehouse after helping Red Robin in an exhausting battle with Killer Croc and Clayface. Before he could do anything effective about it, he was jumped by too many people, knocked out, and apparently dragged to where he was stuck now.

Well, not quite. They drugged and threw him in some room with a simpler collection of restraints, but they didn't account for the Pit's enhancements and the drugs practically flew over him and he had nearly succeeded in breaking out. Very nearly succeeded.

And now he was stuck here, with leather straps pinning his wrist, ankles, upper arms and head to an electrifying table, and the leader of whatever this was trying to dish out Batman and the rest of the family's identities out of him. Like that would ever happen. While interrogation might not be the worst kind of capture, it was definitely somewhere high up in the list. It got very annoying, especially when the interrogator had the nerve to believe that he would bend down to their demands if they hit him hard enough.

Jason took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. At least they let him pass out this time around which was relatively nice. The table was perpetually cold against his bare back, and it caused the bits of burns left there to twinge every so often, especially when he moved. It didn't necessarily hurt, but it was definitely uncomfortable.

The door opened and Jason snarled as footsteps came closer, two people from the sound of it. Yup, this was not going to be fun.

A person stepped into his field of view, a lackey most likely, and started rummaging through a bag of sorts. It wasn't long before he found what he wanted and pulled out an empty syringe, fitting a needle at the end.

Jason's eyes widened as panic swished in his mind. "Get that away from me," he growled when the syringe came close. He struggled against the cuffs and practically tried to tear out his limbs from his restraints when the tip of the needle touched his right forearm. His heart thumped loudly in his ears as the tip pressed into his skin, a sound strangling out of him. He bucked and twisted as his vision went hazy. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to not fall into a full-blown panic attack, it was just a stupid needle, and bit his tongue when he felt the thing pull out.

When he dared to look again, he managed to catch a glimpse of red in the tube just as it disappeared into the bag. Blood. His blood. He could almost laugh, good luck trying to find anything with it. Bruce had made sure to keep any kind of trail untraceable. Even if it wasn't so, the Pit had messed up with his physiology, and he was still legally dead, thus no new medical records.

His eyes jumped to the leader guy as the man came from his left and he snarled. "You won't even get anything from it."

"I'll get what I want," the man replied evenly before he, surprisingly, left with the other guy. But, unsuprisingly, not before turning the table on at a low voltage.

Jason believed migraines and headaches to be two different things, despite having simmilar symptoms. Like... pixies and fairies. Or elves and pixies. And he hated having both at once. This was one of the times when he wondered how Tim had been able to pull off that one month sleepless marathon. Maybe it was the coffee. Maybe he could use some coffee right now. His point still stands, headaches were a nuisance while migraines deserved to be in Arkham more than he himself did. Not that he should be in the asylum.

He winced as another sharp jolt of electricity sparkled, keeping him up and awake just as he was about to fall asleep.

The door opened and he counted two people approaching. He cursed silently and glared at the first person to come into his line of sight. It was the leader-guy-person.

"Anything to say before we start, Red Hood?"

Jason broke into a cocky grin. "You can kindly go to-" A hand was slammed over his mouth and he scowled. That was rude.

Before he could bite it, however, it was removed and he fished out a random creative collection of words from his brain. But he froze when he saw the same other guy from before coming with the same bag in hand.

The bag was opened and a syringe was pulled out, partially filled with something off-white. Jason wanted to scramble back in panic but it plunged in and pulled out before he could. Whatever that was, it was already inside him. He didn't know what in the world was that and it was in him.

"What did you do?" he growled, trying to not expose his fear and panic.

"Let's just say history makes for a very good inspiration."

Jason snarled as his mind echoed with dread. Not good. Not good. This was very very bad.

Another filled syringe was pulled out as he tried and failed to pull away.

The dim lights were starting to burn into his eyes and he closed them with a groan. Only open them again when a clown creeped into the darkness. He turned his head away from the light. He really hated drugs in all shapes and forms.

There was a murky voice saying something and he only knew what was being said due to the repetition of the word. "Identities." That was all the guy had been saying through out this entire thing.

He didn't know whether or not they had concluded that he was more immune to chemical things, but whatever they had been giving him just happened to be strong enough to override his defences. It was adding to the migraine and making his mind feel muddy. The table charged again and he groaned. He also felt like vomiting. Horribly. He was only holding it back because he would probably choke on bile with his current position and drugged mind.

He hated getting drugged, with or without his consent. He hated drugs as a whole. And he didn't know what on earth had they given him. It might have been a mix of things. Judging by the wierd things dancing around his vision- were those tiny Nightwings with bunny ears?-, it might be a sort of hallucinogen.

A cold sharp thing poked at his arm again and he tried to twist away. He was never successful as the needle went through despite his struggles, throwing whatever concoction the syringe was filled with. Why couldn't they just continue to beat him up? Why this stupid drug thing?

Something snatched his jaw, forcing his eyes back to the light. He hissed. The voice was too close when it growled, "Identities, Red Hood, and this would be over."

It took a bit for him to understand what was being said. "'ot h'penin', b'stard." His own voice sounded echo-ey and far...

He flinched as a sudden creaking and slamming sound echoed everywhere. He gasped when the electric table started up again at low power, keeping the flow steady. The bunny Nightwings turned into one and hopped onto his chest. He scowled at it as it booped his nose with its paw-hand.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" It suddenly talked! It talked! In a squeaky Dick's voice to boot!

Jason wasn't interested in having anyone in the room seeing him talk to his own hallucination and resorted to internally replying, "You're saying like it is news. You're going to have to be a bit more specific as to what exactly you're referring to."

Bunny Nightwing- or Bun-Wing, he decided- gestured to the world around them. "You are pumped with gallons of who-knows-what and you are still stuck here."

"Oi. No no. This was not my fault. I did not sign up for this."

"It so is." It sing-songed.

“Then enlighten me on just how is this my fault.”

"Couldn't even stop yourself from getting caught. You really are such a trouble maker. You never change."

Okay. That hurt. How was it that his own hallucination was so mean to him? "You're mean. I hate you. Why can't you do something useful. Like turning off this table? Or the lights?"

Bun-wing rolled its eyes. "You just said I am your hallucination, you idiot. Unless if you want to hallucinate the lights being off, then be my guest."

Jason nearly huffed out loud. He tried shifting to, hopefully maybe, find a position where the shocks won't hurt as much, but forgot that he was a half-mess of broken bones. He gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes shut, stars and fireworks flashing in his mind.

"Stop moving, you idiot. I'm gonna fall off."

"Stop calling me an idiot, you selfish jerk. And don't look like Dick if you're not going to behave like one."

"You prefer it if I look like someone else? How about someone with a better sense of humour?"

It cackled, sounding too close to him, and Jason snapped his eyes open, glaring.

Bun-wing had the nerve to look victorious. "Then I'm staying as I am. Besides, how do you know that this isn't how Dick behaves when he isn't around you? Maybe Dick had always been hiding all of his real feelings from you, trying to be the 'good big brother'."

Why was it that his mind decided to conjure something who liked to rattle off his stashed away insecurities? "You know that I no longer think that.”

"Do you, though?" Jason didn't get to retort when it snapped, "Language."

"I hate you." He pointedly turned away from it. But it didn't stop talking.

"Stop it," Jason finally growled out loud, certain that the room was empty. Bun-wing spent the past minutes-hours prattling on and on, either about some stupid inane thing, or uprooting one of Jason's many deeply buried fears and insecurities. "Just stop it 'lready and shut up."

"Why, Little Wing? Scared? That it might be true? That dad wouldn't find you again?"

"You shut up. He's not my 'dad' an' y'know nothing."

"But, Jay, I'm your mind. So technically, everything I say is what you believe."

"Te'nicality's stupid."

"It is, but it doesn't make it less true. You're the outcast of the family, if you're even part of it in the first place. You're the Pit-crazed murderer maniac who nearly killed Tim. You're the failure Robin who died."

"’said, shut up." Jason shifted his wrist in the leather cuffs. Maybe he could pull his hand out and strangle the imaginary rabbit.

"I'm just saying what you are. What Bruce thinks you are. You don't even belong with us."

Those were not what Bruce thought of him. He kinda knew that. Bruce had said it himself when Jason had admitted his doubts.

"You forget, he nearly killed you by slicing you neck, letting you bleed out and get caught in an explosion. He didn't try to save you, remember?"

He would never forget about it, the night still haunting him. The contempt in Batman's face. The batarang searing into his neck. The burn and crumble of the building around him.

"I'll say that is a pretty good example of how much Bruce hates you. If he now acts like he doesn't, we both know how much of a good liar he is. He-"

"Just shut up!" Jason bit his lip, trying to breathe. Whatever stupid things his hallucination was saying was not true and he knew that. But his brain was feeling murky and was apparently too messed up to care. He wanted to throttle that stupid rabbit.

"No, you don't."

"I may be imagining you but that doesn't mean I don't want to kill you, you pretentious-"

"Language." The rabbit booped his nose again and that was starting to get really annoying.

He scowled. "Ge' off me. You're heavy." His chest was starting to hurt from where the bunny had been hanging out for the past array of minutes.

"No, you idiot. I weigh nothing but thoughts. Your chest is just having problems with itself."

That... that didn't sound right. "What d'you mean by that?"

Bun-wing rolled its eyes. "You are so dim sometimes."

"Can you stop insulting me an' get to the point? I know that I am a stupid idiot, even if you haven't been telling me that for the past who knows how many hours."

It looked smug and victorious. "Allow me to enlighten you, Jay Jay."

Jason cringed at the new nickname but didn't protest as the hallucination would only irrate him further.

"You battled Killer Croc and, if I remember correctly, both you and Tim concluded that you had cracked some ribs. Time skip several hours or so, you arrogantly thought that you could get out of here and you collected even more injuries. We skip again, you spent days here, on this table, getting shocked to oblivion. I'd say that your chest and maybe lungs and even your heart is not too happy with you."

He ground his teeth. Now that he was paying attention to it, he could feel the pain coming from inside his chest. He had also forgotten about the table slowly pulsing in shocks up until now, his drugged mind having thrown the detail into the back burner. And now he couldn't stop feeling it, the light prickles coming from everywhere underneath him, periodically jolting him; not strong enough to be outright painful, but definitely uncomfortable. Mixed with his current state of mind, his head was starting to feel a little more than slightly sick.

Jason had gone back to ignoring Bun-wing, hating the squeaky voice of his brother coming from the imaginary rabbit. It was dreadfully annoying. Not mention some of its words just hit too close to home.

Instead he closed his eyes and tried to remember quotes from Alice In Wonderland. He couldn't. But the attempt made for a good distraction.

A sudden slam made him jump. His eyes snapped open and he hissed as the light burned. And he cried out when something pressed down and ground onto his shattered knee. Joker flickered above him, crowbar twirling. But fizzled out when a different voice spoke.

"Identities."

Jason cursed viciously, ignoring Bun-wing's "Language."

"So you have yet to give in."

"Wouldn't. Ge' 'ver it."

"You're reeeally sure you wouldn't? I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you," Bun-wing taunted.

"Just shut up already, you pre'entious 'mpostoring deadweight," Jason snapped.

"Rude," the rabbit kicked his chin lightly.

At the same time the leader villian guy spoke up, "Tell me, Red Hood. What is it that you see? What do you see and hear?"

Jason wordlessly glared at the man.

The fizzy shocks that had been emitting from the metal surface underneath him jump to a viciously strong voltage.

"You're wrecked."

Jason closed his eyes and ears; the latter obviously figuratively; from the words.

"Come on, Jason. It is not like I'm real. We both know that."

Nope. No. There was no one talking beside him. If he didn't see it, then it wasn't real.

A scoff. "Are you really giving your imagination the silent treatment?"

He wanted to sleep. The table had been off for ages yet he was still kept up by his own mind. He was beyond exhausted.

"C'mon, Jay. Don't be like this."

It had to be two or three days since he last slept. His internal clock had gone out of the window and he wasn't wholly sure if his interrogator had a schedule. He wasn't even sure if that guy was even real half of the time. His hallucinations, in a long run, started to get confusing.

"Jason..."

He whined and finally turned his head to meet Tim by the table. "Please just stop talking and let me sleep, Red."

Imaginary-Tim took a sip from his mug of limitless coffee, his neck tie sparkling with tiny glittery bats. "Sorry. You kinda said you probably shouldn't earlier."

At least having this Tim was better than Bun-wing. Imaginary-Tim wasn't as annoying or willing to hurt as the rabbit. "Did?"

"They threaten to waterboard you again if you fall asleep."

Jason vaguely remembered that. He had fallen asleep at one point, gotten a bit of a nightmare -thank you, Bun-wing- and had woken up drowning. His trashing had successfully reignited all his injuries; broken legs and arms shatered wrist and hand, the awful thing in his chest, the stinging burns on his back, and a whole array of unidentifiable throbbing all over him. It still hurt now and he wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere until it all went away. But he couldn't do that, he's still stuck to the table. And imaginary-Tim had clarified that he couldn't help.

...But maybe... he could... "Red?"

Imaginary-Tim raised an eyebrow.

"Can you- Can you maybe like..." Jason felt hesitant and slightly embarassed to voice it out, even to his own hallucination.

But Tim, smart even in Jason's imagination, deduced what he wanted. Or maybe just knew since this Tim was just a conjurance of his own mind.

Imaginary-Tim reached out a hand and patted Jason's hair. And Jason melted. He knew that he was just imagining things and he couldn't even feel it, but just the thought of it was nice. Imaginary-Tim’s fingers was the most comforting thing he had ever felt in days.

So, the gaggle of people holding him had apparently decided to keep him constantly and steadily drugged by hooking him up to an IV thing. He also assumed at it was making sure he didn't die of dehydration.

He had asked imaginary-Tim how long had it been since he last slept and the hallucination merely replied that he didn't know because he hadn't slept either. He missed that figment of his imagination. Tim had left him alone at one point.

His interrogator hadn't come by even since the IV pole had been set up. He hadn't been able to willingly stay up anymore. He suspected that something in the concoction of fluids injected into him was doing that for him.

Joker leered over him, elbows pressing onto his aching chest. "Come on, Jay Jay. You're being awfully quiet."

Jason turned away but there was a Joker there too.

"Not finding a punchline?"

He closed his eyes but something raking over his bare chest made him open them again.

"We can always turn this party up a notch!" Two other Jokers stepped into view, all wielding crowbars.

It wasn't real. He knew that. But it felt so vivid.

"..S-stop..."

The Jokers went on giddily thunking their crowbars all over him, ignoring. It hurt despite it all being in his head. His heart was beating erratically as his chest felt caved in. His shoulder was shattered again and again despite never been broken in the first place. He tried to tell himself that it was just his hallucination, this wasn't real, but it was starting to get muddier and muddier by the minute.

“Let me tell you a joke, Jay-kins,” one of the Joker spoke up, grabbing his jaw to turn his head to meet green eyes. “What bird dies in flames and comes back to life?”

A robin. Him.

The grin widened. “Bet you think its you, eh?”

Another Joker made a buzzer sound, “No-se-ree! You got that wrong.” The crowbar was raise before “Fore!” and it slammed onto his shattered knee and he screamed. “Guess again, Hoody.”

He couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. Couldn’t think. There was just so much overwhelming pain coursing and pulsing through every inch of him. And the worse part was that he knew it wasn’t real.

All three pairs of manic green eyes suddenly swivelled up to behind his head. "Oh look who decided to join the party!" they chorused as they melted into one.

At first Jason thought that it was the bad guy again. But the familiar dark figure entering Jason's periphery proved him wrong. For a moment, for a short sliver of moment, he hoped that it was real.

"Look who I brought!" Jason flinched at the voice of Bunny Nightwing, the rabbit hopping onto the table.

Batman stepped closer, emotionless as ever.

Jason knew what was going to come. He’d had this nightmare before. He struggled in vain. The cuffs were still holding him too tight. "No... no please no..."

Batman snarled and pulled out a batarang.

The blade trailed down his chest from his neck again, drawing patterns over his heart, tracing over the scar near his throat. It was pressed deep enough to break skin. But there wasn't any blood or new cuts. He realistically knew that, despite the flows of red that shines in the blinding light. All the while, Batman, one hand moving the batarang through the flow of blood, was by his head, free hand almost gently combing his hair, whispering words. Assurances.

"Shh... It's okay, Jason. A little more."

"That's it. You can hold on a little longer can you?"

"Now that didn't hurt too much, didn't it? Can you take a little bit more, Jay?

Jason sobbed and tried to get away. The twisted words, the sharp batarang, the gentle hand, they were all too jarring and confusing for him to coherently comprehend, messing up his head even further. He couldn't even jerk his head away from the fingers with the strap holding him in place.

How was it that he was hallucinating all of this? Maybe this was- No. It couldn't be real. This wasn't real. He couldn't let himself think that.

He bit his lip against a cry as the batarang hooked at his skin and pried it open, back arching from the table as he struggled. He whined the blade pressed down onto the scar at his neck, causing a fresh flood of red to gush out.

"Shh.. shh... You can take it, Jay," Batman whispered, fingers brushing back his bangs. "You're going to stay strong for me aren't you?"

Jason screwed his eyes shut against the brimming tears but a pair of furry paws pulled them open again.

"C'mon, Little Wing." Bun-wing rolled its eyes from were it was hovering by his head. "Stop trying to run off."

Jason summoned what little strength he could fish out of his addled brain and glared at the rabbit.

He opened his eyes with a gasp when something cold and wet crashed onto him. Trying to blink his vision clearer, Jason realised that he passed out at one point and greatly hoped that they were not going to hold on to their threat. His sight remained blurry as a voice pierced the ringing in his skull.

"Identities."

He tried to get his tongue to cooperate and throw out a curse, but it was a mumbled, slurred response. His thoat felt dry and rough.

"I am assuming that you have yet to give in?"

He glared at the villian leader guy– well, the blob which he believed was the villian leader guy– and growled.

"Then we'll go again.”

His heart fell. He hated the drugs and the hallucinations it made his mind conjure. He never liked those things in the first place. And he was afraid of what too much of it would do to his mind and body. The childhood fear of being dependant on it. He could already feel the more immediate side-effects of overdose; the relentless nausea, his erratic heartrate, the throbbing-over-pounding headache, the deep layering pains in his chest. And he wasn't keen on meeting any of his imaginary conjurance again. Why couldn't this guy be more physical? He wouldn't even complain against the usage of a crowbar.

He forced his mouth to work. "'ou- You guys 're 'finitely n-not th'mos'... creative people in'th'world."

There was a dark chuckle of amusement. "Don’t tempt me, Hood. I can get very creative. Set up the new drip and make sure to increase the potency."

A hand grabbed his bound arm and Jason struggled, feeling a needle threatening to pierce his skin. But he wasn't strong or free enough to fight or get away as the sharp tip went in. His heart was pounding in his ears as he still kept on trying to break free, twisting his wrists, borken or not, in the cuffs.

His broken knee was suddenly twisted and he screamed, vision flashing with stars. His movements faltered as the pain pulsed and throbbed, mind fizzing between the agonising shifts of broken bones and the dreading pricks of needles in his arm.

When it all finally stopped, he struggled to catch his breath, lungs feeling far too compressed and throat too tight. He winced when the lamp overhead was adjusted to shine directly into his eyes and flinched at the sound of the door slamming close as the people left him alone. For now.

His entire head was a throbbing mess of aches. The dark walls of the small space crumbled around him endlessly despite the too bright light coming from somewhere. Was it the way out? But he couldn't dig himself out, tied down as he was. And- and the dirt was going to suffocate him and-

No, he wasn't buried. He was somewhere else. The table. Empty room. Not underground.

He tried to blink away the hazy hallucination around him. It just blurred further and he closed his eyes.

Not real. Not real notrealnotreal-

A half cry left him as he clenched his broken hand in attempt to ground himself to reality, focusing on how the skin tore further. That was real, he chanted in his mind, the things he was seeing wasn't. He curled his fingers in tighter and sucked in a shaky breath.

A touch on his shoulder and a familiar voice made his eyes snap open.

No. Please please no.

Batman stood over him, a snarl curling his lips. He raised a crowbar, bringing it down and it stabbed as a batarang. Jason screamed as the blade sunk into his chest, twisting in his heart. He struggled against the restraints, ignoring the way his movements pulled at his shattered knee and tore further into his wrists.

The crowbar pulled out before the table shocked him with a quick burst of electricity. He let out a breathless cry as, at the same time, the glinting metal weapon impaled his knee. Fingers touched his hair and he tried to run away, hearing soft incoherent words getting whispered in his ear.

"Stop!" He finally sobbed out when the batarang started to peel the skin of his right wrist. "St-stop... please just- just stop..."

His breath hitched as he heard Batman’s, "Shh, Jay. It's alright. We've got you."

It wasn't alright. It wasn't alright. He knew this wasn't alright. He also knew that this wasn't real but it was hard to believe that when Batman was hovering above him, hurting him. And he could vividly feel every single pain inflicted upon him.

He whined at a particularly harsh wrenching of the crowbar still embedded in his leg. Breathing was getting too hard, his heart was pounding loud and uneven in his chest and it all hurt. Fingers pried open his half-clenched broken fist, pressing it down, as he spasmed against a new flood of electricity. "B, please stop. Please..."

"Stay still, Jay." Reprimand was in the tone. "Stop moving. But you never were good at listening to orders. I shouldn't expect much from you."

Jason flinched. All in his head. All in his head. Not real. There was no way Bruce would say that. But knowing all that didn't make it hurt any less.

He suddenly felt his legs getting moved and realised that the leather cuffs and straps holding him down were gone. He didn't waste any time and scrambled back as far as he could, not caring when he fell of the table. He just needed to get away. Far, far away.

Batman followed him and he tried to get up and run, but he was too hurt and weak - weak, helpless, useless - and collapsed before he could even get his legs under him, a pained moan and whine escaping his throat. His knee was pulsing and shrieking and he curled up on the floor with a whimper despite his mind screaming at him to get away.

"Jason," a different voice called out. It wasn't Batman. It wasn't Bun-Wing or Joker or anyone else who would hurt him. He peered between his bangs and saw Tim. Red Robin was crouched in front of him, a hand outstretched. "Jay. Hey. It's just me, alright. I need you to stop moving or you'll hurt yourself further, okay?"

Jason couldn't understand the uttered words but he knew that Tim hadn't hurt him. His little brother never had. He kept still as Tim shuffled closer and moved the outstretched hand onto his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.

"I need you to calm down and breathe slowly, Jason. I don't know what you're seeing, but I know that not all of it is real. Can you stay still while me and Bruce check you for injuries?"

Bruce? He wanted his father. Longed.

But then Batman stepped closer and he flinched back. He whimpered as Batman gently touched his face, thumb stroking across his bruised jaw. He wanted to run, but he was too exhausted. Hurt. Batman tugged him from the floor, wrapping a large black thing around him, and he let it happen. Tim was still there, holding the broken leg, and Jason screamed raggedly when it was straightened.

A soft, rumbly voice pierced through the pain-fuelled haze and he looked up when something brushed his bangs. Bruce’s strong gaze met his and he felt his breath catching in his throat. Bruce was here. He melted as his father embraced him, trembling and whimpering into the armoured chest. He felt safe.

It probably was a hallucination, much like Tim, but he would take this comfort even if it wasn't real.

#Foliage of Lost Fics #batfam #Jason Todd #whump

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