#new year new art tag lets hope i remember | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tzuyuscloud · 6 months

Text

My Loser Kim M.J x fem!deaf reader

A/n: This fic took awhile because I have no knowledge of Sensorineural hearing loss (SHL) whatsoever and wanted to get an understanding so I was reading articles and watching videos. If any information is incorrect please don’t hesitate to correct me respectfully. :)

Pairings: deaf!reader x non idol Kim Minji

Scenario: Kim Minji finds you in the art studio alone after being harassed by fellow students.

Warnings: Mention of blood, bullying, horrible parents, ableism (NEVER BE ABLEIST PEOPLE >:| )

Tags: Romace, college au, friends to lovers, angst??, art student y/n, loser Minji

⋆˙⟡ Star ⋆˙⟡

If my tears fall

Down in my universe

Turns into a new world

Time to find my way back home

As a famous artist said, “painting is just another way of keeping a diary.” And that’s exactly how y/n saw her creative process. As painting. She first started painting when she was 12 years old after she felt like her life was meaningless, she felt like she didn’t have anyone who understood her pain, so she spoke to a canvas. Sneaking into her grandfather’s studio and started splashing paint on the canvas, not caring when drops of color stained her freshly washed uniform.

She would come home and get interrogated by her parents as to why she was covered in paint, and she would sarcastically state the obvious, “i was painting, duh.” Thus being the beginning of her artists life when her parents placed her in an art school where she discovered more of her hidden talents with art.

Now as y/n was in her sophomore year of university, majoring in fine arts but focusing on painting specifically, she improved with every new painting she created. Her classmates envied the fact that she was a natural born genius, but the only thing that made her different than everyone else is the fact that she couldn’t hear.

Y/n’s classmates often sabotaged her works so that they wouldn’t be displayed in competitions or recognized by guest artists. They all envied her to the point where they often hurt her as well.

“Oh my, look what we have here” a group of students, led by one of the board members daughter, walked into the studio where y/n stayed painting late at night. Her body tensed up feeling the familiar vibrations of their footsteps causing her to jump when Jimin placed her hand on her shoulder.

“Whatcha painting?” Jimin said as she bent down to your level causing your arm to shakily create a false line on the brightly decorated canvas, ruining the painting. You closed your eyes hoping that they would disappear along with the world, often times when you we’re overwhelmed you would just close your eyes and turn down your hearing aid, because then the world would actually disappear.

“remember she can’t hear you.” one of Jimin’s little minions retorted causing the leader to roll her eyes.

“don’t be fooled, she has an hearing aid” Jimin then taps the device causing y/n to jump and clutch her ear, she angrily faced Jimin with a frown upon her face, looking eye to eye with the girl. “watch who your glaring at before I make you blind too!” Jimin smacked the girl on the head forcing her to look down,

“you think you’re entering the art competition? Ha, funny. You have no reason to be at this school anyways let alone enter into a competition. You will always be lower than everyone else-”

Jimin was cut off by a painful feeling that lingered on her cheek causing her and everyone around her to gasp and stare at y/n in shock. “the only low one is you.” y/n whispered, her voice shaky as she was now afraid of what was to come.

“oh~ how brave of our little y/n” Jimin smiled before grabbing your hair. While the rest of the girls knifed the painting, shredding up the canvas.

“ayo Minji! Make sure to grab everything from out of the locker that is labeled with red tape.”

“bruh, you literally said this already, I got it, I got it. How hard can going into the art building and grabbing your materials be?” Minji groaned on the phone, as she walked towards the entrance of the art building. It was pushing midnight and Danielle needed her art supplies that she had forgotten, but ended up catching a cold and wasn’t able to get them, so Minji being a great friend offered to grab them for the girl.

“alright alright! Thanks again Min, I owe you one!” Danielle smiled through the phone before hanging up. Minji walked through the halls, searching for studio 214A when she heard small noises coming from a fairly lit room. She peaked her head in the entrance and found a small girl sitting on the ground picking what looked like broken materials up while wiping away at her nose.

Once Minji squinted to get a closer look she saw what she was wiping wasn’t snot but blood, causing her eyes to widen and immediately run to the girl. “Hey bro are you alright, your nose-“ As the girl looked up at Minji from the shadow she casted. Minji saw that her lip was bruised and she had a scar on her head as well. “who did this to you?” she frowned. Y/n didn’t respond but just stared up the taller woman with tired eyes.

“can I help you with your wounds at least?” Minji asked again hoping for at least a nod. Y/n then pointed to the expensive hearing device that laid crushed into small pieces on the ground next to her. Minji felt her heart sink into her stomach as her eyes paneled to the broken device to y/n’s bleeding ear in which the device used to sit in.

Minji then squeaked out a small, “y-you can’t hear me?- minji don’t be stupid” before grabbing her phone and typing out sentences.

Who did this to you? Im gonna help you with your wounds if that is okay with you?

She faced the screen towards y/n and gently places it in her hands. Y/n looked up at Minji with soft eyes before typing something back.

Jimin and her friends.

Okay

Y/n handed the phone back to Minji and Minji never ran to grab a first aid kit so fast in her life once she got y/n’s consent to help her. She gently dabbed all the scars with cotton balls and places bandaids on them all, before picking up the pieces to the very expensive device and placed them in a plastic baggie for y/n.

Once she helped her clean up everything, including herself she offered to walk y/n home.

Do you stay alone?

Minji shook her head no at the question before softly speaking, “I live with my friend.” she said quietly leaving Minji shocked. She didn’t know the girl could speak, but she also knew very little about the girl and her her disability in the first place.

“What’s your name?” Minji asked and earning silence as she stupidly didn’t type out the question.

What’s your name?

Mine is Kim Minji

Y/n stared up at Minji and smiled, “Park f/n” she spoke. Every time y/n spoke, Minji got excited inside as the girl’s soft voice healed something inside of her. The whole way to y/n’s apartment was filled with Minji asking questions and eventually exchanging numbers where Minji texted y/n all through the night.

Minji still couldn't get the phrase "Jimin and her friends" out of her head. Doing everything she could to try and figure out who exactly Jimin was and why she would ever physically harm anyone.

Minji "Dani I have a question." The bright faced Aussie looked up at her best friend with a smile,

"What's up?"

"Mmm you're in the art department a lot," Minji paused "do you know someone who goes by the name Jimin?" just then Danielle's eyes widened and she let out a small gasp.

"ugh!! everyone knows her! Look I'm not one to talk behind people's backs but she is a bully" Dani huffed out with an animated frown. Danielle was never one to talk badly about people, in fact she spoke to everyone no matter how they came off or appeared, and if she saw someone who was sad, all she had to do was flash her signature smile and suddenly all clouds were replaced with sunshine and warmth. "Why do you ask though, Min?"

"Well when I went to get your supplies last night...there was this girl-erm Park f/n, and she was hurt badly. She said Jimin and her friends did it to her and that they always hurt her." Just then Minji was looking down and picking at her fingers, something she has a habit of doing when she's anxious.

Danielle jumped up from her spot on the sofa, "Wait...y/n?!" she slapped her hand over her mouth causing Minji's eyes to widen.

"w-what? is there something wrong?"

Danielle sat down after calming herself down to make her poor friend less worried, "that poor girl, she's in majority of my classes but I haven't noticed she was being assaulted." tears welled in the younger girl's eyes. "I try talking to her but she just rolls her eyes and looks away. I don't think she likes me"

Minji comforted her best friend as she pouted about the thought of someone potentially not liking her. "Dani"

"hmm?" the brunette faced her friend.

"y/n is deaf. Have you not known?" Minji asked genuinely. Danielle dropped the fruit that was in her hand and slowly turned to Minji.

She didn't know wether to keep her mouth open or close it but she looked like a fish out of water, "Im such a horrible person, everyday I would ask her questions and try to make conversation but- wow."

Minji cut the girl off, "well from what I have learned she can hear when she has her hearing aid, but recently it was broken because of those bitches. And when I catch them I will-" Danielle cut the girl off with a worried stare.

"Hey I know you are worried about y/n but violence does not solve more violence! What we need to do is report this to the school immediately to get justice for y/n." Danielle stood up proudly, while Minji scoffed from her place on the couch.

"Beating Jimin's ass seems like enough justice for me" she mumbled, earning a glare from the peaceful girl.

The older girl stood up, patting her best friend on the back, "well good luck with your peace treaties. Im gonna go take y/n out to eat"

"oh a date?~" Danielle teased causing Minji to blush, "no! she doesn't like me like that"

"But YOU never denied not liking her so, a one sided date, eh?" Danielle urged on, Minji grabbed the nearest pillow from the couch and smacked her friend on the head before running out the shared apartment.

"Ill be back!" she shouted on her way out.

Entering the small cafe, Minji noticed how you doodled in a sketchbook as you waiting for her to arrive.

“Hi y/n!” she greeted waving, silence. Her brows furrowed in confusion going to wave again but then as she walked to take a seat, she noticed that the small pink device was no longer in your ear.

Once she sat down you looked up feeling her presence, flashing her a small smile. You took out a small, cutely decorated notebook that was filled with stickers, and a pen before scribbling a few words down.

Hi!! :) I apologize, I can’t get a new hearing aid until next month. My parents are too busy to ship it to me

What kind of parents are too busy to tend to their own child?! Minji thought to herself. She couldn’t help but wonder why they would brush her off like that.

It’s okay, we can talk like this. Look.

Minji then tapped the table in y/n’s line of sight to get her attention. Her hands then started moving, forming words that were a bit choppy but still clearly showed that she put effort and time into learning.

‘Im learning sign language so you can speak comfortably’ her heart was racing afraid she messed up a few signs, because y/n just stared. She then smiled and looked down shyly trying to contain her excitement as no one has ever tried learning sign language to try and communicate with her, not even her own parents.

Y/n’s fingers swiftly flowed in different directions, speaking freely and comfortably. Although Minji couldn’t catch half of what she was saying, she still gazed at her with bright eyes.

“Thank you” Y/n whispered as she signed so that Minji could learn along with her, “for being nice to me” she said softly, looking up at Minji’s big brown eyes that never left hers.

Minji had ordered their food and drinks, sharing everything she had as y/n told her that she rarely tries new stuff because she is never introduced to anything.

I used to travel and do fun things before…the accident

Y/n gently pushed the book towards Minji as she cutely stuffed her face with fruit, earning a slight giggle from the opposite girl.

“Accident?” Minji mumbled to herself. Y/n let out a “hmm?” as she saw Minji’s lips move.

Accident?

Minji wrote but then quickly scribbled more,

You don’t have to tell me, it sounds personal

Y/n laughed at the panic writing, waving her hand and brushing it off.

It’s okay, I will tell you another time

You nodded before changing the subject, engaging in conversation that had you both laughing for hours without realizing how much time has passed. On your way back to her apartment, you heard her let out a small gasp and point to the small arcade that brightly lit up the evening skies. She took your hand, pulling you towards the machines as she eyes all of the plushies.

Letting out of the words “I want” slightly below a whisper. Minji couldn’t help but cave into her cute squeals of excitement as she pointed to all of the plushies she eyed. Pulling her wallet out she placed two bills into the machine bringing it to life.

Y/n excitedly jumped to hold the levers and when she thought she had the correct spot, she pushed the button. The claw grabbed the stuffed bunny, bringing it to the drop but dropping the bunny right next to it instead, before powering down.

The girl turned to Minji, puffing her bottom lip out in a pout before turning to walk away. Before she could take another step, Minji grabbed her arm, bringing her to a stop. The older girl then placed more money into the machine, focusing hard on the task at hand as she pushed the button. She hadn’t realized she closed her eyes, hoping that she would win the plush before she was shaken awake by y/n who was jumping around with the pink plushie in her arms.

“Bun bun! Bun bun!” she squeaked happily prancing around Minji who watched with sparkles in her eyes. She wrapped her arm around the smaller girl’s shoulder, walking her home before it got too late.

Y/n stood on her porch with a red tint to her face as she failed to look Minji in the eyes. “m’bye.” she waved, “thank you for winning bun bun” she spoke again and before she turned to enter her home, she quickly gave Minji a peck on the cheek before running inside.

Minji on the other hand, was stunned.

“She wants me bro!” The older girl said as her roommate rolled her eyes, laughing at the description story of their “hang out”

“That’s cute, she sounds adorable I wanna be her friend” Dani pouted remembering the fact that, said girl side eyes her during class. “what about me do you think she hates?”

Minji’s thick brows spoke before she did, “I wouldn’t say she hates you, she just doesn’t let her guard down easily” which confused her since she spoke to you easily. “I don’t know why she clings to me so quickly though”

Danielle laughed, “are you serious Min, you’re literally like a golden retriever. Your aura is so welcoming.” Minji blushed at the compliments,

“you think im a golden retriever girl” she wiggled her brows causing the both of them to burst into laughter. “but on a serious note, I think I like y/n”

The Australian girl looked at her roommate with a ‘duh bitch’ look, “I thought we all knew this?” she said with sass.

“I- goodnight”

Given y/n’s situation, she still had no hearing aid, causing her hell during her lectures as she had to rely on notes from generous classmates. She came from a well off family, growing her her parents would take her and her older brother on vacations and many outings, spoiling them, especially y/n since she was their princess. Treating her to whatever she wanted. Despite being handed whatever as a kid, her mother was still very strict and controlling at times.

You were always sent to every educational lesson after school as well as extracurriculars, and once she found out you had a talent in art, she ran with it and enrolled you in art programs. The life you had before the accident was chaotic, you didn’t enjoy it but you tolerated it because it was better than most. Though after the accident, you were pushed away. You were no longer the “princess” but more so the “burden.” You vividly remember your mother screaming at you to listen to what she was saying, even though you couldn’t clearly distinguish what she was saying.

She was in denial about her daughter being deaf to the point where she refused to tell anyone. Instead she blocked you out from the world, Park y/n had disappeared from the wealthy social circle and sent to study at a well off university. Anything to keep you out of your mother’s sight.

A knock sounded at your apartment door causing your roommate to jump up from her spot at the kitchen table to grab it. You looked up at the shuffles to find your older brother entering the place, smiling as she made conversation with your roommate.

He then looked at you with a smile before signing, “how are you, princess?” as you sat on the couch curled in a ball under blankets. You flashed him a thumbs up. You watched as he pulled a pink bag from behind his back, eyes following his every move as he handed you the bag. You looked up at him with a confused face considering there were no major holidays or birthdays near.

You opened the box and saw a brand new hearing aid. You looked up at your brother before tearing up. “thank you” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around him. Part of you didn’t wanna let go as it felt like that was the only family you had that truly cared about you.

“Of course you know…since I caused it” he whispered as he rubbed his neck. You knew he would forever feel everlasting guilt for what he did.

Summer of 2016

“Wait for me!” scrawny little y/n ran as fast as she could behind her brother and his friends. Her pink sundress flying with each stride, and her bare feet connecting with the grass.

She huddled around the older boys as they all piled fireworks on top of each other in the field. Different kind of pyro tied together and linked by a singular string that would be lit.

“This is gonna be awesome! I can’t wait to see the explosion” Y/n’s brother exclaimed, tackling one of his friends. Y/n was oblivious to what was actually happening, and got easily distracted by the beautiful flowers that coincidentally surrounded the pile of pyro.

She wasn’t aware of the stack being lit until she heard constant shouting from her brother and the rest of the guys. “Y/N MOVE!!” As she turned around she was thrown back as the fireworks went off in front of her. She felt someone pick her up saving her from the rest of the loud explosion.

All she could do was cry as she covered both of her ears. “It hurts!” the little girl sobbed. From the commotion her parents ran outside to see what had happened and was met with their daughter being cradled in her brother’s arms crying. She was covered in burn marks from head to toe.

“What happened?! What did you boys do?!!” Mrs. Park shouted, grabbing her daughter. Leaving no time to explain she rushed off to the hospital with her husband not too far behind with the boys.

Hours spent in the waiting room, the doctor had eventually came bearing the news of their daughter. “Miss y/n is doing fine. She is very brave for her age” he complimented.

Mrs. Park smiled faintly, “thank you doctor, is she healthy?” The man’s smile faded at the question before exhaling.

“Your daughter has hearing loss in both ears, she can respond to some sound but only depending how close she is to the noise. We recommend seeing a specialist for ears so that she can get a proper hearing aid that works best for her.” Mrs. Park threw herself into her husband’s chest with loud sobs.

“What am I gonna do with her now! I can’t let the world know she’s deaf!” she sobbed causing a gasp from the doctor. Y/n’s brother on the other hand felt guilty for what happened never thinking he could look his baby sister in the eyes again.

Moving forward, y/n got left at home and forgotten by her mother. She no longer received attention, not even basic conversations from her mother. She was put in more activities and after school classes to stay out of sight of her mother. The world had forgotten that the Park family had a daughter as she was hidden.

Present day

Y/n and her brother, Kai sat on the couch catching up about each other as Kai took over their father’s company.

“How’s mom and dad? Have they asked about me?” y/n whimpered, hating the fact that her own parents lost love for her, their one and only daughter.

Kai pulled his little sister in for a hug, “Father worries about you, he always talks about how he misses his little princess” you smiled at the thought of your father missing you, the thought warming your heart. “but mother. She’s still a cold hearted b-“

“woah okay okay, I see” You lightly laughed.

Kai then changed the subject, “What about you though sis, how has school been?”

All of a sudden you blurted out, “I think I like someone.” covering your mouth quickly. Kai started squealing like a teenage girl,

“omg omg what’s their name!?” He clapped his hands causing you to burst into laughter.

“Stop being silly, haha. Her name is Kim Minji” you said with a deep red tint forming on your cheeks. “We went to a cafe together and she helped me when I was…stuck on…an art project haha” you laughed nervously. You never wanted Kai to get worried about you if you told him about Jimin and her clan.

“she wants you” He joked, but little did you both know she actually did.

Minji: Would you like to go on a date Saturday evening?

Minji was pacing back and forth her apartment as she panicked at the message she impulsively sent to y/n. “You will be fine girlfriend, I doubt she would say no” Danielle gave the older girl a pat on the shoulder to reassure her.

“But what if she thinks Im some old creep who just happened to win her a plushie at the arcade and learn sign language?!” Minji pulled at her hair causing Danielle to roll her eyes.

“Puh-lease. She would never-“ the sound of the phone going off caught their attention. Minji quickly picked the phone up, reading the message aloud.

“I would love to, smiley face. SHE WANTS ME!” The Korean girl shouted before jumping around the apartment.

Dani laughed as she walked back into her room, “Nerd”

Minji laid in the sand next to y/n taking in the evening sky after a long day of playing in the water and writing in the sand. “I’ve never had this much fun since I was a kid” Y/n whispered turning to face Minji. “Thank you for accepting me Min” The words left Minji speechless at the thought of people not accepting her because of her disability.

Minji sat up, causing y/n to follow as she was concerned by the girl’s sudden movements. “You’re more than what people think you are y/n, and those who don’t accept you don’t deserve you because you are everything anyone could ask for and I-“ Pausing abruptly her heart started racing as she almost slipped up and confessed her feelings to the younger girl.

“You what?” Y/n smiled cheekily, playfully hitting Minji’s arm. Her face turning redder than the sunset as she started fumbling like the loser she was.

‘I like you, y/n’

Y/n’s eyes widened in shock, hoping she wasn’t hallucinating what she just saw you sign to her. “Like…like as a friend or-“

Before she could finish her sentence Minji grabbed her face, finally feeling the softness of y/n’s lips, the softness she had always imagined being on hers since the day she saw you in the art studio. You returned the kiss pulling her closer to you afraid it was all a lucid dream that would fade away as soon as you let go.

“Like you like you, as in I want you to be my girlfriend” Minji panted as she broke the kiss that had you feeling all kinds of butterflies.

“Such a loser” y/n giggled and threw herself in Minji’s arms. “But you’re my loser”

“SHE SAID YES!!” Minji stood up cheering for everyone to hear, “Park y/n is my girlfriend!!!” You couldn’t help but laugh at the action and when Minji turned to face you again, you couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in her eyes.

Pulling her into a hug while burying your face in her shirt you mumbled, “Kim Minji is my loser”

#kim minji x fem reader #newjeans scenarios #minji newjeans #kim minji x reader #newjeans #kpop gg #kpop scenarios

682 notes · View notes

shygirl4991 · 3 months

Text

Trapped in a Bleaky Winter

All art belongs to @lizaluvsthis thats right me and Liz are at it again enjoy our collab fic for snowtrapped anniversary!

Summary: Mario looks at the calendar and notices it's been eight years since the igloo incident. Seeing that his friends are still not together, Mario decides to take things into his own hands by helping them confess their hidden feelings.

Tags: Love confession, snowtrapped, fluff, igloo, angst

Mario kicks down the door to the castle like he does every visit to his best friend's home, feeling hungry he decides to get more spaghetti from his friend's fridge. He walks to the kitchen and notices a circle around tomorrow's date, normally the plumber would ignore what day it is for his love of pasta but this date was different. He remembered the date well, it was eight years ago when his two best friends SMG3 and SMG4 were rivals. They always fought and SMG3 was known to steal the other man's content to gain popularity, on that date the pair got stuck in the igloo and went crazy. Mario chuckles at the memory of what he walked in on, since that day he had hoped the two would notice their feelings.

He opens the fridge shaking his head as he reaches for the pasta, one sniff of the plate gives the avatar an idea. The anniversary was tomorrow, if Mario could get the pair alone together they might finally talk about their feelings. With this on his mind he runs to his brother's shop to get help, kicking down the flower shop doors he runs up to the counter smacking the bell. Luigi sighs as he stares at his twin, he keeps hitting the bell until Luigi gently moves the bell from his hand “Yes Mario?” the plumber looks up at his younger twin excitedly “Mario needs help with a sneaky gay plan!” Luigi stares at his brother confused waiting for an explanation.

Mario hands two envelopes and paper “Mario needs some letters written!” Luigi looks at the paper unsure what his role was in the plan. Mario leans up whispering what to write to Luigi only to get a nervous nod, he writes the letters handing them back to his older brother “Mario, what is this all about?” with a wink as an answer, Mario runs off to help two dumb gays get together. He runs up to SMG4, the meme guardian is outside the castle recording some memes that Mario didn't care to look at. He slides up to four startling the man “AH! Oh hey Mario, everything okay?” He gives a concerned look to the other man, Mario gives him a bright smile and hands him a letter. Taking the letter SMG4 smiles widely “Tag6 wants to go on a date with me, a girl? This is the best news…wait Mario if this is a prank I swear to all the memes in the kingdom I'm kicking your ass!” Mario shakes his head “No! The letters were left by the castle doors!”

SMG4 lets out an excited giggle accepting Mario’s excuse, Mario smiles watching SMG4 run to the castle to get ready. Once out of sight, he turns his attention to the second target, walks up to the cafe, and knocks on the door. An annoyed Three walks out “What do you want Mario, if you don't remember you’re not allowed here for scaring my customers last time!” Mario shows off a letter with a smirk. Three blinks taking it from Mario and reading it “Some fan wants to meet up on a date? Hm I don't go on dates with fans but this Aster sounds interesting, they could help bring more people to the cafe!” with that Three shoos off Mario and slams the door.

After a few hours, with the help of Luigi who still needs clarification about what this is all for, built an igloo at the date location. Mario throws his twin away from the area as Three makes it to the location first “It said to meet….here?” he blinks, staring at the igloo before him. Flashbacks of what happened last time he was near one came back to him, getting nervous he was going to start walking away until he heard something behind him. Next thing he knew he was being thrown into the igloo “AHHH!” screaming he landed inside seeing the place decorated for a dinner date “MARIO! LET ME OUT!” with a giggle Mario hid again. Four appears and hears screaming inside the igloo, he looks around nervously given what happened last time he was near one. Seeing no one else around he walks to the door, and with a smirk, Mario shoves Four in. The man flying forward opens the door landing on top of SMG3, pleased with the results Mario covers the door.

SMG4 groans, opening his eyes, his face goes red seeing he is on top of SMG3. Three held his breath as his ruby eyes looked into Four sapphire-colored ones, after the shock wore off SMG4 got up letting out an awkward laugh “Hahah sorry about that!” Three shakes his head getting up “Blame our idiot avatar.” Four looks at the exit then at Three “WAIT MARIO!?” he runs to the door attempting to open it. He feels his face go pale at the realization “No…NO OH GOD- NOT AGAIN!?” Three watches as SMG4 starts to have a mental breakdown. With a sigh he walks up to the door and places a bomb “Poor idiotic Four, this is why you always carry emergency bombs!” hearing this four gets up in a panic “You dumb ass this is an igloo! WE HAVE NOWHERE TO ESCAPE THE BLAST!” Three blinks as his eyes shrink looking at the lit bomb “Oh.”

The bomb goes off shaking the igloo, without a second thought, Three grabs Four pulling him close to protect him from anything dangerous that could land on him. Four holds on to Three until the shaking stops, they both turn their head to see the exit completely covered in snow. Three nervously looks at Four “You…uh think Mario will save us again?” Four lets out a sigh looking into Three’s eyes and giving him a nervous smile “Yeah I mean he did it last time!” realizing how close they were they pulled away from each other.

Four sighs looking at the decoration of the igloo, he shouldn't be surprised that no girl wanted to be on a date with him. From the look of the igloo, Four could guess this must have been another weird trend Mario was following. He remembers how the last one made him and Three kiss, the memory causes his face to become red he was sure he could be mistaken for a tomato. He needed to relax, maybe it was the igloo making him panic. Reminding himself that things were different between them, he turned around to see three sitting on the floor. He decides to sit next to him “Mario got me here with a fake date, how about you?” He handed his other half his letter to prove his work. Three takes the letter reading it, he rolls his eyes understanding what happened “Same handwriting as mine, Mario was trying to set us up. Well, look where that landed up!” Four glares at Three “Sure Mario got us here, but who was it that blew up the igloo in the first place!”

Three blushes looking away, he then remembered something as he started to look around. He searches different drawers and then pulls out a blanket “We need to keep warm, so here.” He tosses it at four before sitting back down. Seeing there's only one blanket Four light blushes as he wraps it around them both, Three gets closer causing Four’s heart to beat fast. This was getting to be too much for the guardian “Hey um Three, isn't it funny how easy it is now to share body warmth…compared to last time?” Three nods getting closer to Four “That’s cause we hated each other, now we are friends and im fucking cold so shut it!” They sit there silently before Four speaks up again “Why do you think Mario did this?” Three scoffs “What other reason besides he thinks we…have feelings for each other.” They go silent again as Four thinks over his words, feeling nervous he turns ready to admit his hidden feelings only to catch the man crying “Three?” he reaches out, wiping the tears off the man's face. SMG3 lets out a bitter smile “This whole thing is stupid, I only accept this date to move forward. Now we moved backwards cause of course I will be stuck with you again! Why would you even notice someone as worthless as me…”

Four’s eyes go wide upon hearing his words before glaring at him, he grabs the man's face staring right into his eyes “Shut it, you’re amazing Three. Have you seen all that you have done? You have had so many jobs and built so many amazing things, you're amazing!” Three could only stare in shock hearing his words, his heart beating fast. Four lets out a soft giggle “You supermemeguardian3 you’re amazing, it's why…I got so confused, ..let me show you.” he leans forward pressing his lips against three.

Three didn’t know what to do feeling the other man's soft lips on his, four pulled away now crying “I'm the one who shouldn't get your time… I have hurt you so much, I understand if you don't feel the same.” They both stay silent before Three grabs Four pulling him into another kiss, this one filled with his love for the other man. Four hums closing his eyes and returning the affection, they stay kissing for a while only to be broken apart when they hear screaming outside. The pair pulled away to see Meggy dashing in “OH THANK GOD!” She runs up to the pair hugging them, after the hug they walk out of the igloo glaring at Mario. The avatar smiles at the two “Did the date work?” They smack Mario and stomp away annoyed with the plumber “The nerve asking something that stupid!” Three couldn't help the outburst given the fear he had if they stayed any longer. Four smiles softly taking Three’s hand ignoring Meggy and Saiko yelling at Mario, sure the plan didn't go the way Mario expected it to. That didn't matter to him when he caught the pair holding hands smiling, Four leaned in close “I Love you three,” the other man blushed looking away “Baka! Saying something so casual…I… I love you too.” They both let out nervous giggles excited to see where this next chapter takes them.

#smg4 #smg3 #smg34 #shygirl4991 #smg4 smg3 #lizaluv #smg43 #smg34 fanfiction #Trapped in a Bleaky Winter #the girl in fatal lavenders #the chains of a fragile soul

248 notes · View notes

ravengards-rogue · 5 months

Text

[ cage training | astarion ancunin ]

✧ tags : muzzles, bdsm, sub!astarion, gender neutral + dom!reader, reader is strong (offers to carry him), dirty talk, orgasm control, feeding (?), cutting (for blood), anal (m!recieving), service dom reader, petnames (my star for astarion) a lot of alluding to hunger, more erotica than smut but 18+

✧ wc : 4.8k (what if all just kill ourselves)

✧ a/n : i dont even like this guy like this im just mentally ill about submissive men. also this is a very "read whats on the tin and make good choices" sort of fic.. i know this kind of play might be controversial for beloved white boy but they have a very loving dynamic Okay. Alright. its about Love.

ALSO. this is ASTARION FOCUSED. so reader doesn't cum (though astarion makes up for it as implied)

this is a fluke fic i cannot recommend following me for this guy!!!written mostly for a friend. had a lot of fun with this though!!!

✧ synopsis : astarion relearns manners and discipline. he's rewarded for his valiant efforts.

He comes to you wounded. Save from the scar on the curve of his spine, it's not a physical wound.

Astarion approached you like a caged lion, a circus animal - a predator paraded like a house cat who has only just remembered his teeth. That's why your empathy extended to his greed even when it caused him to wear the worst of himself. You don't think Astarion has ever understood the fact that he's hungry. He's always hungry.

He inhabits a body pushed to failure. His hunger cues are almost as ruined as he.

Like an animal in captivity, every choice he might've had to make slipped between his fingers for many years. How to live, how to hunt. Hunger is the hardest to remember, though it leaves the longest impression. It's a condition of a wounded mind. He had long since forgotten a body that knows a need stronger than staying alive.

He always waited for the violent gnawing to set in, the kind that can be ignored until it can't.

And so, his hunger became his ruin, became his new captor. Astarion met you in the midst of that delirium the first time

Once you let a captive predator free, you've damned it. A caged lion cannot become uncaged. Survival instinct has all but degraded to nothing, leaving only a wounded animal in its place.

You must nurse it to health. Care for it as it renavigates the world.

Curb its hunger when it threatens to wreak havoc.

Sanctuary. Regiment. Retraining.

It's easy enough to discern what he needs. All tender with wounds that need to be licked.

The muzzle is fitted. A gesture of glimmering gold adoration among the steely black of whips and chains.

Astarion is beautiful. Tenfold on his knees.

The leather straps pull back slight against his skin, three in total clipped together at the back of his skull. The thickest strap flattens sweet white curls, thinner ones curved around his ears and jaw.

The structured leather cage, reinforced with metal, rests over his nose and mouth. It fits better than you could've hoped. There's a collar around his neck to match it, with a weighted chain in your hand. He's looking up at you with a softened gaze, ruby red and lidded. Needy.

The velvet of the loveseat dips comfortably under your weight as you sit. Astarion stays where he is. He's as pleasant as he's capable of being, hopeful as he scoots in closer to you.

He succeeds in acting cute, naturally talented in the art of being appealing. He scoots himself close to your legs and positions himself to rest his chin on the edge of your knee.

You meet his eyes amused. You let your hand brush along the pointed shell of his ear. Little goosebumps form in the wake of your touch.

"You should know better by now that those sorts of tricks don't work on me, hm?"

He huffs. "Well that's not true. They usually do work on you. Rather well, I would say."

You pause, taken aback, before relenting with a laugh His pout endears you. You let your eyes narrow a bit in knowing.

"Not like this though. You know that very well."

His frown deepens. You really do adore him. He taps his forehead against your leg as you bite back a smile, his muzzle making the touch briefer than he'd prefer.

"Gods. Of course I know but this, this is torture, darling."

Pleasant and noncommittal, your hand cups his nape. You pet him wherever you can reach, his head before slipping along his shoulder and against your lap. You settle at his back, tracing over raised scars.

A sorrowful hum leaves your lips. Neither of you believe it.

"Torture? Perhaps I've gotten too soft if this is torture."

"Oh you're so awful," He huffs, biting his tongue and choosing to rest against your leg in frustration for a while longer. "Sure, fine - torture is too perfunctory. But it's been terribly difficult! Where is your sympathy."

"What's difficult, Astarion?"

You're being cheeky asking him. After all your rules have been clear and reinforced well for the two tendays that have passed. You've been working hard on reteaching him patience. He used to be so patient, back when you were exploring and unsettled but you've let him take too much and now he'll interrupt you at any moment just to get what he needs.

(Astarion leans on you for guidance. Of course, he has himself - has his freedom that he took with bloodied hands and a broken heart. There’s many choices that he’s able to make for himself, some of them he can’t explain even to you. Whatever they are, they’re his to make and yours to support.

It’s different though. Not having a choice, and someone making choices for him out of something inscrutable. You don’t bed Astarion until you fulfill the promise of killing his master. More accurately, you don’t lay so much as a hand on him. Only intimate, sparse touches. Only love. Only patience.

You’re disinterested in only having his body. His heart, and his mind, and his very soul - all of it. You want to grasp them so firmly and never let go. The chains and leashing and discipline are testament to what you want most of Astarion - and that’s all of him. You want to enrich him in every conceivable way. Astarion deserves the granular finery of thoughtful guidance more than anyone. He's brighter when he feels special, after all.

You’ve broken down the walls between you with a closed fist for this purpose - a not so quiet ask to love him by opening your hand. He’s given you the honor to let you think and act for him so he doesn’t have too. Duty binds you to reteaching him virtue.

It's a privilege to think for him. To wipe his bloodied mouth and care for his appearance prim and his mind sharp. No longer a matted beast but a loved, loved little vampire in the crook of your arms

You’re not strict to no end. You'd rip the Astral Planes apart in search of what he desires, should he ask it of you, after all.

Only the best for your immortal love. )

His neediness makes him more misbehaving. He’s been scaring away anyone who looks at you too long for business and otherwise, unable to keep his hand away from between your legs or his head in your lap.

"Not letting me drink your blood for two tendays is unreasonable enough but on top of that," He's exasperated just explaining the dilemma to you. His muzzle is cool against your pant leg. "On top of that I'm not even allowed any relief. Despite all of your cruelty, you wicked thing. I never took you for such a sadist."

He scoffs. There's poorly masked lust in the last sentence. You stop yourself from smiling.

"Sadist? Really? I don't see it that way. Seeing you act so desperately all this time and keeping my hands neat at my sides... I'm a paragon of patience." You pull on the leash in your hand but don't pull him forward - though you tighten your grip. "It's…good to lead by example."

Excitement flashes over his face in a short burst. It's so brilliant you swear his eyes look white instead of red.

"You cheeky little—" He huffs at you. You smile warmly as he starts to curl in on himself. He already knows how to get himself what he wants.

He gives up on pretenses. Briefly, just to beg, a monumentally hard thing. "Please. I can't take a minute more of this."

There's a croak to his voice. He has a hard time covering its tracks, even with his propensity for theatrics.

His throat is so thick with want. Something ripping at the seams of him and begging to be released.

"You've done well if it helps, but" You praise. He preens. Instantly. He squirms and wiggles around but doesn't move much more than that. "You act like I don't feed you."

"It is not the same, my love. You're well aware."

You ignore him.

"I even bring you human blood, don't I?" You tease, and his frustration darkens him. "I brought a beautiful and fresh body to drain just yesterday."

"Yes but," His hands turn to tight fists. He isn't sure what he wants to do with himself. You pet him a little more. "It's not the same, damn it. I want yours. Just yours. Just you,"

He adds the last bit quieter than the rest. Your expression is unchanged and cool though your heart might give you away with how hard it pounds.

"Just mine?" You tease. tugging at this leash a little. He makes a face like he's infuriated, a poor mask for embarrassment that endears you even more."Is that flattery?"

You're being a little mean this time. You'll make it up to him. He almost panics before he realizes just that.

"Gods you're insufferable," He complains with no bite. He's hoping for mercy you truly have no desire to give him. "You know that it's not."

"You speak so beautifully it sounds like it. Such sweet little noises you can make."

You let the heel of your boot press along Astarion's crotch. He makes one for you, involuntary - skin pink and sinful.

"See? How pretty."

Astarion is easy to bring to ruin as is. His own snark and disobedience is a poor disguise for that truth. A little tenderness and honesty makes him fall apart. Flirting back with Astarion goads him, though. Fuels his desire to win one over you. If you meet his cheekiness with more cheekiness, he won't relent at all.

Normally that kind of response would make him nip at you. It speaks to his desperation that it doesn't. That instead of making his own snarky remark, he tenses. A deep, shaky little breath. You could tip him over the edge through his clothes at this rate.

You're not so cruel. Not for today, at least.

"Sit up straight."

He does so without protest. You place a hand on his shoulder, the other one tight around the chain of his leash. Carefully, you drag your sharp nails down the front of his chest - leaving light pinkish marks on the pale skin. Over and over and over in light drags. His chest raises under the gesture, your nails scratching soft against his nipples.

"Hng," His voice is feather light. He's trembling at the slightest touch. His spine arches like he's trying to get more friction. "Don't you think you've proven your point?"

You let your palm drag down the smooth plane of his stomach, stopping at his pants. His cock twitches hard against the seam of his pants. You let a finger pull into the waistband, but don't go any farther.

"Not sure," You let the leash drop into your lap. You threaten to pull them down, but don't. Expression blank, you tilt your head to one side. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"My lesson," He repeats sarcastically. You feign innocence as you nod. "Really, darling?"

"I'm not so much of a tyrant," You let go, letting your hand cup the outline of his hard cock. "To torture you without reason, right? So what have we practiced?"

He stares. It must really be getting to him. "Patience."

"Yes. I ask you to be patient. Never kind, but patient. Because I'll give you anything you ask for if you wait. Things are better when you wait for them, right?"

He frowns in annoyance and disbelief. He's exasperated, rightfully - because you are messing with him. Just a little. "Right."

You squeeze his cock tighter. He hisses immediately, grinding into the touch. You blow hot air against his ticklish skin, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"So, have you learned your lesson?"

Your grip goes tight. Astarion craves the touch so badly. You doubt he's ever gone so long without anything at all - if the desperation he's rutting his hips with is anything to go by. His head drops heavy from his shoulders, his hands on the edge of the couch gripping for his life. Manicured nails digging into the cushion like it will save him. His voice is weary.

"Y-," He shudders but you don't let go. "Yes, I'm very sure I have."

"Oh, you're sure."

You enjoy bullying him. At a certain point, it bares itself out against all your own evading. Astarion knows it well enough, though normally it's through less truly intolerable means. Keeping him inside you soft or scraping orgasms one after another until he's too stupid too talk are favored between you.

Astarion likes being given a hard time, in general though. You're made for each other.

"Pretty little thing aren't you, my love?" You tell him, suddenly warmed. You miss the tadpole sometimes. If you could touch his mind right now, you would. Violate his thoughts with your own wants. You settle for a long stare. "So sweet,"

The anticipation makes his breath hitch. He goes completely limp in your grasp, weak and desperate. The weight of it all cracks and he looks up. His eyes glass over.

He shatters under his own need. "For the love of—please. I c-cant, I need to-"

"Shh." You quell him with a tender pet to his head. "You're looking at me so pitifully. Is it starting to be too much?"

He just nods. Your smile widens.

"You've been very patient for these two tendays, haven't you?" You lay it on thick. This is the part you like. You watch as Astarion goes boneless, the words reaching so deep into him he can do little more than collapse himself into your lap. You release all grips of him and let him hold against you soothingly, cling to your legs. "A very, very good boy for all this time. You're quite capable of it when you need to be, aren't you?"

He doesn't reply, but you can feel him melt into you further. For a minute you think you've broken him until you hear him mutter the softest yes you've ever heard.

(Astarion is not so easy to break, of course. And not so keen on opening up the softened wells of his heart to any stranger.

But he does break for you, and gods haven't you worked hard for that? It's a testament to all you've poured into him. Like you know all the right buttons to split him open tenderly.

And he lets you look. Touch and feel and cover your fingers with blood. He trusts you to stitch him closed.)

"Yes, that's right. You've learned your lesson now, and you're going to be proper and well-behaved because that's what good boys do. And Astarion is a very good boy. My very, very good boy."

He picks his head to look at you properly. He's darling. His face is flush, mouth turned into a soft pout and utterly, utterly desperate. His mouth is bitten, indented holes in soft lips.

"Yes, I'm. Please. I want you to touch me."

You aren't sure what you want to start with. He's being needy and you could almost feel guilty.

You pick up something from your side. A dagger from your days of travel. You unsheath it quickly, and let the blade cut along the tip of your middle finger. The blood comes quickly after, ruby red and thick.

Astarion goes wide eyed. He’s hungry, so hungry - like he always is. But there’s something defeated in the ways he hesitates that make you relish. You push your finger through the cage of his muzzle and tilt your head. There’s mirth in your eyes.

“Go on,” You say, tease, mock maybe. “Eat.”

He abandons restraint. All of it. You don’t make him work more for it. You push your finger down close enough for his mouth to lick at your wound and let your hand rest on the cage. He can’t get what he’s craving like this. The bone deep sensation starts to claw at him, a soft whimper tucked in the back of his throat.

More. He wants more. Of course he wants more.

“You look drunk.” You say, and there’s sharpness to your words. The ways in which Astarion is erotic have nothing to do with his theatrics. He is appealing when he’s giving up on everything but what he wants, always has been. “Have you missed it that much?”

“Yes.” He supplements, letting his tongue run over “More.”

You pull your hand away. “Take your clothes off.”

You watch Astarion scramble to stand. You bring your dagger with you then reach over to the table beside you. Scented oils roll around in the drawer. You’re careful with the blade as you fish out a bottle of it, taking it in your hands. Astarion stands naked, the heavy chain of his leash brushing against his skin.

“Kneel and lean on the couch, my love.”

Astarion is the picture of obedience. He leans on his elbows on the couch seats, with his legs spread apart, leash in a pool next to him as he folds his arms and tucks his face. You stand on your knees behind him, admiring his back in the lowlights.

Your hands rest on his thighs as you kiss up his spine. Small, short kisses all the way until you’ve reached the back of his neck. Your lips brush his nape, nose nudging against the metal of his muzzle.

Something overwhelms you. Addicting, euphoric as your clothed body drapes around Astarion, free hand on his waist - moving up his stomach to toy with his nipples. It thrums through you, listening to the ragged anticipation and distraught way he moves. Against you, against everything. Aching for touch.

You feel it overwhelmingly as you close in on his ear. Astarion huffs, long panting breaths. He needs this.

“Look at how naturally you yield to me now,” You all be coo. Astarion groans. Shuddering, your hand slides around his narrow waist and wraps a fist around his cock. He gasps. “You’ve become so pliable, so needy. But you know my star, I quite like when you’re needy.”

He hiccups and shivers and whines. “You’re the prettiest when you behave like the sweet little thing you can be, like I know you are. When you listen and yield and let me adore you in all the right ways. Such a sweet boy you can be, if only you let yourself.”

“Darling,” His voice cracks. There’s a helpless quality to it. A little more, that’s all you need. “I — you —”

You pull back and straighten your voice out, taking off Astarions muzzle after the valiant efforts he’s been making to wear it. It falls onto the couch unceremoniously.

“I’m saying, well done Astarion. I’ll reward you for all that effort. I’ll slash another scar in my hand for you to drink from and then again in the evening when I’ve recovered,” You lean back on your legs as you make promises on your own words. “I’ll bleed for you until you’ve sated yourself and let you get drunk on it. Then, when you’re malleable, I’ll fuck you. Again and again and again until you’ve all but forgotten yourself. All but forgotten who exactly you behave for.”

You open the oil and let it drip onto his back, watching mesmerized as it slips against every curve and crevice. When there’s enough to make opening him up easy, you stop and reach for your dagger.

The weapon slashes over the same wound. You’ve done this tens of times now. You don’t let the scars heal with a potion or some kind of spell. Astarion is far from the comfort of romance, but it is its own promise. Your scar is his.

The pain is brief, but it’s enough to feel it. You don’t flinch, though. When the blood finally seeps from it, you find yourself over Astarions back once again.

You let your bleeding palms clamp over his mouth. It’s as close to sacred as you can forge between you. Astarion moans. It is shameless. Pitchy, high with want and utterly broken. He laps at the blood like a dog, his tongue sharp against the familiar wound. You can feel his body twitch beneath you, the muffled sounds of his voice.

There is no performance in that kind of pleasure, but the amount of arousal that spikes Astarion’s whole body never fails to surprise you.

When he’s feeding from you, you busy your other hand with fucking him open on your fingers. Your dominant hand slips down the smooth curve of his spine, oiled skin soft and cool under your palms. He’s built like a dancer, beautiful curves. He’s a little softer now that he eats well. It looks good on him.

You let your middle finger brush over his hole, relishing in the soft gasp he lets out as you do. Astarion’s aroused enough to accommodate you as you circle it. The tight ring of muscle is familiar, and welcoming to your touch. You don’t need to teach Astarion to breathe, don’t need to remind him of it. You can feel his whole body push along your hands as if urging you towards him. You’re too delicate about the matter for his time.

Astarion is warmer inside than he is out. It fascinates you, makes your own stomach churn with want as your middle finger curves slowly. You pump in short motions until the resistance is all but gone. When you’ve made it as far as the knuckle of your middle finger, you start to search. You curl and press yourself against soft insides, search and search for what you’re looking for.

Astarion lurches forward when you find it. The most pitiful little moan you’ve ever heard squeaks out from his lips, against your hand.

“That’s it, isn’t it? Right there?”

Astarion makes noncommittal noises as you repeat the process again. Another finger, your ringer - spreading him open. Tight hole giving into your touch, filling him. Your mouth kisses the skin that you can reach. You peck and bite along the curve of his shoulders and all over his back as your ring finger penetrates him. His insides soften as you find your pace.

You see his hands start to fidget, but you chide him before he can do it.

“Not yet. You can touch yourself when I tell you too. Not before.”

Astarion needs more than this. You’ll give it to him, but patience is the virtue here.

You don’t know how long that’s going to stick though. The way Astarion is shaking underneath doesn’t give you confidence he’s going to hold out long enough for you to take him apart like you want. You’ll give him something proper later, when he’s not so pent you think the slight brush of skin could make him cum.

You do, desperately, want to see Astarion cum. But it has to be done the right way, or everything would go to waste in a single moment. You fuck him open on your fingers with a pinpoint pressure and accuracy, gauging his every move with the little gestures of his body. You know perfectly, know every inch of him inside and out like a book you’ve read page to page with the corners turned. The way he sways, lays intimately on the edge of cumming but never quite pushing himself over the finish line, speaks to that.

That, and the way he licks the blood from your palm like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted in his life. You can feel it, how messy it is - lapping at the split wound. Sharp unruly teeth digging into your skin, the soft breath of his nose tickling your hand as you cup his mouth. He licks so fervently, like it’s mouthwatering enough to die for.

It doesn’t help the arousal between your legs. It’d be damning for him to know how affected you are by this. By him.

“My beautiful boy,” Your voice is thick with desire. You can’t help yourself, the low possession laced it in. “Fucking perfect,”

“My love,” The words muffle against your palm. You move your hand away to let him speak and his face moves instinctually to bury himself back in it. “P-please. Let me touch myself, it aches,”

You weigh it for a minute, watching his body lurch forward as you fingerfuck him. You make a noise in the back of your throat, dropping your forehead against his spine - adrenaline making sweat drip down the crown of your head.

“Poor thing. Aches does it? Touch yourself for me, Astarion. I want to see you make a mess.”

He groans, hands moving immediately to fist his cock. You can hear it, the sound of him fucking his own fist like a wet, welcoming hole - cock wet and dripping with prespend. Astarions whole body starts to fall limp. His face pushed into the seat, little wet sobs spilling from his lips as he swears over and over.

It doesn’t take any time for his body to give into the feeling of being pleasured from all angles. You feel his face nudge against your hand for blood as his muscles start to go tighter and tighter.

“Shit,” He huffs, pushing himself back into your hands. “I’m going to cum.”

You keep your other hand in place, pace steady.

“Cum for me, baby. That’s it, easy does it.”

It happens so quickly you’re not sure if you should be impressed or if you should laugh affectionately. You can feel it, the way his hips stutter to a stop, his whole body grinding against you and holding tight to whatever he can cling to for purchase. His body weakens under the weight of your own, going completely tight like a bowstring before falling utterly helpless. Astarion moans loud when he cums, thick white ropes of it dressing the upholstery of the couch and falling to the floor. It’s an impressive amount. Save for what lands on the velvet, it pools thick and heavy. There’s so much, it’s like he can’t stop cumming. At least a minute passes before the twitching ceases.

He lays there, ragged and weightless and limp. You take your hand away from his mouth and slowly ease yourself out of him as he stays and catches his breath. You press soft, warm pecks up his spine.

You move away from him to give him some space to breathe, sitting back criss-cross on the ground. Astarion has no intention of getting up on his own, though. Before you can make sense of it, he crawls over to you. He must be worn out, given how willingly he’s coming into your arms in pure exhaustion. His cock is spent, soft against his belly and pink. He’s still naked and leashed.

Still needy, but the lust has subsided if only a little. Astarion seats himself between your open legs. You laugh lightly, letting him rest in your side - face in the crook of your neck in utter exhaustion.

“Hero of Baldurs Gate this, savior of the city that. I know evil when I see it, darling. Just outright cruel.”

You break out into a laugh at the change in behavior as he pulls away to look at you. His eyes are remarkably watery.

“That claim is undermined by that mess you’ve made on the floor there. Did you enjoy yourself?”

He almost looks embarrassed by it, a pinkish tint turning the tips of his ears bright.

“You’ve given me two terrible choices. I say yes and you think it’s a clever idea to do it again or I say no and I never experience whatever that was again in my life. A lose-lose situation.”

“So you did enjoy it,” You say warmly. Astarion scoffs but doesn’t protest. “I’m glad. You’re very attractive when you’re pitiful.”

“What despicable taste. I’m beautiful irregardless.”

You let your head bump against his, and Astarion half-heartedly returns the gesture. “That’s true. A sight for sore eyes as they say.”

“If you’re true to your word then I’ve earned a little more than just one,” Astarion purrs. Before that, he examines your (still bleeding hand) and picks your palm up to kiss. You grin wildy at his tongue lapping over the wound. “And you’re properly pent up, aren’t you? Let's get this cleaned up and let the real fun begin.”

“Aren’t you insatiable today? As you wish, my prince. We can move upstairs.”

He bemoans this. “You’ll have to drag my undead body up there if you’re asking me to get on my own two feet.”

“Or I could carry you like a bride.”

“A bride? How ostentatious. I’ll allow it.” Astarion says, then adds more quietly. “But we can stay… here a little longer first.”

You hum against his skin, peppering his face with soft kisses; he doesn't turn you away from the skinship, which you’re pleased by. “Of course my love,”

He lays in your arms quietly and the thought reaffirms itself. You’d do anything for him.

✧ a/n : no one is more upset by the length of this than me. trust and believe this. also sorry for the yapping i just... posting this is so foreboding. it feels like that picture of spongebob who puts his hands up so a car doesn't fall on him. i am Afraid.

maybe ill write a part two of him eating box or something. we'll see. anyway thanks for reading </3. please do rb if you enjoyed. so scared to be in the tags for this.

#rogues love letters #bg3 x reader #astarion x reader #astarion smut #bg3 smut #baldurs gate x reader #what other tags..idk..#this fucking thing cooked me to death i hate this guy BOOO throws tomatoes at him #zeros.dr #sub astarion

240 notes · View notes

arialerendeair · 1 month

Text

Dreamling Week Approaches

Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnn!

The prompts for Dreamling Week have officially been posted on the @mr-sadman blog, so make sure to check that post out!

If any of you remember last year, I did a massive reblog blitz of any and all Dreamling content I had in my Dreamling tag and reblogged it all across the entire week!

I’m planning to do another of those - but even bigger this year!

Here’s a list of content I’m planning to reblog:

Dreamling Week content from last year

My Dreamling tag

The tumblr Dreamling tag

Dreamling Big Bang Fics ( @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang for future runs of the bang!)

All of @gabessquishytum’s ficlets! (Yes, ALL, I am ballsy and determined)

All of @softest-punk's works

AND, new this year -

YOUR SUBMISSIONS

That's right - one thing I got a lot of requests for last year was for folks to send me things - SO! I have created a handy dandy form for you to do so! I will be accepting any and all submissions up until June 2nd, when Dreamling Week starts!

Submissions have only 2 requirements!

It must be a Tumblr post. No other links will be accepted.

Limit yourself in terms of submissions. (If you have 6 fics - do not send me 6 links, please make a masterpost featuring all of them. If you would like to create a specific universe masterpost for one series - and another for your standalones? Go for it! If you want to create one for your art and one for your fics? Go for it!)

Masterpost Example!

Last but not least!

While I am absolutely thrilled to turn my blog into Dreamling Hell (affectionate) during the first week of June, I would love, more than anything else, to see other blogs join me in doing so, since there is so much Dreamling content out there that I know I haven't seen!! I have lovingly teased @seiya-starsniper into doing something similar, and I hope some of you decide to do reblog sprees (at whatever scale you are comfortable with) as well!

Let's flood the #Dreamling Week and #Dreamling Week 2024 tags with as much content as possible and get ourselves back on the Top Ships of the Week again!

#Aria Posts #dreamling #Dreamling Week #Dreamling Week 2024 #I am so excited for this #HYPE #Dreamling Week Approaches and I WILL be hitting that queue limit!!

109 notes · View notes

mattydraws · 4 months

Text

Haló There Adventurer!! ミ⋆

I would like to announce that I will be going on a little art adventure this April n' you are more than welcome to join!! We'll explore a new prompt list n' fresh lil story line!! Journey through space and time, venture into the void - where we'll befriend stars n' save an undiscovered cosmic kingdom!! ミ⋆ Participate as much or as little as you want, goal is to just have fun and maybe gain some new skills n' meet like minded folk!! I will begin posting prompt pieces on the 31st of March n' finish up around the 30th of April - I'm hoping to gain some soft art skills + use this time to experiment and learn new skills - it's important to just try and have fun with this art challenge. There are no strict guidelines regarding format of prompt pieces, use any format you want - analog or digital, use pencil or paint - there is no wrong way to approach this art challenge. I've created a playlist over on spotify for some ambient background beats while I draw these daily prompts - if you want to check that out, it can be found here. If you're community-oriented, you are more than welcome to join the official discord server for this prompt!! Chat, communicate with other participants, share some work, get feedback, make friends with other artists etc. I hope to see you there!! Remember to tag your prompt pieces accordingly so I can connect and support your work through the month of April - please use the prompt tag: #AdventureApril if you're participating in this years prompt. Find me elsewhere: https://www.instagram.com/_mattjohns/ https://twitter.com/mattydraws Let me know what you think of this years prompt list n' hopefully hear from you soon adventurer!! If you have any questions feel free to send me a message and I'll get back to you ASAP!! Take care, ミ⋆ Matt

#adventure april #art challenge #art prompt #character design #mattydraws #visual development #vis dev #concept art #drawing challenge #story prompt #sketchbook #narrative #short stories #dnd art #dnd #animation #character prompt #artists on tumblr

112 notes · View notes

theblueflower05 · 1 year

Text

Here for the blue alien brain rot. Will never not mourn the fact that Pandora is a fictional planet.

Requests are OPEN. Please send them in asks if possible. It’s easier for me to keep track of them. feel free to hop on anon if there’s any discomfort(but know I’m always open and down to chit chat!)

You cultivate your online experience. Please remember that fact as you browse through my works. All of which will be tagged accordingly. Please do not click read more- if you do not want to read more.

I am not here to police how you use Tumblr, but Minors- Please Do Not Interact.

Neteyam Works

Neteyam x human reader thigh riding

Omega!Neteyam Headcannons

Neteyam fucking you standing up

Mean Neteyam Choking and Spitting

Multi Part Stories I am working on as of: 6/6/23:

✨First Love/Late Spring Series Masterlist✨

As a high standing member of the Metkayina Tribe, it’s been a mystery as to why you’re still unmated, years into your adulthood. When the eldest Sully boy catches your eye- you hope that you won’t spend the upcoming Fertility Season alone. Filled with lots of angst, smut and all around tooth rotting fluff.

Neteyam x Female Metkayina Reader!

Part One: First Love/Late Spring

Part Two: Crawling Back to You

Part Three: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

You Get Me So High

Drabble! In the FLLS universe! You and Neteyam share a morning full of domestic bliss. PG-13, Minors can interact with this one!

✨Howling For You Series Masterlist✨

Neteyam has always been awkward, defensive and guarded when it comes to love. Being an Omega, he’s always felt the need to overcompensate for his secondary gender. When the Alpha daughter of Tonowari and Ronal makes it clear that she wants to court him, will he be able to let go of his own self doubt and accept the love that she’s so willing to give?

Omega Neteyam x Female Alpha Reader

Part One: Fxtavang(passionate)

Part Two: Yawnyewla(broken hearted)

Part Three: Tizin(entangled)

Part Four: Coming soon!

Mi Ti’ong(In Bloom)

Summary: Neteyam can have anyone and yet he only wants you. A small human who can usually be found among the flowers. Neteyam x Human! Reader

Based off of @oakbuggy Neteyam x Flora art!

Heavy In Your Arms

Summary: You and Neteyam find comfort in each-others bodies after he almost dies. Set in High Camp, circa the beginning of ATWOW. Neteyam x Omatikaya Reader!

Sweetest Sylaung

Summary: You have no right to have your eyes set on the future Olo’eyktan of the Omiticaya, but you just can’t seem to resist. Neteyam x Human Reader

Explicit. Aged up! Characters. Minors DNI

Just a Little Taste

Summary: Being eight months pregnant with the child of the future Olo’eyktan inherently comes with its pressures, the fact that you’re pregnant in the middle of a war makes it worse. Neteyam likes to remind you that you’re in control.

Neteyam x Human!Reader

Explicit! Aged up characters! Minors DNI.

Cosmic Love

As Kiri’s closest friend, you had always found your self sucked in by the gravitational pull of the Sully family. Neteyam had become your sun, and you orbited around only him.

On Hiatus until further notice

——————————————

Lo’ak Works

Omega Loak being knotted for the first time

Spit Kink

Lo’ak x Fem!Reader x Tsireya threesome

Omega Lo’ak reacting to the news that his Female!Alpha mate is pregnant

Overstimulation

————————————-

Jake Sully Works

Drabbles

Cock warming(Avatar Jake x Human Reader)

Alpha Jakes first knot

Omega Jakes first heat(Jake x Neytiri)

Jake spitting in your mouth

Buzzcut Season

Summary: You’re a scientist working closely with Grace Augistine at the Pandorian outreach base of Hell’s Gate. When you develop a crush on ex-jarhead Jake Sully it’s all consuming. You don’t really care what body he’s in. You want him.

Human Jake x Human Reader. Avatar! Jake x Human reader.

Explicit. Coming soon.

——————————————

Misc Drabbles!

Being Ao’nungs peace

Reminding Tsireya who she belongs to

Tsu’tey has a breeding kink

Neytiri rides you

Who’s the most likely to come untouched? Multi!

Characters I will write for/ Have plans for:

Ao’nung

Neytiri

Tsireya

Ronal

Tonowari

Tsu’tey

Miles Quaritch(um…yeah. I never thought we’d be here, but here we are)

Spider Socorro

*The art used in this Masterlist is not mine, no credit goes to me. If you are the artist and would like to be credited, please let me know. If you are the artist and would like to have your pieces removed, please let me know. The aged up Lo’ak AI art is by @smilexskxawng*

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam avatar #neteyam sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully smut #neytiri x reader #neytiri smut #tsu'tey #tsu'tey x reader #tsu'tey smut

770 notes · View notes

cryoculus · 1 year

Text

— imagine being loved by me! ⟢

pairing: xiao | alatus x reader

summary: the one where your best friend gives you ten tattoos over the next ten years. the problem? you fall deeper in love each time the ink stains your skin.

word count: 7.1k words

tags: modern au, tattoo artist!xiao, childhood friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, relationship study, non-explicit smut

warnings: emotionally stunted xiao but i fink everyone knows that already, mentions of needles, there's smut but it isn't detailed

notes: this blog's been dead for Months but i thought i'd revive it with this fic that my beloved @delvalentine commissioned me to make! i love u to DEATH, v, i hope i did your requests justice :')

header art cr: yuca7302 on twt

01.

“Ow, fuck! Can you be more careful?!”

“I am careful. You just have a shitty pain tolerance.”

“Wow, that’s not something you should say to your first willing client,” you huff, trying not to pull away as Xiao repeatedly punctures the skin of your forearm with pen ink and a not-so-sterile sewing needle. “My family could sue you if I die from a blood infection, you know.”

Xiao rolls his eyes. “Something this small won’t kill anyone. Plus, you came here on your own volition, so stop complaining.”

“Are you saying you’re just going to let me die of sepsis if everything goes to shit?”

“Pretty much.”

You didn’t know what to expect when your best friend of several years asked if you wanted a tattoo of your favorite constellation. It’s been a running joke between the both of you that the two moles on your forearm looked a lot like two-thirds of Orion’s belt, and that maybe, in another life, you would’ve been born with all three of its stars on your skin.

You should’ve known that Xiao likes to blow your expectations out of the water—whether he intends to do so or not.

It’s sundown when he finishes embedding black pen ink beneath your slightly inflamed skin. Xiao doesn’t comment when you repeatedly complain about how much that fucking hurt, and that you’re never agreeing to do it again, but you don’t miss the way his eyes occasionally flit up to the starry sky before shifting to your new ‘tattoo’ as he walks you home.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget that night. How you admired the amateur handiwork in the soft glow of your nightlight while thinking about the boy who gave you a star fashioned with his own fingers where others would’ve given flowers instead.

But then you remember Xiao is nothing but your best friend, and it’s a little…weird to be thinking about him like that.

Must be the sepsis fucking with my head, you muse before flicking off your nightlight, and the room is plunged into pitch black darkness.

02.

You’re eighteen when you realize Xiao is completely serious about this tattooing business.

It comes as a not-so-pleasant surprise to you one day when your high school’s guidance counselor approaches you while you’re hurrying over to your next class—asking if you’ve seen Xiao around these days because apparently, your best friend hasn’t been attending his classes for a better part of the semester.

Of course, you receive the news with a scowl. While you don’t exactly see him all that much at school because of how different your schedules are, you never expected to find out he’s been playing hooky all this time.

You don’t particularly like sticking your nose into other people’s business—especially not Xiao’s, since you know how he likes to keep to himself better than most. But for some reason, you aren’t able to resist, and end up calling him after excusing yourself from your two-hour Biology lecture.

Once your classes are done, you head over to a nearby tattoo parlor whose address Xiao texted to you right after you squeezed his whereabouts out of him during that phone call. It’s located in one of the more run-down parts of town that your parents would’ve detested Xiao for inviting you to. But whatever prejudice you might’ve had about the denizens of this district all go up in smoke once you meet the owner herself.

“You should’a seen Xiao practicing with our machines a few months ago!” Beidou, as Xiao had sheepishly introduced earlier, barks out a laugh before slinging an arm around your best friend’s shoulders. “Said there’s someone he wanted to give permanent tatts to. I’m guessing you’re the guest of honor?”

“Beidou,” Xiao groans. “It’s not a big deal. I already practiced on her before.”

You don’t completely catch it when Beidou makes an inappropriate joke as a response to what Xiao just said—eyes trained on the fading dot on your forearm. It’s been two years since Xiao gave you your first ‘tattoo’, and even if the receding ink makes it look like one of Orion’s stars are starting to die out, it’s still there.

“Okay,” you say in the middle of their bickering, startling both Xiao and Beidou in the process. “I’ll let him ink me if he wants to.”

Xiao stares at you with brows furrowed. “You sure?”

No, you’re not sure because as much as you want to support Xiao in what seems to be a budding passion of his, you’re certain that your father is going to kill you when he sees a full-blown tattoo on any part of your body. You barely got away with the artificial mole that Xiao did for you a few years back.

“Positive.” You back your words up with an indignant huff before sifting through the pre-made designs on Beidou’s catalog. “You just have to put it somewhere not everyone can see, I guess.”

Beidou snorts out another jarring laugh when Xiao clicks his tongue to alleviate the embarrassment that’s painting his face just a touch of red.

Earlier in the day, you intended to scold your best friend for not taking his studies seriously, but ended up going home that day with a new piece inked onto the skin of your left hip: a little spruce twig that you last remember seeing in your old hometown—years before you even met Xiao.

There’s no particular meaning behind it, apart from a hint of sentimentality and rebelliousness. It’s your first actual tattoo, and one of your best friends gave it to you, free of charge. Even if it hurts ten times more than Xiao’s novice needle method from two years ago, you end up loving it more than you thought. One time, you stare at Xiao’s intricate handiwork in the mirror for so long that you nearly run late for your first class of the day.

(Another thing that makes this particular piece memorable is the process itself.

Xiao is a person who’s always been startlingly precise in everything he decides to put his head into. When you learned that he wanted to become a tattoo artist, you instantly felt like there’s no other path more perfect for him than this.

Yet you couldn’t help but notice how his fingers sometimes trembled as he gave you your first piece—with you lying chest-down on Beidou’s tattoo chair in nothing but your shirt and underwear. It shouldn’t have been strange. Xiao has seen you dressed down like this dozens of times before.

But when all’s said and done, he refused to meet your eyes, and you don’t have the slightest clue why.)

03.

You just can’t stop staring when you see Xiao’s half-sleeve for the first time.

It’s meant to be a phoenix, he said, but you can’t really see it because the patterns are too abstract to make sense of. Still, the azure ink sits nicely on top of his built bicep, and you have to tell yourself that you’re just trying to find the stupid phoenix as an excuse to keep ogling him.

Thankfully, your weird fascination lasts for only about a week until you’re back to shitting on him like you always do.

By some miracle, Xiao manages to graduate high school despite being on probation from his excessive absences. He’s actually smart if he makes the effort to hit the books, but you’re not sure if he’s planning on going to college with how comfortable he is with being one of Beidou’s most in-demand tattoo artists.

You ask him about his future plans at a party being thrown by the previous captain of the football team in his parents’ lavish penthouse somewhere uptown. It took a great deal to force Xiao into tagging along with you as your plus one, and you’re going to make good on his acquiescence by interrogating him about things he normally skirts around.

“I told you, I didn’t take any entrance exams,” he grumbles against the rim of his red cup. “I’m managing just fine working for Beidou, so I don’t see any reason to go to college.”

You’re about to argue that Beidou’s tattoo parlor won’t be open forever, and that he needs to think about broadening his career options until a bunch of girls with linked arms shuffle closer to where you and Xiao were lounging on the couch. You don’t talk to them a lot, but everyone in your grade knows the infamous Pyro Trio.

“Hey, Xiaooo,” Hu Tao drawls with a smirk, pushing up her sleeve to reveal the branches of a cherry blossom tattooed on the delicate skin of her arm. Behind her, Xiangling and Xinyan snicker like it’s some sort of inside joke.

You intend to shift your gaze elsewhere. Clearly, you’re not the person these girls want to speak with. But the sight of the ink on Hu Tao’s skin makes the back of your neck prickle with misplaced irritation. Xiao must’ve been the one who did her piece, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Though he’s this year’s most notable absentee, rumors about Xiao’s handiwork haven’t gone unnoticed among the students in your (now) alma mater.

That doesn’t mean you have to like the idea of your best friend inking other people that aren't you, though.

You decide to excuse yourself from Xiao’s company—given that Hu Tao is giving him plenty of attention already as is. Your best friend utters something you don’t quite catch as you walk away, and you don’t bother turning around to ask him to repeat himself.

(As you stuff your face with shot after shot, you force yourself to just keep dancing to the rhythm of whatever song is blaring to the speakers. You didn’t give two shits about the fact that Hu Tao keeps feeling up the stupid phoenix tattoo on Xiao’s arm. Nor did you care about the fact that your best friend—who’s normally evasive when it comes to casual contact—seems like he doesn’t mind at all.)

The night ends with Xiao begrudgingly getting behind the wheel of your car, since you’re obviously in no state to be driving anyone home. When he announces that he’ll bring you back to your apartment, you slur out a drunken protest—asking if he can take you to the tattoo parlor instead.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Why?”

You huff, curling in on yourself on the passenger seat. “The cherry blossoms you gave Hu Tao were ugly as shit. You can do a better piece on me. Y’know, as practice.”

Both of you know that you’re bluffing. Xiao’s pieces are one of the most intricate you’ve ever seen, even if he is a rookie tattoo artist, and that you don’t have a lot of points of reference to compare to. But instead of taking offense at your mindless jab at his work, Xiao slots the keys into the ignition with a defeated sigh.

“Fine. You mentioned wanting spider lilies a while back,” he says before propping his arm against the car seat as he backed up on the street. It’s the perfect angle to moon over his not-so-phoenix tattoo, and if you were any more intoxicated, you would’ve reached out and squeezed his arm.

“Where do you want it?”

You know he meant to ask where you wanted him to put your prospective tattoo, but the question sends your mind straight into the gutter. Thankfully, you still have some semblance of coherence lingering in your drunk thoughts, and you answer with:

“Right hip. Opposite end of the spruce twig.”

When Xiao heaves another sigh and steps on the gas pedal, you don’t think much of it—still convinced it’s completely normal to expose such intimate parts of yourself to your best friend so he can tattoo a fucking flower just above the swell of your thigh.

04.

“You have been watching way too much anime.”

“Come on! At least I’m not having you tattoo the names of my shitty ex-boyfriends on my ass, right? Just give me my modified Tanjiro hanafuda and Fullmetal Alchemist flamel!”

“...Is this your way of coping with taking up a nursing course? Is it that stressful?”

You whine as you hold your phone closer to your ear, already picturing the look of disbelief in Xiao’s face when you asked when he’s free to give you your next tattoos. You still go to college in the same city, but it’s been weeks since you last saw him.

“You have no idea,” you groan. “It’s like my first year, and I’m already burned out! How is that even possible?”

Your best friend grunts on the other line. “Maybe if you stopped being such a perfectionist, then maybe you’ll learn to be more content. Less stress on your part, too.”

“Ah, no can do. I never do anything that isn’t perfect,” you chuckle. “

“Yeah, I saw you score at the top of your class during your, uh… what was it again? Biochem exam?”

For someone who doesn’t exactly give a damn about anything outside tattooing and other similar forms of artistry, you find it endearing to know Xiao actually remembers all the things you rant about in the wee hours of the morning. You don’t hate biochem, but if you have to draw another chemical configuration, you might just pop a vein.

“Okay, let’s say I agree to tattoo those weird doodles you sent,” Xiao propositions, “do you even have any free days? You usually study on weekends, right? I don’t think you’re free to drop by the shop even if you wanted to.”

Fuck. He’s right. You still have a few major exams coming up in the next two weeks. If you wait that long until you get your silly weeaboo tattoos from Xiao, you would’ve already gotten over your momentary hyperfixation on the TV shows that were salvaging your sanity in the middle of the semester. It wouldn’t feel as thrilling to get them anymore.

“I’m free…” You trail off, eyes darting to the digital clock by your desk then to the course notes you have opened on your laptop. You haven’t studied as much as you wanted to for your upcoming anatomy test, but…

“Right now, actually. Can you pick me up?”

You can hear him frowning. “Don’t you have a car?”

“I do, but I don’t wanna drive when I have plastic wrap all over my body.”

“You’re exaggerating. It’s not all over your—”

“Jesus, get the hint, Xiao. I miss my best friend, and I want to have a quiet evening cruise on his motorcycle before he gets me inked again!”

Xiao falls silent, and this time, you’re having some difficulty picturing what expression he’s wearing on his face. You like to think you’ve startled your un-startle-able best friend, but that’s pushing your influence too much.

“Okay,” he says, more agreeable than you thought he’d be. “I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.”

05.

When you introduce your first serious boyfriend in a while to Xiao, you’re a bit annoyed with how prickly he’s being.

Sure, it’s wired into his system to be the snarky asshole everyone knows and loves, but if there’s anyone else who knows about the tragedy that is your love life better than yourself, it’s Xiao. When you finally land a decent guy to settle down with, you at least expect him to be a bit more supportive.

“Actually, we came here ‘cause we planned on getting matching tattoos,” your boyfriend, Yin, explains with a dimpled smile. “Isn’t that right?”

You stifle a soft laugh, a bit embarrassed to agree, but too in love with your boyfriend to protest.

A few years ago, you distinctly remember drunkenly rambling to Xiao about how stupid it is to get couple tattoos especially when relationships these days are built on flimsy foundations.

If you break up, what then? You have a physical reminder of that person on your body for eternity? No fucking thanks!

“Sorry, we’re closed right now, as you can see,” Xiao grunts before jabbing his thumb at the sign he just turned at the door. “You can try some other time, though.”

At the time, you were pissed at Xiao for denying your little request. He always agreed to ink you during ungodly hours of the day, but now he’s playing the ‘shop’s closed’ card just because he doesn’t like your boyfriend?

But then, you end up grateful for his attitude exactly a month later.

“Fucking cheated on me with some bitch from his Physics lecture,” you sniffle on Xiao’s ratty sofa as he makes you some tea in his kitchen. “I can’t believe I nearly tattooed our anniversary on my wrist! I would’ve had to fucking amputate it in the end.”

Xiao sighs before placing a piping hot cup of honey lemon in front of you on his coffee table—crossing his legs together. He doesn’t tell you I told you so, like others probably would if they were in his shoes. Your best friend just stares at you with withering understanding, no matter how stupid the choice that got you here in the first place turned out to be.

That’s one of the many things you loved about him.

“You were supposed to have ‘XV’ inked together, right?” he asks.

You huff before tossing some of the soiled tissues you used into the bin. “Yeah. We made it official on September 15th.”

“Well, if you still want the tattoo, you could just give it a different meaning.”

Scowling, you stare at Xiao as if he just grew a second head. “What the hell are you talking about?” Is he really suggesting for you to get the same tattoo that he denied you and your ex a month ago?

Xiao shrugs noncommittally before taking a sip from the tea he prepared for you. “It’s been fifteen years since we became best friends. That’s worth commemorating, at least. Unless you suddenly don’t give a shit about that, too?”

Your jaw hangs agape at the sudden reminder. October 15th. When you were four, you accidentally spilled orange juice all over Xiao’s teletubbies backpack, and when he forgave you on the spot, you crowned him as your first bestie.

That was fifteen years ago. Holy shit.

He startles when you abruptly shoot back to your feet, earning yourself a perplexed stare from Xiao who just wants you to sit down and drink your damn tea—

“Is Beidou’s shop open?” you ask. “I want her to do our matching tatts.”

Xiao grimaces. “Our?”

You nod brusquely, tugging at his arm. “Yeah, I’m allowed to have matching tattoos with you, ‘cause you’ll never walk out of my life, right, Xiao?”

He’s always been a stubborn little shit, so you don’t really expect Xiao to relent as quickly as he does. You nearly stumble to the carpeted floor when he lets you pull him up—faces hovering so close to each other, you nearly choke on your own breath.

It doesn’t help that Xiao has definitely…put in a few inches of height. Back then, you used to tease him a lot for being taller than him, but now?

“Never,” he whispers so softly, you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren't as close to him as you are. “Now drink your stupid honey lemon tea so we can head to the shop.”

About two and a half hours later, you’re sitting on the vacant seats in the shop’s waiting lounge—a familiar sting still sizzling beneath your ribcage from where you had your first matching piece with Xiao permanently inked. You made him swear to have his own ‘XV’ tattoo made on the same place, and he makes good on his promise when he emerges from the workroom, wearing nothing but his dark-washed jeans.

Unlike yourself, you rarely see Xiao in various states of undress. The most skin you could get out of him on most days is the lean muscle of his tattooed biceps, and sometimes those are enough to have you staring dumbly at him for several minutes.

Now, though?

You learn that he has several tattoos on his torso—spread across his skin like patchwork. It makes you wonder if he did some of them himself, or if he had Beidou work on them for him. Still, despite the plethora of new ink stains to gawk at, his weird phoenix tattoo remains as your personal favorite.

Along with the newest piece he got not five minutes earlier—the tattoo he shares with you.

“Are you happy now?” he grumbles, letting you marvel at the perfect roman numerals just below the jut of his ribs. “It’s a good thing Beidou gave it to us free of charge, you know.”

You giggle. “All of my tatts so far have been free of charge.”

“That’s only because you’re special to me,” Xiao sighs before freezing up in the next moment—like he didn’t mean to let that slip aloud.

You smirk. “Mm? What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck off.”

06.

Much to Xiao’s disappointment, your shitty taste in men doesn’t exactly end with Yin.

About three months after getting the tattoo to commemorate your fifteen years of best friendship, you meet Kaeya. He’s an exchange student, and you know better than to form any sort of attachment to someone who isn’t going to be in the same continent as you by next year.

But you let him in anyway.

You allow Kaeya to get to know you in ways that not even Xiao is familiar with. The smooth-talking foreigner likes to kiss every single one of your tattoos—lamenting the fact that they’re all inked in spots hidden from view. You laugh every time he brings it up, saying your parents are going to kill you and Xiao if they saw any of the pieces your best friend did for you over the last six years.

“That best friend of yours…” Kaeya muses once he’s done bringing you to paradise and back, smoking a cigarette that makes you wrinkle your nose with distaste. He would’ve been perfect, if only he wasn’t such a chronic chainsmoker. “He’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

You nearly fall off the bed at his bold declaration.

“W-What the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer. Xiao? In love? With you?

Kaeya shrugs. “I dunno, sweetheart. If I was a tattoo artist, I wouldn’t let anyone freeload my craft as many times as you did—even if you are my best friend. Unless I was down fucking bad for you, of course.”

Xiao doesn’t like Kaeya, but the reasoning behind it is a bit different from why he doesn’t like your ex. He knew Yin wasn’t a good match for you. Kaeya, though? The two of you had inarguable chemistry. The only problem was he was a free spirit that didn’t like to be tied down by commitments—something you clearly struggle with.

When you reassured Xiao that Kaeya is nothing but a way to scratch a passing itch, he merely scoffed and told you to do whatever you wanted.

Could his dismissiveness be because…he’s in love with you?

That can’t be right. You’re the one who knows Xiao best. If he hypothetically does catch feelings for someone—much less, you—you’ll surely be the first to notice, right?

Right?

Kaeya chuckles before tracing the XV tattoo along your ribcage with a cold finger—almost like he’s teasing. You roll your eyes before crawling back on top of your midnight lover, kissing him just to shut him up.

When you drop by Beidou's the next day, Xiao is nowhere to be found.

“Didn’t he tell you?” She gapes. “Our boy’s starting his own shop downtown! He had the soft launch and everything a week ago. I was wondering where you were.”

“Uh…”

You’re not sure how to break the news that Xiao has been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you got together with Kaeya. But finding out that he put up his own tattoo parlor without even telling you?

If Kaeya turns out to be right, and your best friend really was in love with you, he sure as hell wasn’t acting like it.

Deciding to play along with whatever game he’s playing, you make an appointment to get a new piece inked under a fake name. Xiao accepts it right away and schedules you for an early evening slot. You make it a point to arrive twenty minutes late just to get a rise out of him.

When he sees you at the entrance to his shop, you almost let yourself feel smug about the unadulterated surprise on his face. Almost. You’re still pissed off that he didn’t invite you to one of the most important milestones of his life.

He fulfills your request in silence—the French word for green inked unassumingly on the underside of your shoulder blades. Xiao doesn’t say a word about his evasiveness, nor does he address the fact that you, his literal best friend, are standing in the shop he’s kept a secret for god knows how long.

When he still refuses to talk, you slam your payment on top of a nearby table—intent on storming out of the building even if he hasn’t wrapped your newest piece in a protective layer of plastic yet. Xiao barks that he doesn’t want your fucking money, and you end up throwing your hands in the air, asking:

“Then what the hell do you want?”

You expected him to blow up in a fitful of rage. He’s never been good at anger management, you knew this well. But instead, he crosses the distance separating the two of you and crushes your mouths together.

“You,” he whispers hoarsely, desperately against your lips. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Kaeya calls you multiple times that night—even leaves a text message asking where you are and if you’re free. You aren’t able to answer any of them though. Not when you’re busy being railed into the next life by your best friend of fifteen—going sixteen—years in the same bed that Kaeya just had his way with you a week ago.

When Xiao’s lips graze each and every tattoo he personally inked onto your pliant body, it’s leagues different from when Kaeya does it. It’s like your best friend is leaving a trail of fire sizzling beneath your skin everywhere his mouth trails along your hypersensitive flesh.

Even the way he makes you fall apart from a blistering orgasm is ten times more intense than every session you had with Kaeya and Yin combined.

There’s no affection nor is there adoration in Xiao’s gaze as he fucks into you—golden eyes fueled by something carnal and zealous, but you knew better than to call that love.

When morning comes, Xiao isn’t here with you, and you don’t know which emotion to feel.

Kaeya, at least, has the decency to leave a note whenever he has to depart early. But all that your best friend leaves you with is a sinking feeling in your stomach, and a glaring realization that you did not want to make when you’re crying all alone in your apartment at the crack of dawn.

Kaeya was wrong. Xiao isn’t in love with you.

You’re in love with Xiao, and you immediately know you’re in deep fucking shit because of it.

07.

It’s two weeks into your mission of complete radio silence when Xiao finally breaks.

You’re in the middle of a pharmacology lecture when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You knew it wasn’t Kaeya because he’d already packed his things last week and headed back to his home country. The bastard even asked you for a quick farewell fuck, but you turned him down right away and gave him a kiss goodbye instead.

When you find out it’s a text message from the same person you’ve been trying to avoid all this time, you’re all too quick to parse through its contents.

Xiao: I'm sorry. Can we talk?

That’s how you wind up standing right outside of his new tattoo parlor.

You haven’t been able to take a good look at it the last time you were here—too frustrated with your best friend to really make sense of your surroundings. But he’s put up his new shop in a pretty good part of town. You wonder how Xiao managed to afford it all.

Then again, he’s been working at Beidou’s shop for years. You knew he had a decent number of regulars, as well as potential clients that are highly interested in his work.

For once, you let yourself be proud of him. Even if he didn’t put your name on the guest list for his soft launch.

Xiao looks a little sheepish when he lets you inside and flips the sign on the front door to give the two of you some privacy. You aren’t faring any better. The last time you saw him, he was balls-deep inside of you—fucking you like you’re the most despicable woman in the world.

“So there’s this…collage piece I wanted to try,” he starts, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

Of course when Xiao invites you over to talk, you shouldn’t have expected any actual talking to take place. That’s just not his style. He’d rather make up for whatever mistakes he made by inking another stupid tattoo on your body, but honestly? You’ll take whatever you can get.

When you saw his sketch of a Statue of David peppered with four-leaf clovers, you couldn’t even dream of parsing the meaning behind the piece. The only thing that makes you relent is an old memory of you and Xiao hunting for four-leaf clovers in your mother’s garden—even putting the effort to plant whatever you could find in a pot in hopes that they would grow bigger.

It takes him hours to complete the entire thing. This one is probably the most realistic piece he’s done for you, and you can’t help but watch the intense concentration on his face through the mirror on the wall as he inks it a few inches above the last tattoo he did for you.

You’ve never really realized how…breathtaking he looks like this.

His fringe falling across his pretty gold eyes, the comfortable set of his jaw as he focuses on his work, and the soft slope of his cupid’s bow despite how harsh the words that come out of his mouth can be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You really are in love with this guy.

When he’s finally satisfied with his work, Xiao puts down his machine before wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. He already looks so fucking good while he’s working. How is it fair for him to look even more gorgeous right after the entire process?

“Come on, let’s wrap it up,” he says before stretching his limbs. The action makes the cropped shirt he’s wearing ride up his torso a little, and you’re teased with a glimpse of the tattoo he matches with you.

Your heart nearly leaps to your throat, and if it weren’t for the dull sting of your newest tattoo, you would’ve been entranced by the sight of him entirely.

“Sure,” you say, even if your heart is begging for you to just be honest with him. To let him know how you’ve felt all this time because frankly, you can’t keep carrying the weight of your own feelings for much longer.

But then you remember how…apathetic Xiao looked like the night he dared to tell you he wanted you. There was no love to be found in his animalistic gaze, and you fear that he’ll turn you even further away at the slightest hint of more-than-friendly affection from your end.

You can live with this. His fleeting yet heated touches. His deep, piercing stares.

You’ll do anything to preserve what you have with him now—even if that means sacrificing everything else you could still dream of.

08.

Sometimes, you think Xiao is making you hope on purpose.

Sure, your friendship was more or less salvaged after offering your Statue of David tattoo as a quiet apology. You’re back to teasing him for all the most minuscule things, and Xiao is back to being your voice of reason in no time.

These days, though, you don’t really have much time to hang out with him like you usually do. You’re in the last year of your nursing degree, and your shifts at the hospital on top of your regular academic workload render you much too exhausted to catch up with any of your friends. Xiao included.

But there comes a night when he visits you in your apartment when you’re busy studying for a tricky surgery exam—a bucket full of fried chicken, and a bottle of sparkling water in hand. What kind of fiend would turn away an unannounced blessing like that ?

You munch through the midnight snack Xiao brought for you all while forcing him to do your flashcards with you. He knows the drill, anyways. Though he’s been out of school for years, Xiao is still familiar enough with your study habits to be of substantial help during these trying times.

While you’re in the middle of differentiating the different types of sutures, though, he proposes an idea.

“It’s been a while since I inked you with a sewing needle and pen ink, isn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes, taking a swig of your carbonated drink as your gaze flickers to the pseudo-Orion’s belt on your right forearm. The third star has all but faded from view over the years.

“Yeah, why are you asking?”

Xiao rummages through his knapsack for a few seconds before bringing out what seems to be a small sewing kit, and a jar labeled ‘Indian ink’. You gulp in equal parts dread and anticipation.

“I figured out how to make the tatts stay longer,” he says, a gentle smile settling over his face. “You want me to give you a new one? I can even revive good old Orion, too.”

You sigh. Who are you to turn the love of your life down anyway?

Xiao gets to work while you’re lying sideways on your bed, flinching every now and again because he decided to outline the spitting image of the flower vase sitting on top of your nightstand along the curve of your waist.

Unlike your first experience with manual needling, your pain tolerance is much better. The only reason you’re squirming every time Xiao embeds the ink into your skin is because you’re fucking ticklish. All those years of being intimately acquainted with Beidou’s tattoo machine were all the sensory training you needed, it seems.

When Xiao is done with this piece, he pulls you into an upright position, making you hold out your arm so he could resurrect the first tattoo he ever gave you. You roll your eyes, but let him do as he pleases anyway.

At this point, you’ll let him do anything with you.

It’s nearly three in the morning when you’re putting away the dishes and glasses you and Xiao used for the night. He’s kind enough to throw out the trash while you clean up in the kitchen, and when he meets you back in the living room to exchange farewells, you don’t really want him to go.

“You have morning classes tomorrow, right?” he murmurs as he pulls you into a firm embrace, careful not to press down too hard on your new tattoo. “Take care. Don’t burn yourself out too much. All your hard work will be for nothing if you end up keeling over before graduation.”

You can’t help it. The soft timbre of his voice coupled with the fond look in his eyes tears all your defenses asunder. As you look up to meet Xiao’s uncharacteristically doting gaze, your chest twists more and more as you keep yourself from lunging in for a kiss.

“You’re such a pessimist, it’s almost funny how caring you sound,” you chuckle. “Go on, now. Shoo. It’s late.”

Before you can push him out of the door, however, Xiao catches you by surprise when he leans down to peck your lips. You stay frozen in place even as he pulls away—smiling so prettily, you can hardly believe this guy is your perpetually pissed off best friend.

“Good night.”

Unlike the last time he left you all alone in your apartment, you’re filled to the brim with an emotion you can’t quite name. It’s far from the emptiness that made a home in your heart when you thought you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back. But you’re not about to call it happiness either.

Whatever this strange feeling is, you let it sit in your chest for a while longer, and it lingers even when the memory of Xiao’s lips stops prickling against the skin of your own.

09.

On the day of your graduation, Xiao asks you to drop by his shop after the rites have concluded. You tell him that he’s self-centered as fuck, and that this is your day, so if he wants to use your body as a practice canvas again, he’s going to have to wait tomorrow.

You don’t tell him that you’re sulking because he didn’t even show up to congratulate you for surviving four gruesome years of nursing. But you suppose that someone who never went to college in the first place wouldn’t be the best at sympathizing with this particular milestone in your life.

He shows you his latest sketch when you make it to his shop the next morning—and you can’t contain the look of disbelief that colors your features when you realize what it is.

“A bouquet that’ll never wilt,” he chuckles, one finger expertly pointing out the flowers he’s drawn on the neat page. “Orchids and hydrangeas: your favorite. Violets: you press a bunch of these in books every summertime. Pink baby’s breath ‘cause you wouldn’t stop gushing about them at your sister’s wedding.”

You aren’t able to stifle the flattered giggle that spills from your lips. “Can’t believe you actually remember all that. What’s the lily of the valley doing there though?”

“Oh, this?” Xiao hums with one brow raised. “Your mom had lots of them in her old garden. Those are my favorite.”

“And, pray tell, why is your favorite flower going to be permanently tattooed on my body?”

Xiao doesn’t humor you with a verbal answer right away. Instead, he wheels his revolving seat closer to you so that he’s close enough to press your foreheads together. Your breath hitches when his mouth curves into a loving smile you’re starting to get used to seeing.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Now, are you going to tell me where you want me to ink your eternal bouquet or not?”

10.

You’re a complete sap when it comes to weddings. Everyone knows this.

It’s for that reason that none of your guests are surprised when you end up crying in the middle of exchanging vows with your fiancé. Xiao sighs before taking out a handkerchief from his front pocket, dabbing at the tears streaming down your face. For someone who comes on so tough to other people, you’re awfully sentimental.

“Sorry, sorry—” you sniffle, thanking every single god out there for the invention of waterproof mascara. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

The rest of the session proceeds swiftly. You get to kiss your best friend of more than two decades and call him your husband in front of some friends and family. The matrimonial rites were held in a private resort at the base of a mountain. Both you and Xiao wanted to preserve the intimacy of your wedding as much as you could. After all, you didn’t need all that flashy and grandiose wedding prep to prove to the world just how much you want to spend the rest of your life with Xiao.

Your thoughts stay the same even as he lays you down in the king-sized bed of the cabin you had to yourselves. He sighs in between kisses as he strips you off your wedding garbs. You’re surprised he’s taking his time with you. Xiao has been eye-fucking you since you started walking down the aisle. It was so bad that even Beidou made a few off-hand remarks about the sexual tension during the reception.

“I was thinking,” you breathe as he grinds his hips against yours, “of getting another tattoo. My last one.”

Xiao lifts his head for a moment, one brow arched. “You’re married to a tattoo artist, and you think the tattoo you’re getting after the wedding is your last one? You’re dreaming, princess.”

“Fine. Point taken.” You roll your eyes. “But anyway, I want a dragon tattoo riiiight…here.”

Your husband watches with rapt attention as you guide his hand to the spot you’re talking about—just below the collection of your favorite flowers inked above your waist is a blank stretch of skin. Xiao’s lips twitch into a fond smile as his calloused fingers graze your flesh.

“Still against having showy tatts?” he asks before pressing a soft kiss on the spot you pointed at.

“Mhmm. You see, my dad doesn’t care if I’m married and have my own life. If he sees that I have tattoos, he’s still going to murder me,” you chuckle. “So yeah, tatts are staying under my clothes until he grows old enough and forgets that he hates seeing ink on other people’s skin.”

“I’ll keep that in mind then.”

When Xiao ravishes you for the first time as your husband, your chest overflows with love for him. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their best friends by their sides for as long as you did, yet you ended up tying the knot with yours. Although the entire process was more than twenty years in the making, you suppose there’s no point in rushing anything.

After all, Xiao is as permanent in your life just as much as the ink stains on your body.

“Look,” you chuckle once Xiao is done cleaning up in the bathroom and settles down right next to you on the bed, “Kaeya sent us a postcard. He says congrats on overcoming the emotional constipation.”

“Throw that thing away,” your husband grumbles, pulling you away from the pile of postcards on the nightstand. “Why are you even keeping touch with him still?”

“So I can use him as an excuse to get you jealous, and have you fuck me rough?”

“Oh, princess. If you wanted it rough…” he starts with a sigh, rolling his neck with a smirk. You gulp, wondering if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time around.

“All you had to do was ask.”

⟢ end notes: it's been a while since i wrote for genshin, so i hope you liked it! thank you sm for reading ^^

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #genshin xiao #xiao fanfic #xiao smut #xiao x reader #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #cryoculus

1K notes · View notes

danilovefest · 3 months

Text

DANI LOVE FEST 2024

WHAT IS DANI LOVE FEST

just a few days ago I was once again desperately looking for Dani content on here but it was woefully difficult....and since (hopefully) a Dani wildcard in Jerez at the end of april is very likely, I thought it would be fun to organise a little event to dig up as much Dani content as possible so that everybody looking for Dani content in the future can find loads of it here :) and maybe it'll even inspire some new fans!

HOW CAN YOU TAKE PART

MAKING POSTS: your post can be anything - videos, pictures, text posts, fics, articles - translated interviews or articles, web weaves - whatever your heart desires! just tag your post with #danilovefest or #danilovefest2024 to be featured on this blog OR you can send it directly as a submission to this blog (re: sources - please if possible include your sources/credits!)

SHARING POSTS: not all posts have to be new!! this event is all about sharing dani content, gathering it all in this neat little pile for us all to play in!! a lot of you definitely have a LOT more insight and archives of all the posts on motogpblr through the years. so please, dig up your favourite posts and let us enjoy them once again!! you can send posts via ask or send me a dm on my main @whoregaylorenzo so I can reblog it here!

ASKS: if you have any suggestions or spontaneous prompts - or you just wanna submit a fun pic without making a post - you can hop into our asks and talk to Dani! try it :)

TAGGING SYSTEM

I will try my best to make this blog SUPER organised so it can exist as a sort of dani archive for years to come <3 this list will be edited/added on to as I add new tags

media type: pictures, gifs, video, text post, links, web weave, art, mixed

theme:

year:

place:

others featured: marc, jorge, vale, ....

#rpf content

We will use tw injury/tw crash (re injury day) and #nsfw for explicit posts (re danifucker day)

THEMES (click on the links to access the tag):

this following list includes themes/prompts for all the days BUT of course we only want to give you ideas, you are not limited to these/nor are they limited to these days, you can post anything any day as long as it's Dani!

10.04. baby Dani

11.04. 125cc days

12.04. 250cc days

13.04. random Dani facts day

14.04. team tiny day

15.04. Dani's smile

16.04. injury day (you all made me!! ._.)

17.04. his gray hair streak

18.04. Dani ventures outside of motogp (windsurfing, cycling, his childrens book, car racing etc)

19.04. danifucker day (18+)

20.04. Pedrenzo day

21.04. Danis special riding style/ability to give feedback (gifs/videos/pics of riding, ppl describing his riding style etc)

22.04. Dani's relationship with other riders

23.04. after motogp/ktm days (various wildcards, reception and emotions coming back etc)

24.04. favorite helmet

25.04. favorite podium/win(s)

26.04. Dani at jerez through the years

27-28. give me all you got (ANY fav dani content at all) - also open for the hopefully new content that weekend

I hope you all have SOOO much fun, we certainly had fun planning and scheming and are SO excited to share the dani love with you!! - fran (@racewinnerbatmav) and dante (@marquezian)

"It's easy to base success on results, but I think that concept is mistaken. Above all, what is most satisfying is how I will remember all of those fans, all of the people who encouraged me, who supported me during my moments, good and bad, and who often kept me from throwing in the towel." - Dani Pedrosa

#danilovefest #danilovefest2024 #dani pedrosa #motogp

44 notes · View notes

nipuni · 10 months

Note

im sure you get this question all the time but how do you go about procuring those amazing outfits? do you thrift, get things tailored, make items yourself? do you buy things as you go or do you search for specific items one at the time? it's just that id love to have a style like yours (but masc haha) and i always wonder how you do it because i wouldn't know where to get clothes such as you wear anywhere, let alone for a price i can afford. and also, now im here, thank you for your amazing art, it always brightens my day when you post <3

Hello! 🥰 I collect pieces from different places that I feel fit the aesthetic I created for myself, kind of like character design, and I stick to certain silhouettes and color palettes that I already know I will feel comfortable in.

In my case I go for structured pieces instead of flowy draping ones, plain colors over patterns unless it's straight lines, earth and jewel tones on the warmer and muted side, medium height heels, gold over silver, etc. All of this makes for safe purchases for me no matter the store or outfit

Most of my clothes I buy from the historical reproduction shops I list under my posts ( I made a list some time ago here and also in the tags of each post as well as in my Instagram )

Some of these shops are on the more expensive side but offer custom tailoring which is ideal and a must for me because I'm built weird 😅 so I try to get my staple pieces there and plan the whole outfit around it before purchasing.

Then you can get the basic pieces to complete the looks from regular stores! stuff like plain shirts and trousers I usually get from places like Zara

I also thrift at curated stores which makes it easier to find interesting pieces (Edwardian revival from the 70's, capes, belts, handkerchiefs, scarves, bags and hats are some of the things I go for) I don't go with an outfit plan in mind for this, I just look around every once in a while and see what I can find and what I can do with it since it's usually very cheap too. I've also found that thrifting for masc clothes is way easier (at least where I live?) for some reason. I go antique shopping for accessories too, hats and pins from the 20's!!

Then the more specific and inexpensive stuff to tie the outfits together I get from aliexpress, (like the clock bags) and for blouses I also shop at lolita stores online sometimes

When it comes to planning outfits I just play dress up in front of the mirror like you see in the videos I make, I pull out a bunch of stuff from my closet and start matching. it helps me see what I'm missing or what colors would work best or which cut or fit creates an interesting look. It also helps you see and remember everything you have so when you are shopping or dressing up to go out you have this mental library and know whether something new will fit in with your wardrobe or not.

I also got a sewing machine some time ago and I'm teaching myself to sew! So far I've only fixed mine and my husband's clothes to make them fit but I'd love to move on to making my own clothes eventually!

I think that cultivating a personal style makes shopping for clothes easier and allows you to invest in pieces you know you will keep without fear of them going out of style and you don't feel the pressure to update your whole wardrobe every year. it's also super fun and has helped me build confidence and feel a lot more at peace with my appearance. I hope any of this helps you 😭 I rambled a lot I'll stop now!! Thank you so much for the kind words!! ❤️❤️❤️

#nips replies #this is so long why am I this insufferable

142 notes · View notes

silaslich · 27 days

Text

It’s My Heart, I Can’t Cut It Out

Simon Riley x John Mactavish

Wc - 5.7k | chapter 2 of ? | chapter 1 if you missed it | check cover art for tags+warnings

It’s to the sound of screams, that John awakes.

The air in the room is stagnant and heavy.

It’s his own screams that have pulled him from his nightmare, a common reoccurrence since the incident - and sometimes even before. An interminable occurrence, each time he closes his eyes he finds a pair staring back at him; they’re young and hopeful and happy. He remembers Gary as if he had seen him only yesterday, he often wonders what he would look like all grown up.

Would he have ended up taller than John? Would he have followed his passions in Herbology and traveled the world in search of wacky and wonderful things to study and cultivate? John can only wonder, when he feels a pain in his chest that bothers him like an old aching joint, he lets his mind stray to what could have been. To what should have been. Sometimes the thoughts make him sad, but more often then not he finds that they bring him a sense of comfort; because he knows that if Gary were still alive he would live his life to the fullest no matter who was watching.

John’s chest heaves and sweat drips from his forehead, running down his spine, his sheets are soaked through. He’s gasping for breath as he tries to settle his aching lungs and his eyes scan the darkness - but there is nothing there.

There never was.

Seeing flashing images of a lanky-ginger teenager with eyes like green marbles are not new to John; but the haunting spectacle of a bloodied beast with dauntingly familiar eyes and great huge fangs makes his skin prickle - he doesn’t like it, not one bit.

He had placed wards around his room soon after he’d arrived, a common courtesy, to save anyone within earshot from losing sleep the way he does.

A silencing charm had been the first of many measures he put in place when unpacking what little things he had brought with him. John knows that his mind isn’t what it once was, he needn’t take the chance of finding slips of parchment slid underneath the crack of his door that are scrawled with angry lettering telling him to shut the fuck up.

The young wizard rubs his eyes, pressing his fingers into the sockets, cursing the pressure that sits behind his bad eye - rooted deep in his skull. It’s as if something is burrowed there, buried deep in the tissue, he can feel it pulse. All of his diagnostic spells bring up nothing of the sort. Only angry-smoky swirls of black and green, weaving around his mind, he doesn’t understand it.

Einar must sense John’s distress, he hoots quietly from his perch, fluttering his tortoise-shell coloured feathers in the darkness, the wizard can’t see him but he appreciates the birds concern.

Last night, Price had stared at John with a knowing look in his eyes, the pair illuminated by the full moon overhead, nestled within a blanket of stars. He might have only been an outside informant during John’s career as an Auror, but Price always kept in touch with the team of Aurors that were following the same cases as he was, not because it made his job any easier- but because he genuinely began to care. Through many means he was able to tutor and reprimand, shaping John and his team into strong and talented Aurors.

Price had been an Auror for many years, but after much consideration and deliberation on the Ministry’s behalf he became an outside man. While he remained under the Ministry’s jurisdiction, he was able to better navigate his way around less standardised means of obtaining information and assets. Under the guise of a transfiguration professor and deputy headmaster; John Price was able to sever the red tape.

Price knew of John’s potential; his strengths lay in brewing up powerful potions used for both offence and defence, as well as healing and emergency first aid, but there was so much more then that below the surface. John was a fighter, as selfless as anyone could possibly be, and as much trouble as that landed him in, Price admired it. The way he would lay down his own life in the line of duty, to save countless others, it was the sign of a natural born Auror.

The proficiency in John’s wand-work and one-on-one combat was remarkable, an underdog of sorts, a bookworm with an interest in cauldrons and a childhood dream of becoming an Auror. Price had laughed.

He saw many just like him come in and out of the programme, some not even lasting a day, but with every challenge thrown at him - John flourished.

Right up until the day of the incident. John had thrown himself into the path of a curse that was meant for another, ending his own career and disfiguring himself physically and mentally - forever, it seemed.

While he was honoured for his bravery and selflessness, John still felt cheated.

Price can tell it hurts. While he can’t empathise with John, he can help him through the grieving process, and he can at least try to understand what this must all be like for his friend. For everything to change so suddenly, to leave everything he’s ever known and move into a completely different field altogether - it’s daunting, it’s scary.

He understands, and Price vows to be with John every step of the way, he feels he owes it to his friend after everything he has sacrificed in the name of wizard kind’s safety.

John feels his eyes sting, too safe in the comfort of his old captain, he sets his jaw and tries to gather his racing thoughts. “Should we head up?” The young wizard queries, “m’shattered from the train”, while it isn’t entirely a lie - it’s at least something to change the subject.

Price scans John’s face a final time before nodding, releasing his hand that’s clasped to John’s shoulder. “Of course mate” he smiles softly, “oh- nearly forgot”, Price pulls out his wand and with a quick flick there’s a bright pop of light, as quick as the light appears - it’s gone again, leaving a large bottle of Firewhiskey clasped in Price’s hand. He hands it over to John, smiling toothily as the younger wizard inspects the bottle, it’s the expensive sort.

John smiles, the gift is lovely, it’s thoughtful - it appears Price still knows him well after all this time. “Think we should break this open when we’re inside” John eyes Price, gauging his reaction, the older man smiles wildly.

“I won’t tell the headmistress if you won’t”.

John doesn’t bother trying to get back to sleep, his nightmare has left him too unsettled and unnerved - images of the human-like beast still burned into the darkness when he closes his eyes.

Instead, he starts his day, cleaning and dressing himself before he sets about organising all of his paperwork that’s stuffed haphazardly into his satchel. While he’d gone over all of it on the train he still doesn’t feel ready enough, he’s knowledgable enough for this job, probably more so then he needs to be - but John worries he won’t fit in.

He’s unserious at the best of times, he can’t stand the thought of having to take charge over a room full of teenagers, even when he was a student himself he never focused as hard as he should have. Despite the fact that his dream was always to be an Auror, he was never the smartest student, barely scraping through his mock exams to meet the passing marks. He puts his success down to Gary, without his death John would have never locked himself away and used books as an escape for the amount of hours that he did after his best friend died. It’s only because of Gary that John knuckled down with studying as a way of escape, an easy distraction to dissociate himself from the way his world was practically crumbling around him.

He worries that his students won’t take him seriously enough that he can take them through the academic year and get them all up to scratch for their exams; but he’ll sure as hell try his best.

John has always been good at faking it until he makes it; he’s always had to plan and adapt, through both school and his Auror career. It’s a big part of life really, assessing new situations and acting accordingly, choices that in some cases, can mean life or death. He wants this to be the same.

Until he gets into the swing of things, he’ll just pretend, despite the nerves and negative thoughts, he’ll teach his classes and do exactly what he has been brought here to do.

He’s here to teach potions. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Nothing else is expected of him. It’s a simple enough task, he needs to recite what he knows in a way his students can follow and learn, and at the end of the day - he’s somewhere safe, with people he knows will keep him safe.

It’s time that he lets the past go, whats happened has happened and he can’t change it, so he needs to move forward with this new chapter in his life. Despite the way it stings and even if he thinks he’s not good enough, it’s time to move on.

A few hours later, and it’s a more appropriate time for breakfast. John easily navigates his way to the Great Hall, everything is steeped in nostalgia, it sends goosebumps rippling across his skin.

He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed Hogwarts, the day he left he’d vowed that his days there were behind him - how times have changed.

The gleaming suits of armour stand to attention as he walks by and the portraits natter absentmindedly amongst themselves, it’s all just background noise.

The set up of the Great Hall seems a tad overkill, especially considering the fact that not all of the professors are back for the start of term yet. Some clearly try to hold on as long as possible before returning, due to their families and other commitments, John doesn’t share this problem.

The four house tables are as they usually are, but It’s only a few sections of each table that are adorned in silver plates and huge bowls; filled to the brim with everything from bacon and sausages to fruits and porridge. There is everything that anyone could possibly want, this is something else John finds he’s been missing.

Price is sitting at the furthest end of the Gryffindor table, shoving a forkful of black pudding into his mouth as he thumbs idly through a copy of The Daily Prophet. Another thing John has missed, the domestication of life, no more hiding and running, no fear for resting or eating - worried something is lurking around the next corner. Nothing is hiding here, preying in the shadows and waiting for Price to look up from his paper so it can pounce.

John hurries over and sits across from the older wizard, returning the smile he earns as he begins piling food onto his plate. “Morning” Price offers up, rolling his eyes when he looks up to find John is unable to reply, his mouth too full of toast. Price closes his paper and sets it to the side, leaning against his elbows on the table and looking pointedly at John as he eats his breakfast, John feels his gaze and meets it - confused.

He swallows down his bacon and clears his throat, suddenly uneasy. Price purses his lips, looking from his plate to his hands, his fingers fidgeting with one another. “Did you sleep well?” Price asks, finally, still seeming sheepish. John thinks for only a split second before he answers, “not really” he replies, honestly. “I think I just need more time to settle, firewhiskey didn’t help as much as I hoped it would” he says, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I haven’t slept well since the incident-“ he has to swallow, “I’m not sure if it’s connected but I keep having these strange- sort of dreams” the words are a jumble from his lips, falling quicker then he can catch them.

Price won’t judge him, he knows this, but he still hates the thought of becoming too vulnerable. It’s different when you’re fighting fit and at the peak of your career, some self reflection is normal - it’s healthy. But talking about his thoughts and feelings when he feels like he could barely cast a counter-curse if he tried to, it’s a new low John has not yet met - not until now.

The older wizard nods in acknowledgment, still fidgeting with his fingers, he brings up his hands to rest his interlocked fingers against his lips, still thinking deeply. John watches, carefully, he can see the way Price’s eyes linger for too long on his scar again - his throat burns.

Price clears his throat, refocusing John’s attention, “John” he tests, still seeming tedious about the topic he’s trying his best to address. The younger wizard feels dread bleed down his spine, the fork that’s gripped in his palm is slick with his sweat and he tries his best to not let his mind jump to the worst case scenarios.

I’m sorry son, this just isn’t working. You’re just not ready for this. We’re going to have to let you go.

His mind is racing again, and once it goes, John struggles to get it to stop. It’s irrational, he knows this, and that’s why it’s so frustrating. Watching the ball get away from him, and he’s physically unable to run toward it and catch it. He hasn’t even been here for twenty-four hours and he’s already thinking that he isn’t good enough, it’s a blow to his self confidence for sure.

The sound of Price clearing his throat breaks John out of his own head, gaining back his focus. “I wasn’t completely honest with you when I offered you this position”, the admission comes as a surprise, in John’s head, Price has never hidden anything from him. Price is a clean-cut, say it how it is kind of man, there’s no mincing of words or beating around a metaphorical bush - his dread turns to intrigue.

John cocks his head, setting his fork down onto his plate and mimicking Price in the way he leans on the points of his elbows. Price starts up again, “as soon as I heard about what happened to you I knew that I wanted you here, I thought it would be a great stepping stone” he says, “I didn’t know the extent of your injuries so I thought that even if it was on a temporary basis that you could come here to recuperate, I realise now that isn’t the case” Price wets his lips before he continues on. “I want you to do well here and I want you to make this role your own, in whatever way you see fit, I know that when we originally exchanged letters about the position that you were worried you wouldn’t be suited to a teaching position - but I can assure you that isn’t true”. John feels something twist in his chest, he wants to believe Price, he really does. Yet, there’s something deep inside of him that thinks it’s all wrong, that he doesn’t deserve the recognition or the praise. Just look where he’s sitting, how the mighty fall. Price seems to falter, just slightly, “what I’m trying to say here John is that I really think this is what you were meant to do, you were a great leader and a great mentor out there - you can still be that great here too” Price smiles, not trying at all to hide it, he watches as John smiles - convincing yet forced.

But what has this got to do with Price being dishonest about something?

John opens his mouth to speak but is quickly shut down, “but” Price quickly blurts out, “that being said, there is still one major thing that I haven’t told you” John cuts in, “what could possibly be so bad that you’re so-“

“Simon is here. In the school. He’s our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor”

Price’s words cut through John like shards of ice. Out of everything he could have possibly said, John would have rather been told that there’s a right of passage to becoming a teacher here, meaning he must fight an Acromantula and win if he wants to stay. He can’t digest the words, Price must be kidding, this has all got to be one big elaborate joke at his expense - but Price isn’t laughing.

Yet, John is. It’s punched out of him in a way that hurts, it makes his chest ache with the effort of it. He’s laughing because this can’t be real, after everything else that has been going wrong in his life lately, he has to exist in the same vicinity as a man he would gladly never lay eyes on again for as long as he lives.

Price wears a look of concern, watching as John’s amused expression morphs into one of pain, he quickly clutches at his head, pressing his fingers against his bad eye. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ jokin’” John whispers, more to himself than to Price, but Price answers, whispering too. “I think it’s best that the two of you talk, sooner rather then later” Price notes John’s grimace, “it’s a good opportunity to break the tension before the start of term”.

While it makes logical sense, John has never seen himself as a logical man, he’s more of a suck it and see kind of man. You’ll never know if you never try. He’s always jumped in head first with things and thought of the consequences after, and up until recently it has always worked in his favour - so he doubts he’ll change anytime soon.

John stares at the half-eaten food that’s starting to go cold on his plate, he finds that he’s just not hungry anymore.

He had wandered aimlessly for hours after breakfast. Retracing steps from his adolescence, it all felt so strange, he’s seeing everything from a new perspective - he’d grown significantly after leaving Hogwarts. Mentally and physically.

While yes, the years had passed, not much had changed within Hogwarts, not really. The portraits on the walls still greeted him as he traipsed by, telling him he looked familiar, the staircases still moved at the most inconvenient times and the elves still popped up in the most random places - usually scrubbing the floors or polishing the many suits of armour that stood around the castle.

It’s unproductive, John knows, but he’s still trying to wrap his head around what Price had told him.

Simon is here. He teaches here.

John never knew, but in fairness, he had never asked. He’d like to say it’s because he doesn’t care, but in actuality, it’s because he cares too much.

He’s always cared too much when it comes to Simon Riley, he’d lie once more and say that he doesn’t understand why, but they both know why. They’ve always known.

Thinking back to when he last saw him, John realises just how long it’s been, it’s three whole years since they last saw one another. While it isn’t a long stretch of time by any means, a lot has changed for the both of them in that time.

John sulks around the hallways, still not really knowing how he should feel, he feels betrayed by Price but at the same time - it was going to come to a head at some point between him and Simon, sooner or later.

They have too many shared connections not to bump into one another eventually, John supposed it was better that it would be on his terms rather than just a chance encounter in the street.

At some point, John reaches the kitchens, having descended the spiral staircase towards a lower part of the school. He had originally been aiming for his old common room, but found himself distracted by the smell of something baked and sweet.

There’s too many times to recount when he had snuck his way into the kitchens. The term ‘snuck’ being used very lightly; the so known ‘head elf’, Posie, was particularly fond of him. For reasons unknown, perhaps it was because he was kind, most wizarding families were - at least the ones that didn’t have their own house elves.

It was safe to say that John didn’t have to tickle any pears to get his hands on sweet treats outside of meal times.

The wizarding families that still owned house elves were often of old blood, purists who believed that muggle-wizard relationships were utterly blasphemous, the topic of half-bloods and ‘mudbloods’ being seen just the same.

John came from an old wizarding family, but one that held absolutely no social status, they had no interest in that sort of thing and also saw nothing wrong with the idea of muggles and wizards coexisting and starting families. It was an outdated way of thinking in their eyes, their family name went back for hundreds of generations, as far back as Hogwarts itself being created.

It meant that John treated Posie and the other elves like they were actual living creatures rather than something unworthy of basic wizard decency. It wasn’t overtly rare at Hogwarts in John’s time for most of the students to be kind and gratuitous, it had been on the up and up over the years, but Posie still had a liking for John that couldn’t really be explained.

She catches sight of him in the kitchens, having to crane her neck up even more than she did when he was a teenager, he’d gotten so much taller since leaving Hogwarts. Posie practically jumps for joy, she pulls him by the hand towards the rows of tables, they mimic the ones in the Great Hall. She presses all different kinds of pastries into his hands, forcing him to try a bite of every single one, filling up his pockets with tarts and scones when he insists he needs to leave before he’s too sick and heavy to move. She’s as spritely in her older age as she had been ten years ago, chatting John’s ear off about what he’d been up to since he’d left, telling him how much she’d missed him and how often she’d thought of him and hoped he was doing well. “Posie was thinking of you John” she tells him, sneaking more of her homemade sponge cakes into his trouser pockets, “Posie was wondering when she would you see John again” she crushes John’s fingers in her dainty palm.

It warms John’s heart, knowing that the elf hadn’t completely forgotten about him after all this time, he hadn’t forgotten about her either.

“Well, you look worse for wear” Price’s sly grin only annoys John even more, he reeks of vinegar and his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin as he sits across from his old friend , again, at the far end of the Gryffindor table.

He hadn’t spared the Hufflepuff barrels a second thought, he obviously wasn’t going to go in, it didn’t feel right considering he was a professor now, even if the students were still yet to arrive. Yet, it seemed he still got a little closer then he should have, almost jumping six-feet in the air when a sudden jet of vinegar from the barrel hits him right between the eyes - soaking him completely through.

John grimaces, “I’d almost forgotten how funny you were” he says sarcastically, his eyes scanning around the room. Price raises a brow, “he’s not here you know” he speaks between forkfuls of cottage pie, “he had some things to attend to, won’t be back for a few more days”.

It’s as if an invisible weight is lifted from John’s shoulders. He wasn’t scared of seeing Simon, it would be a lie if he said he wasn’t dreading it, but he wasn’t scared. He just didn’t want to be caught off guard, he wants to know exactly what to say - but he can’t even begin to think of how he’d start that conversation.

He has a feeling Simon won’t be the most forthcoming either.

John scoffs, “what makes you think that’s who’m lookin’ for” it’s a rhetorical question, one he doesn’t intend for Price to answer, yet he does anyway. Price laughs, “your heads been on a swivel ever since this morning, your poker face is shit mate” as Price continues to laugh, the only thing John can think to do is mimic him - completely caught out. “Away a bile yer heid” the Scot spits his words but the venom is misplaced, aimed back at himself for being so transparent, he’ll have to get a grapple on that before Simon returns.

John wonders what’s pulled him away from Hogwarts in the first place. Perhaps he’s married now; maybe he even has a child, the possibilities are endless - and each new one John thinks up makes him feel more sick than the last.

Price and himself eat the rest of their meal in peace. It’s casual conversation for the rest of dinner; they talk about the upcoming school year as they leave the Great Hall, and they discuss this years Quidditch World Cup as they ascend the staircase that leads to the staff common area. With each hour passing hour that the late afternoon bleeds into the early evening, the bottle of firewhiskey drains closer and closer to the bottom.

The conversation has turned, and from there it begins to plummet.

“It really hurts y’know” John says, out of the blue. Price thumbs his glass, watching as the amber liquid sloshes and licks up the side of his glass, “your head?” He asks.

John tightens his lips, “no” he kisses his teeth with a wet shmack-ing sound, “ma head hurts but that’s no what a’mean” his accent begins to thicken as the alcohol thumps through his bloodstream - slow and lazy. John gestures his arms around the room, “this hurts” he starts, “should be out there killin’ those bastards that did this” he snorts, gesturing to his eye, “cannae even do tha” he grits his teeth and Price can hear it from where he sits across the other side of the coffee table.

Price sighs, “they’ll get them John” he says, “I’ll make sure of it - trust me on that one”, Price knocks back the rest of his drink, wincing at the sting of it against his throat. John scoffs, “trust” he repeats, “don’t know the meanin’ of the word do I” he mumbles to himself as he stirs his whiskey with his finger. “Don’t say that” Price’s words are curt, quickly bitten out, John doesn’t bat an eyelid. “S’true though” John slurs, “looket wha happened to Si” he wipes his nose with the backs of his fingers, the booze is making his mind slip. The older wizard bristles, “don’t start that John”, he’s serious. Yet, John is ignorant to it, the words just keep on spilling. “S’ma fault he had to leave” a laugh falls from his lips, it’s a solemn one, masking the real pain that his words bring to the surface, “ma fault he’s stuck teachin’ ‘ere” John’s chest hiccups.

“That’s enough!”

Price has raised his voice and it cracks the veneer that the booze has built up around John’s rationality. His eyes are wide and wet when he meets Price’s hard glare, whether or not the words are true, Price doesn’t want them speaking out into the open - because it means they mean something.

John watches as Price sighs, his thumb and pointer finger clutching the bridge of his nose, he refocuses his eyes on John before he opens his mouth to speak. “You did all that you could with what you had” Price reiterates, “if not for you John, then Simon may not be alive today” the words feel like a dagger to the gut, John isn’t ready to hear it all. The event itself is still so fuzzy, it was a blur of blood and teeth, the telltale sounds of agony as John tried his best to fully heal Simon before he was too late - to no avail.

Price is suddenly closer, and the wetness behind John’s eyes threatens to breach, “Simon appreciates everything you did John, no one could have done any better”, John shakes his head, forcing the dull throbbing-pain to creep back up on him.

He could have done better, he should have done better.

Sleep escapes John that night. He’s partly grateful for it, because he knows what waits for him in the darkness of slumber - the beast. As exhausted as he is, it’s hardly worth it in his eyes, he can brew up something to mask the fatigue, something to simulate sleep; but he can’t brew something to fix his shattered mind.

Not a cure at least. Draught of Peace could right him, but it would fade eventually, it wouldn’t last long enough for him to deem it worth while. It would just mask everything, it’d coat the surface but deep down he would still feel everything just the same.

The booze makes his limbs feel heavy, but his mind always seems heavier. He blinks slowly, seeing nothing in the darkness, he can hear Einar preening his feathers and he can hear rain beating against the windows. John tries to focus on those things, to keep himself awake, he can still relax, he just can’t fall asleep. He’s frightened, because he doesn’t understand, the incident and the nightmares must be connected - it’s too coincidental, but how?

John has never seen a creature in real life like the one in his nightmares. So he can’t understand why it seems so familiar to him, like he’s looked into those eyes before.

It’s too vivid, it’s too clear for him to not know what it means, when he closes his eyes even now, he can see it as clear as day.

As he lays in bed, trying to focus on the way the raindrops batter against the window, he hears a loud thud outside of his door, like it’s coming from the corridor. It makes him jump, he sits bolt upright in bed, quickly switching on the light that sits on his bedside table.

A few seconds pass by, and John listens carefully, his eyes wide and darting as he watches the crack beneath his door - looking for any kind of movement.

Another thud. He summons his wand into his hand, and despite the silencing charm on his chambers, he stays deathly quiet as he stalks towards his door. Another thud, heavy footsteps it sounds like, the beyond ancient floorboards of the school allow no one to sneak around.

John thinks himself stupid, it’ll just be a professor, or someone else wondering around the school. It’s probably one of the resident ghosts, there’s a number of them that float freely about the castle, some are nicer than others.

Just as John peels himself away from his door to go back to bed, a deep guttural growl bleeds through the crack under his door. It makes his blood run cold, the saliva in his mouth dries up instantly and his heart begins to race a mile a minute.

He’s heard that growl before.

John groans, suddenly clutching for his head, a deep shooting pain lodging itself behind his bad eye. Something inside of him cracks, whatever is causing the pain is connected to the nightmares and the strange beast he keeps seeing.

Without thinking, he swings open his door, wand in hand and poised to strike. Sweat gleams over his bare chest, he’s wearing nothing other then his ratty-plaid pajama bottoms, his chest heaves and his lips are bitten back into a sneer - not feeling at all ready to deal with whatever awaits him on the other side of the door.

He’s right to feel that way.

Simon stands alone in the darkness, illuminated by the soft amber light of the lamps that line the corridor walls. He looks oddly disheveled, sort of out of place. His clothes are askew and there’s mud on his hands, his hair is tousled and wet with what looks like sweat and - blood?

John is taken aback, he flushes with embarrassment, looking like a jumpy idiot, even an ex-Auror shouldn’t react quite as extreme as that. But he doesn’t know what to say or do, he lowers his wand and straightens his posture, eyes fixed on Simon’s face - it’s been so so long.

Simon’s face is devoid of any emotion. Even his eyes don’t shift or move upon seeing Johnny, nor does he react to having an Auror pointing a wand in his face, fully capable of blasting his head off if he had mis-identified him.

Simon simply stands still, and when his eyes do move, it’s only to look Johnny up and down entirely. From his bare feet to his wide-heaving chest, right up to his now mismatching eyes. His gaze lingers on the scar, on the mark of his curse, but still - Simon’s expression doesn’t change at all.

It’s only seconds that pass but it feels like hours to John. He stands stock still, processing the man that’s standing in front of him, a man he once called his friend.

Were they even friends anymore?

John watches as Simon moves forward, heading straight for the door that sits beside John’s room. He watches him unlock the door and step inside, without a single word.

John is left alone in the dimly lit corridor, his heart thumping against his sternum, wand gripped tightly in his hand.

What the fuck is going on?

20 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

Text

Linkty Dumpty

I was supposed to be on vacation, and while I didn’t do any blogging for a month, that didn’t mean that I stopped looking at my distraction rectangle and making a list of things I wanted to write about. Consequentially, the link backlog is massive, so it’s time to declare bankruptcy with another linkdump:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

[Image ID: John Holbo’s ‘trolley problem’ art, a repeating pattern of trolleys, tracks, people on tracks, and people standing at track switches]++

Let’s kick things off with a little graphic whimsy. You’ve doubtless seen the endless Trolley Problem memes, working from the same crude line drawings? Well, philosopher John Holbo got tired of that artwork, and he whomped up a fantastic alternative, which you can get as a poster, duvet, sticker, tee, etc:

https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/145078097

The trolley problem has been with us since 1967, but it’s enjoying a renaissance thanks to the insistence of “AI” weirdos that it is very relevant to our AI debate. A few years back, you could impress uninformed people by dropping the Trolley Problem into a discussion:

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/10/25/mercedes-weird-trolley-problem-announcement-continues-dumb-debate-about-self-driving-cars/

Amazingly, the “AI” debate has only gotten more tedious since the middle of the past decade. But every now and again, someone gets a stochastic parrot to do something genuinely delightful, like the Jolly Roger Telephone Company, who sell chatbots that will pretend to be tantalyzingly confused marks in order to tie up telemarketers and waste their time:

https://jollyrogertelephone.com/

Jolly Roger sells different personas: “Whitebeard” is a confused senior who keeps asking the caller’s name, drops nonsequiturs into the conversation, and can’t remember how many credit-cards he has. “Salty Sally” is a single mom with a houseful of screaming, demanding children who keep distracting her every time the con artist is on the verge of getting her to give up compromising data. “Whiskey Jack” is drunk:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/people-hire-phone-bots-to-torture-telemarketers-2dbb8457

The bots take a couple minutes to get the sense of the conversation going. During that initial lag, they have a bunch of stock responses like “there’s a bee on my arm, but keep going,” or grunts like “huh,” and “uh-huh.” The bots can keep telemarketers and scammers on the line for quite a long time. Scambaiting is an old and honorable vocation, and it’s good that it has received a massive productivity gain from automation. This is the AI Dividend I dream of.

The less-fun AI debate is the one over artists’ rights and tech. I am foresquare for the artists here, but I think that the preferred solutions (like creating a new copyright over the right to train a model with your work) will not lead to the hoped-for outcome. As with other copyright expansions — 40 years’ worth of them now — this right will be immediately transferred to the highly concentrated media sector, who will simply amend their standard, non-negotiable contracting terms to require that “training rights” be irrevocably assigned to them as a condition of working.

The real solution isn’t to treat artists as atomic individuals — LLCs with an MFA — who bargain, business-to-business, with corporations. Rather, the solutions are in collective power, like unions. You’ve probably heard about the SAG-AFTRA actors’ strike, in which creative workers are bargaining as a group to demand fair treatment in an age of generative models. SAG-AFTRA president Fran Drescher’s speech announcing the strike made me want to stand up and salute:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4SAPOX7R5M

The actors’ strike is historic: it marks the first time actors have struck since 2000, and it’s the first time actors and writers have co-struck since 1960. Of course, writers in the Writers Guild of America (West and East) have been picketing since since April, and one of their best spokespeople has been Adam Conover, a WGA board member who serves on the negotiating committee. Conover is best known for his stellar Adam Ruins Everything comedy-explainer TV show, which pioneered a technique for breaking down complex forms of corporate fuckery and making you laugh while he does it. Small wonder that he’s been so effective at conveying the strike issues while he pickets.

Writing for Jacobin, Alex N Press profiles Conover and interviews him about the strike, under the excellent headline, “Adam Pickets Everything.” Conover is characteristically funny, smart, and incisive — do read:

https://jacobin.com/2023/07/adam-conover-wga-strike

Of course, not everyone in Hollywood is striking. In late June, the DGA accepted a studio deal with an anemic 41% vote turnout:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/6/26/23773926/dga-amptp-new-deal-strike

They probably shouldn’t have. In this interview with The American Prospect’s Peter Hong, the brilliant documentary director Amy Ziering breaks down how Netflix and the other streamers have rugged documentarians in a classic enshittification ploy that lured in filmmakers, extracted everything they had, and then discarded the husks:

https://prospect.org/culture/2023-06-21-drowned-in-the-stream/

Now, the streaming cartel stands poised to all but kill off documentary filmmaking. Pressured by Wall Street to drive high returns, they’ve become ultraconservative in their editorial decisions, making programs and films that are as similar as possible to existing successes, that are unchallenging, and that are cheap. We’ve gone directly from a golden age of docs to a dark age.

In a time of monopolies, it’s tempting to form countermonopolies to keep them in check. Yesterday, I wrote about why the FTC and Lina Khan were right to try to block the Microsoft/Activision merger, and I heard from a lot of people saying this merger was the only way to check Sony’s reign of terror over video games:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/14/making-good-trouble/#the-peoples-champion

But replacing one monopolist with another isn’t good for anyone (except the monopolists’ shareholders). If we want audiences and workers — and society — to benefit, we have to de-monopolize the sector. Last month, I published a series with EFF about how we should save the news from Big Tech:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

After that came out, the EU Observer asked me to write up version of it with direct reference to the EU, where there are a lot of (in my opinion, ill-conceived but well-intentioned) efforts to pry Big Tech’s boot off the news media’s face. I’m really happy with how it came out, and the header graphic is awesome:

https://euobserver.com/opinion/157187

De-monopolizing tech has become my life’s work, both because tech is foundational (tech is how we organize to fight over labor, gender and race equality, and climate justice), and because tech has all of these technical aspects, which open up new avenues for shrinking Big Tech, without waiting decades for traditional antitrust breakups to run their course (we need these too, though!).

I’ve written a book laying out a shovel-ready plan to give tech back to its users through interoperability, explaining how to make new regulations (and reform old ones), what they should say, how to enforce them, and how to detect and stop cheating. It’s called “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation” and it’s coming from Verso Books this September:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

[Image ID: The cover of the Verso Books hardcover of ‘The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation]

I just got my first copy in the mail yesterday, and it’s a gorgeous little package. The timing was great, because I spent the whole week in the studio at Skyboat Media recording the audiobook — the first audiobook of mine that I’ve narrated. It was a fantastic experience, and I’ll be launching a Kickstarter to presell the DRM-free audio and ebooks as well as hardcovers, in a couple weeks.

Though I like doing these crowdfunders, I do them because I have to. Amazon’s Audible division, the monopolist that controls >90% of the audiobook market, refuses to carry my work because it is DRM-free. When you buy a DRM-free audiobook, that means that you can play it on anyone’s app, not just Amazon’s. Every audiobook you’ve ever bought from Audible will disappear the moment you decide to break up with Amazon, which means that Amazon can absolutely screw authors and audiobook publishers because they’ve taken our customers hostage.

If you are unwise enough to pursue an MBA, you will learn a term of art for this kind of market structure: it’s a “moat,” that is, an element of the market that makes it hard for new firms to enter the market and compete with you. Warren Buffett pioneered the use of this term, and now it’s all but mandatory for anyone launching a business or new product to explain where their moat will come from.

As Dan Davies writes, these “moats” aren’t really moats in the Buffett sense. With Coke and Disney, he says, a “moat” was “the fact that nobody else could make such a great product that everyone wanted.” In other words, “making a good product,” is a great moat:

https://backofmind.substack.com/p/stuck-in-the-moat

But making a good product is a lot of work and not everyone is capable of it. Instead, “moat” now just means some form of lock in. Davies counsels us to replace “moat” with:

our subscription system and proprietary interface mean that our return on capital is protected by a strong Berlin Wall, preventing our customers from getting out to a freer society and forcing them to consume our inferior products for lack of alternative.

I really like this. It pairs well with my 2020 observation that the fight over whether “IP” is a meaningful term can be settled by recognizing that IP has a precise meaning in business: “Any policy that lets me reach beyond the walls of my firm to control the conduct of my competitors, critics and customers”:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

To see how that works in the real world, check out “The Anti-Ownership Ebook Economy,” a magisterial piece of scholarship from Sarah Lamdan, Jason M. Schultz, Michael Weinberg and Claire Woodcock:

https://www.nyuengelberg.org/outputs/the-anti-ownership-ebook-economy/

Something happened when we shifted to digital formats that created a loss of rights for readers. Pulling back the curtain on the evolution of ebooks offers some clarity to how the shift to digital left ownership behind in the analog world.

The research methodology combines both anonymous and named sources in publishing, bookselling and librarianship, as well as expert legal and economic analysis. This is an eminently readable, extremely smart, and really useful contribution to the scholarship on how “IP” (in the modern sense) has transformed books from something you own to something that you can never own.

The truth is, capitalists hate capitalism. Inevitably, the kind of person who presides over a giant corporation and wields power over millions of lives — workers, suppliers and customers — believes themselves to be uniquely and supremely qualified to be a wise dictator. For this kind of person, competition is “wasteful” and distracts them from the important business of making everyone’s life better by handing down unilateral — but wise and clever — edits. Think of Peter Thiel’s maxim, “competition is for losers.”

That’s why giant companies love to merge with each other, and buy out nascent competitors. By rolling up the power to decide how you and I and everyone else live our lives, these executives ensure that they can help us little people live the best lives possible. The traditional role of antitrust enforcement is to prevent this from happening, countering the delusions of would-be life-tenured autocrats of trade with public accountability and enforcement:

https://marker.medium.com/we-should-not-endure-a-king-dfef34628153

Of course, for 40 years, we’ve had neoliberal, Reaganomics-poisoned antitrust, where monopolies are celebrated as “efficient” and their leaders exalted as geniuses whose commercial empires are evidence of merit, not savagery. That era is, thankfully, coming to an end, and not a moment too soon.

Leading the fight is the aforementioned FTC chair Lina Khan, who is taking huge swings at even bigger mergers. But the EU is no slouch in this department: they’re challenging the Adobe/Figma merger, a $20b transaction that is obviously and solely designed to recapture customers who left Adobe because they didn’t want to struggle under its yoke any longer:

https://gizmodo.com/adobe-figma-acquisition-likely-to-face-eu-investigation-1850555562

For autocrats of trade, this is an intolerable act of disloyalty. We owe them our fealty and subservience, because they are self-evidently better at understanding what we need than we could ever be. This unwarranted self-confidence from the ordinary mediocrities who end up running giant tech companies gets them into a whole lot of hot water.

One keen observer of the mind-palaces that tech leaders trap themselves in is Anil Dash, who describes the conspiratorial, far-right turn of the most powerful men (almost all men!) in Silicon Valley in a piece called “‘VC Qanon’ and the radicalization of the tech tycoons”:

https://www.anildash.com/2023/07/07/vc-qanon/

Dash builds on an editorial he published in Feb, “The tech tycoon martyrdom charade,” which explores the sense of victimhood the most powerful, wealthiest people in the Valley project:

https://www.anildash.com/2023/02/27/tycoon-martyrdom-charade/

These dudes are prisoners of their Great Man myth, and leads them badly astray. And while all of us are prone to lapses in judgment and discernment, Dash makes the case that tech leaders are especially prone to it:

Nobody becomes a billionaire by accident. You have to have wanted that level of power, control and wealth more than you wanted anything else in your life. They all sacrifice family, relationships, stability, community, connection, and belonging in service of keeping score on a scale that actually yields no additional real-world benefits on the path from that first $100 million to the tens of billions.

This makes billionaires “a cohort that is, counterintutively, very easily manipulated.” What’s more, they’re all master manipulators, and they all hang out with each other, which means that when a conspiratorial belief takes root in one billionaire’s brain, it spreads to the rest of them like wildfire.

Then, billionaires “push each other further and further into extreme ideas because their entire careers have been predicated on the idea that they’re genius outliers who can see things others can’t, and that their wealth is a reward for that imagined merit.”

They live in privileged bubbles, which insulates them from disconfirming evidence — ironic, given how many of these bros think they are wise senators in the agora.

There are examples of billionaires’ folly all around us today, of course. Take privacy: the idea that we can — we should — we must — spy on everyone, all the time, in every way, to eke out tiny gains in ad performance is objectively batshit. And yet, wealthy people decreed this should be so, and it was, and made them far richer.

Leaked data from Microsoft’s Xandr ad-targeting database reveals how the commercial surveillance delusion led us to a bizarre and terrible place, as reported on by The Markup:

https://themarkup.org/privacy/2023/06/08/from-heavy-purchasers-of-pregnancy-tests-to-the-depression-prone-we-found-650000-ways-advertisers-label-you

The Markup’s report lets you plumb 650,000 targeting categories, searching by keyword or loading random sets, 20 at a time. Do you want to target gambling addicts, people taking depression meds or Jews? Xandr’s got you covered. What could possibly go wrong?

The Xandr files come from German security researcher Wolfie Christl from Cracked Labs. Christi is a European, and he’s working with the German digital rights group Netzpolitik to get the EU to scrutinize all the ways that Xandr is flouting EU privacy laws.

Billionaires’ big ideas lead us astray in more tangible ways, of course. Writing in The Conversation, John Quiggin asks us to take a hard look at the much ballyhooed (and expensively ballyhooed) “nuclear renaissance”:

https://theconversation.com/dutton-wants-australia-to-join-the-nuclear-renaissance-but-this-dream-has-failed-before-209584

Despite the rhetoric, nukes aren’t cheap, and they aren’t coming back. Georgia’s new nuclear power is behind schedule and over budget, but it’s still better off than South Carolina’s nukes, which were so over budget that they were abandoned in 2017. France’s nuke is a decade behind schedule. Finland’s opened this year — 14 years late. The UK’s Hinkley Point C reactor is massively behind schedule and over budget (and when it’s done, it will be owned by the French government!).

China’s nuclear success story also doesn’t hold up to scrutiny — they’ve brought 50GW of nukes online, sure, but they’re building 95–120GW of solar every year.

Solar is the clear winner here, along with other renewables, which are plummeting in cost (while nukes soar) and are accelerating in deployments (while nukes are plagued with ever-worsening delays).

This is the second nuclear renaissance — the last one, 20 years ago, was a bust, and that was before renewables got cheap, reliable and easy to manufacture and deploy. You’ll hear fairy-tales about how the early 2000s bust was caused by political headwinds, but that’s simply untrue: there were almost no anti-nuke marches then, and governments were scrambling to figure out low-carbon alternatives to fossil fuels (this was before the latest round of fossil fuel sabotage).

The current renaissance is also doomed. Yes, new reactors are smaller and safer and won’t have the problems intrinsic to all megaprojects, but designs like VOYGR have virtually no signed deals. Even if they do get built, their capacity will be dwarfed by renewables — a Gen III nuke will generate 710MW of power. Globally, we add that much solar every single day.

And solar power is cheap. Even after US subsidies, a Gen III reactor would charge A$132/MWh — current prices are as low as A$64-$114/MWh.

Nukes are getting a charm offensive because wealthy people are investing in hype as a way of reaping profits — not as a way of generating safe, cheap, reliable energy.

Here in the latest stage of capitalism, value and profit are fully decoupled. Monopolists are shifting more and more value from suppliers and customers to their shareholders every day. And when the customer is the government, the depravity knows no bounds. In Responsible Statecraft, Connor Echols describes how military contractors like Boeing are able to bill the Pentagon $52,000 for a trash can:

https://responsiblestatecraft.org/2023/06/20/the-pentagons-52000-trash-can/

Military Beltway Bandits are nothing new, of course, but they’ve gotten far more virulent since the Obama era, when Obama’s DoD demanded that the primary contractors merge to a bare handful of giant firms, in the name of “efficiency.” As David Dayen writes in his must-read 2020 book Monopolized, this opened the door to a new kind of predator:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

The Obama defense rollups were quickly followed by another wave of rollups, these ones driven by Private Equity firms who cataloged which subcontractors were “sole suppliers” of components used by the big guys. These companies were all acquired by PE funds, who then lowered the price of their products, selling them below cost.

This maximized the use of those parts in weapons and aircraft sold by primary contractors like Boeing, which created a durable, long-lasting demand for fresh parts for DoD maintenance of its materiel. PE-owned suppliers hits Uncle Sucker with multi-thousand-percent markups for these parts, which have now wormed their way into every corner of the US arsenal.

Yes, this is infuriating as hell, but it’s also so grotesquely wrong that it’s impossible to defend, as we see in this hilarious clip of Rep Katie Porter grilling witnesses on US military waste:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJhf6l1nB9A

Porter pulls out the best version yet of her infamous white-board and makes her witnesses play defense ripoff Jepoardy!, providing answers to a series of indefensible practices.

It’s sure nice when our government does something for us, isn’t it? We absolutely can have nice things, and we’re about to get them. The Infrastructure Bill contains $42B in subsidies for fiber rollouts across the country, which will be given to states to spend. Ars Technica’s Jon Brodkin breaks down the state-by-state spending:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2023/06/us-allocates-42b-in-broadband-funding-find-out-how-much-your-state-will-get/

Texas will get $3.31B, California will get $1.86B, and 17 other states will get $1B or more. As the White House announcement put it, “High-speed Internet is no longer a luxury.”

To understand how radical this is, you need to know that for decades, the cable and telco sector has grabbed billions in subsidies for rural and underserved communities, and then either stole the money outright, or wasted it building copper networks that run at a fraction of a percent of fiber speeds.

This is how America — the birthplace of the internet — ended up with some of the world’s slowest, most expensive broadband, even after handing out tens of billions of dollars in subsidies. Those subsidies were gobbled up by greedy, awful phone companies — these ones must be spent wisely, on long-lasting, long-overdue fiber infrastructure.

That’s a good note to end on, but I’ve got an even better one: birds in the Netherlands are tearing apart anti-bird strips and using them to build their nests. Wonderful creatures 1, hostile architecture, 0. Nature is healing:

https://www.theguardian.com/science/2023/jul/11/crows-and-magpies-show-their-metal-by-using-anti-bird-spikes-to-build-nests

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/15/in-the-dumps/#what-vacation

Next Tues, Jul 18, I'm hosting the first Clarion Summer Write-In Series, an hour-long, free drop-in group writing and discussion session. It's in support of the Clarion SF/F writing workshop's fundraiser to offer tuition support to students:

https://mailchi.mp/theclarionfoundation/clarion-write-ins

[Image iD: A dump-truck, dumping out a load of gravel. A caricature of Humpty Dumpty clings to its lip, restrained by a group of straining, Lilliputian men.]

114 notes · View notes