#so it’s just making me relive all this shit i have No intentions of even *touching* and that’s js gunna lead to more bad nightmares :(

[bubbled-clouds]

i hate what my english class is doing rn.

[seeingivy]

you belong with me

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: high school!au, gojo is a robotics nerd, reader is class president, emo nanami (my beloved), toji is ur shitass football playing boyfriend, typical cheesy highschool drama

an: tell me why posting this is giving me a tummy ache like I haven't posted for gojo in forever and now i think I suck at it :OOO anyways, please be nice to me about this and close your eyes if you hate it. also, totally reliving my high school days when I was senior class vice president (worst experience of my life) FDLJFKDSJFLS

--

You’re a hater. A self proclaimed, real-life, deep in your soul hater. 

What do you hate today? Being class president. 

You hate that you willingly ran, somehow won, had people up your ass all day about stuff that wasn’t in your control, and got stuck in the current situation you were in. Which was arguing with your boyfriend Toji, as you pace around your room and do your own fair share of screaming back. 

“You just did that shit because you were pissed at me.” 

“I did not, Toji. You know, not everything is about you. Other people needed the money and I put it where it was needed.” 

“To the color guard team? Babe, no one gives a fuck about the color guard team. Everyone is at the homecoming game to watch the football team. Not a bunch of idiots waving flags in the air.” 

“They’re also part of the game and all their equipment is broken. They need it more than you when you guys literally get donors and funding from the district and-”

“You’re just pissed about the sweetheart thing. That’s why you’re doing this shit and taking it out on everyone else.” 

“Toji, I’m not even mad about-” 

You’re met with the sound of ringing over the phone, signaling that Toji had enough and finally hung up on you. You flop straight onto your bed, pushing your face so hard into your pillow that sits uncomfortably against your nose and the smell of your laundry detergent makes its way to the crevices of your brain.

You hear a banging behind you and twist around to see Gojo pointing at his walkie-talkie, switching it on as you reach for yours. It’s still covered in glittery pink stickers from when you were seven, the silver coming off on your hand every time you grab it. 

“Come in, bunny.” 

“Loud and clear, Toru.” 

He smiles, setting his hardware down - probably for another weird ass robot he was making - as he holds it up to his face, talking again. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah. Just arguing with Toji, again. I’ll start allocating some of our funds to get you some sound proof windows.” 

“Much appreciated, Madam President. That’s very generous of you.” 

You laugh, dropping the walkie talkie to lift your fingertips to your temples, lightly massaging the pulsating under your skin. 

“For what it’s worth, the color guard team is really grateful you did that for them. I know Utahime was so excited when the new flags came in, she was flipping them around on the field for hours.” 

“That’s why it’s even more annoying. I know what I did was right, but he just doesn’t see it that way. Uta dragged me down to the field to watch them and their choreography looks so much better with the multicolored flags. They were really happy about it.” 

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown?” 

“Heavy is the head that’s dating Toji Fushiguro.” 

He laughs as you switch your channel off, taking the last few seconds to study you before you draw your curtains. He can see the tension sitting in your shoulders and how clearly it hurts you to argue with Toji like this. And it infuriates him. That you even have to go to sleep angry and that the cause is the headass idiot you’re dating. 

Toji Fushiguro is lucky, far more lucky than he realizes. Not for obvious reasons. Yeah, he’s a great football player and yeah, he’ll probably get scouted for some really good university at the end of the year. He doesn’t have a shortage of friends or intelligence and for all intents and purposes, he’s loved (which Gojo doesn’t understand at all). 

He’ll probably be that scumbag that people see a few years down the line and then get infuriated at. Because if an absolute asshat like Toji Fushiguro can be successful, then truly all things have gone to shit. That the patriarchy is real, that society is broken, living proof that the asshole always wins and everyone else always loses. 

But no, those are common reasons to hate Toji Fushiguro - ones he’s heard echoed by Suguru and Shoko every time he does something that pisses the two of them off. Like scream obscenities in the hallways, block their parking spots when they’re going to class, call them names when they walk by. 

No. Toji Fushiguro is lucky because he gets to date you. Because out of the long list of girls he had to pick one, Toji just had to pick the one that was his. The girl he’s been in love with since he moved in right across the street and had a smiley neighbor excitedly waving at him through her bay window. 

To him, love has always been the pigtail braids you used to wear everyday in the fourth grade, the matching walkie-talkies you bought him in sixth grade when he got grounded, and that sweet smile you’ve had since the first day he’s met you. 

And when he sees those green curtains pulled against the bay window he’s stared at for years, where he’s loved you from for years, he lifts the walkie and says what he forgot to mention. 

I love you.

--

Thanks to your gracious ride, you make it to school thirty minutes early. Your intuition - that Toji was ditching you as your ride to school this morning - was correct. Luckily, you made it in time just before class started. 

Nanami’s already seated on the green bench outside the classroom, headphones plugged into his ears. As you walk up, you silently wonder how much hair gel it takes to keep his Gerard Way hairstyle in place. 

“Hi Kento! How is my best friend doing on this fine morning?” 

“We’re not best friends.” 

“Sure we are!” 

You reach forward and pinch his cheek in your hand, which he only swats off and rolls his eyes at. That’s how you know your best friends. Because if it was anyone else, Nanami would probably break their hand and walk away. But he always lets you tease him, because he know he loves you. 

“Are you still fighting with that dog?” 

“That dog has a name. And it’s Toji. And I’m not sure, he didn’t pick me up for school this morning.” 

“Did he at least tell you he wouldn’t?” 

“No. I was lucky enough that Satoru had walked Megs to the bus stop a little late and I was able to get a ride with him.” 

Nanami looks over, narrowing his eyes at you, as the hallway starts getting crowded with people. And you know what he’s saying, what he’s been saying for the past few months. 

“You know, it’s very normal to give your neighbor a ride when they need one. Not everything has ulterior motives, Kento.” 

“That’s true. Everything doesn’t have ulterior motives. But he does. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me, Kento?” 

“Like he’d kiss the ground you’d walk on.” 

You roll your eyes, reaching up to mess up his perfectly styled hair. It doesn’t budge and you get a handful of minty smelling hair gel.

“As if.”

Like you’ve summoned him by bringing him up, Satoru’s sidestepping to where you and Nanami are sitting, Shoko and Getou in tow with him. 

“Nanami~~ How’s my best friend doing?” Satoru says, bending over to totally obscure Nanami’s line of vision.

“Shut the fuck up, Gojo.” Nanami responds. 

Nanami stands up, giving you a look, before he stalks away to his next class. Leaving you, Satoru, Shoko, and Getou standing in front of your classroom.  

“So. I hear you have a robotics competition?” you ask.

“Yeah. Next Saturday. We always practice our hardware out the night before, throw a little party in the lab. You should come.” Getou says, smiling at you. 

Satoru smacks Getou in the stomach right after he invites you, clearly trying to tell him something with his eyes. And then when he catches you staring, he gives you a nervous laugh. 

You get it. He doesn’t want you there.

“Don’t act too excited to see me now, Satoru. Anything more and I might think you like me.” you bite sarcastically.

“What? No, it’s not like that. I just-” Satoru stutters, 

“So you don’t like me?” you say, smirking at him. Shoko and Getou are laughing, the tips of Satoru’s turning pink as he very adamantly tells you that he does indeed like you. 

“I have stuff to set up for the homecoming game that day, so I won’t be able to. But I’ll try my best, yeah?” 

“Okay. Next time?” Getou asks. 

“Sure, Sugar-u. I’ll see you guys around, yeah?” 

You give the three of them a polite smile as you trudge away, leaving to meet Toji at his locker and give him a piece of your mind for this morning. Which leaves Shoko and Getou to give Satoru the scolding of his life. 

“Are you fucking stupid, Satoru? You made it seem like you didn’t want her there.” Shoko says, smacking him on the back of the head. 

“I panicked! Plus, Haibara always likes to play Just Dance and I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of her.” Satoru responds, rubbing the now sore spot on the back of his head. 

“You’re hopeless, Satoru. She’s never going to like you if you keep rejecting her the way you do.” Suguru says, dragging him along to the robotics lab. 

“She has a boyfriend. Who isn’t me. As if she would even consider dating me in the first place.” 

And when the three of them pass you by the lockers, clearly getting yelled at by Toji, it only furthers their argument more. 

“Yeah, I’m sure she really loves him, Satoru.” 

--

Your argument with Toji hours prior simmers in your head, as you wait for the bus to arrive and for this godforsaken day to finally be over. You watch him pile into his car with Salma and the other boys from the football team, which only makes your anger fester more. 

He’s doing this to piss you off. Of course, he’s doing this to-

“Need a ride?” 

You look up and unclench your fists to find Satoru, sparkly blue eyes shining at you and a hand held out to you. 

“Thanks.” 

He leads you to his car, an almost demolished Honda Civic from his maniacal driving, and you climb in, immediately putting your head in your hands. You can feel him moving around you, the engine purring on and him backing out of the spot. 

“About earlier. I don’t not want you to come to the robotics thing. I just thought it was awkward the way he asked you and I-I didn’t want you to feel obligated to come, you know? And I-I’d like it if you came too and so would the rest of us.” he rambles, a hand in his hair. 

You look up, his ears tinted pink from the confession. 

“I was just teasing you, Satoru. I’ll try to make it by, okay?” 

He sighs, a clear breath of relief, and looks over to smile.

“Okay, cool cool cool. Now tell me why you and Toji are fighting.” 

“When aren’t we fighting?” you murmur, pressing your head against the glass. 

“But why?” 

And when you look over, his blue eyes staring into yours, in earnest while the light is red, you unload it all. 

“Do you know about the sweethearts thing they do at the homecoming game?” 

“Uh. That’s when the cheerleaders wear the jerseys right. And then decorate the locker room or some shit for the players.” 

“Yeah. Well, it’s not limited to cheerleaders. It usually is, but if you’re dating someone, that person can do it for you.” 

“So I’m guessing Toji doesn’t want you to do it for him.” 

“Not exactly. He was just saying that it’s more traditional for a cheerleader to do it since they’re also on the side of the track and he wants to see his name out there instead of running around, trying to make sure the game is running and all that.” 

You slump into the chair as Satoru frowns, a pitying look in his eyes, as he keeps driving. You can’t help but watch him, his silhouette against the window - defined jaw, the slope of his nose. 

He’s not the guy who ran away from kissing you in the eighth grade. He’s just ten times hotter. 

You shake your head, letting the thought spill from your mind, as Satoru looks over. 

“Jamoca?” he says, giving you a wide grin. 

You can’t help but laugh, nodding as Satoru makes a sharp left turn, making his way to the ice cream shop. 

Jamoca is your favorite ice cream flavor. Coffee, layered with fudge and almonds, became a proclaimed favorite when Satoru dragged you once in the sixth grade. After very sorely losing the class president battle, you moped in your room for five days - even going as far as borrowing one of Nanami’s My Chemical Romance vinyls to truly and properly mope. 

On day three of blasting the vinyl, Satoru called enough and dragged you to the closest ice cream store, claiming it was the closest thing to therapy that you normies could afford. Since then, any bad day was easily solved with two things. 

Jamoca and Satoru. 

When you make it to the store, Satoru’s excitedly dragging you out of the car, his hand pressed in yours as you both run into the store, giggling while you order your single scoops. And when he drags you out to the curb and you sit there, you silently think to yourself why you ever stopped doing this in the first place. 

Satoru leans over, digging his chocolate fudge covered spoon into your cup, before talking. 

“So. If you guys fight so much, why are you still dating?” 

“Dunno. Feels weird to initiate a breakup, I guess. I can’t see myself doing it.” 

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart?” 

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart.” 

You kick the pebbles into the broken parts of the pavement, leaning your elbows on your knees. 

“I don’t know, Toru. I guess he was just the first guy who ever liked me back and then I….spent so much time in the relationship and trying to make it work that it feels weird to let it go now.” 

Satoru swallows hard, eyeing his melting ice cream, as he ponders the best response. Because in earnest, he has two options. Support you or be selfish. Support you to stay with Toji, to do what you’ve been doing because he knows it’s what you want. Or be selfish. Tell you that he you deserve better, that he could be that for you if you just let him. 

He reaches over, flicking you in the forehead. 

“Ouch, asshole.” 

“You’ve got a really big brain in there. And you always have. You’ll figure out the right thing to do, just give it time.” 

And when you give him a halfhearted smile, reaching over into his cup for a bite of his ice cream, he lets it go. 

He can’t be selfish. Not when it comes to you anyways. 

--

After running around all day, you give yourself thirty minutes to go to Satoru’s robotics thing. After triple checking the microphones work, the yearbook team has access to the field, the glitter has been set out for everyone trickling in, and that everyone who could possibly need your phone number has it, you speed run to the other side of campus, to the robotics lab. 

And when you make it, the five of them - Haibara, Nanami, Shoko, Getou, and Satoru - are in the room playing Just Dance. Shoko’s sitting on top of the desk, flippantly moving her remote in the air, while Satoru quite literally is trying to give it all he’s got - and losing apparently. 

You lightly push the door open, which stops the two of them in their tracks, and you’re met with some very excited cheers as they all drag you into the room. You take a seat next to Nanami, giving his cheek a pinch, which he hates. 

“You’re Haibara, right?” 

“You know who I am?” 

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re friends with Nanami and Nanami and I are best friends.” 

“No we aren’t.” responds Nanami, now sulking two seats away from you. 

“Are too.” 

You throw the nearest object, a pencil at Nanami, as you turn back to Haibara and laugh. 

“I like your shirt. Flight of the Navigator is a really good movie.” 

You see Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru’s eyes widen in the back at your words and hear a considerable amount of groaning from Nanami behind you. And after twenty minutes, you find out why. 

Haibara really, really loves Flight of the Navigator. Almost too much. In earnest, you barely remember the movie - at most, maybe the weird little alien companion he has. But here Haibara is, reciting the cast, the directors, acting out the scenes and it’s clear to you that you’ve tapped into some monster they all keep hidden. 

Luckily for you, Satoru comes to your rescue. 

“Okay, Haibara. I’m going to steal her for you for some Just Dance.” 

“I don’t Just Dance Satoru.” 

“Oh yeah? You’re just saying that because you know you’re going to lose.” 

You scoff, knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

“As if, sweetheart. I distinctly remember you banning us from ever playing that game together after I beat you in the fifth grade.” 

“You’re rusty. Maybe we’ll start with something easy. Like Rasputin.” 

“I could do Rasputin in my sleep, bitch.” 

“Prove it.” 

You roll your eyes as you march over to the front, where they’re projecting the game onto the screen. And just for posterity’s sake, you take Satoru’s sunglasses from where they were flipped over on the desk and put them on, effectively blinding yourself from the screen. 

And when the songs start, you can hear them all laughing behind you, Satoru and you hurling insults at each other as you dance on. And somewhere around the middle, you’re sure Satoru must be losing because he grabs your hands and suddenly he’s swinging you around in the air, his hands on your waist as you laugh. 

And when you take your blindfold off and the song dies down, Satoru wins by five points. 

“You asshole. You literally cheated, Satoru.” 

“Did not. You’re just a sore loser, bitch.” 

“You kiss your mom with that mouth?” 

“Every night, sweetheart.” 

You put the palm of your hand in his face as you push him away, moving to sit on the desk. He joins you, the two of you now watching Haibara and Nanami have a very one sided dance battle. 

After forty-five minutes, Satoru’s phone buzzes three times and the smile on his face drops when he checks. You place your hand on his, squeezing twice before asking. 

“You okay?” 

“Huh. Oh, yeah. I-I think you should go to the field. Right now.” 

“Wait, what? But you hate that kind of-” 

He grabs your hand, dragging you out, as you both start running to the field. You keep asking as he pulls you on, getting almost no response and only a faster pace. 

And when you reach the field, you catch just the end of it and the only thing grounding you to that moment is Satoru and Utahime, who was surely the one who had texted Satoru, holding onto your shoulders. 

Salma, the cheerleader Toji picked to be his sweetheart, just asked him to homecoming during halftime. And he said yes. 

Utahime squeezes your hand three times, a soft look in her eyes when she talks. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just thought you would want to know and I wanted to tell you because you’ve been nothing but nice to me.” 

You smile, moving into her open arms as you whisper a small thank you into her shoulder. She leaves, having to return to the color guard team waiting for her on the side, leaving you and Satoru standing on the pavement right by the field. 

“Take you home?” 

“Thanks, Toru.” 

“You want Jamoca?” 

“Not today.” 

He nods, a hand on the small of your back, as he leads you to his car, even going as far as opening the door for you and letting you crack the windows while you drive back - which you know he hates. 

At the first red light, he taps on the top of your head to get your attention. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” 

“What? Of course, not. Toji is just an asshat who doesn’t see you for what you’re worth and-” 

“No. No, no. Not like that. Do you think there’s something wrong with me because I’m not even the tiniest bit sad right now? I’m…relieved.” 

Satoru looks over, the red front the traffic light flashing on your face, and a blank expression staring back at him. 

“Of course, not. He’s a grade one idiot. Anyone in your position would feel that way, bunny.” 

“I know. That’s true.” 

“But?” 

“Does this make me defective, Satoru? Like, maybe I just can’t like people that much or something and I was the problem.” 

Satoru twiddles his thumbs on the steering wheel, pondering the same question he has been asking for the past few days. Encourage her or be selfish. 

He can’t be selfish with you. 

“Okay, Y/N. Close your eyes.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just do it.” 

“Okay.” 

He looks over, to find you eyelids fluttering shut, your face lit up by the streetlights outside.

“Now. Tell me about your dream guy, bunny.” 

“What are you going on ab-” 

“Just do it.” 

You sigh, before thinking hard about his question. 

“Someone I can be comfortable with. That’s my type. Like we can have fun together and play games but also being around them is comforting to me. Things might suck, but at least they are there to kind of pick me up at the end of the day. They’re nice to people and are surrounded by good company, because you are who you love and they try to be better each day.” 

After finishing, you open your eyes to find Satoru staring at you, an all-knowing look on his face. 

“Bunny?” 

“Toru?” 

“Does that sound anything like Toji to you?” 

You slump back into your chair, sinking down. 

“No.” you murmur. 

“You aren’t defective. Well, maybe in the higher level cognitive thinking part because you clearly have some impaired decision making but-” 

“Hey. Don’t be rude, asshole.” 

“Get out of the car.” 

You crane your head out the window to see you’re in fact not at your house, but at the ice cream store. And when he comes around to your side of the car, opening your door, he drags you out, the two of you eating you ice cream in the light of the dingy lamp outside the store. 

--

You knock hard on your window, only stopping when Satoru looks up from his desk, dropping the pencil he was just scribbling with. You point to your walkie talkie, switching on the channel as he grabs his. 

“Hi bunny. You look nice.” 

“Thank you. Are you coming tonight?” 

To homecoming. Because despite all odds and last night, you still have to go. And crown the homecoming king and queen since you’re the class president, which you’re sure will be Salma and Toji since the universe is very, very kind to you. 

“I’m sorry. Haibara needed help designing something for next week.” 

“Oh. Okay. I wish you were.” 

“I wish I was too. His hardware is Flight of the Navigator themed so wish me luck.” 

You laugh, giving him one last smile as he pulls the curtains to his window. And when you see his navy windows against the pane you’ve stared at him through for years, it only now occurs to you. 

When he asked you to describe that last night, he unlocked something. Bringing it to your attention, to the forefront of your mind. 

The person you were describing is him. You lift your walkie talkie to your mouth, press the button, and mention the words you forgot to say. 

I love you.

And then you turn on your heel and drive yourself to the dance. 

--

Satoru ponders it for thirty minutes. 

Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish. 

Be fucking selfish. 

Satoru gets up, dropping the hardware he was making for Haibara, and pulls out the first suit he can find. He grabs his walkie talkie off his desk, convinces Megumi to go beg your mom (who loves Megumi) for your walkie talkie, and then goes ninety on the freeway to get to the school on time. 

He finds Nanami first, the glob of gel on his head somehow even worse than normal and sets his plan in motion. 

“Nanami.” 

“Please, for the love of god, not tod-” 

“Go hand this to Y/N.” 

Nanami and now Shoko are taking the walkie in their hands, flipping it over and inspecting it like they’re the fucking FBI. And more importantly, wasting time. 

Three feet away, you’re standing by the punch table, counting how many balloons are on the ceiling. You reach three hundred and fifteen when you’re approached for the first time that night, by Nanami and Shoko. 

“Nanami. What is going on with your hair? You can’t possibly need that much hair gel.”

“You would be shocked, Y/N.” 

“That's what I said to him too. But this is for you.” Shoko says.

She hands you your walkie talkie, the silver glitter coming off on your hand, as you flip it over. 

“Did you break into my house, Shoko?” 

“No. But I’m guessing Satoru did. He ran in here five minutes ago and basically yelled at us to give it to you.” 

They both shrug as they walk away and you look around, clutching the walkie talkie so hard in your hand you think you might break it. Satoru’s here.

And when you scan your eyes around the room, you see him at the front door, his eyes already fixed on yours. He’s smiling so big that it makes your heart squelch and suddenly you’re moving towards him. And as you both start walking (running) to each other, you can’t help but feel the anticipation of what’s coming. 

Except that’s right when Toji stands in the middle of the two of you, his characteristic slimy, sneer on his face. He reaches for your hand first. 

“Can we talk, Y/N?” 

"No."

You shrug your hand off, pushing right past him, as you walk closer to Satoru. You can hear Toji shouting something at you, but you’re too tunnel visioned on Satoru to pay attention. And when you reach him, you’re both smiling so big at each other, that it makes your face hurt. 

He lifts his walkie talkie to his mouth, talking first. 

“Come in, bunny?” 

“Loud and clear, Toru.” 

“I love you.” 

You can feel yourself smiling so big, so excited that you’re basically jumping on your toes, your walkie shaking in your hand. 

“I love you.” 

“Oh thank god. I was scared I was going to get a breaking and entering charge.”

You laugh, pulling him down by his tie and kissing him square on his face. And when he pulls away, ears pink and face red, you whisper against his lips. 

“It was always going to be you. I belong with you.” 

He smiles, that stupid smile you’ve stared at, loved for years and you can’t help but cheese, leaning forward to kiss him again.

--

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom  @k0z3me  @kayleegomez  @yihona-san06  @bsenpai @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome  @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters  @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

[thedreamlessnights]

Someone to shed some light - pt. 1

Astarion x gn!reader (Upcoming NSFW)

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: After being raised as a commoner, you find yourself as the last in a royal bloodline, forced into a marriage with someone you've never met. He's more than he seems. AKA: An arranged marriage AU with everyone's favorite vampire.

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood, death, and minor injuries. Mentions of sex, but nothing particularly graphic. Very brief, not graphic suicidal ideation.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This idea possessed me and did not let me go. I don't know where it came from, or how on earth it's already 6k. I'm feral for Astarion, and it just... happened. Anyway. The royalty aspects are not remotely lore-accurate to the Baldur's Gate games, for which I apologize. Sometimes you just have to make shit up.

If reality is meant to be believable, then you must be in a dream. 

No one ever said what kind of dream, though. Not a dream you’d wanted, that’s for sure. Most days, this all feels like some horrible nightmare. But maybe, just maybe - if you close your eyes and stay exactly where you are, thinking about nothing at all - it could be a nice one. 

The palace gardens are beautiful, after all. Even this place can’t ruin that. 

Silver moonlight shines on the earth below, giving everything a ghostly cast. Soft, silky wind brushes against your skin, and the faint aroma of flowers fills the air. Honeysuckle. Roses. Lilies. 

Yes. If you shut your eyes tight and pretended everything else away, it would be a nice dream. But you know better. Beyond the lovely gardens and the ornamented walls, this place is a prison. And never, not in a thousand years, could you have pictured anything like this happening to you. 

Not even in a dream.

You’ve never been one to fantasize about being royalty. Riches and power simply don’t appeal to you that way, especially not when comfortable clothes and the freedom to be yourself are traded in for the sake of discomfort and diplomacy. 

Still, the reality of it is somehow even worse than you’d thought. The clothes pinch at your sides and itch at your neck, and you can’t move in them the way you want to. Everything you’ve worn is stiff and tight and ridiculously heavy, as if all your outfits were made for a doll, not for someone alive. Then again, maybe that was the intention. You certainly feel like a puppet. 

If only none of it was real. 

You still haven’t accepted any of it, not really. It’s as if you’re waiting for someone in the shadows to jump out at you and laugh, telling you it was all pretend. Of course you aren’t royalty, they’d say. Of course you don’t belong here. And you’d go back to your home, where everything is right, where you belong. 

You can still see it all in your mind, so real that it’s practically touchable. The thought of it never fully fades. Just as soon as you’ve closed your eyes, you find yourself reliving that day once more.

The smell of baking bread floods a warm room. The heat of the fire sears the air. Customers bustle in and out, laughing and drinking and picking fights. Home. The way you’ve always known it. The way you’ve always loved it.

Then the room slowly goes silent. Wary. Palace guards lurk in the doorway, their eyes sweeping over the crowd, and your fingers immediately itch for your knife. The crown hasn’t any business in this place - what could they want?

When one of them steps inside, gazing at the crowd like they’re dirt beneath his feet, it takes everything you’ve got in you to stay calm. You can practically hear Cal’s voice in your head, telling you to take some deep breaths.

As the guard stalls in front of you, he stares. His gaze runs over you slowly, like you were less than he’d expected - a disappointment to him without even trying. “You,” he says. “You’re coming with us. Queen’s orders.”

Every pair of eyes in the inn land on you. Your heart starts beating so fast and rough that you’re sure it’ll burst straight through your ribs and fall out of you. The room spins. You’re biting your tongue, resisting the urge to pick a fight, because Cal is shaking his head and tugging at your sleeve. The single voice of reason in this place. Blood slowly fills your mouth with the taste of iron. 

And you go with them. For some godsdamned reason, you go.

As soon as you’ve left, you know it was a mistake. There’s a whole troop here - enough men to tell you that you’re considered a threat, somehow. Enough men to keep your arms folded into you, wondering what in the hells you could have done to warrant this attention. 

Despite everything, you force yourself to maintain some dignity, keeping your shoulders squared until you get to the palace. You suck in deep breaths and try to hide your shaking hands. This place… it won’t get the better of you, if you can help it. But it’ll all depend on why you’re here, and furthermore - what they want.

As you approach the throne room, they stand back to let you in. When you hesitate, the leader shoves you through the open door, and it slams shut behind you with a sound that echoes throughout the room. You’re left in a large, empty place with two shadowy figures that become clearer as you step further in. You recognize only one of them.

The queen is entrancing in the flesh, all dark hair and flashing eyes. She says nothing, but her gaze analyzes you from her throne as the man - who, from the look of things, must be her court sorcerer - approaches you. A needle pricks your finger and leaves a dull throbbing in its place. 

Silence. A nod. 

“It’s true, then,” the queen says. Her voice is like wine, dark and smooth in your ears. “You’re a child of Calthir. Royal blood flows in your veins.”

You’re standing in front of her, squinting in the bright light. Her words seem a million words away. Some other dimension. Some other reality.

“I - I don’t…”

“You poor thing. You didn’t know?” she asks. “Well. Perhaps they were clever to keep it from you. Or perhaps not.” 

“It isn’t possible,” you blurt out. “What you’re saying. I can’t be… that.”

She raises a brow. “But you are.”

This time, your nails draw blood when they curve into your palms. Stinging pain floods your senses. “Then what do you want from me?” you ask, unable to mask the frustration brimming your words. “Calthir fell when I was a child. I don’t even remember it.”

“Where are your parents?” she asks.

You swallow hard. “Dead. Just after I was born.”

For a long moment, she stares down at you, her dark, intelligent eyes gleaming in the light. “Calthir has fallen, yes. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t alive.” Her words are measured, carefully chosen for the most impact. “Every day, more of my soldiers are lost to Calthirian dreamers. They want their kingdom back, their so-called rightful ruler placed on the throne. You. They’ve been searching for you. Do you understand?”

You do. “You’re going to kill me.”

She clicks her tongue. “And make the problem worse?” With a graceful movement, she gets to her feet, towering over you from her throne. “No. Their search is thorough, aided by magic. They’d discover your fate, sooner or later.” She pauses, lifting two fingers to her temples as if sensing an oncoming headache. “You’d become a martyr. Mass kindling for the zealots. I won’t have that.

“Then what?” you ask weakly. “Prison?”

She laughs hollowly. “And what good would that do?”

You can’t think of an answer.

“No,” she sighs. “Prison would be pointless. A waste. I still have use for you.”

Fear floods your gut, thick and dark. When you speak, your mouth feels like it’s full of sand. “Which is?”

She tilts her head. “I’m sure you’ll find it simple enough. You’re going to marry my son.”

In the gardens, the crickets are singing. It’s the first thing you notice when you come back to yourself, ears ringing. You’ve gone through that memory a hundred times, but it seems more real now, sharper, somehow. Your stomach churns with the urge to be sick, but the feeling fades quickly. 

It’s starting to settle in. That this is your life now. You’ll likely never see your home again. Your friends. All of your ambition, gone - thrown away for some petty diplomacy. You’re engaged to a man you’ve never met, and for the rest of your life, he’ll be tied to you.

More than anything else in this place, the prince doesn’t seem real. Even his name feels foreign in your thoughts, a muddy figure you can never put a face on. Strangely enough, the palace doesn’t have any portraits of him - which doesn’t put you any more at ease - and none of the servants will talk to you about him. You’ve been here over a week and still haven’t seen him, not even for a moment. Not even a glimpse.

Maybe you’ll never meet him. That’d be nice.

You doubt you’ll get so lucky.

The rest of the night passes by slowly, oozing along like syrup. You’re more than happy to sit in relative silence and enjoy the peace while it lasts. After all, this kind of freedom will be a rare thing, soon. Your eyes start to grow heavy, but you have no desire to head back inside. Not yet. 

When it’s long past midnight, the sound of a snapping branch behind you startles you to your feet. Your knife is gone, taken by the guards, but you reach for it all the same, cursing when you come up empty . But there’s nothing when you turn - nothing dangerous, at least. Just a squirrel, scurrying up a tree. 

Just as you’re about to return to your seat, a man comes stumbling out of the woods, scaring you half to death. He halts in his tracks as he sees you, eyes widening as he looks at you. He must not have expected anyone to be out this late at night, and you can’t blame him. It is absurdly late. And yet, here you are, and there’s nothing stopping you from taking in every inch of his clearly guilty appearance. 

The first thing you see, because it would be impossible to miss, is the blood. It’s all over him, splattered across his face and tattered clothes, staining his hands. His silky white hair curls around his pointed ears, dirtied with dirt and leaves. His dark eyes that you can’t quite make out the color of lock onto your every move.

He’s handsome. And, from the look of things, he’s probably going to kill you. 

You aren’t quite sure whether or not you want him to, considering everything. You wouldn’t have to go through with the sham of a marriage if you’re dead. Then again… are you really ready to let go?

For a moment, neither of you move. Your heart is thrumming under your ribs, and your feet are frozen where you stand. His fear turns into something else - puzzlement. His head tilts ever so slightly. Then, slowly, he takes a step back. You don’t move, because what could you do? Chase him? You’re not that much of a fool.

He chances another step away, and when you still don’t react, a third. And just like that, the man vanishes into the night, and you’re left alive and unscathed, staring out into the darkness of the woods he’d come from. 

You can’t help but feel a little disappointed he hadn’t killed you, or at least tried. It would have been exciting, at least.

After a few more minutes of nothing but silence, you turn on your heel and head back inside. The next time you see him is three weeks later, and until then, there’s not a moment he’s not in your thoughts.

As the days pass, you soon come to realize that the worst thing about this place is the boredom. It should be a thousand other things - the pinching clothes, the ache of your old life that never stops throbbing in your chest, the soon-to-be husband you haven’t even seen - but it isn’t. It’s the never-ending, constant boredom.

Gods, is it ever boring. You read every decent book in the library. You walk around the gardens at least five times a day, looking for something new. You linger around the courtyards, hoping for a bit of gossip. And every day, it’s all the same, and there’s nothing. And every day, you think of the strange man in the woods and wonder who or what he possibly could have killed. You’d checked the woods the next morning but came up completely empty.

As the wedding approaches, the air around the castle grows thick and tense. Arguments ring out from the halls about this or that - flowers, invitations, food. You’re shoved into at least twenty different potential outfits to see how they look, pinched and prodded. Servants scrub your skin raw despite your protests, even though it’s still a week away. 

The queen is almost as rare a sight as her son is, though you do catch her slipping through the main hall once. She hasn’t spoken to you since that first day. Perhaps isolation runs in the family.

Which is why it’s so surprising when, three nights before the wedding, you hear her voice coming from a passage down the hall. It’s late. You should be sleeping, but your thoughts have kept you awake, and you’re roaming the halls like an aimless ghost. Your feet stall when you hear the echoing of words - something shouted not far from you. 

From the sound of it, she’s in the east wing, an off-limit portion of the castle you’d been told was dangerous and in dire need of repair. You’d only listened at the time because no one else went in there, not even the servants. But now… 

You chance edging in a little closer, keeping your steps quiet and your body in shadow. When you manage to sneak a look, Queen Erelin is standing in the midst of floors so clean that they shine, shouting at one of the closed doors.

“Every time I do anything for you, you fight with me,” she snarls, pacing up and down the hall. “I am doing what is best for you! Making you better! Why can’t you understand that?”

When no answer comes, she stalls in front of the door, lets out a long, heavy sigh, then throws her hands into the air and mutters something final under her breath. She leaves without so much as a glance toward your hiding spot. Your breath comes out in a whoosh of relief, tension flooding out of your shoulders.

When the fear is finally gone, curiosity takes its place. The east wing is silent and open, practically begging you to take a look, and you’re not in a place to resist. When you move closer, you can see warm light flooding out from underneath a door - the one she’d been shouting at. It’s not difficult to guess who must be in there, considering the facts. Would he answer, if you knocked? Would he talk to you? 

A long moment passes in silence as flickers of movement spill their way under the door. Well, if you’re going to spend your life with him, you might as well find out what he’s like in advance. But just as you’re about to take a step forward, something stops you - a sensation you don’t recognize. The feeling trickles down your neck, plants itself deep into your chest as if it’d sunk straight through your skin - icy and dark and making you shudder as you wrap your arms around yourself for warmth.

After one final look toward the hall, you head to bed. The feeling fades. And, for the next few days, every time you look at the east wing, it’s shut tight.

Part of you is glad for it.

Despite your best efforts, the wedding rolls closer and closer, and as a horrible result, you get hardly any time to yourself. You’re escorted around, forced into fittings and rehearsals and who knows what else. The prince still never shows, but the queen is absolutely everywhere. She floats from room to room, dark circles under her eyes as she approves or denies things entry. She glances at you when she notices you, then shakes her head. 

“I’d be the happiest woman in the world if I never had to plan a wedding again,” she says. 

You resist the urge to point out that she was the one who’d wanted this.

On the day of, you’re ripped out of bed at a miserable hour, scrubbed clean, slathered in creams and fragrances, forced into yet another torturous outfit, and shoved out into the halls. People filter around you, carrying flowers and pastries and various trinkets. You stand there feeling like you can’t breathe until an arm loops around yours and starts pulling you through the crowd.

“Come,” the queen says. You don’t argue with her. She’s looking much better than before, well-rested and her cheeks rosy, porcelain skin glowing in the light. Her dress, light-blue, weightlessly flutters around her. “Given these last few weeks,” she starts, her eyes fixed in front of her. “Well. You must be curious about your husband-to-be.”

You are curious, yes. But you keep your lips shut tight. 

She shoots you a piercing look. “I expect you to be polite,” she says. “He is your prince, after all. And one day, your king.”

Only then do you realize she’s leading you straight into the east wing - but not to the door she’d shouted at before. Further down the hall, into a giant room filled with books and servants and a tailor, fussing over some clothes. A man stands in the corner, and when he turns to look at you, you stop dead in your tracks.

It’s him. The one you’d seen that night, covered in blood. His eyes widen when he sees you, and all you can do is stare at him like a fool. You don't know how you hadn’t put that together - the mysterious prince, never showing his face, and the stranger in the woods, covered in blood. But then…

The way you’d seen him then is the complete opposite of everything he is now. The opposite of everything in this place, every spotless, perfect little thing that makes you feel so wrong being here. He’d been dirty, clothes simple and torn, hair mussed and covered in leaves. Here, he’s clean, dressed in extravagant clothes, so pristine and put together that not an inch of him looks out of place. 

Of course you hadn’t considered it. Just like you, he hadn’t seemed like he belonged here. But you were wrong. He fits in the same as everyone else. 

His eyes, as it turns out, are a dark, gleaming red.

“Astarion,” the queen says, letting go of your arm and stepping away. “I trust you remember your manners?”

His gaze doesn’t leave your face, even for a moment. “But of course,” he says, his tone sultry and smooth. He steps closer, taking your hand in his, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he presses a kiss to the skin. Your stomach flutters at the action even though you should know better. 

His touch is ice-cold. 

In his eyes, you see exactly what you are: a threat. Maybe he’ll kill you after all. Then again - he can’t. They need you alive. That’s why they’re doing all of this in the first place. 

“Prince Astarion,” you greet. That touch has put some danger into you, a spark that won’t settle in your veins. You can’t help yourself, can’t hold your tongue. “It’s nice to see you again,” you find yourself saying. “I hope you’ve recovered from the incident in the gardens?”

For the barest moment, his eyes narrow. But just as quickly as his distaste is there, it’s gone, tucked under a pasted-on smile. “Why yes, I have,” he says, tilting his head. “Healthy and clean as ever.” He takes another step toward you, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear before he leans in close, so near that you can feel his breath on your cheek. 

“Not another word,” he murmurs, his voice dark and low. He smells clean and herbal - you catch notes of bergamot and rosemary, enticing and dizzying. A light hint of something else: wine, perhaps. He’s stepped away before you can fully place it.

“I didn’t realize you’d met,” the queen says, her eyes flickering between you and Astarion. 

“It was rather brief,” he answers. 

She looks like she’s about to ask something else, but a loud crash from the main hall distracts her. “Shit,” she curses, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’d better go see what that was.” Then she turns her gaze to you, nodding for you to join her. “Come along, now. It’ll be starting soon.”

You look back at Astarion. “Well, then. Goodbye, Your Majesty,” you tell him. “I suppose I’ll see you soon.”

The corner of his mouth flicks into a smile. “That you will,” he replies.

Everything else turns into a blur. 

You’re rushed from place to place, forced to recite the stupid vows over and over again until they’re convinced you’ve got them down, preened over and prodded until you’re raw. Your feet start to ache along with your head, and all you can think about is wanting to be home and… well, as much as you hate to admit it, you think about Astarion. He might as well be a plague for how much he’s infected your thoughts. 

You think of him, covered in blood, then spotlessly clean. You think of his voice, low in your ear, and his touch, and the smell of him that still lingers somewhere on your skin. Had he planned this, somehow? A ruse to get into your head? No. You’re being ridiculous. He hadn’t known you were the one who’d seen him - of course he hadn’t planned it.

If only it had been anyone else.

“Quick!” someone says. “It’s starting!”

Your heart drops straight down to your stomach as the drone of an organ hits the air. Nearby hands scrabble around for various items, clawing like animals. A stranger grabs your arm and drags you around like a doll, throwing instructions at you.

And just like that, you find yourself in front of the prince again. 

This time, instead of a dozen people or so, there are hundreds of people in the room. You needn’t have worried about being here with him. Nothing has ever felt less intimate. 

Your vows are rehearsed and devoid of any emotion, even though you really are trying. His are more convincing, perhaps, but they’re coached all the same. Still, when he takes your hand and slides on the ring, your stomach flutters. You slide his ring on with shaking fingers and just like that - you’re married.

“You may kiss,” the priest says, and your soul instantly exits your body. Gods, this can’t be real. None of this. 

But it is. Astarion leans in, his hand settling on your cheek, and kisses you. 

It’s clearly meant to be a quick, chaste kiss, but his lips are soft, and he smells so very nice, and the chill of his touch on your cheek is both soothing and strangely intoxicating. It’s as instinctive as breathing when the kiss deepens, when you find your fingers fisted into his shirt and his hand curls a little tighter around your jaw.

That is to say, the kiss is neither quick nor chaste, and when you pull away, there’s no small amount of cheering from the crowd. You want to melt into the floor.

When you finally muster up the ability to look at him again, Astarion tilts his head and raises his brows - a question you don’t at all want to decipher. You simply shake your head in response.

He loops his arm through yours, takes you down into the crowds, and escorts you through the room, effortlessly witty, devilishly charming. You don’t know how he does it. When people start talking to you, you can hardly get the words out of your mouth. You’re still half in shock, and Astarion’s presence isn’t helping.

The smell of him you couldn’t place earlier reveals itself to be brandy. 

How incredibly pretentious.

After what seems like hours of forced conversation, Astarion leads you over to the tables of food and drink, placing a glass of wine in your hand that you gratefully start to gulp down.

He sips at his wine, pasting on a smile when people wave at him, then turns his gaze to you. “You know, darling,” he murmurs, quirking a brow, “it wouldn’t hurt to make an effort.”

You grip your wine tighter, shooting him a scowl. “I am making an effort,” you hiss. 

He gives you another one of his false smiles. “As passionate as that kiss was, I’m afraid that doesn’t count.”

Shutting your eyes, you take in a deep breath. “That’s not what I meant. Not all of us are good at this like you are. Talking to people.”

“Well, my sweet,” he replies tightly, and for the first time, you can hear frustration lining his words. “I appreciate the compliment, but we still need to convince everyone here that we are madly in love. And that takes more than a kiss.” He takes the glass from your hands - much to your dismay - and places it on a servant’s tray, interlocking his arm with yours again. “So try a bit harder, won’t you?”

Gods, you can’t stand him.

When you go back to speaking, you try your best to be charismatic - but only because you can feel Erelin’s eyes on you, and you don’t dare upset her. Not that your best efforts make you succeed, unfortunately. Astarion has to swoop in several times to save you from the awkward turn of things.

When you finally get another moment to breathe, he guides you to a silent corner, puts an arm around you, and leans in close. “For the love of the gods,” he says. “You’re driving us both into the dirt with your horrid conversational skills.” He inhales deeply and sighs, collecting himself for a moment. “How about this - I will take on the heavier conversations, and you can just… pay compliments.”

“Pay compliments?” you ask incredulously, taking care not to be too loud. “How in the hells am I supposed to do that? I don’t know any of these people!”

“Oh, it’s easy,” he says, waving his free hand dismissively. “Tell the women you like the dress they’re wearing, or their necklace, or… I don’t know - their perfume. They’ll go on about it for ages, and you won’t have to do anything but smile and nod.”

This sounds much too easy to be true. “You’re sure that it’ll work?” 

“Trust me,” he replies. “The more we keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, the better off we’ll be.”

Anger flares in your chest at his words, red-hot. “Quite the charmer, aren’t you?” you ask.

“That I am,” he says, pulling you closer. “I’m so glad you noticed.”

Anywhere else, you’d have elbowed him in the stomach. Hard. Unfortunately, you’re in front of hundreds of people, and it would lead to a large number of very awkward conversations. So, instead, you paste on a smile and think of home.

You aren’t in a palace. You’re in your tavern, talking to customers. This is easy, and you definitely don’t hate it. At all. 

When the next couple approaches you, Astarion takes the lead, and you smile wordlessly and nod. When a null in the conversation arrives, you tell the woman you like her dress. Which, luckily, you do. It’s masterfully made, gold embroidery along a shimmering turquoise fabric.

Her face lights up. “Isn’t it just gorgeous?” she asks. “I searched for days when I heard about the wedding. Only the best for me, I always say. Anyway, there was this girl who ran a shop I went to - Martha, her name was - and she told me she had just the thing. And I tried it on, and it was perfect, only, well… it didn’t quite fit. But I knew I’d never want anything else now that I’d seen it, and I thought to myself, oh gods, I can’t turn up like this to the wedding! So I told my mum about it, and she said, ‘Don’t you worry! I’ll take care of it!’ And then, when I went to get it, clumsy me, I spilled half a glass of wine on it! I was just thinking it was lost forever when my neighbor came, and…”

And… what her neighbor did, you’ll never know. It’s completely lost to you, because when you look over to Astarion, he looks ridiculously smug. You can practically hear his voice in your head, saying ‘I told you so.’ You resist the urge to elbow him once again and turn your attention back to the girl, who is just now finishing her story.

“...and then, we arrived here, and saw you! And the wedding! My gods, what a sight. You two really do suit each other, you know. But Thom and I really should be going. There’s a lot of people for you to meet, and we wouldn’t want to keep you from tonight, if you know what I mean.”

She winks at you, and your cheeks go as hot as Avernus. 

“Well,” Astarion says quickly, “thank you both for coming!”

“Oh, of course,” she replies. “Enjoy yourselves, you two!” She gives a sly grin and then she’s off, leaving you feeling like you’re about to shatter into a million pieces.

Tonight. How could you forget?

It isn’t that you hadn’t thought about the fact that sex would be expected of you - it’s just that… well, it’d seemed so far away before. Back when you’d been thinking about it, you hadn’t known who it would be with, and it had all seemed like it was going to be a dream. Something that would never actually happen.

But here you are. 

You can’t say Astarion isn’t handsome, because he very much is. You can’t say you aren’t terribly attracted to him, because, infuriatingly, you are - no matter how much you hate the fact. But whether or not you’re comfortable with him touching you that way is a completely different matter, and, honestly? You have absolutely no clue how you’re going to tell him that you’ve never been with anyone. Or how he’ll handle it. 

Gods help you.

“You see?” Astarion tells you, slowly walking you over to the next group. “I told you it would work. Just keep that up, and all of this will soon be over.”

And over it soon is, much quicker than you’d like. You’d stay out chatting all night if you could avoid what comes next, but there aren’t many others to greet, and eventually there’s no one left to talk to. There’s hardly any food remaining either, which makes you want to cry. You’re starving. Your feet hurt. You want to crawl into bed and sleep for an eternity. 

Astarion, as if he can read your mind, finally leads you out of the room and heads straight to the kitchens, releasing your arm when you arrive. “Here we are,” he says. “We wouldn’t want you going to bed hungry, now would we?”

You try not to think about the implications of that statement as you eat. You try not to think about the way he leans against the wall next to you, seemingly not interested in the food. In fact, you try not to think about anything at all. 

It doesn’t work.

The food is a welcome distraction, at least. That’s one good thing about this place. The gardens are nice, the beds are soft, and the food is delicious. You never have to go to sleep without eating, which is a new feeling. You just wish it didn’t all come with a cost.

When you’re finished up, Astarion raises a brow at you and straightens up. “Well,” he says, “we’d better go find my mother.”

Erelin looks exhausted after the celebrations. She doesn’t bother with any formalities, just nods for you to follow. 

“I’ll show you to your new room,” she sighs. “Don’t forget - tomorrow, the two of you are off for the honeymoon. I’m trusting you both to keep up appearances, yes?” She gives you a pointed look. 

“Right,” you reply.

She sighs again. “This way.”

She leads you back into the east wing, this time to a large room around the corner - one you haven’t seen before. It’s gigantic. You’d thought your bed was huge when you arrived, but this? It practically takes up half the room. Bookshelves line the walls, the windows glisten in the moonlight, and there’s a large vanity in the corner, presumably for you. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Erelin says, leaning against the doorway. “Just remember: you’ve done a great service for this kingdom.”

The door closes, and for the first time today, you and Astarion are completely alone. There are no servants, no guards posted along the walls, no crowds of adoring citizens. Just you, and him. And you have no idea what comes next.

In truth, all you want to do is to jump into the huge, fluffy-looking bed and sleep. But, of course, it isn’t that simple. For one, your clothes are intricately laced. There’s a privacy curtain in the corner, but you can’t remove the lacing by yourself. Then there’s the matter of what’s expected of you. What you’re dreading. And that’ll have to come before sleep, too.

Astarion isn’t exactly paying attention to you, though. He’s mulling around the room, examining the books, looking over the vanity. You’re relieved, but you know it won’t last. And, honestly? If it comes down to it, you’d rather just get it over with.

“Would you mind giving me a hand with this?” you ask.

He finally looks at you, gaze focusing on the lacing you’re helplessly trying to undo. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says. 

By the hells, he’s irritating. Still, he comes over to help you without complaint, deftly pulling apart the lacing until the ribbons finally come free. You’re expecting him to go further - to start undressing you, or touching you, or… anything, but he just steps away. 

“There you are,” he says.

Your throat goes thick. “I… Thank you,” you say softly.

He hums in response. “I’d make for a poor husband if I didn’t help undress you, wouldn’t I?”

The word husband sends electricity through your veins. He really is your husband, isn’t he? It feels incredibly strange. 

When you turn to scowl at him, Astarion is already gone, returned to his place by the books. You suck in a deep breath to compose yourself, then grab the change of clothes they’ve left for you and slip into it, folding up your old outfit as neatly as you can. 

As soon as you take a seat on the bed, your heart starts beating thickly against your ribs. It’s an unsteady pattern, the thump of it. It gets faster when Astarion moves, then goes quiet when he simply grabs his sleep clothes and changes behind the curtain. It drums hard and rough when he emerges, but settles down when he crosses over to his side of the bed and blows out the candle.

The room goes pitch dark.

“You’d better get your rest while you can,” he tells you. “I’m sure they’ll wake us at a horrendous hour tomorrow.”

You stay motionless in the dark for a moment or two before what he’s saying hits you. As if his words have broken a dam inside you, all the tension floods out of your body. You climb into the sheets, weightless in sheer relief, and find the bed incredibly soft. You can hear him tucking himself into the space near you, shifting around to get comfortable, and it’s strangely intimate. Still, with the size of the bed, there’s not much danger of accidentally kicking him in the night.

The room is peaceful and the crickets chirp outside, and it doesn’t take long before your eyelids are closing and the pull of sleep comes. Just as you’re drifting off, you realize one thing: 

You’d forgotten to ask him about the blood.

[kentosbabes]

More bf-gojo? I loved the perfect combination of fluff and smut bits. ★

your wish is my command!!! hope you enjoy :33

Bf-Gojo who loves when you surprise him at work bringing him some lunch and just keeping him company till the end of his shift. Sometimes if you had baked batches of cupcakes or cookies you would bring all of them sharing them with people all around his building, Gojo just admires how kind and considerate you are as you offer your freshly baked goods to his employees. He would sometimes leave things at home and calling you acting all stressed just so you come and join him helping to relive his stresses in more ways then one.

Bf-Gojo who now joins you when you have an 'everything day'. He's sitting on the counter as you carefully paint on the face mask onto him, your brows furrowing with concentration. It gives him another excuse to stare and admire you for longer. He is also surprisingly good at painting your nails so you let him paint yours as you gossip to him about the drama in your office and friend group and as much as he hates to admit he gets so involved and even begins to share his own gossip.

Bf-Gojo who enjoys exploring the city with you going in and out of art galleries and museums. His hand in yours as you talk him through the art on the walls explaining in detail the backstory behind each one. If it was anyone else he would simply tune them out but with you he listens intently taking in every detail. He adores how smart you are and praising you the whole time your in the gallery. 'Your such a good girl you know that right' he would whisper in your ear the grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as you exit the building.

Bf-Gojo who gets more cocky knowing your the most perfect girl and knowing your all his just boosts his ego so much. 'Oh your so smart, the way you talked about those paintings got me so riled up' he'd say kissing down your neck as you bounce up and down on his dick, 'Your so perfect and you all mine. isnt that right darling?'. only able to whimper in response Gojo smirks at your fucked out state. His hand grabbing onto yours and placing it on your lower stomach so you can both feel how deep he is inside of you.

Bf-Gojo who babies you when your sick. He's pulling out all of the stops running you hot baths, cooking you soup and watching shit tv with you never leaving your side until you feel better. Gojo defiantly calls Nanami for help asking him for the best remedies and how to get you feeling better asap.

Bf-Gojo who secretly loves when you praise him, even just when you say how proud you are of him once he's completed an important presentation or saying how good he is when he helps out with making dinner. Your words going straight down to his dick till he cant take it anymore and having his way with you. 'f-fuck toru your s-so so good to me' your praises only making him harder and he knows its going to be a longg night.

Bf-Gojo who does anything and everything to make sure your okay. Your heels are hurting to much? he will carry you home so you dont have to walk any further. Your having a hard day at work? he will be there picking you up and helping you unwind in a steamy shower.

Bf-Gojo who cant wait to meet your parents, although he's nervous he knows how much they mean to you so being able to meet them only furthers his desire to wife you up a soon as he can.

Bf-Gojo who teases you about the way you like your coffee, 'I love you but thats coffee not tea doll why you adding so much sugar and cream' he would say as he sits sipping his black coffee. He laughs at how defensive you get calling him the weird one as your cheeks begin to redden at his teasing.

Bf-Gojo who wants to just spend everyday with you cuddled into him as he draws patterns up and down your back, and when you get up to grab a drink your ass pocks out from underneath his top and he can just sit against the headboard hands behind his head admiring his perfect girl.

part 1 here

masterlist

[pochaccopipi]

Thoughts on Kuya, autonomy, and his refusal to be "captured"

(spoilers under the cut)

This SSR story is sooo good because it really fleshes out Kuya's all-encompassing hatred of being owned? Not just in a literal sense, but in an obligations/expectations kind of way too. He repeatedly states over the course of the game that he shouldn't be forced into a box, can't be defined by human morals, and has so many wildly different facets of himself that they're basically autonomous copies running around in alternate timelines.

He insists that Elysium allows visitors the right to choose if/how they participate. He seems to hate injustices that trample one's freedom (unless he's the one perpetuating said injustice— in which he considers his actions Wise And Necessary™️). He loathes being claimed as a prize. He also clearly hates being pandered to, especially when his suitors have ulterior motives and expect him to stay by their side forever. He hates when humans assume what he likes, and commit crimes against nature in order to please him. He spent centuries at Huey's side (literally indentured to him in a life-or-death contract), and even spent time in service to the lord of the yokai himself, who forced kuya back into his fox state when he was found during a suicide attempt. He was literally voided of essence to the point that he had to relive his most vulnerable years again. He experienced a loss of power and autonomy that probably felt like a betrayal. Granted it was a punishment intended to teach him humility, but it probably just traumatized him instead.

(This may also explain what happened on the Saian ship with Huey, when he was discovered in his true yokai form— something went wrong with corrupted essence, they couldnt teleport back to Klein as usual, and he burned the ship down when someone spotted him looking "beastly". It hit too close to home for him.)

Prior to meeting Eiden, he'd run out of things to enjoy in life, and turned to torturing small forest animals just to get some dopamine flowing again. He's a sadistic contrarian piece of shit but it makes sense that he feels rage against immortality/life itself, and probably approved of Huey because they shared an interest in exploring new horizons (not to mention the massive power boost he got in return).

So in this SSR r5 when he pauses in relief/shock after eiden tells him he cant force kuya to stay by his side forever, it all kind of clicked into place for me? Everything about kuyas character screams Do Not Attempt To Capture Me. He literally exploded a roomful of men who tied him down in Rusted Nation. He made a group of gamblers claw their own eyes out for daring to look at him with sexual intent. He even destroys offerings from other yokai who put him on a pedestal. He hates being expected to do anything for anyone for any reason, because those expectations often come with gross connotations or lasting debts, and have been repeatedly imposed upon him without his consent in the past.

His biggest fear might literally be losing control again.

(Of course he's a big hypocrite and does everything he hates to other people? And sometimes doesn't even realize he's doing it? Like in Astral Duo when he asks Quincy if he's done "something unforgivable" to Eiden, as if Kuya himself doesn't do unforgivable things on a daily basis).

Idk. He's just fascinating to me and I love how he seems to be driven by a pathological need to escape. He's not unaware of his weaknesses, as evidenced by him flinching when Eiden reaches behind his blind spot. He seems to be terrified of capture in every sense of the word, and does everything possible to overcome that.

Like a cornered animal :)

[frxxxncx]

teach me, please - w. junhui

»roommate!¡Wen Junhui x fem¡!reader.

»Summary: While trying to masturbate your roommate tries to give you a hand.

»Tags: smut (MDNI), oral (f. receiving), cunnilingus, pet names, fingering, squirting, hair pulling, no plot just porn, guided masturbation, roommates to lovers(idk)

»Words: 2.9k

Note: Any typo or incoherence that you might find was completely intentional, it’s for the sake of learning about my mistakes.

You have always thought of yourself as a reserved person, and you thought of it as something good, but right now, when you are with your legs wide open in front of your roommate, you wish you had been more open to ask your girlfriend how to finger yourself, but you lived five hours far from each other and ask her to go for a coffee just so you can interrogate her about something so private as masturbating, was out of the question.

As embarrassing as it was, in your twenty-three years of life you've never masturbated, you like to think that it's because when you were young your best friend at the time say that when she tried, it didn't feel good, and that she just ended up with her fingers covered in blood, and obviously as a fourteen-year-old, that scared the shit out of you, blood? You didn't want to bleed from there for anything other than your period.

But now you know that probably she just tore her hymen, and that's why she bled at the time. So why didn't you try to get off?, Well, you didn't know how to do it, and to ask anyone how to do it was imposible, it's not like you could come to someone, and say "hey, I don't know how to masturbate, can you teach me?".

But now you want to know how is that you ended up with Jun sitting in the armchair in front of you while you tried to masturbate.

———————————————————————— Your level of stress has been building up throughout the day, leaving your essay that was due by tomorrow for last was the worst decision you have had in years, your muscles were stiff, and your back was killing you, sitting 8 hours straight was a method of torture you were not expecting to go through. Your head was pounding but you were scared to take another pill since you took one less than two hours ago.

When you finally finished the essay and stretched your back it cracked so deliciously that a quiet and satisfied moan left your lips, but you still had an awful headache, you thought about what could help you relive the pain and you remembered something your friend told you "When my head hurts I usually masturbate, swallow the pills it's too scary", the thought of it was scandalous for you, you even hit her in the arm, and she laughed at your chicks that were bright red.

After several minutes of thinking, you gave up and decided that masturbating was the answer to all of your problems.

You didn't even bother to close the door since Jun told you that he would be late. Your shorts and panties were long forgotten on the floor of your room, your fingers trying to make you feel good in some way by getting in and out of your poor cunt, it felt weird, uncomfy and the fact that you had to spit in your hand every now and then to use it as lube exasperated you, it wasn't like what your friend told you that happened when his boyfriend finger fucked her.

Your fingers were just jamming inside of you, and frustrated by it you were about to give up when the sound of your door closing sent shivers down your body.

"Hello, Mister DJ Downstairs" the raspy yet velvety voice scared you, You weren't sure if it was a product of your imagination, but still your hand stopped working as if it was doing anything at all, and your head snapped to your bedroom door.

"J-jun, what are you doing here? You said you were coming home late" Your hand looked for something to cover up but your pillows were on the other side of the bed too far to reach them without flashing your roommate even more.

"Baby, it is fucking late already, it's like three in the morning" Jun say in a chuckle while getting closer to you.

Your legs were close shut and your arms between your thighs, you were just thankful that you didn't take off your -his- black shirt.

"By the way what are you even doing, you lost something down there?" the comment made you giggle but at the same time offended you, you were trying your best and all, just for him to make fun of you?.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm tryna masturbate here, now get the hell out" Your tone was upset, and by all means, you wished he didn't notice the hope in your voice.

"Well, darling, you look like you're trying to get something from inside there, Why are you being so harsh with your poor kitty?" He was being serious about the fact that you completely sucked at whatever you were doing and that -even though it was the truth- hurt your ego, and when you feel attacked you tend to blast out the first thing that goes through your mind.

"Jesus, Wen Junhui, if you are such an expert, why don't you help me then?" Just as the words left your mouth, you didn't even have time to think about what you just said, when he answered.

"My pleasure, but first let me help you there, you need to know how to make yourself feel good" He got his phone from his back pocket and started to type something quickly.

His face went from his phone to you, and the soft smile he gave you, warmed your heart even in the given situation.

"I'll guide you," He said, putting one hand on your knee. The tact felt so hot you thought it would burn your skin.

"Ah?" His hand left a tingling sensation on your flesh making your tummy feel weird. You saw him sit in the armchair that was located just in front of you and felt small, his long legs were wide open and his elbows were over his knees, with phone in hand.

Your arms were still in between your thighs but this time they were looking for some kind of relief.

"Have you ever had sex?" he asked while scrolling through his phone again, interested in whatever he was reading " I'm sure you haven't, tho" he whispered so low that you were very sure he was saying that to himself. 

"Jun, what the actu-"You couldn't even finish talking when he interrupted you to ask again "Have you ever had sex or not?" Behind his blank tone, you could sense he was starting to get annoyed and that sent a "funny" feeling to your cunt.

"No" You were not so close to him, but you still could see the flickering flame of lewdness that started in his eyes, and you didn't say a word about it.

"Perfect" he whispered to himself, locking his eyes in the place your hands were so desperate to hide from him.

"So what?" you were impatient and that was revealed through your tone making you feel embarrassed.

"I need you to do as I say, don't do more nor less than what I'm asking you" his voice sounded guttural, a small hint of desire making you whimper softly.

You nodded, waiting for him to start guiding you as soon as possible. "I need words, doll, say it, loud and clear." There was something about how he said that, and the way his eyes darkened while watching you open your legs again, that made you have shivers running down your spine.

"Yes, I'll do whatever you tell me to do, Teach me, please" your legs were wide open for him, you saw him but his lower lip while his eyes were locked in your cunt.

"Okey, baby, first relax, take a deep breath and lay down" his voice was soft, it was like every word slipped into your ears like honey, your nipples starting to harden.

You laid down, with your knees flexed, hands gripping your shirt tightly at the feeling of the cool air of the room brush in your cunt, you heard him move in the armchair, maybe fixing his posture, but that made you wish that he got up and touched you.

"I need you to know your body, touch your tits, fondle them, grope them, stroke your nipples, get yourself worked up before you start down in your pussy" you did as he said, you hands went under your shirt and you started to caress softly your breasts, outlining them, gently touching, massaging your nipples carefully with the palm of your hand, pinching them making your body quaver. 

"That's it, sweetie, just like that '' his honeyed voice praised and you shuddered in your place, "You're doing so good, just as I say" a subtle whine escaped your lips making the man in front of you groan.

"Lift your shirt, let me see you completely" the tone was demanding, making your toes curl, your cunt pulsating desperately.

The shirt was over your breasts, the cold air making the sensitive buds perkier, the tips of your fingers drew delicate lines over your torso, on your ribs getting closer and closer to your waist.

The heavy gaze of Jun encourages you to continue "Cup your cunt and look how wet you are now, feel how drench your pussy is" hesitantly you hand touched over your cunt, fingers pressed lightly to your entrance, palm over your hard clit.

The feeling of the sticky wetness made you look over to your friend that was watching you with a crooked smile while gripping tightly the armrest making his knuckles look extremely white, eyes glowing in lust at your sopping core.

"Press your middle finger into your entrance, but don't go inside just yet" your finger pressed lightly, your hips trembling looking for something that could relieve the sting on your clit.

"Now, stroke your clit, do it slow, make circles" as instructed your now slick finger got to the bud of nerves, the circles were small, slow, at a timid pace but it still felt good "Do it faster, baby, harder" the tempo started to speed up, not doing circles any more but rubbing harder.

"One finger, love, get one finger in" your middle finger slid from your folds getting to your entrance, and this time when your finger thrust inside a loud and embarrassing moan left your mouth.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty" Jun was having view of his life, if he could, he would burn this memory to look at it every time he wanted to whack off.

"Get another finger inside" your ring finger slipped easily making your hips stumble, "Go in and out, seek for your pleasure, make yourself feel good" your body jerked toward you hand fingers going in and out at a violent pace, a delectable burn making your gummy walls clench tightly on your fingers.

"J-Jun" your voice came out in a pornographic moan of his name, making him smile knowing what you wanted.

"What is it, doll?" he cooed watching your fingers jamming in and out, the wet noises filling the room

"Do you want something from me?" the condescending tone mask with a sweet and velvety trill, made you whine making your hand move faster, your palm colliding with you clit deliciously.

"J-jun, touch me, pleh- please, need you"you said, stuttering, the last bit of consciousness leaving your body.

The man didn't need to be asked twice, he was hovering over you, hand in each side of your head, looking into your eyes, finding a sparkle of desire mixed with excitement. His left hand stroking one of you many loose hairs behind your ear, meanwhile his unoccupied hand joined your own down your cunt.

His hand was hot, and you could feel the calloused skin over the back of your hand, making you wonder, how would it feel on your clit.

Jun stopped your hand —witch now had gotten into a sloppy pace because your fingers were starting to cramp—, and brought your whacked fingers to his mouth, he sucked the arousal in them, making you moan at the feeling of his hot tongue playing with your digits, leaving them fully "cleaned".

"So sweet" he says, getting your fingers out of his mouth, cunt pulsating and drooling with your slick even more. His voice sounded hoarse and guttural, it was evident in his tone that he wanted more, so much more.

He decided to strip you from the last piece of clothing you had, his shirt now was being used to keep both you hands over your head, he bit his lower lip looking how your body was at his disposal, your wreck expression, drunk in pleasure, desperate to release the coil that has been building up in your tummy since he set a foot in the room.

You watch him thrilled, going down on you, now feeling his hot breath against your puffy and glistened folds, awaiting for what was about to happen.

His tongue nuzzled into your hardened clit, a whiny plea escaping your lips, giving him a green flag to do as he pleased, this time sucking gently the sensitive dot making you scream.

If you knew that getting head from Jun would feel like heaven you would have tried to ask him to teach you before.

Your fingers grabbed his brunette and fluffy locks, pulling his strands of hair every time he would nimble carefully on your clit.

He was drinking from your pussy like a starved man, enjoying every bit of your arousal in his mouth. His pointer and ring fingers slipped easily inside of you, an extremely lewd sound coming out of your mouth and the pleasurable sting of his much thicker fingers inside of you made you self conscious, the coil that has been forming in your tummy about to burst, making you feel somehow "weird", it was an urge to relief that scared you.

“J-Jun, Junnie stop, wa- i need to—go t- bathroom” you said, stuttering, pulling his hair, trying to get him to stop sucking at your clit,  deed that was making you feel that way even more.  

He lifted his face, chin soaked in your juices, lips red and glossy, the view making you want a kiss, but other than that his expression was one from someone who just heard a joke.

With his unoccupied hand he wiped his mouth, and proceeded to hover over you, his right hand still jamming into you at a brutal pace, making the wet noises fill the room with your loud whimpers.

"You sure you want me to stop?" He asked while his thumb started to press and move over the perk bud.

You were amused, you just said that you were about to pee, you felt like you were about to pee, and that was extremely embarrassing, that was the last thing you wanted to do infront of him, or in this case, the last thing you wanted to do in his hand.

And like he could read your mind he said "You are not going to pee, you are about to cum" he licked his lips and watched your with a burning need "just cum for me, doll, cum all you want in my fingers"

Your stomach tightened and the coil released when his fingers curled just in the right place, that spongy and special spot. You came wetting his whole hand, squirting on your first time masturbating.

He helped you through your high making sure to not overstimulate you, it was still your first time masturbating. You were left trembling in his arms, astonished for what just happened.

"You don't know how many times I have wanked off by the thought of you coming undone in my fingers" he said breathlessly, looking at the masterpiece he just made of you, pussy coated in your own arousal and his spit, his drench fingers left your core slowly stealing a small moan from you.

"Pussy so tight, I could cum only by sticking my cock inside of you" his face was so close to you that his lips were brushing yours, his breath felt so hot it was burning you "I want to fuck you so bad, right now" the neediness in his voice made you clench around noting, you core starting to leak again.

"Why don't you teach me?" you said so low he almost didn't hear you.

"What do you want me to teach you now?" He said with a cocky smile on his pretty face.

"Teach me how to fuck"

[cokoweee]

Heavens to Betsy I’ve been meaning to go on this rant forever but I keep forgetting for some reason

Quick disclaimer- I’m not analyzing your comic at all, I just notice little accuracies that make me happy.

~

Ok coming from a psychology major student, your description of PTSD and mental health issues is actually pretty dang good. Idk if it was intentionally researched or not but there’s like a ton of stuff that’s consistent with real life trauma and it’s quite frankly impressive

Again not sure if this was intentional or not but the thing on his back reminds me so much of old school electroshock therapy which I adore bc

A: it causes confusion and memory loss which you’ve shown and

B: kinda implies that maybe he did his own research when deciding how to deal with everything or

C: again is incredibly accurate in the fact that most trauma patients continuously seek pain out, and in turn report feelings of extreme boredom and numbness when not actively experiencing pain or reliving trauma. In his case going borderline catatonic when he’s not freaking out.

On the topic of “freaking out” a lack or decrease in serotonin leads to a more reactive and intense episodes in PTSD. Or, because the little guy is like mega depressed coz of the whole situation, he gets way more intense and violent episodes that someone who was on like Prozac. And would tend to be more on edge and sensitive to triggers.

Then there’s his family. For some background, there’s a part of your brain called the amygdala. It typically works to control basic emotions, but responds very well to fear. In traumatic experiences, it pairs with the hippocampus (the memory center of the brain) to store vivid and occasionally sensory memories.

When a memory trigger is provoked and brought back into consciousness, it actually changes slightly depending on the context of which it recalled. Those memories are changed to fit how we make sense of them. So if he feels guilty for his brothers death, then his memories will reflect it whether or not it’s actually true.

Essentially, him having his brothers showing up all the time (looking the way they do) is really bad for him on multiple levels, and not just because they’re triggering visually. They’re like actually impeding his ability to recover by keeping him in an aggressive form of already intense fight or flight that comes from trauma.

On a happier note, one of the best ways to improve is to establish and nurture caring relationships. Awww

Aight ima stop here so I don’t bore you to death with random psych facts, but like kudos to you my dude because I could go on forever about some of the stuff in there

Uh yeah

-writing anon 🤡

WRITING ANON? SLAPPING OUT ANALYSISSISIS AND SHIT?

Bein real I dont do much research on shit even tho I should. I just go off what I’ve seen/ learned throughout the years. It’s always good to hear I’m doin ahit right tho!

Lowkey right with the shock tho. Or high key lol. Seeking pain there’s other ways people do it but mmm somehow this seemed the tamest way. Oh writing anon u silly lil saltine cracker

[rocketboots564]

Here is part one of my thoughts, notes, and reactions to Red Versus Blue Season 9 as a first time watcher!

Yes, I have heard the news about Rooster Teeth. No I will not let that stop me from binging this series one way or another!

The rest of each individual season will be posted separately instead of being a reblog of the first post… mainly because I saw how egregiously long my post on season 8 was.

Season 9 Part 1:

Epsilon… what do you mean nobody’s called you “Director” in a really long time? Sir, season 8 was probably just a couple months ago… I think…

I don’t know how much time has passed from S8 to S9

FIRST OF ALL TUCKER, CHURCH IS CABOOSE’S BEST FRIEND

Wait… how can you get winded if you’re an AI. I mean I know Epsilon is in a memory unit, but does that mean he relives everything in a human body too?

It does make sense that Epsilon doesn’t really know how to use a Rifle. Sure, Church (or Alpha? Imma stick with church) didn’t know how to properly use it either, but he did know how to adjust the scope.

“Torqued in my pants” pffft…

WOAH TUCKER?! You did WHAT IN ALONE TIME? WHAT THE HELL’S “ALONE TIME”? 😦

Erm… what the Metal Gear? I unironically love this stealth mission thing. And knowing South Dakota… I wonder how long it’ll take for this to go tits up…

I’m betting five to ten minutes

also, YESS THE BIG BUCKS BUDGET OF ANIMATED CG SCENES RETURNS.

South MY GOD LISTEN UP?! HAVE YOU NEVER PLAYED ANY STEALTH GAME?! Set up the MOTION DECTETORS!!!

As someone who’s had years of experience sneaking past light sleepers in the dead of night for snacks and video games… I could do this better than you South Dakota.

SOUTH THIS IS WHY WE SET OUR SOLITON RADAR!!! I mean motion detectors… sorry I got Metal Gear Solid on the brain

MY GOD THE ANIMATION?! THE TAG TEAMING?! What happened that got South Dakota to eventually abandon North Dakota?

I too could take 50 of them South… in a fight… definitely a fight

Oop I saw that in the background! Who’s that?!

OOH THEY BAITED ME WITH THE BLACK ARMOR! They almost made me think it Tex… it’s actually well… whoever this cyan lady is

Supportive Sarge? He WANTS to hear the blue perspective? He DOESN’T want to command and yell at his subordinates?

GRIF? CLEANING? Actually I could get behind Maid Grif.

“I actually like being talked down to” woah WOAH SIMMONS?! 🤨 real, me too…

I mean… at least Donut’s still kept his accidental yet somewhat intentional innuendos. And, also his diary apparently…

Damn SHUT UP SOUTH DAKOTA! SHUT UP!! NOBODY HEAR WANTS TO HEAR YOUR SHIT!

North? WHOAH ANIMATED FACES?! NORTH DAKOTA WITH THE CLUTCH!!

Medics = bad luck. Honestly… yeah for you guys they are.

THE PHOTOSHOPPED WET FLOOR SIGN AND MOP IS KILLING ME

The ultimate OTP battle: Caboose x Sheila versus Caboose x Email

Listen… Tucker… never in a million years will I ever call you Professor Fuck

Damn the Freelancer Program only has ranked mode? No wonder they’re all assholes

CONNECTICUT? SHE’S CT? Yeah I can see why you’re so mad about your low rank… you’ll get your shit rocked by Professor Fuck of all people. Fuck it… it’s a funny name

So like… you know you’ve got absolutely dogshit rizz when Caboose has a better shot at dating someone than you.

Speaking of which… Caboose is now in my top 5 of the most dateable guys in this show. Like take this quote from him:

“I just really want to meet someone nice. Someone who appreciates me for who I am not so much because I’m pretty but because they really want to get to know me…”

HOW HAS THIS MAN NOT WOOED THE HEARTS OF THOUSANDS?

Tucker has NO rizz…

Oh wow Epsilon, just drop the existential dread on your teammates like that with no warning. It is a damn good thing your teammates either don’t understand it or don’t care.

Huh… seems even in a memory unit in which everyone is different fate still finds a way to make Grif lazy and sarcastic again.

Then again, that’s kinda happening with the rest of Red Team as well, minus Simmons and Lopez

Also, LOPEZ IS BACK! And this time is immediately beefing with Simmons… or rather the other way around.

“I’ll show you who’s likable and funny, and who people like” SIMMONS BABY ITS YOU! YOUR THE ONE I LOVE! YOUR THE ONE I NEED!

I just like Simmons… a perfectly normal amount…

Conclusion: this season already fucking ROCKS I LOVE IT! HOLY SHIT THIS IS AWESOME!

[bit-odd-innit]

Fic: Somewhere That’s Green

[based on a post I made about Eddie’s future]

It’s a hole in the wall just off the main drag, the kind of place you can’t find unless you know to look. In a previous life it had been a pizzeria, which explained the bright green vinyl awning Eddie had no intention of replacing. He’d kept the pick-up window, too, used it to host “office hours.” (“Office hours” was supposed to mean “deliver personalized music recommendations to interested passers-by.” Now it means “help harried, double-parked parents reschedule music lessons.”) 

He’d also kept the apartment upstairs. They have a house now—a nice one, with a wrap-around porch and a big backyard and a cluster of hedges Steve always insists are “a mess”—but when Eddie trips into an inventory hole and loses track of time, it’s nice to have a place to crash. If it’s not a school night sometimes Steve joins him, and they’ll relive the halcyon days of their early twenties, buoyed by cheap beer, diner curly fries, and giddy infatuation. (The infatuation has only grown and flourished even as his tolerance for salty food has withered. Acid reflux is a bitch.)

He’s happy they kept the apartment. He happy knowing that if someone needs it—someone scared, broke, desperate for a lifeline and a scrap of no-strings-attached kindness—it’s something he can provide. 

Initial plans had been to focus on music, just music. It was supposed to be the utopic all-metal record store of Eddie’s nightmares.  But as he started to build stock, he remembered how hard it had been to find merch for the things he liked. How a pin or a patch or poster he’d dug up at a garage sale four towns over made him feel more seen than anything on offer at the local mini-mall. How he wanted to be a hub for the weird shit not everyone liked, but the people who did loved. His horrible little magpie brain fluttered from shiny thing to shiny thing, and by the time opening day rolled around the store was a one-stop shop for all things music, merch and whatever wacky knick-knacks tickled Eddie’s fancy. Or horrified Steve. Or both. Both was best.

The Corroded Coffin guys slotted in easily. Francis always liked doing promo for their gigs, was good at it, too. But by the early 2000s, his methods were apparently so outdated his daughter begged to let her take over. (“He’s stapling fliers to telephone poles, Uncle Eddie. You don’t even have a website.”  

“What is a telephone pole covered in fliers if not the working man’s web-ed site?”

“Oh my God give me your credit card I’m buying you a domain name.”

“A what?”)

Jeff got his CPA and took over the financials, reeling Eddie in whenever he was struck by the urge to make a impulsive, outlandish purchase. (“I genuinely don’t understand how you make money.” 

“It’s cause I don’t do my taxes.”

“I do your taxes. At a great personal expense.”) 

Gareth was instrumental (heh…) in building up the music program—soundproofing the basement and hiring instructors and coordinating concerts and organizing payment plans, all the nitty-gritty non-music stuff that made Eddie’s head spin. At some point it just made the most sense for Eddie to cede control, let him operate it however he saw fit. (“This is your baby, dude. It’s a baby that took form within my own, much larger baby. But it’s yours.”

“I’m touched by your words and appalled by your phrasing.”

“That’s the only way I could have said it.”) 

(Gareth also once described the store as an “Elevated Hot Topic.” Eddie still hasn’t decided when he’s going to kick his ass.)


Momentum grew. Ideas compounded ideas. A kid asked how to sew a patch to his backpack and it snowballed into the Build Your Own Battlevest Workshop. Wayne suggested knocking out the connecting wall between the walk-in freezer and the pantry, and now thrice weekly Eddie runs table-top games for varying age-sets and skill-levels. (At Steve’s request, the elementary school group is called H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS FIRE CLUB. Not because he thinks it needs to be censored. He just thinks it’s funny.)  (He’s right.)

It was supposed to be a record store but now it’s so much more. Now there are listening parties and movie screenings and little league teams with his store’s name on the back of their jerseys and and and—

Eddie used to think, if he got lucky, he’d last a year. Now he’s closing in on 30. He was profiled by the local newspaper. They called him “a pillar of the community.”

Wild. 

It’s a warm, sunny April morning. He’s sitting at the takeout window, sipping coffee from the bottom half of a teapot-teacup combo that reads, in a menacing blood-red font, THIS FREAK DRINKS TEA. His hair is gathered in a loose braid, the ends still damp from his post-run shower. (Sometime in their mid-thirties Steve tricked him into maintaining a consistent cardio routine, and now he’s the type of person who gets out of bed at the crack of dawn to knock out an “easy three.” He’s a monster, a husk of his former self. A husk with a much-improved lung capacity and thighs that can juice a watermelon but nonetheless HUSK.) The middle school is about a half mile from the shop; he pulls faces at all the students filtering past. (Steve’s kids, current and former, refer to Eddie exclusively as Mr. Munson’s Husband. It never fails to thrill him.)

He’s leaning back to flip the record piping through the store’s speakers (“Dustin I don’t care if it’s ‘easier’ to ‘create a Spotify account,’ whatever that means. We play vinyl only! Let me be pretentious about this one thing!”) when he hears a meek, polite cough coming from just beneath the window. He peers out and on the sidewalk stands a girl. She’s small, too little to be one of Steve’s. She clutches the strap of her backpack, blue eyes huge with nerves and determination. 

“Hail and well met, weary traveler!” He’s speaking in what Steve calls his Dork Voice, the slightly tuned-down version he uses to put shy kids at ease. “How might I be of assistance?” The girl purses her lips, sets her shoulders, shakes her shaggy bangs out of her face. Eddie thinks suddenly of Nancy and Robin and his heart clenches.

“Do you like games?” She asks.

He smiles softly. Drops the act. “Yeah.” He rests his scarred cheek in the cradle of his palm. “I like games. Do you like games?”

The dam breaks.

“Yes!” She replies at once, breathless with enthusiasm. “My family plays a lot of board games, like Game of Life and Monopoly, and they’re okay but kind of boring, but my brother taught me how to play Settlers of Catan and I really liked that, and my friends and I played Werewolf at a sleepover but we made up a bunch of extra rules to make it harder, and my cousin showed me this video game where the ending changes based on what choices you make and that’s so cool—”

“Alright, slugger.” Eddie can’t help but laugh. “What game are you looking to play?”

The girl collects herself. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, so. So I like it in games where there are rules, but also you can make stuff up? And you can do something weird that might ruin everything but also might pay off? And sometimes you have to work with other people to accomplish your goal, but alliances can break?” Eddie nods. “So there’s this one game. It sounds like so much fun, but nobody I know plays it. They play it on this show I like, well, okay, it’s not really a show, it’s, uh, okay do you know what a podcast is?” Eddie beams.

Steve swapped study hall coverage so he could pop in for lunch. Tonight is parent-teacher conferences, which means Steve’ll be home late, which means Eddie will get absorbed in a project and either crash upstairs or stumble home well after Steve’s gone to bed, which means they’ve got to snatch the time together they can get. They split a sandwich, a salmon burger from Costco Eddie threw in the air fryer and smashed up with avocado and grilled poblano pepper. (”It’s heart healthy!” “You’re heart healthy.” “Aw.” “I meant that as an insult.” “I’m not taking it as one, mwah mwah mwah.”) Eddie eats too fast, as he often does, and drags his nails over the veins of Steve’s forearm to distract himself from his gastrointestinal tract turning inside out.

“🎶Myyyy babyyyy myyyyyy babyyyyyy,” he hums against the shell of Steve’s ear. “You’reeee my babyyyyy sayyyy it to meeeeee🎶.” “Alright,” he huffs, tapping his fingers to the knobby bone of Eddie’s wrist. He presses a kiss to the underside of Eddie’s jaw and rises. “I gotta get back.” He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder, gathers the papers he’d promised he’d grade but didn’t. Eddie watches him readjust, watches him smooth down the salt-and-pepper hairs dusting his temples, watches him push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He catches Eddie watching and asks, slyly, “What?”

Eddie wants to say, I love you. He wants to say, you’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be. He wants to say, I’m so grateful I built this life with you. 

But he’s still himself, so what he says is, “Those khakis make your ass look great.”

Steve scoffs, and with a bitchy eye roll he sinks his weight onto his back foot and says, “I KNOW,” and there he is. There’s the man he married. He looks over his shoulder before he leaves, his honey-warm eyes liquifying Eddie’s spine.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I love you too.” Eddie kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.  Pretty good life. 

[megamindsecretlair]

It Started With a Whisper - Chapter 6

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Some sentences are intentional AAVE. Cursing, Angst, phone smut. Dom Sam, some fluff. Sorry if I missed some!

Summary: You are the front desk clerk who started a few months ago and you have a major crush on Sam Wilson, the handsome and sweet trauma counselor. Sam is off with Captain America, leaving you to question if this is the path you want to choose.

Word Count: 2,373k

Masterlist

A/N: Sam make me SICK!!!! He's so hot, like for why. And so adorable. LOL. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @multiversefanfics @chaos-4baby @hidden-treasures21 @leahnicole1219 @wanniiieeee @targaryenvampireslayer

“If you or someone you know has information on the fugitive Steve Rogers, please contact…”

You stared at the news program in disbelief. The news channels focused entirely on Steve as a criminal mastermind. They wouldn’t say what they thought he did. He was just guilty. The idiots online were having a field day, turning on him. You had been arguing with some of them to use common sense. If Steve risked his life to save everyone from aliens, literal aliens, then why would he suddenly turn? 

Your stomach had been in knots the past few days. Sam texted you every night to let you know that he was at least alive. The news hadn’t mentioned anything about him, but it was only a matter of time. A Black man traveling with a fugitive celebrity would be newsworthy. It didn’t stop you from worrying constantly about him.

With Sam being gone, you hadn’t realized how quickly you’d gotten used to his presence. His jokes. His constant teasing. 

Not to mention, a night of incredible bliss. This morning, you had woken up in a feverish sweat reliving everything he had done to you in bed. There were times where you were flitting around work or home and you had to stop and take a breath. 

Ariel thought something was wrong with you. Where did you even begin to describe how incredible sex with Sam was? A Sam fiend for real. More than that. You just missed him. You missed being around him. Missed hearing his voice. 

The news didn’t have any information so they were just spouting nonsense. They always went back to Steve’s military record and how he had a history of disobeying orders. The idiots. If he hadn’t disobeyed orders, he’d still be America’s poster child for the war. Then, they went into his psychology as if they knew anything about his state of mind. 

You only met Steve twice and yet you knew he was a good person, just by his actions alone. You wanted to turn off the TV, but you were anxiously waiting for news about Sam. 

Your phone rang and Ariel frantically told you to turn to a different news channel. You did and your heart sank.

“No, no, no!” 

Soldiers surrounded Steve, Natasha, and Sam. The soldiers were dressed in all black, carrying high powered guns, and had them trained on them. All three were on the ground with their hands around their heads. Sam looked like a criminal. 

You didn’t pay attention to the bullshit the news was reporting. In record time, they were splashing Sam’s name across the screen. They lumped him into this grand conspiracy against the US. 

“This is some crazy shit! Are you okay?” Ariel asked.

“He’s not–” Tears pricked your eyes. You usually wiped your tears as quickly as possible. But you were alone in your room and it was only Ariel. You sniffled a bit as tears fell. You couldn’t talk around the lump in your throat but you tried anyway.

“He’s not like that! They’re lying!” 

“You ain’t got to tell me, I know. The news always lie. They’re gonna do whatever they can to increase viewers,” Ariel said. 

You knew this. And yet you still wanted to hit something. Or call the news station to tell them to have some fucking integrity. You couldn’t get involved. You were just a lowly desk clerk. Sam wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger unnecessarily. He was a trained soldier. They all were. 

The only thing you could do was sit there and twiddle your thumbs. Your mind raced with all of the bad things that could happen. He could get shot. Your arm came protectively around your middle as if you could imagine it affecting you. He could be thrown in jail, unreachable to you. 

Would you stick by Sam if he were in jail? What kind of relationship would that even be? Putting money on his books and driving up to see him every week? Your life would be on hold. Your life would be frozen. Spent in stolen moments you could visit him with bars in between you. And that’s if they even allowed visitors. 

Ariel was still trying to talk to you but you were focused on Sam’s face. The soldiers were yelling at them and Sam knelt there without saying a word. He looked pissed. He had cuts on his face but didn’t look too worse for wear. 

Your chest ached and felt caved in. You didn’t know what you were going to do about Sam. You didn’t want to end this. The knowledge hit you like a ton of bricks. Sam felt right. He felt like you belonged with him. You also had to realize how dangerous his type of life was. Did you really want to take that on, on top of the other burdens in your life? Were you strong enough?  

The soldiers marched Steve, Natasha, and Sam into the back of a giant truck. They peeled out of the area while the news chopper continued to report on the overturned trucks, the blood bath, and the war zone. You turned off the TV and sat there while Ariel filled the space with weak platitudes. 

“It’s going to work out, babe,” she said. 

“I’m scared,” you told her. 

“I know. Do you want me to come over?” She asked.

Your immediate response was to say no. You were a big girl. However, this was too big even for you. “Yeah,” you said. 

Ariel agreed and hung up the phone. She didn’t live far so it wouldn’t take her long to get there. You sat there looking at your fuzzy reflection on your TV. Emotions and questions swirled around in your head. You couldn’t move, paralyzed by feeling helpless. 

Soon after, the doorbell rang. You went downstairs to let Ariel in. She came prepared with snacks and movies. “We’re gonna get sugar high and pass out!” 

You laughed and shook your head at her. She was dressed in sweats and a tank top. You spent the rest of the afternoon in your room, pigging out, and finally telling her everything that happened with Sam. You left out some of the more raunchy details. She didn’t need to know absolutely everything. It felt good getting things off of your chest. Having someone else to bounce ideas or thoughts off of made you not feel so crazy. 

“I feel really connected to him already. But what if that was it? One night of…passion and I never see him again?” You asked Ariel. 

She ate some popcorn and really thought about your answer. That’s what you appreciated about her. She told the truth whether you liked it or not. 

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he’s been looking at you for the past few months. He will do everything in his power to see you again. Especially if he put in work like you described. You don’t just give up that kind of chemistry, you know?” 

“Ariel, they arrested him. This is black ops level shit. How do we know that they’re not going to throw him into a locked room for the rest of his life?” 

Ariel sat up in your bed and leveled you with a stare. “You don’t know what they’re going to do. He was arrested on live TV. If he suddenly turned up missing or dead, someone would look into it. They’re not gonna risk something like that.” 

“But–”

“You’re starting to sound like your mom.”

Your jaw clicked shut with an audible pop. She was right. You were spiraling just like your mom did. Times like these were when you understood her most. There were too many scenarios. Too many disastrous things to conjure up. But you didn’t want to be like her. You didn’t want to make up things and make yourself sick. 

You nodded and focused on your breathing. Focused on calming your racing thoughts. To combat the panic, you thought of things you did know. Sam was a specially trained soldier and survived two tours overseas. Steve was the literal Captain America. He fought in a world war, frozen for seventy years, and came back out swinging against aliens. Natasha was a freakin’ super spy. They were capable of taking care of themselves.

It was natural to worry. It was natural to fear for Sam’s safety. But he didn’t owe you anything. You haven’t had that talk yet. And there was no reason to be fatalistic. 

Your phone rang. It was a number you didn’t recognize but something moved you to answer it. 

“Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Sam!” You leapt off of the bed as if you could jump through the phone and hug him. You were still in your room, still far away from him. 

“I saw on the news…what are ya’ll up to? What happened? How are you not six feet under the jail right now?” 

Sam chuckled as you fired questions at him. “I missed you too, little one.” 

“Don’t be cute right now, Sam. Please,” you said. 

Sam sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s been…a hell of a few days. I can’t say much right now. But I wanted to make sure you knew I was safe,” he said. 

“Thank you. I know you didn’t have to,” you told him.

“Yes, I do. I owe you a giant apology when I get home. This thing with Steve…it’s important. But you’re important to me. I want you to know that. If you’re not already planning to kick my ass to the curb after this,” he said.

You chuckled. His voice brought a deep sense of calm with it. It made you curl your toes and you felt lightheaded. “I don’t know. The jury is still out. You are a wanted man right now,” you said. 

He laughed at your joke and sighed. “I want to tell you everything right now, but we’re still in it. It’s probably going to get worse before it gets better. Just…don’t stop believing in me, okay? You’re the only thing that’s been on my mind throughout this,” he said. 

You were dimly aware of Ariel waving to get your attention. You glanced at her. She was making googly eyes and kissy faces at you. And mouthing that she told you so. You flipped her off and she silently cackled behind you. 

You motioned towards the door to kick her out. She stuck her tongue out at you and grabbed her empty cup. She left the room and you sat down on your bed, pulling your legs closer to you as much as you could. 

“I’ll always believe in you, Sam,” you told him. 

“Thank God,” he said and you both shared a laugh. You sensed that your conversation was coming to a close. He was right, whatever he was into he was still in it. You wanted to ask a million questions. You wanted to drive to him so that you could put eyes on him. To see that he was okay. It wasn’t enough to hear his voice. You just had to be patient. Not one of your strong suits.

Sam shuffled and you heard him moving. His voice got quieter. “In that case, I have to tell you that the other night was incredible. I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you and all the faces you were making. I’m dyin’ to get back in between your legs,” he said.

“Sam!” You said and gasped. Heat flooded your core and you shifted on your bed. 

“Tell me you’ve been thinking of me too,” he said. 

You checked to make sure that Ariel wasn’t lurking around the corner. “I’ve been thinking of you too. You need to hurry and get back here. I can’t keep drying my panties,” you admitted.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath and released it slowly. “You haven’t been touching yourself, have you? I know you need it deeper than what your fingers can reach,” he said. 

“I need some kind of relief. I’ve got needs, Sam,” you told him. 

“But it’s not enough. Keep your hands off of what’s mine,” he said.

You laughed and pulled the phone away from your ear. He was going to be the death of you. You were sure of it. You were going to die from horniness and embarrassment. You could just picture your tombstone and funeral now. 

“Since when is it yours? That sounds like you need to come back and stake your claim the right way,” you said. 

Sam chuckled. “I just want you to remember you said this.” 

Your pussy clenched at the dark promise in his voice. “I hear you talking a big game but uh…” 

Sam chuckled again. “You let me worry about what’s mine. What’s going to get me through this is imagining you coming with my name on your lips,” he said. 

“Sam…” you said. 

“I’ll be home to take care of you and I’m going to be pissed if I find out you touched what’s mine,” he said. 

You giggled. “Yes, sir,” you said.

“Don’t say that,” he said with a soft groan. “I don’t need to go back in there with a hard on.” 

“It’s your own fault. You started this,” you said.

“I know. I miss you,” he said. 

“I miss you.” 

Sam pulled the phone away from his ear to speak to someone. You couldn’t hear what he said or what the other person said in return. His voice came back on with a sigh.

“I gotta go. I’ll call you when I can,” he said.

“You better.” 

Sam chuckled and you hung up the phone. You flopped back onto your bed replaying his words and his tone of voice. A Sam fiend. That was the only way to describe it. 

“Ya’ll so fuckin’ nasty!” Ariel called out and headed into the room. 

“You so fuckin’ nosy!” You said and threw a pillow at her. She laughed as she made you recount what Sam’s side of the conversation was. You were still worried about him, but at least you had this to hold you over. 

You only hoped it was enough.

Masterlist | Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

[cabbageandcarrotsoup]

Inside Out 2 re-written by someone who hasn’t watched it, but is mentally ill

!!TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR SH!!

Just as a disclaimer, I haven’t seen Inside Out 2 because I’m boycotting Disney, but I was really intrigued by the inclusion of the new emotions, especially how Anxiety can shape your entire sense of self and take over all your senses and motivations! This got me wondering how a chronic anxiety or depressive disorder would look like in Riley’s head, so here are some ideas: 

NOTE: I call this a rewrite because I might do a script in the future, and further disclaimer: this is based on my own experience, and is in no way an all-encompassing representation of anxiety and depression!!! 

Anxiety:

She's like the underdog that Joy tries to befriend because her intentions are great, like Joy, so she attempts to understand

When Riley gets put on anxiety meds/antipsychotics, the pills appear as "mind police" to rock Anxiety's shit LMAO

On a low dose, a mind-policeman comes to pet and lull Anxiety to sleep, and at a higher dose, a gang of mafia-style police come to beat Anxiety unconscious with plastic hammers (nothing graphic for kids) -> locks her in a cage for a stipulated time until the meds wear off

That VERY RELATABLE self-hatred and disgust that we go through as teenagers is essentially Disgust, Anger and Anxiety brawling across the control panel (think "Can i PLEASE get a waffle" vine), but Anxiety wins by taking all the weapons they beat her with and using it against them, culminating in a dissociative episode where there's an orange flash bang. When everything passes, the rest of the emotions wake up to find that Riley has been hurting herself to calm down and ground herself.... and everyone is like O SHIT WHAT DEWY DO

We can hint at the common HC of gender dysphoria when Anxiety turns the male and female-presenting emotions against each other like gossip and paranoia, and there are some scenes where she gets really uncomfortable at her chest and her voice on top of just body odor but that won't be the main focus, just pass it off as another insecurity but it'll be a lovely little nod to my fellow queer folks out there!

Depression:

Is more of the "Big Bad" than Anxiety, appears very large and imposing like your typical high-school bullies in shows

They try to get Sadness on their side by being like "see, we both make her feel down" but Sadness is like EUUGH NOOOO, so we drive home the point to the children that depression DOES NOT EQUAL sadness! Important lesson kids!

Antidepressants appear as a spray that covers everyone in goo (the mind-police have terrible aim) on top of just Depression, so every emotion becomes muted for a while, just like in real life and they can't really move well or they slip when trying to control the mind panel!

When it finally wears off, Joy is like YOOO LETS GOOOOOOO and spams happiness, but then realizes that Depression is also free, and then we have an emotional crash

The Hobby Island is the first to go, flickering off and on erratically, causing both the hockey results and grades to slip :(((

As Riley adjusts to medication, eventually both Depression and Anxiety become a bit smaller in size; they still have an impact but everyone learns to accommodate them, and it becomes more like a "haiyahhh there they go again" instead of fearing and hating them as something massively unfamiliar!

With regards to Riley's parents, maybe their emotions have to venture into the vaults of Teenage Angst to relive their experiences and figure out how to support her. Essentially the message is that a family support system is extremely important on top of medical treatment, and that even though you can't get rid of mental illnesses, you can always live with them!

If you have your own thoughts and ideas, please add on, I’d LOVE to hear them!! But that's what I have and I thought it was an interesting idea to possibly explore :)

[4e7her]

october writing prompt #3 - handholding

-

characters: ace trappola, twisted wonderland

contains: yandere themes, detachment / disassociation, hurt/comfort, reader referred to in second person pov, gender neutral reader

It’s been a difficult day, you vaguely register, looking up at the cloudy skies with detachment.

Of course, most days at Night Raven College were, magicless student and all. It had just been especially infuriating today - you didn’t care to relive the details, but it ended with you here. Annoyed, but more importantly, tired.

You walk without any thought to your movements or where you were going, letting life take you where it would. You just… didn’t have it in you to think about these things right now. You just wanted to find somewhere peaceful.

So out of it, you don’t even realize you’ve sat down in a clearing that must be on the outskirts of campus until you’re blankly looking down at the palms of your hands, eyes stinging with unshed tears. Flexing your hands for a moment, you sigh, and instead look up at should have been the sky.

Instead, though, Ace is there looming over you with an expression somewhere between irritated and concerned. Had he been trying to get your attention for long?

“-finally. Seriously, what has you so out of it, Prefect?” His voice cuts through your fog and he shakes his head, scowling slightly as he looks down at you before he must’ve caught sight of your tears - expression twisting so fast you almost missed the frenzied desperation to help somehow in his eyes. “Shit, no, what’s wrong?”

A feeble giggle, a shake of your head, and a shrug. That’s all it takes for him to understand, and for tears to start running down your face in earnest.

You hiccup between shaky breaths, just barely holding back from sobbing, and Ace looks so panicked that you laugh a little bit. It’s hysterical, but you’re not sure what else to do. So you cry, and you mumble incoherently, and you reach out to him.

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for him to do, and it’s obvious he doesn’t have a clue either. In that confusion, he decides that the best course of action is to hold your hands.

It’s comforting, but you still burst out laughing, shuddering breaths stabbing through your lungs and cheeks starting to hurt from smiling. It was just- it was so ridiculous.

Who sees a crying person and decides to hold their hands instead of, I don’t know, hug them? Especially when said crying person is the one who reaches out in the first place.

“Wh-? Don’t go laughing at me, that’s just rude.” Ace’s pouting brings you back down to earth, and you’re glad for the unintentional grounding that he’s doing. “…You want a hug?”

He waits a moment, but as soon as you nod your consent you’re wrapped in his arms.

“You don’t have to tell me what you’re cryin’ for, but I hope you know that I’m gonna fix it either way.” His voice holds a darker tone than normal, but you don’t notice - instead reveling in the comfort that his hold brought you. You never would’ve thought that Ace, of all people, would be the one coaxing you through a breakdown.

Him, though? He was intent. He had eyes on you virtually all day, and whenever he was there, everything seemed fine. What had gone wrong?

He’d have to figure it out and fix the issue, obviously - that wasn’t even in question. He’d do anything for you. You deserve the absolute best, and clearly no one else in this school would give it you.

Not that Ace would let them in the first place.

The last person who tried had learned their lesson quite well, he thought. And, luckily, you had never noticed. He took measures for it anyways, but he was glad that he didn’t have to use them.

It was just proof that you loved him as much as he loved you, wasn’t it? You were always so perfect like that. He couldn’t wait to make whoever made you cry suffer.

-

[click here to go to masterlist]

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

A Voice Through the Nothingness Part 4

I have my final Uni assignments to finish so the next update might take a little longer, rest assured, I'm working on it when I have spare time.

Series Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Contains: Angst, very brief mention of suicide, fluff, nightmares, discussions of trauma, flirting through being protective.

4.4 K words

Comment if you want to be tagged or follow #a voice through the nothingness.

"But I can have spiders in my head as long as I don't let them consume me.” - T.J. Klune.

Knock knock

Billy knew what was coming, he had tried to put it off but he could only give so many excuses before the doctors started to fuss, his first appointment with the physiatrist was today. 

"Hello Mr Russo, can I come in?" Despite his frame, Dr Charles was the least intimidating person you could meet. 

"I don't really have a choice." Billy didn't think he needed this, he was doing fine. 

"Well no, part of your plan is talking to someone about what happened to you, we can't let you leave until you're cleared and there's no way you'll be able to return to work either, but maybe we can make the best out of a bad situation." 

Billy waved his hand, "fine, but don't expect me to do much talking and I want to be done by one so I'm not late for rehab." 

Dr Charles smiled, "I think we can manage that." 

"So what do you want to know doc?" Billy's fingers were tapping absentmindedly.

"I want to focus on what you want to know, you much have questions about how you got here?" He was very aware that Billy needed to take this slow, this wasn't the eighties, he had no intention of making him relive things his mind wasn't ready for. 

"I know I got blown up, I know that it was because the guy were protecting was dirty and I know something happened to my face. Other than that, everyone's been a bit light of the details." Light on the details didn't exactly cover it, the answer he was given every time he asked was some variation of "you got blown up." 

Dr Charles nodded, "I'm sorry about that, when coma patients have been through something that causes serious memory loss, we are always hesitant to overload them but I'm happy to ask any questions you have." 

Billy swallowed, "I wanna know what's wrong with my face, I've been awake for five days and no one's let me near a mirror. I can tell something wrong." 

Dr Charels took a deep breath, "You have some scars, I brought a mirror if you want to look but I want to go over some things first." 

Billy felt rage build inside of him, now, when he got angry, he felt like he was going to explode. "Fine, ask your questions, it doesn't matter to me." 

"How do you think a change in your appearance might make you feel?" Dr Charles knew he was going to be met with bravado. 

Billy huffed, "my line of work doesn't exactly rely on me being pretty." 

Doctor Charles nodded, "yes, but that's not what I asked. I asked how it would make you feel." 

Billy's fingers drummed faster, "I don't need to look good to like myself, you don't need to worry about me offing myself doc." 

"This isn't about suicide Mr Russo, I would have asked outright if I thought you were a risk. We all want you to get better and part of that is knowing what might cause setbacks." Dr Charles knew Billy wouldn't have been used to this kind of thing, all the military cared about was keeping men in the war. 

"So you don't care how other people see you? Most people do, even if it's just a little?" Dr Charles was impressed, things were going well.

"The people that matter don't give a shit how you look. Some of my men look like they've survived a horror movie and they don't have problems, why should I?" Billy just wanted to get this over and done with, Dr Charles was making it seem like he had lost half his face.

"Alright then, do you want a mirror?" He could tell Billy was getting agitated.

"What do you think?" Dr Charles reached into the pile on the side table and produced a rectangular mirror the size of a medium book before holding it in front of Billy's face.

There was a moment of shock before it sunk in, then he was hit with waves of different emotions all at once, rage, pain, sadness, loss and to his surprise, relief, it wasn't the worst thing he had seen, "getting blown up is right."

"If I'm being honest Mr Russo, you're taking this better than I thought you would, hell, you're taking it better than most people would." Dr Charles didn't know if he should be concerned, Billy was hard to read.

"Yeah, like I said, I don't need to look good to like myself." The rage was still bubbling at the surface, "you got any other questions doc, because I'd like to be alone right now."

Dr Charles shook his head softly, "no, not right now. I'll be back tomorrow Mr Russo."

Billy sighed, realising this was going to happen whether he liked it or not, "call me Billy, I guess we're going to be seeing a lot of each other."

Dr Charles smiled, "well then Billy, call me Daniel. I'll be in the same time tomorrow, good luck with your rehab today."

Billy managed to hold on until he couldn't hear Dr Charles' footsteps, then he couldn't hold on any longer. He couldn't recall the last time he cried the way he did once he was sure he was alone.

****

"Hey."

Billy felt a mix of feelings when Hazel walked into his room, "hey, I like your scrubs."

She smiled, "elephants are awesome, did you know that when they're babies, they don't really know what to do with their trunks?"

Billy shook his head, "nope, but I do now."

"You doing ok? You seem a bit deflated." Hazel knew Billy had seen Dr Charles early that morning, he had spent the last few days complaining about it.

"Is there a reason no one told me about my face?" His demeanour made sense now.

"Yeah, we were told not to. It's kinda hard to tell someone that they have a whole bunch of scars on their face and doing it wrong is really really bad so we like to play it safe and wait for a shrink to do it." Hazel took her place by his bed and took a deep breath, "do you have any questions? I'm sure you've got so many things running through your head?"

Billy swallowed, "what the hell happened, how did this happen?"

Hazel thought for a moment, "If you like, I can go over your chart with you, we can go through each injury and you can ask all about it, how does that sound?"

Billy's fingers began to drum, "yeah ok."

Hazel popped up and grabbed his chart at the end of his bed before sitting back down and opening it to one of the early pages, "vertical laceration with horizontal branching of the right cheek, two vertical lacerations of the forehead with left laceration extending into the hair line, long vertical lacerations from temple to cheek on the left side, two horizontal lacerations to the nose bridge, shrapnel starburst wound of the left cheek. Glass removed from six of seven wounds."

Billy's fingers continued to drum as he took in the information, "so that's what they saw when you first came in. Your chart then talks about all the surgeries you had and how all the damage to the muscles and nerves was repairable because the glass made clean cuts. I'm guessing you were facing a window or glass door when it happened and the explosion sent everything flying at your face, a bomb tec will tell you the rest."

Billy huffed, "Have you seen the video of those stab proof shirts?" Hazel nodded, "when we have high risk clients, we wear them. The only thing that was unprotected was my face. I got off lucky, had the glass been different, I might not be here. I don't want plastic surgery, make sure they know that."

Hazel placed her hand on Billy's forearm and the tapping stopped, "that's your choice and I think it's the smart one, you've already had a lot of surgery and your body has been under a lot of stress. If you can feel and move your face and the scars don't matter to you then there's no reason to even think about it."

"Do you think they matter?" There was something sad in Billy's tone.

"Nope, not one bit. You work with guys with facial injuries right, do they still live full lives?" She could see Billy sorting through his mind.

"Yeah, they do. Hell, one of them is married to a model and they met after he got burned." Hazel could see the resolve coming over him, like he had found a solution to all his problems.

"There you go, if anyone cares Billy they are not worth your time or effort and if a client cares, then you should take them for all their worth. I know this won't mean anything, but you don't really notice them after a while, I'm not looking at a scarred face, I'm looking at you and I'm alright with that." Billy's chest felt funny, like a mix of butterflies and bravado.

"You're good at making people feel better." The smile Hazel gave him only grew the feelings rumbling under his ribs.

"Well I'd hope so, that's what they pay me for. But you're going to have another session with Dr Charles today because as much as I can talk to you until the cows come home, I'm not qualified to for that kind of making people better." Hazel's tone made it clear he didn't have a choice.

"You really think it will help?" Billy trusted Hazel completely, no matter how hesitant he was about talking to a shrink.

"I do, and I like I said, I talk to him once a month too. It will be worth it and you don't have to talk about the explosion, you can talk about anything. I'm not going to claim to know how fighting overseas has affected you but you had to have seen some shit that keeps you up at night, maybe if you talk about that you can kill two birds with on stone." She sounded a bit like Curt trying to get him to come to group.

"You've missed your calling a UN negotiator." Billy didn't know why he trusted her so much, maybe it's because she was always so genuine with him.

Hazel made a face, "Those assholes are useless. I got my skills getting five year olds to take their cough medicine, they got theirs failing to convince warlords to not be monsters."

Billy laughed, his face spilling into a grin, "that's what I'm saying, if you were with us the Taliban would have tossed in their guns on day one."

Hazel sighed, "you can butter me up all you like, I'm still paging Dr Charles when my two hours are up."

Billy shook his head fondly, "there's no getting anything passed you."

"Nope. Now, I have some major gossip about that new military contracting company and you are going to want to hear it." Hazel had a suggestive smile on her face.

"By the look on your face, it's either a sex scandal or the mob." Billy,knew they weren't a threat but he was happy for the leverage.

"Oh it's a sex scandal and it's real juicy." Billy could tell she was busting to spill the beans.

"I'm dying to know."

****

"I'm glad you asked to get me back here Billy, what made you change your mind?" Something about Billy was definitely different.

"Look, Doc, it's not that I don't believe in this stuff, my buddy runs a vet's group that does amazing work, I just don't think I need it, but I know I'm not getting out of here with the all clear and I can't do my job without a gun so how do you do this?"

Dr Charles smiled, "you seem like the type of man that does best when you have a mission, I'm guessing that's how we got here?"

Billy nodded, "you can take the man out of the Marines but you can't take the Marines out of the man and you're right, once I was awake enough to have a goal to focus on, that's all I did."

"That's real good Billy, it certainly makes my job easier. Therapy isn't much different to what you've been doing, if you can give me a goal, we can find a way to work towards it." Judging by the bags under Billy's eyes, Dr Charles was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Sleep, I can't fucking calm down enough to sleep at night." Billy sounded fed up.

"Yeah, I noticed you're only getting two hours a night, you got an ideas about why you're having trouble other than not being able to calm down?" He knew the answer to that too.

"I'm worried about nightmares, I get flashes sometimes of what I think it the explosion but I've been through it once, I don't need to go through it again." Billy's voice was a mix of fear and anger.

"That's fine with me. We'll start with a sleeping pill, something really mild and we'll go from there. How does that sound?" Dr Chrales was growing more hopeful but the minute.

"I don't want to be stuck in a nightmare Doc, I've been there before too." Billy's fingers started to drum against the bed.

"That's fine with me too, if you get them tonight, I can give you some Prazosin. It's not a permanent fix and we'll have to deal with the cause of the nightmares but it will let you get some sleep and we'll handle the rest when you're ready." He could see the relief on Billy's face.

"You know Doc, the last time I couldn't sleep, I went to a doc at the VA and he told me that I have to learn to deal with the nightmares. He wanted to dose me up and make me go through them every night so I could expose myself to them." Billy was proud he could still read people, even with a scrambled brain, because Dr Charles was angry.

"I'm really sorry you had to go through that Billy, we don't do exposure therapy anymore, we now know that exposing people to their traumas before they're ready is harmful and it denies your ability to choose your treatment. If one day you decide that's the way you want to go them we can jump in with both feet, but until them, let's just make sure you get a good's night rest. How does that sound?"

Billy smiled, "that sounds good Doc."

****

"Come on Bill, you're getting old, don't you want to find someone and settle down?" Frank sounded like a grandmother. 

"Like I keep telling you man, I'm doing my duty, I can't leave the beautiful women of this city with cold beds." Billy had seen what Frank had gone through after Rawlins killed Maria and the kids, he wasn't one for setting himself up for heartbreak. 

"You think she won't like you once she gets to know you Bill, you don't give yourself enough credit." Billy sucked on his tongue, Frank didn't need to go dragging shit up. 

"You tell Karen everything we did over there, how the CIA sent us after Rawlins when he went bad, about all the shit that keeps you up at night?" Billy already knew the answer, he was just trying to shut Frank up. 

"You bet I did, we're still together, aren't we? It ain't as scary as you think it is. The right woman won't care." Frank sounded so sure of himself. 

"Alright Frankie, I'll take your word for it but right now, I'm just sharing the wealth." Billy hoped that would be enough for Frank to let it go. 

The shrill buzzing of an emergency ringtone cut Frank's reply. Billy watched as Frank listened to the person on the other end, his face slowly becoming a mix of anger and worry, there was a pause and Frank looked around, the phone still glued to his head, before his eyes went wide. 

"Get away from the wind......" 

Billy's eyes shot open, his heart racing in his chest as he tried to get his bearings. His whole body hurt but it was a strange pain, like fantom claws ripping into his flesh, he managed to raise his arm but before he could touch his face, his shoulder crumbled in agony. 

Parts of the nightmare faded, leaving only his conversation with Frank left. As much as he hated the lingering panic in his chest, he was grateful the memories were returning. 

****

Knock knock

"Yeah." 

Hazel wandered in with a smile on her face, the blue of her shark scrubs making her brown eyes look like obsidian under the bright lights, "for a man that clearly hasn't slept a wink, you look happy." 

Billy nodded, "I am, I saw Daniel this morning, he thinks I'm making good progress." 

Her smile widened, "really? That's great."

She took her spot by his bed and he reached his hand out for her to take, Hazel's hand sliding into his, "you're right, I didn't sleep last night but the doc's going to give me some drug to help with the nightmares and the bonus is I remember some of what happened."

"Prazosin, it's an amazing drug. I was on it for about four months after I was attacked." Like usual, Billy was grateful for her openness.

"Did it work?" Billy could see Hazel was thinking about her answer.

"Yes, they didn't go away entirely but I didn't wake up in the middle of a panic attack and it gave me time to heal so I could get to the root of what was causing them without worrying about falling asleep every night. Coming of them was a bit of a bitch, I had the weirdest dreams for about six weeks but I'm better now and when I have nightmares, I use the techniques Dr Charles have given me to feel better." That burning anger was back, it struck Billy how fierce it was.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, I'm not sorry you shot him." Hazel squeezed his hand as her thumb stroked his skin.

"Neither am I. But enough about me, tell me how the news about that scandal has spread." Billy smiled, Marines gossip worse than school girls and he was more than happy to take part.

"Oh, you're going to want to strap in because it's a wild ride."

Two Weeks Later

Billy knew what he was caple of, he had already pulled himself up from the dirt once and he was going to do it again but right now, all he could focus on was the blinding pain in his limb. It came hard and fast and he had cramps so bad they wrapped his body in agony and pins and needles that made him feel like he was being dipped in a pot of boiling oil.

None of that mattered, all Billy focused on was getting better. Rehab became a mess of tiny improvements and waiting for the misery of pain to ebb back into the background.

Billy forced himself to hover at the edges of conciseness, waiting for Hazel's daily visit. Today's physio session had been almost unbearable, but that didn't stop him from asking for more. Right now, he was psyching himself up to ask for more pain meds. He was having at least one session a day with Dr Charles and it was sinking in that it was ok to ask for help, that he didn't need to cope with pain, if only the nurse would hurry up.

He popped in, clicking his pen and Billy considered killing him with it, only to be handed two pills and have a cup shoved in his face. Billy lifted the drugs to his mouth and took the cup from the man, "I can do that myself now, it should be in my chart."

The man gave him a fake smile, "sorry about that, I'm only a student and they've just giving more responsibilities, I can't keep track of everyone."

The glare Billy gave the man had him think twice, "right, I will be back in an hour to see how you're feeling."

Billy blinked, an hour seemed like an awfully long time.

****

"Billy, holy shit are you alright?" Hazel sounded so worried and he hated it.

"I'm fine, the meds aren't working." His voice was tight.

Her eyebrows wrinkled, "that doesn't make sense, they've been working fine so far." Her face as she read his chart told him all he needed to know.

"Lizabeth, get in here now." She sounded enraged and Lizabeth seemed to pick up on it as she came racing in.

"I just heard my government name in front of a patient we've both known for months, what is it?" Hazel handed her Billy's chart and if he thought Hazel looked scary when she was angry, Lizzy was something else.

"Fucking Tylenol? I'll go get him, he's been a problem since he got his med privileges. Knight will have him on his ass after this." Lizabeth left for a moment and returned with the nurse who had come into his room before.

"Do you know how to read a chart?" Hazel was already up and shoving the chart in the student's face before returning to Billy's side.

"Yes, I do." He sounded pissed.

"You clearly don't. 'The patient is to be given Tizanidine at first request and Tramadol upon second request. On call doctor may exercise discretion if stronger drugs are needed.' This cocktail has been working since Billy woke up, is there any reason you went over the heads of five doctors, the head nurse and his two personal nurses? Keep in mind I have nothing to do with this, he's not my patient but I still agree with this plan." Lizabeth didn't step in to stop the hell Hazel was about to give him.

"These drugs are addictive and Mr Russo is going to be here a while, he needs to learn to cope with his pain." There was a pause and Billy could see Knight getting nervous.

"You got a name?" If Billy was in less pain, this would have been a sight.

"Jared Brooks." Jared had the face of a man who didn't know what was coming to him.

"Well Jared, you've only been working in a hospital for six months and you've only had the privilege of handing patients their meds for two days. You are not allowed to give them anything not listed in their chart, you are to get them from your med cart. You're lucky you're not on my ward, my head nurse would have dragged you to the stress herself. Lucky for you, the head nurse for long term care is doing the right thing and at a conference for new treatments. What do you have to say for yourself?" Billy was ready for Hazel to kill him.

"I made a mistake, it won't happen again." He was still as smug as he was when this started.

Billy watched Hazel carefully, he knew what was about to happen, "You make a mistake, a mistake? Oh no, you made more than a mistake, you mistook your ego for medical care and risked the mental, physical and emotional health of a patient to prove a point about something you don't even understand. You didn't make a mistake, you made what could have been a fatal error in your judgement. You are the worst student nurse I have ever met for a teaching hospital, that's saying something. I can only assume that you used the fact that our actual staff were busy to take advantage of the people that needed you the most. I have no words to describe…"

Billy reached out and grabbed her hand, "you're going to make the poor man cry. I'm not mad, everyone makes mistakes Hazel. I'm sure Mr Brooks will be dealt with."

Lizabeth spoke up, her voice hard, "Get off the premises now or I will have you removed, you can expect us to call your academic board within the hour." She turned to Billy, "we will let you get some rest and the meds you need. This is the second time he's done this today, he won't be coming back."

Billy eagerly swallowed the handful of pills Lizabeth handed him and rested back on the pillows while she closed the blinds and quieted the room, "I'll hang here and give him the good news."

Lizabeth nodded, "thanks Hazel, buzz if you need anything."

Lizabeth left and Hazel relaxed into her chair, "I was coming in to tell you something wonderful so I'm sorry you got to see me Hulk out."

Billy laughed, "you kidding me? If you ever need a job at Anvil, it's yours, I thought you were going to hit him."

Hazel huffed, "I fucking wanted to."

The tension was leaving his body by the second, "tell me the good news."

He could hear the joy in Hazel's voice, "long term care and the peds ward share a state of the art rehab room. Now that you're in the low support section and we've got you sleeping, you've been cleared to start your rehab over there."

Billy's chest felt funny, "does that mean I get to see you in action? I know the nurses take their patients and help out, Dr Charles said it was something about continued support."

Hazel nodded, "yep, we pride ourselves on not only having support networks within wards by within wings too. We go where your patients go to the best of our ability. Now, I can't say it will be easy but it's not like you're not already going through it so you'll be fine."

Billy grinned, the pain almost gone, "I get to see you work, not just hear about it from everyone. You know Lizzy and Dr Charles say you're one of the best peds nurses they ever met?"

Hazel broke eye contact with a slight smile on her face, "I know, they've told me. But I've also been told I'm a big meanie, we end up sharing a section you might change your mind."

Billy smiled, "I'm looking forward to it. I get to see where all my tax dollars are going."

Hazel shook her head fondly, "get some sleep Russo, you're going to need it."

Part 5

[bubblepopsims]

It didn't take Izzi long to come to the conclusion to go after Juju. Finding her on a questionable old looking wooden bridge just staring out over the pond that slithered around the park itself. A unsettling feeling found home in their chest and stomach as they approached slowly. Juju didn’t seem to notice, more lost in thought than anything. Her eyes would dart around, brows would bunch up every now and than. Biting her lip as the invasive thoughts took a hold of her usual radiant and vigilant spirit. I: my love..." juju jumped a bit at the voice, startled that Izzi came to find her, not even hearing them approach. J: "Hi..." Izzi instantly felt guilt weighing on their heart just from the tone of Juju's voice.. the last thing Izzi wanted was to hurt her feelings.

I: "juju.. I... I'm sorry. I did not mean what I said. It's not that i don't want to talk about it with you.. it's just i don't know how to talk about it at all.. My family.. my family wasn't the best. From disregarding me, to ignoring my wishes, to the abuse and manipulation.. and I did tell you this.. juju.. I'm dreading going back into that house.. to relive all that pain and suffering i did behind those walls" juju gripping her own arm a bit tighter as Izzi continued. I: "I still have a lot of work to do in that department. Plus having someone like you overwhelms me. -Izzi paused as Juju lowered her eyes once more- no fuck... words. okay! -Izzi took a deep breath- i am not used to having a partner that cares about me the way you do, that loves and accepts all of me.. that is so warm and welcoming.. even your family.. - Izzi took another deep breath and let it out before continuing- Juju... you see me, and that scares the shit out of me. you love me enough to stick around this park after me blatantly pushing you away and knowing I am here term oiling alone... when all you were saying was that you were here for me.. I wasn't listening to you baby and I'm sorry." izzi took a few steps closer, taking a slow approach towards juju, seeing if she would accept their gesture to come closer. and like magnets, juju lowered her guard, meeting Izzi's gaze.

I: "i hear you now though... loud and clear.... I'm sorry.. i sometimes forget how much you need the communication.. how sensitive you can be when you don’t get that.. you are always so strong always so ready to help.. I admire that about you but baby.. it hard to talk about this stuff.. I can speak about it with Vic (izzis therapist) just fine.. but with you.. it’s hard because your opinion matters to me.” Juju let out a deep breath and sank into Izzi's arms finding that familiar feeling of intimacy with Izzi that she loved and cherished the most. Juju knew that talking about feelings wasn’t Izzi's strong suit, nor something that came easy to them. But Izzi has gotten a lot better, has trusted juju more with those inner demons.. but sometimes it still felt like Izzi would keep her at arms length.. especially when it came to their family. J: "Izzi… you know I would never judge you.. i do accept all of you and that includes the dark parts.. you are important to me, you matter to me.. and of course I want to help when I know that place and those people hurt you so bad..I just don't want you to feel like you have to carry all of this on your own..." I: "I am sorry..." J: " I know... and I forgive you.. so please stop saying it..”

they two stayed like that, embracing and appreciating the fact that they always had a way of making it up to one another. Juju knew she was being pushy on the topic.. but it was all with genuine intent behind it, while Izzi saw it as a way to pry. briefly forgetting that Juju was not like the rest. Juju would never use their feelings against themselves, nor intentionally hurt them. She just wanted to help ease the pain that had been spilling out from under their skin.

I: "lets get you into comfies shall we?" Juju hummed and walked ahead a bit reaching behind her to gesture for Izzi to take her hand, but what she didn't realize in that moment was a slightly elevated piece of the path causing her to miss a step. J "WAHHH!"

j: "HOLY SHIT BABE ARE YOU OKAY??! fuck im so sorry! you could have just let me fall!" I: "are you nuts??" Izzi groaned and huffed finding themselves smushed between the grass and juju's body. in the midst of juju falling, Izzi took it upon themselves to take the fall, knowing just by grabbing her wouldn't suffice. I: "ow.... shit... that is going to leave a bruise... I guess this is my payback huh?" Juju let out a chuckle it was enough to bring a sense of warmth to Izzi's heart, letting out that sigh of relief that juju is slowly emerging from her own trouble thoughts. J: "that might be.. but I also have your reward."

Previous-Next

[omentranslates]

Owari no Seraph chapter 127 english fan translation

hi welcome to the tumblr experience since i'm not risking a 30 post thread on twitter right now

the official is already out on manga plus, i usually only leave the link over there but since it's a special occasion

just for fun as usual so thanks for reading

Chapter 127: Loyalty and Love

Color page text: No matter what happens, I won't let go of your hand.

Energy top-up for exploring the past...!!

Yuu: Haaah....I get SO hungry. And I hit limit-break at the best times. Reliving the past is no small deal.

Yuu: Oh. Great, after this cola I'm all full. Mika, I'm coming back. Hope I make it in time.

Yuu: I'm back

Mika: Shh

Angel Mika: Yuu, guess what. Father says we're gonna have a picnic together! I can't wait...Yuu, you should come with us, ok!?

Yuu: Oh, someone's coming.

Mika: Yeah

Angel Mika: Huh? Did Father come back in?

Yuu: No...

Paimon: *coughing*

Yuu: It's Saitou.

Paimon: *coughing and hacking*

Angel Mika: Oh....

Paimon: You're in my way.

Angel Mika: YUU!!!

Paimon: Die.

Angel Mika: I won't. What...is the meaning of this?

Angel Mika: Leave. Now.

Paimon: SHIT!!

Bael: Paimon

Yuu: ANGEL MIKA'S GOT HANDS!

Paimon: You truly are the King's child...There's no time for this. I'll have to bring my best as well.

Angel Mika: WAIT, JUST WAIT A SECOND! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? WHY ME? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL-...

Angel Mika: *echoing voice* O, Light

Paimon: ..........shit. You're so strong even just having been born. If I leave you alive here, there will be no hiding you from God's sight.

Angel Mika: I'M TELLING YOU TO JUST WAIT A SECOND. Aren't you Father's closest aide? You're Paimon, the angel Father always speaks so highly of. So why are you of all people doing this? Hey, tell me why you're doing this.

Paimon: There's no time. I'm ending this now.

Angel Mika: I'm just going to lay this out for you. I'm stronger than you. I've been holding back. So your knife there is useless on me.

Paimon: So what?

Angel Mika: So I'm asking what you're doing this for if you understand that already. Your intention is to die with this next hit, isn't it? But I'll counter it, so are you sure you want that death?

Paimon: My death doesn't matter so long as I kill you...

Paimon: *coughing fit*

Angel Mika: What for?

Paimon: ......for the King.

Angel Mika: What? What are you saying...

Paimon: Your existence touches upon the forbidden. The King will be punished for you.

Angel Mika: What? But-

Paimon: Did he tell you he would heal your illness? He's forbidden from that. He created you, he was also forbidden from that. He told me he would cure me too, it's forbidden.

Angel Mika: B-but...Father said I'd get better.

Paimon: You might, but the day you do will be the King's last. And that punishment will not be satisfied with just his death.

Angel Mika: But, Father said we'd all go on a picnic together.

Paimon: He was lying. The King plans to fall alone into Hell.

Angel Mika: But Father said we could always be together.

Paimon: It's all lies. He's going to accept his punishment to protect you.

Angel Mika: He couldn't....

Paimon: But I'm not going to let that happen, I'm going to protect the King from you. Because....I am his most beloved aide!!

Angel Mika: No, dying is.....

Paimon: DIE.

Angel Mika: I DON'T WANT TO, IT'S TOO SCARY!!

Angel Mika: LIGHT

Paimon: O, LIGHT

Yuu: Whoa...

Angel Mika: Oh, oh no...oh, what do I do, I'm so sorry!

Paimon: Ah damn it...you're strong. I couldn't have beaten you.

Angel Mika: What do I do what do I do what do I do......Father, I-I've gotta call Father!

Paimon: Wait, don't. Seeing us like this would hurt him.

Angel Mika: This isn't the time for things like...!

Paimon: I want you to listen to me. I'm thinking about something.

Angel Mika: Thinking? What could you possibly be...?

Paimon: First of all, you don't need to worry about this. I came here knowing I would lose to you. Take a look at these hideous blackened wings. My disease is progressing, I was going to die soon anyways.

Angel Mika: What...

Paimon: But the King refuses to give up on me. He's going to keep trying to save me, even though it will be his end. So then, what should I do?

Paimon: I want you to tell me, child of my King. What can I, in the way that I am, do to leave proof of my love for my King? I just want to protect him.

Angel Mika: You say it like that, but...

Paimon: Do you love your father?

Angel Mika: Huh?

Paimon: Do you love your dad, from the bottom of your heart? That's what I wanted to know. Because if you do, it makes us the same.

Paimon: Light upon the King....and the future of this land....

Angel Mika: Ah....ah....AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Angel Mika: It's not true, how can this......why.........

Angel Mika: *cough*

Angel Mika: *cough cough*

Angel Mika: .....so my illness....is going to hurt Father? My existence....it's causing him problems? Is that it, Paimon?

Angel Mika: Aah, what should I do....? Father...it seems like I'm really a burden on you, huh.

Angel Mika: God's punishment.....

Yuu: No, Mika don't

Angel Mika: Aah, I'm scared, Father. I don't think I'm brave enough to do this.

Angel Mika: but...

Angel Mika: I really love you too, Father.

Shikama: What the......

Shikama: Mikaela....Paimon.....it....it can't be....

An instantaneous tragedy.....

[raisinghellonstarbug]

Sam Fender prompt fic request from @jhangelface0523 ... “I couldn’t kiss you all day! Let me make up for it now."

Sam Fender x fem!reader ficlet, Need You Around

Content warning: hint of swearing, smoking (slight mention of drug use)

--

It was a warm early evening. Around dusk time.

You were sitting outside the tour bus where you had a decking chair set up. It was a couple of hours to go before you all needed to be ready for the gig.

Even at this point you still couldn't believe that you were on this tour with the boys, let alone in Munich, but it seemed that this was what life was turning into. This was the big time now ever since the new album had been released.

You could hear Sam on board chatting shit about god knows what in the background; but it was a comfort nevertheless to hear him enjoying himself.

You were puffing away on a cigarette that you knew was not ideal for your vocals, but with the slight continuous pressure of being on stage tugging at your heartstrings every time you were getting closer to the next gig, you decided to allow yourself the odd one to get you through it.

Of course however you have been intermittently smoking for eight years now. But when you saw Sam, Dean, Dru, Joe, Johnny and Tom all smoking joints fairly regularly (which really was also ciggies too), it justified your filthy habit.

You could hear Sam and Dean's laughter from the bus and you chuckled, taking another drag of your cancer stick.

You then remembered what he whispered to you last night like a comfort blanket, silky and smooth, fluttering your eyes closed to relive it:

"Love, I'm really feeling something special with ya and I dannae know how to even describe it like. But fuck, I need you around. You're keeping me human."

It had struck a chord for you as it made the whole thing all the more real.

But it was telling the others that you were getting really serious, and they didn't even know about you both yet.

You had known Sam for around five years at this point and had only begun dating him in the last few months. But in secret. You knew it was an issue to start a relationship with him when you had become one of the lads, but also given that you had been the solid opening act for Sam on and off now since 2018. Working together and sleeping together weren't necessarily a good mix.

But then your heart tugged again, and not because of the nerves of performing, but because of your ever growing feelings for the Geordie boy. You couldn't tell him all of that yet. Not yet.

He then came outside and saw you, his eyes transfixed on yours instantly. He gave you that smile, the one that made you melt and he bit his lip, scratching his hair and coming towards you with intent.

"Hey Y/n, there you are, you alright lass?"

You nodded and sighed, taking in the scent of him around you and finishing off your cigarette, stubbing it into the ground.

"Yeah yeah, fine just thinking..."

"Thinking about what, about me is it?" That boyish grin was to die for. Fucking cocky too.

You scoffed and retorted trying to hide back a grin, "Yeah yeah, thinking about how much of an arrogant arse you are-"

He then laughed and grappled you, getting a hold of you in a cuckold, his arm around your neck and pulling you down with him to the ground, you yelling at him to get off and let go.

As he brought you down and loosened his grip, he then transfixed you again under his hard gaze, his eyes so beautiful in the low light. Suddenly, he kissed you. You were surprised by his lips, not expecting it and half afraid one of the boys would walk out of the bus to discover you both in this compromising position.

You then let go and tried to back away but he wasn't having it. He was chuckling and as you straightened yourself up to walk away from him he grabbed your hand and took you away from the main door of the bus, heading over to a darker corner behind it.

You lowered your voice, panic still laced in, "No no Sam what are you doing you know we can't let them find out about us yet!"

You let go of his hand and you still tried to push him away playfully, but he was still grinning at you and you couldn't help but soften your attitude, looking at you with those blue irises, almost puppy dog like and so annoyingly charming.

"Love, let me please. Let me, I couldn't kiss you all day! Let me make up for it now..."

He then grabbed you close and you gave up trying to resist him. He guided you gently to lean against the exterior of the bus and pressed his lips onto yours once more, the softness of his touch contrasting the heat and impending need you knew he had. Let's face it, he was probably horny. He was a guy after all. You giggled at the thought.

He had one hand on your waist and the other leaning over your head. The smell of him was even more intoxicating than before. You couldn't get enough. You were heavily engulfed in the kiss until you needed oxygen again. You were both a little out of breath and his face had gone red. As you came back to reality, you were in awe of how worked up you could get him. He looked dangerously hot like this.

You knew you would have to wait until later though for any more to happen, specifically when everyone was asleep.

You looked forward to having the opportunity to make noise during sex again when the tour was over.

--

Fin!

Hope you enjoyed it <3

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