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ghostofwriting · 1 month

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Kildare Split Part One: Angel

Chapter One: Angel

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Note: Thank you all for commenting, liking, reblogging, and interacting with the KS smau's! I really appreciate you all and thought that I would give you a little treat for being so nice. I can't sleep so here is part one of Kildare Split's story, more specifically y/n and Rafe's. Hope you have fun getting to read about the behind-the-scenes. This is absolutely not edited.

Warnings: none, bad writing, Rafe being mean.

Word Count: 3,710

Synopsis: Everyone has noticed that there's been a shift in how Kildare Split acts around each other. Rafe and Y/N used to be so close, they were always pictured together, and always shared stories of each other and for the last few years, there has been nothing from them. A behind-the-scenes look at what went down between everyone's favorite band.

The audience claps as the interviewer closes out the interview. The four of them stand up and start shaking hands with the man. One of the Jimmys or Seth or maybe even Jack. She doesn’t know. She just wants to leave. She’s so tired. It’s been such a long day of pretending.

Y/n’s the first one to make it backstage, she breathes deeply, her back against a wooden panel.

“Hey, you okay?” a voice comes from behind her. She puts on a smile and nods her head.

“Yeah, Top. Fine.” He nods and gives her a half smile.

Things aren’t the same as they used to be. They haven’t been the same in so long. Two years? Maybe three. Everything is such a blur. Time mending together. Touring helps a lot. It helps time pass, and it helps distract her. Being on stage helps too, that’s the only moment that she can pretend that everything is okay and believe it. She can look at Rafe and smile at him and it feels like before.

Topper leaves her alone, he goes back to the guys, hanging back with them as they talk to their manager. She walks into the dressing room, gathering her stuff and waiting for Sarah to text her that they’re ready to go.

Rafe walks into the room, alone.

“Good job tonight.” He doesn’t look at her. He just starts shoving his belongings into a tote, grabbing some extra snacks that the show provided them.

She’s so angry. Even still. Even after all this time. She wants to scream at him, beg him to explain himself but she can’t. So she stays quiet.

“This has to stop.” He says, pausing his actions, still not looking at her.

She looks at the back of his head. His hair starting to grow out from when he buzzed it, bleached from his album shoot.

She wants to speak but she can’t. It’s like the anger chokes her up, this ball of fire stuck in her throat and she can’t get a word out because all that will come out is lava. She wants to hurt him. Wants him to feel a fraction of what she felt. And even then, she doesn’t even know if she’s in the right. Two years later and she’s still mad at him, even if she shouldn’t be.

Sarah tried telling her to talk to him, to work it all out for the sake of the band. From her perspective, the band hasn’t suffered. The band is doing better than ever and she thinks that she deserves an award for not killing Rafe on stage.

Sometimes she wishes she could put everything behind her and just try and be his friend again. They may never be best friends again, but she could speak to him at least. She thinks she’s civil with him though. He’s not dead so that says something.

Rafe just sighs and sits on the counter, pulling out his phone. He’s probably texting her. His girlfriend. No, the fiance. The one he cheated on her with. Or well, sort of.

+++

Rafe and y/n met when they were 10 years old. She was friends with Sarah and always went over to her house. She thought of Sarah as her best friend until she met Rafe. Maybe it was love at first sight or a little kid crush but she grew attached. She would not leave him alone. Luckily for her, Rafe was the same way. He always followed her around, asking her to play when he saw her on the beach, at school, or if their parents ran into each other at the grocery store.

They became inseparable and soon they added two new faces to their duo. Topper and Barry. It was early on that they knew what they wanted to do with their lives. They would put on shows for whoever wanted to watch. They would sing at the top of their lungs and smash around on every surface they could find.

Soon after, y/n had asked her mom to put her in guitar lessons. She picked it up quickly but she always enjoyed singing more. She had bragged to Rafe about how fun her vocal lessons were and he convinced his father that he wanted to join too. It was contagious because soon enough, Topper and Barry had each claimed an instrument that they practiced every day after school for hours. They drove their parents insane.

Rafe said that they couldn’t have two guitar players in the band and Topper refused to drop lead guitar so y/n did. Rafe was mad at Topper first but y/n reassured him that she could pick up bass quickly. They became Kildare Split on a blisteringly hot summer day in Barry’s garage. Sarah, John B, and JJ watching their rehearsal. After that, they played shows whenever they could. Dive bars, small fairs around town, and busking outside venues where established bands were playing.

It took them from the ages of 12 to 17 to get discovered but they never let up. When they finally got signed to their label, y/n remembers crying in Rafe’s arms. She was so happy, their dreams were coming true and she was doing it with her best friends.

Little did she know that everything would fall apart so fast.

Childhood is pretty much lost when you’re playing stingy bars full of drunk people and drugs at 12 years old. She thought that it would get better once they had protection from managers and label heads. She was wrong. It almost became worse. Drugs were everywhere. At 17 getting drugs offered to you by a 50-year-old man who controls your entire career is pretty terrifying. She didn’t think she could say no. The boys didn’t think they could say no. It was intense. Some of them made it out better than others, and the others, well, that’s the downfall of fame at such a young age.

There was an entire year where she probably spent half of it high out of her mind. She went from doing it out of fear of losing her career to craving it, needing it. Rafe was the same way. Topper had tried to help them both but they were too far gone. She remembers going on talk shows, but not which talk shows or who they talked to or what they talked about. She looks back on those days and feels a pit in her stomach. Losing such a big chunk of her young adult life that she can’t relive hurts.

That’s when it all started. She was high and drunk, and Rafe was high and drunk and one thing led to another. They had never crossed that line before. After her initial crush went away, she had never thought of Rafe that way. When it happened, it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her head. She woke up the next day and immediately regretted it. She apologized to Rafe, told him that it could never happen again and bolted.

That’s when she cleaned her act up. She couldn’t risk their relationship, for their friendship and the band.

One thing she should have known is that Rafe didn’t care. He wanted her and he was going to have her. And who was she to shove all her bottled-up feelings back in their little box? Who was she to deny him?

So they start their little song and dance. At first, they keep it hidden from everyone. If Topper and Barry were to find out, they would be so incredibly upset and they would tell them to stop.

She can’t stop. She doesn’t want to stop. Not as long as Rafe wants her.

She gets clean and she tries to help Rafe get clean too. He relapses time and time again, crawling back to her, asking for another chance. She’s been there, she knows how hard it is to get clean so of course she gives him all the chances he asks for.

They hook up on and off for a year. They never become anything official because Rafe isn’t in the headspace to be in a relationship. He needs to focus on himself and she wants to help him and if he needs her to be his friend, that’s what she’ll be.

“You’re friends with benefits with my brother,” Sarah says stunned. Topper and Barry had found out and ran to her to get her to talk some sense into Rafe and y/n.

“It’s not like that.” Sarah looks at her incredulously.

“Are you or are you not fucking my brother?” y/n doesn’t know how to respond so she stays quiet. Sarah is scary when she’s mad.

“It’s not because he’s my brother, y/n. It’s because of what he means to you.” y/n shakes her head, smiling softly.

“Sarah, I promise you, it’s okay. Rafe and I have an agreement.” Sarah sighs and looks at her with concern.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” She should’ve taken Sarah’s advice. She should have put a stop to everything that minute everyone found out. She was too far gone for him though, she couldn’t leave him, not when he needed her.

Everyone warned her. Everyone told her that it would end badly.

“I just want you to know that if he does something, those boys will choose him. You’re the odd variable y/n, know that.” Cleo had said to her one night when they were in the tour bus, the boys off on a run.

“I am just as important to them as Rafe is.” Or she had thought.

On one stupid drunken night she tells Rafe that she loves him. He gapes at her not knowing what to say.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” She understands, of course, she does. It’s not like that between them.

The doesn’t stop her from crying in Barry’s arms about it. She hiccups and sobs into his chest about how much she loves him and how he will never look at her that way. Barry just listens and holds her. She falls asleep in his arms. She feels so safe with him. Her best friend.

Shit hits the fan all at once and so fast.

Sarah sits her down one night after a show. Her adrenaline is still pumping, she wants to go jump around with the guys and run laps around the venue.

“Sar, can we do this later?”

“This can’t wait.” The tone in her voice brings her back down to earth. It’s serious.

“What’s wrong?” y/n knows it’s about Rafe before Sarah opens her mouth. She feels it, there’s a shift in whatever the hell universe she’s been living in. Her face feels hot, her ears are ringing, and she feels like she starts to shake.

“Rafe is seeing someone.” Of course, he is. She’s y/n she’s just his friend.

A friend that he sleeps with. A friend that has stayed up all night with him as he detoxed. A friend who drove him to and from meetings, that drove him to rehab and told everyone that he was on vacation. She was the person that he would run to when any little thing went wrong, she held him as he cried about their career not going anywhere and having to go back to work for his dad. She let him sob in her arms about all the shit that they have been through during the lift-off of their career. She was there for him, always for him and he promised her. He promised that he would always be there for her that it was only her. That he only ever wanted her and when he got his shit together they could be together. He told her that he wasn’t sleeping around. He didn’t have time for girlfriends, he didn’t have time to put in the work on a relationship because he could barely put the work into himself. He told her that she was the only one he was ending his nights with and waking up in the mornings with. He promised her the world and it was all just a lie.

Just as fast as her body starts shaking, it relaxes, she takes a deep breath and looks at Sarah, the look of concern still on her face.

“Who?” she asks lowly.

“This painter, named Sofia.” The name rings a bell. She thinks she’s seen her call Rafe a few times.

“That’s okay. We weren’t dating.” Sarah’s concern grows so y/n smiles at her.

“Let’s go back out there.”

“Do you want me to call Cleo?” Sarah asks.

“I’m good, Sar.”

And she is. Or at least she’s trying to be good. She has no right to be angry. They weren’t dating. He doesn’t owe her anything.

They walk into the room where the guys are playing video games. Waiting for the fans to leave the venue before it’s safe for them to leave.

“Hey! Great show tonight angel!” Rafe says looking away from the screen at her. She gives him a short smile, her face pensive.

Cleo’s words ring in her head, those boys will choose him those boys will choose him those boys will choose him.

She knows all three of them like the back of her hand. Topper's lip quivers when he lies. Barry doesn’t look you in the eyes. And Rafe, Rafe’s ears turn red.

She has to know if the two boys, men, that she grew up with and calls her family, would keep that from her.

“So who’s Sofia?” She watches as all three of them tense. She’s looking between Barry and Topper but she sees Rafe turn to look at Sarah with anger between his brows from her peripherals.

She looks for the cues and hopes that she can’t find them. It’s hard to miss when Barry doesn’t look up from his controller but is frozen, quiet. She looks at Topper, his mouth open, trying to find something to say.

“I don’t know, some person we commissioned probably.” She can’t help the breathy sob that escapes her lips when she sees the quiver on Topper’s.

She swallows hard, she turns to Rafe, shaking her head at him and backing away.

“You’re a liar. You’re a fucking liar. All of you are.” She backs into the hallway, her eyes still floating from one to the other.

“y/n-” Topper moves towards her but she holds her hand out and cuts him off.

“No. Stay away from me. I never- I-” she chokes on a sob. “ I never would have done this to you. Don’t talk to me, don’t follow me, just stay away from me.” She turns on her feet and books it out of the room and hallway, she hears Rafe chewing Sarah out but doesn’t stay long enough to hear what Sarah says.

Things are awkward, to say the least from then on. She stayed in her bunk and silently cried herself to sleep. She wants to go to him, ask him what she could have done, ask him what happened and when he knew he wanted to stop things with her. He doesn’t come to see her that night, or the next night or the night after that.

At first, she thought it was because he was giving her time to cool off but on the third night of complete silence from him, she walks into the dressing room of their show in Nashville and a pretty girl with short hair sits on the couch.

“Hi, I’m Sofia. You must be y/n.” She extends her hand out and y/n takes it.

“Nice to meet you.” y/n says.

“You too, sorry about how things went down.” Y/n scrunches up her nose, her head tilting.

“What?” She asks.

“I mean, I knew he had to choose eventually, he just didn’t get the chance to tell you.” She feels like she’s going to throw up. She wasn’t planning on hating Sofia, but she knew. Sofia knew that y/n existed and she still kept on seeing him.

She walks out of the room.

That same night, everything changed. If he had just apologized, if he had told her that he fucked up and he was too drugged up to think clearly, she would have forgiven him. That’s not what happened.

She runs into Rafe in the lunch area and can’t hold in all her feelings. She needs to know what he’s thinking and wants to ask him to explain himself.

“Rafe?” He doesn’t acknowledge her.

“Can we please talk?”

“God Y/n, I don’t want to fucking talk. I’m so goddamn tired of you moping around this place like you have any right.” He explodes at her, his face red.

“What?” She’s shocked, he’s never talked to her like this.

“You’re just some girl I fucked okay? I needed to get off and you were always there. You were just a fuck. I don’t care about you like that.” He pauses. His words sank into her like knives.

“I’m going to get clean for her. Sofia, she’s worth it.” He walks out of the room without saying anything else to her. She feels her eyes start to water, chills running up and down her body.

How could he be so cruel? How could her best friend of so many years say he doesn’t care about her? How could he disregard her feelings and belittle her to be just someone he fucked? She thought they were friends. She believed that they would come out of this situation unscathed but he didn’t even see her as a person.

The people she thought cared about her most in the world, didn’t care about her at all. They all chose someone else. They didn’t choose her.

She had never felt so alone in her entire life. And for the first time since they started their journey as a band, she wondered if any of it had been worth it.

+++

“I don’t think it can stop.” It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him directly and not on stage or in an interview in years.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to move out of LA, back home probably or New York with Cleo and Pope.”

“y/n.” It’s not Rafe’s voice saying her name, it’s Barry from behind her. She turns around and looks at him, looks past him and Topper, and then back at Rafe.”

“I think we all know this has been building up and it’s getting really hard to pretend all the time so um-yeah I’m going to go, I need a break after the tour’s over.” She gulps down the ball building in her throat. She needs to get through this. She hates putting the band on the back burner and hates that she’s to blame.

“What are you talking about?” Rafe asks her, getting off the counter.

“It’s just a break. I think we should announce a prolonged hiatus and just do our own thing for a bit.”

“We have an entire third album to record,” Rafe says incredulously.

“I’ll keep writing and you can send me the vocals you want me to lay down. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re breaking up the band over some stupid grudge?” Rafe asks.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just need some time.” It’s not a grudge.

“You have got to be kidding me, y/n, come on. I know how much you love touring and making music.”

“I do,” her voice breaks, “I just need time away from all of you.”

“You need a break from us? What did we do?” Barry pipes in.

“You left me alone. You let him,” she points at Rafe, “belittle me and make me feel like nothing. You isolated me for two years.” Rafe scoffs.

“You did that yourself.” He sounds hurt more than he does angry. He’s different now. He’s better in a way. He hasn’t apologized to her but he’s good now. He’s clean. He got clean for Sofia. Because she was worth it and y/n wasn’t.

“Because I was hurt, Rafe! You broke my heart. I fucking told you that I loved you, I was honest with my feelings for you and you never said anything back and then you told me you didn’t care about me!”

“I wasn’t in my right mind.” The tears are still gathering in her eyes but she refuses to let them fall.

“If you had just apologized to me, this wouldn’t have happened but you said some nasty shit and never looked back and I was just so alone.”

“Do you know what it’s like to have no one to talk to on tour for months on end? That’s what I have had to go through for years because I don’t trust any of you! Because you hurt me and never apologized.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late but I’m sorry.” Topper is the one that speaks up.

“Thank you, but it’s too late. I need some time. I need to heal so that the band can continue because I don’t think I can do this for much longer if I stay.” Topper nods, agreeing with her. She gives him a thankful smile and breathes in deep.

“Okay, so we finish the tour, and a week or so later we announce that we’re going on a break. We’ll still write and record and we can even release the album but I won’t be doing press for it.” She looks at all three of them and nods. There’s a finality to her words. No room for argument.

“And you have your solo album to figure out and do press for, maybe you can even tour it. You’ll be fine.” She says to Rafe, more words than she had said to him directly in a long time.

“I’ll see you all soon.” With that, she walks out of the talk show’s dressing room, towards the exit of the building. She was going to finish up this tour. She could do that and then she could rest.

#rafe cameron imagine #kildaresplit au #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outerbanks au #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron smau #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe imagine

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teeny-tiny-revenge · 2 months

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It's home cinema manufacturing time! 🏴‍☠️ Gonna put my pirate show on my shelf! (I'm doing an Arts and Crafts Project and I'm making it everyone's problem.)

After seeing how much they cost, I abandoned the idea of getting a Blu-ray writer for now. For the time being, good old DVDs is what it's going to be! My TV is old and not very big, so DVD resolution is gonna be fine.

It's been ages since I last burned a DVD. For the full experience, I'm gonna create nice menus and pretty sleeves for the boxes. Graphic design is my passion! Um.

Well. First needed to find a program to do stuff with. I'm a Linux guy, so I'm using Devede. (Which is free, btw. In case someone else wants to do a low cost spot of putting pirate show on the shelf.)

DVDs fit a maximum of 120 minutes of video. So, four episodes, I thought. But after a quick attempt, the program refused to do more than three (maybe because of the menu also taking up space, and four episodes cutting pretty close to the 120 min mark?). Anyway, three episodes per disc it is. It's a pretty nice runtime for watching the entire disc, IMO. An hour and a half, and then you can return to reality to realise you should probably eat something, or go to bed because it's midnight.

OFMD with its current two seasons has a total of eighteen episodes, which is divisible by three. You get the following setup:

Disc 1: Pilot, A Damned Man, The Gentleman Pirate - That's pretty good, Stede's introduction to piracy all on one disc!

Disc 2: Discomfort in a Married State, The Best Revenge is Dressing Well, The Art of Fuckery - All bangers. Great to watch together, our boys meet and shenanigans happen!

Disc 3: This is Happening, We Gull Way Back, Act of Grace - Many romantic moments, lots of great scenes, shit hits the fan at the end there. Alright!

Disc 4: Wherever you go, there you are, Impossible Birds, Red Flags - ... Pain and angst! What have I done!?! The disc of horrors. Gotta make sure to have tissues at hand when I watch this. But hey, it also has messy bun Ed! Small mercies.

Disc 5: The Innkeeper, Fun and Games, The Curse of the Seafaring Life. - Another disc with all winners. I love all these episodes so much! (You can watch this disc to recover from the trauma of the previous one!) But seriously, this one slaps.

Disc 6: Calypso's Birthday, Man on Fire, Mermen - Great combination again. Season finale! Love and excitement!

... Honestly, except for the psychological damage of putting all the most painful episodes together, this is coming out pretty cool. Says a lot about how good the show is. I actually really love all the episodes (yes even the painful angsty episodes of massive depression). Thinking about this little project really reminded me how much I love this entire show.

So, we got a tracklist, now menus, then we can burn this stuff!

I did the menu backgrounds in GIMP. Realised I have a big folder full of screenshots I took myself, screenshots someone else took and posted on Tumblr, official promo pics for the show, and I have no idea anymore where most of them are from, because I named the files according to what's on them. Which is useful for when you want to find pics (Need a picture of cursed suit Stede? I have files named that, easy peasy!), but not so great if you wanted to give credit to whoever took a given pic you used. (It's probably @sherlockig or @ofmd-ann or @blakbonnet. Please feel credited, your beautiful screens and gifs brighten my day, and some of them are now probably part of my DVD menus. Shrunk down and cropped, but, yeah.)

I originally wanted to structure my menus as having the title of an episode, then some pics from it, then the next episode, then pics from that, and so forth, but I couldn't convince the program to give me the necessary padding between the menu items, so I ended up just putting the episode images below the menu. Still like it.

Anyway, DVD menus can also play sound! Behold a crappy video of my beautiful creation (provided entirely for sound):

It plays Gnossienne N°5!

More crappy pics of my other disc menus:

Gonna make them some nice sleeves next. Some day. Gotta make sure they all work properly first. So. I'll be on my sofa, watching my DVDs. With menus! (Edit: here are!)

#piracy ho!#ofmd #teeny rambles #ofmd dvds

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nymphomatique · 7 months

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-ahem after reading your nerd/loser!Miguel I just CANT ✊😩 ❤ I gonna need ask orrrr request something !...YOU MADE SOMETHING AWOKEN something in me that I i JUST can't explain😵😳 but NEED TO BE RELEASED (😏) and now today I wanted to request my take on it if that ok with you 😌😏

Ok hear me out nerdy loser/horny!Miguel x YOU GUESS IT popular/richfm!reader 😝!!!..

So let me explain the plot first 😌 .so let just say we never seen Miguel (it been an long time since) only remember that name while reader was in highschool and reader was one of Miguel bully I guess.. (even though she not the one laying an hand on him 😒😔) as she just watch as her popular group of friends bullied Miguel seeing him have tear down acting nothing like an man... ( what an man baby)'Which taught was more *interesting* about this nerd. but reader always think he was cute (I guess reader say it in her mind) even if he was an loser nerd at high school and more of an quite guy and only care for work.but the best part of Miguel in high school is that he ALWAYS obey no matwhat towards you/fm!reader 😩(god I don't know if I have to explain the next scene but I think I just hints some 😝😋 blow jobs overstuim- i mean many !! I want to see. Him cry on the desk while reader under it 🗣✊)

This is could be an flash back honestly I don't care 🗣🗣 I hope your doing great and having an awesome day

you were cooking nonnie‼️ i hope this translated well into writing. and yes timeskip crumbs 🤭

cw: no smut in this one folks! timeskip present, mentions of cannabis use, miguel gets bullied ;(, reader saves him tho dw, genuinely just fluff, teeny bit of d/s stuff, allusions to sex at the end. italic text is a high school flashback! enjoy 🫶🏾

“i cannot believe you had braces!” miguel laughs at your yearbook picture. you smack his arm and roll your eyes at his laughter.

“s’not funny. was only my freshman year.” you mumble,

“i’m just kidding honey, you’re still gorgeous, braces or not,” he says, kissing your temple. the two of you were sitting on your couch in your shared condo, looking at your old high school yearbook.

“you’re flattering me to get in my pants,” you quip. miguel wraps an arm around you and kisses your neck whispering low. “don’t need flattery to do that.”

you push his face away and snort. “when did you get so suave, mr. o’hara?” you question. “you weren’t as smooth in high school if u remember correctly.”

“you’d be right, but meeting you changed me for the better, no?” he flips the yearbook pages, finding his picture in the sea of others.

“maybe you changed me,” you say lowly.

“aww, come on pete, lay off him will you?” flash thompson laughs. “nah, he’s too easy,” peter replies. they had been roaming the halls, cutting class to smoke a joint. since peter was out early, he figured meeting you once your class period was over would be fun, high sex in the bathroom stalls was on his bucket list after all, and you never told him no when it came down to a good time.

in the midst of both flash and peter roaming the halls, they had ran into miguel o’hara, clutching his books in his hands during his free period, roaming the halls like them. nudging flash in his shoulder, peter made a show of miguel. he had pushed him into the lockers, feigning accident. miguel hit the rusted metal with a thud, dropping his books in the process.

“oh, did i bump you? my deepest apologies,” peter mocks, flash not even trying to hide his smile. miguel looks up from his place on the ground between the two, rubbing his shoulder that hit the locker. not worth it, he thinks, and moves to reach one of his books. before he can grab it, peter kicks it across the hall. miguel’s eyes stay focused on the ground. “aww, what happened? you got butterfingers, o’hara?” flash laughs.

“pick up your fuckin’ books, you’re blocking the hall,” peter directs towards miguel. miguel stays unmoved, pushing his glasses up his nose, eyes still glued to the floor. peters angry, feeling disrespected. “hey,” he says, and the hostility beginning to bubble in his voice is clear. “you fuckin’ deaf or what? i said pick up for fuckin-”

“the fuck is going on here?” you interrupt, seeing peter and flash freeze for a split second. you had left a while ago to go to the bathroom and skip class, but had decided to stop by your lockers, where you found peter and flash bullying some random.

“hey, baby,” peter begins. your eyebrow raises and he drops the act. “we uh- we were just tryna help h-”

“can it. i can smell the pot off you guys, fuckin’ gross. get outta here before you get caught with no hall pass,” you dismiss both peter and flash. peter makes way to kiss you goodbye but you move your head, your eyes telling him to get the fuck on.

when both peter and flash are long gone down the hall, you turn to miguel. “hey,” you say. he finally looks up at you and you see tears welling in his eyes. you wince, and wordlessly kick his book back to him. watching him gather up his books is almost disheartening, usually you laugh at something this pathetic. your feelings get the better of you, so you walk to miguel and buy your hand on his chin, lifting his head up to look at you. the eye contact sends a weird feeling in your chest, his tear stained brown eyes filled with emotion.

“chin up, dweeb,” you say, touching the tip of his nose and winking at him before you get up and leave, off to see what trouble peter found himself in.

miguel is in shock. that’s the first time he’s ever been talked to by someone popular. a popular girl at that. miguel looks back at your figure walking away, hips swaying with determination and he feels his heart swell in his chest.

“you gettin all sappy on me now, baby?” miguel quips. “funny. you must have forgotten what to address me as. i’ve been too nice to you,” you reply, your gaze intense. miguel swallows and his whole demeanour changes. “i didn’t forget, mistress,” he replies. you smile, getting up from the couch, pulling miguel up by his shirt to follow you.

“that’s my good boy.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel atsv #sub miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara imagine #you’ve got mail💌#<nerd!miguel3

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overandundertarot · 6 months

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pick a picture; something positive in your life rn!

Hello. There is always something in our lives that we can appreciate more, something that we may not notice but it can brighten our day! This reading aims to shine some light on that and hopefully raise your spirits!

Pick a picture; (1-4)

Pile 1;

Pile 1 you have your culture! I get that your culture is very community based and lively. You just have to go outside to feel the rythym of your nation. Scenes coming to mind are music on the street, public celebrations where the whole neighbourhood comes in to rejoice. If you're not in a place to have direct acces to your culture you can definitely seek it out online! Through videos and popculture content, your mood would definitely improve! The nostalgia and love for your nation shines through. Some of you definitely come from cultures of melanated people; Africa, South America, even the diasporas in america or western countries. You have recently been ruminating on past mistakes and actions. You probably already know by now that your inner thoughts and self talk have a huge impact of your daily reality, constant self deprecation can have adverse effects on your mental health. I',m getting that you really don't need me to tell you this and it's somehting that weighs you down on top of everything else. oouuf. For some in this pile, you are simply feeling nostalgic and thinking about the what could have beens because you've made a big move/change(could be physical relocation) or are about to and are feeling a sense of trepidation. Either way, it's good to forget about your problems for a while right now. Indulge in your culture and nostalgia, reminisce about all your childhood experiences growing up in your community, the quirky habits of your family members. Think about and lean into the times that you were happy in the past!

Pile 2;

Hi pile 2, you need to lean into your fun and crazy friends. People with whom you can be accepted fully. Your individuality! Playful expression of your authentic self especially when you feel like you have to stifle it to produce a more easily digestible persona for other people. They don't understand the genius behind what you do and call it weird, but so what!? Something positive in your life right now is that you have the chance to express yourself and have fun! Don't waste it, go be silly with your friends, make childish art. Be playful and dumb. Distilling every step of your creative process to make it more palatable to other people is robbing you of your joy and doing nothing for your art! You may be working with some people at work or school or whatever aspect it may be in your life. I'm seeing that its specifically on something intended for public viewing/presentatipn and while you may have initially been excited about it you feel suffocated by the other peoples influence now. Release this frustration by allowing yourself to have your own creative release and nurturing time alone. Make sure you are giving to yourself, and producing work that YOU are satisfied with, no matter anyone else's opinion on the matter!

Pile 3;

Hello lovely pile threes. You have the fruit of your hard work to appreciate in your life right now! You're breaking out of old habits and starting to look on the bright side of things! For some of you, you've recently gotten out of a relationship that was draining you for a while and you're feeling a HEAVYYY sense of relief. For others, its an issue of self worth that you're finally feeling like you're letting go of. Baggage has been released! Life has been good for you lately, you've been going out, having fun, talking with friends long into the night, laughing more. Definitely, you've seen an improvement in your friendships. There's lighter energy. You've stopped taking things so seriously. I feel like this pile has been feeling such a sense of appreciation for seemingly mundane things that you used to gloss over. Your cup of tea in the morning, the food you eat, the trees outisde your house. Everything is beautiful for you right now and carries hope. You're playful and looking to enjoy life, no strings attached!

Pile 4;

Hello Pile 4, you seem so weary. You may have been drawn to pile 3, so check it out if you feel exceptionally drawn to do so! Pile 4, you defer from pile 3 in that you have not yet broken out into the hopeful, joyous state of release. What you have to look forward to is hope. Hope that things will get better for you. It seems at every turn, its just gotten worse. Things only work out for other people and for you its perpetual suffering right? WRONG! Thats not true. You're in a depressive state right now and you may be leaning into self pity heavily from time to time because that feels like the only way you can get release. However, you keep working towards a better future and IT'S COMING! Keep holding on! This pile reminds me of the song Please,Please,Please, Let Me Get What I Want by the Smiths. Give it a listen I feel like the people in this pile may resonate with it. There are some difficult things you need to do to get out of this limbo and experience real change. You've been putting them off for so long, but you need to go through with them. There's a concept in psychology known as impact bias.(look into it!)Its basically where we overstimate our reaction to future events. In this case its a perceived negative event in the future. Trust me when you do it you'll feel more glad than sad, you'll find that when you're living through the moment you'll feel much less worse than you expect yourself to do. And don't forget the after, there's a reason you have to go through whatever it is that you're procrastinating and it'll result in a happier you.

*****

That is all :) I loved doing this reading I feel like it lifted my spirits too! If it resonated, don't hesistate to tell me. Feel free to leave any feedback here under this post or in a reblog. If you liked the post please like it and reblog! :) Hope you have a wonderful day and see you in the next reading!

#overandundertarot #pac #tarot #divination #pick a card #intuitive reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #tarot pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile reading #pac reading #pick an image

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angi-writes-filth · 10 months

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An art student's ramble about Lobo from Puss In Boots

As y'all know I'm a visual artist so ofc I'm aware that a HUGE part of creating visual content is intentional. Like, chances are if you see something being made a certain way, there was thought behind it. There are references being made and/or this was done with a specific intent in mind.

So ofc the moment I saw THIS

I was like.... why?

Why why why?? Why the pose? Why is it so symmetric? Why the balance in all the scenes and his figure and design WHY??

(rambles about visuals, possibly grotesque imagery and talks about death, various gods, and tons of pictures BEWARE)

Then I realized HOW MANY REFERENCES to other Gods/omens of death The Wolf has??? Like:

Death. Straight up.

(I don't think I need to explain myself for this one...)

Kinda cool how they decided to include a more "scythe-looking weapon" at the end, only when Lobo decides to get serious. Kinda like he's becoming more "Grim Reaper-y" when he stops playing around. More on DW's choice of weapons for our edgy furry friend later honhonhon.

Big Bad Wolf

The universal, historical omen of death. Present in many stories like Little Red Riding Hood and The Three Little Pigs to name a few. Always the ultimate symbol of evil (fun fact: Most old bedtime stories we know today are passed from generation to generation; by the time these were created and put to use, it's most likely they were either made to warn children not to wander off into the woods for fear of being eaten predators, or for the risk of running into criminals shunned out of society and who normally retreated into the forests since they had no other place to live and couldn't leave the fiefs.)

Wolves are also predators that chase their preys, and exhaust them before going in for the kill. Much how like he does during the movie.

Also, it's possible Lobo isn't even the true form of Death in this universe. It may very well be the form he adapted to scare off Puss in particular; because canine v.s. kitties amirite?

(this could also be a huge stretch but the dark patch of fur on his face reminds some people of a bird, which could be interpreted as a crow. i personally think it's just a design element to attract more attention to the face/make his eyes stand out more but i included it cuz why not).

El Silbón/El Silbador

"El Silbón" (The Whistler; also known as "El Silbador" in Colombia) is a legend from Venezuelan origin of a young man condemned to carry the bones of his father, whom he himself killed.

It is said if his whistle is to be heard, the more far away it is, the closer you are to your death.

Could also explain why the hell the Wolf is Latino LMAO. (Hearing him talk full sentences in Spanish scared me to Death haha get it? d-death)

Charon's Obol

The bribe for Charon, the ferryman who carried the soul through the river that divides life and death.

Osiris

This was one of the things I found interesting the most lmao. Like, I knew that pose reminded me of something...

I've read many people attribute this to Anubis, but from my research, it's actually not. This pose was used in sarcophagus by Pharaohs to resemble the God of the Underworld and Judge of the Dead, Osiris. What Osiris holds to his chest are a crook and flail.

Wikipedia offers the following explanation:

Traditionally crossed over the chest when held, they probably represented the ruler as a shepherd whose beneficence is formidably tempered with might. In the interpretation of Toby Wilkinson, the flail used to goad livestock, was a symbol of the ruler's coercive power: as shepherd of his flock, the ruler encouraged his subjects as well as restrained them.

AND NOW WHAT I ACTUALLY WANTED TO TALK ABOUT!!!

Lobo's Symmetry

Okay this is a purely personal take, but am I the only one who found it incredibly interesting how balanced and symmetric his design is?

A rule of thumb when designing interesting-looking characters is to say fuck you to symmetry and balance. It usually works for a much more exciting silhouette and generates more visual interest. However, in Wolf's case, they made a ton of effort to make him look extremely symmetric.

His face doesn't have any distinct marks that separate one side from the other.

His cloak is a triangular shape that converges somewhat in the middle (the only element that breaks the overall perfect sillhouette).

And they went out of their way to divide the Grim Reaper's signature scythe into two: Which he usually holds to his sides, almost at the same height. Like, why would they? Why bother to do all that?

WELL WHY DON'T WE ASK OUR KINGS OF SIMMETRY THEMSELVES, HUH?

T h e E g y p t i a n s (insert papyrus font here)

Symmetry is usually seen as the ultimate form of perfection. It is unachievable by most human standards, so it is notably known for causing feelings of detachment to a figure, even if it is recognizably human.

If you had a person who was entirely, perfectly symmetrical on both sides of their face, changes are, the uncanny valley effect would be triggered. Try grabbing a picture of a person's face, flip one of its sides and connect it with the other....... Looks weird, right?

The uncanny valley effect is normally used to depict images of deities and the like, because it usually instills the most literal form of 'fear of God'. Something that is so perfect that, by its presence alone, it makes you feel awkward.

The same principle is used by architects in churches even today: The more other-wordly, detached but still recognizably human you get, the more a person is made to feel powerless and awkward. Thusly, easier to control.

In summary, Wolf's design is made to look as symmetric and balanced as possible because he's supposed to feel other-worldly, even before we find out who he is. He's supposed to resemble something unachievable by human standards because he's not human. He's supposed to look out of place because he's Death. Straight up.

Every aspect of Lobo's design is sooo carefully thought out I just LOVE IT. Like have you noticed how his eyes stop giving off light during the scene we find out he's actually DEATH???

I JUST-- I LOVE THE WORK DREAMWORKS PUT IN THIS CHARACTER. I LOVE HOW HE'S JUST SIX MINUTES INTO A 1 HOUR 40 MINUTES MOVIE AND HE SOMEHOW STILL STOLE THE SHOW. I LOVE HOW YOU SPEND EVERY MINUTE GLUED TO THE SCREEN, ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED OF WHEN YOU'LL HEAR THAT STUPID WHISTLE NEXT.

Edit: I don't understand why, but Tumblr is fucking with the formatting and I've been trying to fix it, but I can't. It's genuinely upsetting me lmao but yeah. I promise it looks better when it's in my drafts but the moment I save it, it justttttt does whatever it wants. I'm so sorry! Edit: I THINK I FIXED IT GUYS say THANK YOU to fumbling with HTML, fucking everything right up to the point where the post itself doesn't know what to do and gives up with my ass like "OKAY OKAY I'LL FIX THIS MYSELF GOD"

#I'm not a furry BUT #That's the worst sentence I've ever written in my life but HEAR ME OUT OKAY #I'm not a furry but I'd LOVE to rub Lobo's belly #HE LOOKS LIKE A DOGGYYYYYY!!#He triggers my monkey brain who sees a fluffy canine-like creature and thinks OHHHH WHO'S A GOOD BOOOOYYY //intense belly rubs #Makes me wanna scratch behind his ears when they flop around after he removes his hood HE LOOKS SO CUTEEEE #When he's not like....... Looking into my soul through the screen that is #dreamworks #dreamworks animation #puss in boots #puss in boots 2 #puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots death #puss in boots wolf #puss in boots lobo #angi rambles filth #No one's gonna read this shit I already know #But I needed to get all this out of my system #And I don't wanna spam my friend Lunxi's DMs even though it's HER HUSBAND I'm gushing about #DEADLYROCKET SHIPPER HASTA LA MUERTE ÑAÑAAÑÑAÑA

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sinimake · 4 months

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Now, it's Johnny specific headcanons! Read Kenshi's here

Took a gap year to earn his college funds, but when he got accepted into a film school, his family wanted him to sign up for the army. So one morning, he just went out, took an interstate bus, and started living on his own.

He worked many menial works here and there, barely surviving, so he started to enter underground cage fights in the night for quick bucks. The first time he got in the ring and the announcer asked for his name, he chose Johnny Cage on a whim.

His college years were wild. Almost always drunk every night bc he's landed a job as a bartender in a local bar. Alcohol is conveniently within arms reach and is an effective painkiller to the punches he took in the ring fights. That's when his addiction started.

He got his Johnny tattoo when he was shit faced and sad. He desperately wanted to shed Johnathan Carlton name off himself, so he marched into a tattoo parlor to have a permanent reminder on his chest. People think he's narcissistic to have his name tattooed so big on his body, Johnny never corrects the meaning of it bc it is better to be seen as an asshole than weak.

One really good perk of his bartender job was talking to the patrons and hearing their life stories. It really helped Johnny's acting career in the long run, where he understands his roles deeply and delivers the portrayals from heart.

He got a golden raspberry award for his The Flesh Pits movie. Threw the tropy out of the window once in anger but now he displays it along with his other achievement awards as a reminder.

He's an ambassador of many luxury brands.

He's very timely organized person where he plans his days down to every hour. Hates when there's a sudden change in his timetable.

When Johnny and Kenshi have a movie night, not only does he narrate what's happening in the scene, but he nerds out on what exact techniques of shots and lighting are used.

A big car enthusiast. Gives his cars the names that are in Mambo No. 5 by Lou Bega. (A little bit of Monica in my life—)

Snores in his sleep, specially when he's really exhausted.

His music taste is mainly girly pop, but sometimes he belts out on old school rock songs.

Loves improv acting. Sometimes, he drops in at random improv club nights to participate in one or two sets. It is always fun to see the crowd going "is that Johnny Cage? THE Johnny Cage?" whenever he goes on the stage.

A serial double texter. Will send you random ass pictures with no context or whatever. It is especially funny bc Kenshi can't see the pics, and the voice-over feature of his phone gives him the most obscure descriptions that have the man facepalming every time.

Is a big coffee guy but always gotta have them with milk and sugar bc he can't handle bitter taste of americano.

Has love and hate relationship with paparazzi cameramen. When he's out with the earthrealm defenders, his friends sometimes get the feeling of being followed. They say the concern to Johnny, thinking some outworld danger is hunting them or something just for the actor go "no worries that's just my regular paparazzi, Jeff. HI JEFF!! HOW YOU BEEN DOING TODAY?" "I'm fine! How about you, Johnny?", "WOULD YOU LIKE SOME COFFEE? IS HOT OUTSIDE!" "yeah."

^then sometimes it's like this: "CAN YOU GIVE ME A BREATHER FOR A SEC?! YOUR CAMERA CLICKING IS SO LOUD!" "MY RENT IS DUE!" "NOT MY PROBLEM!"

He's an ambivert. Quiet night ins are as much appreciated as parties. He needs winding down moments but will go batshit insane if he doesn't get at least one human interaction a day.

#johnny cage #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat 2023 #johnny cage headcanons #johnshi #johnshi headcanon

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ink-splotch · 7 months

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More a Haunting than a History - Version 2.0!!

an (updated!) interactive fiction game from E. Jade Lomax (ink-splotch / dirgewithoutmusic), the writer who brought you Beanstalk, Second Star to the Left podcast, and Stay?. "Return to your sleepy, strange little hometown after years away. Explore your old haunts, reconnect with old friends and new, and dig into the mysteries that rise up in the town like mist. It's a story about leaving home and coming home; about life after death-- in more ways than one. This choose-your-own-adventure game lets you explore who you used to be so that you can decide who you want to be."

More a Haunting than a History is my second IF (interactive fiction) game, a story about returning to your childhood small town and finding both it and yourself different than you left them.

Version 2.0 is cleaner, stronger, with new content and a trophy system! If you've already explored MAHTAH, dive back in to see what's new to find, experience, or break-- if you haven't given MAHTAH a chance yet, I'd love it if you gave the new & improved version a try!

PLAY IT HERE:

In version 2.0, I made three main changes, as well as various bug fixes (thanks everyone who wrote me about bugs!):

Updated the dialogue system to make for smoother, less awkward conversations-- dialogue being the main gameplay mechanism!

Streamlined the dreams & climax/river scene systems to improve the narrative experience (ensure certain backstory content got seen/emphasized/excluded as relevant)

Introduced a trophy system (more details on the why of this under the cut)

MAHTAH was both a blast and a slog to write, just like Stay? was a rush -- I'd love to hear your thoughts, feelings, and experiences as I start chipping away at my next IF project.

Why trophies? I've added in "trophies" at the end of the game because a) it seemed fun and b) I'm hoping this will help shore up one of what I see as the weaknesses of MAHTAH-- a single playthrough feels "complete."

In some ways, this was a goal of mine; I wanted non-repeat players (players who get to an ending and never pick up the game again) to have a satisfactory and full experience & to not feel like they were "missing out" on anything.

But this also leads to there being no clear motivation to replay the game, and no hint of the different secrets you can find, relationships you can build through the game, and endings you can have open up to you. It makes the "exploration space" feel more shallow than Stay?'s-- and it is certainly different than Stay?'s-- but they are both stories about exploration & discovery.

In MAHTAH, the discoveries are your friends, your feelings, your relationships, your past-- yourself, even. You can get a pretty full picture in a single playthrough if you max enough things out, in just the right way, but generally I think it takes a few playthroughs of MAHTAH to get the full experience and story.

Even if a single playthrough can be "satisfying," it's not the end of the story or the experience, but my focus on trying to make single playthroughs "stand on their own" undercut the visibility to the gaps and holes still remaining that required repeat playthroughs to access.

So: trophies. They're fun! And they both inform the player at the end of the story that there is content they didn't access -- and ideally make some of that content interesting and desirable. It gives the player a goal as they launch into the next playthrough, and hopefully having that goal lets them play the game in new ways and meet new experiences.

#interactive fiction #dirgewithoutmusic #ejadelomax #mahtah #e jade lomax #reblogs appreciated :)

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astrodances · 4 months

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"Now I've had the time of my life No, I never felt like this before Yes, I swear it's the truth And I owe it all to you"

This is a very, very special drawing for me. ✨

In September of last year, I watched Dancing With The Stars' "Step Into the Movies" special again, at the end of which they recreate "The Time of My Life" scene from Dirty Dancing. And that sent me on a nostalgia trip back to my high school theater days over a decade ago now, where the drama club accepted my idea to do a "Time of Our Lives" theme, and a performance for that song à la Glee. Mind you, I was mainly the stage manager/techie sort, but I did some scenes for the showcases, and participated in this song with my then-boyfriend, along with two other couples.

And while we were hanging out in the green room backstage, a friend took some pictures of us. Including the one that directly inspired this drawing of Webby + Lena.

This started out as a memory remix of that photo, after watching the DWTS special, because I thought these two lovebirds would be really cute subjects for it.

But once I got going, it turned into a love letter, for many things.

As part of the remix aspect of it, I now picture myself in Lena's spot in the photo, getting to have the short hair I wish I had had back then, and getting to wear a suit and tie! (Yes, in the original photo, I am wearing the dress and red bow Webby's sporting here, and I have long hair. 🙈 Though I will say here that the little heart necklace she's wearing is exactly like the one I had, too! :)) Drawing this was really cathartic for my nonbinary self. 💜

And as for Webby, in this remix, she represents someone that, in retrospect, I wish I had shared this moment with from back then. In many ways, she really was the Webby to my Lena. 💜💖💝

(Literally) beyond the subjects of this though, this is indeed very much a love letter to a lot of things, to passions. The background is pretty much a replica of the drama classroom wall we were in front of for the photo, at least as far as layout goes, with a few direct recreations of things that were on the wall and on the table there. Everything else was me being a passionate (theatre) nerd.

(Details (many details) of said nerdiness and alternate versions below the cut!)

I've included un-blurred and background-only versions (and a version with drop shadow lines on the girls, because why not? it's a cool effect!) below, but I just want to point out the details, because I'm so dang proud of this.

The posters/programs for The Phantom Blot of the Opera, Featherspray, Chickago, and My Fair Dewey are obvious duck-parody references to their real-world counterparts (with the latter being the exact poster they use in DuckTales, in Dewey's dream in "Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!" So thanks, Dewey! 😂). The Featherspray one was also included because Hairspray was one of the shows we did in high school! And lemme just say, creating theater posters is really fun!!

The MJ the Musical poster and the half-shown Notre Dame de Paris "Duckbill" right behind Lena's head are particularly special to me, since they (along with Phantom) are my favorite musicals, and getting to draw those two was especially fun!

The L'Orange Theater poster in the top-right is a bunch of duck easter eggs in one - the L'Orange Theater is mentioned and seen in the very first episode of DuckTales 1987, and of course, there's Aquarioon from DT17! Looks like it toured in Duckburg a long time ago. 😉

And the sheet music is the DuckTales theme! (Or at least the left side of it :P)

The "Congrats" card, calendar (the whale for upper half was my own touch), folder, page of random backstage stuff behind Lena's head (which includes little Star Trek and Darkwing Duck references), and golden "Theatre" card (with my old director's favorite quote) are directly from the photo (or at least based on what I could see through its blurriness 😝), as is the very edge of a cast photo in the upper-right. The purple note (totally not with any secret messages whaaaaat) below that, the certificate of excellence, and the little pride heart pins everywhere are little garnishes/dedications. 😊

The stage/theater diagram below the certificate is really cool, because that's a direct recreation (+ another hidden message) of a project a friend and I did for stagecraft back in our freshman year - I was even able to copy my own handwriting for the labels! 😄😂

The "Time of Our Lives" poster is a reference to the showcase I mentioned above that inspired all this, though the real-life poster looked very different, from what I remember.

The green bag below is sorta a nod to the secret pal exchanges we used to do during shows. 😉

And finally:

The Glittering Goldie show poster is me just having an absolute blast drawing her once again and coming up with something for her Blackjack days! And bonus - I'll be posting a gradient-only version of Goldie tomorrow! Really happy with how she turned out!

And the "All the World's a Stage" poster is me combining all of my theatre nerdiness with my passion for space and a good pun! 😁

ANYWAY...

I learned a lot with this drawing, about creating and about myself.

And I just had so, so much fun with it - it was all love, all passion, all happiness for this one. 💜💖💝

Wishing the same for all of you. ✨

Love, Astro 💜

#DuckTales #Webby Vanderquack #Lena Sabrewing #weblena #my art #long post #I just have a lot of feelings for this one 🥹#(the post itself kinda is a love letter? for future me as much as past me and present me. yeah let's go with that)#for real though still cackling over my design for the Phantom Blot of the Opera poster XD

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thewritersaddictions · 7 months

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Dabbles: Pedro Pascal: His Bunny

Pedro has yet another full set day of shots to take. The night before, you had snuggled up close to his side while he was reading a book. Glasses on the edge of his nose, and still he was squinting to read the words on the paper.

"Pedro, can I come with you tomorrow?" You asked, your voice timid and shy. You didn't really ask for many things when it came to anything. You let Pedro take the wheel. Fancy dinners were always picked by him, movies, and anything else you did together.

Pedro closed the book, his thumb being used as the current bookmark. "Of course you can come, honey. I just don't think you'll have much fun." Pedro never wanted to push you towards something that you wouldn't enjoy.

"Why are you askin' anyways, baby?" He asked, curious about what was going on in your head. You shrugged your shoulders, the white bunny getting stuffed further between your arm and the sheets.

"I just… you are always gone, and I never get to see you. I just miss you." You managed to get out in a whimpering breath. Pedro set the book on the side table, forgetting to tag the page he was on; right now, you are the only thing he sees.

He struggled at first to get you to shift into his lap. Your head eventually comes to rest on his chest. His large hands combed through your hair. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry I'm always gone. I promise I think about you all day while at work." Pedro whispered into your hair. You snuggled further into his warm chest.

The following day, it's way too early for you, but Pedro wakes up a little earlier than usual, getting into his regular routine before waking you gently and getting you dressed in something nice. And walking down the stiars with you right in front of him. He stops at the little coffee shop you love while you dig through your bag.

He had put a few of your favorite hobbies into it while waiting for you to finish getting ready. The car clock reads nearly seven in the morning, and as you dig around your bag, you find your phone and book in both. "I grabbed a few of your things before we left. Do you want a coffee or something else?" Pedro asks; you yawn and point towards the coffee on the drive-thru screen.

Pedro's favorite thing about you is being able to care for you. He genuinely enjoys being there for you, doing whatever you need him to do. Maybe it's just that he loves being around you. Being with you makes his heart soar and his cheeks burn from smiling too much.

You do exactly what you usually do at home, reading by the closest window and the reruns of old cooking shows flutter across the TV scene, that is, until it's lunch and Pedro comes back to the trailer. "I brought some food, bunny," Pedro calls out as he walks into the trailer. Your stomach churns at the smell of whatever the styrofoam containers hide.

Lunch goes by way too quick, but Pedro still gets his time to snuggle with you, kissing up and down your neck and jawline. You giggle with joy and at the tingling feeling of his scratchy beard. The knock at the trailer door pulls Pedro away from you way too soon, but you deal with it. Putting away the trash and cleaning up the area to pull out the book you've already re-read about ten times.

Pedro comes back to the most beautiful scene. Nothing beats this; no movie scene he's been a part of or anything he's watched. You snuggled into yourself, book laying limp in your hands. You're in the same place he left you nearly four hours ago.

Pedro pulls out his phone, snapping pictures of you sleeping. Pedro would never have been able to fall asleep in that position like you have, but there's something so cute about how you just get comfy no matter where you are. "Bunny, are you awake?" He tests the waters. When you don't respond, he takes a few steps closer to you, shaking you gently as he calls out another cute nickname in other air. "Baby?" His voice has dropped a little, giving it a roughness that typically has you awake and yearning for his attention.

When Pedro doesn't get a response from anything, he decides it's best to move you from the kitchen table cushion to the bed at the back of the trailer. He figures that you'll be fine if he wraps his arms around you protectively. He does precisely that. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket and grabbing you from under your knees and your back. Pulling you up close to his chest. You weigh nothing to him as he walks the two of you to the back of the trailer.

Your white-socked feet hang just out of reach of the blanket. Little bows and fringes of white lace around your ankles. Has Pedro rubbing your heels as he sets you down on the bed. "My little bunny, so cute," Pedro whispers to you as he brushes stray hairs out of your face. Pedro shuffles out of his jeans and throws off his shirt to climb next to you. He kisses the crown of your head and pulls you close to his chest before falling asleep.

Completed on 09/17/23

Posted on: 09/30/23

Actor/Actress Master List-

#fluff #fem reader #female reader #requests are open #open requests #requests open #pedro pascal x reader #pedro x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #now i understand the hype #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #innocent reader #pedro pascal fluff #fluff oneshot #fluff fluff fluff #fluff prompts

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 10 months

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Playing Pretend (Part 4)

A afternoon of polo brings out some people's competitive side.

Roy Kent x Reader

2.9k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of champagne, me not knowing a damn thing about polo, tension & pining & being oblivious

A/N: Oops, finished this faster than I expected, hope no one minds too much! 😘

Series Masterlist

The disgust on Roy’s face was nothing short of comical.

“Polo? They’re playing fucking polo? Fucking rich people.”

You smiled and shook your head at him. “You don’t have to play, Roy. It’s usually just Jim’s cousins and some uncles. The rest of us just sit around and drink champagne and eat sandwiches and cookies. Absolute Downton Abbey shit. Jim’s family always play at big events. It’s actually kind of fun.” You poked Roy in the stomach playfully. “Especially because Jim sucks at riding. There’s a good chance we see him fall of his horse.”

“Fuck it. I’m in.”

The two of you were sitting on the bed in your room, still clad in pyjamas, chatting about what the day would involve as early morning sunshine streamed in through the window. People would be arriving for the rehearsal dinner throughout the day, but most of Jim’s family would arrive in the morning for their polo game. Then would be the rehearsal, out in the garden where the ceremony would be held, followed by dinner in what Jim’s mum called “the big dining room”- actually a small ballroom.

As you talked, sharing a bit about Jim’s family that he’d be seeing that day, Roy felt his body relax more than he’d felt in a long time. Lounging in bed together in pyjamas, whispering in tired voices, exchanging soft laughter. It was the kind of domestic scene he found himself craving every time he saw you. He could almost picture the two of you in his own room, you wearing his old Sunderland hoodie, wrapped up in each other and sharing sleepy kisses before heading downstairs so he could make breakfast.

Instead, you rolled your eyes as you told him about a couple of Jim’s girl cousins. “Just be aware, they’ll be all over you,” you warned. “When I was dating Jim and they found out I was friends with Roy Kent, they begged me to introduce them to you because you’re sooo fit.” Your voice went mocking and high-pitched on those last two words. “I don’t think you being my fake boyfriend will change anything.” You gave him a playful shove. “Sorry, mate. You’ll have to wait until after our fake break-up to hook up with any of them.”

Roy scoffed and shook his head. “Fuck that. I’d never want to hang around anyone who shares fucking Jim’s DNA.” Resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss you, he instead poked you affectionately on the nose. “Besides, I’m not focused on anyone but you this weekend, got that?”

You smiled at Roy, again feeling safe and protected in his presence. “Roy Kent, you are my favorite person in the fucking world, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roy smiled, ignoring the warmth in his chest as he dared to push some hair out of your face. “D’you want to shower first, or should I?”

Roy’s hand rested on your bare knee as the two of you sat outside with Jen and her husband. People were slowly making their way to where tables and umbrellas had been set up for people to hang out while some of the cousins and uncles played polo.

You turned your head and caught Roy staring at you. “What?” you whispered, wondering if you’d spilled something on the sundress you wore.

He shook his head. “Nothin’.” After a moment, he said, “Did I tell you that you look really fucking pretty today?”

Oh. He was being “boyfriend Roy”. “Roy-friend”, you thought with an internal chuckle. He was probably getting into character because Jim was approaching your table, already red in the face before the match even started.

He raised his eyebrows at Roy. “Not playing, Kent?”

Roy wrinkled his nose. “Why the fuck would I?”

“Just figured the big football star might be up for a challenge,” Jim answered, looking quite pleased with the idea that he would be out there playing, and Roy Kent would be sitting on the sidelines. “But hey, if you don’t think you could handle it…” He trailed off with a haughty shrug.

With a deep sigh, Roy sat up straight. “I don’t feel like violating my fucking contract, Jim. Not supposed to engage in anything that might get me hurt, like riding a fucking horse that doesn’t know me with a bunch of rich pricks. ’m kind of fucking valuable to my team.” His grip on your knee tightened. “So poor old Roy has to sit here with a gorgeous woman all afternoon drinking champagne and letting her feed me little fucking cookies while you’ve got your legs wrapped around a horse, which’ll be the only riding you’ll do all day.” His giant fake smile made you want to laugh. “But please, tell me more about what a wanker I am for not playing your little fucking game.”

Jim mumbled something about needing to go check on his horse before stomping off, leaving your sister and brother-in-law watching Roy with raised eyebrows.

“Seriously,” Paul commented, raising his glass in jest, “one of you is going to throw a punch before the end of this weekend, and I almost feel bad for Jim if it’s you.” Paul had made no secret of his own disdain for Jim, something Roy greatly appreciated.

Jen chimed in, “Maybe just make sure it’s after the actual ceremony. Lauren’ll have a fit if Jim’s got a black eye in the wedding pictures.” She raised her eyebrows at you sympathetically. “Especially if it’s because of you.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t be marrying her sister’s ex-boyfriend then,” you grumbled, low enough that only Roy could hear.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Will it make you feel better to feed me cookies like I said?” he asked, his low voice full of teasing. “It’ll look fucking adorable. Everyone’ll think we’re absolutely insufferable.”

You cracked a smile. “Insufferable sounds fun.” You picked a biscuit off the plate Roy had loaded with sweets before sitting down. “Open up, Kent.”

Roy did as he was told, holding your gaze as he opened his mouth. Your fingers lightly brushed against his lips as he took a bite, sending a jolt of electricity to your heart. Even with all the fake kisses you’d been exchanging, you were still surprised to feel how fucking soft Roy’s lips were. He laughed softly as he finished chomping on the biscuit, leaving a couple little crumbs on his beard that you couldn’t resist wiping away with your thumb. As you pulled back, his hand caught your wrist. Still watching you with an intensity that made your jaw slack ever-so-slightly, he turned his head and pressed a slow, gentle kiss to the palm of your hand.

You were right, Roy thought. Insufferable was fun.

He loved the way you giggled when he kissed your hand. It lit up your entire face, especially your eyes. That was probably his favorite thing about this whole fucking weekend: seeing the joy on your face when he made you laugh, giving you a small distraction from whatever other feelings you were having.

“Hey,” he murmured as the polo players got ready to start. “I know this isn’t the most ideal of circumstances but…” He shrugged. “I’m having a fucking good time with you. Some of the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

“Me, too,” you admitted, noticing the way he still held your hand by his face. “I always have a good time with you, Roy.”

He opened his mouth to tell you that he always had a good time with you too, that maybe the two of you could have a good time together when you got home, maybe at a restaurant, and he could wear a tie and you could wear this dress because it was driving him fucking mad, and he could pay for dinner and maybe give you a real kiss when he walked you home after, when the sound of cheering interrupted the two of you; the game was starting. You could see Roy’s jaw clench and his eyes narrow at Jim.

Huh. You never did find out why Roy hated him so much. You just knew that when you’d started bringing Jim around, Roy got even moodier than usual. You’d asked his sister several times about it, figuring he’d had to have said something to her, but she never quite gave a straight answer: Jim’s too posh for his taste, he looked at Roy funny one time, he mentioned being a casual Arsenal supporter, he ate the last kebab at a party. But none of it made sense; he’d rolled his eyes the very moment you walked into that pub holding Jim’s hand, ready to introduce your new boyfriend to your best friends.

“Roy?”

His mouth curved into a smile at the sound of his name. “Hmm?”

You tilted your head, wondering how to ask. Better just say it. No use being timid with someone as blunt as Roy. “Why did you hate Jim so much? When we were dating, I mean?”

Roy’s eyes flickered to Jen and Paul, who were watching the match and chatting. “Obviously it’s because I was in love with you,” he blurted awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Right?”

You leaned closer, whispering in his ear. “No, I mean, like really. As my friend, not my ‘boyfriend’.” You raised your eyebrows expectantly.

In all the years you’d known Roy Kent, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him squirm until now. “Dunno,” he murmured, absently stroking your hand with his thumb. “Guess I just… didn’t think he fucking deserved you.” He finally looked you in the eye. “Honestly, no one deserves you. You’re the fucking best.”

Fucking Roy. Every now and then he’d say something like that- very sweet, almost loving things. Things that gave you a glimmer of hope that maybe he might see you as something other than just his sister’s best friend or the little girl he used to play with in the garden when he was a boy. But then you’d remember that that little boy grew up to be Roy Kent. And you’d feel lucky to just be friends with him- even though it sometimes made your heart ache.

“You’re sweet,” you managed, turning your attention to the polo game, pretending like watching your almost-in-laws ride their horses was suddenly interesting. “You’ve always been sweet to me.”

He gave your hand a squeeze and followed your gaze. “You’ve always been easy to be sweet to,” he said simply. After a long pause, he spoke again. “Feed me another cookie?”

You choked back a laugh and held up the plate to him. “Feed me one at the same time. It’ll be the most obnoxious thing in the world.”

A grin spread across his face as he grabbed a sweet, one he knew you liked. “You’re fucking brilliant.”

After the polo game (during which Jim fell twice, much to Roy’s delight), most people lingered on the lawn while the players disappeared into the house to shower. Jen and Paul excused themselves to go inside so they could FaceTime your nephew, who was with Paul’s mum.

You and Roy exchanged eyerolls when Lauren jumped into Jim’s arms in a particularly show-offish manner, squealing loud enough to get everyone’s attention, as if he’d won the world championship or something, rather than lost a game against his aging uncles.

“Should have you run out onto the pitch like that after a match sometime and snog me in front of everyone,” Roy mumbled without thinking. He froze and looked at you, his thick eyebrows arched. “If you wanted to, I mean.”

“That actually sounds fun,” you laughed, hoping you sounded casual. “Yeah, if you ever get sick of having gorgeous models run into your arms, I’d be happy to fill in. Getting plenty of practice this weekend.” Trying to prove that kissing Roy Kent was not a big deal, you leaned forward and touched your lips to his quickly.

He knew his face was tinted pink. “I actually think I am sick of the whole model thing,” he admitted. “So maybe I will have to ask you to sub in sometime.” His voice was light, a sharp contrast to the heavy pressure he suddenly felt in his chest.

“Oh.” That was all you could say. Roy was tired of models and actresses and the gorgeous women who hung around him? What the fuck did that mean? Before you could ask Roy more about it, one of your uncles came up to say hello, shaking Roy’s hand with enthusiasm and asking him about the upcoming season. Taking advantage of the opportunity to escape those brown eyes you kept reminding yourself not to get too lost in, you excused yourself to find a free restroom.

While rounding the corner into an empty hall, you found yourself alone, for the first time all weekend, with Jim, still in his polo clothes.

“Hey,” you greeted, offering an awkward wave. “Good job, uh, polo-ing out there. Hope your arse is okay from those falls you took.”

To your surprise, Jim snorted. “Bit surprised you saw anything with your face attached to Roy Kent’s,” he replied sharply.

You shrugged with a shy chuckle. “Hey, like Roy said last night, we’re in that dreadful all-over-each-other phase. Not nearly as much fun to watch as it is to participate, unfortunately for all of you.”

“I’m sure.” He folded his arms, giving you a hard stare. “So, you and Roy.”

“Me and Roy,” you repeated with a firm nod.

Jim sighed, shaking his head. “You know, I always thought the two of you-”

You sneered, knowing exactly what he was about to say. “Oh, save it. Nothing ever happened between us when you and I were together. He was just a friend. I always told you that.”

“Yeah, but all those times you hung out-”

“Sorry, where’d you meet your bride-to-be?” you snapped, eyebrows raised. “Oh, right, the first Christmas I brought you home to meet my family.” You shook your head. “If anyone should be asking that question, it’s me.”

Jim scoffed. “Hey, don’t you dare-”

“Oi.” You whipped around. Roy stood at the end of the hallway, eyebrows furrowed as he observed you carefully. “There a fucking problem here?”

You quickly shook your head, making your way over to him. “Nope. Just telling Jim that we enjoyed the polo match.”

Roy’s arm wrapped around your waist tightly, protectively. “Oh, yeah. Fucking loved it. Do people usually fall off their horse twice? Or does that take special skill that only a seasoned player like yourself can achieve?”

“Oh, fuck off, Kent. Go kick around a football or something,” Jim mumbled as he yanked open one of the doors, slamming it behind him.

Once the hall quieted, Roy pulled you into a proper hold, one hand on each of your hips. “You alright? Fuck was that about?”

You shrugged, letting your body melt into his as your hands rested on his arms- arms you always spent far too much time thinking about. “Just Jim being Jim.”

“And what does that entail?” He smirked. “Besides being a massive twat, of course.”

A snort flew out of your nose. Roy thought it was adorable. “Oh, just once again accusing me and you of fooling around behind his back because he saw us kissing during the polo match.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “He knows you’re not the sister he’s marrying tomorrow, right? I mean, I know the man was a fucking idiot-”

You shook your head, now completely holding back laughter. “When he and I dated, I mean,” you clarified, trying to ignore the fact that Roy Kent was holding you and making you laugh like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He was always accusing you of being interested in me.” You gazed up at Roy through your lashes, unaware of the way it made his heart skip a beat, although he swore you had to feel it with the way your bodies were pressed together. “Silly, innit?”

The words caught in Roy’s throat. No, not silly at all. He was completely right, the fucking wanker. I was in love with you. Still fucking am. Probably always will be. That’s why I hate him- because he had you. Because he knows what it’s like to have you love him back. And that’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.

Instead, he gave an awkward little laugh. “Oh. Ha. Fucking idiot.” He swore he saw your face fall for a fraction of a second. “Jim, of course. Not you.” Roy lifted a hand to cradle your face. “Never you,” he promised in that reassuring voice you always believed.

The two of you stood there for a long moment, holding each other, neither quite sure what to say. There was an electricity in the air that you were both too scared to bring attention to, although you could both feel each other’s heart beat just a bit faster. You were both thinking the same thing: What if I’m wrong? What if I’m imagining it? What if I’m the biggest idiot in the world?

But fuck, what if I’m right?

Before either of you could decide what to do, the chiming of a nearby grandfather clock brought you both back to reality.

“We should go change for the rehearsal dinner,” you whispered, realizing you’d been holding your breath.

Roy nodded. “Yeah. We should.” Reluctantly, he let go of you, ready to head back to your room, suddenly too shy to grab your hand.

To his surprise and absolute delight, you reached out and grabbed it yourself.

#roy kent playing pretend #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff #roy kent imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

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masochistartt · 11 days

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okay fuck it jamie self perception post

jamie has been signed to city since he was a child. this is how the academy system works - they recruit players (children) from local grassroots leagues and bring them into their club system, hoping to raise them up to play for their club in the future (or sell them off to other teams for profit). these players are typically between the ages of 9 and 10 when they're first recruited, but can be younger/older. they're evaluated every year, and players can be cut at any time.

i think jamie joined city when he was around 9, solely because of the fact that he said his dad started showing up when he got good at football, and georgie my beloved would not let jamie go on a trip abroad with a complete stranger to him when he was 14. i think james started coming back around when jamie was somewhere between 11 and 12, playing for city's u14 team, and his skill at that age level is how james heard about him (it's not uncommon to hear about great players who are that age. city recently signed a like. legendary 14 year old and i've heard about it (young boys should not be having their egos inflated like that at 14 but that's beside the point)).

that's a whole lot of rambling before i even start touching on the original point – the contract jamie's had signed since he was ~9 that dictates what he must and mustn't do. this is the idea that he's had of himself in his head from that very young age.

screenshots are provided from the 23/24 premier league youth development forms bc honestly i cba to go back and find anything older (i've tried looking and it's not working so you're getting this) but

the scholar here is the academy player. 5.1.3 and 5.1.4 are what interest me here. jamie was obligated to not only train & play to the best of his ability always, but he was obligated to maintain a high standard of physical fitness at all times from the age of 9.

think of the thoughts that might put in a young jamie tartt's mind. he had to be at his peak always. if he wasn't at his peak, he was disobeying his contract. he was owned by his club, and he knew that if they sell him, they'll make a whole lot of money off of him (there's a certain base fee x number of years the player was trained + extras = total homegrown player transfer fee algorithm but i don't want to do math rn so im not touching on that). i don't think jamie ever wanted city to sell him, so i think he put pressure on himself to be at his best always, to never let his standards slip, and when james came back into the picture, that pressure only grew exponentially.

it's also interesting looking at the "the scholar shall not" section of the contract. 5.3.1 is interesting bc like. if the club (city) didn't think his house on the estate was safe they could've fully just. Moved Him. but 5.3.3 is insane to me. especially the beginning. "the scholar shall not indulge in any activity or practice which might endanger his fitness". this means no fun roller skating birthday parties. this means jamie probably knew how to ride a bike before he was 9 bc if he "indulged" in learning when he was with city that might have endangered his fitness. no rock climbing. no tree climbing.

and if jamie took things as seriously as i think he did (boy really wanted to play football, that was his dream in life, i don't think he would've purposely done anything to endanger that dream), i think he missed out on some fun in his childhood solely bc he was Keeping His Body In Full Fitness For His Club.

which brings us to Adult Jamie. bc he was raised in this environment, raised with the mindset of My Body Belongs To My Club, My Body is an Asset for my Club, it makes even more sense why he'd put up with the auction at the gala without starting a fight (even if the whole manipulate keeley & possibly bribe bex thing happened behind the scenes).

his club (even though he was on loan, it was his club for the season), was auctioning off Its Own Asset (jamie's body) to the highest bidder for a night. jamie's body, from a very, very young age (does jamie remember much before he was signed to city? i don't think so) has always Belonged to His Club.

this is also part of the reason that i headcanon jamie doesn't like driving - driving is, in his mind an Activity Which Might Endanger His Fitness.

also. for the record. this stuff is also in the professional player's contracts too.

the player agrees to maintain a high standard of physical fitness at all times and not to indulge in any activity sport or practice which might endanger such fitness.

3.1.6 is another reason i think jamie went along with the stuff at the gala too. the player agrees to comply with and act in accordance with all lawful instructions of any authorised official of the club. rebecca/higgins/whoever put on the gala is an authorised official of the club. he kind of. had to by contract not put up a fight with them about this

the player agrees that he shall not undertake or be involved in any activity or practice which will knowingly cause to be void or voidable...policy of insurance maintained for the benefit of the club on the life of the player or covering his physical well-being including injury.

he still can't do anything that might get him hurt. i ignore that he engages in kink practice both in canon and in my own headcanons bc i think the heavier kink stuff really only comes in later seasons' timelines and even then he's engaging in that kink stuff with someone(s) who knows that this stuff is in his contract. they know his limits.

anyways something something jamie's body is an asset for his club (city and then richmond) and i think that says a lot about the way he views himself. you know ?

#jamie tartt #Extreme Overanalysis Of The Premier League Handbook #i have a headache so im not going into further depth rn but #feel free to ask me anything about this and ill expand !!!#i have a lot of thoughts about My Boy

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dovithedarklord · 15 days

Text

Stucked - Part 6

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

..............................................

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, König x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, injury, some body horror, description of grotesque creatures, some monster smut (light), and some dubcon (lightly). Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

......................................................

Author's Note

This part unveils a new evil!

There's a new threat, but your old friends are close by. Who knows what happens after...

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

.................................

Like a faded picture that has been imprisoned in the depths of a drawer for decades, the vision is projected as faintly on the canvases of your eyelids. As if it were just a vision born on the plastic soil of a dream, nothing else, the memory that takes shape in your head seems so unbelievable. This horrible place has been holding you in its embrace hot with the stench of death for so long, that the images left from the real world seem to your brain like the remnants of a life that never existed. However, you're sure that the melodious children's laughter ringing in your ears is real, and you know that it belongs to someone who was once important to you. In this friendly fantasy world, there is no decay and no blood, only the inviting rays of the sun, which guide you to the surface with warm fingers, as you frolic under the cool foams, mimicking a mermaid. You paddle nimbly with your little hands as the princess of the secret underwater realm, and each tiny shell and grain of sand greets you as a subject of your kingdom as you swim above them. And when someone pulls you out of your adventure and lifts you back into the air, warm from the summer heat, you sulk and argue, trying to get free, but whoever the stranger is, they only respond with amused laughter. And your heart almost sinks at the fact that only blurred spots dance in front of your eyes when you look up at the figure who kisses the top of your little head and hugs you so tenderly. Because you know you should know her, but nothing breaks through the darkness in your skull apart from the feeling of loss that gnaws at your insides.

Although for a moment you don't understand why your own mind is turning against you, but even your frozen shock is penetrated by a faint recognition, that there is a reason why this is exactly the memory that arose in you after the many horrors you experienced. And it seems a very cruel trick from your subconscious that now, when an unknown force drags you deeper and deeper toward the bottomless pits of the icy water, it calls up this exact one out of the many mementos slowly fading to nothingness. Because you know that now the sun-tanned hand won't rush to your aid to save you from the frosty, otherworldly empire that is drawing you closer and closer to its gate made of torn bodies with each passing second.

And as if you just woke up from an unwanted slumber, you realize that no matter how much you want to linger on the soft lap of soothing reminders of the past, and no matter how much all your instincts protest against letting the false security of the images dancing on your eyelids slip away, you have other things to do. Oh, how easy it would be to let it end like this, rocking in the heavy arms of the cool water, finally die without rough hands trying to bask in the warmth of your still living organs. But you have work to do. And this ultimately breaks your body out of the shock injected into you by the unknown attacker, which pulled you under the surface, heavy with rot and death.

As soon as your resolve finally pushes you back from the temptation of the soft, shapeless drifting of unconsciousness, the shortness of breath tightening your chest reaches your senses, and your mouth opens in a desperate gasp before you can stop the reflexive movement. And as the cold water breaks through your lips and you feel the musty taste of mud on your tongue, your jaw snaps shut with such alarmed speed that you swear that you feel your teeth cracking. However, a stray sip of water that has gone astray still finds its way into your trachea, and as it pushes along the soft tissues like a thousand tiny blades, you would instinctively start to cough, but you're only able to ease the pressure of a force squeezing your ribs for a few pathetic seconds.

Your eyes open in fear, and you can see the taunting invitation of the moon's pale light even through the sting of the water blurring your vision, and you can almost feel how mockingly the silvery beams laugh at your torment. And as you become aware of with what frightening certainty the last faintly twinkling trace of the starry sky starts to disappear, your brain catches up with the facts, and even through the lack of oxygen, you understand painfully fast that the fragile thread of your life will soon come to a pitiful end and break under the cruel weight of the waves gathering above you. And because of this, your body, for the umpteenth time during the night, surges you towards action, and as the cocktail of stress hormones in your veins revives, you try to propel yourself upwards with almost instinctive movements. But no matter how you paddle with your hands, just as your legs would also join in the frantic work, the alien creature wrapped around your ankle tightens its grip even more, and the suppressed scream that is born in your lungs only echoes in your skull, when you feel how cruelly its spikes drill into your bruised flesh. You can sense, quite horrified, how the poison, similar to liquid fire, creeps through the boundary of the skin and muscles pulsing with agony. And you know that whatever this formless beast tries to inject into your body, soon it will help tip you back into oblivion so that you allow yourself to be driven into the predator's waiting claws with a willing daze.

Your hands rush towards the wretched monster holding your feet captive, and even you're surprised when you grab hold of the sleek extensions of a seaweed-like plant. And even though the army of thorns rising from the slippery tissue cut into your palm, you don't care about how the suffering radiates through your arm like a lightning strike, instead, gritting your teeth, you try to loosen your shackles, because it's only a matter of time before your luck runs out and you're back in that goddamn car again. Crimson drops of blood emerge like snakes from under the wounded skin, and the more fiercely you fight with the cursed seaweed, the cerise fluid surrounds you like a vague mist, casting your figure, wild from the fury of the struggle, into the midst of blood-red clouds.

All your nerves are occupied by the heat of your battle, because you feel it all too well how the merciless iron fist around your chest is closing, as if someone had thrown you into a press, and the metal plates weighing on you were trying to slowly drive your ribs into the living flesh. And you would swear that even through the gurgle of liquid against your eardrums, you can hear the horrible, almost insidious snapping of the hair-thin cracks running down your bones, as if a heavy boot were treading on freshly fallen branches.

But even through your despair, it occurs to you how strange it is that the crackles travel into your ears through the roar of the water so clearly, even though you know that nothing but the sound of bubbles could penetrate the chaos created by your panic. And when you catch a pale spot moving from the corner of your eye, like an uncertain vision dancing on the edge of your consciousness, you stop chasing your release for a minute. First, through the hazy clouds cast by your blood, you see a broken form unfolding, looking more like the dried remains of a wind-twisted and battered tree than anything else. However, when the tormented figure seems to be approaching, and the scarlet veil finally fades due to your immobility, then the shock cuts through even the tension of air that is stuck in your throat. Because your brain, fighting with hypoxia, understands that the creature is swimming closer to you with measured laziness, which may have previously feasted on the disintegrating corpses washed to the surface.

A pair of milky white eyes take shape from the dark, endless void with an almost otherworldly light, and the hunger looming in them paints the mouth so dreadful, which stretches into an impossibly wide snarl with cruel joy when it discovers in you its prey frozen in fear. As if the corners of its mouth were trying to get around the elongated head, splitting the dry, ashy skin on its skull like grotesque cuts. Yet, your eyes are immediately drawn to the pale gums and the sharp teeth protruding from them, stained a dirty brown by the rotting pieces of meat sitting on them. And as the twisted, thin body floats closer, a series of dim, tormented blots appear behind it, like an army of faithful shadows, which absorb the rays of moonlight piercing the water, bringing an ominous night to the desolate realm of the lake.

And it doesn't take much time, just a mere fleeting second, and you become sure that you have to flee, because these horrible devilish beings will clean the pliant network of muscles and tendons from your bones before suffocation has a chance to push you into the saving ignorance of unconsciousness. That's why the fierceness of survival awakens in you anew, and even you yourself can't believe the power that terror stirs in you, when you almost tear the tentacles of the stubborn seaweed from you, and the adrenaline that settles on your nerves doesn't allow the pain caused by the attack of the thorns stabbing into your palm to reach you. And if you'd have time, you would burst into tears of joy when the damned plant finally releases your ankle, but you have no time to be relieved, because you see the cautious advance of the distorted beasts squirming in the corner of your eyes, and you can feel the small waves on your skin that their excitedly grinding teeth create.

You're almost desperately try to swim towards the surface, and although the force of the pressure gnawing at your insides increases with each hasty movement, and small black spots slowly crawl into your field of vision, you don't care about the agony that crushes the soft tissues of your internal organs. When your hand finally breaks through the mirror-smooth border of the lake's surface for the first time, and your fingers are caressed by the prickle of the cold night air, then all the suffering that has tried to push you into the silky lap of another death disappears. And perhaps you've never been so happy to see the moon sprawled out like a divine being in the middle of this imaginary world, and you're not at all bothered by the sardonic glee with which its sparkling, silvery gaze follows how you begin to swallow the life-giving oxygen like a pitiful fish on dry land. Although you forcefully cough out the remnants of the water that have strayed into your airways, as soon as the first sip of air fills your chest aching with burning stinging, and the specks squirming in front of your eyes vanish, you have the strength to focus on the way out. And you know that you don't have time to hesitate any longer, because you can see the moving outline of the unknown monsters gathering below you.

You run your gaze along the landscape shrouded in dreadful stillness, and you feel your stomach flutter with gratitude when you discover how seductively close the line of the shallow shore stretches behind you. You only wildly hope that you're able to outrun these horrible creatures, as you put each of your tired limbs to work and start swimming without any delay, because it only takes one of these awful beings to catch you, and your remains will be reduced to tiny crumbs of bones and viscera. And despite the fact that you've met your end countless times, you know that each of your deaths would pale in comparison to being torn to pieces alive by these infernal abominations. Perhaps this is the motivation that breaks through the last barrier in your consciousness and helps to get your body to move with an unprecedented urgency, and this is what dulls the ear-splitting scream-like noise of the frenzy unfolding behind you.

The few minutes seem like millennia until you finally reach the swampy ground, and you stumble to your feet, yanking your shoes from the mud's stubborn grip with an angry cry as you clumsily drag yourself ashore. And as you finally make it to the edge of the wet sand, you drop to your knees, panting, allowing yourself a few meager seconds to rest before you're forced to run again from the evils that stalk you. Because you’re sure that whatever the tentacled creature was, it's still lurking in the depths of the abyss, and the two murderers can also be breathing down your neck thanks to the terrible sidequest you've fallen into. Almost instinctively, your hand sinks into the pocket of the soaked pants, and when you find the disconcertingly untouched map, you feel a heavy weight lift off your heart. All you have to do is to lie low a bit, and then calmly set off to look for the next clue, which can finally get you out of this ever-deepening madness.

But when that bone-shaking scream blasts into the silence of the night once again, you wince reflexively, like a startled animal that has finally realized that the predator will soon wrap its foul-smelling jaws around its neck. And although by now you should have gotten used to the fact that this goddamn place always lulls you into a mirage-like illusion of tranquility with the promise of a moment of ease, only to avenge its mercy all the more cruelly, yet now fear claws into your insides with the same force as if you were experiencing the terrors of this nightmare for the first time. Because when you glance back, you see the cloudy eyes break through from under the velvety, rippling veil of the water, like faintly looming ghosts that were vomited out by the mouth of the lake opening to the other world, to drag you with them into the pits of insatiable hell. One of the gruesome figures emerges from the waves rocking like liquid obsidian, and its sickly thin body straightens amid gut-wrenching crackles, as if every single bone would slide into place on top of another, crumbling under the withered tissue. But even though the beast looks ungainly, when its mouth full of sharp teeth opens and that high-pitched, whistle-like screech rushes out of it, you clamp your hands to your ears to try to dull the pain of the head-splitting sound, and with the pain piercing your eardrums, you realize that if you don't get away now, then those teeth will be painted ruby by your intestines next time.

However, before you can even move, the howling stops, and it takes a few moments for your mind to register what is happening. And when you discover that pair of glowing red eyes appear behind the enraged army of monsters, you wish these bastards would rip you apart alive, because maybe that would be a more pleasant death than what those smoldering irises have in store for you. Because there is such a hungry temper dancing in them that settles into the aggressive movement with which the stranger takes hold of the head of the menacing water creature about to attack, lifting it up into the air. His huge palm swallows its face green from algae, and the way his strong hand clenches around the abomination's skull seems almost pitifully simple, as if the wretch would be nothing more than a worm to be trampled upon. And you feel how your insides convulse with nausea when the stomach-turning crunch, with which the bones shatter into pieces, reaches your ear canals, and you desperately try to swallow back the bitter bile pooling in your mouth, as, after a wet splash, you see the soft, pink flesh spilling out between the hooded monster's long fingers.

It seems that this makes the other grotesque entities understand that something more terrifying than them has arrived, and they swim back to the protective shelter of the lake with such ready submission, as if they were trying to hide from the sight of their angry king, before he would erupt into a frightening rage. Through the dread slowly bubbling under your skin, you realize that maybe this man really is their ruler, since the horde of malformed forces living in the water turned against you after he first surfaced behind the sea of mutilated bodies. And perhaps there is some woefully obvious logic in this, since the game wouldn't have allowed this new location to appear if there hadn't been an even more horrible surprise waiting for you in it. When the last of his terrified subjects finally disappears, the giant starts towards you with lazy steps, and with each passing meter it becomes more and more noticeable, how the hard muscles weave through every terrible corner of his tall figure, and suddenly it becomes painfully clear to you that even the bloodthirsty shadows skulking in the forest would offer greater safety if you threw yourself into the arms of formless darkness now.

You try to get up shaking, because you understand that you're just hanging another death flag on your forehead with your hesitation, but as soon as you put weight on your wounded leg, a bitter pain shoots into your ankle, as if someone were trying to twist your foot around its axis with their bare hands, and from the stars dancing before your eyes, you helplessly let your knees buckle and help you fall back into the mud with a dull thud. And even though you try to relieve the persistent throbbing of the white-hot pain with the air inhaled through your nose, by the time your head clears enough to be able to get yourself to move, your body, trembling with agony, is already swallowed up by the all-consuming shadow of the man towering over you, and you know that you’re done for. You don't have to turn around to know that the hooded monster has finally stalked you down, because you can see the black blanket with which his large figure covers the ground decorated with small stones and plants washed up on the shore.

You don't even dare to move for a little bit, and you feel ridiculously stupid for offering yourself on a silver platter with your person immobilized by terror. As if you were willingly present your chest to him so that he can tear out your scared, beating heart, but you can't even twitch, because, with the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fear spreads through every inch of your body, pushing every muscle fiber into paralyzed helplessness. And you feel how the blood freezes in your veins, when a terribly sweet scent snakes its way into your nose, like the smell of the juices of rotten fruit left under the rays of the summer sun, which at the same time enters your head and covers the frightened upheaval in your skull under some inexplicable hazy fog, and tightens your stomach in a death-tight grip. Although this strange smell brings you closer to dizziness, even in the confused daze that descends upon you, you can perfectly detect when an unknown creature glides onto your shoulder with a damp springiness, then slowly slithers its way up the graceful line of your neck like a curious leech. You're unable to restrain the reflexive movement that makes you cringe in alarm under the curious touch of the uninvited guest, and even though every fiber of your body turns to stone, you raise your eyes to the intruder despite the anxiety gathering in the pit of your stomach. And when you discover the pitch-black tentacle shining with a velvety light, and the purple suckers lined up on them, which breathe unsolicited kisses to the valley of your cleavage, you yelp and charge forward to try to crawl away from the monster with such panicked clumsiness, like a wounded wild animal trying to escape from the wolf with its last breath.

However, no matter how hard you try to break free, the fear raging in your body only leads to an uncoordinated shuffling, and you fall to your stomach on the fish-smelling ground, hissing from the ache that rips through your ankle. Your mouth fills with tiny grains of wet sand, but you don't mind the sour taste on your tongue, because it penetrates your terror much more clearly when you feel the searing heat of another body behind you, seeping through the thin material of your soaked t-shirt like a contagious disease. And you know that the end of the night has arrived, because when you see a giant hand sinking into the mud next to your head, you recognize, along with the horrible delusions flooding into your mind, that you already lost your chance of survival when you waded into that damn lake.

And the newcomer doesn't leave you a moment to recover from your shock, because you just got rid of the intrusion of the sticky organ, you feel the tentacle breaking under the battered fabric of your top, and you can't stop the terrified tremor that moves into your limbs in time, when the probing caress of the feelers passes through the tense arch of your spine. The tenderness with which he traces the small valley between your shoulder blades is almost stomach-churning, because you're aware that with one careless movement, he could unfurl the row of vertebrae from under your skin like fresh peas from their shell. And you know that he only wants to lull your vigilance with the fleeting gentleness with which the appendage moves towards the line of your ribs to try to migrate to your chest, like a lover who wants to explore the lush curves of his beloved's body. And your brain, stuck in the fear of death, is relieved a little when the sleek arm finds an obstacle in the moldy ground, but the small joy that takes hold in you is pitifully short-lived, because your attacker only grabs your hips with a frustrated grunt and pulls you up with such light carelessness, which you wouldn't be able to fight even if the horrors of the night didn't weigh on your every cell like a leaden blanket. And as his fingers sink into the soft flesh, you feel that following the touch of restrained power, the mark of his hand will soon be ingrained into you with a purple color.

Still, you’re much more horrified, and goosebumps run over every defenseless inch of your body, as the clammy limb reaches your bra on its path, and a startled squeak gets stuck behind your quivering lips that is elicited from you by the attack of the slimy organ burrowing under the soft material. You don't dare tear your eyes away from the pebble shining with a dull light, which rises orphaned from a small sand dune in front of you, because you're terrified that if you follow how the monster takes what your vulnerable body offers to him unwillingly, you will sink even deeper in the muddy swamp of terror. Yet every nerve ending in you is sharpened when you feel the cold, slick flesh sliding against the soft mound of your breast. And there is something repulsively intimate about how one of the suckers latches onto your nipple with an almost insatiable hunger, as if this monster wasn't holding you in the trap of his strong body for the first time. As if he's got his hand on a delicacy, the nectar of which he has tasted at some point, and now the longing for the tantalizing aroma on his tongue would drive him forward. But your brain cannot understand why this absurd thought awakens in you, because it's unable to focus on anything other than the involuntary shiver that runs along your spine when it sucks the sensitive skin that has become its prey with an almost playful lewdness. And this small act is enough for the miserable moan, that has been crawling up your throat on foul feet until now, to finally break through your mouth.

And as if this one sound would feed the horrible man's unquenchable greed, for you shudder in horror, as another tentacle wanders over the nervously heaving line of your belly with slow laziness, and for a terrible moment it just flirtatiously skims along the waistline of your pants. But his patience doesn't last long, because he pushes under your jeans with an almost violent want, and you don't even have time to react, the limb sinks under the damp material of your panties with such insidious speed. Your consciousness can't keep up with the siege on your body, but it still fills you with agony as the lush flame of desire flares up in your stomach, as one of the suckers closes around your clit. And the muddled whine that creeps up your trachea is unfamiliar even to your own ears, when the wet pressure increases around the sensitive bundle of nerves, because you would rather bite your own tongue in shame, but the shock that rolls over you is too strong to resist the pull of the sensation.

But when you feel the feeler gliding between the silky petals and almost curiously circling the entrance of your pussy throbbing with scorching heat, then the fire of protest rekindles in you, and you set your hands on the damp ground to brace yourself against the beast. But even though your unexpected opposition gives you momentum, it feels like you hit a concrete wall, the man's chest swelling with hard muscles press against your back with such unshakable confidence, and you become aware painfully soon what kind of fun you've made him have, when the hardness that bulges in his crotch pushes against your bottom. And he, perhaps mistakenly, perhaps on purpose, sees your pathetic attempt as an invitation, and the deep, throaty groan rings in your ears, with which he thrusts his cock against you with impatient fervor, like a damned animal ready to mate. And as his huge hand clamp down on your hips with an almost vise-like force, even the stray idea of escape suddenly seems like a ridiculously far-fetched dream, because his fingers will crush all your fragile bones to dust before letting you get lost into the night. But even though the icy poison of dread sneaks into your every brain cell, you know you have to take flight, since the goal hasn't changed. You have to survive. And if you stay here, you voluntarily count down the minutes until the moment of your death, which, no matter what sweet torment the game promises, you know it's coming.

And as if he would sense that he cannot drive away the stillborn idea of resistance from you with his insidious tactics, that hurtful, syrupy smell appears again, which fills your nose with such a vicious intrusion that you have no chance to understand what is happening, because as soon as the dark fog spreads over your brain, the burning tingle that sends liquid flames into your core saturates every inch of you. An almost drunken intoxication settles on you, and it's only a dull fear in the back of your mind that he might be using some kind of pheromones to deter you from running away, but even though you recognize the diabolical method with which he traps you, you're no longer able to pull yourself together. The desperate demand of lust stirs up in you too strongly, and suddenly it doesn't seem alarming at all, as the tip of the tentacle that ventured into your underwear teasingly slips into your wet heat just for a moment. And you don't even have enough common sense to understand how terribly pitiful it is that you willingly squeeze your trembling body against the stranger like a bitch in heat.

And if the hooded man didn't suddenly freeze over you, you wouldn't even notice what was happening around you, because his presence settles on every single one of your senses, as if someone would drip hot wax on you, slowly closing you in an impenetrable shell, condemning you to eternal lustful suffering. But as vehemently as he started, your attacker ends his torturous game as abruptly, and as the impenetrable veil of the treacly essence in your head is inexplicably replaced by the metallic smell of blood, then your consciousness is able to clear. And although it takes a few excruciating moments before your brain is finally capable of receiving the stimuli from the outside world, then you can hear quite well the pain-filled, enraged groan that breaks out of the monster's mouth, as a large knife lands in the sand with a dull thud a few short seconds later.

And there is nothing tender about the way the long appendages terrorizing you disappear and one hand smoothes on your back to pin you down to the ground, almost ramming you into the cold embrace of the wet soil, and for a moment the air is forced from your lungs, as his huge palm spreads between your shoulder blades with warning roughness. And you understand the silent instruction even without words, and the revived stabbing of fear escaping into your limbs helps to force you into corpse-like immobility. And that's when you hear the soft crunch of the autumn leaves, as something treads through them to sneak cautiously closer to you in the distance. Your frightened gaze is immediately fixed on the trees rising beyond the shore, but for a tense second, you see nothing but darkness shrouded in eerie silence. However, the man notices what you don't, and his robust figure towers over you so possessively, like a rabid animal protecting its prey, and you don't even feel like more than a piece of meat, which the cruel world of the game has turned into such an irresistible reward.

"Get the fuck back into the lake, König!" A deep voice breaks through the heavy quietness of the forest, and you would recognize Johnny's hoarse baritone out of a thousand, because you have been lucky enough to taste the danger of its deceptive bloodlust too many times. But now, as the outline of his body unfolds from under the black veil of shadows among the vegetation, you recognize the murderous anger, the icy tension of which sits in the line of his broad shoulders. And although you only see a distant figure moving out of the corner of your eye, the anxiety in the pit of your stomach immediately tells you that Simon is the one who stalks through the tangle of wild bushes like a big cat about to pounce. "She's ours."

And you can feel on your back how that angry voice resonates through the chest of the beast holding you down, with which he finally responds to the appearance of the uninvited visitors. And for a minute that seems like an eternity, nothing happens, and being stuck in this horrible anticipation, the panic awakens in you, which makes your brain finally able to form meaningful thoughts, and you can spot that tiny little detail that has been resting in front of your nose until now so happily. Because the man's hand is still resting in front of you, digging into the mud, and when you see the row of red beads adorning the thick wrist, the spark of recognition lights up in your head. After all, this terrible place doesn't place anything unnecessarily, and the crimson glimmer that brings the bracelet to life under the silvery rays of the moonlight cannot be a mere coincidence. This is a clue, and perhaps this whole horrible torture has prepared this moment. And you feel in your gut that you have to get it.

Therefore, taking advantage of the fact that the hooded creature is centering all its attention on the enemy hiding in the thick of the trees, one of your hands moves with cautious slowness to crawl toward the jewel, and every single one of your senses is keenly focusing to see when will the creature above you, who is becoming more and more furious, notice what you’re preparing in such great secrecy. And as your fingers get caught in the thin cord of the precious object, you look up in terror at the behemoth above you, and the pounding of your heart in your ears quiets down slightly when you see how unceasingly it scans the emptiness behind the thick trunks. And you only see it in your periphery, as something with a metallic glint shoots out from the infinity of the forest, and that's enough for the tentacles lurking above you to act on their own, wild with rage, certainly working to save their owner from an attack intended to be fatal. However, this one act unleashes all hell, because the monster suddenly loses its patience and launches forward with an aggressive roar like a demonic beast thirsty for blood, and he doesn't even notice how the bracelet is torn off him as he pushes forward toward his opponents who are hiding behind the vegetation.

And you know that you have no time to waste, because it's only a matter of time before the bloodshed unfolds and you become an unwilling participant, from which there will be no way out, only certain death and another miserable awakening in the back seat of the car. So, forcing the will into your limbs, you push yourself up onto your knees, and a series of dark spots swim into your vision, as a knife-like pain shoots into your ankle even from this harmless movement. But you swallow the scream that is about to escape your lips, because if you draw the attention of these scumbags to you now, all your chances of escape will be gone. That's why, overcoming the throbbing ache, you reach towards the pearls scattered in the sand, and as you collect the ruby spheres in your palm, they glow up in red, leaving behind a cool tingling sensation. The smoldering light travels along your arm, and as if guided by an invisible force, reaches your tortured leg, and you watch in amazement as the bruises drawn by the violence disappear from the skin in the wake of the faint glow. It takes a second for you to realize what has happened, and when you notice the sounds of the fight unfolding in the forest, you hastily put your treasure in the safety of your pocket. You'll have time to wonder what the hell is going on when you finally manage to disappear from your pursuers again.

That's why you just spring up nimbly and head towards the multitude of trees, hoping that the battle, drowned in increasingly violent shouts, will drag on long enough for them to lose track of you. Because the night is still long, and you're quite sure that no matter where your path leads, more horrors will be waiting for you, because this damned place will do everything to lock you in the glass cage of its fictional world. But with the map and the pearls in your pocket, the hope, that you might live to see the dawn and you get out of here, finally rekindles in you.

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