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#and sure i can argue i'll feel better if i do it i'll be glad if i do it and it'll be easier once i start

bg-brainrot · 2 months

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The Thousandth Time (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Summary: Astarion and Rogue!Tav make love for the thousandth time. In a bathtub.

Tags: Smut, Slice of life, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Spawn Astarion, Post-Canon, bathtub sex, sloppy sex, seriously just sickeningly sweet smut, Spawn Astarion, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Domesticity is romantic, Hand Jobs, Blood Drinking

A/N: Some context-- I wanted to write soft, gender neutral smut. And by the gods is this soft. I tried to look at what it's like to love someone for so long. In my experience, when you've been with someone for so many years, you still find a lot of love in the little things. which I hope I hit? Anyway, enjoy!!

Word count: ~5.3k

The thousandth time you make love to Astarion, you don't know it's the thousandth time.

It's a day like any other, really.

After a long day at the guild, you've arrived home, a sigh on your lips, a furrow to your brow.

"Whatever is the matter, my dear?"

You compose your expression and turn toward your lover. "Astarion," you start, a reflexive wistfulness to your tone. Gods are you glad to see him after a day like today. "Nothing is the matter. Nothing important anyway. Simply glad to be home."

Astarion gives you a look that says he doesn't quite believe you, but knows better than to pry too deeply into issues you'd rather not bring home. "Very well, darling. But you know I'm all pointy ears. Especially if Nine-Fingers has been difficult again."

"Ugh," you say, wincing in annoyance. "Do not say her name right now."

The vampire gives you a bright, toothy laugh. "That bad, eh?" You nod. He walks toward you, arms outstretched. "Mmm in that case, shall we call it an early night tonight?"

You dive into the comfort of his arms, holding him to you, inhaling his fresh, familiar scent. It feels like the day's troubles melt in his cold embrace, and the tension in your body finally relaxes. "That might be nice."

"Dinner first?" he asks, pulling away from you slightly.

You look into his warm crimson eyes, feel that same warmth reflected in your face. Of course, he’d check to see if your mortal needs have been met. "No need, I've eaten. How about you?"

Astarion brings a hand up to inspect your face, this way, then that. It’s as if he’s examining you for injury, not assessing if he can partake in a bit of your blood. "Mmm, you seem a tad tired, love."

"You know I'll manage. Besides, get my blood while it's still boiling with rage," you say, craning your neck for him in response.

"As delectable as that sounds,” he begins, letting go of your face, tracing his fingers along your neck. “I think a bath and bed ought to come first."

You want to argue the point, make sure he's fed to the best of your ability, but the yawn that escapes you is irrefutable. With nary another word, his hand is on the small of your back, guiding you toward the bath.

"Would you like to join me?" you ask him as you open the door. Your expression is calm, the question harboring no hidden intentions. Any other day, you may have raised an eyebrow at him suggestively, begun taking off your armor in a tease– but you're tired, simply not wanting to relinquish the feel of his arms around you.

"Certainly, if it keeps you from falling asleep in the tub…" he trails off, looking at you warily. He appears torn, somewhere between keeping you from drowning and keeping you from resting.

You give him a wry smile. “Imagine that. After felling all manner of beasts and men, finally succumbing to the tub.”

Astarion offers you a reluctant smile in return. “My love, I swear to every god above and below, if you die in any manner even remotely that ludicrous, I shall have to pretend not to know you at your funeral.”

“That’s fair,” you say, holding a hand out to him. “Best to make sure that doesn’t happen then, don’t you think?”

The man can’t argue with that, nor does he seem to want to. After an entire day away from each other, this closeness is exactly what the two of you crave. So he takes your offered hand, and follows you into the bathroom.

It has been years since you had added a tub big enough for the two of you in your house. While the two of you had accrued wealth enough for an entire bathhouse, you’d settled for a more modest setup. At least, modest in Astarion’s eyes.

The floor is made of the finest marble tiles, the walls of intricately laid and patterned brick. And in the center of the room, is the room’s main attraction: the enormous, magical tub. It’s long enough that you could comfortably lay down across the entire bottom, wide enough that you have to extend your arms to reach both sides. The outer edges are infused with enchantments to improve your bathing experience, and the tub itself is made of the highest quality crystal that gold can buy.

Once you enter the room, you activate the heat and water sigils along the basin’s edges and turn back to Astarion. “Would you mind grabbing some soaps from the shelf?”

He gives you a lopsided grin, eyes crinkling with amusement, but still moves to do as you ask. “Would you also like me to bathe you while I’m at it?”

“Oh, would you?” you ask half-joking. You begin to strip your armor off, piece by piece.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, picking out a few of his preferred scents from a shelf on the wall. He’s accumulated quite the collection now, enjoying mixing and matching as his nose guides him. “That could be arranged.”

You’re almost halfway through your armor when he returns, bottles of lemon, bergamot, and sage soaps in hand. “Ah, you know how much I love bergamot,” you say, smiling at it fondly, pausing halfway through undoing your leather straps.

“I know,” he says, placing them next to the tub before turning his attention fully to you. “I also know that you need help with that armor or we may be here all night.”

Holding your arms out wordlessly, Astarion starts to unbuckle each and every strap from the front of your padded armor. As he releases you from its confines, you take a deep, relieved breath and say, “Thank you, love.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he murmurs, leaving a long lingering touch along your now exposed collarbone. “While you strike quite the image in your armor, I think I much prefer you without.”

You laugh, feeling quite light in the now steaming room. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your mind is straying quite far from rest, Astarion.”

The vampire shrugs, beginning to tug at your undershirt and small clothes with each of his hands. “Merely stating fact, my darling.”

With a few smooth movements, he’s taken off the last of your clothing, exposing every inch of you to the warmth of the room and the heat of his gaze. He seems just about ready to bury his head in your neck, begin covering every piece of you in kisses, when you speak, “Excuse me, are you planning to enter the bath in your house clothes?”

Astarion looks down at his own garb, the comfortable satins and silks of a man who spent the day lounging at home. When faced with your words and, ugh, logic, he says with a sigh, “Would you do the honors?”

You need no more invitation before your hands are on his soft, flowing shirt, running along it appreciatively. “Is this new?”

“It is,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “Do you like it?”

“It feels magnificent,” you respond, beginning to undo its buttons. “I may just have to steal it for myself one of these days.”

His lips purse at you. “You know, you could simply ask, darling.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you taunt, pulling up on the shirt's edges, tugging it up and off of him. Now, faced with the plane of his ivory chest, your fingers act on instinct. They trail down his shoulders, trace the line of his pectorals, drop down the center of his stomach to the waist of his pants.

Astarion gives you a low, approving noise before asking you wryly, “Now whose mind is straying?”

“Not mine,” you respond, pulling his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. “My hands are just so tired, I’m sure you understand.”

“Surely,” he responds, as he pulls each foot out of his pant legs. “How is the water?”

The bath is steaming by now, visibly fogging up the room, but still, you bend down to skim your hands along its surface. “Ah, it’s warm,” you say, gripping the edge with one hand. “Maybe too warm?”

“No such thing,” he responds, and one of his hands lands next to yours as he bends down to feel the water for himself. The man gives a happy hum before asking, “Shall we then?” Then his now-wet hand is smacking your butt, his head gesturing toward the waiting water.

“Excuse you,” you say, indignantly, as you turn toward him. “I'm tired.” But you don't feel tired. Not after running your hands over his cold skin. Not after feeling the quick contact of his hand on your backside.

“Not to worry, darling. I’ll take care of you.”

As in, bathing or–? Luckily you don't have much more time to think about it before he’s lowering himself into the tub. Even with his quick movement, even with the water’s slight obscurity, you easily note that Astarion’s cock has stirred in interest.

Ah. While you hadn’t meant to illicit anything by inviting him… it’s certainly not unwelcome. It’s a good thing that your exhaustion is all but melting away under his loving touches.

Acutely aware of his sharp gaze on the length of your back, you turn to face away from him, grab the edge of the tub, and slowly enter its warmth. As was customary in your baths, he would start with your back, so you take a spot in front of him, leaving just enough room for him to settle behind you as he pleases.

Too much room clearly, as Astarion immediately scoots forward, extending his legs to each side of you. You feel his hardening length graze your backside as he does so and can’t help the smile that curves your lips.

"Astarion, dear,” you start, placing your hands on each of his knees under the water. “Are you certain you want to bathe me?"

“And why wouldn't I be?” He leans closer, planting a soft kiss along your spine.

You debate backing up into his groin to prove a point but instead shake your head. "No reason, I suppose."

He begins by lathering his hands in a mixture of soaps, carefully measured out by eye and feel. All the while, you sit before him, hands on each of his calves, thumbs repeatedly rubbing the ridge of his muscles. While he’d had a nice, calm day today, his calves are always so tight from sneaking about– and it’s the least you can do for the man that’s bathing you.

Then his hands get to work.

At first he drags both hands along your back, once, twice. Once he’s made sure that soap covers every inch of you, he starts massaging you, working the soap into your skin, kneading into your sore muscles.

Astarion knows your body so intimately and, after so many years of tending to each other, he rubs all of your tightest spots. His knuckles press deep into your neck. His fingers work around your upper back. His thumbs dig underneath the edges of your shoulder blades, working out the knots he knows lay beneath. And, by the gods, if you thought you’d been melting under his caresses before, now you’re practically a puddle.

You can’t help the noises that come out at the sensation of his nimble fingers at work. Your shoulders ache from a long day of sneaking, stabbing, and general tension of dealing with people– the relief is palpable in the way you relax into his touch, grip his legs, and release several breathy moans.

And with each moan, you can feel his cock growing firmer against you. After the first few, you can feel him shift closer with every noise he draws from you. Knowing your affect on him has always done something to stir the fire in you, and this time it has you shifting uncomfortably as heat blooms between your legs. The both of you spur the other’s building lust, all the while the fresh scent that Astarion’s concocted permeates the air.

Then, when it’s clear he’s done with your back, thoroughly satisfied with each gasping breath of pleasure, his hands drop from your shoulders. They tail down your back, playing along your spine. And, in an almost leisurely motion, they wrap around your torso, where they finally settle on your chest.

I don’t think this is a relaxing bath anymore, you think distantly. Yet you’re unable to resist leaning into his palms, arching into his touch.

Sensing your shuffles, Astarion curls further into your back, almost entirely flush to you now. His fingers feel their way to each of your nipples, first gently brushing against them, then thumbing over them each in turn. They respond eagerly, perking up under his delicate sweep.

“Astarion,” you begin, turning your head back to him slightly and raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” Your tone isn’t exactly admonishing– your voice comes out too quiet, desire muffling all other emotions.

His hands trail down your chest, past the surface of the bath water, settling on each of your thighs before he responds, voice low, lips inches away from your ear. “Making sure that every single centimeter of my beautiful darling is clean, of course.”

“Astarion, I thought you would be, ahh… taking care of me," you say, barely holding on to your trail of thought as his hands dip between your legs, brushing your sensitive core.

“I am taking care of you,” he whispers, finally closing the remaining distance between your back, his front. At the feel of his stiff cock pressing against your back, you give an involuntary gasp. He seems to enjoy your reaction, taking a moment to slowly grind the entire length of his hardened arousal along your backside once, before he settles between your cheeks. “Unless you’d rather leave all of this stress pent up, my dear?”

You’d been tired– been ready to bathe and head off to bed. But something about this man never fails to ignite the fire in your heart– or your loins. “I suppose not,” you murmur, releasing Astarion’s calf, running up his leg with your fingers, landing on his arm, gripping it closer to you.

“I knew you would see reason,” he says, taking your grip as guidance. His hand moves down to begin stroking your heat, building up steadily to the fast-paced rhythm he knows you like. In the water’s buoyant embrace, his actions feel a touch more fluid, his fingers more silken.

It has taken time experimenting together to reach this place– one of utmost security and intimate knowledge of each others’ bodies. But now that you’re here, you’ve found that Astarion’s agile fingers are obscenely precise in their movements. Like he knows exactly which pins to tumble to unlock your utmost excitement.

So you can't help the way you buck into his touch, nor the way the water sloshes around you both in response.

"Careful, love," he says, hand stilling. "We don't want to make a mess this time, do we?"

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember the last time this had happened, how the floor had been practically flooded. You should agree with him, make sure that such an incident doesn't occur again. But the front of your mind is wholly occupied, thinking only of how he's stopped moving his hand, how being careful may mean that he takes it too gently. "Mmm, we managed to clean it up well enough," you respond, jerking your hips back, pressing against him with need.

Astarion's laughter rings upon the bathroom's stone walls, before it turns into a groan as you roll your hips once more. His voice is a bit huskier when he responds, "You know we’re going to regret it later.”

You smile back at him, satisfied with the noise you’ve elicited. “Sounds like a problem for later, doesn’t it?” Then your hand squeezes his arm, motioning it back down to your now throbbing arousal. “For now, what was that about releasing my stress?”

“Oh very well… in that case, let’s find where you ache most, shall we?” Astarion murmurs, dipping his head, placing a kiss on the base of your neck. “Here?” Your shoulder. “Or perhaps here?” Then his hand settles back between your legs, fingers touching you in a rather delicate caress. “Or maybe here?”

You hum a noise of approval as his . “Oh, there.”

His fingers close on your swollen sex, rubbing languidly as he whispers in your ear, “Mmm, darling. So much tension…” A bit more pressure. “I must simply…” A bit faster pace. “Massage it all away…”

If anything, his touches cause you to grasp at his legs harder, all of the muscles in your body responding in kind to his ministrations. Your back arches instinctively, earning an exquisite groan from Astarion. So when his next stroke causes you to clench, you lean into it, grinding your ass back into the full length of his erection, sliding easily in the water’s low friction.

His other hand finds its way to your hip, helping you match his pace as you continue to rock into him.

The two of you fall into a beautiful, raucous rhythm, each open and generous with your vocal pleasure, the water’s regular splashes punctuating each movement.

“Yes, yes, gods, Astarion.”

“My sweet, you’re the only divine thing here.”

Then your words begin to lose sense, your rhythm begins to falter, and it’s clear that you won’t last much longer under his caring fingers.

You also know that Astarion hasn’t been tended to nearly as well as you have.

So you move to turn toward him. With how his full length twitches against you in urgency, your own nimble fingers ought to return the favor.

Astarion stops you, placing his unoccupied hand back on your chest to hold you in place. "Ah ah ah. Love, I'm here to help you."

"You are helping,” you start, pushing back against his hand. “But I don’t want to leave you like this.” ‘This’ is obvious as the man clearly exercises every ounce of self control he has judging from the visible veins on his arm, the way his legs squeeze reflexively around you each time he strokes you.

He gives you a reluctant groan, one that does nothing to hide his desire. “Must you always be so selfless?” His hand doesn’t release your chest though, and he begins tracing delicate, wet circles around one of your nipples, as he murmurs, “Fine, just let me continue.”

Staying in place for him, you reach back with one hand to feel for his cock. It’s almost unreal how naturally you slot around him, the way your fingers circle around its girth. The entire length, inch-by-inch, the pattern of his veins, the sensitive lip of his head– they’re all intimately familiar to you now. As is finding just the right grip, the right pace.

When you start to pump him in earnest, Astarion can't help but shudder, his movements losing their steady, pulsing beat. In losing his pace, he takes on a new one– erratic, a bit fumbling, but utterly intoxicating.

You're both stoking each other’s fires in tandem, wildly offset in your desperation to touch each other more and more and more.

The water feels almost cool compared to your heated core, to the sweet friction you're building together.

Astarion's face tilts into your back, grunting as he strains to right his tempo– his forehead presses against you, his cool exhale grazes your searing skin. His chilled touch is a reprieve in the sweltering fog of steam and heady lust. Hearing your sigh of relief, he seems all too willing to make more contact.

His lips crash onto your back roughly, and his fangs nick your skin. An involuntary shiver runs through your body as you imagine the pleasure his drinking evokes from you. As you imagine the man behind you lapping at your neck, moaning in satisfaction, flushed pink with your very blood–

"Take some blood,” you offer, breathless. Imagining would never be enough, you find yourself craving the real deal. So when you say your next word, it comes out more pleading than you intend, “Please."

“Whatever my dearest desires,” Astarion replies, voice low and rumbling. He removes the hand from your chest and places it on your shoulder, holding you in place as he places his lips at the crook of your neck. His nose rubs gently against your fleshly washed skin. “Mmm, you smell so good.”

Then his fangs pierce you.

When you first began your relationship, you hadn’t intended to enjoy his bites as much as you do, but after years and years of them, the pain hardly registers now. All you feel is close– So very close to the man you would gladly give your lifeblood to.

He draws a gulp, and you feel the blood course through you, into him.

Another drink, and heat builds in you as you feel his cock grow harder in your hand, his veins more prominent.

A third long pull of your blood, and you feel his fingers quicken at your aching arousal.

You jerk into his hand in reaction, trying to seek an outlet for your pleasure. Your mouth emits a whimper– you hadn’t been comfortable whimpering with Astarion at first, but after he drew one out of you, he couldn’t get enough.

He still can’t, and you feel his lips curl into a smile at your neck, his fingers move with more urgency.

All the while you continue stroking his length, fingers sloppy in your own hazy state. It doesn’t seem like you need your usual dexterity though, because Astarion is practically writhing with newfound reactivity. Drinking blood always leaves him especially sensitive.

One last shaky swallow and he removes his fangs from your neck. But not his mouth. His tongue begins lavishing your puncture wound furiously as he struggles to hold back his approaching peak.

With the way he haphazardly tilts his hips into you, it’s all too evident to you that he’s reaching his limit. He’s not afraid to tell you so either.

"My sweet," he all but moans into your ear. "I–I can't last much longer. May I?"

You know what he means, and you honestly can’t last much longer either– you’re positively light-headed from a mixture of bliss and blood loss. So you stop your movements, nod your addled head at him.

He removes his hands from your core and neck, reaching out to your legs. Pulling them out and apart, he shuffles behind you, moving impatiently.

Realizing he can’t do this alone, he gestures, motioning for you to put your legs up.

Still a bit dizzy, you carefully place each leg on either side of the tub’s edges, hooking yourself in place by the ankles. It feels a precarious balance, but you can hardly care when you’re this eager to have Astarion inside you.

Astarion seems just as eager, rubbing his length against your ass hungrily as you get into position.

Perched and ready for him, the man is quick to help once more– his hands grip your asscheeks and lift in a swift movement. You’re particularly buoyant in the water, and you rise higher than either of you had expected. Your hand instinctively reaches out, gripping the edge of the tub to brace yourself, and you hear Astarion give a deep chuckle from behind you.

Holding back your own almost giddy excitement, you try to compose yourself for him. Angling your hips up, you’re almost floating on the water for a moment as Astarion lines the tip of his cock with your entrance.

However, you’re instinctively clenching a second later when a pair of your lover’s fingers tease at your opening. You barely avoid clamping your legs back together at the sensation.

Recovering from the tickling probe, you look back to see a lust-drunk fanged smile, lips smeared with red. "Astarion, please,” you mutter. “I can't balance like this all day."

"Come darling, I know you’re quite talented," he taunts, easily gliding his fingers back in, curling until you truly do begin to lose balance.

"Astarion," you breathe out, clutching the side of the tub even harder to stay afloat.

Then his fingers slip back out, replaced a moment later by the head of his cock. “No need to worry, I have a seat for you right here.”

His palms cup your backside, his fingers squeeze, as you lower your hips back down, taking in his entire, slick length effortlessly in the water.

“Now isn’t that better?” he asks, grabbing your hips with one hand, the other finding yours on the side of the tub for support.

“Mmm,” is all that you manage, as you adjust to the sudden fullness. You haven’t lain with anyone else in so long, it’s hard to remember a cock other than his. Still, you can’t help but feel like he settles in you just right. Especially when you both slot together neatly, you taking him to the hilt.

Astarion drops another kiss on your back. “Comfortable?”

“Mhm,” you mumble. Now that you’re securely held in place by Astarion’s hips flush to yours, your legs hanging off the tub’s edges, you place your second hand back at your aching arousal. You begin to stroke yourself back into the same fervor Astarion had you in moments ago.

After a small, deliberate thrust of his hips, testing how you rise and fall in the water, Astarion starts moving against you. It’s slow at first, the water rippling out from you both in small waves. Then his hips rock back, only to drive back into you with sloshing force.

“A–ahh!” Sweet hells, he knows exactly how to hit your most sensitive spot. You had already been so heated, but now, with your lover’s full, hardened length pressing into you? You feel dizzy with pleasure.

Years of lovemaking, and you’re still in awe of how well he knows your body. It’s more than his previous experiences culminating in some kind of skillful paramour. No, this was built through time, trial, error, effort.

So as this gorgeous man you call love bounces you up and down in his lap, you feel yourself coming undone. Your breaths come ragged as you ride his cock, water spilling out of the tub with each and every buck. Your fingers clench the tub, barely holding on as you feel your pleasure coil tighter and tighter.

Astarion places kiss after kiss down your back, and you hear him murmuring, "Gods you're perfect." A harder kiss. "You feel so good." Another thrust. "Each." A nip at your skin. "And every." A thrust. "Time." Another kiss. "I–I love you."

For your part, you’re finding entire sentences difficult. With the feel of him throbbing inside you, the way his lips feel along your back, each roll of his hips, you're truly only capable of a few phrases. "Astarion." A splashing bounce. "I love you–" A loll back of your head. "Oh hells–" A dip of your hips. "I love you too."

When your peak finally runs through you like a shockwave, when you clench around him in ecstasy, those very same words are still on your lips. "I l–love you."

He moans at the sudden tightness, the muscles that now hold him deep within you. "Darling," he breathes. "Oh love. I can't–"

Astarion means to say that he can't hold on much longer. He'd already been so close, holding back only to keep your pleasure going. So you reach down to his fingers on your hip, as best as you can while still hanging on for dear life, and squeeze his hand. A wordless affirmation, a plea to join you, as he always has.

And it’s that silent communication that has his fingers lacing through yours, his neck craning back, his hips stuttering.

When he comes, there's no pretense or performance. There hasn't been for many years. So when you look back at his face in a hazy fuzz of emotion, the expression you see is utterly unbridled.

It's a look of sheer pleasure– his perfectly pale skin flushed a light rosy color, his usually impeccable hair stuck to his face in a mixture of sweat and water. His eyes are shut, his mouth agape as he spills into you.

So enraptured are you by the mundane beauty of his climax, that you’ve strained too far from your precariously balanced position. Your foot unhooks from the tub’s slippery edge and you fall onto Astarion’s lap with a large splash as he finishes. You’re both left panting and wet in the wake of both your and the tub’s peaks.

Water drips down your face, all of the soap bottles have been knocked from the edge of the tub. The high you’d felt just moments ago feels doused in the stark reality of making love in a bathtub.

However, when you feel Astarion’s breathy laughter on your back, feel his softening cock twitch with his last few thrusts, you know he’s still in fine spirits.

You stay together for a few moments as you both collect yourselves. Water is wiped from eyes, your second leg comes back into the tub, and several deep breaths are had. Once you’re relatively sorted, Astarion pulls himself out of you with a long, happy sigh.

The man falls back from you, sitting against the end of the tub in a tired flop. Then he’s patting the water in front of him, motioning you to join him in some post-coital cuddles.

You don’t need much more of an invitation.

Floating through the now much lower water, you stop just in front of him. Movements relaxed, you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and scoot into his waiting embrace.

"So," you start, looking at the wasteland of water and strewn soap bottles around the tub. "Looks like we made a mess."

"I told you we would," he says, closing his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

"I know," you say, leaning into him comfortably. Your body is truly exhausted now, but your mind is a buzz of joy. "It was worth it though."

He laughs into your shoulder, squeezes you tighter. "Feeling better, I take it?"

"Gods yes," you say, tilting your head into his silver hair. "Thank you."

"Oh my sweet, it was my utmost pleasure," he replies, and you can feel his smile on your skin.

You both lean back, grinning at each other like fools. The smiles stay, even when your lips meet in a soft, wet kiss.

You will need to clean the room, the tub, likely your bodies once again– but all you can truly feel right now is content. Enjoying Astarion’s gentle fingers as they trace a pattern onto your skin, the warm water all around you, you very nearly forget that today was merely a day like any other.

The thousandth time you made love to Astarion, it was messy and wet and silly– somehow, it was sweet, caring, and loving all the same.

The thousandth time you made love to Astarion, you didn't know it was the thousandth time.

Just as you hadn't known your tenth thousand kiss, nor your hundred thousandth 'I love you.' Were anyone to ask you about them, you might not even remember the days or events surrounding any of them.

What you do know is that each individual moment holds no less importance, that the affection shared between you doesn’t diminish with each recurrence.

You’re unable to quantify your love, nor would you want to. All you really want is Astarion– his soft lips, tender hands, and whispered words of love– until your dying breath.

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trash-magics-blog · 9 months

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"You need a man... Not a boy"

Captain Price x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Your current bf is being a little bitch so John decides to put him in his place... And treat you right while he is at it

(Boyfriends name is Sean and you guys are arguing about him being childish and unruly.. TW for alcohol, I'm straight up obsessed with this man pls)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I fucking HATE you Sean! You're so fucking childish... Whenever I do something wrong you pout and run off to your mom, your almost 25! You yelled from your guys room, you and Sean had been fighting all day and you were so close to calling it quits.

"What the fuck ever you bitch! I'm leaving your ass, I hope you make it out there without me!" He stormed out of the house and slammed the door, it sounded like it broke and you also heard his car drive off, he finally left.

You and Sean were together for about 6 months and it was constant issues... From him being childish to him straight up hiding your keys and phone so you couldn't talk to your friends, it was due time for you to leave but you just couldn't pull yourself to do so, even if your best friend John told you that you could find better.

John Price. He was your closest friend, you guys met at a bar and you've always stayed in touch even when he left on his missions and whatnot but no matter what he was always there for you, more than your now ex boyfriend ever was. John didn't like Sean at all, said he was to much of a child, unbeknownst to you John was always trying to hint at you and him, but he didn't beat around the bush, he just didn't even stand by the bush. He was awful at hinting at things.

You called John, trying not to cry about the situation at hand, your house was a mess and everything was just a mess. "Hey John... I was wondering if you can come over?" He could sense the sadness in your voice and didn't hesitate to leave and go be with you. "I'll be there soon love, just give me a bit". After about 15 minutes John showed up and walked in, not minding the mess or anything and immediately wrapped you in a bear hug, he could tell what happened and was sorry for you, but also somewhat glad Sean left... You were John's now and he was gonna make sure of it.

"He called me a bitch and everything John... And he trashed the house and broke the damn door" you said into his shoulder, you had started to cry and pulled away from his hug to sit on the couch, John followed. You and him talked for awhile, he lifted your mood instantly and made you almost forget all of this drama and he helped you pick up the house somewhat. You loved John but didn't realise it till now, the way he made you feel and just everything about him made you love him, he was everything you needed in a man.

"Ya know what, how about we go out for drinks... You could use a few and I know the best spot in town" he suggested, you had no real reason to say no so you agreed and you two got in his car. "Sorry John, didn't mean to drag you into all this" you put your hand on your head and sighed, clearly a bit ashamed and slightly embarrassing. He put his hand on your thigh and squeezed it, causing her heart to flutter and he spoke "Oh love, I don't mind and you know that, he was a joke anyway... You need a man, not a damn child anyway, your to beautiful and too good of a person ya know" he blushed a little as he said that and you noticed, but didn't say anything just smiled to yourself and continued to look out the window, John's hand never left your thigh during the ride.

Soon you guys arrived at a random bar, you didn't catch the name of it. John came over and opened your door for you and helped you climb out of the truck, he had it lifted a bit, not a lot. You always loved how gentle and how old fashioned he was, he always opened the door for you and let you go first with anything, he knew how to love someone. As you guys made your way through the crowd of people and to the bar he put his hand on your thigh again, but higher.

"I'll take a scotch please... What'd you want love?" John asked, smiling at you. "I'll take strawberry wine please" you smiled at the Bartender and he went off to get your guys drinks. After you and john got your drinks you guys talked for what felt like hours, about anything and everything as well. There were a couple times where he made you laugh quite loudly causing people to look but you guys didn't care, you were having some much needed fun.

It reached the end of the night and the bar was nearly empty and you guys decided to leave finally after a couple rounds of drinks. You guys made it to his truck and you both got in the truck and just sat there, you both knew that there were deeper feelings peeking through, it was just a matter of who said it first. You heard john sigh and he looked over at you, you knew what was coming.

"Come here love, please...?" He asked, his voice sounded soft and he reached his hand out, to pull you into his lap. As you went over and sat in his lap you guys looked at eachother then you decided to do it, you grabbed his face and kissed him, he kissed back and pulled your hips to him. He slipped his tongue through your lips and the taste and burn of scotch hit your tongue and it sent a shiver down your spine... *The end of part 1*

A/N: I decided it would be like a little much to put the whole story in one post so the next part will be out whenever I get to it, I know I already have another price story needing to be finished but that done I just need to post it😭😭 I only come back to this when I'm like bored or whatever, but I hope you liked this!!

#cod mw2 #mw2 x reader #captian price #john price #i have a taste for men who are older #john price smut #mw2 smut #cod smut #captain price smut #john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price #captain price #call of duty smut #i love him #need this #cutie pie #goofy

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harunayuuka2060 · 9 months

Text

Teen MC: Uncle Luke! *hugging him*

Luke: Eh—

Simeon: *chuckles* Sorry, Luke. I think you weren't expecting that they would be a little bit taller than you.

Luke: Yes... Why does everyone have to be so tall...

Teen MC: Now that Uncle has mentioned that. *looking at him*

Teen MC: You're as short as I remembered. Do you never grow?

Luke: *blushes in embarrassment* H-Hey! Of course I will grow! *pouts*

Teen MC: Are you... sure?

Luke: *tries to sound stern* MC, I'm still your uncle.

Teen MC: ...

Teen MC: How tall are you exactly, Uncle?

Luke: MC!

Simeon: *chuckles* MC, stop teasing your Uncle Luke.

Luke: Hmph! I know you're making fun of me too, Simeon!

Simeon: Oh. I would never do that.

Teen MC: He certainly does.

Simeon: Hehe.

Luke: *pouts even more*

Teen MC: I'll help you carry your luggage, Uncle.

Luke: Thanks...

Simeon: MC? Can Papa ask you to prepare some drinks and snacks for us?

Teen MC: *nods* Yes. But Pa? Don't forget your doctor's appointment this afternoon.

Simeon: *smiles* Of course. Thank you for reminding me.

Simeon and Luke: *watch MC as they carry the luggage and goes to the room Luke is going to occupy*

Luke: ...

Luke: Simeon?

Simeon: Yes?

Luke: Why do you have a doctor's appointment?

Simeon: Oh. I've been having backpains lately. *chuckles* Maybe it's because I'm getting old and I'm starting to feel changes in my body.

Luke: Oh.

Luke: ...

Luke: Simeon, I know you've decided this a long time ago... But if given a chance, would you—

Simeon: No. I'm already satisfied with how things are.

Luke: I see. *smiles* I'm glad.

Satan: *helping MC to prepare snacks and drinks* How long is Luke going to stay here?

Teen MC: A few months. But I wish he would stay here for at least a year. I know how much he misses Papa.

Satan: ...

Satan: You should be cautious.

Teen MC: It'll be alright. I can trust uncle.

Satan: ...

Simeon: *showing his results to MC* See? Papa is completely healthy.

Teen MC: That's great, Pa.

Simeon: Does that mean we can go hiking? We can ask Luke and the others to join us.

Teen MC: Yes. But if I carry you, I'll carry you. No complaining.

Simeon: *sad frowns* However, Papa doesn't want to be a burden. *smiles* And I can still pull my weight.

Teen MC: It's not about pulling your own weight, Pa. I don't want you getting exhausted because of long walks.

Simeon: *chuckles* I can't argue with that.

Lucifer: *enters the room* Simeon? Barbatos would like to see you.

Simeon: Right now?

Lucifer: Yes.

Simeon: Okay. MC? Feel free to read any books you want. And oh! If you have any feedback, much better.

Teen MC: *nods*

Simeon: *smiles before leaving with Lucifer*

Teen MC: ...

Michael: ...

*One of MC's letters:

"I want to understand why my father turned into a human. Could it be because of me? If so, Uncle, please undo it or punish me in the same way."

Michael: ...

Michael: You're old enough to deserve a response.

Simeon: What is it, Barbatos?

Barbatos: ...

Barbatos: Have you noticed anything about your child?

Simeon: No. I would say everything seems normal. Why? Is there a problem?

Barbatos: I am not certain. Though I have a wild guess that your child is in contact with your former brother Michael.

Simeon: ...

Simeon: Why would MC communicate with him?

Barbatos: MC was just a child when you chose to be a human, Simeon. It might be that they're seeking for answers.

Simeon: ...

Simeon: Maybe I've been worrying my child without knowing.

Barbatos: ...

Barbatos: *smiles* Your child is just like you, Simeon. Worrying over something they have no control of.

Barbatos: However, that's not our concern right now.

Simeon: ...

Simeon: I'll try asking my child. They would never keep a secret from me.

Teen MC: ...

*Michael's letter to them:

"Your existence stems from a deeply regrettable act, one that is unacceptable for an angel.

That's the explanation I could only provide you."

Teen MC: ...

Teen MC: *sigh* What could that be...

Teen MC: *is thinking of asking Simeon but they're unsure if they should*

Teen MC: ...

Teen MC: It's not the time yet.

Teen MC: I want Papa to trust me that I would be able to handle everything.

Teen MC: A few more years should be enough.

Teen MC: ...

Teen MC: But if I fail to wait for an answer... I want to at least have enough wisdom to understand the situation.

#obey me #obey me teen mc #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me satan #obey me michael #obey me barbatos #the child of sorrow

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lonelym00n · 11 months

Text

The End.

Part five of The Devil Likes the Pirate Series

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Summary: All good things must come to an end, even if the path to get there is a difficult one.

Warnings: Spoilers for Scream VI, some violence, and a few buckets of angst!

A/N: That's it, it's done! For my first ever series, it's not terrible! Sure it could be better, but I'll happily settle for it being good. I never would've thought that my silly oneshot would've turned into this, but I'm so glad it did!

The Carpenter’s apartment goes from being quiet enough to hear a pin drop, to the loud thunder of arguing voices.

Sam orders Tara to pack a bag, to get all of her stuff together quickly so they can take off.

Tara refuses, stating that Sam is overacting and that she doesn’t want to disrupt her life here in New York.

While the sisters are locked in a battle of crossed swords, you are preoccupied with your own feelings of unease. Mindy has been eyeing you with something akin to skepticism for the past few minutes and you are desperately trying not to panic under her scrutiny.

You have an idea of the conclusion that she’s likely come to. The attacks occurred last night, the same night that everyone was conveniently accounted for inside the apartment. Everyone but you.

All the current signs point to you and as daunting as it is, you can’t deny that if you were in Mindy’s shoes, you’d suspect yourself too. It didn’t take a mind as sharp as Mindy’s to piece together what it might mean that Ghostface reappeared at the same time that you were absent.

A sliver of luck is evidently on your side, because no one else but Mindy has stopped to consider potential suspects.

You know that it’s going to be hard to talk Mindy out of her distrust in you, but you have to attempt to sway her opinion before she notifies the rest of the group.

Without alerting anyone else, you cautiously wave Mindy over to you.

Begrudgingly, she makes her way across the room. Her arms are crossed firmly over her chest while you chew your lip nervously.

“I know how it looks, Minds, but it wasn’t me.”

She snorts, “You do realize that’s exactly what the killer would say, don’t you?”

You attempt to swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat. This conversation was going to be harder than you thought.

In the days that you were avoiding the rest of the group, Mindy had opened up to you about her trauma. She’d relayed that her uncle was known as the expert, the guy who knew just what to do to not only survive the killer, but to expose them. A ghost of a smile had appeared across her lips when she told you that she’d followed in his footsteps and taken up the same role.

The task of convincing the expert that they’re wrong is overwhelmingly difficult, one incorrect move and no one will trust you for however long these attacks last.

“I swear that I went back to my room.”

There’s a wide and pleading look in your eyes, but it’s going to take a lot more than that to persuade her.

You’re scrambling for anything that can back up your alibi. “My roommate saw me! I can text her, shit I’ll call her.”

Before you can dial the girl’s number, Mindy’s hand lands on your wrist. You snap your eyes up to meet hers.

“Alright, stop. I know how much you hate talking to her, you don’t have to call her.”

You heave out a sigh of relief.

“You’re not off the hook completely, maybe you were at your dorm but there’s still a chance you could be lying. It’s not enough to check you off my list entirely, but I’ll leave it alone for now.”

“I get it,” swallowing thickly, you nod.

“Good.”

Mindy turns to return back to the group, but stops short.

“You’re my friend and I care about you, but I won’t give you a second chance. If you screw up and do anything else that I find suspicious, I’ll make sure that none of us ever talk to you again.”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, but you don’t need to. You know she’d keep true to her word, and so you can only hope you don’t find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time again.

You remain in your spot against the wall for a while. It’s in your best interest to try and blend in, so you’re in no rush to reenter the room.

Most of the others are still sitting on the couch, Sam’s pacing back and forth on the phone. Tara stands in the entryway of her room with her arms crossed defiantly.

Sam turns to face everyone, “I’m going down to the station.”

She strides over to the door and Tara speeds over before she can exit.

“I’m coming with you.”

Sam goes to argue, but Tara cuts her off, “We’re supposed to stick together, aren’t we?”

Though you are situated directly adjacent to the entryway, neither of the Carpenter sisters spare you a glance as they leave the apartment.

A sense of apprehension creeps up into your chest, and though it’s glaringly obvious, you have a sinking suspicion that everything is about to go terribly wrong, terribly quickly.

Attempting to ignore the fact that you’ve now become a character in a real life horror movie, you survey the rest of the room once more. Mindy and Anika are hushedly whispering between themselves, Quinn has returned to her room, and Ethan is distracting Chad with some video on his phone.

You want to leave, to lock yourself into your dorm room to process the fact that there’s a pretty high chance that you might die at the hands of a knife-bearing psycho in a halloween costume, but you can’t. You can’t risk being alone right now, not only because you’d be privy to an attack, but because Mindy’s words haven’t stopped swirling around in your head. No second chance.

So, despite your want to be alone, you trudge over to the couch and perch on the edge of it. Your hands come up to cover your face as you try your best to think of anything other than the worst case scenario of the situation you’ve found yourself in.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you and the other occupants of the small apartment, another attack has occurred in the rundown bodega up the street.

Sam and Tara, who just barely evaded the long-barrel of Ghostface’s shotgun, are now sitting in the precinct’s interrogation room, accompanied by Detective Wayne Bailey.

Once he receives both of the Carpenter’s alibis for the attack the night prior, he shifts his questioning to the other members of the group.

Mindy and Chad are promptly vouched for, leaving you, Quinn, Anika, and Ethan vulnerable to Bailey’s queries.

The gruff man asks about everyone else’s whereabouts last night, excluding Quinn who, as her father, he can check off the list.

A reluctant conversation silently takes place between the sisters.

Sam gives her sister a sorrowful look, as if to say, ‘We both know who wasn’t there, we have to tell him.’

Tara’s eyes widen, signaling her response, ‘But Sam-’

Sam places a heavy hand on Tara’s shoulder, patting it lightly. She turns to Detective Bailey.

“Anika, and Ethan stayed over at our apartment after the movie night.”

“And Y/N Y/L/N?”

Sam pauses, trying to avoid catching her sister’s pleading glance.

“She left late last night, we don’t know where she went.”

Bailey jots something down on his notepad before looking back up at the two sisters.

“We’ll call her in for questioning.”

Tara stays frozen in her seat, unmoving. All the while, her mind is shouting at her to jump to your defense.

Her lips, however, remain pressed together in a thin, disconcerted line. She wants so badly to believe that you’re innocent, but a tiny nagging voice sings songs that you’re guilty and that you’re out for her blood, out to finish what Amber Freeman couldn’t.

Distantly, Tara notices that Bailey gets up to leave the room. She and Sam sit in silence, the older girl afraid to say anything in fear of upsetting her volatile sister.

Twenty minutes or so later, Detective Bailey returns.

“Before you ladies go, there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

The sisters stand and exit the room per Bailey’s instruction. A blond-haired woman shuffles forward.

Sam’s eyes light up, “Kirby!”

The blond chuckles, “Sam!”

Kirby greets Tara, the small girl giving her a tight-lipped smile in return.

As the two catch-up, the sight of a figure being led in by an officer snags Tara’s attention.

Back with the rest of the group, you remained in your own little bubble while everyone else chatted amongst themselves.

Following the pattern that has been laid out for you, your peace was quickly disturbed.

You had nearly dropped your phone when it rang loudly throughout the Carpenter’s apartment. You answered the call, only to be told by the police that you were to report to the station. The call was kept brief, but you knew the reason behind it nonetheless.

Things only declined from that point forward.

You were nervous, extremely so. You didn’t kill the film teacher, nor did you kill Jason or Greg, but the fact that you were being treated as a suspect for the murders had you anxious enough.

You stood up on shaky legs, fumbling towards the door. Mindy pulled Anika closer to her at your haste, while Chad and Ethan merely side eyed you.

No one said anything as you left, and despite the want to sob into your hoodie, you kept your head high and bit your tongue.

The officer who led you into the station was nice enough, her eyes didn’t scream guilty guilty guilty like your supposed friends’ did.

You kept your eyes firmly on your shoes throughout the walk. A tiny, familiar gasp made you stop short in your path.

You looked up and met Tara’s eyes. You were conflicted at how you felt when you looked at her, your usual longing and adoration joined by several other emotions. Heartache, desolation, and gut-wrenching hurt.

She didn’t say anything to you, just blinked back at you with those gorgeous deep brown eyes, her expression completely unreadable.

You understood well enough that the cops were only aware of your potential involvement because someone had mentioned your name to them. You’d thought that Mindy had somehow silently tipped them off at first and sure, you were wounded by it, but the knowledge that it had been Tara? Well that nearly devastated you beyond repair.

If Mindy giving the police your name was a stab to the heart, then Tara having been the one to do it was six shots to the head and a complete dismemberment of your body.

You were entirely conscious of what the girl had gone through with the Woodsboro attacks, and how her previous girlfriend had been the one behind it all. But even so, was it fair for Tara to be treating you this way?

Since you've fallen for the girl, she’s done nothing but emotionally harm you. It started with her flirtatious teasing that drew you into her like a blissfully unaware moth to a too bright flame. She’d had you hook, line, and sinker, but to worsen your infatuation, she’d kissed you. You were trapped by then, drowning in everything that came in the small package that was Tara Carpenter.

Just as fast as she’d pulled you in, she’d pushed you away. She left you to piece yourself back together, and once you finally repaired the cracks, she was back, admitting that she’d wanted you all along.

And now, immediately after her admission, she’s accusing you of murder.

Though your head spun from the back-and-forth, you knew that you’d stupidly always be patiently waiting for her to reel you back in.

So no, it probably wasn’t fair for Tara to be treating you this way, but it wouldn’t stop you from wanting her all the same. How could you possibly distance yourself from her when she was all that you’d ever wanted?

Your eyes sting with the familiar need to cry at how pathetic you feel. You’re hopelessly in love with the girl who thinks you’ve committed murder. Isn’t that just spect-fucking-tacular.

You throw her a dejected look and allow the officer to continue ushering you into the interrogation room.

If Tara glances your way at any point after your nonverbal interaction, you don’t stop to notice.

You have bigger fish to fry than your ill-advised love for her, like the fact that not only do she and all of your friends see you as a potential murderer, but the NYPD does too.

You’re sitting in the room for a while, left to fester in the stale air. You’ve watched Criminal Minds and Law & Order, you know that this is a common tactic used to make criminals grow skittish. Though you are not a criminal, the biting silence in the room makes the tactic work on you all the same.

Your lip has been chewed raw and as you begin to faintly taste the sharp copper of blood, the heavy door swings open.

Two people walk in, introducing themselves as Detective Bailey and FBI Agent Kirby Reed.

Your skin pales at the title of the woman and the flash of her badge. They’d brought in an FBI Agent to question you?

They pull out the chairs in front of you and take a seat.

Detective Bailey clears his throat, “Y/N, we understand that you’re a friend of Samantha and Tara Carpenter.”

You nod tightly.

“We have reason to believe the sisters are under attack by a copycat Ghostface killer. Are you aware that both Carpenters were recently ambushed at a bodega near their apartment?”

The blood drains from your face at the mention of Ghostface by name. Wait-

“Tara was attacked?”

Kirby and Bailey exchange a look at your failure to include Sam in your question.

You, on the other hand, are mentally losing it. Tara was attacked, she must be so scared, so shaken up. It was easy to be distracted by your own involvement in the attacks, but god, this was Tara’s second time going through it.

Seeing how panicked you are, Kirby has to refrain from placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“She’s okay, Sam too. Just a few cuts and scrapes here and there.”

The fact that she hadn’t been heavily injured comforts you. You nod to Kirby in thanks.

Bailey, on the other hand, doesn’t care too much about your emotions. It’s clear that he’s taken over the bad cop persona, while Kirby plays the good cop.

“So, where were you tonight?”

Oh right, you’re here to be interrogated for murder. Any thoughts of Tara’s wellbeing float away at the reminder that she gave your name to the cops for potential murder.

“I was with Mindy, Anika, Chad, and Ethan, at Sam and Tara’s apartment. I came here as soon as I got the call.”

Bailey grunts and scribbles your response onto the notepad in front of him.

Once he’s done, he lifts his gaze up to meet yours and raises a singular, probing eyebrow.

“And what about last night?”

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling very fidgety.

“I went back to my dorm room and went to sleep.”

“Did anyone else see you? Can anyone confirm that?” Bailey stares you down, a tad bit menacingly.

“My roommate, she saw me this morning before she left.”

Detective Bailey reluctantly accepts your answer, and requests your roommate's contact information to confirm that she’d seen you. You give it to him readily.

Kirby speaks up, voice gentle, “I just have a few more questions, and then we can let you go.”

Something about the way she’s treating you so kindly makes you even more anxious. Whether it’s that or her status as an FBI Agent, you aren’t sure.

She speaks slowly, like your English Lit professor does when she wants the class to catch on to the author’s analogy buried deep beneath the text.

“I specialize in determining whether certain murders have any connection to Ghostface. I know a lot about copycat killers, and what might motivate someone to put on a mask and become a ghostface.”

You get what she’s trying to convey. Boiling it all down, she’s good at telling Ghostface apart from non-ghostfaces. She can tell the guilty apart from the innocent. Wait that means-

Suddenly, you’re no longer scared of Kirby.

Suddenly, you’re hanging off of her every word like she’s a life raft in the middle of a barren ocean. And metaphorically, she is. She’s your last hope in the series of accusing fingers that have been pointed your way.

Her eyes gleam with the sense that you’ve understood her hidden implication.

“So,” she pushes a singular photo in front of you, “Can you tell me who this is?”

The photo in front of you is a movie poster, with all the words edited off. A tall man stares down the camera, complete with blue coveralls and a pale white mask with tufts of hair coming out of the top.

Though you aren’t a huge horror buff, you recognize the character. But is it right to know who he is, or should you lie?

“Um,” you swallow and pause for a second, “That’s Michael Myers, from Halloween.”

Kirby hums, and slides three more photos forward.

The first one has a character that wears a red and green striped sweater, with razors extending from his fingers. Freddy Krueger.

The second picture’s character is donning a menacing grin, and has distinct clown-like makeup on. If the makeup doesn’t give it away, the singular red balloon does. Pennywise.

The third character you are admittedly less familiar with. It’s a bald man with a stark white complexion. A series of nails adorn his head, and he has a long leather getup. In his palm, he displays a glowing box. Pinface? Pinhead?

You lift a sweaty hand to point at the first picture. Your voice is shaky, “Freddy Krueger from The Nightmare on Elm Street.”

You point to the second picture, “The movie IT, it’s Pennywise.”

Finally, your finger lands on the last picture. You’re hesitant, you think you know the answer but you’re still unsure if you should be getting these right or not. Would the killer know all these characters?

“I don’t know the name of the movie. And I’m not entirely sure, but I think that’s Pinhead.”

You think Kirby is pleased with your answer, because she simply collects the pictures and places them back into their folder.

“I know it's a bit of a weird process, but it actually gives me a lot of information. That’s all I need from you, you can go now.”

Kirby’s face remains impassive, not revealing her current thoughts. Detective Bailey, on the other hand, is looking at you with something akin to a scowl.

You stand up, legs slightly wobbly. Kirby and Bailey get up to leave as well. Bailey continues down the hallway while Kirby holds the door for you. Before you can make it fully past the door frame, a strong hand landing on your shoulder makes you jump.

Kirby glances over her shoulder to make sure Bailey is out of earshot. She pulls a card out of her jacket and discreetly slides it into the front pocket of your sweatshirt. “Call me if you need something, or if anything happens. Especially if it’s anything that could be related to you-know-who.”

You look up at her gratefully, nodding. It’s her close-lipped way of saying she trusts you.

She releases your shoulder with a small pat, and you all but scramble out of the police station.

Once outside, you check your phone for any missed messages. Surprisingly, you see one from Mindy, telling you to meet her and everyone else at the park just off of campus.

The same park that led to your Tara-related downward spiral. The same park that was home to the catalyst of your current separation from the rest of the group. Lovely, just lovely.

Reluctantly, you make your way over to the meeting spot, completely unsure of what horrible scenario would be awaiting you this time.

Once at the park, you stop a distance away from the group to take in the scene. They’re seated together on the benches, the only empty seat next to Quinn. Mindy stands front and center, no doubt about to shed her expert wisdom on everyone.

As much as you’d rather turn and walk away, you shuffle forward and make your way over to sit next to Quinn. The group has gone silent at your arrival, but you keep your gaze firmly on your shoes, not wanting to face the judging looks that are being sent your way.

Mindy claps her hands together to break the tense silence, “Okay nerds, listen up. As terrifying as this all is, I’m actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time.”

She takes a deep breath, “The way I see it, someone is out to make a sequel to the requel.”

Anika interrupts with a question, “Um, what’s a requel?”

Mindy gives her a sweet smile, “You’re beautiful sweetie, let’s hold questions til the end.”

After a few comments from Sam and Tara about Stab, Mindy launches into a ramble about sequels and requels and franchises. You’re listening distantly, but are more distracted by the weight of your own exhaustion. Being interrogated by two officers of the law took a lot more out of you than you thought it would.

Your thoughts are placed on a back burner at Ethan’s voice entering the conversation.

“Am I in the friend group?”

Mindy nods, along with a few others.

“Am I-,” his voice breaks slightly, “Am I gonna die a virgin?”

Mindy laughs through her nose, sharing a look with Anika at the boy’s admittance.

“Weird overshare, but that brings us to our suspects.”

You stiffen at the mention of the group’s suspects. So that’s why she’d texted you to come, not just to explain the rules, but to ridicule you in front of everyone.

She gestures towards the flustered boy, “Ethan, the shy dorky kid who no one suspects because he’s so shy and dorky.”

He splutters for a moment, “Wait- I’m a suspect just because I’m Chad’s roommate?”

Mindy scoffs, “Roommate lotteries can be juked, you could’ve fixed it to get closer to us.”

He remains silent, dumbfounded. Mindy moves on.

“Quinn, the slutty roommate, a horror movie classic!”

Quinn arches a perfectly plucked brow, “Sex positive, but thank you?”

Mindy rolls her eyes at the terminology. “How’d you end up rooming with Sam and Tara?”

“I answered their ad online?” She glances at the Carpenters.

“Say no more!” Mindy barks out a laugh, “You’ve already implicated yourself!”

Sam, sensing that Mindy is getting a bit too carried away with her antics steps in, “It was an anonymous ad, Mindy.

Tara nods, “Plus we vetted her, and her dad’s a cop.”

Mindy’s eyes widen and she exclaims, “‘Cuz having a cop dad is the perfect cover, do you not remember how these movies work, Tara?!”

Tara sits back in her seat, huffing.

Mindy shifts her attention to her girlfriend, “Next up, Anika.”

The girl blows her a kiss and Mindy catches it goofily. Her face quickly morphs into a straight look, “Never trust the love interest.”

Anika pales.

“And finally, speaking of love interests.” The horror-loving girl whips to your direction, and regards you more seriously than she had the others. You want nothing more than to shrivel up and shrink down to the size of an ant.

“Y/N, who might I remind everyone, we met while she was wearing a devil costume.”

The feeling of everyone’s eyes burning into you makes you want to throw up.

“We’ve known you the least amount of time, and I can’t be the only one who finds it weird that the only people you’re friends with are here right now. A killer, clearly trying to keep all ties short.”

You flinch and open your mouth to respond, but Mindy continues.

“You were noticeably absent the same night the killings began. And if that doesn’t implicate you enough, your perfect motive will.”

Though you want to scream at how unfair this is, you can only sigh and give in. At this point, you’ve realized there’s nothing you can do to make yourself seem less suspicious. They all think it’s you, so why defend yourself when it would only fall on ears that are unwilling to listen?

“And what would my motive be?”

Mindy grins, victoriously.

“You’re in love with Tara, and not just surface level love, no no no.” She laughs to herself, “You’re actually in love with her, and it goes so far deep that there’s no way out of it.”

The urge to throw up and empty your guts is stronger than ever. You’re pissed, but more so shocked that Mindy has stooped so far as to reveal this to the whole group. And right in front of Tara. She knows now, knows everything. The girl who can’t even decide if she wants to be with you now knows the full extent of your feelings for her. Fucking great.

The last piece of your dignity is gone forever. Mindy speaks again, “She broke your heart when she said she only wanted to be friends. Trampled it even, and you were so upset that you decided to break hers too. Only literally.”

She faces everyone, clearly proud of herself, “There you have it folks, the perfect motive! Break my heart and I’ll break yours, but worse! A flawless romance-horror mashup.”

Everyone remains silent, just blinking at Mindy in astonishment.

Your restrained sniffles break the silence.

You rise, not even bothering to hide your tears or wipe them away. You’re broken, worse than you’ve ever been before.

Before you can stomp away, you meet Mindy’s eyes, letting her see exactly how upset, angry, and ruined you are feeling.

Your tone is even and still as you spit in her direction, “Screw you, Mindy.”

With that, you walk away, uncaring if it makes you look any more suspicious.

Watching as you move further and further away, Mindy finally decides to talk once more.

“I went too far, didn’t I?” She knew she always had a flair for the dramatics and it wasn’t the first time someone had been offended during one of her killer call-outs.

Sam had been the last victim to be scorned by Mindy’s words, “Yeah, yeah I think it’s pretty obvious you went too far Mindy.”

Ever the protective big sister, she glances over at Tara to see how the younger girl has taken the news.

Tara is sat as straight as an arrow, eyes wide and blinking slowly. She looks utterly gobsmacked and as much as a little part of Sam wants to giggle like a child at her sister’s expression, the older and more mature version of her wins over.

“T, you okay?” Her voice is soft like a blanket, a tone she reserves just for Tara.

Tara comes back to life at Sam’s question. She shakes her head heatedly, “No, I’m not okay. Mindy, what the fuck?”

Mindy bristles slightly at Tara’s anger, no one likes being on the receiving end of her chihuahua-like biting remarks.

“Tara I-”

“Mindy, why the hell would you tell everyone that? She told you all of that and you just threw it right in her face?”

Mindy’s silence spurs Tara on.

“It’s one thing to accuse her of being Ghostface but to say all that? Really?”

Tara scoffs and pushes herself out of her seat. She starts striding to catch up with you, to say what exactly, she isn’t quite sure yet, but she’ll figure it out on the way.

To her dismay, a familiar hand catches her wrist and twists her around.

It’s Sam, because who else would chase after an agitated Tara Carpenter?

“Tara, you can’t go after her.”

“She’s upset Sam, and it’s not safe for her to be alone and upset with a killer on the loose.”

Sam frowns, lips almost forming a pout, but nods in agreement. “I know Tara. She’s really upset. But it’s not safe for you to be alone with someone who could very well be the killer.”

Though the shorter girl is still unsure of whether or not you could actually be the one behind the mask, it's the last thing she's thinking of in this moment. A snarl forms on her face, “So you agree with Mindy.”

The older Carpenter is quick to defend herself, “I’m not saying I agree with Mindy, I just don’t think that you and I should split up. Can we keep staying together Tara, please? I can’t let you get hurt again.”

Tara deflates like a balloon, the angry miniature dog that lives in her finally gone. She nods in resignation and lets Sam lead her back to the group.

Meanwhile, you finally make it back to your dorm. You pluck Kirby’s business card out of your pocket and carefully examine it. The only information given is a phone number and her name.

You debate calling her for a moment, maybe you’d be able to find some comfort in the agent. She was the only one who didn’t think you were Ghostface, after all.

You decide against it, choosing to instead stew in your overwhelming emotions. You’d finally been granted time to process the onslaught of events, a brief calm in the inevitable storm.

Just as it was weeks before, your bed remains your safe space. You move to plug your phone into your charger, but stop short upon seeing a message.

Tara: hey, we’re making dinner at the apt and having evryone stay over tn.

Tara: u should come

The invitation leaves you frozen for a minute. Why would she want you to stay over with everyone else? Was this some sick move for her to corner you and reject you once and for all?

You aren’t sure what to respond with, so you leave her text unanswered. You can’t think rationally right now, so you plug your phone in, lay your head on your pillow, and succumb to the swirl of your emotions.

You lay there, staring up at your ceiling and sobbing, for what must be a few hours. Your friends think you’re a killer, and Tara knows the full extent of your love for her.

Your phone, ever the annoyance, interrupts your breakdown with the alert of an incoming call.

Groaning, you roll over and pick it up without looking.

“Hello?,” your hoarse voice croaks out.

“Why hello, Y/N. About time we talked, don’t you think?”

The voice is teasing, like it’s somehow toying with you.

A chill shoots up your spine, and you sit up against your headboard. You sort of recognize the voice, but you can’t place how you know it.

“Who’s this?”

A laugh rings out and it somehow freaks you out even more.

“Since I like you, I’ll give you a hint. What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You drop your phone onto your lap and scramble away from it, as if it was purely responsible for how terrified you feel.

Shit, shit, shit.

Back when you were avoiding everyone, Mindy had insisted for you to watch Stab 1 with her, since you’d never seen it before. You tried to refuse, but she shut you up with just one look. Rolling your eyes, you allowed her to put the movie on.

Though she was providing commentary throughout the entire opening, you’d heard the voice that had spoken with Casey Becker on the phone.

You heard Casey’s killer ask her the same question you’d just been asked.

Fuck.

It was him, somehow, someway, he’d gotten your number and was calling you.

You were on the phone with none other than Ghostface.

Shit.

The person on the line chuckles, their altered voice muffled because of the way the phone is being pressed into your comforter, “Now I’ve got your attention.”

With trembling hands, you pick your phone up. “What do you want with me?”

“To thank you. Y’know because of you, I get a little more wiggle room. More time to be off on my own, carving up another person or two, or planning out exactly how I’m going to kill Tara.”

“Leave her alone!”

“Oooh feisty, but not a chance. I think I’ll burn her alive and shoot her in the head, just like she did to Amber.”

“Amber was a psycho and so are you!”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who everyone thinks is psycho.”

Clenching your fists, you remain silent.

Ghostface continues, “I think I’ve decided I want to play a little game. A new game I made just for you.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, full of pure fear. “I’m not playing any games.”

“Too bad. It’s a guessing game, it’s simple really. You guess if I’m in your bathroom waiting to spill your guts all over the place, or if I’m under Tara’s bed, ready to slice through her skin at any second.”

Your blood runs cold as you turn towards the tiny bathroom connected to your dorm room. The door is shut, and an eerie silence fills the room. Ghostface could be in there right now, and you’d be dead in seconds. Worse, he could be biding his time for the perfect time to strike an unsuspecting Tara.

“Tick tock,” the killer sings.

You steel yourself and cautiously position yourself upright, ready to bolt towards your door.

“You’re in my bathroom, come out and get me you fucker.”

The bathroom door stays shut, and you’re left poised in a tense position, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, I’m afraid you’re wrong.” Oh god.

“Don’t hurt her!”

“I have to. We have unfinished business.” The words are spat out, clearly in raw anger.

The teasing tone plays through the voice modulator once more, “Thanks for being apart from everyone again, it really helps that you’re always able to take the fall for me.”

Ghostface ends the call. You clamber out of bed, toss on the nearest pair of shoes, and sprint out of the door, though not before grabbing the 3.5 x 2 inch card off of your dresser.

While racing like a madman to the Carpenter’s apartment, you dial Kirby’s number.

After one ring, she picks up. “Agent Reed.”

“Kirby!” You’re panting as you hurry along.

“Y/N?”

“Yes! Kirby you have to get to Tara and Sam’s now! Ghostface is there.”

You can faintly make out her rustling around, likely collecting her jacket and gun.

“I’m on my way. What happened, how do you know?”

“He called me, Kirby. He’s setting me up!”

“Shit, okay get there as soon as you can.”

“I’m trying!”

This can’t happen to you, not again. Your stupid emotions about everyone thinking you were guilty fucked things up even more. If they didn’t hate you and suspect you before, your absence now definitely cements your fate.

Your only hope is to make it there in time to help defend against Ghostface.

But alas, luck isn’t on your side. When you arrive at the Carpenter’s apartment, you’re met with yellow caution tape and the flashing red and blue lights of both ambulances and police cars.

Too little, too late.

You aren’t even sure what to do, not knowing if it’s better for you to turn and walk away, or to feebly defend yourself like a broken record. You see a body bag being rolled by on a stretcher, and the sight of it makes everything that you’re feeling so much worse.

One of your friends is dead.

You aren’t angry at them for how they treated you anymore, how they turned their backs on you so quickly. You can’t be angry. Not when someone died at the hands of whoever was behind this. Not when you’re being so cruelly reminded that this isn’t a petty fight, or a game night squabble.

One of your friends is dead.

You’re sad, instead. So immensely sad. And scared, your limbs still shake from the residual fear leftover from the phone call. The killer was taunting you on the phone, so shouldn’t you have been the next one to go? Whoever died didn’t deserve to, not while you just got to freely exist.

But like Mindy had said, you’ve been brought into a franchise, and everyone has a role in a franchise. Your friend is now nothing more than a notch under the famed killer’s belt, a tally for the rankings of a video titled ‘which slasher villain has the highest kill count?’

And your role?

You’re the killer’s toy, their beat-up ragdoll held together by loosened strings that they’d stopped caring about years ago, but still blame for every mess they create.

You’re the scapegoat, the one to blame, traveling down a path of loneliness and carrying around the killer’s sins for all to judge you for. Just when your innocence is proven, you’ll die, a sacrifice the killer is all too happy to make.

You sigh heavily, the weight of your thoughts resting deeply on your shoulders. You can’t feel sorry for yourself though. Not when you’re still alive, still breathing.

You can’t walk away, because running from your problems has just made everything worse.

The cops are distracted, so you slide underneath the caution tape. You sluggishly drag your feet towards the ambulance, further into the throng.

Mindy’s sitting in the back of the vehicle, a blanket wrapped around her shivering form.

You approach her, moving as shakily as a baby deer.

She sees you out of the corner of her eye. You watch as hers widen exponentially, “Stay the fuck back.”

You halt. The fearful and disgusted look in her eyes at the sight of you swallows you whole.

Tears cloud your vision, “Are you okay?”

She remains quiet, just staring at you, unblinking.

“Dumb question.”

Mindy blinks again.

You don’t know what to say, and you don’t get a chance to. You’re being ripped away from Mindy, met with Sam’s blazing eyes.

You can just barely see Tara behind her, looking smaller than ever.

Sam grips your chin, forcing you to look up at her.

“Where the fuck were you?” She barks.

The murderous glare she’s leveling you with has you shrinking into your skin. “I- I was in my room.”

“Liar!”

“Sam, please. You have to believe me, I’m not lying.” You’re crying now, because she’s still looking at you like an untamed beast waiting to rip your heart out.

Near blubbering, you continue, “He called me, Ghostface called me.”

The reminder of how scared and alone you felt on the phone with Ghostface makes your cry even harder, and Sam softens slightly, albeit still glaring at you.

“What’d he say?”

“He thanked me for helping him look less suspicious. He said it gave him more time to plan his next kills.” It’s a conscious decision not to include that he’d specifically mentioned how he’d kill Tara. Sam would rip your head off right on the spot.

She stares at you, trying to decipher if you’re telling the truth.

You heave in a breath, preparing yourself to finish your recount, “He made me play a guessing game. He told me to guess whether he was waiting to kill me, or Tara.”

Sam is scarily still. In the distance, you can see Chad harshly slamming Ethan into a van.

If Sam, Tara, Mindy, Chad, and Ethan are here, then that leaves…

Quinn. And Anika. God.

If you weren’t about to be strangled by Sam, you’d likely curl into a ball and sob at the knowledge that the two girls you’d seen earlier today are gone.

You’d beg and plead with Sam if it meant she’d believe you. “I ran here as soon as I realized he was gonna hurt her. You have to believe me.”

You stare up at her with shiny eyes, praying she accepts your story.

Without warning, you’re released from the death grip that she had on you. Sam backs away from you without saying a word, slinking back towards Tara.

You meet the younger Carpenter’s gaze for one brief second, before you tear your eyes away. You couldn’t afford to decipher how she currently felt towards you. It hurt enough to be painted as the killer, you didn’t need her rejection of your love for her to pile up on top of your already too intense hurt.

From your spot alone, in the middle of the group, you can hear Mindy telling an apologetic Ethan to get away from her. She tells him how the two of you are at the top of her list, and that she didn’t need either of you near her ever again.

Though you aren’t part of the conversation, her words still bruise. You might’ve called her your best friend once, probably still would, but she’d forever condemn your name.

You wallow in your sorrow while Gale shows up, sharing a regretful exchange with the two sisters. Kirby comes soon after, also checking up on the Carpenters.

Gale announces to everyone that she’s found what’s likely the killer’s hideout, and everyone silently follows along while she leads the way.

You walk a ways behind the group, arms wrapped around your own waist both defensively and protectively. A firm body knocks their shoulder against yours, breaking you out of your daze.

Kirby levels you with a worried look, “You good kid?”

“Don’t worry about me, ask the others.”

She clicks her tongue at your response, “Already did, now I wanna know how you’re doing.”

You reach a hand up and drag it through your hair, “Mindy hates me, probably Chad too by association. I can’t tell how Sam feels, if she thinks it’s me or not. And I can’t even bring myself to look at Tara, let alone ask her if she thinks I’m out to murder her.”

Kirby shoots you a sympathetic look, “That’s a lot for one person to deal with.”

You shrug, “Yeah well, nothing I can do about that.”

The two of you finish the walk towards the abandoned theater in silence.

Before you enter, Kirby places a hand on your arm to stop you.

“We’re gonna catch who’s behind this eventually. Why don’t you stick with me for the time being?”

Your eyes light up, “I’d love that.”

And truthfully you would. Staying by Kirby’s side will not only be comforting, but will also ensure that you’re no longer left to accidentally fall into a situation that makes you look guilty. For the first time since all of this started, you feel seen, like you finally have a friend that’s on your side.

She smiles at you and the two of you enter the theater. You soon realize that it’s less of a theater, and more of a shrine dedicated to the Ghostfaces of the past.

Everyone fans out to inspect the items. You’re stuck to Kirby’s side like glue, inching your way towards a display case.

She carefully places her hands atop the case, scanning her eyes across the items.

Pointing out a few items, she speaks out to no one in particular. “Charlie stabbed me with that knife, and that’s the same flannel Jill was wearing.”

You hum sadly, what she went through must have been so horrible.

The rest of the visit to the shrine is lonely for you. Kirby leaves to bond with Mindy, then to check on Tara. You’re left to stand in a corner, trying to blend in with the shadows.

When Kirby returns, the group clusters together, forming a plan.

As you sit by Kirby’s side in the van, the plan quickly goes to shit. The killer’s call is traced back to Gale’s apartment, leaving the Carpenter sisters to race to her rescue.

You and Kirby head back to the precinct for a while, where she combs through her files once more. She gets a call about a new plan, and the two of you hop back into her car, headed back towards the abandoned theater.

Sam, Tara, and Chad stand outside.

Chad points to you, where you’re standing by Kirby’s side. “Is it safe for her to come in with us?”

You swallow at his retort.

Kirby calmly comes to your defense, “Safer than leaving her alone, yes. Where’s Mindy?”

Sam explains that Mindy got separated and had to take a different train with Ethan.

Kirby quirks an eyebrow, “Okay, well it’s better if we wait inside.”

The others go their separate ways, leaving you and Kirby to stand by the door. She double checks the ammunition in her gun, and makes sure her bulletproof vest is intact.

A few minutes pass where you’re left to sit and wait. With Kirby distracted with her gun and you distracted with your thoughts, neither of you notice the figure creeping up behind her.

Kirby falls to the ground, groaning before she falls unconscious. Before you can think of screaming, you’re hit hard in the back of the head.

You land next to Kirby on the ground, head spinning as your world fades to black.

You’re groggy as you wake, but you quickly notice that Kirby is nowhere to be found. You stand and take a minute to regain your bearings.

Once you’ve calmed down, you start to make out the faint sounds of voices in the main room. You slowly approach, stopping dead in your tracks once you see what’s going on.

Sam and Tara are clutching bricks, trying to defend themselves from Quinn and Ethan, who are wearing the ghostface robes and taunting the sisters with knives.

Detective Bailey stands in front of them, waving around a gun as he monologues.

To your dismay, Quinn notices you.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite accomplice.”

Bailey turns to face you, grinning.

“Come on over, join us!”

The rest of the group can’t see from where his back is turned, but his gun is aimed at you and his eyes are threatening. You comply, terrified as you inch forward.

When you’re within reach, Bailey reaches out and wraps an arm tightly around your shoulders, the force of his arm nearly knocking the wind out of you.

He turns to taunt the two sisters, “We couldn’t have done it without her. Your little girlfriend was a great help, Tara.”

Sam and Tara look shocked and then betrayal fills their eyes.

You’re confused, caught up in fear and panic.

Sam’s scoffs, “You needed four people just to take me out? That’s pathetic.”

Only now do you realize what’s going on. Bailey’s making it seem like you’ve been helping them all along, still not allowing you to be innocent.

Your eyes are wide and begging for the umpteenth time, “Wait, I didn’t help them!”

Ethan rolls his eyes, a tiny hidden smirk on his face, “Drop the act! This is the fun part Y/N, remember? Like we talked about.”

You try to wiggle out of Bailey’s grip, but he’s unwavering.

Your struggling causes you to meet Tara’s eyes. She looks devastated, like her worst thoughts were coming to life.

“Let me go! I didn’t help them, Tara please! Please it wasn’t me! They’re lying!”

Your cheeks are wet with your tears.

Bailey looks between you and Tara for a second before a smirk slowly spreads across his face.

“Well Tara, it looks like it’s up to you.” He tucks his gun into his waistband and pulls out a knife.

He gestures to you with the knife, “Girlfriend, or killer?”

The knife presses against your abdomen, ready to strike.

Time pauses for a second, while your eyes are locked on Tara’s. You’re pleading, the most desperate you’ve been up to this point. Your life is quite literally on the line, and if Tara chooses not to trust you, you’re dead.

Her mouth is agape, opening and closing, as she glances to Sam for help. Sam shakes her head and mouths a trust no one to her sister.

Tara remains conflicted.

Bailey growls, “Girlfriend or killer, Tara. Choose one.”

Tara’s gaze hardens, but you can still see how her eyes are flitting around worriedly.

She’s biting her lip hard.

You decide to try to sway her one more time, this is the girl you love, who knows how much you love her, though not by your choice. You don’t know if she returns your feelings, but this isn’t the time to be fearful of rejection. At least if she still doesn’t believe your innocence, you’ll die knowing you did everything you could to save yourself.

You don’t sound desperate anymore, just broken. “Tara, I- I love you. And I wouldn’t do this to you, or Sam, or any of our friends. You know me better than anyone else, so you should know I’m telling the truth. I have been all along.”

The room is still and silent.

Tara looks into your eyes, and whatever it is she sees, it makes her finally open her mouth to respond. She’s looking right at you as she speaks, “I believe you.”

It’s then that the room erupts into chaos.

You’re blinded with pain as Bailey’s knife enters your insides and twists around.

“You got it right Tara, but you’re too late.”

The knife is pulled out and thrusted back in. A trail of blood leaks out of your mouth.

Quinn and Ethan laugh. Tara’s screams ring loudly throughout the shrine, but she is held from running towards you by Sam.

You’ve lost track of how many times the knife has entered your body. The pain is so intense that you can’t even feel it anymore.

Your vision is spotty, and you slide limply out of Bailey’s grip to crash unceremoniously to the ground.

You’re left to wonder why no one’s ever said how sickening it is to feel your own life draining from your body. Maybe because they didn’t live to retell the pain?

As your eyes drift shut, you think back to the first night you’d met Tara. How you found her to be so alluring, so painstakingly beautiful. You remember the offhand internal comment you made after hours of blushing under her relentless teasing, when you’d said to yourself that this girl would someday be the death of you.

You’d laugh at the irony if you had enough energy to do so.

With the hopes of being reincarnated into a simpler life, you finally stop fighting death’s cold grasp and allow yourself to fade away.

And fade away you do.

Until the paramedics are pumping you full of drugs, their arms flying around you with practiced precision. They’re stitching, and bandaging, and doing everything they can to save your life.

Somehow, someway, they do it. They save you.

A week later, your eyes open for the first time.

The room is empty, your only company being a vase full of wilted flowers.

You’re covered by a thin blue blanket from the waist down. You’d reach down and assess the damage, but your arms don’t want to cooperate, still too weak to comply with your brain’s request.

Besides, you’re alive, shouldn’t that be all that matters?

It’s then that you hear two voices out in the hallway, growing louder as they likely approach your room.

The door opens, and you suck in a breath. It’s Sam and Tara, the latter of the two clutching a fresh bouquet of flowers in her uninjured arm.

They haven’t noticed you’re awake yet, still continuing their previous conversation.

“Hi.” You mentally kick yourself for always having the most awkward greetings.

They gasp and turn to face you.

“You’re awake!” Tara flies towards you and carefully embraces you, mindful of your barely healed injuries. You make a small noise in response, though eventually slowly lift your arms to return the hug.

Sam leaves to go inform the nurse of your condition.

The small girl pulls away to set the flowers down, before moving to gingerly sit on the side of the bed.

She lifts a hand to cup your face, silently stroking your cheek with her thumb.

“I owe you a huge apology,” she begins.

You shake your head, “We have plenty of time to talk about that, let’s just exist for now, yeah?”

She nods, big brown eyes scanning your face nervously. You watch curiously, as she seemingly works up some confidence.

“Is it true, what Mindy said?”

You pale, and meekly nod your head, knowing she’s referring to when Mindy exposed your love for her.

She’s launching herself towards you again, stopping with her lips mere millimeters away from your lips, a silent question of permission lurking in her eyes.

You glance down at her lips, wondering if they’re as soft as they were the first time you’d kissed her.

She takes that as your answer, and closes the gap. You’re drowning again, in everything that is Tara Carpenter, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

There’d be time to talk later, to work through your issues of trust with her and everyone else, but for now?

You were perfectly content with the blissful feeling of being consumed by Tara, of her expressing everything left unsaid with just her lips.

You’re scarred and hurt, beaten and bruised, but none of it matters.

You’re kissing Tara, and she’s enough. More than that, she’s all you’ll ever need.

Bonus note: Everyone thank @cartierdreamx for the happy ending, as much as I love it, r's death would've really fueled the evil angst rat that lives inside of me. Send me your thoughts, I'm so excited to hear what you all think after reading!

Taglist: @thenextdawn @dreifhraniquo29 @fanboy7794 @thelonewriter247 @simp4natasha @cartierdreamx @btay3115 @friedryes @bananasplits-world @alexkolax @ordelixx @adaydreamaway08 @youralphawolf72

As always, so sorry if I forgot to add anyone to the list that asked to be added! I tried my best to add everyone!! <3

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #scream fanfic #devil likes the pirate series #lonelym00n fic

480 notes · View notes

residenthughes · 1 year

Text

once bitten, twice shy

pairing: leon kennedy x gender neutral reader

word count: 3.8k (yippee!)

tags/warnings: college/university au, fluff, mentions of vomit/sick and alcohol

summary: house parties can be a strange place. they can be even stranger when you're about to throw up and have to argue to use the bathroom with a certain blue eyed, blonde haired boy too.

notes: my baby! so glad to have finished this! <3 i started writing this pretty much after my last fic (which received so much love, thank you so so much 💗) and finally came together after i went out myself, hehe. have deadlines/exams coming up soon so i'm not particularly sure how much i'll be posting on here until mid june, so mayhaps consider this a gift for not posting then? 🥹 haha, love u all and hope u enjoy!

You enjoyed a good night out once in a while. Your friends and yourself dressed to the nines as you dance the night away with liquor tainted lips and all the freedom in the palm of your hand. It was a great escape from the pressures of endless coursework and constant group meetings. You enjoyed a good house party, too. However, you hadn’t had much luck with those ones. Despite the smaller crowd it drew, the handful of new faces had you anxiously gulping away at your alcohol, ultimately leading to cringe-worthy videos your friends would show you the next day. Based on this, you should have known better - should have politely declined when your friends suggested attending her classmates’ house party and spent the night maybe regretting it. In spite of the myriad of reasons, the past week had been dreadful beyond words and it was an opportunity to wear your latest going out outfit. It was near impossible to say no.

So, here you are. Having the time of your life with friends, dancing under blue flickering lights and letting the night take you away. Well - that’s what you were doing. What you are doing now is desperately trying to find the toilet - your stomach was already uneasy due to the nerves of meeting new people at the party, so you’re sure the sugary drinks added to the alcohol in your system didn’t help either. You felt queasy and an urgent need to relieve yourself, still to no avail. The downstairs bathroom was occupied, so with the sickly feeling travelling up your system, you barge through the mob of people littering the hallways, hand over your mouth in a futile attempt to keep whatever was coming up down.

At the end of the upstairs hallway, your friend’s classmate explained there was an additional bathroom. You’ve never been more relieved to see anything more in your life. Without knowing it, you’re making a mad dash for it, bumping shoulders and mumbling a thousand sorrys. You’re a sight for sore eyes, you know you are, but with the pressing urge to not have witnesses to your untimely projectile vomiting, you really couldn’t give a damn.

You’re so happy to have found the bathroom, even if it may have also been occupied that your eyes miss another figure aiming for the room too. It’s only when your hand reaches for the doorknob that it’s shielded by another hand. Large and comforting. Your eyes search for the source.

Amidst the darkness that permeates the hallways, the blue mood lights provide glimpses into the mystery of the shadowy figure with gentle hands. His face, ivory in colour, is all slopes, features sharp and striking. His cerulean blue eyes framed by the length of his long eyelashes and dirty blond hair makes your heart stutter messily in your chest. For a split second, there is nothing you can do but stare in awe, the tall tales of infatuation spinning your head dizzy.

“Shit, did you wanna go first?” His voice sounds like a siren, sweet and melodic all at once.

With the countless thoughts zooming through your brain, you’re certain any words that would filter through your lips would be nothing except incoherent mumbles. You settle for a nod.

“Uh, hate to break it to you sweetheart, but I needa go too.” His hand is still over yours and if not for the terrible rumble in your stomach, it would have been swept off your feet, along with the sickeningly sweet pet name he gives you.

“Maybe try downstairs? I’m sure it’ll be free soon.” This is the first time you’ve spoken during your brief conversation. The quick raise of the handsome stranger’s eyebrows encourages sheepishness to gnaw at your skin, the pink hues of your cheeks deepening.

“Ocupado, ‘m afraid.” he grins with a sliver of teeth, facial expression moulding into the awkwardness that starts to circle itself around the two of you.

Your hand turns the doorknob faintly and you catch the desperation that flashes in his eyes at your actions. If you weren’t about to soil your new top with stomach acid, you would’ve let him go first, bashful as ever as you hoped you would find him later on in the night whilst hoping he’d spare you another glance. Nevertheless, that was not the case.

“I’m sorry but,” you gulp, trying to keep whatever was coming up back down. “I really, really, really need to go, so…”

He’s stubborn. Stubborn as an ass apparently, because his hand still remains on yours. “Of course, but equally, I need to go as well. Surely, there’s like a sink or something I can go in. I’m really desperate.”

You can’t help as you wrinkle your nose, your patience wearing thin. You literally have to be sick. Why is this not being addressed? “Can’t you just pee outside? Guys do that all the time, don’t they?”

“I’m not an animal, you know.” the handsome stranger argues, and your eye twitches.

How did you end up arguing with a good-looking guy outside a bathroom at a house party?

“I’m not being funny, but if you don’t move, I will throw up all over you.”

“I’ve been meaning to go for an hour now. Can’t we make some sort of compromise?”

You were at your wits end. “As if, you fucking masochist! I’m going first!”

And you do, barging into the blindingly white room with all your might and making a beeline for the toilet. A heavy sigh sounds behind you as you heave into the toilet, bracing yourself for the ugly sight that’ll swim before you.

You hear a zip being undone and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “Surely, you’re not…?”

“I told you I needed to go.” the voice comes from the shower beside you. The world spins. House parties fucking suck.

You opt to fully exit your bitter discussion, focusing on ugly turns in your stomach. Your hair circles your face and you curse yourself for not having tied it up beforehand because obviously, it was going to–

It flows out of you. Swiftly and without much difficulty. You lunge forwards into the toilet bowl as the vomit empties out of you whilst the shower runs briefly, followed by the sink.

You just wanna go home.

“Hey,” the call for your attention is docile, the boy’s voice more sympathetic now. “You got a hair tie on ya?”

At this point, you’re on your knees, throwing up your early dinner in front of a boy you bad mouthed because you both wanted to use the bathroom at the same time. There’s no point in being shy now. You want all the help you can get.

You manage to shimmy the hair tie off your wrist and hand it towards his vague direction. For how unacquainted you two are, you move in great harmony as the boy grabs the hair tie and captures all your hair with ease whilst you busy yourself with other pressing issues.

When he’s finished, hair away from your face and in a low ponytail, the warmth of his hand settles against your back. The tears brimming in your eyes fall into the toilet bowl, body still before slow caresses have you melting into the palm of his hand.

“I…I know one of the guys that lives here,” he volunteers, tone unsure. “I’m sure he won’t mind you using one of his spare toothbrushes underneath the sink.”

You only manage back a groan, the icky feeling of humiliation creeping up on you as you continue to exhale into the toilet bowl.

“I’ll be back.”

And the man who peed in the shower leaves. Ok, that was rude of you, he did just help you when you were vomiting in spite of not knowing you. You should have more compassion for him, instead of lashing out at him out of embarrassment. When he gets back, you should thank him for all his help and hope to never see him again. You didn’t think you could live comfortably with yourself if you ever saw him again.

The faint thumps of typical party hits hammer beyond the bathroom, pouring in briefly when the man comes back into the room. By this point, your stomach has settled and you’ve flushed the toilet, yet your head still remains somewhat in the toilet because you couldn’t bear to come face-to-face with the guilt wrapped up in the form of a handsome, kind stranger.

“He said it’s cool, just open the new pack in the grey caddy.” You hear joints crack besides you before there’s a pat on your back. The comfort it brings is enough for you to swallow your pride. “Also, there’s some water next to you. Figured you wouldn’t want to go looking for it.”

Regardless of the ever growing shame that wants to drown you into a sad shell of yourself, your heart swells. The unprompted kindness offered from the stranger is refreshing, you wish you could tell him how grateful you are for him without your shame keeping your head in the toilet bowl.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, wincing at the cringing sensations that course through your body. “Sorry for calling you a masochist earlier.”

He huffs out a bout of laughter and your heart feels lighter. “In all fairness, I was pretty crazy for holding it for that long, so I don’t blame you.”

You hated how you’d have to avoid this man after you two left this room. He was sweet, polite and made you laugh. Why did you have to meet under such ugly conditions?

“Thank you,” you exhale, feeling your heart bloom with the warmth he radiates. “Really.”

“No prob,” he lifts his hand off your back and suddenly, you’re cold again. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. If not, probably fucking it up on the dancefloor.”

You mumble another thank you after the laughter that leaves your lips, the blue-eyed stranger exiting and leaving you to clean yourself up as ponder on his kindness for a little longer than necessary.

You manage to sneak past the kitchen without bumping into the kind stranger. If you weren’t embarrassed before, the embarrassment catches up with you now. Outside, where the cool October wind blows, you’re perched on a step of the back porch, curled into yourself as you breathe in and breathe out. Things could have been a lot worse. You could have thrown up all yourself, delirious and none the wiser as nasty spirited individuals videoed the spectacle, not intervening even once. You could have been in a worse state in front of the stranger, vomit embedded in your hair as you wailed to call your friends or to go home. It could have been so much worse, yet here you are, rocking away as you will yourself not to cry.

You blame it on the emotional turmoil that’s plagued your week. Your academic and interpersonal affairs bore a burden like never before, pushing you beyond your means countless times this week and eventually, as you self soothe in solitude, you succumb to their will. Your friends are worried sick, searching every inch of the unfathomably large house to find you. You shoot them a text, notifying them of your safety and the privacy you seek. With dozens of texts that express reassurance, you let out a sigh before the music playing inside is too good for you to ignore.

Call it foolish, but it’s the nostalgic sounds of 00s’ dance that help you pick up the pieces. Assist in the carefree attitude you adopt that leads you right back inside, finding your friends and changing the course of the night.

If only you knew your carefree attitude would have you right where you once were. Face to face with the handsome stranger, the ends of an empty beer bottle pointed towards you two as bystanders ooh and ahh.

“Get in there, Leon!” a friend - you assume - hollers, slurring his words as he lazily drapes against Leon’s rigid frame.

You two exchange a look, eyes seeking any kind of communication that would hint at what the future held.

Your hand is given a squeeze and suddenly one of your friend’s whispers into your ear. “He’s cute, go for it.”

You crimson. At her words and at the fact that your next encounter with Leon has come so soon. Relentless is the sensation of dread and cringe as it sinks into your bones and buries you into the ground. All eyes are on you and you want nothing more but cringe? Disappear? Run away? There’s so much going on in your head right now.

A hand is outreached. It’s as if a lifeforce beyond yours comes down to save you, extending their hand to sail you away to safety. Alias, it is nothing but a figment of your imagination as you peer up, eyes sparkling as Leon’s tall figure towers over yours. For a second, you can’t read his facial expression, can’t comprehend the logistics of your predicament. However, when the edge of his lips curl upwards, pleasant and mellow in nature, there’s a sense of relief that starts to wash over you.

“Ready if you are.”

He has a way with words. He must have. Otherwise you wouldn’t have felt so comforted on that bathroom floor, otherwise you wouldn’t be in some confined closet, little to no light with the same person you threw up in front of.

“Well,” he starts off after a minute or two of silence. “This is…”

“Awkward.”

A cough is followed by silence. Then laughter.

Out of all the people at this party, the universe had to fabricate yet another meeting with Leon. The guy who you basically cussed out in order to use the bathroom. The same man that after washing his hands, held your hair up for you and soothed your sickness with a gentle back rub. There is nothing more you want to do right now than crawl out of your skin.

“You feeling a bit better now?” Leon’s voice is hushed when he talks to you, gentle and filled with unexpected care.

Despite the awkwardness of your situation, you can’t help disregarding such lame state of feeling as you lean into his kindness. “Yeah, I had a bit more water and was outside for a bit, so I’m pretty much sober now.”

Your fingernails dig into the flesh of your palm. A nervous tic. “Thank you. And, sorry.”

Leon appears to relax into the flow of conversation, moving his body to lean against the wall of the compact closet you find yourselves in. As he shuffles, notes of smoky vanilla waft in the air, Leon’s cologne finding its way to you. The smile you hide behind a closed fist is all kinds of bashful, body drawn to the intoxicating nature of the fragrance.

“I wasn’t terribly nice to you either, so think of it as making amends,” his hand extends forwards, bridging the gap between the two of you. “Truce?”

Amusement tugs at the ends of your lips, humoured by the hints of unseriousness that seems to be a recurring theme in your story. Going from badmouthing one another to being shoved into a tiny closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven and forced to call truce. It’s the kind of bizarre story that hangs in the air after a night out, disgustingly hungover in bed as your friends jam into someone’s room and recall the night’s events.

“Truce.”

You shake on it, pulling away when the flutter of your heart tickles your chest.

Through the dim sliver of marmalade orange light that peeks through the bottom gap of the door, you catch glimpses of Leon. The sharp slants of his jaw, the heavy flutter of his eyelashes, the sheepishness of his smile - all lopsided and accompanied the hues of strawberry jam red. He’s trying his best and it’s endearing. As is he. Charming and caring, a little silly yet undeniably sweet. Perhaps your perspective on him is a bit skewed due to the remnants of alcohol that float in your system, but if you happened across the same dirty blond, blue eyed boy on campus, you know your heart would still beat the same.

“Three minutes!” Someone yells beyond the door, prompting an uptake in your breath.

Never too forward, Leon draws closer to you, hands to himself as he suggests, “We could just head back out, if you’d like. I’m sure they’re not gonna be too up their asses about it.”

You don’t miss a beat. “I don’t want to.”

You’re both caught off guard. Your eyes widened and Leon’s eyebrow raised. It’s as if you’ve been exposed, barenaked for all the world to see your secrets. In itself, your response isn’t the strangest. Anyone would assume after calling truce, your allocated time meant to be spent together could foster the beginnings of a friendship, a friendly conversation. Even so, Leon and yourself were getting ahead of yourselves - reading in between the lines, sifting for something that was there.

“I mean,” the wardrobe is suddenly indescribably small, the surface of your cheeks warming as your eyes dart all over the place. What is going on here? “We could always just talk or…”

“Or what?”

Leon’s being mean. He knows he is. But, he can’t help himself. Jumping the gun, clawing at any and every opportunity to be close to you. Leon spotted your figure earlier during the course of the night, eyes capturing the shimmer in your eyes and bounce of your hair as you happily twirled your friends around on the dancefloor. You were simply magnetic, doused in dazzle and delight as your glittery makeup highlighted your timeless beauty. Leon would’ve approached you, winning you over with his charm and foolish dance moves - but he needed a drink. A drink which became two, two which became three and ultimately he broke the seal, landing him on a collision course with you outside the bathroom.

This isn’t how he imagined meeting you.

Nevertheless, you were together and despite the not-so-great circumstances presented, Leon made the best of it. Helping you and being the gentleman he is. And even if you never saw each other again, he would still remember you for all the shimmer in your eyes and just how infectious your smile was.

Now, under more favourable conditions, he doesn’t want his time with you to end. You’re just as captivating up close, if not more. Timid yet so sweet. Leon gets lost in you - lost in the details of your hair, your voice, your eyes. He wonders if the longer he prolongs your conversation, the sooner you’ll see his attraction towards you. Hopes you’ll reciprocate, hopes you’ll see it too.

“I don’t know.” You settle for, casting your eyes away from Leon as you twiddle your thumbs.

You want to be close with Leon, maybe kiss him if you could. But, you just don’t know. He’s seen you at your worst, sick in the toilet without a thought behind your eyes. You’re still embarrassed - even if Leon makes good work of fending that off. And perhaps because of that, along with other complexities, you want to be close with him.

If only he’d let you.

There’s a huff of frustration before something knocks your shoe. You look, examining Leon’s tired Converse shoe that nestles against your own pair of shoes. Your heart stills.

“I saw you earlier,” he starts, standing tall as he inches closer towards you. His pools of blue know only the sight of your lips, pink in hue and supple with lipgloss. He briefly looks away for his own good. “You looked really good on the dance floor.”

The gravity of your current reality settles in quick. Leon’s with you. Initiating everything and bringing this whole charade to a close. Your instinct is to wrestle with the reasons why, question his intentions and ultimately, take a step back. But, you’re exhausted. You’ve done enough mental gymnastics to last you a lifetime. You know you want this, so why can’t you have it? The answer is clear now. You take the plunge, hands grasping onto his backarm as you test the waters. “You think so?”

You’re gazing into each other’s eyes now, nowhere to run or hide. Leon hums in response yet still searches for something in your eyes - a glimmer of hope, confirmation to proceed and gets it in the form of you leaning into him with the bat of your eyelashes. His arms circle your waist, hesitant at first but solid in their place on the small of your back. You’re already seeing stars.

“Leon?” your voice is barely above a whisper, forehead pressed against Leon’s as you grow impatient.

He hums in reply. “Can we? Can we-”

“Can we kiss?” he says this, lips brushing up against yours. You grip his broad shoulder extra hard incase you buckle at the knees.

“Please,” you only manage to get out before your lips connect.

Leon shows you just how much he wants this, how much he wants you in his kisses. Gentle yet firm in his desire, his lips envelope yours in a way that sets your heart ablaze. Your brain short circuits, the sparks soaring between the two of you insatiable as you melt into each other. Your hand falls to brace yourself against Leon’s chest, the accelerated patter of his heart vibrating against your palm. You can’t help the smile that blends into your kiss, opening an invitation for Leon’s tongue that glides against the flesh of your bottom lip.

“Time’s up!”

His teeth plunge into your bottom lip lightly. You separate with a whine.

There’s a moment before the door opens, time where your eyes scan over Leon to gather all your thoughts and take him in. His pupils are full blown, his arctic blue irises submerged in the dilation of his pupils, lips plump with need and breath laboured. He looks far away, as if he is immersed in a dream that’s too good to be true and judging by the smile that graces his face, you’re sure you look the same.

“Need a mint?” Leon’s all jokes, smile giddy and besotted.

You roll your eyes in response, playfully jabbing his hard bicep with a closed fist. “Says the one who stuck his tongue down my throat.”

“Guilty as charged,” he holds his hands up in surrender, eyes giving you their undivided attention. “Wouldn’t mind doing that again though.”

He punctuates his point with circling his arm around your waist, drawing you in close before placing a delicate kiss against the flushed skin of your cheeks. It’s shameful how much you like this guy already.

“You’re disgusting.”

The door opens and you leave the closet happier than you ever were before.

#resident evil 4 remake #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 fanfic #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #re4r #re2 remake #re2 leon #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil fluff #leon s kennedy imagine #my fics

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chaisshitposts · 7 months

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Hi I am rabbit🐇 anon and I wanna say that Idk why but i m not understanding the pych-k method like i don't get what PPL say especially when ppl tag that post I just don't get it so can you tell step by step how to do pych-k method for void.

P.s we r same age lol

oh yeah??? cool! glad to meet a fellow adult 🐇 anon🤝 and that's ok, I'm more than happy to explain it for ya in simpler terms, it be like that sometimes so I get it. yer mind is like a computer, yer subconscious is the motherboard of info, and while ya do psych-k ya are basically downloadin' an entirely new program with new codin' and all that jazz with the affirmations ya choose, then ya save that affirmation in yer motherboard.

psych-k is about usin' yer entire brain, both hemispheres simultaneously, and how to do it is super simple. when you're just startin' out with it, I always recommend that ya start off with your left side (it doesn't really matter what side ya start with but some people do better when they have clear instructions)

left side -> ya wanna start off with crossin' yer left ankle over yer right ankle, set yerself a five minute timer and then start it, immediately afterwards you're gonna cross yer left wrist over yer right wrist and then interlock yer fingers. for a visual aid, check out this video -> it's not very long and I hope it'll be easy for ya to follow while ya are doin' this pose, you're gonna close yer eyes and repeat yer affirmation for the duration of yer timer. with this pose, ya more than likely will start to feel an influx of thoughts that may try and argue with yer affirmation. it's important to invite those negative thoughts and just let them flow, let them happen, and just keep repeatin' yer affirmation over and over. what yer doin' is teachin' yerself somethin' new until these resistant and negative thoughts disappear. i should also mention that sometimes ya may not experience any negative thoughts at all, which is fine too, just keep affirmin' for the five minutes. some folks also report that they feel physical symptoms when doin' psych-k, which is also normal, and it's perfectly okay if ya don't, that's also normal, everyone is impacted differently.

ya hold this posture for the entirety of yer five minute timer. once you're done you're gonna 'save' yer progress by uncrossin' your ankles and wrists and then press the finger tips of both yer hands together (kinda like when villains are havin' their evil scheme moment, y'know) just make sure all yer fingers touch each other and hold it for 10 seconds --- like below BUT MAKE SURE ALL YER FINGERS TOUCH TIPS 🙏, no palms need to be touched, you're not prayin'.

once you're done, you're gonna repeat the entire process for the right side where ya cross yer right ankle over left ankle, and yer right wrist over yer left wrist, hold that pose for five minutes with yer timer and then save it again with the pose mentioned above.

ideally, this'll completely change whatever limitin' belief ya had with the affirmation ya chose after a single session, BUT sometimes it can take more than one single session of psych-k which is also completely normal especially when dealin' with something that's been deeply embedded in yer mind for such a long time. think of it like a stubborn program in yer computer that you're tryna get rid of, sometimes it can take a few tries to completely wipe out the old programming.

somethin' else that can happen is that psych-k did work but does not instantly reflect in your 3D which can sometimes make people think it didn't work so they fall back into old thinkin' and start reaffirmin' the old story. h o w e v e r, ya can easily find out if psych-k worked through the use of muscle testin'. I'll provide some reference posts for muscle testin' below which can also be used in combination with any and all methods of manifestin'.

muscle testing applied kinesiology

psych-k is just a form of focused, super affirmin'. it can also be used to calm yerself down just from simply crossin' your ankles, many people do it unconsciously without realizin'. i recommend that the next time ya have a moment of panic, anxiety, or any other negative feeling, ya should try crossin' yer ankles and see what happens. 🕵️

if ya need anymore clarification, just let me know!!!

#— chai's asks. !! ~#— 🐇 anon. !!~#psych k #psych-k

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weird-is-life · 8 months

Note

for the spence requests, maybe singing him to sleep, or a nighttime routine sorta thing? the thought has been rattling around in my brain for like a week so yeah! have a good day!! 🫶🫶

Hiii lovely, thank u for this cute request! I tried my best, hope you like it. Warnings: pet names, talk of nightmares (0.6k)

Spencer has been squirming in the bed for what's felt like hours now. He woke up in the middle of the night from a horrible nightmare and since then he can't seem to be able to fall asleep. On the other side of the bed, you are sleeping peacefully next to him.

It's a honestly a miracle, that he didn't wake you up, when he woke up gasping for the air.

He is glad, that you are asleep. You have work in the morning and you need your rest. Even if you always make him feel better and calm him down after bad dreams, he thinks, it's better that you are sleeping.

Spencer gets enough of the restless laying in bed and gets up to get a glass of water. He stays in the kitchen for a while, trying to calm down his racing thoughts and the racing heart.

The nightmares don't come as often as they used to, now that you are there. But when they do, they still hit him hard.

He is so lost in his mind, that he doesn't even hear you coming towards him. "Spence?" you say, eyes half closed, his t-shirt on you rumbled as you sluggishly walk to the kitchen. He can't say, that the sight of you doesn't make his heart flutter.

"Sweetheart, I was just getting a drink, I'll be right back, yeah?" He says and you see straight through him. The sweaty t-shirt, that he has on isn't helping either.

Spencer knows, he is busted when you come up to him, hands curling at the ends of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. You take his hand in one hand and his glass of water in the other as you pull him after you towards the bedroom with a hushed 'come on, handsome'.

In the bedroom, you set the glass on the bedside table and take out a new t-shirt for Spencer. He lets you put it on him, never saying no to being loved on by you.

He is sitting on the bed and you are standing in between his legs. "You could have woken me up," you mumble, as you gently comb his messy hair with your fingers.

"I couldn't, you need the rest. You have work in the morning," he argues, even though he is completely melting with your hands running over his scalp.

"I don't care," you tell him softly, "And I'd much rather have you sleeping, too."

Even though Spencer's eyes are closed, he can feel you intently staring at him, "do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head, "not really, i just want to go back to sleep and hold you in my arms, " he says, as he lightly squeezes your hips, his hands warm on your exposed skin, where the shirt has ridden up.

By the time you are laying on the bed (or more like on Spencer's chest), you can sense, that Spencer's calmer. It makes you happier too.

"What's the name of the song?" Spencer whispers. You haven't even realised, that you've started humming a song quietly, before he'd asked.

"I can't remember... My mom used to sing it to me sometimes when I had nightmares," you whisper back, "I'm sorry, you wanted to sleep, I'll stop."

"No, please, I don't mind it at all," Spencer hurries to reassure you.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's nice, it's calming. Please continue, sweetheart. "

"Okay." You start humming the song again and within a few minutes, Spencer's breathing is totally even. Which, you realise, means that he's fallen asleep again. Thoughts of nightmare long gone with you by his side.

With your head on his chest, you can hear the steady beat of his heart and it sooths you to sleep, too.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction

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gloomzombie · 2 months

Text

I'll Bury You For This

Pairings: Jeff the Killer X Male Reader

Warnings: None(?)(( Let me know if I need to put any!))

Word Count: 4,276

Chapter Four: Follow You

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

August 20. 10:23 pm.

“So, how’s school going for you, Y/N?” The question is one I’ve been asked thousands of times before, all from John, and all usually around the same time; but coming from Ms. Taylor’s comforting voice doesn't fill me with unnecessary anger. I take a bite of the reheated spaghetti and look up at her. She sits across from me at the small dining table, and Gage sits on my left, his gaze and focus on his food. Part of me wishes he were focused on me, but the other part knows it’s selfish to think that way- even when I can’t get them out of my head. “It’s going fine, thanks. So far, the work’s been pretty easy and I’ve got enough friends to enjoy it.” It’s only partially a lie. I have enough friends for me, though I’m sure three- maybe four now that I’ve properly met Stacy- isn’t what anyone else would consider “enough friends.”

She smiles at me, her lips now wiped clean from the red lipstick she adorned earlier. She’s not eating with us, only drinking sips of her red wine. Gage told me this is normal if she’s gone out; sitting at the dinner table and chatting with him about his day and what he’s thinking, even if she already ate. It’s such a nice thing to do, and on days where I mope wishing John could’ve been better, or wishing I had a better dad in general, I could see myself wanting this with him- or with a better parent- or maybe Mom. If she were still here, would she have stayed with him? If she did, would she still stay even after he started losing his memory? Would he be a better person if she were with us?

I shake the thoughts from my head, focusing back onto my plate in front of me. I can’t cry in front of her again, and I definitely can’t in front of Gage. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad you have good friends to hang out with.” She smirks as she glances at Gage, then back at me. “And a boyfriend.” Gage’s head snaps up to her, his face all pink. How sweet. “Mom! I told you he’s not my boyfriend.” He argues, though not strongly, his face turning brighter with the words he speaks. She just smiles and giggles. “Mhmm, whatever you say, baby.” She leans over and places a kiss on his cheek, to which he leans away from. “Momm, please,” He spluttered, exasperated. She just peppers kisses all over his cheek, ignoring him. I can’t help the smile that creases my lips, watching them silently. I can see how he could be embarrassed by her, but really, he’s so lucky to have a mom like her. She giggles and pulls away. “Fine, fine.” She readjusts in her seat, a proud smile tugging at her lips. Gage lets his messy bangs fall over his face, though his hair’s not long enough to cover the smile that mirrors his mothers.

August 20. 11:12 pm.

After dinner, Gage practically drags me up the stairs with him, his hand never loosening its grasp on mine. His mom only smiles at us as we go, which makes a blush rise up my neck and into my cheeks. As he leads me to his room, I can’t help but smile. He’s gotten more confident with me, I can tell. God, why does that make me feel the way it does? I shut the door behind me and he reaches his arm past me, twisting the lock as he looks up at me. I smirk down at him, his beautiful sage colored eyes gazing into mine. My smirk softens into a smile and he seems to notice, a light pink tint grazing his cheeks, his nose, the tips of his ears.

The buzz of the alcohol has worn down by now, having been a few hours ago; but nonetheless, the adrenaline I feel right now is almost unbearable. In one swift motion, I wrap my arms around his waist and hoist him up into my arms. He squeaks and his legs wrap instinctively around my hips, his arms around my neck. I press my lips up against his, him responding in kind; kissing me back almost as passionately, though I can still feel the shyness of it. I waste no time in carrying him to his bed, laying him in it and breaking the kiss. His eyelids flutter open, his green eyes dark in the dim light; the only light being the deep, navy blue lamp on his bedside table. I need him.

His limbs never tear away from me, and they pull me onto him, as he gazes up at me with those fucking eyes. The way he’s looking at me now is something I’ve desperately wanted for years. He’s so fucking addicting. I kick my shoes off, letting them fall wherever. He watches me intently with an undeniable blush grazing his soft, delicate features as I sit up in his lap and pull my shirt up and off of me. I throw it on the floor, keeping eye contact with the boy underneath me. I can feel him already, a pulsing feeling against my leg and I don’t even try to hide the smile that makes its way onto my face. I lean down to kiss his neck, some of the strands of my hair falling and brushing against him.

“Please, Y/N.” He whispers, his voice a tad higher than usual. I look up at him. Fuck, did I go too far? I got so caught up in the feeling of him; the feeling of just being with him, that I didn’t pay enough attention to what he may be feeling. “Everything alright, Gage?” I ask, bringing my head up a bit so I can look down at him comfortably. He glances up at the ceiling, resting his head down on the pillow. “I..I think so. I just…” he hesitates, and I can feel the nauseating wave of guilt wash over me. I chew on my bottom lip, but I don’t tear the skin as much as I’d like to. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

The heat in my cheeks spreads to my ears and I feel so uncomfortably hot. I sit up, still in his lap, but giving him space if he so wants it. “I-I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before I-” “No. Don’t do that.” He rises to sit up, his full focus on me; with his hands sliding down my arms to intertwine his fingers with mine. “I…I want everything you’ve done, and everything you want to do.” His face can’t get any redder, so evident under the blue light. I feel the relief flood over me, drowning out the guilt from before. His eyes drop to the floor, but he brings them back up just as quickly as he dropped them. “I want you, Y/N, but not just like this.” He mutters, leaning his forehead against mine. I can feel his breath against my lips this way. “Are you saying..you want to go out with me?” I ask, and the question is one I’ve never asked before.

Despite sleeping with people in the past, I’ve never actually been on a date. I’ve gone out with people, sure, but they never saw me as anything but a friend; or a toy to use for sex and nothing more. The thought of going out with Gage runs through my mind, and my body reacts; my heartbeat thrums in my ears, a repetitive thump, thumping sound; my stomach feels like it's churning- but not in the bad way I’ve grown so accustomed to. He smiles his sweet little smile and I can’t deny the way it makes me feel so nervous. “Yes, Y/N. I’ve wanted to for months, maybe a year now.” I smile sheepishly.

Oh, yeah. I forgot Gage had his eyes on me for months before he got the courage to talk to me. I can’t believe I didn’t notice him before, but I guess it makes sense; we both prefer to stand on the sidelines, unnoticed by the crowd. I just wish I had noticed him sooner. “Then, let’s go on a date.” I speak nervously. The words are foreign coming from my mouth. I’ve never been asked out before, and never asked anyone else out either. He adjusts to sit up straighter, and I slide off of his lap, sitting in front of him, though his hands never break from mine. “I’d love that.” He shakes his hair out from behind his ears, his bangs covering his eyes; but I catch the sudden color in his face. He’s still so nervous around me, as I am with him. I laugh; a real laugh that makes me feel so light.

He smiles, a wide and open smile. “What?” He asks and I shake my head, still laughing. “I just..I don’t think I’ve liked anyone the way I like you before.” I squeeze his hands, warm in mine. He flushes and giggles. “I could say the same to you, lover.” Lover. The pet name leaves me feeling so fuzzy. My stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. I close the small gap between us, pressing my lips against his in a way I haven’t with anyone before him. I can feel him smile through the kiss, and I smile too.

August 21. 1:24 am.

“Wait, you’re telling me with all of those bands you like, you’ve never been to a concert before?” Gage asks as he sips his tea, sitting in a booth opposite from mine. I shake my head. “Nope. I mean- I wish I had of course, but…” I gaze at the floor of the dimly lit 24-hour cafè. “I’ve just never had the money for it when they do come here.” A lie. I hate to lie, especially to people I actually give a shit about- but really, there’s no way around it with the way I have to live. I don’t want to drop my shitty situation onto him, so it’s so much easier- nicer- to lie.

He nods. “I get that. Where’d you say you work again?” He wonders aloud, tilting his head. I take a bite of the semi-warm chocolate chip cookie in my hand. “Library. I’m the assistant,” I place the cookie down. “Y’know, putting books back where they belong and shit.” He smiles sweetly, and I can’t help but to smile too. “Awh, do you like that? I know you read a lot.” I sigh, leaning against the cushiony booth behind me. I love the way he just knows stuff about me.

“I do, actually. It's good pay and when there’s nothing else to do and no people that need help, I can read.” I pick up my glass of coke and take a few sips of it. “That’s pretty cool. I’ve been wanting to get into reading lately,” his fingers tap lightly on the mug in his hands. “I just don’t really know where to start.” I perk up at that, placing my glass down. “I have a lot of books you could read!” I smile sheepishly. “The first and only piece of furniture I bought was my own bookcase. I started getting too many books, they all couldn't fit on my desk anymore,” I could feel my face heat up.

He giggles, making my face feel even warmer. “That’s..really cute actually.” I huff. “Hey, you’re supposed to be the cute one,” I argue teasingly, finishing the last bit of my cookie. He shakes his head, giggling some more before taking another sip of his tea. “You can be cute sometimes too.” I shake my head too, giving up.

We continued talking for a bit in that shabby little diner. I’m still surprised his mom let us go out so late. John doesn’t even like me going out past sundown. Even though it’s been only a week of talking to him, I think I’m starting to really like him. I can’t let myself rush into this like I usually do, though. If Gage is good for me, the last thing I want to do is mess that up. The walk back to Gage’s house is silent- a comfortable silence. His hand is warm in mine, contrast to the chill of the late summer breeze. I can’t stop smiling until we reach the door.

He takes out his keys and unlocks it, twisting the knob and pushing the door open. He smiles at me and takes my hand again as he leads me inside. I don’t smile back, my cheeks are sore from all the smiling I’ve already done. I shut and lock the door behind me. He takes me upstairs and into his room. I take off my shoes and place them neatly by his door, watching as he does the same.

I sigh as I lie down on his comfy bed. It’s much nicer than mine, soft but firm. Mine is missing springs, dents in the mattress where they should be. “I’m gonna take a shower.” I look over at Gage and he’s pulling his sweater over his head. I can’t help but smile at the sight, my cheeks screaming in protest. I’ve never seen him without it. His t-shirt hangs loosely on his thin frame, making him look smaller than he already is. “I didn’t think you could look any cuter.” I move to lay on my side, resting my head on my hand. He smiles at me, though I can see the light blush at his ears. “Shush. Do you want one after me?” I think for a bit. I probably should. “Yeah, sure. As long as I get to listen to music.” He giggles. “If you want. I won’t take long.” He takes out some clothes from his drawer, then goes to the bathroom in his room. He shuts the door and I pick up my phone. I turned it off a while ago, so I could enjoy my time with Gage.

I turn it on, chewing on my lip as I wait for the android screen to change. As soon as it does, practically a million notifications pop up. I groan, already knowing where most of them came from. I scroll through and swipe away all the missed calls and messages from John. There’s no point in responding now. I’ll send him a message in the morning. I get rid of all the youtube notifications. I don’t really feel like watching any of them. I stop when I see Xander’s name.

August 21. 12:34am.

Xander: Hey Y/N. We need to talk. Meet tmmr at 2?

I can’t help but stare wide-eyed at the message. He hasn’t texted me since…June 7th- when he asked me to come meet him at the mall with his now ex girlfriend. What is it he wants to talk about? We’ve needed to talk for the past 5 goddamn months. I swear to god, if he wants to talk about some dumb shit again, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from blowing up on him this time.

I roll my eyes and text him back. Despite being really annoyed, I really do want to talk with him. Even if he wants to talk about dumb shit, I’ll make him listen to me.

August 21. 2:13am.

okay. where?

As I’m placing my phone down, the screen lights up again. My eyebrows furrow. Xander messaged me back already? Bitch must be desperate.

Xander: How about that bookstore you always wont shut up about?

Okay, consider me confused. He’s never wanted to go to the bookstore, let alone go somewhere that I like. I sit up, texting him back again.

works with me, but why there?

Xander: Idk. Thought youd like that ig. Could get lunch after. I’ll pay

i cant say no to free food

Xander: K. C u then

C u

I hear the sound of the door swinging open and I look over. All thoughts of Xander escape my mind as I gape at the boy by the door. “Told you I wouldn’t take long,” Gage mumbles as he dries his hair with a towel. I can feel the bite of the blush rising up my cheeks. “I didn’t doubt you.” I look back down at my phone for just a minute, clicking out of the messages app and opening my music app. I look back at him and he’s shaking his head. Adorable. I stand up, sliding my phone in my pocket. I walk over to him and he flushes as I get closer. “You look so pretty,” I smile before placing a small kiss on his lips. His face goes pink and the bathroom light illuminating his face doesn’t hide it at all. He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Take your shower, dummy.” He goes to the edge of his bed, kneeling down to open my backpack. I chuckle as I watch him take out my clothes. I wonder how he’d look in them.

After my shower, I look in the mirror as I dry my hair. I sigh, leaning closer to look at the deep purple lines under my eyes. They’ve been getting worse even though I’ve been getting…okay sleep. Could be stress, I guess. Or maybe it’s the nightmares finally catching up to me. I turn my gaze away, tossing the towel into the hamper by the door. I turn off the light and open the door. Gage is already in bed, his phone placed on the bedside table. He moves his arm over the blanket, lifting it up. “I’m tired. Come sleep?” I smile sheepishly and place my phone on the table next to his before sliding into bed with him.

August 21. 10:16am.

Sleeping in a bed next to Gage made the nightmare go away. I didn’t dream or anything, but that’s the best sleep I’ve gotten in a while. I look down at the boy beside me. The light peeking through his curtains bathes him in a light that makes his skin look like it’s glowing. The sight takes my breath away. I move my hand up to brush his bangs out of his face slowly, pressing my fingertips against his face. I don’t dare move anything else. I don’t want to wake him up. I let out a silent breath. I try not to think of the messages I must have from John. I need to stop letting him ruin these moments for me, especially when he’s not even fucking here.

“You like watching me sleep? Creep,” Gage murmurs, his eyes opening slowly. My face heats up. “How could I not when you look this enchanting?” I smile. He closes his eyes again, a smile of his own touching his lips. “Shut uppp,” he whines, scooching closer to me. He pushes his face into my chest, and I laugh. “Going back to sleep?” I ask as I pet his hair. He hums and it vibrates my chest, making me feel so nervous. He mumbles something against my shirt. “What was that?” I chuckle. He pulls back, groaning. “I said I guess I probably shouldn’t. You need to go home sometime today.” He stretches, and I watch him. “Doesn’t that just mean we have to spend as much time together as we can until I leave?” I smile. He huffs and looks up at me. “I guess.” He tries but fails, a smile pulling at his lips.

After we share a few more kisses, we decide to get up and get something to eat. We walk hand in hand down the sidewalk for a while. He’s taking me to his favorite breakfast place that’s just outside his neighborhood.

My gaze is on the houses as we pass them. His neighborhood is the nicest I’ve ever been in, which doesn’t say much. All my previous friends have had run-down looking houses, and the others in their neighborhoods weren’t any better. The best was always Xander’s, until he moved out of his parents’ to live in a shitty garage-turned-apartment on his own. Xander. I miss Xander. My face droops a bit at the thought of him, and the thought of seeing him later today. I think Gage notices, but if he does he doesn’t say anything. I chew on my lip. I don’t need to think about him when I’m with Gage.

He leads me up to the door of the restaurant and opens it for me. I smile. “Already opening doors for me,” I smirk smugly. “Shhhh,” He shushes, walking in after me. The restaurant is small, about five tables inside with two outside. The smell of butter, syrup, and eggs fills the air with an oddly comforting scent. I walk him over to a table with two chairs in the corner, right by the window. He sits in the chair opposite of mine, and I look out the window. From here, I can really see how nice his area is. The sidewalks on either side are free from overgrown grass and cracks in the cement; no potholes in the pavement nor broken beer cans or burnt and stomped out cigarettes. Though he doesn’t live far away from me, we’re still miles apart.

“Hi, welcome to Granny’s kitchen. What can I get you?” I turn my gaze to see a short, dark skinned girl. She looks around our age, no lines of age gracing her clear skin. Her hair is braided and tied back into a low ponytail. There’s menus already laid on the table. How was I so focused on just the outside? I pick up the menu, my eyes scanning the laminated paper quickly to find something. I feel Gage’s fingers on my hands, sliding up and down so gently I almost didn’t catch it. “We’re gonna need a bit more time. Could I get a cup of herbal tea?” I look back up at him, and though he’s speaking to her, his eyes are on me- and he’s smiling. My face flushes and I resist the all too familiar urge to pull away. The waitress nods at him then turns to me.

“And for you?” She asks. “I’ll just have water.” She offers me a small smile. “Gotcha. I’ll be back with those drinks in a bit.” She turns away and heads to the kitchen door. I look at Gage, and his fingers are tracing mine as my hands still grip the menu. I bite my lip and look down. On the menu are a selection of breakfast, lunch, and dinner options. Though I prefer dinner or even lunch over any breakfast stuff, the chocolate chip pancakes catch my eye.

Under the breakfast options are breakfast sides to choose from. I can’t eat much, so I’m going to have to hope they let me get the kids. “Do you know what you’re getting?” Gage’s voice brings me out of my thinking. I look up at him. “Oh. Yeah, I think so. Um, do you know if they have an age limit for the kids portions?” I ask nervously. It feels so embarrassing to ask a question like that. What kind of 17 year old boy orders off the kids menu?

“No, they don’t.” And there’s that sweet smile. “I usually order off of it. I don’t have a big appetite most of the time,” his hand is still resting on mine and, instinctively, I pull my arm away. Something keeps me from letting him touch me this much, in this way; I don’t know what, but right now, I don’t really care to think about it. “Good. Me neither.” I respond, my gaze dropping back to the menu, though I’m done reading it. He doesn’t speak up again until the waitress comes up to the table, which makes me wonder if I did something wrong.

“Here’s your tea, and your coke,” She speaks as she places our drinks down in front of us. She smiles, and I can see she’s got those cool fang piercings. “Need more time?” She asks, glancing from me to Gage and back. “I think we’re good.” I look over at Gage and he nods. “I’ll have the kid’s chocolate chip pancakes with bacon.” I don’t usually eat out like this, so the words sound shaky and not right coming out of my mouth. Luckily, the waitress doesn’t seem to mind, or care. “Alright, and for you?”

Gage tells her his order, and she walks back off after telling us it won’t take long. The rest of the breakfast goes by quickly, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I like spending time with Gage, especially when it could be considered as a date, but I can’t help but feel this weird sinking feeling. As if something’s going to go wrong at any moment. That, plus I’ve been so anxious the whole time about seeing Xander in just a few hours. It doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right.

When I went to take the bill, Gage swoops it up. “I was gonna-” “Don’t worry about it, Y/N. You paid at the diner last night,” He smiled at me before taking out his card. I bit my lip. I wanted to say he doesn’t have to. I wanted to say he shouldn’t pay for me because I don’t deserve that kind of treatment. But, as always, I said nothing.

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta x you #jeff the killer headcanons #jeff the killer x male reader #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #male reader #x male reader #slenderman

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rorimoon9597 · 5 months

Text

"I hate being the captain," Shiro whined.

"No you don't," Adam replied. Shiro pouted and rested his head on the bed next to Adam.

"Sometimes I do, though. I can understand why I was the best person to command an entire warship, but at the same time I can't understand the reason why." Adam snorted.

"I thought that it would be obvious. You're the only one that the Paladins will listen to," he said.

"Sometimes they don't listen," Shiro rebuts.

"They still have a lot of respect for you. It's admirable, how much they care about you."

Shiro can't argue against that. His team has always cared about him, even when he was just a guy who they all looked up to. They'd all come to know him for himself, not for his achievements, and he's glad for that.

"Anyway, the medics say that I'll be free to leave soon. Where will I be sleeping?" Shiro lifted his head to look at Adam better.

"Well... I was wondering if... if you'd like to share a room with me." He didn't expect an answer. He wouldn't be upset at Adam if he declined.

"I'd like that," Adam admitted. Shiro nodded.

"Okay. I'll get spare clothes for you, then," Shiro said. He smiled. "I'm being so awkward right now."

"You are," Adam agreed.

"You love me though."

"I hate it when you're right." Shiro smiled even wider.

"Sure," he said. His comm beeped. He pulled it out and checked it. "I have to go. Something about the Paladin's mission has come up."

"Go. I'll still be here when you get back."

"Alright. If it takes longer than expected then I'll get someone to come with a uniform. Sorry, but you're going to have to wear an orange one."

"It's fine, Takashi. Now go, I'll be fine." There's a fond exasperation in Adam's voice. Shiro stood up and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Adam's forehead.

"Alright. I'll see you later." He left, heading for the meeting room to see what he was needed for.

It's not until dinner time that he's free. He walked to the ship cafeteria, feeling the weight of the day on his shoulders. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed with Adam.

"You look like shit," Adam commented. Shiro looked at him.

"I feel like it," he admitted. Adam smiled at him.

"Come on, you'll feel better after some food, a shower, and some sleep." Adam pulled him into the cafeteria. They grabbed their dinner and sat together to eat.

The crew didn't bother them through out dinner. It was just the two of them, talking and eating. The tension from the day leaked out of Shiro slowly, almost unnoticeable.

When they finished, Adam forced him away from work.

"You need to rest," he insisted. Shiro didn't try to stop him, only asked Curtis to clear the rest of his schedule and to tell the crew that he didn't want to be disturbed.

They made it to their room. Adam pulled Shiro into the bathroom.

"Wait- you don't need to help me here," Shiro said. Adam raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not going to listen to that, and you know it." Shiro sighed.

"I do," he agreed. Adam let go of his hand, only to place his hands on either side of Shiro's face. Adam studied him for a few moments.

"You need some down time, Takashi. Let me take care of you." Shiro leaned into Adam's hands, eyes closed. He held one of Adam's wrists and turned his head to kiss the palm of his hand.

"Alright," he agreed. "I'll let you take care of me."

"Good," Adam said. He removed his hands from Shiro's face and reached into the shower, turning on the water.

Adam was careful in his movements, caring, even. He helped Shiro out of his uniform, chucking parts of it to the side. His fingers traced the scars on his skin. Scars from fights in the gladiator pit and from his Paladin work alike. Adam traced over them with gentle fingers, never lingering too long.

He moved Shiro to stand under the spray of the shower. There was movement outside of the shower, and then Adam was joining him. Shiro was reminded of the times when the pain from his illness was too much for him to move very far, or stand for long. Adam had always helped him shower then, and each time it was with the same gentleness and care.

He wrapped his arms around Adam and buried his face into his shoulder. Adam traced circles onto his skin. It really was comforting, standing here in the shower with the person he loved the most after a relatively stressful day, after being deprived of something like this for so long.

Adam gently pushed Shiro's head away from his shoulder and grabbed the shampoo. Shiro let him massage it into his scalp, practically turning into goo with the motions. When Adam was done, he tilted his head back to wash out the suds. Adam repeated the motions with the conditioner, taking his time to comb out any knots in Shiro's hair. Not that there really was anything, just in his floof. It gave Adam an excuse to spend longer than necessary on Shiro's hair.

When he was finished with that, he moved to washing Shiro's body. He didn't have the energy to be embarrassed by it. Why should he, when they'd done stuff like this before? And Adam was so gentle, it made Shiro want to cry.

"Are you okay?" Adam asked. Shiro nodded.

"Yeah. I just- I've never realised just how much I missed you," he replied. Adam smiled gently. He pulled Shiro into a hug.

"At least we're here, now," Adam said. Shiro pressed a kiss into Adam's shoulder in reply. He decided that it wasn't enough, so He pulled away to press a kiss to Adam's lips. They were just as soft as he remembered.

Funny, how I was able to remember how it feels to kiss him but not how much I love to make him laugh, he thought to himself. He let himself get wrapped up in Adam. The feeling of his skin, his lips, the warmth he brought Shiro. The love that they still had for each other.

"I love you," he whispered when they pulled apart, noses touching.

"I love you too, Takashi," Adam replied. He pressed another kiss to Shiro's lips, then reached out to turn off the water.

Adam dried him off and helped him into clean clothes before he dried himself off and pulled on his own clothes. They climbed into bed together and laid there, facing each other. They just laid there like that. Shiro was still taking in the fact that they were together again.

"What are we?" Shiro asked. He hated how small his voice sounded, how insecure it was.

Adam was silent for a while before he answered.

"I don't know." It was an honest answer, one that was true through and through. Neither of them knew what their relationship status was anymore. All they knew was that they were lovers.

"What do you want us to be?" He wanted Adam to call the shots. It's all he could do, after going off to Kerberos despite Adam's protests.

"I..." Adam trailed off. In the darkness, Shiro could make out the shape of Adam's face. He knew that the other man was thinking. "I know for a fact that I love you, Takashi. I still want to be with you for the rest of my life."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." They went silent again. "What about you, Takashi?"

"I want that too," he admitted. There was the soft sound of movement, and then Adam's hand was cupping his cheek.

"Then let's have that. We don't have to get married now, but I want to do that at some point."

"I want to marry you, too. I was the one who proposed, right?" Shiro said. Adam laughed.

"Yeah. You were a mess."

"Hey!" Shiro pouted. "You said yes anyway." Adam's laughter died down. Shiro could see the smile on his face, even though it was pitch black at that point. The lights had turned off a while ago.

"And I'd say it again. But... it might take a bit for us to get back to that point." Adam was right. Shiro sighed. He moved his head so that his forehead was touching Adam's forehead.

"So... back to boyfriends?" He asked.

"Yeah. At least we're together." Shiro hummed in response.

"That's all that matters now," he agreed.

Shiro wrapped his arms around Adam and tucked himself under his chin.

"Goodnight, Takashi."

"Goodnight. I love you."

"I love you too."

#more word-vomit lol #this is cute tho #cute word-vomit #adashi #shiro x adam #voltron #voltron legendary defender #takashi shirogane #there will be more from this universe #I'm just writing about Adashi and healing ppl while doing it lol #ur welcome #I haven't read over this #probably why its kinda shitty #at least by my standards

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punsmaster69 · 5 months

Text

14/DEC/20XX

the morning rain turning yesterday's snow into slush makes me wonder when the snow'll 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 start.

heavier, i mean.

the heavy-duty kind you can really make stuff with.

certainly feels cold enough to be that heavy kind of snow already.

might be part of why i slept so long today.

lingering soreness from yesterday's events is definitely not helping me get out of bed either.

...slept through all eight of my alarms.

don't know when i went from being a somewhat light sleeper to a heavy one, but i'm sure you have a guess about when.

papyrus seems a little less than thrilled about me getting up so late, but he has to have heard the eight alarms.

can't deny that i at least 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 to schedule myself.

don't think tori minds if i show up a little later than planned anyway.

probably expected it, even.

——

tori herself admitted that her demonstration was a bit of a cop-out.

"After all, there is not much similarity between our magic abilities."

"can't cook with bone magic."

"Right. You do not need me to demonstrate abilities that you cannot recreate."

"So we-"

"wouldn't turn down the chance."

"To watch me use fire magic?"

"yeah. why not?"

"it'd be a hot w-"

"uh."

i'm entirely certain she could see the regret seep its way onto my face immediately.

"that is."

"a way worse joke that i meant for it to be."

not sure whether she was laughing at the joke or me.

just glad she didn't get creeped out by that. i really oughta watch my mouth better.

"what'd you have in mind today, if the demonstration's a bust?"

"Well..."

she looked at me with a tinge of pity.

"You had quite the day yesterday, did you not?"

"Let us do something you would like."

"...alright."

"won't argue with a chance to do nothing."

not paying too much attention to what title i grabbed, i pulled a book from her bookcase.

she picked one with a bookmark dangling out of it; about snails.

tori motioned me over to the couch, with a patting motion to the seat beside her.

i glanced down the hall where the bedrooms are.

couldn't hear any bickering between frisk and flowey, and i know tori wouldn't let them go out in the rain all day.

must mean they're at asgore's for now.

not that it matters who's in the house right now, but i know flowey'd screech at me for being within a foot of the old lady.

——

within thirty minutes of sitting next to each other, it has somehow transitioned into her lying on the couch with me nestled on top.

feel a bit like an housecat or something, but can't complain about what's happening.

this 𝘪𝘴 really comfortable.

i'm happy with it.

even if i'm not quite sure how we got here, or if this is slipping outside the friendship realm.

i'm the only one thinkin' about it this hard, so screw it.

right now, i'll leave it be.

——

"there was an interesting book i was reading the other day."

"What was it about?"

"an overweight bird."

"An... overweight bird?"

"What was the book called?"

"two-kilo mockingbird."

rocking me about a little as she laughed, i took in how it sounds different with my head against her chest.

the buzz of her voice, low and quiet so as to not speak over the calm rain outside, brought extra comfort compared to usual.

i don't want to move at all.

#undertale #journal #sans #toriel #soriel #sans x toriel #h mmmm

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vendetta-if · 1 year

Text

Chapter 6 Part 1 Sneak Peek (Pt. 1)

Hey guys 👋 Time for the very first sneak peek at Chapter 6 Part 1. I still have one more sneak peek for Chapter 6 Part 1 that I will release as we get closer to the public update date on 22nd of April (GMT +8).

This sneak peek is a little unique because it's mostly written in text chat message format 😄 As some of you might already be aware, you'll be able to choose a group chat name for MC and the gang or input your own. Below is some snippet on the choices 😆

Chapter 6 Part 1 Early Access demo is now up on both Patreon and Ko-fi!

* * * * *

The annoying sound cuts through the silence, anchoring you more and more to the waking world. Trying to block it is futile as it continues. After a few more times, you finally turn back around and reach for the source—your phone that is charged beside your bed. Unplugging the charger, you bring the phone close to your face, eyes squinted as you check the notification tray.

Oh, it's the group chat that you made last night, being active. Quickly opening your Whazzapp, you backread the chat.

Today [12:27 AM] You: "Hey guys, are you free to meet up tomorrow? Maybe around noon or so? I've got something important to share."

[02:01 AM] Santana: "I'm always available to work on the case. Just let me know the location like half an hour before at the least because I'll need some time to walk to the nearest subway station."

[09:05 AM] Rin: "I've cleared up my schedule for the day, so I hope it's for something urgent and important."

[10:03 AM] Skylar: "Sure! I'm free today. Where are we hanging out, gang?"

[10:10 AM] Skylar: "You know what, we should totally find a name for our newly-made group chat. Saying 'little investigation group' is kind of a mouthful. I've been brainstorming some names these past few minutes, and I think I've got a good one. How about 'Fabulous Four'?"

[10:12 AM] Rin: "I don't think it's a good name, but at least it's different enough to avoid copyright infringement."

[10:12 AM] Skylar: "Glad we're of the same mind."

[10:13 AM] Rin: "Same mind? I doubt that. I literally just told you that it's not a good name. I think it's a bit cheesy tbh."

[10:13 AM] Ash: "Jesus Christ, can you guys shut up for another half an hour or what? Some people are still asleep. Well, I was until I got woken up by all the buzzing."

[10:14 AM] Ash: "Also, 'Fabulous Four' is a stupid name. And can't you count? We're a five-people team now."

[10:14 AM] Skylar: "Wait, five? So, if you're the grumpy redhead I met yesterday, then who's the other person I've been talking to? I can only see your phone numbers."

[10:15 AM] Skylar: "And no problem. We'll be 'Fabulous Five' instead! The more the merrier."

[10:16 AM] Rin: "I'm not introducing myself over a group chat message. We'll do a proper introduction in person later on."

[10:16 AM] Skylar: "Fair enough. I'll see you later then!"

[10:17 AM] Ash: "Ngl, 'Fabulous Five' still sounds dumb."

[10:18 AM] Skylar: "Clearly, you're just a hater. Instead of casting the first stone, how about you try coming up with another name then?"

Well, it seems like Ash is ignoring Skylar because that's where the chat ends for now. Checking the time, you see that it's already 10:24 AM. Well, maybe it's time to reply to some of the messages in the chat before doing anything else. Plus, it's an excuse to stay in bed a little bit longer.

* * * * *

Okay, next order of business, the group chat name that Skylar and Ash were arguing about. You kinda agree with Skylar that 'little investigation group' is far from the best or the catchiest name ever. Although, you're not really sure how you feel about ${sky_his} suggested name, 'Fabulous Five', right now. Maybe you have a better name in mind?

CHOICE

#I'll stick to 'Fabulous Five'. #'Elysium Cleanup Crew' #'The Vendetta Project' #'The Revengers' #'The Justiciars' #'Justice Squad Chat' #None of these.

* * * * *

#I'll stick to 'Fabulous Five'.

After pondering more on the name Skylar suggested, you decide that it's actually good enough and you actually like it. It's growing on you in the past few minutes of contemplation. Tapping on ${sky_his} message, you reply:

EMOTIONAL MC [10:32 AM] You: "'Fabulous Five' actually sounds awesome. Let's go with that!"

STOIC MC [10:32 AM] You: "'Fabulous Five' is not so bad. Let's just go with that."

[10:32 AM] Skylar: "Hell yeah! I knew it! I knew it's an amazing and genius name."

[10:33 AM] Rin: "…"

You can practically feel Rin judging you through the screen just from the three dots.

SARCATIC MC [10:33 AM] You: "Okay, calling it 'genius' might be pushing it a bit too far. Let's dial it back a bit."

GENUINE MC[10:33 AM] You: "I wouldn't really use the word 'genius' per se…"

[10:34 AM] Skylar: "Aww… Alright. I still think it's a compliment tho."

You navigate to the group chat setting to change the group name to 'Fabulous Five' before going back to the group chat.

GENUINE MC [10:35 AM] You: "Okay, there. It's done."

[10:35 AM] Skylar: "Whoo 🎉🎉 We're officially 'Fabulous Five' now. No complaining 😉"

[10:36 AM] Ash: "Fuck! Fine…"

SARCASTIC MC [10:35 AM] You: "There. We're officially 'Fabulous Five' now. No complaining."

[10:35 AM] Skylar: "Whoo 🎉🎉 You hear that, you grump?"

[10:36 AM] Ash: "Fuck! Fine…"

Chuckling quietly to yourself, you lock your phone and get off the bed in one smooth movement.

#writing updates #writing update #sneak peek #chapter 6 #if: vendetta #vendetta if #if vendetta #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #choice of games #hosted games #cyoa #cyoa game #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #interactive games

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iam93percentstardust · 2 months

Note

*insert french laugh* Did someone say to send a prompt? Ahoy! Have no fear for I am here. How about stevetony kiss prompt with the dialogue "i think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me"? Could Steve be the one to also say it? <3

naferty fren!!! yesss always happy to write steve for you <3

@soliloquent-stark also requested this prompt + "If you win, I'll kiss you" so I rolled y'all into one

Steve does follow his physical therapy plan religiously, and sure enough, by the time the next season—his final season, as a senior now—rolls around, he’s declared fit to play. And, fuck, does he play. Determined to prove himself even better after his recovery, to prove that Rollins couldn’t get him down, he leads his team to victory after victory and then to the playoffs and now to the championship.

Tony ducks into the locker room before the game, ignoring the good-natured wolf-whistles and catcalls from Steve’s teammates as he picks his way through the equipment littered across the room. It’s been an open secret for ages that Steve was seeing an omega, and after his injury last season, it became an open secret that Steve was specifically seeing Tony because he kept showing up to fuss over him, but none of them would ever turn him in. They have too much respect for their captain and quarterback, and anyway, most of them think the zero fraternization rules are just as ridiculous as they do.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve says, beaming at him. “How was your exam?”

Tony makes a face. He hadn’t flown over with the team yesterday, being required to take an exam for one of his courses—something about mechanics, which Steve had listened to all the ranting about, nodding sympathetically since that was about as much as he understood.

“That bad?” Steve asks.

Tony scowls. “No. It was boring. If you’re gonna make a big deal about this exam being the ‘hardest exam of the entire semester’—” he adopts a suitably dramatic tone for the quote—“then it should at least be difficult, right? I overstudied way too much for that thing. I don’t think it took me more than about ten minutes.”

“Maybe that’s just because you’re impressive.”

“Or maybe Dr. Kean’s not nearly as scary as she thinks she is.”

Steve hums. He doesn’t completely agree—no one knows how smart Tony is better than he does after years of listening to Tony telling him about his inventions—but he’s not going to argue the point. He wasn’t there; for all he knows, everyone was done with the exam after ten minutes.

“I’m glad to see you here,” he says instead. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

Tony makes a dismissive gesture. “What’s a little light sprinting through the airport to catch the next flight?”

“And the TSA let you?”

“I told ‘em I was going to support my alpha, and they practically made a hole for me themselves. They’re big Steve Rogers’ fans, you know.”

It’s Steve’s turn to make a face. He doesn’t know how he feels about having fans. No, that’s not true. He knows exactly how he feels, and he doesn’t like it.

Tony laughs, “Yeah, exactly.”

Steve hears the coach starting to round people up for the pregame pep talk and says, “You better get out there. Don’t want you to miss the kickoff.”

“Hmm, yeah, probably,” Tony agrees and starts to walk away, grinning when Steve reels him back in. “What?”

“Don’t you think you’re forgetting something?” Steve asks.

“No?”

That innocent look on his face isn’t fooling Steve one bit. He reminds him, “Kiss for luck?”

Tony thinks about it, then gives him a teasing smile. “Hmm, I’m gonna have to go with no.”

Steve blinks at him. “No?”

“Yeah, no. But if you win, I’ll kiss you then.”

He darts away before Steve can catch him to kiss him himself, cackling like mad as he dodges his hand. Steve watches him go and shakes his head fondly. Well, now that Tony’s laid a challenge on him, guess he’ll have to win.

Looking back on it, he’ll be able to remember the game in excruciating detail. He’ll be able to sit down with Tony and watch the highlights and comment on what he was thinking at each moment of the game. Today though, it feels like barely a minute has passed before he’s standing in the winners box, looking at Tony beaming from ear to ear while someone asks him how he feels.

“Amazing,” he says honestly. He almost says something about Tony, but stops himself at the last second. That moment feels too private, too them to share on national television. He gives another couple of soundbites before the mic moves to Peter, who’d made the winning touchdown in the last second, literally.

“I think I just kind of blacked out when I caught that last ball,” Peter says blankly, still clearly in shock. “I just ran for it. I’m lucky I moved at all.”

Everyone chuckles and then they’re finally allowed down off the stage. Steve makes a beeline straight for Tony, vaguely acknowledging the people who try to talk to him. Tony is waiting for him with a softer, more teasing smile.

“Congratulations, quarterback,” Tony says once he reaches him.

“Thanks,” Steve says, grinning at him. “Now, if I remember correctly, I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.”

“Oh, is that what part this is?” Tony asks, arching his eyebrows.

“Pretty sure. I did win, after all.”

“Well, if you won,” Tony says exaggeratedly, but grabs ahold of Steve’s jersey and yanks him in. He smiles again, bright and warm and so, so proud, and then leans up and kisses him. And it’s a perfect moment, the best way to cap off the best season Steve has ever had. Steve wraps his arms around him, holding him close, and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

#alle writes #alle answers #stevetony #if you like please reblog #i have another request for this prompt but specifically with tony #so that'll get rolled into the second kiss prompt fics

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imrowanartist · 4 months

Text

Thought I'd share some of the writing I've done for the Rosie AU! The plan is to post a fully formed fic (written together with @narcissosbythepool) to AO3 eventually, but I've also written some snippets here and there which I'll start sharing here too.

Words: 988

Tags (also at the bottom): Trans Gaz, Implied trans pregnancy, mention of c-section and just pure fluff :)

“I can’t stop looking at her,“ John mutters, and while his voice still sounds gravelly, it’s also the softest Kyle has ever heard him.

His partner is sitting on the edge of Kyle’s hospital bed, and he’s been holding and looking at their newborn for well over ten minutes now.

“She’s pretty cute, isn’t she?” Kyle confirms, a smile pulling on his lips as he quietly observes the wonder in John’s eyes. It still hasn’t faded since he first laid eyes on their baby over 24 hours ago.

“We did that,” John says, then turns and looks at him, his eyes so impossibly soft, “You did that.”

Kyle grins, despite the pain and exhaustion currently still coursing through his body. “Damn right, I did.”

John chokes on a laugh, then gently shushes Rosie who makes a soft sound of disagreement at the sudden movement. “Ever the humble one,” he chuckles at Kyle, then asks, “How are you feeling?”

Kyle shrugs. “Remember that guy who sliced you up in Latvia?” John’s eyes narrow but he nods anyway. “Like that, but with less emergency staples and no infection.”

Despite his current pain level, the well-performed c-section stands low on his list of worst injuries ever. He’s dealt with much worse and he knows he’ll be due for new painkillers soon anyway.

“Hmm, unpleasant,” John confirms. He looks down at Rosie, who is starting to become a little fussy. They’ll have to feed her again soon. “Do you wanna hold her?”

“Yeah,” Kyle says, holding out his arms. They’ve been feeling empty ever since he was forced to get some rest earlier and had to let her go. John carefully maneuvers Rosie into his hold, making sure to support her head just as Dotty has shown him. It makes Kyle’s heart do funny things to see him being so gentle with their baby.

When she’s held securely in his arms again, Kyle looks down and can’t help but marvel at her. She’s so innocent and small. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, “how are you so tiny? You felt much bigger while I was lugging you around inside me.”

John snorts, then gives him a disapproving look. “Don’t swear around her.”

“Sure, captain ‘bloody hell, I have a kid now’” Kyle returns, dropping his voice in an imitation of John’s and they both chuckle.

“Glad to see you’re feeling good enough to make fun of me again,” John mutters, standing up and adjusting Kyle's pillows so he can sit up a little better. The movement pulls on Kyle’s stitches, but he ignores it. A nurse will probably come by soon anyway, with painkillers for him and formula for Rosie.

John takes his seat again on the chair next to the bed once Kyle is comfortable. Rosie seems to have settled too, for now, only letting out small huffs as she sleeps.

Very gently Kyle strokes a finger over her downy hair. It’s so soft that he loses himself a bit in just feeling her warm weight in his arms and her silky little curls under his fingertips until the sound of a phone chiming several times in a row makes him look up.

“Who’s that?” he asks curiously, as John grabs for his phone and unlocks it.

John squints at the messages. “Kate’s demanding more pictures of Rosie,” he grunts.

“So she’s not mad at us anymore?” Kyle snorts, vibrant memories of the less-than-pleasant conversations they’d had with her unwillingly coming back to him. She was happy for them too, but she’d definitely let them know how much of a hassle they had caused for her.

“Hnngg debatable,” John grumbles, “I think she’s still quite pissed about you rushing her administration by four weeks.”

“Like that’s my fault-“ Kyle argues.

John gives him an amused look. “You could have sent her a little more warning than just a blurry photo of the hospital.”

“Yeah okay fair,” Kyle huffs, “Though in my defense, I wasn’t thinking very clearly at the time. And it was pretty funny to see her reaction.”

“For you maybe,” John says, his tone suddenly more serious, “You scared us all shitless.”

Kyle sighs, readjusting Rosie a little in his arms. John is right. If it hadn’t been for his sister’s quick handling, things might have gone very differently. They’re lucky that despite the emergency c-section, there seem to be no further complications so far. For him or Rosie.

“I was scared pretty shitless too,” Kyle says softly, then adds, “still am actually.”

He looks up and when he meets John’s eyes he can see understanding in it.

“Me too,” John admits, then reaches out a hand, “But we’re in this together, eh?”

Kyle takes the offered hand and holds on to it, his other still supporting Rosie. He blames the hormones for the tears that slowly make their way down his cheeks.

“We better write our own field manual,” he sniffs, “Cause I have no idea what we’re doing.”

John squeezes his hand, and Kyle can see how his partner’s eyes are now watery too. “In my experience, manuals go out the window anyway as soon as the action starts,” John jokes, though his voice is rough again.

Kyle chuckles wetly. “I suppose we are pretty good at improvising.”

John lets go of his hand and Kyle mourns the loss for a second until John offers him a tissue instead. Then his partner gets up from the chair and moves back to sitting on the mattress. Kyle gratefully leans into the contact it provides.

“Bloody right, we are,” John says, reaching out and stroking Rosie’s cheek.

“What happened to no swearing?” Kyle jokes, watching in fascination as she blinks open her eyes for a moment and lets out a happy sigh. Even though Kyle knows she can’t see much yet he swears she looks right up at her da, who laughs fondly.

“Eh,” John says, ”she can’t talk yet anyway.”

#kyle gaz garrick #captain price #rosie garrick price #gazprice #pricegaz #call of duty #modern warfare #trans gaz #trans pregnancy #c section #ro writes

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khujoor · 10 months

Text

CH. I / LOVE ME, OR NOT.

wc . 1.3k

a/n . tired

taglist . @bloomingheartz @silvsie

"Here, it's only five coins. You bragged about being wealthy, right? You can afford it," you spoke to the middle-aged man who was flaunting off his wealth and riches to anyone he believed couldn't afford anything. Yet, his face seemed to twitch when you claimed a ribbon to only be five coins. "This is from Liyue, of course it's expensive! I came all the way here to Mondstadt for what?"

"This is over-priced! You expect me to pay for this?" He argued, refusing to pay you money as he held the ribbon tightly in his hand. "I'm associated with Prince Diluc and Prince Kaeya, so surely you can give me a discount?"

You sighed, rubbing your temple out of frustration. Who was this man, and who did he think he was? "I got all of these from Lady Ningguang, someone who works very closely to Emperor Zhongli. Doesn't that seem reasonable enough?" You would've gladly negotiated a better price. In fact, you would have sold one for three coins if he wasn't so rude.

"And?" He was obviously flustered, not expecting you to have gotten these from Lady Ningguang, one of Liyue's most important faces. "Don't you feel so foolish for selling at an unacceptable price? Most of this empire cannot afford to buy such luxurious items!" He yelled, causing other people to turn towards the two of you, whispering to their own friends.

"Just say you cannot afford it, and I'll gladly lower the price for you. Put the ribbon down if you will not pay." He scoffed, finally throwing the ribbon onto the table. "It was hardly expensive..." You mumbled, sighing once again. You turn around for a moment to look at the paper of all of your sales today, instantly boosting your mood.

"Surely you'll give me a discount?" The familiar voice spoke, causing you to turn your head to see a close friend.

"Childe!" You exclaimed, glad to see someone familiar in a land so foreign.

"That would be Duke Tartaglia to you," he teased.

"This ribbon... five coins, right? I'll give you ten," he tossed a small bag onto the table, making sure it didn't get in the way of other items. He held up the ribbon, admiring the embroidery on it. "This would be perfect for Lady Lumine, but I doubt her brother likes me."

"It's okay. If you were in such a relationship with my sister, I'd be cautious of you as well." You picked up the bag, taking a quick peek inside. "Thank you for supporting my business, my dear Duke," you spoke in a sarcastic tone, still thankful for his support. "Will you stay here with me? Perhaps we may gossip like Ayato's concubines."

"I doubt he would appreciate you referring him so casually. However, I have plenty of time to spare, so I see why not." He got under the table to be on the same side as you, sitting on the top of another. "I heard rumors the princes of Mondstadt are roaming around here. Perhaps you'll be blessed that they choose to shop here."

"What Ayato appreciates is not an important matter to me. He should've learned that the moment he became associated with me. Also, that man was claiming to be associated with the princes. Do you by any chance recognize him?"

"I am afraid I do not. He was probably a commoner, one that was just a bit more wealthy than average." He spoke with pure boredom in his voice, as if the topic was something of no interest whatsoever to him.

"When will you return to Liyue?"

"Great question," you stopped for a moment, deciding between ignoring him, giving a serious answer, or giving him a sarcastic answer. "Perhaps I will get married to a rich foreign man first, then I shall return to Liyue," you spoke in a voice that made it difficult to differentiate whether you were joking or not.

"Your plan sounds wonderful. If I cannot marry Lumine and you cannot marry a foreign man, we may get married, and I will share all of my riches to you," you almost laughed at his serious tone, amused by his response.

"Sounds lovely," you hummed, smiling.

"Excuse me? You're selling these items, correct?" A man asked you, standing with another person. Both wore cloths that practically covered their faces, making them blend in almost perfectly with thieves.

"We would like to buy this full row of ribbons," the other spoke, not allowing you to reply to their previous statement.

"Yes, I am. Are you sure? Considering each costs around five coins, and there's ten ribbon, you'd be paying fifty coins," You looked at the two, worried if they were about to steal what you had in stock.

"(Y/N).. I believe those two are the princes," Childe whispered into your ear before going back to his previous position, making you stiffen up immediately.

"Are you assuming we wouldn't be able to pay?" One of the two asked, clearly impatient.

"No, um, I just never had such a big purchase..? Most people tend to argue with me about the prices as well. Would... Would you like these packed?" You asked, watching as they nodded together. "Childe, put them neatly in those boxes for me. May I take your payment?"

"I'm a Duke. Must you be making me do such labor?" He complained but still got up to help you with the purchase. You saw how the two looked at each other when Childe mentioned being a Duke, making you worried. Thieves or princes?

"Here," one handed a bag of coins, you starting to quickly check if they paid the full amount. Fifty coins exactly. "Where did you get the ribbons? They are not from somewhere cheap, correct?"

"Of course they aren't!" You said, a bit offended, but chose not to have that tone held in your voice. "These were all gifted to me by Lady Ningguang, one of Emperor Zhongli's closest companions. I was allowed to sell all of these as my normal items were not able to be sent on time to me."

"I see," the both stayed silent other than the frequent eye contact.

"Here are all of your ribbons. Have a nice day," Childe said, handing the ribbons, all neatly folded into beautiful boxes. The two took their items away, not saying another word. "Sure, they may have been the princes, but weren't they a bit rude? No thank yous whatsoever. I'm glad we live in Liyue, under Emperor Zhongli's rule."

"Oh, please. If the Emperor was a woman, you would've tried to make her fall in love with you."

"Anyone would do the same."

____________________________

"Diluc, do you think that was Duke Tartaglia from Liyue?" Kaeya spoke, stuffing his face with food, forgetting about manners considering no one else was around.

"I doubt it. Why would he spend his time helping a merchant? They can coincidentally share the same name. Mind your manners, Kaeya. I'd prefer not to lose my appetite."

"She mentioned Lady Ningguang. She has barely any acquaintances, according to the rumors, she thinks very highly to herself," Kaeya spoke, ignoring Diluc's remarks regarding his eating habits.

"And you believed her?" Diluc scoffed. "Merchants are ones to almost never be believed. We got the ribbons for the candidates of women who will be competing to become wedded to one of us, I doubt they would care where it originated from. All they would care about is who gifted it to them, which would be us.

"But he looked exactly like the Duke, I met him on my trip to Liyue."

"Even so, it does not matter. Duchess Jean is more important to us than Duke Tartaglia," Diluc spoke in a bored tone, acting as if he couldn't care less of what Kaeya thought.

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neonscandal · 4 months

Note

"Sure. So for Geto it's mostly that I don't like villains with a bigoted ideology and he's too incompetent to even fall in the "love to hate" category. Really, the worst thing a villain can be is incompetent and Geto in Vol 0 is barely better than your average disney villain. Doesn't help that he never gets pushback on his ideals. Gojo tells him in Premature Death that killing people is bad, but that's it. He spouts his bullshit about how genocide is totally necessary and Yuuta stands there like "idk you might be right, but you want to kill people I care about and that's the real crime here". Nobody really engages with his ideology except Yuki I guess, but that was before he became an antagonist. I could forgive that to a degree if he was at least a real threat, but he isn't. You don't get any of that with Geto, he's not even fun to hate because he barely provides any pushback. He's a bad villain and I dislike him as a person as well. His descent into embracing the superiority of sorcerers and resolving to kill all non-sorcerers was well written, but I don't feel for him at all. Good riddance to the guy, I'm glad he's now dead both in body and mind."

I was so sad, when reading this, what do you think?

When previously asked about JJK Antagonists I didn't mention Geto even though... he is my favorite.

It should also be said that, in terms of scary movies, I love a good creature feature or a deluge into the supernatural but, the scariest movies to me? Will always be the ones with human villains because they're far more plausible.

That summation of Geto is that person's opinion so I, personally, am unmoved by it. I've seen so many piss poor interpretations of Gojo and Geto's characterizations that it's honestly just best to let the story play out so people can retroactively come to some sort of understanding. Moreover, I think there are a lot of people who struggle to concede that, between Gojo and Geto, there was always love. Without that, you can't understand his spiral, you can't acknowledge the humanity of the villain. Moreover, to not understand Geto is to not understand Gojo. And.. since JJK seems to very much be a circular parallel between SatoSugu and ItaFushi, if you can't understand them you miss the whole story.

I'd be curious what villain doesn't have a bigoted and/or radical ideology, especially in shonen? They're meant to be horrible and hard to empathize with. Unless that person's tolerance for villainy is Oikawa from Haikyuu? Most stories hinge on the main character espousing a piece of whatever makes villains.. villains. RE: Yuji being a cursed vessel, Denji being a devil, Tanjiro's proximity to demons, Eren being a titan, Kaneki being a ghoul... I'd argue Naruto and Nine Tails but literally haven't seen the show at all to confidently compare.

Even so, let's get into Geto.

Gorgeous, gorgeous boy. So earnest, so upright... so forged to break.

I recently went on a tirade about SatoSugu which I won't rehash here because... then I'll feel inclined to add more and no one wants to see an adult woman cry today.

As a character, Geto attempts to be incredibly principled. Design wise, he is stylized with features that liken him to Buddha which I think he individually plays into as well to give himself some sort of identity. From his long hanging lobes signifying wisdom and compassion capable of hearing the cries of the suffering, to his gentle chastising of Gojo's flippancy. He believes that the strong should protect the weak while also keeping the strong in check. But... how would a jujutsu outsider come to such a noble ideal?

We know next to nothing about Geto's parents except that they were not sorcerers and, based on his affectionate ability to recognize family beyond blood ties, I think it'd be fair to make some assumptions about what typically informs a characters predilection for the found family trope. 👀

His cursed technique, I think, creates an impetus for purpose. I don't know how he figured out he could do curse manipulation. But we know he swallows the curse, the likes of which is compared to a rag that had been used to mop up vomit, in order to subjugate it. This process, this martyrdom of ingesting the negative run off of mankind has to have a reason to justify his suffering. Because, as the only person we see with this technique, it must feel like a burden only he knows. Moreover, with a special class technique, it's not like he's given much of a choice. But if it helps people, if it has meaning, purpose... he can endure.

We've seen the perfect storm of events that, don't necessarily challenge his pre-existing ideals, but... force him to question whether the ends justify the means. We can call each of these events a moral injury and I don't think it's a stretch to say that there is a link between staunch morality and radicalism which I'm going to bastardize as saying a person may have their ideals on a righteous pedestal. Believing that if I do "A" and "B" then "C" is sure to follow and it allows them purpose and reason. But life is seldom free of other stimuli. I'm not going to go into great depth about examples of this but suffice it to say, this break in Geto's belief system caused an internal chasm we see immediately.

When Gojo asks him if he should kill the believers that applauded Riko's death, Geto said "no, there'd be no reason" which I believe is sufficient for Gojo since he readily leans on Geto as a moral compass. But Geto keeps rationalizing further, likely to curb his own impulse to kill those gathered ignorantly in celebration. OP talks about no pushback on his ideals but the truth of the matter is the biggest pushback for Geto is internal.

When he decided to slaughter that village, he didn't leave a margin of error to come back from. He had to keep moving forward, keep pushing to achieve this impossible world because to not would mean that the atrocities he committed were done in vain and we know, from his characterization, that he would not be able to accept that. Gojo speaks of Geto not starting a war he can't win during JJK0 which is empirically incorrect. When they parted ways in high school, Geto relented that with Gojo's power, his vision could come into fruition. They both knew he didn't have the means to achieve this but he didn't have anything else to stand on. So he hurled himself further and further from his previous path of righteousness and further from himself. He'd committed too great a sin to not give it meaning. To question it now would shatter him completely.

So much of what makes Geto compelling is the fact that he is inherently characterized as a good person, forthright and gentle. He'd have been a great teacher. In fact, the events that transpired between Gojo and Geto are why Gojo is a teacher in the first place. I believe he tried to be a great father figure to Nanako and Mimiko (again, let's forget the murder for a minute) because he pointedly did not raise them in the ways or traditions of jujutsu society. He protected them as best he could even though they still didn't survive their teenage years because they were ignorant about binding vows with sorcerers! Crazy when you think about it. Even what he thought to be a kindness to them cost them fatally.

Things happened to him, likely intentionally, to create this departure from reality and the jujutsu world. He was forged to break because he lacked the flexibility and nonchalance to not be overly concerned for others. He wasn't a diabolical genius, he was overly compassionate and at a complete and total loss when terrible things continually happened to good people who were already sacrificing so much. Riko Amanai was resigned to give up her short life to guarantee the future of Japan. Haibara was a ray of sunshine who, with the means to do so, wanted to help people. The twins were simply cursed to see things the other villagers couldn't, a burdensome reality that damned them to a life he was finding no meaning in, himself. His weakness perhaps lay in a weakness of character? but I wouldn't even say that, honestly. He's like placid water hiding a violent undercurrent deep below the surface.

The gap between who he was and who he died as should be jarring. It should be a demonstration of the grisly reality of jujutsu society. Where classes of 2-3 children are regularly pressed to fight beyond their means against horrors only they know. The sacrifices of the few to protect the many regardless of their virtue. That's the point. He was a casualty of a system that would always lead him toward a moral crisis.

#neon asks #anon asks #manga with me #manga with me jjk #geto babygirled SO hard #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #suguru geto #anime #manga #jjk meta #jjk character analysis #character analysis #jjk geto

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