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hellcat8908 · 3 days

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could you write a azriel/reader fic where he only starts dating reader because elain and gywn are not interested in him and she's available and she overhears someone else talking about it a few months into their relationship but sees azriel being involving in their relationship and deludes/convinces herself into thinking he really likes her, but something happens and they fight(jealousy? you can choose a reason tbh) and he tells her that he only dated her bc elain/gywn weren't interested in the heat of the moment(maybe she brings it up? or he could say it himself tbh, idm) and has to grovel. you can take this whichever direction you want to, if you have other ideas about certain areas!

Hope this is along the lines of what you had in mind. I'm sorry it's so long. Once I started writing, I couldn't stop. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Placeholder Azriel x Female Reader

Warnings: Violence, Language, Angst

You hadn't meant to eaves drop on Cassian and Nesta's conversation. You were about to interrupt when you heard them mention you and Azriel. "He needs to let her go before she gets hurt." Nesta says. "I can't understand how she doesn't realize he's only with her because your sister and gwyn didn't want him." Cassian answers. "She's going to be devastated when she finds out. She's been in love with him since she arrived here." Nesta continues. You quietly walk back to your room.

For a split second, you let doubt in and question your relationship with Azriel. You tell yourself you're being silly as you think of all the small things Azriel does to show you he loves you. The fresh flowers he brings you when you're having a rough day or the sweets you crave when your cycle hits. The way he always makes sure you're alright after returning from emissary work or how he listens to you ramble about the latest book you read. You tell yourself that Nesta and Cassian have no idea what they're talking about.

The next morning, you show up for training late after getting caught up in your book. When you enter the training area, you see Azriel adjusting Gwyn's stance. You temporarily become jealous until you remind yourself he's helping train her. You fall into place as Cassian starts pairing everyone off for sparring. You're paired with Nesta as Gwyn is paired with Elain, who started training recently. You focus on the exercise with Nesta until you hear it.

Elains laughter seems to echo in your ears as your attention is drawn to her and Gwyn. Azriel is correcting Elain, but his touch seems to linger. She laughs again and says something you don't quite hear. Jealousy takes hold as you see the way he looks at her, his eyes drinking her in. Suddenly, the conversation from yesterday comes flooding back. Jealousy turns to rage, and before you know it, you've slammed Nesta into the dirt while glaring at Azriel and Elain.

"What the hell, y/n?!" Nesta shouts as Cassian helps her up before looking for injuries. "Nesta, I-I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. I-I didn't, I shouldn't," your words trail off as reality hits you hard in the face. "I-I'm sorry," is all you say before taking off towards the house. Refusing to stop when Azriel tells you to. Once inside, you're overwhelmed with emotions jealousy, anger, embarrassment, and regret. You can't help but pace back and forth, only stopping long enough to make sure the footsteps aren't Nesta coming to kick your ass.

You breathe a momentary sigh of relief when Azriel walks in only for it to be replaced by anger. "What the hell was that about?!" He shouts. "You tell me, Az. You're the one who had wandering hands." You say with a glare. "You're seriously jealous right now?!" He asks. "Why shouldn't I be, I mean, after all, I'm your last resort." You sneer. "What are you talking about?" He asks, his frustration growing. "I see the way you look at them! You never look at me like that! Just admit that I'm a placeholder until one of them decides they want you!" You say as tears sting your eyes.

"It started off like that-" he starts to say but doesn't get a chance to finish as you run from the room, refusing to let him see you cry. You hear him calling after you, begging to let you explain. His pleas fall on deaf ears as you reach your room. You lock it behind you before climbing into your bed. Tears soak your pillowcase as you wonder how you could've been so stupid to believe that he would actually want you. You ignore his knocks and attempts to convince you to listen to him. Eventually, the other side of your door grew quiet.

Soon, you were left with the sound of your own whimpers and cries. The house made sure you had water to drink and some light snacks if you decided to eat. You ignored the houses offering except the glasses of water. The various knocks at your door went unanswered as you sank further into your mind. All you could think about was how you could be such be such a fool for not realizing what everyone else did. The more you dwelled in it, the more you felt betrayed that no one actually told you. Eventually, the tears dry as you finally fall asleep.

Over the next few days, you remain in bed. You ignore everyones attempt to try to talk to you, including Rhys, attempiting to get inside your head. Azriel keeps trying to get you to listen, but his attempts are met with silence or the sound of glass breaking against your door. After four days of wallowing in self-pity and anger, you finally get out of bed and make yourself presentable before summoning Rhys. He knocks on your door, waiting for you to answer.

Once he steps in, you lock the door and turn your full attention to him. "I need you to give me something to do in another court. I don't care which one or what the task is, I just need to work." You tell him. "I don't think you're in any shape to be working. You need to work through whatever happened between you and Azriel first." He responds. "Rhys, please. I can't stay here. I never ask you for a favor, but I'm asking now." You say, looking up at him with a hollow sadness in your eyes. "Fine, you can go to Windhaven, I have some new information I want you to pass along." He says as he produces some documents from seemingly thin air.

You take the documents and tuck them in the inside your jacket. "Mor will deliver you to Windhaven. Take care of yourself." Rhys says before you meet Mor outside. She takes off with you just as Azriel steps outside. He watches as Mor winnows you away. Moments later, the two of you are in Windhaven. "You sure you're up for this?" She asks, concerned. "I'll be fine." You assure her before saying good-byes. You make your way to find Devlin noticing how some of the Illyrians are looking at you, realizing you aren't escorted by Cassian or Azriel. You make your way further into the camp. You find Devlin over seeing the training.

"What do you want now?" He asks, sounding annoyed. "I have some information to go over with you." You say as you stand beside him, watching the two spar in the ring. "Later, I'm busy." He says dismissively. "I'll see you at 6, not a moment later." You say before turning towards Rhys's house. You might as well be comfortable as you wait for your meeting. As soon as you step inside, you smell the familiar scent of Azriel, making your heart ache.

°☆°☆°☆°☆°

Azriel had been busy with training, then catching up on reports and various paperwork. He hadn't had a chance to speak with Mor or Rhys about where you'd gone or if you'd be back. As the day grew on, he finally caught a break after dinner. He asked Rhys to speak with him in private before following him into his study. Rhys already knew what this was about. "She's away on work and will be back once she's done." He answers before Azriel can even ask. "Where did work take her this time? Probably as far away as she could get." He says.

"She's in Illyria informing Devlin of the changes I wish to make." Rhys states casually. "She's in windhaven by herself?! She isn't in any condition to be there! What were you thinking?!" Azriel demands. Rhys's temper rises akt Azriel's outburst. "She asked for work, and I gave her some it. She'll be gone overnight at the most. Let's not forget she wouldn't be in that condition if you hadn't fucked up!" Rhys shouts. "I know I fucked up but do you realize how much danger she could be in?! Do you even care?!" Azriel shouts as his hands clench into fists at his sides.

"Of course I care! I also know she's capable of handling herself!" Rhys snarls in response. "I'm going up there to bring her home." Azriel says before storming out. The sun is setting as he takes off towards windhaven. Cursing himself and Rhys for this situation. He doesn't care if he has to carry you home kicking and screaming. You're coming home. He flies faster as his anger at the situation gets the better of him.

°☆°☆°☆°☆°

You were going over the changes Rhys wanted to implement, much to Devlin's dismay. He had no problem voicing his disapproval. Both of you were growing frustrated with each other as time went on, leading to heated words and animosity. Eventually, you started rubbing your temples. "Let's call it a night, and we can continue this tomorrow." You offer. "Fine, but don't expect my opinion to change." Devlin says as he escorts you out.

It's dark as that had taken longer than you anticipated. Your head was throbbing, causing you to miss the numerous footsteps approaching you. You were taken by surprise when you quickly grabbed and gagged as dark figures hauled you away from camp. You were injected with a large dose of faebane as they waited for it to take effect. You felt yourself weakening as you were dumped shoved to the ground in a clearing. "Looks like you're not so great without the shadowsinger." One of the Illyrian states.

"I think it's time to send your friends a message." He sneers before you're surrounded. Your hands are quickly bound along with your legs. "I doubt you'll be much trouble with that amount of faebane, but we can't be too careful." He says menacingly. You shout insults at him, but the gag only muffles them. While you're focused on who you decide is the leader, you miss the heavy kick to your ribs. Before you can blink, you're being kicked and punched from all sides. Your screams are muffled as you feel bones crack from the force. Before long, you feel the sharp sting of a blade cutting into your back. A final kick to your head knocks you unconcious. They untie you and leave you for dead in the dirt.

°☆°☆°☆°☆°

Azriel landed in Windhaven in front of the house. He debated on knocking but decided to let himself in. The house is quiet, too quiet for Azriel's liking. He starts searching for you, but you're nowhere to be seen. His stomach drops as he sends his shadows out to search for you. They return whispering to him, "faebane." In an instant, Azriel is following his shadows and notices your small footprints surrounded by several larger ones. "Taken." His shadows whisper. He starts tracking the footprints.

He's led to the clearing where his heart stops. He rushes over to your limp body and lets out an agonized scream when he sees you bruised and bloodied. He hears your jagged breath as he picks you up, forcing a painful groan from you. "Please, angel. I need you to hold on just a little longer, " he says as tears line his eyes before the darkness surrounds both of you as he winnows you home. His heart breaks as he thinks about what you've endured.

Once he lands at the river house, he rushes you inside while Rhys shows him the room Madja and her team of healers are in. Once you're laid on the bed, Rhys pulls him out so Madja and the others can work without him yelling or being in the way. Once outside the room Azriel has Rhys by the collar and slams him against the wall, "I told you she'd be in danger!" He practically growls. "She wanted to go, and I didn't think they'd be dumb enough to try something like this!" He says. "Well, they were, and now who knows what lasting affects she'll have from this!"

"This isn't all on me! If you had been honest with her from the start, none of this would've happened!" Rhys shouts. "Enough! Both of you! Now isn't the time or the place!" Feyre says as she joins them. Azriel reluctantly releases Rhys and stands in the corner. "Being at each others throats doesn't chang anything. What matters now is y/n and making sure she gets the support and help she needs." Feyre says. Both males glare at each other before looking in separate directions. Azriel waits silently as his anxiety builds with each passing minute.

Madja emerges from the room, wiping her hands off on a towel. "She's holding on. We've done everything we can do for her physically. The rest is on her. She will have scarring, and the heavy dose of faebane is preventing her from healing on her own. Her body needs to rest, so I've given her a sedative tonic that will allow her to rest comfortably while her body recovers. I'll continue to check on her and keep her sedated as needed." She says. "Thank you." Feyre says. "She's lucky to be alive." Madja responds, "you can see her now if you wish."

Feyre follows Madja back into the room to see you. Azriel storms out of the house with Rhys behind him. "What are you doing, Az?" Rhys questions, already knowing the answer. "What needs to be done," is all Azriel says before taking off with Rhys flanking him. "Only the ones responsible," is all Rhys says. "No promises." Azriel responds, his voice full of rage. "Azriel." Rhys says, his voice laced with power. "You didn't see her! You didn't see how they left her bloodied and bruised in the dirt like she was nothing!" Azriel shouts. "I know, but killing all of them won't change anything. Only the ones responsible need to be dealt with." Rhys says with authority.

When they return home, Rhys sends Azriel home to get cleaned up before he's allowed to see you. Madja keeps you sedated for the next few days, giving the faebane time to wear off and let you heal better. Azriel stays by your side, refusing to leave except for short showers and bathroom breaks. He hardly eats or drinks as he watches over you. He watches the swelling go down, and the bruises start to fade with each day, making you look more like yourself.

You hear the faint voices as you start to wake up. You vaguely make out Azriel's voice as he argues with someone. "I'm not leaving her side." He says in hushed tones as if not to disturb you. "I understand she's upset with me and probably doesn't want to see me when she first wakes up, but I love her. I need her to know that I love her. Yes, I started dating her because I was tired of being lonely, but the more time we spent together, the more I fell in love with her. I should've told her, but I was afraid of all this, and it happened anyway. This is all my fault." Azriel says gently.

"Just give her some time to work through things. She has a lot to deal with physically and emotionally. She'll talk to you when she's ready. I think you should give her a chance to wake up in peace without having to be faced with you." Cassian tries to reason. "You're right. If I'm going to cause more harm than good, I guess it's best if I wait. I can't leave her, though." Azriel says, sounding broken. "It's only for a little while." Cassian assures him. You hear Azriel's footstep receding.

Cassian takes the seat Azriel was occupying as he lets out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. "Rough day?" You ask, your voice hoarse. "You can say that again." Cassian says before realizing you're awake. "How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Are you in pain? Want me to get Madja?" He rambles. "Cassian, calm down. I'm alright. I just need some water." You answer with a small laugh. He pours you a glass from the fresh pitcher Azriel filled earlier.

"How long have I been out for?" You ask as you carefully sit up to drink. "Four days." Cassian says as he leans back in the chair. "Must've been bad, huh?" You ask as you examine the marks you can see. "Just a couple broken bones, bruises, and cuts across your back." Cassian answers. "So nothing major." You say with a laugh. "Who found me?" You ask. "Azriel did." Cassian answers. "Can I see him? I don't want to bother him if he's busy." You say. Cassian just smiles, "I'll get him for you." You take another drink of water while Cassian is gone.

When the door opens again, it's Azriel, "Cass said you wanted to see me." He says hesitantly. "I do, I hope I didn't pull you away from something." You tell him. "Not at all." He says as you indicate for him to sit. "How did you find me?" You ask, watching his eyes turn hazy. "Rhys told me where you had gone, and I was worried something would happen to you. By the time I found you, I was too late." He says, looking down at his hands. "Are they -" You trail off, not sure you want to ask. "The one's responsible has been dealt with. You don't have to worry about them." Azriel says softly.

"Y/n, I know I messed up by not telling you in the beginning. I just want you to know that I genuinely love you and finding you like that only broke me more. I thought I had lost you, and it would've been all my fault." He says solemnly. You gently place your hand over his, "The whole time, I was only thinking how I should be home with you. I wanted a chance to tell you I love you one more time." You say before blonking away the tears threatening to fall. "I love you, Az." You say softly. He moves to the edge of the bed. "I love you too, angel." He says, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks.

#acotar #batboys #acotar fanfic #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #azriel acotar

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canidae-dyke · 3 days

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I’ve said something along these lines before but I think the typical zionist narrative that “Jews are indigenous to Palestine and Palestinians aren’t because Jews lived there first” falls apart when you start comparing it to the logical conclusions you’d have to draw for some of the European equivalents.

South Slavs have only lived in the Balkans for about 1300 years, definitely a far shorter time than the Greeks were there. Does that mean they should be driven out and the territory handed to Greece? The proposition is absurd on the face of it and then you remember that the kind of people who genuinely want that are Greek fascists. Hmmmm

Magyars have only lived in Hungary for about 1200 years and they outright conquered it, but I think anyone who’s not a Central European white nationalist would also think it’d be ridiculous to kick the Magyars out of Hungary.

This is fundamentally where such an ethnonationalist sentiment leads. It is only through the inertia of imperialism and the backing of western nations that the idea that Palestinians are uniquely not indigenous to the land they’ve lived in for more than a thousand years has taken root

#as always I’m incredibly open to critique and feedback from people who know more about this subject #my knowledge on medieval central and Eastern European history is broad but also patchy #and I don’t know as much as I should about the existence of eg austrian chauvinist movements to annex Hungary #if such a thing exists

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pucksandpower · 2 hours

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Make Them Proud

Charles Leclerc x Bianchi!Reader

Summary: Charles can’t help but thinking of those he lost after finally claiming victory at his home race

The sheets are tangled around your legs as you trace lazy patterns across Charles’ bare chest. His breathing is deep and steady, but you can tell from the crinkle between his eyebrows that his mind is racing. A small smile plays across your lips as you watch the moonlight cast shadows along the contours of his face.

“You want to say something,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I can tell.”

Charles opens his eyes slowly, blinking a few times before focusing on you. A tender expression softens his features as he gazes at you.

“How did you know?” He asks, his voice low and rumbly from sleep.

You shrug one shoulder. “Call it a girlfriend’s intuition.”

He chuckles softly, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I should know better than to try and hide anything from you.”

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you raise an inquisitive eyebrow. “Well? What’s on your mind, mister race winner?”

A myriad of emotions flicker across Charles’ face — pride, awe, a hint of melancholy. He worries his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before speaking.

“I was just thinking about Jules. And Papa,” he admits quietly. “Wondering if … if I made them proud today.”

The vulnerability in his voice causes a lump to form in your throat. You reach out, cupping his cheek in your palm as his eyes shine with unshed tears.

“Charles ...” you breathe out his name like a prayer. “Of course you made them proud. How could you even doubt that?”

He lets out a shaky exhale, leaning into your touch. “I know, I just … it means so much to me, you know? Racing for them, honoring their memories.”

Nodding slowly, you shift until you’re lying with your head on his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding you.

“They know that, mon cœur,” you soothe. “They know how much today meant to you, how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed. They’re so incredibly proud of the man you’ve become.”

Charles wraps his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. You can feel the tension slowly melting from his body as he draws strength from your embrace.

“You’re right,” he finally mumbles against your temple. “I know you’re right. It’s just … sometimes the pressure feels so immense, you know? Like the weight of their legacies is on my shoulders.”

Pulling back, you frame his face with your hands, forcing him to meet your earnest gaze.

“Charles Leclerc, you listen to me,” you state firmly. “Jules and Hervé loved you so much, their pride in you had nothing to do with racing. They adored you for the incredible man you have always been — your kindness, your passion, your heart.”

You lean in, resting your forehead against his as you choose your next words carefully.

“While I know they would be honored that you race for them, carrying on their legacies … I also know they’d want you to race for yourself. For the pure love of the sport that burns within you.”

Charles’ breath hitches, his eyes glistening with fresh tears. You smooth the pad of your thumb along his cheekbone, willing him to understand the depth of your conviction.

“You don’t have to prove anything to them, mon amour. Just being your amazing self is enough to make them proud every single day.”

A tremulous smile curves Charles’ lips as the tears finally spill over, tracking glistening paths down his cheeks. He surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss filled with every ounce of love, gratitude and adoration he feels for you in that moment. You melt into him, tangling your fingers in his hair as you return the kiss with fervent passion.

When you finally break apart, breathless and giddy, Charles gazes at you with an expression of pure wonder.

“How did I get so lucky?” He murmurs reverently. “To have someone like you in my life, who understands me so completely?”

You let out a teasing laugh, booping his nose lightly with your fingertip. “Years of practice, Leclerc. Years of practice.”

Chuckling, he pulls you back against his chest, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. You snuggle impossibly closer, relishing in the heat of his embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything. For being my rock, my voice of reason … my home.”

You press a soft kiss over his wildly beating heart in acknowledgment. No words are needed — you both understand the depths of your connection, the invisible cord that binds your souls together.

As you lay there, tangled in his arms while the first rays of dawn creep through the curtains, you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment. The roar of the crowds, the scream of the engines, the flashing lights of the cameras — it all fades into blessed silence.

In this moment, cocooned in your own private world, there is only Charles. Your brave, sensitive, extraordinary Charles. And he is yours, just as you are utterly and completely his.

Tomorrow, the whirlwind will begin again. But tonight … tonight is just for the two of you. Two hearts, bound by the most precious and unbreakable of ties — love.

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g8m · 1 day

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megumi reacting to the reader’s stretch marks and not knowing what they are? (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )ᯓᡣ𐭩

╰﹕You glance down at your clueless boyfriend, Megumi, who was mindlessly kneading his slender fingers into your plush body while his head rested on your soft thigh. His blue gaze lingering on your stretch marks, which caused a hint of blush to color your cheeks.

Unbeknownst, Megumi was entirely unaware of what the stretch marks signified, having innocently assumed that you had obtained them in battle. Not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere you had created, asked softly, “Is something wrong?”

Feeling your gaze, Megumi looked up. The confusion in his mind only grew when he noticed your blush, not comprehending why it appeared. Instead of addressing your question directly, he blurted out, "Yeah, there's something wrong. You're… just so soft." The words coming out awkwardly.

His eyes widened in interest as your thighs parted slightly, revealing more of the mysterious marks on your inner thighs. His curiosity piqued, his brow furrowed as his fingers continued their journey along the stretch marks, their gentle caress exploring each line.

"What are these marks?" he asked, his tone soft as he traced along the lines with rough fingers.

"They're not from battle," he noted, his tone laced with a hint of concern. "They're beautiful, but… what are they from?" The confusion in his eyes was evident as he sought to understand the origins of these enigmatic marks, his genuine curiosity mingling with his admiration for you.

Megumi's eyes widened as you explained the nature of stretch marks, and he found himself even more confused. "So… it's when your body expands, yeah?" he asked, continuing to caress the marks gently, his touch soft and thoughtful.

He couldn't fathom why you considered such a natural part of your body as "ugly."

Curiosity growing, he carefully lifted his head, shifting to get a better look at your hips. "You have them there too?" he mumbled after you pointed them out, his intrigue deepening.

His gaze traced the contours of your body, searching for more of the delicate lines that marked your flesh.

Megumi couldn't help but marvel at your gorgeous body as he shifted to a more comfortable position on top of you. He gently massaged the plush areas of your body. His fingers continued their tender exploration, tracing the delicate lines on your hips.

"They're pretty. Why do you think they're ugly?" he asked softly, his blue eyes flicking up to meet yours with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

The contrast between the softness of your skin and the firmness of his touch seemed to emphasize the beauty he saw in your stretch marks. The sincerity in his gaze and the tenderness in his voice underscored his genuine confusion as to why you might see them differently.

"I don't think they're ugly," he whispered, his tone firm and sincere. "They're a part of you, and I don't want you to ever feel that they're ugly."

Megumi's gaze remained locked on yours, the intensity in his blue eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #megumi x you #fushiguro x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro fluff #fushiguro megumi fluff #📝˚. ᵎᵎ — ryu #anime x reader

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waltricia · 3 days

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Regardless of whether anyone actually reads this, I need to show appreciation for the writing, blocking, and editing of the last scene of 3x03, “Forces of Nature.”

Recently, I noticed that the LW line “this author is captivated” was very specifically placed over a shot of Colin and I knew it was intentionally done to convey the double meaning of the narration being about her and him.

Since then, I’ve realized that the same thing is happening throughout that entire LW narration. And it is fucking BRILLIANT.

So, first of all, this is the transcript of the narration:

“This author believes that all of man’s greatest inventions are nothing more than a distraction from what is most natural to us. Our instincts. The innate animal impulse that is inside even the most sophisticated of us. For when all is said and done, our nature will always win out. It seems Lord Debling’s instinct has led this man of nature to the most surprising pick of the season in Miss Penelope Featherington. Suffice it to say, this author is captivated. For in the battle between man and nature, it is quite clear that the battle is in fact between man and himself.”

Now I’m going to break it down with captioned stills so that you can see which words line up with which frames and I’ll explain what I believe it all means.

“This author” - When it’s first said, it’s on Pen. The second time it’s on Colin. I think there are several meanings here. Firstly, she’s Whistledown and she’s published. He will be, assuming he publishes his travel journals or whatever. Secondly, I think it highlights how they will be united, in the Whistledown storyline along with everything else. There’s a third meaning, but I’m going to get back to it later, once we get to the second use of “this author.”

This is the Innovations Ball, so on the surface, LW is speaking about man-made technology versus the natural world. But with the introduction of “man,” the shot immediately cuts to Colin, so the second layer of the narration is about him. All of Colin’s invented personality traits are a cover, hiding his true self- his sensitivity and his feelings for Pen. Obviously, this echoes what she wrote about him in 3x01, but it’s different. The context is the same, but this time, she’s not speaking directly about him, and really, she may very well not be thinking about him at all in writing it. After all, she still doesn’t know about his feelings for her. But we know. And the feeling of what she’s saying this time is less jarring; more, fittingly, natural. Because he’s starting to confront all of it as well.

In this shot, Colin has been walking across the room to get to Pen. There were people on his right, obstructing his view of her, but as LW says “natural,” Colin passes those people and, though we cannot yet see Pen, we can tell from Colin’s face that he finally clearly can. She is what is most natural to him.

He comes up to her and says that he has a question for her. The narration starts again. But on this shot, it’s only the one word, “our.” Aside from this just being romantic, I think it highlights that the narration is about both of them. But I also think that it’s not just about them. It feels to me as if, metaphorically, it’s written by both of them. Hence, my emphasis on the importance of “this author.”

We cut to our first close-up of Colin in this particular intimate sequence of close-ups. And we’re really in his perspective now, as he’s struggling to manage his feelings.

Again, he had been masking, trying to be like the other “sophisticated” gentlemen.

But a shift is occurring within him.

And this where I really hope there is at least one other person out there paying attention because all of the elements are coming together to tell us something incredible here. We have our beloved Julie Andrews delivering the line with a profound heaviness. We have Kris Bowers’ “Call Me Simon” coming to a close, sounding like a clock striking midnight. And we have the decisive sentiment of the words themselves. I'm convinced that the words “done” and “win out” being said on Pen speak to the finality of Colin’s feelings. If there was uncertainty before, it is gone now and there is no turning back. He is in love with Pen.

But before Colin can say anything else, Debling steps in and takes Pen away to dance.

Side note: Amazingly, I can back up my theory with this shot and another one of my theories:

I had said, when the trailer came out, that when true red shows up behind Colin, that indicates his love for Pen. This is the first time we see that happen.

But anyway, back to Whistledown…

Debling is the literal “man of nature,” while Colin is the metaphoric “man of nature.” Both have picked Pen.

We’ve finally come to the second “this author” and here’s the third thing I wanted to say about it: Possibly my favorite thing about this sequence, is that it acts as a vehicle for the representation of the Polin role reversal. From one end of the Whistledown narration to the other, Pen and Colin literally and metaphorically switch places, seamlessly. They exchange their physical places in the room. She’s the wallflower, then he’s the wallflower. She’s the author, then he’s the author. In a metaphorical sense, they’re both writing this Whistledown piece. This whole sequence serves to show us how Colin and Pen have really been equal this whole time. They’re just star-crossed. It’s like what Luke has been saying in interviews, Colin and Pen keep missing each other. They have brief moments where they eclipse each other and then they slip right past until the next time they orbit around to each other again.

Ok, here’s the final stretch, and it is a fucking fascinating maneuver:

The battle isn’t between Colin and Debling. In fact, Debling doesn’t signify at all here. I’d say there are actually three other battles being referenced: Colin and himself, Pen and herself, and Colin and Pen. The first “man” of that sentence is said on Colin, while “nature” is said on Pen. So in the battle between Colin and Pen- for there is a battle, as Cressida will mention in 3x04 when she says “Eros and Psyche, battling it out”, and also there will be more blatant battling in part 2- the real battles Colin and Pen are facing are the ones within themselves.

Of course I’ve already written about Colin’s battle with himself.

The reference to Pen’s battle with herself is particularly interesting to me. At first, I didn’t see it and I didn’t understand why that bit of the narration was spoken over the Pen and Debling dance instead of over Colin. Then I realized that the second “man” of that sentence is said directly on top of this shot where, again, it’s not about Debling; it’s her face we’re seeing. Then, Debling spins her and the “himself” is on Pen too. And I know I’m right about this because the shot was in the trailer and I watched it so many times. And I noticed that Sam Phillips is very specifically looking away from the camera in this moment. I figured it was because we had to know that the moment was about her. And I was right.

Pen’s journey is her reconciliation with herself. Colin and Pen really have the same inner battles. They both need to drop their masks. That’s why the mirror scene is going to be so important- it’s about exposing and embracing the bare parts of both of them. They are already equal and united. They just need to see it.

Ok that’s it. I’m done. I got it out. And I literally can’t add any more images to this post. To anyone who will have read this fuckin novel I just wrote, thanks for sticking around. These ballroom sequences are particularly difficult for the cast and crew to do, and there is obviously so much complexity in this one, so I feel like it should all be acknowledged. Someone has to acknowledge it, and if that has to be me, I will gladly continue using up my Friday afternoons to do so.

To the cast and crew, to the captain of the season 3 ship, Jess Brownell, to the director, Andrew Ahn, and writer, Eli Wilson Pelton, to everyone’s favorite choreographer/movement director, Jack Murphy, to Luke, Nic, and Julie fuckin Andrews, I see you and I love you. Please keep doing what you’re doing. It’s all worth it. ♥️

#my obsession with this show and specifically this episode is unlike anything i’ve ever experienced before #forces of nature #innovations ball #hawkins ball #polin #lady whistledown #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #netflix #andrew ahn #jack murphy #jess brownell #eli wilson pelton #obsessive bridgerton things #bridgerton analysis

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euphorajeon · 3 days

Note

'make it right' with jk for the 1k celebration pleeeaaaasssseeee 🫶

light of the morning

— request: jeongguk + make it right - bts

— pairing: jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, angst

— word count: 2.7k

— warnings/tags: idol!jk, college student!oc, mild angst, they're best friends, insecurities and self-doubt thoughts.

— summary: in the eternal night that seems endless, jeongguk finds his peace in the light of the morning.

— author's note: hi anon! thanks for requesting :) summary is obviously inspired by the lyrics of make it right, which i used as the general inspiration for the story. i hope it doesn't stray too far from what you had in mind, hehe. enjoy!

a continuation of opposite of sun. i suggest to read that first before reading this!

masterlist

‘Jeongguk Takes Over Times Square With a Surprise Performance’

‘Massive Crowd Gathers In Times Square for a Jeongguk Surprise Performance’

‘Jeongguk Surprises Times Square Crowd With a Free Concert’

It’s been a day since Jeongguk’s surprise performance at Times Square, and the media headlines praising his performance just keep flooding in. In the articles, there were no flaws in his performance. Impeccable. Perfect. The media especially highlighted the way his fans only got a 30-minute notice before the performance, yet they were able to fill up the streets of Times Square. They were loud, singing along to his songs word for word, and Jeongguk is so proud.

The praises didn’t only come from online articles, they also came from the radio hosts and interviewers who were lined up in Jeongguk’s schedule today. It’s refreshing to answer questions outside of the usual ‘What’s your favorite food to eat in the US?’ and about his surprise performance instead. Jeongguk is grateful that his manager, Namjoon, scheduled these interviews after the performance instead of before it.

“Do I have any more interviews for today?” Jeongguk asks Namjoon, peeking at the clock on his phone. It’s only a little after seven in the evening. He knows it’s a silly question to ask, already knowing the answer by the look on Namjoon’s face.

“You have two more, actually,” Namjoon answers regardless. “Plus taping for two songs for one of them. I thought you knew this already?”

“Uh, yeah, just making sure.” Jeongguk clears his throat, eyes still on his phone.

“You’ve been checking your phone a lot today. Something wrong?” Namjoon inquires, a worried look replacing the duh one he had on his face earlier.

“No. Everything’s okay.”

Yes, something is very wrong.

It’s been more than a day since he video-called you, a little over a day since his performance at Times Square, and little less than a day since he texted you the YouTube link of said performance. In that time frame, his phone is completely void of any notification from you. No texts, no calls, even no tweets or an Instagram DM. You’ve been totally silent and it’s starting to get on his nerves. Why are you leaving him in the dark?

“You sure? You look like you want to punch someone.”

What he wants is praise from you! No, he doesn’t want it, he needs it. All the flowery words from the media and radio hosts mean nothing if he hasn’t heard one from you. Ever since he started his singing career, your opinion has always been one of the first ones he seeks. Without it, he’s lost. Left wondering whether his performance deserved the accolades, or they were only for his pretty face.

“Jeongguk, we’re here. Put a mask on and smile. You can worry about your best friend later,” Namjoon says the moment the car comes to a stop in the parking lot of a building somewhere in New York. Jeongguk looks at him as he’s getting off the vehicle, confused. His manager throws him a small smile. “Don’t look like that, it’s kinda obvious you’re thinking about her.”

“I haven’t heard from her since yesterday, hyung,” Jeongguk sighs. “I have the right to be worried.”

“You’re not the only one with stuff to do, you know? Maybe she’s busy too. I’m sure she’s fine,” Namjoon tries to reassure him. “Give her a call after this, to ease your mind.”

Namjoon is right. You’re probably busy juggling midterms and your part-time job back home. The chasm he felt yesterday opens back up, gaping to remind him that you two are worlds apart. Superstar Jeongguk who replies to texts in seven business days has no right demanding a reply from a regular college student after only one day.

Two more interviews. Two more songs to perform. Then he can hear your voice, see your face, and everything is going to be okay again.

Jeongguk finishes his schedule for the day a little after 1 AM. He tries to call you in the car, on the way back to his hotel. No answer. Tries again when he reaches his hotel room. Then tries again after he showered and changed into comfortable clothes to sleep in.

Ten missed calls.

Jeongguk goes to sleep with a dark cloud in his mind, completely restless.

In the morning, when the sun is already up—the way the moon is in Seoul, where you are—Jeongguk cracks his eyes open to stare at the ceiling in his room, his heart still heavy with worry. Also heavy is his head when he sits up on his huge hotel bed, likely due to his tossing and turning in his sleep all night. It doesn’t help that his lockscreen is still void of notifications labeled with your name. You’ve been MIA for almost two full days. Where are you?

He sends seven more bubbles in your chatroom, a sigh slipping past his lips when the tiny word under the blue bubble only reads delivered. He’s on his last thread of hope when he clicks on your contact picture to video call you, and that thread snaps when all he’s staring at on the screen is his own puffy and tired face.

Maybe he should order some breakfast. Get something to munch on, pry his mind away from the thought of you and what you’re up to in a country far, far away from where he is. He hopes you’re okay. He hopes you aced that midterm you were up until three to study for (although you spent the good part of the last hour talking to him on FaceTime). He hopes you’re eating well and not some instant cup ramyeon or shitty take-out from the Chinese place by your apartment that you frequent because it’s cheap.

After skimming through the room service menu, Jeongguk places an order of breakfast enough to feed five people. (What? He needs his energy. And a distraction.) The kind hotel staff who took his order informed him that his food will be ready in around 20 minutes. Good. Plenty of time to track his schedule for today and not think about you. (So much for a distraction.)

As it turns out, his itinerary for today is not packed with work schedule. Namjoon had only written ‘Explore’ along with a note to bring the camera noona who usually follows Jeongguk around to film all of his adventures as an idol. Said “adventure” is typically limited to dressing rooms of music shows, though. Oh, maybe Namjoon wants him to stroll around the city and make a vlog out of it, give his fans a little peek of what he does in his down time in New York.

In order to do that, he has to shower, get dressed, and maybe get his makeup done. He definitely needs to get his hair done, though, there’s no way he’s going out with this bird nest atop his head. Or maybe he could go natural, let his hair breathe for the day. Namjoon said it makes him look like a college boyfriend, and apparently, his fans love the look. Throw some hoodie and jeans on, and Jeongguk would be ready to go to class with you.

Ah, you again.

His mindless scrolling on Twitter in procrastination halts, the words on his phone not registering as his mind goes back to you. What would it feel like to go to class with you? To watch your focused face in class, trying to absorb knowledge from the professor? To be there next to you, answer your question whenever you struggle to grasp a concept? To be your college boy—

A knock on his door interrupts his thoughts.

Jeongguk stills, waits for the shout of room service! to follow, but it never comes. The clock on his phone tells him it’s only been 10 minutes since he ordered breakfast, so maybe it’s not room service after all. Maybe it’s a staff member, coming to tell him to get ready for the day.

As Jeongguk makes his way to the door, come some more knocks, this time more tentative than the one prior. Before he could reach the door, the person on the other side speaks.

“Jeongguk..?” It sounds muffled by the door, but the voice rings familiar in his ears. It’s the voice he last heard almost two days ago, via a video call connection between New York and Seoul. Could it be? No, it couldn’t … right?

Jeongguk’s eyes are right in front of the peephole just as the voice sounds again: “It’s me, Bun…”

There, in front of his hotel door, stands a girl 15 centimeters shorter than him, dressed in black jeans and her favorite sage green sweater, with a lump of black fabric hanging off her left arm. A faded black baseball cap sits on her head, so faded it looks almost navy. When she finally looks up to peek at the peephole, Jeongguk loses his breath.

It’s you. It’s really you.

Jeongguk is so stunned that he’s frozen in place, just staring at your confused expression that slowly morphs into one of anxiety.

“Did Namjoon give me the wrong room number..?” you mumble, fishing your phone out of your pocket.

Jeongguk has never yanked a door open that hard in his life.

You tear your eyes away from your phone, jumping in surprise at the sudden movement. His eyes lock with yours, and the shock on your face melts into a smile.

“Hi!”

You’re obviously exhausted, having just got off a 14-hour flight from Seoul, moving 13 timezones backward, seeing the sun when you’re supposed to see the moon. But the way you beam at him is full of glee, your eyes bright despite the obvious fatigue. Jeongguk is mesmerized.

Wordlessly, he reaches for your shoulders to pull you into a hug. They feel more prominent than the last time he hugged you, and he doesn’t know whether it’s from your haphazard eating schedule or just … time. He doesn’t remember when he last gave you a hug. Doesn’t remember the last time he saw you in the flesh like this.

“You just woke up, didn’t you?” you say from somewhere near his collarbone.

“Maybe,” Jeongguk mumbles. “Maybe not. I feel like I’m still dreaming.”

“Up in the clouds, are we?” you chuckle. “Well, if you’re done dreaming then maybe we could come in? Backpack’s starting to hurt my shoulders.”

It’s right at that second that Jeongguk just realizes the huge backpack hanging off your small frame. The poor bag is bursting at the seams, like it’s gonna comically explode if you even try to unzip it. Jeongguk closes his fingers around the small handle on top, testing the weight.

“Did you fit your whole life into this? Why is it so heavy?” he complains, immediately untangling your arms from his body so he can slide the backpack off you and onto him instead. “I feel like I’m about to do the 20 kilometers march in the military.”

“Hah! Try navigating JFK with that on your shoulders. It’s way harder than the military,” you huff, following Jeongguk into his hotel room.

He sets your backpack down on one of the couches, turning around to get answers to a thousand questions in his head, but pauses when he sees you’re still standing by the door. Your eyes are scanning the room slowly, stopping at Jeongguk to look at him with an unreadable expression on your face.

“What?” Jeongguk says.

“It’s huge,” you say. “The room, I mean. They usually are in your vlogs, but it’s different seeing it in person.”

This could turn into another conversation about their differences quickly, but Jeongguk is not in the mood to deal with distance today. For once, you’re an arms-length away from him. He doesn’t want to fuck this up and send you back to KST, 13 timezones away.

“Eh, I think your backpack is bigger.” He shrugs. Safe route, for now. “What do you have inside that bag, really?”

“My brick ass laptop, thank you,” you say sarcastically, finally going deeper into the room just to give your backpack a protective hug. “Still have a midterm to finish and submit here.”

“You still have midterms and you’re here in New York?” Jeongguk gapes. “Why?”

“Because you asked me to be here,” you state like it’s obvious. “Well, not like that, but you looked so sad on our last video call that I booked a flight here as soon as we hung up the call. Didn’t really realize the weight of it until I was watching your performance with Yeseo and I blurted out that I bought a ticket to New York and how maybe it was a stupid thing to do on a whim like that. She looked at me like I was stupid and said I should totally go. So. Here I am.”

If selective hearing is a sin, then Jeongguk would be guilty because he heard nothing beyond the part where you said you were watching his performance.

“You watched my performance?” He parrots his thoughts. “But you said you would have been asleep…”

“No sleep is worth my best friend’s sadness.” You throw him a small smile. “Actually, Yeseo set an alarm for it. And then I went to have the midterm with a terrible headache because I didn’t get enough sleep. But it’s worth it, the performance was amazing. You did great on that stage.”

“I did great…?”

At this point, Jeon Jeongguk should change his name to Parrot Jeongguk, because all he ever does is just repeat things he heard. First his thoughts, now you.

“Yes, of course you did great, Jeongguk. Wasn’t it obvious, the way your fans were screaming their lungs out for you?”

I only wanted to hear it from you, Jeongguk thinks. The media headlines and praises from the radio hosts and interviewers flash in his mind, all positive feedback for his performance, yet still planted a seed of doubt in his mind. It caused an ugly darkness to settle in his mind, one that worsened with every call you didn’t pick up.

“Why’d you ghost me, then?”

Way to ruin this moment, Jeon Jeongguk.

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. Between catching up on sleep and rushing for the flight, I just didn’t have the time to look at my phone at all. Also, I was on the plane? It takes a long time to get here from Korea if you didn’t know.”

“So it’s not because my performance is bad?”

You get up from your position on the couch to grip him on the shoulders, your nails digging into the material of his t-shirt. You have to strain your neck to be able to look him in the eyes, but you hold his gaze firmly like the position doesn’t hurt you at all.

“Jeon Jeongguk, listen to me. Your performance was great, you looked handsome, your singing was on-point, your high note was awesome, your dancing was super cool, and the crowd was really loud. I don’t know what kind of validation you seek, but I personally think everything about your performance was perfect.”

Yours. I only want your validation.

Slowly, the darkness in his mind begins to disperse, replaced by this warm beam of light piercing through the clouds. It settles in his mind like a blanket, protecting him from any more bad thoughts. He thinks it’s because of you, bringing light wherever you go. Can that light be shared with him? Will he glow from the inside out if he connects his lips with yours? Why does he want to lock lips with you?

“Jeongguk, are you okay? You look like you’re floating in the clouds again.”

Yeah. No. I want to press my lips against yours. Can I?

Three knocks sound from the door. And then: room service!

Jeongguk clears his throat (and his mind along with it.)

“Do you want to explore New York with me after we have breakfast?”

Jeongguk might want more, and he might be ready to admit it. After all, the light to his darkness is here. If not now, then when?

“Sure, it’ll be a fun best friend adventure!”

…maybe some other time.

a/n: thank you for reading! i'm planning to have a part 3 of this but let's see if i can actually find the time to write it ahah

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #fanfic #fic #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts au #bts college au #jungkook college au #jungkook drabble #jungkook oneshot #jungkook au #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook angst

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arieslost · 17 hours

Text

MONACO | cl16

summary: aries’ gift to you all after she watched her favorite driver win his home race <3

word count: 802

masterlist — join my tag list here!

the finish line at monaco has always been more of a daunting sight as opposed to an exciting one. you spent every single lap of every single monaco grand prix with your fingers tightly crossed, your lips colorless from how hard you’d press them together, just for a disappointing circumstance to rear its head.

you do the same thing today. but today is not last year, or the year before, or any time you’ve watched your boyfriend race in the heart of his hometown. today is the 26th of may, 2024, and charles leclerc is crossing the finish line as a winner.

every time he’s won has been special, but nothing holds a candle to this. it’s monaco. the streets of his childhood, the track he dreamed of winning on since he could remember.

“we won it! finally!” brian shouts over the radio, and immediately you can hear charles screaming back, crying out “YES!” over and over.

pascale, standing shoulder to shoulder with you as she had been for practically the entire race, reaches over and pulls you into a tight embrace.

“congratulations,” you say loudly in her ear so she can hear you over the cheers of everyone around you. “i can’t imagine how proud of him you are.”

“i think you can,” she replies, kissing your cheek and running her hands up and down your arms with a wide smile. “you’ve been by his side through every obstacle, just like i have.”

your eyes well with tears, and she hugs you again. “you’d better get out there. you know he always looks for you first.”

simultaneously, brian appears at your shoulder and takes your hand. “come on, come with me!”

you take a moment to hug him, the two of you jumping up and down in each other’s arms before you’re both running through the crowds of people to get a clear view of the podium, namely the top step.

you try to hold it together, because you know that a camera could focus in on you at any time, but when charles takes his place between carlos and oscar, his flag draped over his shoulders and a smile on his face that looks almost painful, you realize you never had a chance. the tears stream down your face, but you don’t even bother wiping them away. you can’t tear your gaze from the beautiful sight of your charlie at the top step in monaco. monaco.

his eyes find you as everyone sings along to the italian national anthem, the two of you included. you try to convey everything you can’t say to him yet through your eyes, and something about his expression tells you that he understands.

finally, after the ceremony is concluded and everyone is thoroughly doused in champagne (you and everyone in your general area as well, courtesy of charles), you’ve made your way back to ferrari’s hospitality and are now sitting waiting as patiently as you can to congratulate charles yourself.

thankfully, you don’t have to wait very long.

charles practically comes barreling through the door, first place trophy still clutched in his hand, race suit and hat drenched in champagne, and you don’t even feel the stickiness of it when you meet him in the middle of the room, both of you laughing hysterically.

adrenaline still pumping through his veins, charles wraps his arms around you and lifts you high in the air, spinning you around as many times as he can before he feels like he’s going to fall over. breathlessly, he sets you down, pressing his forehead to yours and closing his eyes.

“i’m so proud of you, cha,” you breathe out, fingers brushing through the hair at the back of his head before cupping his cheeks. “wow, i had so many things i wanted to say to you and now i can’t remember any of it.”

“c’est bon, mon amour,” he whispers, tilting his chin up to capture your lips in a slow, languid kiss. “just hold onto me for a minute.”

you don’t have to be told twice. you loop your arms around his neck, keeping your forehead firmly pressed against his, breathing in tandem with him and accepting every kiss he presses against your lips while his hands caress the slope of your back.

“i think you have some jumping in the harbor to do,” you say eventually, though you wish you could stay like this forever.

“with you?” he asks slyly, raising his eyebrows.

“i don’t think so,” you laugh.

but in the years you’ve spent with him, you’ve learned that when charles leclerc wants something, he will get his way. and that’s how you find yourself tightly gripping his hand as you leap into the monaco harbor with your race winner without regretting it for a single second.

note: oh guys. i cried today. i really did. i’m so happy for him and so damn proud. the first monegasque driver to win his home race in 93 years. tifosi, we celebrate <3

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever @likedbygaslyy @vintagefucksstuff @piastorys @jisungstuff @personwhoisther @bernelflo @ahgase99 @ferrarisfailedstrats @levidazai @brune77e @watersquirtpewpewboomm @teamnovalak

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 8 hours

Note

What if MC was sent to an alternate dimension somehow and that dimension contained all 7 overblots who woke up there after they were defeated in main story. How would they react to the magicless prefect who managed to defeat them suddenly showing up out of nowhere?

Overblot Universe | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Imagine a trip through the mirror portal gone wrong

Ending up in this other place where it looks like an ink covered version of Night Raven

Reminding you of your dear friends’ overblots

You hesitate to call out for help of any kind

Instead your greeted immediately by an army of ink blotted students marching towards you quickly

A single soldier steps to the front bearing a gaudy but familiar collar

“The Queen of Hearts demands you return to his side at once!”

Before you can say anything, another voice rings out

“Our Sultan demands the magicless one.”

This one has a smaller group but they are much more heavily armed

It leads to a brawl which you are uncomfortably at the center of

Escaping from the warring factions as you make your way to the school’s mirror room

Barely able to step on the premises you’re stopped by a small patch of sand sucking you into the ground

The only one you can think that’d use this is–

“Thought I smelled a troublesome herbivore.”

It’s Leona in all his overblotted glory

Snickering with a fanged smile he grabs you by the arm

Easily yanking you out of the sand and holding you against his chest

Still standing of the quicksand you hold on tight

You’re surprised when he almost lovingly rubs his cheeks against your own trailing down your neck with his nose

Then without warning he takes a deep bit into the crook of your neck

Only holding you still as you try to shove him away

When he pulls back with blood on his smile, you can only look at him betray

“What you think I’d be gentle after you chased me away? Not this time sweet heart.”

He tosses you over his shoulder as he walks further away from the building you want to go

Taking you to an inky territory that looks as though Savvannaclaw turned into some rocky mound in the dessert

With too much ease he tosses you into a scratchy pile of sand

He plops down practically on top of you

“Ow! This is really uncomfy how do you sleep on this?!”

“Don’t whine. Now that you’re here it’ll be a lot softer.”

Too fast and so familiar to your Leona he falls asleep

Anytime you move a centimeter the sand whips angrily around keeping you in his vicinity

But it seems the only time it didn’t react was when a drone with a bucket of water dunked on the sand rising to swat at it

The damp sand could only bubble slowly as the drone came closer to you shooting some small metal thing on your reaching hand

“NO!--”

The ugly snarl from the overblotted Leona dissipates as a flash of blue and black transports you someplace else

“There they are brother! You’re player 2! I told you they’d be here for the special day!”

You want to voice your confusion as you blink your blurry sight into something sharp

But somethings over your mouth

And your hands and your legs

Looking around you are in what looks like a cave lined with wires and technology baring an uncanny resemblance to a friend of yours

“You were right all along brother! Let’s prepare for the final act!”

It’s an overblotted Idia taking a heavy looking crown from the claws of some nearby machinery

Stopping to admire you his cold clawed hands run along your face as if checking if your real

Before placing the crown on your head

The minute the device is settled how he likes it tightens on your head

Bringing a numbing pain to the sides of your skull as you desperately try to wiggle free

Nothing you do stops the inky creation that looks like Ortho manipulate your binds to stand you upright

Bringing you to an alter, it’s there you notice the swirling abyss just pass the electronic officiant

“Now say your vows, my fruit.”

“Of course my precious future husband, master of the underworld and overworld. For years–”

It’s your voice but not

With a tinge of automation your voice chimes happily from the restraint over your mouth

At your not–real—vows Idia seems to giggle causing the abyss to widen and the suction intensify

Eventually ‘your vows’ end and Idia claims he’s going to skip

Letting his robotic officiant carry through like a typical ceremony

Until it gets to that part

“I’d be wrong not to speak my piece when both parties so clearly have withstanding debts with me.”

Part 2?

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stayinlimbo · 1 day

Text

Hoodie Season

pairing: lee minho x reader genre/warnings: friends to friends with feelings(?), fluff, subtle realization of feelings(?), or maybe they've been there all along, pitiful attempts at me trying to be funny, mc has hair long enough to be blown in their face, mc's gender not specified word count: 1.13k note: this has been torturing me for months. i really tried my best here, so go easy on me ♡

“Yes.”

“No.”

"We have this conversation every time. Yes.”

“No, and that’s because you won’t admit that you’re wrong,” you huff, biting back the urge to stick your tongue out at your best friend. You refuse to stoop down to his level.

“Because I’m not? Just accept it, zip-ups are better,” Minho shrugs, lightly bumping his shoulder into yours. Or at least what he thinks is lightly before he watches you stumble onto the strip of grass next to the sidewalk and almost hit a tree.

Catching yourself, you whip your head back towards public energy #1 and glare at the sheepish smile he gives in return as the two of you continue walking past a row of quaint shops lining the vacant street. To where, you have no clue. You don’t even think he knows. Minho just texted you to be ready in ten minutes and wear something warm for another Saturday afternoon of following wherever your best friend’s feet decide to take you.

But let’s not forget the very important topic at hand.

“Hoodies are superior and I will not entertain any other viewpoint,” you declare, fiddling with your warm and comfortable and warm, and, oh, did you already mention warm hoodie’s drawstrings.

“What happened to your goal of being a more open-minded person this year?”

“That’s besides the point. This is entirely different,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. The chilled wind nips at your fingers before you bury them deep into the front pocket of your hoodie.

“Sure it is,” Minho drawls with a quirk of his lips, ignoring the not-so-subtle side eye you throw at him. “Okay, I’ll humor you this time then. Why are hoodies, in your misguided judgment, so much better?”

“Hey— okay you know what, I’m going to let that slide this time to save your from further embarrassment while I destroy your—”

“Boo, get on with it already.”

“Don’t rush me,” you scold as Minho raises his hands in a playful surrender. “Thank you. Now, as I was saying —look at me, this is serious— hoodies are an easily available and affordable luxury item; pull them over your head and bam, instant warmth.”

“How is that any different from zipping up a jacket?” Minho deapans. “You’re not very convincing, you know that right? And what if I don’t want to look disheveled with messy hair?”

“Is that supposed to be directed at me?” you ask with a laugh, hair blowing into your face.

Minho’s smile returns. “You said it, I didn’t.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” you continue. “I’m strong enough to admit that hoodies may be a cause for bad hair days but they’re so soft and comfortable that it’s worth it. Not to mention they’re more flattering too. Just look at me.”

“You look like you got swallowed by a fabric monster that decided you weren’t tasty enough to finish eating,” Minho teases, eyes twinkling with amusement as they scan over your heavily clothed figure.

Okay, he’s got you there with…whatever that comparison means, but it’s not your fault you just so happened to grab the baggiest hoodie you own before rushing out the door. You can’t even think of a comeback before he’s already moving on to his next question.

“What’s wrong with how zip-ups fit anyway? I think I look fine,” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

You can’t argue with that one either. Fine is an understatement. The black zip-up he’s wearing compliments his physique perfectly, the not too tight or loose fabric accentuating the strong-build of his upper body. Ugh, he’s really not helping you make your case here.

“You’re an exception,” you admit with a slight shrug of your shoulders, averting your gaze upwards as the rustling leaves above begin to fall on you both.

Minho’s hand suddenly grabs your shoulder, halting your footsteps and causing you to look back at him, eyebrows knit together in confusion. Heat rushes to your cheeks as he steps closer to you, wordlessly lifting his hand from your shoulder in favor of gently plucking out a couple of stray leaves stuck in your hair and lifting your hood over your head, shielding you further from the crisp air.

“There, now what were you saying about me being so good-looking that I defy your zip-up expectations?” Minho chuckles, letting his hand drop back to his side.

Your face flushes even harder. At this point, you’re not even going to need a hoodie anymore with how hot your body feels.

“Uh, calm down, I never said that.” you defend hurriedly. ”You’re lucky I have my hands in my pocket or else you’d be the one falling on the grass.”

“Leaves you vulnerable, though.”

“Huh? What do you mea— MINHO!”

Your vision becomes blocked when Minho swiftly tugs your drawstrings, leaving only a small oval of skin exposed to the biting wind. His uncontrollable laughter dances through the air around you as you attempt to pry the hood back open, increasing in intensity when it takes you an embarrassingly longer time than it should to reveal your eyes to the world again.

“Oh, you think that was so funny, huh?” you interrogate, glaring at his hunched over figure.

Minho stands back upright, wiping at an invisible tear. “Yeah.”

The cheeky grin he wears slightly falters as you stalk a couple of steps forward, bringing your face closer than you ever have to his. Softer pinks hues begin to color his ears and cheeks, likely from the cold wind or his laughter, you think.

His gaze softens as it trails down to where your hand is carefully lifting up towards his chest, finally resting flat right above the opening of his zip-up hoodie, the proximity causing a flutter in your chest. The wind begins to pick up slightly, blowing your hair into your face again. There’s an unreadable expression on his face as he lifts his hand to brush your hair out of your face and tuck behind your ear, fingers delicately lingering as he opens his mouth.

“I–” he starts.

Zippppp.

The polar breeze hits his undershirt as an involuntary shiver runs throughout his body. Your laughter rings happily in his ears, the bright sound floating in the air as it is carried by the wind.

You pull yourself away from him, backpedaling when he sends you a faux frown threatening to break as his lips try to fight the smile blooming across his features and already residing in his eyes. Giggles escape the both of you when he takes a step forward, rezipping his jacket, before breaking into a run as your shrieking laughter and his lighthearted swears fill the empty street, footsteps echoing on the pavement.

Looks like this time, he’ll be following you.

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist: @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn @inlovewithstraykids @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21

@feelikecinderella

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ihopeiexplode · 1 day

Text

📱“Annoying much?” [← Previous | Next →]

—

Y/N would get into the car with Sukuna following along as he sat in the driver's seat

"is it safe for you to be driving? What if we crash?"

"I know how to drive, unlike you"

"I can drive perfectly fine."

"sure acting as if you didn't almost run over someone,"

"..."

"exactly, keep your mouth shut or else I'm crashing this car into the damn sea"

—

After about a 30 minute drive both of them finally reached their destination, they'd get out of the car and into the cafe

As they lined up the barista immediately recognized y/n

"heyy welcome back! The usual— Ooo who's that? Your boyfriend?"

"NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. NO."

"HIM? NO. YUCKS EW GROSS NO."

After she finished yelling Sukuna would be looking at y/n absolutely dumbfounded..

After she finished ordering they would both take a seat at the corner of the cafe,

"was is necessary to yell? Could've just said no"

"very much necessary. Me personally? I wouldn't date you even if we were the last people on earth."

"hate me that much?"

"what do you think?"

What does he think?

Honestly? If he's being honest his pride crumbled slightly, what do you mean the person he likes doesn't want to be with him?

She'd just roll her eyes before speaking

"anyways, what are we supposed to do"

"do you really think I'd know?"

"no, your the reason we probably failed,"

"oh please, me? How is it my fault, you heard the professor, our collage was nothing but a bunch of pictures stuck together, and who was in charge of that? You. So you shouldn't be talking."

Before y/n could say anything else her food finally came and then suddenly she's all happy and joyful..

"and they call me the bipolar one.."

As y/n ate Sukuna would just stare, once she finished eating she put put the plate away and just stare back at him, as she was about to say something suddenly he moved his arm closer till his fingers were touching her face, then he'd wipe some crumbs off the corner of her lips

She was about to protest before they both looked at the window because they heard a bang coming from it, when they looked they saw both yuki and gojo staring at them with a shock face before they both ran away

Both of them just shrugged it off, before Sukuna and move his hand away y/n already did it for him by forcefully pushing it away

"anyway..what do we even do?"

"dunno talk?"

"about? It's not like we have anything in common"

"say something about your friends and I'll do the same"

"okay?.."

—

"I KNOW RIGHT? honestly how does geto tolerate gojo"

"gojos alright but sometimes he makes me want to rip my hair out"

"EXACTLY?? NOT TO MENTI—"

before y/n could finish her sentence suddenly one of the barista came up

"heyy guys so we're about to close so you gotta leave, come back tomorrow?"

"how long have we been here..?"

"exactly 4 hours..."

"oh alright, see you tomorrow then!"

The barista would wave the two off as they exited the cafe

Sukuna would turn to look at y/n and back at the car as he pulled out the keys from his pocket and went into the drivers seat while y/n went into the passengers seat

The drive back to there dorms were quiet, Too quiet.

That is until Sukuna broke the silence

"well that was fun wasn't it?"

"I guess"

"so where to tomorrow?"

"dunno,"

"what about the park?"

"yeah that works,"

—

[⛩️] @: Likes & Reblogs R appreciated! ^^

A/N: here's the next part guys pls don't take away my rights to listen to music 💔💔

Taglist: @catobsessedlady @hellomeow12 @0-candlecove-0 @shivzypuff @swirlingcurses @1-800-choke-that-ho @attackonnat @chilichopsticks @getoxmahito @memenojutsu @uhnanix @ichorstainedskin @needtoloveoutloud @love-me-satoru (comment to be added/removed)

#jjk smau #jjk sukuna #jjk ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader

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hyeinism · 1 day

Text

୨୧ MAKING ME SICK .ᐟ

⟢ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⠀ you're the tylenol i take when my head hurts . . .

遊玩 ⎯ you find out that park sunghoon really isn't that bad. ◝ words928, ⠀WARNINGS?! · playful banter, sickness, really rushed e2l, proximity, mentions of food, brother's bsf!sunghoon x f!reader, nothing else i don’t think % for @sainns get well soon ily!!

ever since last night, you’ve been feeling like your intestines had a death wish against you. your nose was stuffy, throat sore, and worst of all, your freaking phone died, and the charger was too far for your aching body to reach!

a comically loud groan left your chapped lips as you reminisced over the days where you could properly breath and swallow.

‘good times,’ you mumbled to yourself, before going back to wallowing in your sorrow.

a small, sudden knock on your bedroom door ruined your despairing, making you upset. “go away!” you shouted like the angsty, brooding teenager you currently were.

you heard a tsk, then, “fine, i’ll leave.” a voice you recognized to be sunghoon’s called from the other side of the door, followed by footsteps as he left.

knowing him, he probably expected you to urge him to stay. you might’ve been sick, but certainly not desperate, so you stayed put, slowly falling back asleep.

but, things sadly didn’t stay peaceful for long.

your door flew open, and there stood sunghoon, staring at you with a prideful glint in his eye and a smirk to match, like he was your savior or something. his expression made you scoff and roll your eyes.

“i prayed upon my lucky stars that you’d leave me alone, why are you here?” you grumbled, running your fingers through your messy hair.

“that’s certainly one way to welcome guests…” sunghoon sighed with mock disappointment, just like a parent would to their misbehaving child.

“oh please, you come into my room, ruin my self-pitying session, and then expect me to like, i don’t know, praise you or something? as if!” sunghoon clearly didn’t get the message (which was to get out!), because he completely dismissed your words and walked forward, settling himself on the edge of your bed.

“this is forced entry, y’know?” you mumbled, nudging sunghoon with your foot in fruitless attempts to push him off your bed, but he didn’t budge.

“anyways, i came over because i noticed you weren’t at school today, so i asked your brother where you were, and he told me you were sick; i felt bad.” sunghoon explained shyly. he gently grabbed your shoulder to help prop you up against your headboard, and the softness of his delicate tone and touch surprised you. you quickly dropped your attitude (not really), due to sudden a wave of guilt that overcame you.

“you felt bad? oh, so now what? you’re going to talk to me about your amazing day without me at school and hope that makes me feel bette—“ your snarky insult got interrupted by a fit of unpleasant coughs. gosh, did sunghoon have a voodoo doll over you or what?

sunghoon stared at you with what something that resembled concern displayed on his face (you never knew when it came to him). he awkwardly pats your back, avoiding eye contact to spare you from any embarrassment. once your coughs reduce to mere sniffles, he reached back into his bag, digging around for something; you peered over at him out of curiosity.

he pulled out a bottle of newly bought grape medicine and a dvd of one of your favorite ‘00s movies, ‘27 dresses.’ “i know you don’t like grape, but it’s the only thing they had.” you bit back a smile at the way sunghoon’s voice got smaller and his cheeks got redder; it was cute.

“also, i heard you geeking about this movie like the nerd you are, and i decided to get it for you; it was on sale, so.” sunghoon held up the dvd, and you grinned, taking the box from his hand to examine it.

“really? thanks! i don’t know what happened to you, but you’re being weirdly nice…” you teased, to which sunghoon responded with something along the lines of how you should stop being ungrateful and that he was just trying to make you feel better. it made you wonder: had he always been this nice? why did you dislike him so much, anyway?

a dose of medicine in front of your eyes distracted you from your thoughts. “drink this.” sunghoon urged, and you did. the uncomfortable taste of grape on your tongue was quickly washed away by a sip of water (of course, provided by sunghoon.)

after that, you impatiently grabbed your computer, eager to watch your movie.

sunghoon cleared his throat and stood up, “well, i think i’ll leave now. enjoy your movie though, nerd.” just like that, it seemed he was back to annoying you. but this time, it didn’t make you mad; rather, it made you laugh.

“wait!” you held onto sunghoon’s wrist, gently pulling him back towards you. the confused expression on his face beckoned for you to continue. “do you want to maybe watch this movie with me? like, as a thanks for… caring.”

biting the inside of your cheek, you half-expected sunghoon to say no. so you were surprised when he smiled at you and walked back, sitting down once again in your bed, but this time a little bit closer to you, prompting you to throw your cozy blanket over sunghoon.

“okay, i guess i will, as long as you don’t get me sick, too!” sunghoon pretended to be annoyed, but it must’ve been obvious that he didn’t mind being with you; the way he smiled a little every time you giggled at his comments didn’t really help conceal his happiness.

“oh shut up, we both know you have nowhere else to be tonight; just enjoy the movie, sunghoon.”

TAGLIST & NETWORK . . @sainns , @en-gelic , @thenastone , @xiaoderrrr , @belovedsthings , @a-dream-bookmark ⎯⎯⎯⎯ back to THE LIBRARY!

#𝄞 . . 𝑣𝑖𝑎 writes ꒷꒦#k labels #enhypen fluff #enhypen drabbles #enhypen scenarios #enhypen sunghoon imagines #enhypen headcanons #enhypen reactions #enhypen heeseung imagines #enhypen jake imagines #enhypen jay imagines #enhypen sunoo imagines #enhypen jungwon imagines #enhypen niki imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you

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hazbinshusk · 1 day

Note

How about - Husk agrees to let Reader tie him up or otherwise restrain him in bed, but he's a smug little shit about it, like he knows something you don't. When you least expect it, he breaks out of his bonds and takes over. Can't restrain a magician for long!

I can't believe I let this idea slip my mind after we talked about it! enjoy 1.3k words of cocky husk getting cuffed and topped before getting his revenge on his sweet little plaything. :)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Husk is stretched out on your bed like he owns it, his tail twitching back and forth as he watches you with a look that is somehow both affectionate and predatory through half-lidded eyes. “I ever tell you just how beautiful you are?”

You smile down at him with equal fondness, tucking hair behind your ear as you bend down to unzip your boots and pull them off. Husk’s gaze follows the movement, lingering on the way your neckline exposes more of your cleavage in this position. You catch his eye, and his smile widens. “Now I know you’re drunk, minou.”

“No more so than usual,” he replies lazily, his tone betrayed by the hungry way he watches you shed your clothing. His eyes linger on the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, and his tail curling around your ankle. “C’mere.”

You shake your head slowly, smoothing your hands up over your waist. His pupils dilate further as he watches, and you can see the bulge beginning to strain against the front of his pants. “You’re not calling the shots tonight, remember?”

The muscles in Husk’s arms flex as he tests the restraints you’ve trapped him in. Husk’s wrists are cuffed to the headboard, his body stretched out for you in a long line of lean muscle and soft fur, his wings folded carefully against his sides. For all his reticence to let you dominate him this way, the small, cocky smirk hadn’t left his face since you’d clicked the cuffs into place. For all the things you knew about him, Husk had never captured you as a brat when the rolls were reversed, and you were intent on making him beg in the same way he made you.

“So, minou,” you cooed teasingly running your leg up over his thigh. He twitches under your touch, a soft exhale escaping him slowly. His pupils are so large that there are barely more than thin golden rings around them. Your fingers continue their journey up his thigh to play along the hem of his briefs. He growls, low in his throat, as you let your fingertips just graze over his clothed erection before trailing your hand up over his stomach. “Any ideas on what I should do with you?”

“I’ve got a few,” he replies far too casually, even his hips arch up slightly as you scratch your nails lightly through the fur of his waist.

“Me too,” you tell him, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle his chest, careful of his sensitive feathers, and push your underwear to the side. You felt Husk’s breath catch between your thighs, his tongue licking his lips as he took in the sight of you, caught the scent of your arousal.

“Ohh, you’re spoilin’ me, sweetness.” he murmurs, and your smirk widens.

“Glad you think so, baby.” you reply, but instead of rising to bring your cunt to his waiting, eager mouth, you simply run your fingers up your thighs and along your damp slit. Husk groans as he watches you roll your hips against your fingers slowly, circling your clit with a quiet moan before pressing a finger inside yourself. “I just knew you’d enjoy a show.”

Husk growls in the back of his throat and you giggle, letting your head fall back as you fuck yourself on his chest. Your arousal is dripping down your fingers and onto his fur, the delicate hair tickling the inside of your thighs. He lets his head fall back against the mattress, but the curse he breathed to the way you sighed and moaned a whisper of his name wasn’t nearly as frustrated as it should have been – no, he still sounds… amused.

So, you run your fingers through the feathers you know are most sensitive, thrilling at the way he purrs under your touch. You fuck yourself in rhythm with the way you scratch your fingers through his fur, lingering at the spot on the side of his neck that makes his eyes roll back.

Husk groans in frustration, his fists clenching against the cuffs

“Aww…” you tease with a shaky voice, withdrawing your hand from your cunt to wipe your fingertips against his lips. They part eagerly, his head rising from the pillow in the hopes of sucking them clean, but you snatch your fingers away with a giggle you know infuriates him. You smile widens as you watch him lick his lips, his brows furrowing. “What’s the matter, pretty kitty?”

You return your hand to your dripping pussy, two fingers in your cunt and your palm pressing against your clit. Your breath catches, your thighs quivering as your orgasm building.

“Aren’t you enjoying the show?”

“You’re playin’ with fire, baby,” he warns, eyes closing with a groan as you reach behind you to palm him through his briefs, squeezing the hard line of his erection. Husk curses, voice whiskey and warm honey.

“Aw, whatcha gonna do, daddy?” you sing-song tauntingly even as your breathing hitches and your hips jerk forward against your hand. “You gonna… gonna tell me about all the things you can’t do to me while I cum all over your chest?”

Husk chuckles in the back of his throat, the sound catching as your slide your hand under the waistband of his briefs and wrap his hard cock in the warmth of your hand. That smirk still maddeningly lingers. “I ever… tell you what I used to do for money when my luck was bad, kitten?”

“Fuck, Husk…” you breathe his name in a whimper, eyes squeezing closed as you near your crescendo. Then, suddenly, your moan is cut off by the feeling of being thrown back on to the bed. “Fuck!”

You hear Husk’s deep velvet laugh and feel his claws around your hips before your vision adjusts, and he cages you in with his body.

“How the fu—?”

Husk grins devilishly, holding up a hand. The cuffs dangle from his claws, the bracelets tauntingly open. “Alakazam, baby.”

You moan as he tosses the cuffs aside, pins your hands to the bed and kisses you hard, his teeth grazing your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The fleeting pain only thrilled you further, your arms tensing under his grasp. He snickers as he slides down your body, letting his mouth linger over your clothed nipples before continuing down.

You gasp as the heat of Husk’s mouth finds your clit, the rough length of his tongue abusing the nerves until you feel your body seize up under him, pushing your hips up against his mouth. Husk growls against your cunt, claws digging painfully, wonderfully hard into your hips, forcing you roughly back down against the mattress.

“Stay. Still.” he mutters into your flesh, and your breath catches as he presses his tongue into your hole. He fucks you with it, a deep, possessive purr sounding inside him as you keen. The texture of his tongue sends sparks directly through you, and when his claw finds your clit you cum again, vision going blank.

Your body shudders every time he touches his tongue to your clit, and you hear him hum in satisfaction, giving it brief, kittenish licks as he watches your breathing steady.

“What’s the matter, doll?” he echoes your earlier words in a similarly teasing lilt. He climbs back up your body, nuzzling into your neck for a moment before he thrusts himself into you. “Can’t handle it?”

"Fuck you, Husk."

His smirk widens at your breathless tone, at the way your body curves eagerly against his. "Uh-uh, baby. Right now, it's my turn."

#irkimatsu #husk #hazbin hotel #husk posting #husk x reader #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin husk #my fic #husk smut

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ao3commentoftheday · 12 hours

Note

Any advice on tagging fic when you're not sure if it should be tagged as gen or shippy? A decent amount of my fic is written from the perspective of seeing them romantically but doesn't actually contain anything that's exclusive to romance. If I just tag it & then people who ship it and would read it through that lens might filter it out, but if I tag it / then people who platonically ship it and would read it through that lens might filter it out, and if I use both and additional tags to clarify that it can truly be read either way depending on if you've got shipping goggles on or not same problem. So I'm just not sure what the *best* way to tag it is. (Currently I default to my personal intent of / and sometimes make note that you can read it platonically as well, but...)

My OTP is also my BroTP, so there are a few fics where I've used both tags. Unfortunately, I also used to use both tags on fics that were clearly ship fic because I reasoned "they're also besties". I wasn't thinking about the people who only want to read the fics where they aren't romantic.

Since a lot of people have the same thoughts that I used to have, and even more people don't know the difference between / and & to begin with (if you're one of them - / means a romantic or sexual story, & means a platonic one) I would probably recommend against using both unless you also add something to your story along the lines of, "I ship it, but you don't have to" or "Can be read as romance or gen" or whatever phrasing you'd like.

I'm going to specifically call out the Gen fic readers (and writers) here since they're the ones who usually have fewer fics to choose from - how would you prefer an author to tag in a situation where it could be read either way?

#asks and answers

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greatstormcat · 1 day

Text

Welcome to Silent Hill - Part 2

TF141 x gn!reader

Series masterlist

TW: MDNI 18+, canon typical violence, canon typical horror, threat, body horror, injury detail, mental instability, memory loss

Nothing changes for a while as you walk with the four soldiers down the mainstreet of the place called Silent Hill. A seemingly endless row of dark and empty shop fronts, bars and buildings lining either side of the road, shrouded in the creeping, dense fog. Nothing moves apart from the five of you, and thankfully no radio static begins as you crane your ears for sound that would warn of approaching… things.

Soap, the mohawked man, walks ahead of the group at Price’s order, seemingly to keep an eye out for anything strange. Well, you think to yourself, even stranger than what’s already going on. The baseline for what is weird in your life has been shifted dramatically.

“Cap,” Soap suddenly says, low and urgent, “there’s something in the road up ahead.”

The group slows, weapons raised and they move you to the middle without any apparent discussion about it. You almost don’t notice the way you go from walking beside Ghost, to suddenly being encased in a circle of tall, broad bodies, barely able to see past them.

“That’s… unusual,” Gaz says with consternation. You peer around his shoulder trying to see what’s going on, but fail as Price closes the gap.

“Bloody hell,” Price mutters, “is there anyway around it?”

Eventually they separate and you see the problem. A huge crack in the ground cuts clean across the road ahead, as wide as a football pitch.

“It carries on as far as I can see either side,” Gaz calls back to Price as he peers around the severed edge of a building at the side of the street.

“Was there an earthquake?” you muse, peering down into the yawning chasm that cuts neatly across the street. It’s deep, the bottom swallowed by darkness.

“Can’t have been,” Gaz replies, “otherwise we’d see damage to all the other buildings. A quake big enough to cause that sized crack would have flattened the whole town.”

A stone skitters over the edge and sails down into the darkness below, sent by the toe of Soap’s boot. Your eyes follow the stone’s downward fall, a strange pulling sensation making you lean forward as it goes.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” he mutters, listening for a landing that never happens. “That’s a long way down.”

Your eyes water as you feel yourself being tugging gently closer into the beckoning darkness, your muscles obeying some unheard call, willing you to move to the edge and lean over just a bit more….

“Whoa, careful,” Soap laughs, grabbing your arm and jerking you back suddenly. “That’s certain death down there, gotta be more careful.” His blue eyes bore into yours, a wrinkle at the corners of them as he frowns at your carelessness.

“Right,” Price calls firmly, ringing everyone back into focus. “We make our way around this, the road past the hospital is our next best option.”

You follow along, confused by your actions, and feeling the slightest of tug in the middle of your chest. As though a fine thread were attached to you, pulling you back towards that wide open, hungry chasm. A nudge against your arm jolts you from your thoughts.

“You solid?” Ghost asks quietly, his unreadable eyes looking down at you from behind his mask.

“Yeah, yeah I just feel… felt… odd back there,” you reply unconvincingly.

“You’re not going to do anything stupid are you?” he continues, blunt as a kick in the teeth, and you can’t help but smirk. Anyone else probably would have been a lot more gentle asking something like that, but not him it seems.

“No, I’m not planning anything drastic,” you assure him. “I think this place is just getting to me. I feel like something is watching me, its fucking creepy.”

“You’re not wrong, this place is… I don’t know what. Just keep close, and don’t let it get to you,” he tells you, walking a little closer beside you. The brush of his sleeves against your arm is a comfort you didn’t know you needed and you continue to walk close beside him. For a while you simply keep pace, conversation dried up with the increasingly sense of wariness

Twice more your path is interrupted by impossible chasms gouging the earth and tearing wounds into the ground.

“Why do I get the feeling we’re being funnelled somewhere?” Price mutters as a third chasm turns you from your path. Frustration drips from his words.

“It feels like the whole town has been sliced off from the world,” you agree, not wanting to mention the tugging feeling behind your eyes everytime you see one of the pits in front of you. “Between the fog and these cracks, it’s like we are even in the real world anymore.”

“What I’d give for a working radio and Nik right now,” he grunts and glances at his watch. “Keep moving, we’ve got more ground to cover before it gets dark, and I’m not risking being exposed when night falls.”

“What do you think will happen at night?” you ask him, heart thudding as you begin trailing after the bearded Captain once again.

“I don’t know and honestly, don’t want to know. This place is not normal,” he answers cryptically. He chews on a cigar, a habit you noticed he does when his frustration rises.

The noise starts low, barely noticeable over the sound of boots on the road, but it creeps higher and higher until the buzzing vibrates the hairs on your skin. A large building looms out of the fog, the sign over the door reading Brookhaven Hospital in dull, red letters.

“Shit, we’ve got company,” Gaz hisses, grabbing at the radio on his chest to try to turn down the hissing, buzzing noise that signals an approaching nightmare.

“You,” Ghost snaps, grabbing your arm firmly, “down.” He pushes you firmly down behind an abandoned car and stands over you, his legs caging you against the door of the vehicle. You can’t see what’s happening.

“Bloody hell, how many are there?” Gaz whispers.

“I count eight,” Soap answers in a tense whisper, waiting for Price’s order.

“We’ve got limited ammo and no resupply, don’t engage,” Price announces, “we go around them.”

“Price, this door isn’t locked,” Soap calls, the door to the hospital entrance held open in his hand as you peer between Ghost’s legs.

“Move inside, we’ll cut through the hospital and conserve ammo,” Price whispers. Ghost grabs your bicep and drags you with him as they move to the large door of the building and inside. The radios stop making their pained crackling as soon as the door clicks closed behind your small group. The inside of the hospital is much as you’d expect, empty and echoing, uncomfortable and deserted.

The entrance foyer contains the expected rows of seats, a few knocked over and abandoned on their backs. Potted plants sit in pots looking limp and sickly, and the large reception desk sits empty, files scattered on and around it. The feeling of wrongness that permeated the air outside feels markedly more noticeable here, and you swallow down rising bile.

“I don’t think we should be in here,” you say quietly, but no one pays you any attention as they scan the room and check doorways. The walls are painted in a pale green, with dark grey tiles covering the floors. Fluorescent lights flicker on the ceilings, casting a sickly light worryingly similar to that outside in the fog.

“Clear!” You hear them call to each other, until they are satisfied it’s safe. Or as safe as can be.

“Could look for some supplies while we head through to the another exit,” Ghost suggests. “Place like this will have multiple exit points.”

“Good plan,” Price agrees, patting the large man firmly before nodding to Soap to take the lead again. “Let’s go.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you hiss at Ghost, getting as close to him as you can without risking tripping him up.

“It’s all we’ve got right now,” he replies grimly, “sometimes you have to pick the better of two evils and go with it.”

“Is that what you guys do? Pick the less terrible option?”

“Pretty much,” he shrugs, never looking at you as you follow Soap’s lead through the pale corridors lined with medical equipment and empty gurneys and wheelchairs. “It’s what soldiers do in the field.”

“Sounds like a hard life, having to make decisions like that,” you muse, glad to have someone to talk to.

“Humph,” he grunts noncommittally, “you learn to live with it. You don’t get much choice if you want to get the job done.”

“It must leave you with lots of bad memories,” you hear yourself say, but those aren’t your words, you don’t know where they come from. You glance at Ghost and see his eyes boring into you, sharp and cold suddenly at your callous comment.

“Where are you going with this?” he demands.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it,” you stammer and look away from him quickly. Thankfully he lets the conversation drop, and you stay quiet.

“Shouldn’t we have found an exit by now? How big is this place,” Gaz observes after another ten minutes of endless corridors.

“We’ve been going north the whole time, let’s bust a window open and,” Soap begins to say more but stops suddenly, brining the whole group to a stop by raising his arm.

A siren wails, ripping through the still air like a saw blade, making your entire body lurch in panic. The four men tense, weapons raised and eyes scanning the area. Somehow you feel better seeing them react, as for a moment it felt like the noise was inside your skull rather than outside it.

“Is that an air raid siren?” Gaz puzzles. “There’s no way anything’s flying in that mess out there.”

“I dinnae like… wait… what the fuck?” Soap begins to answer him but stops mid sentence, peering at a section of the wall near him. As the siren screams its mournful call, the pale paint on the walls around you begins to peel and curl as if with advanced age. With a lump in your throat you watch as the little clumps fall away from the wall upwards in defiance of logic and gravity, even the flooring crumbles and dissolves, uncovering a dark, rusted metal grate beneath.

The weak lights gutter, the windows becoming grime encrusted and impotent, smothering the disturbing scene in a choking darkness despite the time of day outside.

“What’s happening? Why is everything changing?” you whimper, tears making the unnatural scene waiver even more as the soldiers switch on torches attached to the vests and weapons. The siren drones on, forcing you to press your palms over your ears, but just as you feared, the dreadful call isn’t muffled in the slightest. It’s inside your skull but everyone is hearing it. You drop your hands rather than face the reality of this unreality.

“This isn’t in the field manual,” Ghost mutters behind his mask, shifting his shoulder slightly as though readying himself for something in the dark. Rusted metal grates and sheets or rusted corrugated steel have replaced the faded hospital corridor, the abandoned wheelchairs somehow twisted into sinister shapes, almost organic and pained in appearance now under the torch beams. Unhealthy looking globs of organic material cling to the metal in places, and you try not to look at it too long, in case it begins to move while you watch.

“Fuck this. We don’t need the additional risk,” Price announces, voice eerily calm given the situation. “Forget the supplies, we fall back.”

The others give a chorus of agreement and begin to head back down the corridor. At the back of your mind something begins to whisper and pull at you again like it did in the street, telling you that going back is no good. It only spurs you on more quickly until you walk into Soap’s back.

“How is that possible?” Soap growls. The set of double doors you had passed through a few moments earlier is now a solid wall, your exit cut off. The siren abruptly stops at this point, and the pounding of far off machinery can be heard thrumming through the decaying metal. It’s almost as though a heart is beating, perhaps what is creating the creeping tendrils that twist around the metalwork around you.

“Looks like we keep pushing forward then,” Price says, more quietly this time, and the way he exchanges a look with Ghost isn’t lost on you. There’s a note of concern to it, and it leaches into you, taking hold and feeding your fear. “I don’t like it any more than the rest of you but we’re not just going to sit around here without thumbs up our arses waiting for whatever is doing this to come find us. We move.”

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