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bettyfrommars · 11 months

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Ready, Steddie, Go

biker!tattooed!Steddie x Fem Reader

🚨Pure smut, porn plot, 18+Only, biker!Steddie, tattooed!Steddie, unprotected p in v, unprotected p in a, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, rimming, slight choking, tag team, double penetration, spit roast, unprotected sex with strangers (do not recommend), praise kink, dirty talk, PLS no minors. Word count: 2.1k

A/N: Since I've been writing the older!biker! Eddie series, I'm on Fire, I've had several requests for some biker!Steddie smut, but the way I wrote them in the series, I couldn't see them doing this, so I just put them in a different au where they have a moving business: problem solved. They refer to themselves as Steddie in this 🙃 Am I even doing this right??

The two guys who delivered the bed, sofa, and office furniture to your new apartment just happened to be two hot bikers, covered in tattoos. The one with the long, dark wavy hair was Eddie, and the one with the thick head of brown hair slicked back with a curl hanging down his forehead was Steve. They both had big, warm brown eyes that looked you up and down with appreciation when you opened the door.

They carried the mattress in and you found them putting the bed frame together for you, even though that was not part of their job.

“Don’t sweat it, Princess,” Eddie glanced over at you with a wink as he finished cranking one of the bolts in secure. “We’ll take care of you.”

You stood watching them from the doorway as they finished up. They were both wearing light blue jumpsuits that buttoned down the front with their logo: Ready Steddie Go Movers, and they both had them unbuttoned down their chests, exposing all of their ink.

When they were finished, you asked if they each wanted some of the iced tea you had just made, and as you were handing their glasses over, you gave them your own appreciative look. “Not wearing back braces? You two are hard core.”

“You have no idea,” Steve said, licking his lips as he appraised you from under hooded eyes. His hand that cupped around the glass had a ball of flames on it and symbols across his knuckles. “We’re used to strapping pianos to our backs and walking up flights of stairs, so this was nothing.”

They took a few big gulps, draining the liquid completely, and you watched their tatted throats jerk as they swallowed, and your pussy quivered. Eddie asked if you needed anything else, because it was the end of their day, and time to head home.

You lived alone, and there was an instant chemistry between the three of you that was palpable.

So, you took a chance, pushing up against Eddie as he stepped to pass through the door frame. “You could stay, if you want,” you said, looking up at him while you undid another button on his jumpsuit, watching a coy smile spread on his thick lips.

Eddie stepped closer, pushing your back against the doorway, one hand coming up to gently graze your hard nipple through your shirt with his thumb. He searched your eyes as he spoke to Steve, “what do you think? Should we give her the Steddie special?”

Steve was watching, palming his cock through his jumpsuit at the thought of sliding it into one of your holes. “Yeah, man, I think we’ve got time.”

A few minutes later, the boys stripped out of their jumpsuits and boxers, fists stroking the tips of their enormous cocks as they planted kisses across your shoulders and helped you undress. Steve was behind you, and as you took your bra off, his hands were right there to cup your beasts and play with your nipples. “Fuck, baby, your tits are perfect,” he mumbled in your ear, pre-cum from the tip of his dick already dotting the crack of your ass.

You tilted your head back to meet Steve’s eager kiss with a moan as Eddie slid his hand down your underwear, hissing at what he found. “This one didn’t need much coaxing at all,” he breathed, swiping his fingers back and forth over your nub as Steve plucked at your nipples and bent his head to suck hickey’s into your neck, making you writhe.

Eddie pressed his thumb down into your soaking wet folds a few times, and then brought that hand up to grab your chin, thumb going in your mouth for you to suck. “That’s a good girl,” Eddie praised, as your tongue rolled around his thumb, licking it clean. "Taste how wet you get for us."

The boys were both tattooed neck to foot. Steve’s were colorful, traditional biker tattoos, but Eddie’s were more gothic in nature; all black and gray. Steve put his palm on your back and gently pushed your torso forward so that your ass was in the air, while Eddie grabbed your head and coaxed your mouth down to his cock. Steve slipped your underwear down to your ankles so you could step out of them, and then he stayed on his knees to sink his tongue into your pussy and your asshole, making hungry sounds as he did so.

He swallowed a few times, drinking you up. “Damn this pussy is sweet,” he mumbled between licks, pulling your cheeks apart with his thumbs to bury his tongue deeper, dipping in and out of your holes.

You braced one hand on Eddie’s thigh as your other hand wrapped around his thick cock so that you could lick and suck the tip, drinking his pre-cum, moaning as you did so.

Eddie cupped your jaw to tilt your face up at him. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he told you, and you lifted your eyes to meet his gaze as your mouth strained around his girth. “Look at me when you take my cock. A little deeper, Princess, just like that. Good girl.”

You fluttered your tongue over the underside ridge of his cock and he threw his head back with a shudder, one hand still cupping your cheek, hips bucking against your face, while Steve slid a finger into your pussy.

“I don’t want her legs to get tired,” Eddie told Steve, and then they took their fingers and cocks out of you, making you whine at the loss, so that you could move the business to the bed.

Steve propped up against the headboard, legs wide, and curled you against him so that he could kiss your neck and reach around to play with your nipples again, while Eddie crawled onto the bed and made eye contact with you, darting his tongue out to flick your pussy with fluttering licks, wrapping his arms around your thighs, tattooed fingers digging into your flesh, sucking you in and lapping you up to the point that your limbs jerked. You noticed that the letters across his knuckles spelled H-E-L-L-F-I-R-E and you wondered what that meant.

Steve plucked at your nipples a little harder as he hissed in your ear: “You want my cock to fill your ass up, don’t you?”

You nodded, whimpering as Eddie unhooked one hand from your thigh to fuck your hole with three fingers, stretching you, sucking you until you cried out, shaking, sweat dripping from between your breasts, down your stomach.

Steve looped his elbow around your throat in a choke hold, applying cautious pressure as he pressed his lips against your ear, coaxing you, locking you there, “cum for Steddie, baby.”

And then Eddie fucked his fingers up inside to his last knuckles and Steve twisted your nipple just right and you felt yourself snap into another dimension for a second as an orgasm wracked your body. Eddie gave out a low hum and greedily licked you up as Steve mumbled in your ear: “That’s right baby, cum for me, cum for me. You’ve been so good; you can have my cock now.”

You were eager to take Eddie’s cock in your mouth again, on all fours, looking up at him in that way he liked as you swallowed the tip a few times in the back of your throat, making him curse as he stared down at you. “Ah, fuck, you’ve got me close, princess.”

You moaned on Eddie’s cock at the sensation of Steve’s tongue swirling around your asshole, licking your cum up your perineum to lubricate it. You bucked back against his face as his tongue shot into your ass, fucking it. Steve moaned, “I know you want my cum, baby, be a good girl and you’ll get all of it deep inside you.” The feel of his breath on your hole made you shudder.

He dipped a finger into your soaking wet pussy, and then slid it into your ass, making you swallow Eddie’s cock deeper, a cry of pleasure escaping your throat.

Eddie tossed his head back and cupped your cheek again. “Fuck, you’re gonna make...fuck….you want me in your belly, Princess?”

You nodded, wrapping your hand around his cock to tease the tip, “I’m so thirsty for you,” you said with an aching mew as Eddie’s speed increased and he put a hand on the back of your head, fierce grunts escaping his throat.

Steve slipped a second finger in your ass, making you feel like you could cum again, just as Eddie stilled and hot jets of his seed hit the back of your throat. “Fuck, you take me so good, sweetheart,” he shivered as you swallowed, sucking him in, not wanting to miss a drop. He started sawing his hips in and back, letting you clean his cock, your eyes on the dark, twisting tattoo design below his belly button and above his pubic hair.

With Eddie’s seed coating your esophagus and lips, you felt the tip of Steve’s dick go in your ass, and you threw your head back. Steve made brief eye contact with Eddie, “I’m not gonna last much longer, this ass is so fucking tight.”

Eddie cupped your chin and stroked it, and then you took his thumb in your mouth again. “She sucked me so good, but I’ll be ready again in a second. Is that what you want, Princess? Both of our cocks inside of you?”

You were nodding, whimpering, sucking on Eddie’s knuckles while Steve sunk halfway in, fingers digging into your ass cheeks.

In a few seconds, Steve had you re-positioned: you were on his lap facing out while he sat on the edge of the bed, holding your legs up, thrusting his cock up into your ass over and over---fuck, he was so strong, you felt like a rag doll. You’d never been happier to be a cock whore, your head and tits bouncing as he filled you.

“Fuck,” Steve paused for a second, his forehead pressing against your back. “I’ve got such a load for you baby, I hope you can take it.”

Eddie was hard again, and he stepped forward to rub the tip of his cock on your spread, sopping wet pussy lips, getting his dick back to full girth. Steve fucked up inside of you a few more times as you watched Eddie’s forehead clench at the beautiful, engorged sight of your pussy; the hole begging for him.

Your eyes rolled back in your head at the way Steve’s cock stretched you out, but then you met Eddie’s eyes, and he smirked, positioning his the tip of his cock to enter your second hole. “You gonna be a good girl and cum again for us?”

“Fuck yeah she is,” Steve grunted, jerking his hips.

You were already on the verge, but then Eddie’s cock sank in, and your eyes traveled over the ink that covered his chest and stomach, across his shoulders and strong arms. His dark, wavy hair hung down as he watched his cock melt inside of you, cursing, muttering about how good it felt.

Eddie took over holding your legs up by the hinges at your knees, using the leverage to thrust and go balls deep inside of you, while Steve braced his hands on the bed, continuing to work his hips. Both of them going base deep, spreading you wide, stretching to meet the needs of their ample girth.

You were babbling, almost incoherent, eyes watering, as they fucked you at the same time, your head bobbing, Steve planting kisses on your back.

Steve’s thrusts became spasmodic as he groaned, “fuck baby, fuck, is this what you want? For me to cum in your ass?”

You could barely speak, but you nodded, just as you felt a coil inside yourself start to unravel and snap, and then Steve’s hips locked onto your backside with a grunt, his warm spend shooting into you, and he kept pumping, hissing as it dripped back down onto his cock.

Eddie’s hips pounded into you as he watched your face, knowing you were on the verge of another orgasm, “fuck, that’s so hot,” he mumbled. “I think...I’m going to…again…”

And just as the velvet walls crashed around you and you went deaf and blind for a second, jerking, whimpering, “fuck, cummingcummingcumming,” Eddie yanked his cock out of your hole and pushed the head into your folds, fucking your nub as you came. Watching him pump his cock, shooting the last of his seed onto your swollen cunt made you ride your high as another wave of pleasure jolted through you, falling back so that Steve’s cock popped out and Eddie ran his cock up and down your slit, mixing his spend in with your cum.

Eddie gave you that smirk again as he hovered above you. “I’m sure we could get one more out of you, sweetheart.”

#eddiemunson #eddiemunsonsmut #older eddie munson #biker!eddie munson #i'm on fire #steddie #steddie smut #steve harrington smut #eddie munson smut #steddie oneshot #oneshot #eddiemunsononeshot

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frenchkisstheabyss · 4 months

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฿ⱠɄɆ ₥Ø₦Đ₳Ɏ

୨୧ Pairing: assassin!soobin x assassin!chubby!fem!reader

୨୧ Genre: crime au/angst/smut

୨୧ Summary: Carrying a hit out on a corrupt politician at the charity event of the year might seem extreme to most women but it's a regular Friday night for you. Things like this should go smoothly, only tonight you're not the only one on the hunt.

Someone's out to get you too. Someone who knows your every move as if they were his own. But can he actually go through with killing you or will feelings from the past cause him to abandon his mission altogether?

୨୧ Word Count: 2.8k

୨୧ Warnings: you're an assassin so, ya know, guns/knives/mentions of assassinations but no actual deaths, fingering, marking, a lil bit of roughness, unprotected sex, for sure praise kink vibes, pet names (baby), and i'm pretty sure that's all.

୨୧ A/N: I'm dedicating this fic to @anyamaris who's honestly the entire reason that I wrote this to begin with. I've never met anyone who cares so deeply about what it is that other people want so here's something that's all about you because you deserve that and so much more. I hope my silly lil angsty assassin low key rom com smut makes you smile 💜

An $11,000 crystal chandelier hangs high above your head, casting a soft copper glow across the dim ballroom. Three others like it are positioned a few feet apart, framing a painting on the ceiling worth more than the four of them combined. No one raises their head to admire the beauty that the mayor’s dirty money went into crafting. They’re too distracted by the action on the floor. Champagne towers, a gorgeous woman singing atop a grand piano, mistresses in tight dresses, and business. Of course, the business. That’s what they’re really here for.

Everyone thinks that last week’s charity ball, full of senators dining with their families and taking photos with less fortunate children, was where the fate of the city was decided. But no, it’s here, in dark corners with men whose faces you’ll never see in the daylight, that corruption thrives and fates are truly decided. It turns your stomach to be here arm in arm with the Chief District Judge, smiling and nodding at every misogynistic comment he makes about the way you look tonight.

He picked it out for you, this curve hugging black dress with a slit high enough to let his mind wander to places you wish it wouldn’t. It makes you wish that he were your target for tonight but, no, instead it’s the senator halfway across the room shaking hands with old friends while his companion gets drunk enough to pretend she’s actually attracted to him. You need to get him alone but the bastard’s never alone. They should’ve just let you snipe him, quick and clean.

Your boss insisted upon something intimate though. Something sure and nothing's surer than confirming a kill with your own two eyes. Studying his movements, you’re caught off guard by a familiar scent. Cologne, powdery with notes of citrus. It brings you back to a time before all of this when you were a petty thief living in your little hole in the wall apartment with—

“Walk away” a passing voice whispers, marrying with the scent of the cologne like two pieces of the same puzzle. “It can’t be” you gasp, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. Turning your head, you catch a glimpse of a ghost from your past shifting through the crowd. Soobin. Tall, handsome, and impossible to take your eyes off of. Your palms begin to sweat, making the neck of the champagne glass slippery in your hand.

“What did you say, dear?” the Chief District Judge asks, placing his hand on yours. You smile, innocently sipping your champagne, “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I need to go to the little girl’s room.” “Oh, of course, but hurry back to me. Wouldn’t want another man to snatch you up now, would I?” “You’re so silly,” you giggle, “I’m all yours.” Sitting your glass down, you summon all of your nerves and make your way toward the stairs that lead to the second floor.

Your date’s gaze is burning through your dress, enjoying the way the fabric moves against your body as you advance the stairs. It’d make you want to crawl out of your skin if your attention wasn’t still glued on Soobin. He watches you from the bar and, even at this distance, you catch yourself drowning in the pools of chestnut he calls eyes. It’s been an eternity since you’ve seen him in a suit, long enough that you’d forgotten how elegant he looks in one.

Your brain’s wracked with questions. What’s he doing here? Is he on the same job? Why’s he telling you to walk away? Making a quick left turn, you dip into the bathroom and rush into one of the stalls to gather yourself. You take a deep breath, peeking beneath the other stalls to be sure you don’t have company. All clear. “Just relax, okay? Don’t let him throw you off your game. You will finish this. Pretend he isn’t even here. He doesn’t even exist.”

The bathroom door swings open, and a pair of black laced Prada Oxfords step inside. “Baby?” Soobin sings, locking the door behind him. Staring straight ahead he sees nothing. Only polished marble sinks and spotless mirrors reflecting a motionless row of stalls. “I know you’re in here,” he says, quietly pushing open the door to the nearest stall. Empty. “So why don’t you just come out?” Kicking off your heels, you retrieve the knife tucked into your garter. At the same time, Soobin slips out the gun hidden beneath his suit jacket.

He pushes open the door to the second stall and the auto sensor flushes the toilet, giving you both a miniature heart attack. Soobin laughs, moving on to the next stall, “And what’s behind door number 3?” The door flies open and out you come, the tip of your blade slicing through the arm of his jacket. Soobin spins you off in the direction of the sink but catches you before your lower back hits the edge.

“Why do you have a knife?”

“Why do you have a gun?”

“That’s fair.”

Kneeing him in the stomach, you wrap your arm around his and struggle to grab hold of the gun. “Stop it!” he demands, gripping you by the back of your dress and tossing you back into the stall you came out of. Regaining your footing, you move to charge back at him but the barrel of his gun’s already aimed at your kneecaps. “Shit,” you mumble, pissed at yourself for not having moved quicker, “What do you want?”

“Walk away” he answers. The same words he whispered to you moments ago, only there’s a nearly undetectable drop of sadness in them now that he has to face you. You still look like the picture of you he keeps in his phone. A few years older, a few more kills to your name, but a dream to behold nonetheless.

“You know I can’t do that. I have a job to do.”

“So do I but I don’t wanna do it” he begs, the sadness in his voice growing heavier, “Please don’t make me do it.”

He aims the barrel at your chest and he might as well pull the trigger because the pain that penetrates your heart makes you want to fold over. You’d expected that someday someone would be sent to stop you but him? Being assigned to different agencies had done a lot to tear you apart but your love for him never changed. Maybe you’d been foolish to think that he would feel the same. “Me? You took a job to kill me?”

“I had no choice. It’s nothing personal.” “Nothing personal?” you shout, the hurt quickly turning to anger, “Bullshit. So, if I don’t agree to walk away, you pull the trigger, is that right?” Soobin’s shoulders drop, his head turning away from you, “That’s right.” “Then pull the trigger,” you say, stepping forward so that it’s pressed to your chest. Soobin turns back to you, his face twisted in a scowl, “Don’t say that.” Your heart’s racing a mile a minute and the handle of your blade’s clenched so tightly in your fist that it’s creating an imprint on your palm.

You don’t want to die but if you don’t finish this your boss will kill you anyway. “Pull the trigger” you repeat, searching his eyes for any sign of the man who used to hold you on dark nights when the world felt too scary to face. Soobin was once your protector. He wishes that he still could be. He wants to be. Why’d you have to follow him into this world? He left you behind to give you a chance at something normal with someone normal. Why couldn’t you just walk away? Why can’t you now?

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he groans, fighting his body’s urge to become a jittery mess. You crack a teary eyed smile, “You used to love that about me.” It’s ever present in his mind that if he doesn’t do this he’ll have hell to pay. He can’t just let you go. He can’t but...shit, he has to. He lowers his gun, sliding open the magazine and emptying the bullets onto the floor. Nothing in this world could ever make him hurt you. Anyone else wouldn’t have made it up those stairs alive. You, though, are untouchable.

Soobin walks over to the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. What he’s just done is a death sentence. The price on your head has just transferred onto his. It’s only a matter of hours, two or maybe three, before he’s blacklisted. “Soob,” you say, placing your knife down on the sink, “You still care.” He glances at you in the mirror, amazed at how such an intelligent woman can be this clueless. “I never stopped caring. I don’t think I can. I probably won’t stop loving you until—” You take his hand, stroking his fingers, “Stay with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

He gently squeezes your hand, a quiet acknowledgment of your attempt to comfort him. “It’s better for you without me here.” “Just like your note said before” you sigh, pulling your hand back. It’s deja vu. He’s pushing you away like he always has. Last time you fought your hardest to keep him but not this time. “You love me” you scoff, making your way back into the stall to collect your things, “But I’m still not enough for you to stay. Not even when your life depends on it.”

Reaching down to slip one of your heels back on, you feel a set of arms around your waist. They embrace you firmly enough to keep you close and softly enough to communicate that there’s nothing to fear. You turn in time to be kissed with such passion that you forget these are the lips of the man sent to kill you. None of that means anything. You only care that they’re on yours, his hands hungrily gripping at your hips…your thighs…your ass…any part of you he can reach.

There are no fireworks between you. The need that’s built up for you both is too strong to reduce to technicolored sparks in the night sky. This is an atomic bomb. A force strong enough to wreck you and you welcome it with open arms. Soobin can’t steal his mouth away from yours, he’s glued to you. “You’re more than enough” he promises, backing you against the wall, “So much more.” “Then why do you run away?” you ask, tearing his jacket even more as you help him out of it. He lifts your dress, letting his palm skim the lace of your panties. “I’m no good for you.”

Ripping his shirt open, you send buttons clinking to the ground where the bullets lay. You touch his chest and feel his body tense as you tease your way down to his belt. “I never asked you to be good for me. Be bad for me” you whine, squeezing your thighs to get the friction you find yourself growing desperate for. Flipping you around, he slaps your ass just the way you like. You arch your back as his thumb tucks your panties to the side, his middle and pointer fingers pushing into you.

In the quiet of the empty bathroom, all he can hear are your low sweet, moans and the splashing of your juices each time his fingers curl into your core. “You feel so good on my fingers, baby. Just dripping for me” he growls, his other hand coming around your neck to bring you closer to him. Your nails claw at the wall, the feeling of being pressed against it as his fingers fuck deeper into you intense enough to make you want to climb it.

Reaching back, you knot your fingers into his hair, pulling at it each time he hits your sweet spot. “One more” you moan, grinding back against his hand. “One more? You sure you can take it?” You nod, feeling a third finger brush your inner thigh, “I can take it, mmm, oh god.” His third finger slides into you slowly, his wrist rotating to stimulate you from every angle. “That’s it, baby. Take it for me. You like it when I fill you up with my fingers?” “Yes, I…I love it. So good. So—”

The door to the bathroom jiggles and you both freeze completely. At least you do. Soobin’s still except his fingers which remain inside of you, moving at a tortourlsy slow pace. The door jiggles again and there’s the low chattering of a group of women.

“Cut it out. What if they get in?” you whisper, turning to stop him. Soobin smiles down at you, sweeping you into another kiss, “So what if they get in?” Hooking his arms behind your legs, he lifts you off of your feet, the tip of his cock flicking at your clit. Your body shivers, making enough sound to give pause to the women outside. “You’re terrible” you giggle, reaching between you to stroke his length. You lightly trace the head of his cock with your thumb, guiding him closer and closer to your slit.

Soobin lowers his hips, raising them to thrust into you a little at a time until you’re writhing on his cock, too full to know what to do with yourself. Catching you staring up at him, your eyes sparkling like stars, makes the air feel thinner. It’s like he’s somewhere high up, climbing a mountain and losing air the higher he goes but he can’t stop. The way you make him feel, he can’t let go of it. Reaching up to cup his face, you plant kisses on his bare chest, choking back moans. “You’re perfect,” you say, meaning it with all your heart.

Soobin shakes his head, spreading your legs wider, “Not as perfect as you. Never as perfect as you.” The noise outside of the door quiets as the women give up, heading off in search of another bathroom. Soobin wastes no time thrusting into you, gripping your thighs hard enough to mark you. “Fuck, yes, just like that, ah!” Your lids fall closed and maybe Soobin was right, there must be stars in your eyes because they’re all you see in the darkness. “You’re so tight for me. So warm. I want you to cum for me” he whispers, pushing in deeper and holding you there. “Cum for me and don’t hold back.”

Grinding you onto him, he can feel every part of you and you feel every part of him. The twitching of every vein traveling up his length in response to the clenching of your walls. You’re the cutest thing, your body shivering, pillowy tits bouncing, filling the bathroom with incoherent moans. It’s almost as if he has you wrapped around his finger, something like a rubber band, twisted around and around until you’re pushed so far beyond your limits that you’re about to snap.

“Oh…” is all you get out before you break, grasping at his chest as your senses are overtaken by something too heavenly to fathom. “My little killer” he coos, kissing the last bit of smeared lipstick from your lips, “You’ve always been worth it.” The clock’s ticking on his mission and soon on his life as well. All he wants with whatever precious minutes he has left is to stay in this moment with you but life, as always, has different plans.

A phone sounds, a wistful ringtone echoing through the bathroom. Opening your eyes, you glance down at the phone peeking out of his jacket pocket. The screen flashes RESTRICTED. “Better get that,” you say, patting him on the arm to let him know it’s okay. Soobin carefully lets your legs down, only reaching for the phone when he’s sure you’re okay. “Hello? Yes. I know, I should’ve reached out sooner. I—” His attention momentarily strays to you gathering bullets from the floor and loading them back into his gun. “Did I handle her? Confirmed. Mission complete.”

Hanging up, he tosses it across the floor and you shoot it. Perfect aim. “They’ll be sending someone to confirm the kill soon,” he says, readjusting his pants to make himself decent, “We should get going.” “We?” you ask, checking to make sure you heard him right. Bundling your things up in his jacket, he approaches you much too happily for such a dire situation. “Yes, we, if you’ll have me.”

You take your heels from him, throwing them back on. “Of course, I will. Just one thing, point another gun at me and I’ll kill you.” Throwing your purse over your shoulder you float over to the bathroom door, still high off of your orgasm, and unlock it. Soobin trails behind you, content to do so for the rest of his life, “Point gun. Die. Noted.”

#soobin x reader #soobin x you #soobin angst #soobin smut #txt angst #txt x you #txt x reader #txt au #txt smut #chubby reader #plus size reader

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invisibleraven · 23 days

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"You'll be back soon, right?" for PeterPatterLina, and I am Concerned this is under the Angst prompts.

Julie looked in awe as the car passed the gigantic trees of the forest-so much taller and different than the palm trees she was used to. She kept her eyes peeled for deer, squirrel, and other wood life creatures that were reported to live inside forests.

However, she saw no magical creatures-instead she saw the looming gate and lines of cabins that made up Camp Aurora-her home for the first few weeks of summer.

Her parents had told her it would be a learning experience, she would learn to ride horses, do crafts, enjoy a bunch of campfires, and make new friends. Julie was a bit unsure though-aside from sleepovers at Flynn or Carrie's houses, she never spent the night away from her parents.

Carlos had already been dropped off to his camp-one for baseball instead of the general one Julie was attending. Her parents promised there was a focus on performance, but Julie would still rather stay home. Yet she had overheard her aunt say that her parents needed a vacation, some time for just them outside a rare date night. Thus summer camp.

The camp looked nice enough she supposed-with big cabins full of bunk beds, lots of happy faces, a beautiful lake, and Julie could see some horses off in the stables. That didn't stop her from clinging to her parents when they told her it was time for them to go.

"You'll be back soon, right?" she asked, her bottom lip quivering as tears filled her eyes.

Rose had to hold back her own tears as she hugged Julie tight. "Of course mija, it's only a few weeks. You'll have so much fun, time will fly and we'll be back before you know it."

"And you can write to us if you want," Ray added. "They had tons of stamps, and we'll send you mail back if you like."

"I'd like that," Julie sniffled. She hugged them once more, watching them drive off for a while.

"You okay?"

Julie turned and there was a boy there in a cut off shirt with a band logo that she recognized from her mom's albums. He had shaggy brown hair and a kind smile.

She swiped at her eyes. "Yeah... it's just hard to say goodbye to my parents," she replied. "I'm Julie by the way."

"Luke," he said, shaking her hand. "It gets easier-my first year here I bawled like a baby."

"Really?" she giggled.

His smile grew wider, as if making her laugh delighted him. "Oh yeah, you can ask Reg here-" he paused looking around and sighed.

"You lose your friend?" Julie asked.

"He's with the horses again," Luke replied. "He lives on a honest to goodness farm in Georgia, so he loves the things-they spook the bejeebus outta me."

"I've never been close to one," Julie confessed.

"Well let's go, you gotta meet Reggie anyways," Luke said, pulling her towards the stables where a boy that Julie assumed must be Reggie was sitting on the fence. He was wearing a faded Star Wars shirt, covered in freckles, and had a crooked smile for Julie when Luke introduced them.

"You're handling it better than Luke here," Reggie quipped, pointing at his friend. "He bawled his eyes out first year."

"He said as much," Julie tittered. "Not you?"

"Oh I wept like a baby," Reggie confessed, a tinge of pink painting his cheeks. "But I found the horses and then I was okay."

"They look beautiful... but really big," Julie admitted.

"See!" Luke cried out.

"Hush you big baby," Reggie scowled. "I'd be happy to introduce you Julie, you'll see that they're not scary."

"I'd like that," Julie said, grinning. "And Luke, you can show me all your favourite parts of camp too!"

"That would be music class," Luke replied. "You play?"

"Piano."

"Sweet!" Luke exclaimed. "I play guitar, our friend Alex plays drums, and Reg here plays everything."

"Bass, I play bass," Reggie interjected. "Plus banjo and piano."

Julie grinned, her worries and sadness melting away-maybe this summer wouldn't be too bad.

In fact, a few weeks later, she ended up not wanting to leave. Making tear filled promises to Luke and Reggie to write, and a vow from the three of them to be back again next year.

A vow they kept until they aged out, but by then they all lived in LA, so they didn't have to wait to see each other. And a decade or two down the line, they sent their kids to camp as well-making sure to promise Luna and Danny, that yes, they would be coming back.

#filled prompts #ficlet #rukebox #peterpatterlina #julie and the phantoms

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justfangirlstuffs · 1 year

Note

“You probably don’t want to watch this.” For vampire Sun and Thrall yn please? 🥺👉👈

You got it! -thumbs up-

Vampire!Sun x Thrall Y/N

You were getting very well acquainted with the DJ Manor as you so lovingly called it. It was somehow larger than Sun and Moon's other house, and much more lively for a number of reasons. Those reasons being there were ghosts. Who seemed to enjoy messing with you. Just the other night they kept moving your phone whenever you set it down somewhere, which would send you into a frenzied search until you finally found it. Tonight they were doing something similar only it was with your beverage. You had poured yourself a glass of juice and you made the mistake of setting it down and taking your eyes off it for a few scant seconds, only to find it gone.

“Oh, come on you guys!” You could hear the invisible little gremlins giggling about it. “DJ, you need to control your children.”

A voice spoke from the nearby radio. “What can I say? Kids will be kids, am I right, folks?” A laugh track followed his words.

You rolled your eyes and began searching for the lost glass of juice. As you searched, you began to hear music playing. Curious, you followed the warm notes to one of the bedrooms, the door slightly ajar. Nudging it open, you found Sun sitting in front of a fireplace playing the cello. The notes sounded so incredibly smooth and gentle and you watched, absolutely mesmerized, as one of his hands fluidly pulled the bow to and fro, while his fingers deftly worked the strings. His eyes were closed as though lost in the melody, putting care and love into every note. It made your heart swell.

Sun peeked one eye open to look at you. “Enjoying the show?” He asked with a grin, not missing a beat.

“I didn't know you could play,” you said, stepping further inside.

“When you live like we do, you tend to pick up the occasional odd hobby.” You were a little jealous how he could carry on a conversation while those dexterous fingers did their musical work. “Moon plays the piano by the way. You should ask him to play for you sometime, he's really good.”

“I might do that, if he'll let me lounge on it like they do in the movies,” you said jokingly. Sun chuckled at that. That's when you spotted your glass of juice on the mantle over the fireplace. “Ah, there it is!” You grabbed it before it had a chance to be snatched up again.

“The minis enjoy their fun,” Sun remarked with a grin.

“Have they always been here?” you asked, leaning against the wall.

“Not always. Used to it was just DJ, but spirits need a home too.” He gave a soft shrug, still playing. “You know what they say: you can't unopen a door.”

The sound of glass shattering splintered the air. You glanced down at your hands, staring numbly. You had squeezed so hard it had shattered in your hands, and now juice was spilling onto the carpet, mixed with something else.

The music had stopped.

Your eyes darted up to Sun who had frozen, blue eyes staring at you in concern. “I'm sorry,” you said automatically. “I...I didn't mean to...”

In a blink of an eye, Sun was at your side, his hand gently pressing against your back. “It's okay, let's get you cleaned up.”

You nodded, allowing him to steer you towards the bathroom, holding your hands in a way that didn't further agitate them. The wounds stung horribly. Sun first took you to the sink and held your hands under the running water, washing away the juice, which definitely helped with the stinging. Then, he sat you down on the toilet, placing a cloth on your lap to keep blood from dripping all over you. He grabbed another cloth and some tweezers.

Going down to one knee, he cradled one of your hands palm up to keep it steady, while his other hand wielded the tweezers. “You probably don't want to watch this,” he said, meeting your gaze and giving you a comforting smile. “It'll be okay, just look at me.”

You did so, keeping your eyes on his face, taking it the details and resisting the morbid curiosity to look down as the tweezers began dislodging the glass from your skin. “I'm sorry,” you mumbled again.

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, sweet thing,” Sun assured you. “Accidents happen. DJ and the minis will take care of the mess.”

You fell into silence, letting Sun work. You occasionally winced when you felt the tugging, but Sun was being very precise and gentle. “That's one finished,” he said after a time. Bringing your hand up to his mouth, your breath hitched as his tongue gently caressed over the skin. “I know it might seem unsanitary, but you'll heal faster this way.”

You nodded, your cheeks flushing.

He kissed your healed hand and set aside. “Ready for the other?”

“Yeah,” you said. Before he could get started, a confession fell from your lips. “He said the same thing to me.”

A pause. “He?”

“Eclipse.”

The hand holding yours twitched but took care not to jostle you. A very pregnant pause followed. “I apologize, I didn't know,” he murmured, resuming his work.

“I know,” you answered. “It's not you're fault. I guess I'm still... working through things.”

Sun hummed, keeping focus on your hands as he removed piece of piece with surgical precision. “It isn't your fault either, sweet thing. You don't owe anyone an apology.”

The words were comforting. You tried not to think back on the days before you were Enthralled, when you were just a fragile mortal unable to contend against the supernatural world surrounding you. Even now as a thrall, with your superhuman body, those memories still plagued you, making you feel small.

“Finished,” Sun announced. You watched as he dropped the last piece of glass onto the pile resting on a washcloth. The glass gleamed red, like slick rubies. He did his 'healing touch' on your other hand, and in moments the wounds sealed enough to where they stopped oozing.

“Thanks,” you said gratefully.

“Anything for my darling Starlight,” Sun said chipperly, tossing the rag with the glass in a waste bin.

“Anything?” you asked playfully.

Sun's eyebrow quirked. “Did you have something in mind?”

You took a deep breath, wanting to reclaim yourself. Wanting to reassure yourself that you were okay. You felt you deserved that, or at least, you wanted to believe you did. There was something you wanted to try, to help convince yourself that you were okay, that those memories did not have control over you.

“Say, I was an irresistible snack,” you started. Immediately you wanted to backpedal, your face burning horribly. You couldn't have worded that more gracefully.

Sun touched a hand to his chin, a smile curling his lips. “Go on~.”

“And... um... you were desperately hungry...” you pressed on. “What would you do?”

Sun hummed thoughtfully. His fingers reaching out to graze lightly over your arms. “Well, first off, I'd want to make sure you wouldn't get away.” His fingers brushed over the length of your arms, sending a heated trail that had you biting your lip. His hands grasped around your wrists. “So, I would pin you down, gently, sweetly, but in a way you couldn't escape.”

Sweet lord have mercy... “And then?”

One of his hands left your wrist to gently grasp your chin, his thumb brushing tenderly over your lower lip. “I'd kiss you breathless.” He leaned forward and your heart skipped several beats as his voice dipped low, dripping sweet honey. “I'd do anything and everything to make you forget about running away from me.”

Oh, that notion was long, looooooooooong forgotten. There it went, bye-bye. “What if I ran right now?” you asked daringly.

Sun's face dipped to the side of your face. “I would catch you." His breath ghosted your ear, giving you sweet, delicious shivers. "And I would take my sweet time devouring you.”

Thump thump thump. It was a chore to keep your breath steady, and a part of you wanted to give in then and there. But there was another part that wanted to tempt, tease back, and have fun. You were at the door in a blur of movement, stumbling a little from the speed adjustment. Sun blinked glancing up at you in surprise.

“Come and get me then,” you taunted.

His blue eyes sparked with what you could only describe as unmitigated desire. And so the chase began. You lost, of course, but for you, that was still a win, and Sun honored every single one of his promises.

#enthralling you enthralling me #eyem snippet #hurt/comfort #cw blood #please excuse any grammatical errors #justfangirlwritings

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onetruelurker · 8 months

Text

Harp Facts for Reference

the likelihood this will reach anyone is nil, but for reference to anyone who wants to draw or write about someone playing a western harp:

High Points

the harp rests on your RIGHT shoulder

the column faces away from you

the left hand plays the low/long strings and the right hand plays the high/short strings (typically)

unless you are playing a traditional wire-strung celtic harp (and maybe Paraguayan harps? not clear on this), the nails are short because you do not play with your nails and long nails give a really unpleasant buzz

correct hand position is palms facing the strings, thumbs up

you do not play with the pinky

Playing while sitting in a chair with arms is annoying as fuck because it interferes with your elbows moving

unless you're doing an effect you pluck in the middle of the string

This got REALLY long, so more under the cut.

Parts of a Harp/How a Harp Works

A harp is composed of individual strings tuned to a specific note (the number of strings varies), like the white keys on a piano, but upright. The strings resonate off a soundboard, which is a thin piece of wood. Shorter strings are higher notes, longer strings are lower notes. The soundboard is attached to a hollow body (there are holes in the back, that's how you change strings). The strings stretch between the neck and the soundboard and are under high tension. The front piece is called the column, and in a pedal harp it has a mechanical component in it. In a traditional western harp (aka folk harp, aka lever harp), the column is purely structural. The column faces away from you as you play.

In its most basic form, the harp has no mechanism to change between keys without re-tuning the strings to the appropriate accidentals (sharps or flats). This is a huge pain in the ass, and harpists have come up with two major ways to get around it: pedals and levers.

Types of Harp

Pedal Harp

Most western orchestral music which includes a harp is written for the pedal harp, which has 7 pedals at the base (one for each note in the western music scale, A-G). Pedals are for changing the notes from flat to natural to sharp, so it lets you play in any key and shift keys while you're playing. This is a relatively new innovation - the modern pedal harp came on to the scene around 1800.

The column of a pedal harp needs to be straight because the mechanism which allows the pedals to shift the string tension and change the pitch runs through it.

Pedal harps are heavy. They usually have 47 strings. People who play pedal harps (not me lol) have dolly carts to carry and position them. Pedal harps are more portable than a piano but less portable than most other musical instruments. They are VERY expensive and always cost >$10k (usually more like $15-20k) because of the complexity of the pedal mechanism, but can be much, much more depending on the wood and decoration.

Folk/Lever Harp

This is a folk or lever harp (mine, in fact! it's a 34-string Rees Mariposa that I love with my whole heart. please ignore the cat food in the back). The lever harp is capable of playing accidentals by flipping up the lever on the neck, which adds the exact change in tension needed to turn the string from a flat to a natural or from a natural to a sharp. This is obviously less nimble than the pedal system, since you have to take a hand out of playing commission for a second to flip a lever, but on the other hand you can switch just one string instead of all A strings or whatever. You also don't have to retune if you want to play a piece in a different key. They're very suited to playing Celtic traditional music.

Lever harps come in all shapes and sizes, from tiny 20-string lap harps to almost the size of a pedal harp, though I haven't seen any models that are bigger than 40 strings (mine has 34). They're generally much lighter and usually more portable than pedal harps. They're also much less expensive, and good ones generally live in the $2k-8k range. Definitely still a hefty chunk of change, but much less than a pedal harp.

Playing a Harp

The lever and pedal harp have very similar technique with the exception of pedal stuff for pedal harps (I don't play pedal harp so I can't comment on that). In general, the harp is tipped back and rests on the right shoulder. Most of the weight of a harp is in the base, so this isn't heavy or uncomfortable and tbh I love the feeling of the music resonating through my shoulder and body.

Pop quiz: the harp rests on what shoulder?

....

The RIGHT SHOULDER

For some reason this is wrong in like 90% of art which features a harpist. If you learn nothing about the harp from this, learn that the harp rests on the right shoulder, and I will be happy.

The right hand typically plays the melody on the higher strings and the left hand plays accompaniment on lower strings, just like the piano. You pluck strings with the flesh of the fingers, not with the nails (except in traditional wire-strung Celtic harps, which will shred your fingers, and I think Paraguayan harpists might play with the nails) or a pick. You usually need short nails as a harpist because nails + harp string = awful buzzy noise. As one can imagine, harpists have mad calluses. Harpists do not use the pinky because it's too short to reach the strings reliably.

When you play, you have your palms facing the strings and slightly tilted toward the floor, and the thumbs are up. The elbows are usually up so you have a smooth line from your elbow to your wrist (and not get wrist tendonitis). The right arm can rest lightly on the body of the harp unless you're playing on the highest strings.

You pluck in the middle of the string because it has the nicest resonance, unless you're doing an effect called près de la table (close to the soundboard), where you play right where the strings attach to the soundboard. This sounds like a guitar.

Harps have HELLA resonance, especially the lower strings, which will pretty much ring forever. You often need to actively muffle strings you don't want to be making noise anymore.

Because the wrist and forearm move together and the elbows kinda stick out, playing in a chair with armrests ranges from "really goddamn annoying" to "not possible."

Other Stuff

If you look at photos of harps, you will see some red strings and some black or blue strings. C strings are red, and F strings are blue or black. These are not training wheels, these are a visual indicator of the note. They're standard and are used by everyone from little kids playing Twinkle Twinkle (which is not a good harp tune, for the record) to professionals.

Low strings are wrapped in wire.

Fun fact, some lever harp makers make double or even triple (the Welsh are wild) strung harps which have multiple sets of strings either in parallel or crossing over. They are very cool looking and I'd love to learn to play one someday.

Harps are pretty delicate like all wood instruments. They get out of tune if you look at them wrong, and because you tune every string separately you spend a LOT of time tuning. I should probably be tuning right now.

#harp #harpenings #reference #writing reference #art reference

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bagog · 3 months

Text

Pine-car Derby Meet cute

The gymnasium was packed with chairs all facing one of the two pine-car derby tracks underneath the basketball hoops. They were only a few races into the derby, and even the last couple entrants were still having their cars weighed and assessed before being queued up for the bracket.

“I’m gonna get some gum,” Travis shoved a shoe-box full of sand-paper, powdered graphite, and spare wheels into his older brother’s arms. “Come get me if my car’s up?”

“You’re not until the seventh heat, dude.” Trevor hoisted the box under his arm and gave his brother a light slap on the shoulder. “And you better not be there till then.”

“Can I have money?”

“Oh, yeah, here you go.” Trevor had purposely cashed-out his whole paycheck from the University Library to fund this trip… and it’s concessions. “Buy something better than gum, yeah?” The twelve year old didn’t reply as he turned on his heel and hurtled for the concession window on the other side of the gym.

Trevor surveyed the situation. The seats closest to the track were taken, but he didn’t really care about anybody’s car but Travis’, so no need to be close. He scanned the open seats for just a moment before selecting exactly where to set down.

“You’re not saving this whole row for a big family or something?” Trevor said, settling into an empty row right behind the cute guy who was sitting by himself. The guy turned around.

“Only seat I’m saving is this one,” he gestured to the folding chair on his left, where sat a beat-up shoebox like the one Trevor was carrying under his arm.

“Who’s racing?”

“My nephew. You?”

“Little brother,” Trevor held out his hand. “I’m Trevor, by the way.”

“Ephraim.” The guy shook his hand with a firm grip… soft hands though. “It’s my first derby, what should I be expecting?”

“I used to do these when I was a kid, can’t imagine they’d changed much,” Trevor leaned forward conspiratorily. “It’ll take about three hours to do all the brackets, but you can tell exactly which cars are gonna end up in the finals, because they’re just the lazy wedges.” He pointed to a shiny green wedge on wheels that had just flown down the race track, leaving its competition behind.

“Don’t tell my nephew,” Ephraim winced, playfully. “He didn’t make a wedge.”

“Good for him, I say.” The two laughed and managed to make breezy small talk. Ephraim was at State for piano performance. Trevor played intra-mural lacrosse. Derbies past and all the rest.

“Trevor,” Trevor turned and saw Travis running up with a fist full of dollar bills and a mouth full of Double-Bubble. Behind him, a kid just a little younger trailed after, concentrating on sinking his teeth into a giant soft pretzel. “Aww man,” Travis rolled his eyes when he spotted Trevor, turned to his friend. “My brother’s hitting on some dude again. C’mon, let’s go find Matthew.” The two kids ran off towards the door to the gym.

“Well well well,” Ephraim smirked under bushy brows. “Do you regularly, uh, cruise the pine-car derby?”

“My brother’s full of it,” Trevor awkwardly rubbed his palms over the seam down the side of his jeans. “He can’t see that you’re clearly more impressive than ‘some dude’.”

“Wow,” Ephraim intoned dryly, but his lip curled into a smile. “Very smooth. You’ve known me for five minutes and you think you can tell that, huh?”

“I could tell that before I sat down,” Trevor blurted. He managed to hold eye contact and grin.

“Well,” Ephraim seemed to think it over playfully. “Your brother was hanging out with my nephew, so I can get any info I need to hold over your head later.”

“I’m honored you would think to threaten me so soon into meeting me!”

“Oh shut up and come sit next to me.”

#character sketch #original characters #de facto love february #meet cute #gay romance #I need to get better at writing the beginning of relationships #i usually like to come in once they've been together #practice practice practice #came right against the time limit for this one so it's pretty abrupt

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sprnklersplashes · 1 year

Text

the dancing and the dreaming (ao3)

Jesper can’t be certain, but he’d bet his revolvers that music was scarce when Jan Van Eck ruled this mansion. He never struck him as the type to enjoy playing a song on a Sunday afternoon, even less so when he heard him complaining about his son’s “infernal flute”. Less so again when he watched the caution with which Wylan re-introduced himself to the pianoforte he grew up with, and the wary sounds the keys made when he first played again.

Wylan is working to change that of course. First with his flute; his relationship to the pipe is the same as Inej’s with her knife or Jesper's with his revolvers. Then, when the papers were signed and confidence crept back, he came back to the pianoforte. He approached it the way one would an old second cousin at a family party; vaguely familiar but not entirely sure. It took a couple of weeks for the strength to creep into his notes.

And then Marya came home, and Jesper watched from the doorframe when she played for the first time, the light returned to her eyes with every chord she remembered. Slowly, music has become just as much a part of the house as the floors and windows, as vital to its daily maintenance as making the beds is.

And if there’s a better way to come home than to the piano chords soaring from the music room, Jesper is yet to find it.

He hangs his hat and coat by the front door and follows the sound, shaking off the salt air of the harbour and the ever-present dust of Ketterdam. A maid appears around the door, presumably to take his things for him. He just smiles and shakes his head, instead flipping a coin into her palm. He might live like a merchant now, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to be waited on. For all his jokes to Kaz, he thinks he might go mad if he let someone else hang up his coat or had a maid bring his supper up to his desk. He spent his youth working on a farm and his adolescence working his way through the Dregs. It’s part of him at this point, driven by the ever-running motor that powers his body.

“The Saints did not give me these hands just to please you,” he said to Wylan as he made the bed one morning. Wylan had thrown a pillow at his head but laughed all the same.

He swipes an apple as he passes the kitchen, greets the kitchen boys, and then follows the familiar route to the music room. As the music becomes clearer, he begins to guess who the maestro is. The song is slow and slightly shaky in some places. Great care is taken in carrying the notes, like someone carrying precious cargo across cobblestones.

He rounds the corner and finds his guess is, again, correct. Marya is sitting at the piano, her curls held back in a loose updo. As they reintroduced music to the mansion, Jesper has begun to see the difference in how mother and son play. Both hold great respect for whatever they play, but Wylan’s music has that little bit of force behind it. If Jesper had to describe it, he’d say it lay at the intersection of spite and ferocity. He’s taking back what his father took from them, snatching it from Van Eck’s cold hands. Maybe one day the rough edge to his playing will fade, though Jesper won’t complain either way. Marya on the other hand is more considerate. She doesn’t share her son’s residual rage, just a careful curiosity, and Jesper wonders as well if that will ever change as well as her memories come back.

Wylan leans up against the doorframe, facing the window so that his curls shine in the late morning sunlight. Jesper doesn’t bother with announcing himself, instead wrapping his arms around Wyaln’s chest and resting his chin on his shoulder. He feels, rather than sees, the smile creep across his merchling’s face, and then Wylan’s hand comes up to grasp his own.

When he turns, Wylan greets him with a quick kiss, and he reiterates what he thought when he came in; if there’s a better way to come home, he can’t find it.

“Morning,” Wylan greets against his lips. He was still asleep when Jesper slipped out of bed. “How’s the Barrel?”

“The Barrel is the Barrel,” he replies. “Busy, shady and complicated. Kaz says hello by the way.”

“One of these days, he’ll have to reply to the dinner invitation,” Wylan says. Jesper just chuckles, thinking of Kaz in this vast mansion, sitting down to a three-course meal served in the dining room. If Kaz ever does the unthinkable and comes to dinner, Jesper suspects they’d suddenly be short on silverware and possibly a few champagne flutes and a tablecloth as well. Not that it would matter.

He presses a kiss to his shoulder and turns his attention to Marya. The song is slightly familiar, one she must have played once or twice before. As the sun lights up her profile, he makes out the slight movement of her lips, singing quietly the lyrics only she knows. He wasn’t sure, at first, how to get to know Ms Hendricks, but when Wylan guided her to the piano, it all became clear. In the same way that Jesper puts Wylan’s thoughts to paper, the piano bridges Marya’s thoughts in a way her words can’t.

“How’s she doing?” he asks in a low voice. Wylan’s chest rises heavily against their clasped hands, his breath hitching slightly. His hold tightens a little on Jesper’s hand, and Jesper rubs his knuckles.

“She’s doing good,” he replies. “I think it’s a good day.” His voice is slightly hoarse, and his eyes glisten a little. Neither one comments on the small sniffle he gives, and Jesper nuzzles against Wylan’s neck. He doesn’t think a word exists for what this means to Wylan; to have seen his family ripped apart, turned upside down and sort-of-but-not-quite stitched back together. No language has a word for it, but no words need to exist. Not when Wylan’s shining face does more than enough explaining.

Marya finishes her song, the notes fading out almost thoughtfully, as if aware of the extra presence in the room and retreating from it. Jesper bites back the twinge of guilt as Wylan slips out of his grasp. He should know better than to take these things personally, and he does. Mostly. But some things can’t be helped.

“Mother that was lovely,” Wylan tells her. He pulls her against his chest and squeezes her shoulders, the warmth in his embrace brightening the cold morning. Jesper looks away for a moment, understanding the privacy of their moment. Just because he lives with them doesn’t mean he’s allowed into everything.

He turns his gaze when Wylan’s curls appear in his periphery. He rises on his toes and kisses him, a quick peck that Jesper could easily turn into something more if his mother wasn’t in the room. He settles for humming, aware of Marya’s slightly-knowing gaze on the pair.

Wylan never introduced Jesper to her as his lover. Not that Jesper’s expecting him to. In a situation like this, they can only go one step at a time, and Marya knowing where and who she is is more than enough for now. It does make Jesper wonder who exactly she thinks he is to Wylan and if she understands when she sees them like this.

“I should go,” Wylan says. He drums his hands gently against Jesper’s chest. “If I don’t get that inventory report completed and out by tonight, the Merchant Council will be beating down the door tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, the least exciting way to wake up,” he whispers. Wylan giggles as his cheeks pink slightly. He pulls his arms around Wylan’s waist, just tight enough for his heart to pick up. “Need a hand?”

“I’ve got this one,” he says. “You already did all the reading for me. Have the morning to yourself, and I’ll see you at lunch, all right?”

He pouts, his expression playfully exaggerated, but nods. He plans on going to bother his boyfriend in ten minutes or so anyway, so he accepts Wylan playing with his tie before going to move.

Marya, it seems, is less receptive to the idea.

The second Wylan steps around Jesper, she starts playing again. The song feels familiar this time, though he’s positive he’s never heard it. A collection of notes rising and falling and rising again, chasing each other in giddy circles. Images flash through Jesper’s mind; early evening on Ketterdam streets, where the pubs with some decency left in them would fling open their windows and he’d see couples dancing inside, laughing together like the pub was built just for them. He feels a phantom of the longing he felt back then, thinking that the expressions on those patrons and the life he had were incompatible.

His first thought is “where in the heck did she learn that”?

His second thought is that he needs to thank her somehow.

He turns to Wylan, a grin cutting across his face. Marya plays the notes again, and they grow stronger. When he glances back, he sees her eyeing Wylan, her lips slightly parted in what can only be anticipation. He holds out his hand and bows slightly because he’s a gentleman.

“Will you do me the honour, Mister Van Eck?”

“Jesper,” he sighs. He presses his lips together, but the corners turn up as if the glee is trying to escape him. He looks from his mother to Jesper and back between them, the moment shaking him. He flexes his fingers and bounces on the ball of his feet, all the while Jesper’s veins start to hum.

“The Council needs those reports,” he says weakly.

“The Council will still be there tomorrow.” Jesper steps forward and takes his hand, feeling the slight tremble begin to steady. “Don’t make a man dance alone. Because you’ve seen me dancing and you don’t want to subject your poor mother to that.”

It’s a sly move, a Barrel trick from a Barrel boy, but he doesn’t take it personally. Wylan laughs, the sound rivalling the music itself. Then he heaves a sigh and steps back into the room, his eyes creasing as he smiles.

“No, I definitely don’t,” he concedes. He leads Jesper beside the piano, where Marya goes over the beginning chords again. He takes hold of Jesper’s other and pulls him close, unknowingly setting off small fireworks all over his body. This strange sensation, of every cell in his body buzzing while he feels more at peace than ever, has to be some kind of magic. His head spins, his feet stay on the ground, and his heart slides back into place.

Actual magic, not Small Science, twinkles when Wylan takes his hand. Jesper doesn’t wait for him before setting him off, pulling him around the room in something that resembles a dance. It’s a little bit like how he dances in the Crow Club, all reckless and wild, running on a high and itching for another, but it’s also something else. Something he learned a lifetime ago, beside a kitchen table, not a poker table. Where his feet dangled above the ground and his mother threw her head back as his father spun her around, her skirt billowing like a tornado around her.

For a moment, the past lays over the present, and he sees the same thing in Wylan. His laugh spills out like an overflowing cup, his hair falls into his eyes and his heart beats merrily in time with the music. Jesper twirls him without a thought and watches as his head falls back, how the dimples indent his cheeks and the light catches his eyes and holy shit, nothing has ever made him feel like this.

He has to ask himself why they’ve never done this before.

But then he catches sight of Marya at the piano, and how her hazel eyes shine as her fingers fly across the keys, and he’s glad they haven’t. She deserves this, to see them dancing for the first time.

And Wylan deserves this, his mother playing the piano while Jesper flings him semi-recklessly around the music room. Dancing with flushed cheeks and shaking hands, crashing into Jesper with what he can only describe as perfectly harmonised abandon.

And maybe, he’ll let him think that he deserves this too. Not the big house and the nice food, but the feel of Wylan’s hands on his shoulders, deserves the smile that’s making his cheeks ache and the giddiness that means that he doesn’t care. Deserves the softness on Marya’s face when she looks at him, and the surprised squeak when he and Wylan almost collide with a potted plant.

If he had the time or the patience, maybe he’d dwell on those thoughts. But as it is now, he’s spinning Wylan under his arm, and the feeling of his fingers moving against his own is all Jesper can think about.

#wesper fanfic #wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #six of crows #six of crows fanfic

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awlumii · 1 year

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A hum of conversation hangs in the air, bubbling beneath the gentle jazz music floating through the bar. There is the clinking of glasses, the notes of a saxophone, the short thrums of a double bass, the runs of a piano, the crisp ting of a ride cymbal and the quiet hiss of a hi-hat. A singer scats in front of a microphone, swaying her hips along to the music.

Cool blues and purples splash onto the gathered people, some gossiping around around tables in groups, others sitting in corners around a couple of drinks. Along the wall stretches a long countertop bathed in purple and red, lined with tall-legged stools. A couple of people linger here, making conversation with the bartenders as they pour bronze-coloured drinks into glasses.

You sit alone at a round table in the far corner, where the lighting is dim and reflects golden off an untouched glass containing a non-alcoholic beverage. You cheek rests in your palm, and your head tilts along to the soft jazz floating through the air.

The chair you’re sat on has a black leather cushion, large and airy. You lean back (air escapes the cushion with a quiet hiss) and close your eyes, and let the piano solo carry your mind away. The drink sits forgotten on the wooden tabletop.

“May I join you?”

You crack an eyelid open to see a young man standing at the other side of your table, a hand resting on the back of the chair opposite you. You raise an eyebrow.

“Go ahead.”

He smiles gratefully and sits down. The dim neon lights illuminate his pale skin, and the deep red of his eyes is complimented by the cold blue cast upon his forehead. He is wearing a black suit jacket and a tie, and yet somehow maintains an air of casualness all the same. In fact, he seems so casual that you could have easily missed him altogether if he had simply sat down opposite you without saying anything.

And though his presence is comfortable, you can’t shake the feeling that there is something sharp and calculating hidden behind his gaze.

Either way, he isn’t causing you any trouble. It’s not worth worrying about.

Your eyes shift from the man back to the stage, where the next song has begun with the low plucking of a double bass string and an easy swing rhythm on the drums. Your mind begins to drift again.

“Are you a regular here?” the man asks.

You shoot a glance towards him, unsure why he seems so interested in you. Then again, telling him couldn’t hurt, so you may as well humour this curious stranger.

“Yeah. I haven’t seen you here before, though. I’m guessing you’re new?”

He smiles. “Yes, that’s right. My friend recommended this place to me, and I thought I might give it a try. The atmosphere here is nice, no?”

You nod slowly, still a little wary. After a brief pause, you remark, half to him and half to yourself, “The band’s pretty good today.”

“Have they played here before?”

“A few times, but not many. Enough times for them to get popular, though.”

He tilts his head in thought. “So… does this place usually have many different performers, or…?“

“I mean… there’s usually a mix. There are some bands who come by quite a lot, and some others show up once and never turn up again. Depends on the person, I guess.”

He hums. “And why do you say that?”

You turn to him, finally granting him your full attention. “Well… some people prefer to perform to a familiar audience, while others probably find one-time gigs and travelling around more enjoyable.”

“I see,” he smiles. You can’t tell what he’s thinking about. “Are there any players in particular who have stood out to you before in musical talent, perhaps?”

You frown at him, half-jokingly suspicious. “Why are you asking me all this?”

“Am I not allowed to express my interest in your opinions?” he teases back.

“Are you flirting with me?“

The corner of his lip lifts in a smirk, and he leans forwards, resting his chin in his hand.

“And what if I am?”

Your cheeks begin to sting with heat, and he chuckles.

You share some more exchanges. For someone you only met a couple of minutes ago, it’s strikingly easy to make conversation with him, and you have to stop yourself on multiple occasions from sharing personal information. Your initial wariness melts away, like he’s slipped effortlessly past any defences you ever put up with those kind eyes and easy smile. Topics shift from music to the bar’s drinks to the guests, minutes melting by like seconds. The music fades into the background until you’re barely focusing on it at all.

As you speak, he watches you closely, eyes never leaving yours. You can’t tell whether the look behind them is gentle and enamoured or laser-focused keenly on your words.

“You know, you haven’t touched your drink yet,” he points out, gesturing to the full glass on the table. “Do you not like it?”

“Oh, right. I completely forgot about that,” you admit with a sheepish laugh. “You’re really distracting, you know that?”

He smiles that smile at you again; the smile with those unreadable eyes and carefully hidden intentions.

You reach out to pick up the glass, and his eyes follow your hand. As you raise it from the table, the ceiling lights reflect off the liquid inside.

His eyes narrow suddenly. He calls your name.

“Wait.”

(Since when did you tell him your name?)

The next instant a cold hand is around your wrist, and the man is staring intently at you with furrowed eyebrows. His ever-soft voice takes on a sharp, commanding edge.

“Don’t drink that.”

You stiffen, taken aback by his instantaneous change in character. The warmth of the comfortable atmosphere is sucked away— even the music falls silent— and you suddenly feel very exposed, and very cold. Under his close scrutiny, you swallow dryly. You can hear the loud thudding in your own chest.

Just as you open your mouth to ask ‘why?’, he leans towards you, and, keeping his voice low, says, “Somebody spiked your drink. I don’t know when, but I’m certain it’s one of the people sitting over at that table.” He tilts his head towards a large table to your left, occupied by five people, bantering and laughing amongst themselves. You follow his line of vision, body tense.

“W-with alcohol?” you stammer when you find your voice again.

He shakes his head, keeping the movement small and easily missable. He lowers his voice further.

“Poison.”

You almost want to believe he’s joking, but his eyes betray no such intention.

“Why?” you all but croak.

“I don’t know yet, but I’m going to find out. For the time being, you must be very, very careful.”

“How— how do you know all this?”

He leans in closer and whispers something into your ear. You freeze.

Then he leans back into his chair, a relaxed smile on his face. The warmth and colour of your surroundings seeps back into your senses, and the soft jazz music drifts into your ears like a welcome friend. The man appears unbothered as ever; not like somebody who told your drink was poisoned a few moments ago.

“So, you were telling me about your favourite bartender?” He gestured a hand in your direction, inviting you to speak. You find it more difficult to adjust to the sudden change in his behaviour, and take a long while to think of a response.

“Uh. Yeah. She, uh. She’s really nice. She served me on my first day here, some while back…”

And so the night continues as it had before, the only difference being the way you repeatedly glance over your shoulder, still shaken.

Some while later, he sighs and pushes his chair out from the table. “I should be going, now. It’s been a pleasure talking to you.”

“Duty calls, right?”

He nods and stands up. Part of you is sorry to see him go. You still know close to nothing about him, you realise, whereas you may as well have told him your whole life story.

The man stops and turns back to you.

“Actually… before I go, would you mind giving me your phone number?”

“Are you flirting with me again?” You quirk an eyebrow at him.

“You might still be in danger. If that’s the case, it’s better if you can contact me.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” you point out teasingly.

You don’t expect in the next instant to have his face opposite yours by an inch, a smirking purr belying his words.

“Would it please you if I say yes?”

Burning red, you look away and furiously scribble down your number on a slip of paper. You slam it onto the table in front of him. He picks it up, surveys it momentarily, and slips it into his pocket. He thanks you, and makes his way to the exit. His silhouette is dark beneath the cool lights, and he slips through the bar, near undetectable.

When he reaches the door, he pauses. He turns around and locks eyes with you. Once he’s certain he has your attention, he (very intentionally) raises his fingers to his mouth, presses them to his lips, and blows you a kiss. Then he smiles, winks at you, and is gone.

You don’t even know his name, you realise as he slips into the night.

——————

(Just a little secret agent!Kazuha scenario I was thinking about… I imagine him wearing something similar to that car ad thing.)

-🎻 anon

every time. every single time you write, i find myself breathless. literally gasping as i type this because holy FUCK dude. you're phenomenal.

#[ 📭 — incoming! ]#🎻 anon #[ 💭 — thinking! ]#kazuha x reader #this made me so curious about the reader believe it or not #why would you be poisoned? what do they want with /you/? what about you is worth a hit like that?#if you ever write more about this PLEASE come my way i'd be more than happy to indulge in this au again

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cynefinisms · 2 months

Text

( mookda narinrak , nonbinary , they/them ) — one day the sea will sing of CHALIDA ‘FERN’ JIRAYUNGYURN, the TWENTY - EIGHT year old HEALER from the town of cynefin. there will be verses about OLEANDER UNFURLING IN THE PALMS OF THEIR HANDS , ONLY TO BURN & ROT BLACK AT THE EDGES ; THE WHISPERS OF A CREATURE AGAINST THE DANGLING , HEIRLOOM EARRING PASSED DOWN FROM THEIR FAMILY AS A SYMBOL OF THEIR FORTUNE ; THE BITTER & THICKENED TASTE OF HERBS IN TEA SCALDING THE THROAT in the hums of their hymn, about a person who is TRAINED in the magic of khemia. the land will know them as someone ATTENTIVE and EMPATHETIC, but perhaps, you’ll hear the old crones hiss that they are SECRETIVE and PARTICULAR. only the shadows of the ocean floor will bear witness to the truth.

𝙱𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙲𝚂.

full name: chalida jirayungyurn.

nickname: fern.

age: 28.

birthday: october 28th.

zodiac sun sign: scorpio.

gender + pronouns: fuck around. ( nonbinary + they / them. )

orientation: find out. ( down to clown. )

birthplace: beneath cynefin's stone foundations. ( so their mother said. )

languages: thai, english, welsh.

accent: distinct & prominent, softened, encouraging,

occupation: healer.

𝙳𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙻𝚂.

piercings: left ear only. they wear their family tassel. the tassel is approximately a middle finger's length, bright crimson with gold fringe & embroidery. it carries the name of fern's familiar on the innermost seam. the fish-hook attaches to their ear lobe, & a spiral of a serpent with its fangs bared hisses its way up the shell of their ear. they often wear their hair pulled up halfway so the strands don't tangle.

tattoos: ( left hand. )

mbti: istp, the inventor.

moral alignment: chaotic neutral.

+ attentive, empathetic, strong-willed.

- secretive, particular, egotistical.

khemia: anima, graduated from verum academy a year ago.

specific abilities: ( spirit healing, based on this. )

familiar: a pine marten named mors, who acts as your moral compass.

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳. ( cw: mentions of death )

you were born halfway to dead in a screaming world. a fire instilled in your belly from the thoughts of the ancestors who came before you: be something else than a rattling coffin full of bones. you couldn't understand what that meant yet, that the khemia flowed through you like a second soul, buzzing, thrumming. you were only a child, an only child, who became doted upon & spoilt for even existing. yet this dissonance still existed like a minor chord from an off-tuned piano. you knew there was something off, something incorrect, & your spirit refused to settle. you were gifted from a young age as were all the feminine-bodies of your family, as if it was a blessing, a curse. you received your yak sant tattoos before you were sent to verum, as a premonition of the destiny which was written for you in the stars. you look up at the stars now & merely see lifeless, empty bodies.

still you read them. still you seek out their magic. you attended to your studies like any good, destined daughter. you strove to ignore the slice of temptation beneath your tongue. you roiled beneath the deputy headmaster's scorching gaze & sought out the approval of everyone else around you. you needed the gods-damned praise to feel alive, like someone kindling the lantern with fresh oil. your soul flick & flick & flickered like that candle until, at long last, it led you to the place where you found him: he slunk along the outer walls of the isle, approaching cautiously. all he wanted for loving you — was your love in return. what a simple request for such a small creature, whom you dubbed mors as a reminder of your mortality. he's been there as a beseeching voice in your ear all throughout your years in those halls. he made you gain a reputation as spirit - whisperer, as others would see you talking to yourself & smiling as though you had a secret. little did they know.

upon returning, your parents told you that you were ready. they avoided your eyes. they could not look you in the face with that same pride with which you left. there is a love rotting somewhere behind your eyes; you remember awakening with that hard start, the air gasping in your chest as mors said they had left you. you thought he was playing a nasty prank, as sometimes spirits are prone to do. but it was the harshest mountain's snow down your spine when you went downstairs & it was the truth. they had gone to the capital & left you the store. & yourself. the walls to talk to. the customers to care for. the books & ledgers to do yourself. lights to replace. windows to clean. you had no choice but to close down the shop for a week, & during that week, all you did was weep. clean, & weep. scrub, & weep. stare up at the stars from your balcony, feel empty, & weep. & then the soul moved within you. mors was there, loving you. others — gravitating towards you. perhaps something in the way you smile, vulpine & full of sinew, prepared to chew. perhaps it is kindness to be so honest in a day full of mysteries.

you haven't wept since that year ago. you ran out of tears just as the stars ran out of light for you. now you spend your days in your traditional dress, staying close to yourself that way, speaking mostly to mors. some might say it is a lonely life. well, it is a better one. certainly you have friends. lovers. but what could it all mean to a soul that is never satisfied. something is terribly wrong somewhere. you haven't a clue where the compass's arrow might be pointing towards. then you look in the mirror. there is your answer. & so you atone. & you heal. & you read other people's bodies in such a way that there is no mistaking intimacy. & yet, it is only mistake. so long as no one gets hurt worse. you delude yourself into believing you are strong enough to stop anything in its tracks. perhaps with more love. rotting.

#verum.intro #𝗙𝗘𝗥𝗡. / dossier.#well anyways

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foreveralwaysanauthor · 6 months

Text

Butchy's Basic Info

Name: Biagio Antonio Bandoni

Now, I must say, it was only hard for me to pick one 60s - Michael Parks 80s - Tom Cruise (Top Gun) 90s - Barry Watson (7th Heaven) now - Cody Christian (All-American)

Nicknames: Butchy, Butch (close friends only), Babs (Lela’s first nickname for him when they were little that sort of stuck through the years), and Forty (his football number in high school that some of the locals call him)

Age: 21

Date of Birth: April 18

Zodiac: Aries

Birthstone: Diamond

Nationality: Italian-American

Sexuality: Straight

Birthplace: Their old family home in Tampa, Florida

Current Residence: Three Palms Point, St. Pete Beach, Florida

Occupation: Mechanic

Talents/Skills: He’s played piano since he was little, he’s great at keeping plants alive (unlike his sister), he can write pretty good poems and short stories if he has the chance to sit and focus, and he can fix almost anything if he puts his mind to it - not just cars and bikes.

Birth order: Oldest of two

Siblings: Lelanna “Lela” Charlotte

Parents: Enzo Ferruccio Bandoni and Stella Valentina Bianchi

Signature:

Height: 6’2”

Race: White

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Dark brown, almost black

Glasses or contact lenses: Just reading glasses and, though he can read without them, if he goes too long without them, he gets migraines.

Distinguishing features: Multiple injuries from a motorcycle accident, most scars remaining in the area around his shoulder, upper back, and ribcage. Also, he has two tattoos - Mick’s initials under his wedding ring to match the one she has of his initials, and a small moth on his ribcage (a representation of transformation, change, hope, and new beginnings).

Mannerisms: Constantly spinning his wedding ring, running his hands through his hair, and humming while he works on things

Health: He’s in pretty good health, but he gets pain in his back and shoulder when it rains, something he says makes him feel a lot older than he is.

Hobbies: Writing, playing football, drag racing on the weekends with friends (much to Mick’s chagrin), making incredible grilled cheese sandwiches, and playing piano on his days off

Greatest flaw (in their opinion): How stuck in his ways he can be. Butchy likes things the way they are. He’s used to doing things a certain way and he doesn’t like when things go off of their typical course. Butchy likes routine and normality - the usual ebb and flow of life - but when something or someone interrupts the flow of his life, he sometimes struggles to find a way to allow them in. You’d see this a lot when new people are introduced to his life who aren’t directly related to the people he cares about. While he was great at accepting Royce and Bentley into his life, allowing Carrie into the picture was a years-long struggle. Sometimes, he has a harder time letting new things happen, but he’s learning how to handle that at his own pace with the help of those around him.

Best quality (in their opinion): Selflessness. As the designated dad friend of the group, he’s forever putting other’s needs before his own - sometimes to his own detriment - but he’s proud of the fact that everyone sort of turns to him when they need something. They know he’s there for them no matter what and he loves it when someone comes to him, looking for help or even just someone to talk to. Regardless of whether or not he had plans already, he would set nearly anything aside for a friend or family member. His friends constantly come to him when they need help and he can’t help but smile and agree as he feels needed for something. When the kids come up asking him for help with friendship issues or drama problems or, heck, even dating issues, he feels like a proud dad/uncle. It makes him feel complete, in a way, that the people he loves would come to him for help.

Biggest fear: Being unable to protect those he cares about. He first realized this when he and Lela were younger and he found out she was being picked on. Being older and stuck in the next school up from her, he was unable to rush to her aid whenever she needed him, and it hurt. By the time Miles came into the picture, he was taller, stronger, and able to help, but he wasn’t there when Miles got jumped - another tally on the list of people he couldn’t protect. When Mick came around, he originally pushed back the idea of being with her to save himself from letting down someone else. However, that didn’t last long and he’s done everything in his power to keep her safe. When he sees the kids running around town on their bikes, causing their typical mayhem, he wants to join them to make sure nothing happens, but forces himself to stand back with the knowledge that he’ll be there when they fall. He hates the thought of being unable to protect the people he cares about, but he’s working on being able to understand that he can’t surround the whole world in bubble wrap just to make sure nobody gets hurt.

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

Favorite ice cream: Banana cream pie

Favorite color: Blue

Favorite number: 40, for his football number, and 320, for the date he and Mick got married on - March 20th, the first day of spring.

Favorite songs: You Rang My Bell by Jamey Foxton, Somebody To Love by Queen, and I Was Made for Lovin’ You by KISS

A place they want to visit: Monte Carlo, Monaco

#character info

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tuttifuckinfruttifriday · 2 years

Text

The Voorhees' vacation to Ambrose, pt 5

-Trudy's House of Wax, knocking people out, and that freaking truck

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: violence, a bit of angst, bad grammar(probably), maybe a bit shitty with some POV changes/time skips (* the asterisks), Bo's filthy mouth Ig

Note: One more part after that one! And none of the pics or gifs under the cut are mine(as usual)

As they came to the door, Jason, Malon and Lily found a 'closed' signed on it, but ignored the sign since Bo said that they could go in. As Jason pushed the door, it's texture making him frown, Malon tugged on his shirt with an excited gasp. She scratched the wall with her nail, then showed her finger to her father, bits of what seemed like wax on the tip of her finger. ''I think it's wax!'' She exclaimed happily, and that actually made Jason tilt his head as he watched Lily do the same, the girl gasping too as she then felt the door. ''That's crazy...'' How could someone make a place out of wax?? It must be a coat they put on it, right? Jason thought as he pushed the door open, trying no to think too much about it as he let the girls go before him while he followed them.

Wax. Wax everywhere. It was almost creepy, but still really fascinating. People danced, some were sitting on the side and/or doing other things, and there were some wax sculptures on a shelf. There were some others things, counting a really realistic piano, and there was stairs and even a doorway, which meant other rooms.

As they looked around, they strangely didn't find any celebrities they knew. ''Isn't there supposed to be known people in a wax museum?'' Lily spoke his mind as she held a small wax ballerina in the palms of her hands, gently trying to get the cobwebs off of it while she looked around. Jason immediately went to her and gently took the sculpture, placing it back on the shelf with a small shake of his head. Even though she was gentle with it, he didn't want to risk breaking something in there, and he knew MJ would do the same. Thinking about MJ, he realized why she wanted to come here. The wax things were amazing.

Lily seemed to understand that she wasn't supposed to touch it and softly apologised, rubbing the back of her neck while they went towards Malon, who was looking at a woman in a pink dress, the latter dancing with a man in a suit.

''Who's that supposed to be...?'' She asked as she looked up at her father, a frown upon her face. Jason only shook his head at that, making the girl sigh as they continued to look around. It was like someone had put wax all over a normal house and it's people, or they literally made a full house of wax(which, unbeknownst to them, was close to reality) . The kitchen looked like a real one, with 'food' on the table and even a maid, who kinda looked like she had an accident though, her face a bit melted/broken. ''Creepy..'' Malon let out a small 'ew' and fake shivered, grimacing at the wax figure.

Out of their eyesight, in a shadowy corner, two high chairs were hidden away, cobwebs all over them.

(I tried to find that specific scene from the movie, but only found that picture, so here you go)

As they were going to go back out and to reunite with MJ and Eric, Lily let out a startled scream, turning around towards a window and staring at it with frightened eyes. ''There was someone there!''

The girl's face had become pale as she looked between the window and the mirror she was looking into seconds before. Jason had immediately went to the window, his hand going to his belt as he would have reached for his machete, only to remember that he left it in the van as he patted the empty spot. He rarely had regrets when it came to his weapons, but now he regretted not carrying it. His senses were on high alert as he made a wait sign with his hand so the girls would stay inside as he went to take a look, carefuly looking around the corner as he got out the door and down the steps. Outside, the only thing he found was a trap door that seemed to be locked from inside, no one in sight.

The two girls went out as Jason shook his head through the window, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to open the trap. After a couple of hard pulls, he stopped and realized he wouldn't open it.

''I... I saw them...'' Lily stared at Jason with a sad and concerned expression on her face, then look at Malon as she gently put a hand on her shoulder. ''I believe you, Lily...'' The latter huffed and gave her a sad smile as Jason started to walk back the trail they took and towards the house.

Malon and her father walked in the front, unfortunately not realizing that Lily didn't follow them, the girl walking towards the trap door. Even though she was terrified of what might be behind it, her curiosity took front and she gently tugged on the handles, a surprised gasp leaving her as she opened them.

Eric waited as 10 minutes passed, looking around. Then 15, then 25 minutes...

He started getting worried as he wondered what was taking so long. Maybe MJ helped Bo find the patches? ... He hoped it was for something like that or he would blame himself so bad if something happened to her....

He had enough when 30 minutes passed, so he went inside, still knocking on the door frame to stay polite. ''Hello?? MJ??'' He called out, his voice filling the seemingly empty house, and unkowingly to him, catching a masked murderer's attention. He was really hesitant as he stepped away from the door, softly shutting it as his manners took the better of him. Not knowing what to do, the man looked around as he stayed near the door, in what seemed like the living room, frowning. ''MJ??'' He went down the hall, ignoring the stairs, and knocked at the doors he passed, opening most of them and not finding anyone. The last door was locked, and made Eric panic since he was sure that there was no one inside the house.

He ran outside as he opened the door again, his eyes wide open as he instantly came face to face with the front of the truck... ''What the....'' He didn't see the front earlier, but now he wished he had. The broken headlight and familiarity of the car made him take some steps back towards the house. In his shock, he was totally unaware of the almost silent footsteps behind him, and was knocked to the ground when a force stricked him in the back of the head. ''-Hel-!'' He was cut off as he turned onto his back and the last things he saw were a blurry figure towering over him, and a fist coming down his face, then everything turned black.

Heavy breathing filled the room.

''P-please....'' ''Shhh-shhh.....'' He shushed as he continued to bind MJ's legs as she squirmed in the chair, her vision blurry from how much she cried. She'd been knocked out and woke up with him turning a radio on, heavy metal blasting through the speakers as he carried her down some stairs, then strapped her in what looked like an hospital chair, with metal bars on the side and some leather straps where her arms were supposed to go.

'' I'll be right back.. The bathroom is right down the hall.'' Bo had said as he pointed down the hall, halfway up the steps near the door. ''Alright!'' MJ,d nodded as she silently went down and found the bathroom. She closed and locked the door, doing what she needed to do, then washed her hands and went back out. She was going to call out to Bo when she neared the stairs,figuring it wouldn't take long if he kept his deliveries separated from everything, until she felt a hot pain at the back of her head. Her hand went to spot as she fell down, going down with a thud. She let out a silent scream at the force, her vision turning almost black, then lost consciousness

Her head throbbed with immense pain as she tried desesperately to kick him off, but she was too dazed, and her legs were feeling weaker than usual. To prevent her from kicking, he wrapped her legs up in duct tape, the only thing he had close.

His sleeves rolled up a bit as he tried to keep her legs down, and MJ stopped moving them in shock at what she saw. There were some scars all around his wrists, like a horrifying bracelet.

''W-...'' She stopped herself. Bo's eyes snapped to her pale face as she kept looking at his wrists, a weird feeling deep inside her chest. Even though she was a bit dizzy, she knew what she was seeing didn't look like it was self inflicted.

He rapidly connected the dots as he saw her eyes on his hands and he shook his head with a chuckle devoid of any humor. He backed up and looked at her with his head tilted, trying to get rid of the adrenaline that spurted through his veins.

It was silence, only their mixed breathings filling the silence. Until MJ unfortunately(for her) decided to ask a question, her fears almost forgotten. '' W... What happened-'' She stopped speaking and let out a squeak as her captor walked towards her, going to the back of the chair. She strained to try to look back and stopped her attempts once she felt his breaths at the side of her face, her eyes closing in fear. His close proximity made her blood turn cold and the hair on the back of her neck stand.

''You're really in no fucking position to ask any questions.''

Tears filled her eyes as she nodded in understanding, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding as she clenched her jaw from the pain nodding caused her.

''Mom?? Lilly??'' Both of their heads snapped up as they heard a girl's voice through the sewer grate on the 'ceiling'. That made her think that they were probably under the gas station, or another store they passed. Though if she looked at the tools lying around, she could say that it seemed to be the gas station...

'Malon???' MJ's eyes became round as saucers as she realized that they must have come back from the house of wax. Evidently, before she could say anything, she felt something sharp at her neck and tears came back to the surface as her body shook. Bo had come back behind her, a sharp tool that she couldn't tell the appearance of held tight against her neck. She felt it almost piercing the skin, which reminded her in what position she was in. ''One word and this is goin' through your throat. Yeah?'' He whispered, looking up as he heard footsteps, still holding the tool close to her neck.

MJ nodded, but he still got the duct tape and put a strip against her mouth. ''You're lucky I let you keep those pretty lips of yours.'' He tapped the tape on her mouth with his index finger before going around her chair and opening her only exit, closing the door behind him. Her pleads were unheard as she looked through the small gaps, hot tears sliding down her face when she saw Malon's red hair. 'Please don't hurt my baby, don't hurt my baby.....'

While they were going up to the house, Malon stopped her father as she realized that Lily wasn't there anymore, her eyes wide in panic. They'd immediately gone back to the house of wax, but didn't find her there. So they'd decided to go to the gaz station, thinking that she might be there with Bo, MJ and Eric.

Alas, none were there, the only sound being some kind of music playing inside. ''Where are they??? Maybe they're still at the house?-'' Malon's face turned sour as she looked up at her father, knowing that they were probably not at the house since it's been a really long time and they only went to get some tire patches. She was trying to stay on the bright side, but there was a bad feeling in guts and she hated it... as she tried not to break down, she let her father take her on his hip. She'd wrapped her arms around his neck, her small body shaking against him as the music suddenly died down.

Both's heads snapped to the door behind them, seeing Bo getting out with a friendly smile on his face, a packet of tire patches in his hand. ''Got the patches.'' He let out a chuckle, stopping before them as his smile turned into a frown. ''Where are the others?'' He genuinely looked confused, what seemed like a bit of concern on his face when no one spoke. He seemed to be searching for something as he looked around for a second, a small frown upon his face.

Malon, deciding to get over her thoughts as she knew her father couldn't speak, turned her head towards him. ''Weren't my mom and Eric supposed to be with you?..'' She started to feel a bit sleepy, so she put her head against her father's shoulder, only for him. to her displeasure, to put her down and step closer to Bo, putting an arm before her defensively.

It took a second as Bo's frown deepened. ''Well, MJ came back here with me and we waited here for a while as I closed the shop... I thought she'd be right here...'' ''What about Eric?... Or Lily??'' ''Lily? The girl you went to the house o' wax with?'' ''Yea..'' ''I didn't see her.. And Eric, the other guy, was supposed to come back here since he needed to use the bathroom...'' The man looked between them, until his face seemed to lighten up. ''Maybe MJ's down there with my brother, he was there a while ago...'

Jason's fists loosened as they went to the door, until his ears caught the faint and familiar sound of what seemed like someone screaming. While Bo unlocked the door, Malon close behind him, Jason's feet carried him towards the sewer grate, and he froze, his breath stopping.

His wife was looking up at him through the sewer grate, her eyes wide in panic as she struggled, her feet wrapped in duct tape and her wrist bound on the side of a chair.

Without making any sound, Jason walked towards Bo and Malon, then stricked the other man strait in the back of the head, making the latter almost loose his balance as he then turned around towards him. ''What the hell??-'' Bo swung at him, but missed as Jason then punched him strait in the stomach, then squared him in the face, sending him to the floor.

#randomly a fan #jason voorheese #ocs #house of wax

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heart-shaped-chains · 1 month

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This should go on the not horny account but I'm too lazy to log off and log back in lmao. Anyway long ass vent about a mystery...condition? I guess. Warning for internalized ableism, probably.

I'm just always stiff. Like if I put my hands in a claw (like a cat) position and turn them, there's just so much popping. My neck pops pretty easily, so does my back. My back and neck are always hurting because they're so stiff. Same with my fingers, hands, wrists, and even elbows. Even my fucking. Ankles and knees get it sometimes, though not as frequently as everything above the waist. Hands are definitely the worst though.

I've lost my appetite over the course of a few months for no seeming reason. I'm not complaining because I was at my highest weight and I've dropped 10 pounds. Not that I'm insecure about being fat, but I know that my peak weight (in terms of just general fitness) is quite a bit lower than what it is currently. Just surprising because I haven't really changed my lifestyle, I just haven't been as hungry recently?

Despite taking off that weight and having less to carry on me, the pain hasn't eased up. If I take like, a small jump and land the wrong way, or put too much force in a step, shooting pain in my ankles, maybe even my knees. And I'm fucking. 19, barely 19, too. People my age do crazy shit. They do stupid stunts, they can do super cool shit. And my hands shake and if I sleep wrong, my back hurts and everything just hurts all the time.

And like. You get used to it, but it still hurts. But ofc, you're not diagnosed with anything and you feel like a fake. You're pretty sure you know what you have, but what if you're just being dramatic? What if the doctor you get referred to doesn't believe you because you're too young? I mean, my mom was diagnosed well into her adulthood, and she had been dealing with this pain since she was my age. It just discourages you more, even though you're being hyper vigilant about it. Because again, what if you're just being overdramatic and it's not normal?

I woke myself up crying one night because my hands were hurting so fucking much. It was super bad in my wrists and palms, bad in my fingers, and it even went down my forearms to my elbows. I tried like. Every position to get them to stop, I was trying to completely relax them since gripping, along with opening/straightening up, just makes it worse.

It's like my hands (maybe tendons? Not bones.) are just rusty. There's so much pushback if I try to straighten my fingers out completely (like this🖐️), they just. Automatically go back and I have to try harder to get them straight. I gave up on ASL because I can't fuckin. Separate my fingers far enough, I don't play piano songs that challenge me, nor do I play for as long as I want to, and my bass is collecting dust. Now I'm rethinking pursuing forensics and (maybe) becoming an autopsy tech because my hands are so fucking shitty.

I deal with the pain. I try not to show it because I'm young, and this shouldn't be happening. It's not accepted that this happens. And I love my family, but they're crass. And I don't need them calling me a pussy and claiming I have a low pain tolerance or whatever. Plus, my mom has it way worse than I do. So I just feel like I'm being overdramatic because she deals with excruciating pain every day and she just. Goes on. She yells and cries, but she keeps pushing. And I'm much healthier than her, so what right do I have to lay down and cry about it?

I'm kinda coming to terms with the fact that this isn't normal for people my age. And that it's probably some sort of health problem, and that because of genetics, it could be a chronic illness. And I just. It feels so unfair because I'm fucking nineteen. I could deal with getting that at 30, but I'm already dealing with fuckin "stiff back/hand hurty/joints hate you" syndrome at not even twenty???

Like. It's a fucking joke. I didn't even get to do any wild shit like go bungee jumping or go exploring in some random hole in the ground that turns out to be an unmapped cave system (true story. Source: my dad). I didn't get to like. Do parkour and shit, I haven't even done martial arts since middle school....My closest near death experience was almost choking on my vomit while I was alone in my room, tripping balls. That is hands down, the saddest fucking way to go. Also the fuckin. Saddest (derogatory) near death experience. No cool story, just dumb luck bc I happened to automatically sit up. And now I'm scared of being nauseous lmao. That's not cool, that's just fucking sad.

Like. I should've gotten some more time before this started happening. I see people joke about how when you turn 30, you start feeling injuries for longer, or you hurt more when you bump into something. Or just. Small things like that. It's a joke about aging and how your body's breaking down, it's gallows humor for everyone who's aging and dealing with that. I can't even legally buy cigarettes and I can relate to that shit, it's not fair.

And it makes me wonder, how bad is it gonna be when I do turn 30? Is it just gonna get worse over time? I don't wanna take painkillers because knowing me, I'd get hooked. So what do I do? Just hope that it doesn't get that much worse? Just hope that my pain tolerance is more developed by then since I'll have gotten more used to it? I don't wanna ask my mom about it, even though she lived it. I'm taking a break from therapy bc I'm switching therapists so I can't go in depth about it with a professional. It's just. Ugh.

It's bullshit. My hands ache all the time and I didn't even do anything. Like. What the fuck did I do? Is this God's way of punishing me for fucking up my teenage years? I was a kid. Yet the aching started when I was like 16, before I even started doing drugs...

It's probably just random. It just happened that I got it. It's just so unfair. Like I already have bad intrusive thoughts and shit, just, a very bad state of mind. Yet mental pain wasn't enough? It needs to be physical, too? That's just shitty. That's so fucking shitty. My hands shake, that's not fair.

Anyway, thanks for reading this far if you did. Sorry for the overall bad vibes. Feel free to armchair diagnose me if you want lmao, any advice is welcome. Please be nice to me, thanks 🩵

#cj rambles #minors dni #high posting #not nsft #vent #uhhh idk what else to tag this #internalized ableism #chronic pain #i guess. maybe.#i mean 3 years is long and it happens all the time so ig its chronic #imposter syndrome #cause i feel like a fucking fraud crybaby bitch for even talking about this lmao

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patrioticshortbread · 2 years

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i cannot seem to write. i have rewritten, and written, and rewritten the same sentences over, and over, and over. as though my palms and fingers are obsessed with inanity. im going to drive myself to straight madness if i continue this way. what do i write of? sorrow? joy? neither? both? their combination, my ambivalence, how ridiculous i feel when i gut my fish-like soul? what accomplishments do i have? who am i? what have i done? what do i enjoy? am i more than just the accumulation of misery i carry like a grand piano protruding off my chest? or am i just that, this sad empty shell used up to nothingness. i must be nothing for i can write of nothing. its all ive felt i have, the only item i can claim as my own. but its not even in my own hands now, its off the page, its boiling in my gut. useless. im going to rip my skin to shreds and tear my eye balls from their sockets if i keep this up. i feel kicked and beaten to the dirt, like the more i manage to fail, the bigger indent of my own grave i carve in the soil. is this my insecurity, my anxiety, the true damage that riddles me? is this the summary of all thats happened, that the events of my life have scooped me so hollow i cannot even describe their occurrence? i wish i was mathematic. scientific. anything but a writer, for im not even one at this point if i cannot even complete a single paragraph, let alone thought. my confidence is mute. my self assurance is zero. i am failing and it is bigger than discard paper and wasted pen ink. it is me. it is my flaw.

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jezzinarvo · 2 years

Text

°• Massage •°

kageyama tobio x reader

wordcount: 769

content warnings: none

summary: pianist!reader gets a hand massage from kageyama; fluff fluff fluff fluff and fluff; post time-skip; gender neutral reader

ao3 :>>>

You slammed your hands on the keys of your piano and suddenly stood up, your chair aggressively scraping the wooden floors.

"Fuck this," you sighed, shaking your hands as you paced across the room. Your tempo was off, you kept hitting neighboring keys, and kept missing notes. Just a series of stupid mistakes.

You knew you should be taking a breather. You were getting tunnel vision, your fingers were starting to lock, and your hands and arms were shaking. But still, you had a strong urge to sit back down and do it all again. To perfect it. You were not giving up until it's perfect. You also had a concert in a month but, to be honest, that was hardly your main concern.

You tensely ran your fingers through your hair, dragged your stool back in place, and blew out a sharp breath. You began the piece again.

You were stopped abruptly, however, when you heard the door to your studio open.

"I'm home," Kageyama announced from the doorway wearing a suit and blue tie, a contrast to the bulky sports bag he was carrying. An interesting outfit.

"Tobio," you looked up in surprise, "Ah, I forgot you were staying over today. You’re pretty early, though. I thought you had a post-game party or something?"

"Early?" Kageyama removed his shoes, dropped his bag by the sofa and walked towards you, "It's half past midnight."

What? "You're joking." You stood up, frantically looking around for your phone. You could've sworn it was only eight.

"Why are you practicing this late?" he asked, slight worry edging his voice.

Before you could answer him, you found your phone, but after you picked it up, it slid from your tired fingers and landed with an ominous thud.

"Oi, Y/n." said Kageyama dangerously, eyeing the phone, your shaking fingers, then your face. He looked like a parent sensing that their child did something wrong. Here we go again.

"What time did you start practicing?"

You gulped, "Ten."

Kageyama frowned as you picked up your phone from the ground. Both of you knew you couldn't lie yourself out of this but wasn't it worth a try?

"Nine?" you smiled tentatively.

“Y/n,” His frown deepened.

You sighed in defeat, looking away from him. "Fine. Four. I started at around four."

Kageyama sighed, shaking his head, "Idiot."

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” you whined absentmindedly, staring at the displayed time on your phone in disbelief.

By the time you had a grasp on the fact that you have been practicing for eight hours, Kageyama had already grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the sofa with a mint ointment in his hand. He loosened his tie before pouring out the ointment onto his hand and warmed it between his fingers.

"You'd think as a professional, you have learned when to rest. Idiot," he nagged as he pressed his thumbs into the aching muscles of your palm.

A fire lit inside you. But at the same time you just wanted to melt. That felt so goood.

"I don't want to hear that shit from your mouth, volleyball freak," you retorted, holding back a moan of relief, "Who did Nicholas call to drag your ass off the gym at 10 pm?"

Kageyama flushed but fought back regardless, "Ha. Says the one who got locked in their school building 'cuz they didn't want to leave the practice room.

You could play this game all night long if you wanted to but the feeling of his large, calloused hands massaging away the strain and tension from your own was too much of a distraction.

Instead, with a final roll of your eyes, you settled into the warmth of his fingers and the contrasting coolness of the mint ointment. You hummed as he started working on each of your fingers.

You closed your eyes, the fatigue of your long practice fully setting in your bones. You didn’t realize that you had fallen asleep until you woke up to Kageyama carrying you to your bedroom. He had already changed into a shirt and sweatpants and smelled of your soap and toothpaste.

You stifled a yawn, catching Kageyama’s attention. He adjusted you in his hold, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck. You placed a soft kiss on his jaw and nuzzled into his neck.

"Thanks babe. And you must be tired too, I'm sorry," you muttered, sleep slurring your words.

“I wasn’t that tired, don’t worry.” You could feel his smile as he returned a firm kiss to your temple.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Love you too.”

#kageyama tobio #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio x reader fluff #kageyama tobio x reader oneshot #kageyama tobio fluff #kageyama tobio oneshot #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #pro volleyball player kageyama tobio #post timeskip #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#this is my first fic so :>>#hope you enjoyed!!

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