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nobodyfamousposts · 4 months

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Coffeenette

For the record, they blame Alya. All of them do. No question. They will never NOT blame Alya for this.

Even Nino, who is her boyfriend and supposed to support her. He’s agreed with her about almost everything. But not about this.

Even Rose, who is the sweetest girl in their class. She’ll apologize and be really nice about it, but she still blames Alya.

Heck, even Chloe did, which was a surprise. She was a bully sure, but as such, anyone would have thought this sort of thing would be beneath her. Though it could simply be that she just liked having any excuse to make fun of someone.

…Or so they thought until they saw Chloe scramble away to hide as soon as she saw it happen.

But none of them blamed Alya more for this situation than Marinette, who could only swear all unholy vengeance and glare daggers at her soon to be ex-best friend as she took her sole reason for living in this cold and terrible world and threw it in the garbage!

“Marinette, come on. It’s not that big of a deal!”

“It was innocent…”

“It was a cup of coffee!”

“The perfect cup of coffee. The coffee to end all coffees. Brewed to perfection and at just the right temperature. I could have died happily with that coffee. No other cup of coffee will ever compare. Ambrosia was in that cup and you threw it away!”

“Are you serious?!”

“Shh. Shh…I must mourn.”

“Get off the floor!”

“Mourn, I say!”

Oh sure, some had shrugged it off at the time. Alya had just rolled her eyes and dragged Marinette to class—coffeeless. Others had simply laughed a little at the dramatic display before moving on.

But those who knew better were panicking.

Some were already looking up therapists. Two were immediately calling their parents to ask about a school transfer. A few had given up on life and were writing up their wills.

It should be made clear: Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a kind girl. Sweet. Dedicated. Dependable. If you needed help, she was there. She was the one to look to for a solution to any problem. She was the first to put forth an effort and offer an olive branch, even if you hurt her. And of course the last thing she ever wanted to do was upset anyone. And if she did, she would be the first to apologize and try to make up for it.

…the problem was that this was all when Marinette was in a good space. And while her good days exceeded her bad days, that was not to say that there were not bad days. And when she had her bad days, they were…bad.

The thing that few knew about Marinette Dupain-Cheng was that there were…times, you could say, when she was not her normal friendly self. Times when she was…

…Grumpy.

Kind of mean.

Downright brutal, actually.

It only happened when she was either very angry or very stressed.

Which, unfortunately for everyone, has been increasing quite a bit since Hawk Moth made his grand entrance into the world of supervillainy.

Marinette had been stressed for a while and it showed. She’d been losing sleep. And they could tell she’s been more groggy given how frequently she’s been walking into walls and doors. They had thought this was cute at first. They had even laughed about it.

They hadn’t realized that this was actually only the first stage. Not until she started coming in with coffee—something she hadn’t done in years.

Marinette struggled when she was tired.

Thanks to Hawk Moth, she had lately been very tired.

And with her consistent lack of sleep, coffee had been her best friend. Or at least her best consumable friend. The sort of friend that brought her relief and made living bearable.

…until Alya took it away.

It turned out that Marinette’s parents had become…”concerned” about Marinette’s caffeine intake and had forbidden her from the beverage. Normally, they could only keep it away from her at home by either keeping her from the coffee pot or when necessary, switching to decaf. But Marinette had found ways around that by getting her bitter bitter life-saving paint stripper juice outside, usually on the way to school.

Or at least, she used to. But this was a new year and THIS time, Marinette had a new friend—and a BEST FRIEND at that in the form of Alya Cesaire, whom Tom and Sabine had chosen to enlist in their plot to protect their daughter from things that weren’t good for her.

Like coffee. Her precious life-preserving coffee.

And next to the Ladyblog and her secondary role as Rena Rouge, Alya had never jumped on anything faster.

Marinette’s morning coffee run? Done. A thing of the past as Alya would walk her to school and ensure they made no other stops along the way.

Marinette’s stash of coffee and energy drinks? Ransacked. Alya searched her locker, her desk, her bags. And being Marinette’s best friend, she knew ALL of her potential hiding spots.

Marinette’s emergency chocolate-covered espresso beans? Taken. Alya practically treated it like it was radioactive given the gloves and goggles she wore as she removed them. And in her defense, they very well may have been. Marinette was very tight-lipped over just where she had gotten them. She had tried to hide the fact that they WERE espresso beans, but Alya still wasn’t fooled.

Alya was on the hunt and there was NOTHING that could stop her. For her best friend’s “greater good”.

…as far as Marinette was concerned, the “greater good” could shove it.

She saved Paris on a daily basis! This was the LEAST it could give her in return!

Sadly, it appeared that Alya—and by extension Paris, cared not for Marinette’s sacrifice. Thus she was left to stew in her growing rage…stew like the precious brew she was being deprived of.

Up until that point it was clear that Marinette had been surviving on coffee and sheer spite. And now she only had one of those two things left.

But it would be fine! Really!

…so long as no one earned her ire.

Chloe had been one such unfortunate recipient of that ire some time ago in her younger days. Though Marinette had profusely apologized to her afterwards, Chloe never forgot and has held it against her ever since.

...well, after her several month sabbatical from school, at any rate.

So the fact that Chloe was suddenly trying to convince her father to let her take a vacation in the middle of the school year should have been a major red flag.

…or the way Marinette slammed her bag on her desk to get the class’s attention when they started getting off task and too loud in class.

……or the death glare she gave Kim the instant he tried to poke fun at her state with a literal poke to her cheek to try to wake her…and the injured finger he received for his trouble when she grabbed the offending object and bent it back.

…………or how most of the teachers were conveniently refraining from giving them any homework assignments they knew they should have been getting. Or not acknowledging Marinette’s grumpy behavior and sleeping in class. Or avoiding even looking in Marinette’s general direction.

The point was that it was evident that not all was right in the classroom and especially with their normally kind and happy Everyday Ladybug.

To their credit, the classmates had tried to bring Marinette coffee in order to help restore her to her usual state...or at least avoid her wrath.

But all their attempts were for naught, as Alya herself had become something of a bloodhound for caffeine. And having appointed herself as enforcer of the coffee ban, she would confiscate any form of the substance they tried to bring in and dispose of it in short order—much to the classmates’ horror and Marinette’s growing displeasure.

As far as the class could figure, it seemed that coffee was either simply useful in keeping Marinette awake and aware, or it was a comfort to her when she was feeling stressed.

Probably both.

And Alya, in all her misguided concern for the girl’s health, had taken it upon herself to remove the one thing keeping Marinette stable. Stable and happy and not inclined to traumatize anyone unfortunate enough to get in her way.

So yes, everyone in the class did blame her. They didn’t do anything about that resentment, of course, but they did still blame her.

Not that Alya seemed to care.

“Alya.” Nino knelt—literally knelt before her, his hands clasped as if in prayer. “Please. I’m begging you! Just let the girl have her coffee!”

She only rolled her eyes before throwing away yet another cup Marinette had managed to procure from the teacher’s lounge—somehow completely ignoring the daggers the other girl was glaring at them all with from the window of the classroom.

Alya was unmoved.

And seemingly oblivious to the scratch marks on the window left in the wake of Marinette’s pawing.

“It’s for her own good.” Alya insisted, much to the growing horror and frustration of those around her.

“What about our good?“

“You’ll be fine.“ She said dismissively.

“She made Kim cry!” Nino exclaimed, gripping his hat.

“You’re exaggerating.“

“She brought out the Vial. Do I need to tell you about the Vial?“

“The what now?“

“Marinette has a special Vial she carries during…these times.” Max explained as he helped the despondent Nino to his feet.

Alya blinked.

“Okay?”

“She uses that Vial to collect the tears of anyone who so much as annoys her while she’s in this state!”

“That’s a little weird, but—”

Nino cut her off.

“She uses those tears to flavor her coffee.”

Alya stared.

“What?”

“She flavors her coffee with tears, Alya!” He continued, gripping her shoulders. “Not cream! Not sugar! Not cinnamon or chocolate or pumpkin spice like normal people and Americans! TEARS! OUR TEARS! What does that tell you?!”

“That tells me you’re exaggerating.“ She replied, looking decidedly unimpressed. And thus cruelly ignored his whimpering as she tossed the rest of the coffee into the trash bin.

She shot them a look as she slammed the bin lid closed, as if daring them to challenge her.

Nino looked on the verge of a breakdown.

Max sighed and texted the others.

To everyone else, the slamming of that bin lid was akin to a signal…one that indicated the sealing of their fates.

Some cried. Some prayed.

Most chose to stay out of the way.

…that was likely all they could do.

Other than blame Alya, of course. Which they did.

As Marinette’s antics changed from funny “walking into walls isn’t she cute” to less funny “eviscerate your soul with words”.

As whispers from the rest of the school followed the classmates, offering them sympathy and prayers.

As the very atmosphere changed from a sense of melancholy to ever growing unease and outright paranoia. As if her presence itself brought with it something seemingly eldritch in nature.

And through it all, Alya ignored the warnings and insisted this was for the best.

To be fair, it was perhaps her friendship with Marinette that offered her some protection from the worst of it.

…others were not spared.

Timothy—everyone remember Timothy? Prominent student and good friend to the rest of the class. Top of his class. Fellow swimmer and athlete to Kim and Odine. Was one of the few people Chloe would listen to. Tried to help Nino throw the party during Bubbler and the only one to notice Sabrina hadn’t appeared in a while in Antibug. Remember? That Timothy. Had totally been there all along and was well liked by everyone. Possibly as much as Adrien.

…until he admonished Marinette for bumping into him and not looking where she was going.

And.

Marinette.

Snapped.

It was the moment Marinette finally had enough. Both of the lack of coffee and of holding back her frustration about the situation.

It was also the last time Timothy was seen at school. Or anywhere for that matter. Given how abrupt it was and how people actively avoid mentioning him again, some question if he had ever really existed…

Eh, probably not. It was likely just a rumor.

What wasn’t a rumor was how Chloe (after being denied being allowed to ditch school) presumed that a new year and being Queen Bee meant she was stronger than she had been before and thus strong enough to put the caffeine-deprived version of Marinette in her place. She would prove to Marinette, to herself, and to everyone that SHE was the head bitch in charge.

Marinette was abruptly woken out of a nice daydream that either involved Adrien or coffee or Adrien AND coffee to find herself being yelled at. And find herself face to face with Chloe.

Oh wait, Chloe was the one yelling at her.

She had a hard time making out what Chloe was saying, but the fact remained that it WAS Chloe. Which was never a pleasant place to begin any realization.

It would help if she had coffee.

Was there coffee?

Marinette looked at her depressingly empty hands.

No.

"Well?! Do you hear me?!" Chloe shouted.

Marinette looked up at the blonde and took a slow breath before opening her mouth to speak.

...

…thirty minutes later, Sabrina found Chloe catatonic under her desk and took her home early.

To be fair, she had brought it on herself. After all, she really should have learned her lesson from the last time. But still, it was hard to forget the scene as Sabrina gently guide her out of the building as Chloe mumbled to herself, her face pale, her mascara running, and her eyes wide and haunted.

She was out for the rest of the week.

Bustier was...no help. In her ever rose-tinted fashion, she attempted to speak with Marinette early on what had been a particularly bad morning.

“Marinette, I heard you’ve been having some trouble with your classmates.”

It took a minute for Marinette to realize Bustier was there, much less that she was trying to have a conversation.

“—argument with Chloe the other day. It seems like whatever you had said really hurt Chloe’s feelings.”

Marinette blinked, trying to comprehend what was being said to her.

“—was uncalled for. Chloe didn’t deserve that.”

Bustier. Something about Chloe? She hadn’t seen her in a while. She thought things had been quieter lately…

“—you know how Chloe is and that she needs help. Surely whatever she said couldn’t have been that bad, and—”

These were clearly words, but they weren’t making sense.

“—remember what I said before about the Marinette’s of the world? It’s important to show love to people, even if they aren’t nice. So they can learn from your good example and—”

Marinette.exe needed coffee to continue this conversation.

“I think the two of you can talk this out. You can apologize to Chloe and model the right behaviors.”

Was there coffee to continue?

“—and who knows? Maybe the two of you will even become the best of friends!”

No.

“—what do you think?”

Marinette frowned at Bustier and opened her mouth to speak.

...

...it would be the first and only time Bustier would make such an attempt to speak to coffee-deprived Marinette. Nobody knows exactly what happened, as the students had come in when class started only to find Bustier in the aftermath, sobbing over her desk and completely inconsolable.

No class was had that day.

#ml fic #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #coffeenette #why alya why #alas poor timothy #we...didn't really know you at all actually #but you will be missed #yes I'm actually writing this #pray for me #pray for everyone actually #the poor poor traumatized souls

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pissmoon · 7 months

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Everytime i see this idiotic post on 'atheism of white men vs. Atheism of the opressed' i notice something stupid about it i didnt notice before its such brainrot its like watching a surreal movie u notice something new every single time.... and now im thinking..... why do you care if atheists' and non-religious people's 'reasons' for not believing are good and profound enough? Why are their reasons any of your business anyway? Why do you feel entitled to them explaining this to you? They need to 'prove' they're one of the 'good' non-believers to you, why? If this is your attitude do you think they will tell you their real reasons and engage in serious good faith debate with a judgemental stranger who can't mind their own business and comes at them like 'justify yourself to me!' anyway? Do you think they always tell their real reasons to religious people who act hostile and judgemental? They can't just exist out there not believing without having to explain themselves to you? Why does not believing need to be justified, is believing the default state of being? How can you be sure their reasons are what you think they are, how do you know you are not projecting and talking out of your ass?

#hands up dumbest 'progressive' post ive seen here #'they are either a poor lost soul traumatized by religion or one of these reddit fedora atheists!!!!' maybe they are neither lmfao #honestly if u ppl are talking to atheists like this its no wonder theyd get pissed off and say something edgy about 'fairytales' eventually

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laughable-umbrella · 5 months

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ON MY THIRD LISTEN OF TMA NOW AND I JUST PICKED UP ON THIS ABSOLUTELY DELECTABLE FORESHADOWING TO THE FINALE AAAAHAHSHDJEB

#it’s as yummy as a tale of some poor innocent soul’s statement detailing traumatic experiences #tma #the magnus archives #tma podcast #jon sims #tma shitpost #the archivist #tma memes #jonah magnus #martin blackwood #agnes montague #magnuspod #the web #annabelle cane #mother of puppets #SJDVSVEBSHSHSVSBBSWBEHJEHEBEVSJDUDGEHDVB

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goodmorningnona · 1 year

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ya know, i feel real bad for gideon for thinking her girlfriend was breaking up w her but like babe. you jumped on a fucking fence. i dont care if you "meant it romantically", was she supposed to like that????

#this poor girl is so repressed #she has spent her whole life with harrow wanting her dead (or at least thinking she did and that goes for the both of them)#and her undyingly loyal abused ass said one flesh one end huh..#what is the ultimate romantic gesture..#how can we save ourselves kill a lyctor and give harrow everything she's ever wanted #except WHAT SHE WANTS IS YOU IDIOT. WHO THE FUCK KILLS THEMSELVES FOR LOVE WHAT DID DULCINEA TELL YOU #you RAT im so mad at you let me brush your hair and tell you it's okay #AND MISS HARROW???? GIRL???? 'oh lemme give myself at home brain surgery so i can preserve your soul' AS A ROMANTIC GESTURE?????#WHY DONT YOU TWO JUST FUCKING. TALK TO EACH OTHER. ASK EACH OTHER THINGS. LEARN TO COMMUNICATE WITH THE OTHER HALF OF YOU #holy FUCK #THEY ARE SUCH TRAUMATIZED TEENAGERS I WANNA EAT THEM FOR BREAKFAST IM [frothing at the mouth]#the locked tomb #tlt #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb spoilers #fucking IDIOTS #GOD #AND YOU KNOW WHAT #ALSO. THE FACT THAT THEY BOTH GET WHAT THEY WANT BY THE END OF NONA AND REALIZE THEY FUCKING HATE IT HERE BECAUSE IT DOESNT HAVE THEIR #OTHER HALF. LITERALLY ALL THEY NEED IS EACH OTHER #AND ALL I NEED IN MY LIFE IS CODEPENDENT LESBIANS. FUUUUUUCKKKKKK #gtn #gideon the ninth #htn #harrow the ninth #ntn spoilers #in the tags #nona the ninth spoilers

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buckttommy · 3 months

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Every single day of this war has got me fucked up, but Hind's body being found twelve days after her disappearance among her dead relatives and the shell of the ambulance that went to go save her has broken something in me I didn't know still existed

#I knew she was dead #Realistically I knew she was dead probably that same fucking day. But god. I think I hoped a little that she wasn't #I wanted so badly for that little girl to be found alive. Traumatized as hell but living. Breathing.#I'm so shattered over this. I saw the news overnight and just... could not sleep afterward #I kept seeing her face in my dreams #God. Fuck. That poor baby #May God have mercy on her soul #jack.txt

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konigbabe · 1 year

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Re6 Leon does something to me

I can totally relate 😩 He just gives off this brat tamer, pussy pleaser dilf energy I can’t shake off…

I just can’t stop thinking about that scene between him and Helena like excuse me, when’s my turn 😩

#but he’s also being through so much shit by re6 #I just wanna give him the biggest hug #my poor traumatized soul #I might actually go and buy resident evil 6 #moni answers #answered #Leon Kennedy

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mezzy303 · 2 years

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so much chaos in like. sixty (60) seconds

#so much yelling too 😂#one piece #poor brook really did think he killed someone for a hot sec lolol #and poor chopper traumatized by law lmaoooooooo #tony tony chopper #soul king brook #vinsmoke sanji #monkey d luffy #kin'emon

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cherrysfeelings · 6 months

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FOL (Job Orientation Training) ☠

#just girly things #somebody sedate me #help my poor soul #help my poor pencil #he's holding for his dear life #I thought that I won't study this again #but here we are #i'm traumatized

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spider-man-2o99 · 1 year

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(trembling on the floor, foaming at the mouth, trying very hard to sound Normal): this fanfiction from 2003 stopped updating before it was able to deliver on its promises of vivisecting my favorite fictional guy like a science frog . i am blowing up the hostages

#talking tag #WHAT DO I GOTTA DO TO GET THIS MAN THE BRUCE BANNER TREATMENT #um. genuinely do lmk if i need to tag this as something i am not a good personal judge for written graphic-ness #but. anywho. continuing the Bit #i just . i have simple needs #who give a shit ab out . ''post traumatic stress'' ''disorder''. when the funny little freak who represents the rawest part of ur soul--#--may instead experience Always Stressful Trauma !!#<<:D #...im . coping.#and oversharing. oh bother #it's devastating that the body horror in immortal hulk is too much 4 me. weeps. how come BRUCE gets to be strapped to evil science table #what if I want MY pretty little princess to experience horrific truama at the hands of the united states government . what about ME #casually getting into danny phantom has obliterated me. i avoided it for years because i Knew this would happen and it Did #and i have no regrets #(that said this post is Not About young daniel. the poor boy has more than enough fanfiction in That Department)#no no im. im talking abt the scrungly i cant be Normal about.

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call-sign-shark · 4 months

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Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

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hhnguyen · 1 year

Text

aren’t you just precious

Everything medical related was a google search, so those in the medical field please don’t come for me - I was a literature major for a reason 😭

♢ Pairing: Parents!Jake & Neytiri x Oldest daughter!Reader

♢ Word count: 2k

♢ Genre: suspense, action, angst, slight humor - Warnings: explicit description of injuries, blood, cursing, reader is a lil crazy

⌲ Description: Your iknimaya goes a little south. Aka introducing the ‘demon ikran.’

M A S T E R L I S T

Jake Sully, a marine veteran at the age of twenty-two had gone through absolute hell on earth before ever setting his disabled ass on Pandora.

He thought he had seen the worse - comrades shot down right in front of his eyes, the blood covering their skin, blank dead eyes staring into his soul. Sometimes there were those who were actually blown to bits by bombs and grenades, screaming not even five feet away from him as they clutched their missing limbs, begging a nonexistent God for mercy.

Then there was his own injury. The pain he hardly remembered, because he had gotten to the point of delusion when they finally managed to drag him out of the war zone, half dead, and to the VA hospital.

The incoherent words he had heard after waking up from his surgery despite his hazy vision and buzzing hearing at that time, yet the truth coming out of the doctor’s mouth had still hit him in the face like the largest ‘fuck you and your life’ to exist.

“...ave severe spinal injury...fixable...expensive, marine.”

A severe spinal injury that was fixable but too expensive for a marine like him to afford.

For an active man as he had been in the past, the thought of being paralyzed from the waist had been his worst nightmare to the point of being ready to waste away his life.

Though even after all that shit, Jake Sully felt like he wanted to throw up as he stared at his oldest baby girl at the fresh age of fourteen laying there in front of him; delirious as he had once been in the same position, bleeding and bruised.

He could only thank Eywa that your heart was still beating and your body intact.

Well, mostly.

The almost nauseous angle of your left wrist certainly did not look natural. And their bones were fortified, stronger than anything else to human knowledge. Yet it had managed to snap as easily as that.

Neytiri - his beautiful, poor mate. She was distraught, one would say more so than him. Sitting only inches away from your fevering form in one of Hell’s Gate treating rooms for avatars, muttering prayers with dried tears upon her face.

Your injuries had been so severe that not even the abilities of your grandmother, the Tsahik, could heal you solely through the spiritual power of Eywa. These kinds of injuries needed the advanced surgery of human technology.

His other children were barred from coming inside, having been firmly ordered to remain in their village as he and Neytiri made sure that you would be okay. None of them wanted to keep them away, but neither did they want them to be traumatized by seeing your bloodied and broken form.

A stark contrast from the smiling and proud sister that they knew.

And yet, you had still managed to complete your iknimaya.

Jake watched with a bated breath from the air upon Bob, his own faithful ikran through the years, as he saw the slight encouraging push Neytiri had given you on the edge of the nesting place. Your, oh so small form, looked firm and stubborn as you steadily stalked forward in a crouched form, the band for the beak held in your grasp with determination.

He watched as one ikran flew away. Then another. And another. A third one. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.

He had lost count after the eleventh.

You were getting frustrated, he could see that. Neytiri was still there, calling out for you to calm down. To be patient as he moved Bob a little bit closer, but not too much to distract you if you were to see him hovering.

And there he was.

Jake had seen it before you did. The vicious screech even reached him high up in the clouds and echoed above all the other ikrans.

He felt his blood run cold as the midnight blue beast, nearly black in color with its yellow and green detailing jumped down from the highest point of the rocks and landed behind you as you whirled around with snarl of your own.

But then as fleeting as it had been, you had grinned, taking in the magnificent animal despite its bloodthirsty aggressiveness.

“Aren’t you just precious?” Neytiri had told him of your words in the aftermath.

His mate hollered in encouragement, and he could hardly stop the prideful tug of his own lips.

Rather than you leaping on the beast, Jake straightened up as he saw the ikran run at you as well. Both were only inches away from crashing, as you last minute decided to slide beneath its belly - slight enough to fit as you rolled away on the other side and then slung the catcher around its mouth swiftly before throwing yourself on its back.

His expectations had been hopeful from that moment. Positive. But wrong, oh so wrong.

Rather than trying to snap at you by turning, he watched in horror as the ikran seemed to have a human mind as it slammed against a stone wall, you hitting it first.

Neytiri had screamed, already half leaping forward but stopping herself as she saw you still clinging to the beast.

Both had thought that had been the worst of it until the ikran tried it again. This time deliberately falling backward to land on its back with a rumble, where you were hung on.

“LET GO MA ‘ITE! LET GO!” Neytiri was yelling. Or begging. He couldn’t be sure in his own fear.

But both of them underestimate you, as a growl mixed with what Jake had assumed to be a painful yell from yourself erupted. Legs manage to wrap around the animal’s neck despite being crushed underneath its weight.

He saw belatedly you were only holding on to the banshee catcher with one hand as you pulled at its head hard enough to make the animal let out another vicious muted screech.

And then you truly proved you were his daughter.

“C’MON YOU MOTHERFUCKER. GRANDPA BOB WAS BETTER THAN THIS!”

The ikran had gotten angrier, trashing before suddenly rolling like a fucking bowling pin on the stone-covered ground.

Towards the edge of the cliff.

Neytiri ran, and Jake dove, both reaching out and screaming your name as you and the ikran fell off the edge.

As his mate leaned almost desperately over the edge, Jake forced himself to draw Bob back up, only for a few seconds - not to interfere with the rite. But it was in those few seconds he felt like his heart had stopped beating.

There was that familiar screech again.

Then you were soaring.

Up in a straight line, past Neytiri and him. Tsaheylu clearly made as the ikran listened to your orders.

There was a blinding grin on your face as you soared, clearly looking for him and letting out a whoop.

The moment your eyes caught his, Jake felt his grin slip.

Your eyes, open just moments before suddenly rolled back. Your whole body went slack as you fell over the side, your newly bonded ikran screeching at the sudden weightless feeling as the bond broke and your body went straight down.

Jake hadn’t heard his desperate yell, this time diving down without stopping.

He thought you were dead when he managed to catch you and flew back up, only to have Neytiri meet him in the air on her own mount, an expression so clearly in distress. Without a word, they both made haste back to the village, your newly bonded ikran following closely behind.

“How is she?” His voice sounded like it had gone over fifty years of smoking with no water. It felt like his whole body was weighed down with stones.

“She’s alive,” that’s all that Max could offer with a grim expression. “She will need surgery. The momentum of her slamming repeatedly against stones with the ikran’s weight on top has managed to collapse a lung.”

Jake had never wanted to sob like a newborn baby until now. But he needed to remain calm, or at least sane. For Neytiri’s sake, and your siblings.

“Usually surgeries like these lead to long-term conditions in life, but we’re certain that with the Na’vi biology she will heal just fine without complications. But it’s the healing that will take time.”

He was nodding along, but it felt like he was far away. Only hearing a slight inconsistent sound in his ears as he watched through the see-through glass into the room where you were all connected up to tubes and an oxygen mask.

It was so human, the whole situation of you being in a hospital bed for avatars - Jake wanted to laugh. Not in humor, but maybe in slight delusion at the situation.

“Okay, okay…” he swallowed. “Anything else?”

His human friend was taking pity on him, Jake knew.

Max has been there since the beginning. Seeing Jake growing his own family and now being placed in this position. “Besides the broken wrist and strained ankle, it’s mostly cuts and bruises. So she will have to wear a brace as well as remain seated for the next week or so. And check-ups every three days.“

“Yeah, we can do that,” Jake croaked. “When’s the surgery?”

“As soon as possible.”

Another nod. “Thanks, man.”

“Of course.”

He had to nearly pry Netytiri away from you as she snarled protectively. But he had to explain that she couldn’t join in on the surgery due to contamination concerns. The whole room had to be fixed to match that of a Na’vi body, the surgeons wearing oxygen masks as the space was filled with Pandora’s toxic air for your sake.

It was an open lung surgery, Jake had been told. A risky procedure even on earth. It had taken four hours. Four hours full of anxiety and fear.

But you had pulled through, Max said, Norm closely behind with a relieved teary smile himself. The man was like another uncle to the kids despite his avatar form. He had watched their ceremonies, rites and connections to Eywa. So to Norm, this was just like a family member to him.

You had slept for a full day and a half after the surgery, still confined to the avatar hospital room before your eyes had fluttered open with difficulty. A cough erupted followed by your painful whine at the action.

Netytiri had hushed you gently, crouching down and stroking your hair back. Fresh tears fell at seeing you conscious again after so long, sobs breaking out as you flashed a sleepy smile at her.

Neytiri had felt like Eywa had pulled the entirety of Pandora away from underneath her feet during the hours of your examination and surgery. Clutching Jake to her and never wanting to let go as her oldest baby was at the mercy of nature and your own will to live through.

But she knew.

You were strong. You always had been. And you had fought.

Neytiri had never imagined a day when one of her biggest nightmares nearly came to pass.

To lose one of her children.

She would rather throw herself off the highest point on Ayram alusìng than lose one of her precious babies before their time. She believed in Eywa with her whole heart and soul and knew their beings were only borrowed and one day had to be returned.

But Eywa would not take her children away from her until Neytiri herself agreed.

Until that time, she would do anything to protect them. But to have it happen during one of their most treasured rites in life had prevented her from doing many things.

Interfering for once. Because you had said so before as if knowing how horribly wrong it could go.

“Do not stop me, mama. I can do this on my own.”

Of course, you could. And you did.

Despite having to brush the doors to Eywa’s home yourself to succeed.

And as your parents carefully helped you back home to the village after five days of observation at Hell’s Gate after your surgery, you couldn’t help but snicker despite the stabs of pain.

Your mom had admonished you gently to not aggravate your wounds. Whereas your dad held back the roll of his eyes with amusement tickling the sides of his mouth.

“Why are you laughing, flower?”

Your grin was shit-eating as you looked up at him.

“My iknimaya was so much cooler than Toruk Makto’s.”

“You little skxawng.”

I feel like I lowkey pulled this one out of my ass, but oh well.

taglist: @nao-cchi @eywas-heir @ssc7514 @spicycloudsalad @calums-betch @httpjiikook @ricecakeslove @fanboyluvr @iwaslikeblah @the-wandering-pan-ace @avatarloversblog @eternallyvenus @enchantinggoateefox @arianapntn @heydemonsitsme @slyvixen1029 @promiseofeywa @love13tter @directioner5life @bambisposts-blogs @melllinaa @sugarmummystuff6 @lovekeeho @hai-kbai

#avatar #avatar imagine #avatar the way of water #sully family #sully family x reader #jake sully x reader #dad jake sully #jake sully imagine #jake sully x daughter #mom neytiri #neytiri x you #neytiri x daughter!reader #sully reader #sully daughter

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elaemae · 2 months

Text

The premium version of human is here to wreak house, mfs.

[Twst x ObeyMe!AFAB!reader]

CHP. 7

Again, I thank y'all for the reblogs, likes and comments guys, it really helps me :)

CW: Blue pronouns or address for MC every time they get mistaken for a guy. Also, I'm a potty mouth so MC is too.

Inhale..

Exhale....

Inhale......

Exhale.......

Inhale.........

Ex-fucking-hale.......

You're about to have a stroke right now.

You should've just went back to the goddamn infirmary instead of checking in on these obnoxious, bitch-less, probably father-less, motherfuckers.

It's just cleaning windows!! How the hell can you mess up like this?! Why the fuck did the cafeteria chandelier get involved??

GODDAMNIT!! WHY IS YUU INVOLVED AS WELL?! AHHHH—!

*One eternity of screaming like a banshee later*

After sending those damn kids and cat away to get some sort of magical stone in some godforsaken mine, you wrangled with the headmaster for at least two hours to prevent him from writing up the expulsion papers of Yuu and that Blue-haired kid who was mostly innocent about the ordeal.

(Meanwhile, encouraging him to kick that Ace kid and the damn cat off the school. You ain't about to let audacity run free rn, mostly because you feel yourself start genuinely tweaking as you almost got possessed by the urge to sucker punch someone's soul out of their body.)

[Satan perked up, there it was again.

That distinctive spark of wrath that he can feel through your pact with him is both concerning and comforting.

On one hand, the anger he feels means that you're alive. And seeing that what he's feeling through the pact is mostly annoyance, then that must mean that nothing marginally bad or traumatizing had happened to you yet.

You're actually more pissed off in a 'someone-had-the-audacity-to-eat-my-snacks' kind of way more than anything else, meaning that you're safe for now.

But on the other hand, he doesn't know how long that temporary safety will last.

There's also the fact this is the fourth time he'd felt that spark of 'I-wanna-punt-someone-into-the-fuckin-sun' kind of anger from you, which is worrying because it hasn't even been 48 hours since you were kidnapped by some mf.

He shook his head, calling upon a subordinate (read: Devoted fan) to collect more and more books to learn what type of teleportation and sleeping magic was used in your kidnapping.

With the massive search party spanning all three realms that they'd called upon, they will find you sooner or later.

And once they do...

Well... You'll need to get used to being with someone at all hours of the day.]

*Passive-aggresively reminding Crowley that he can't kick out an innocent kid for something they didn't directly do as they had no way of stopping the events that transpired.*

["You don't want the word to get out that you let an innocent teen roam around in a foreign world with absolutely nothing to their name and nobody to protect them, right?"

"That is true, but I still can't just let this go unpunis–"

"Especially when it's the school's faulty equipment that took them so far away from all of their loved ones and belongings, right?"]

Needless to say, Yuu ended up being "fired" in the end, quite an unfortunate result because they will need to freeload off of you until the end of your stay in this world. (Poor them, they got fired before they knew that they had a job in the first place.)

Oh well, it's better than being kicked out from practically their only way back home right now...

Hays... That cruel crow..

Anygays, it's time to snoop around and hopefully make some connections to the residents of this school.

This is a well-known college, right? So there should be influential people here somewhere...

Hehe.. It's time you bring out your gaslight, gatekeep, gold-digging skills so that you can girlboss your way into stability inside this foreign world.

• • • • • •

Suddenly, more than a dozen individuals felt a strong shiver run up their spines.

Haha... Well that's ominous!

• • • • • •

Ortho deadpanned at his brother.

It seems that almost burning down their dorm room last night isn't enough to deter him from making his [Mr. L/n x reader] fanfiction complete with mandatory fan art for every single chapter.

Haaa....

But at least his brother isn't 'fanboying' about another fictional character again...

Hm... Now that he thinks about it..

Maybe his brother will be more inclined to make friends if it's Mr. L/n!

And thus begins Ortho's journey of being an unknowing wingman as he tries to get his introverted brother to make friends.

• • • • • •

You narrowed your eyes as you looked at the small gift on top of your temporary bed in the infirmary.

Dats suspicious....

Dats weird......

You turn your necklace into a staff and start poking the box, trying to see if it'll suddenly turn into a horrific eldritch monster and jump you. (Won't be the first time that happened.)

• • • • •

"It is done, ××× ×× ××××××" (This is too easy to guess😑)

• • • • •

Diavolo sighed for the tenth time that hour, lamenting how trying to focus on his paperwork is a really hard task when MC gets thrown into the situation.

'Maybe a small break will help clear my head?'

He might as well just go out for a walk in the garden to get some fresh... air...

Oh? what is this?

His eyes scanned the dark envelope he'd seen wedged under the 'To burn' stack of paperwork in his desk.

This envelope wasn't here yesterday...

After confirming that the piece of paper wasn't cursed or charmed, he opened it with apprehension.

...!

This..!

• • • • •

Barbatos appeared in the office, tense as he'd heard his lord call out his name with haste.

Reading the letter shoved in front of his face by the serious Diavolo, Barbatos made a mental note to get the dungeon chambers ready.

They've got themselves a lead.

← Pr.6 | Chapter List | Chp. 1.1 →

Just tell me if y'all wanna get added in the permanent taglist, even if I already tagged y'all here.

That's just so I'll know if you wanna get tagged in all the upcoming chapters of this fanfic.

@caprinaesprout

@iameliseposts

@leviathans-tail-scales

@twst-om-lover

@a-traveling-void-human

Reblog or I'll take your ankles😈 (Pls like and reblog, it really gives me motivation🥺)

Also, the next chap is the start of Arc 1: Satan but short.

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wutheringskies · 6 months

Text

Re-reading MDZS; CH 1 - 11

rereading mdzs out loud with my bestie and we're only doing 2 chapters a day, and discussing everything and here are things I never noticed:

1. from the start, the narrative exposes us to how Wei Wuxian is when he's upset: he's unfocused, walking off the wrong way, disliking his reflection, organizing his thoughts, crying but not saying he cried.

2. despite being miserable, when lil apple tries to cheer him up, he thinks "the poor donkey even went out of its way to drag him" and decides to be get up and move on. it's not an in-built setting - it's not a "being born chronically optimistic" but rather a conscious choice.

3. frankly i never noticed just how sombre his tone is in the first couple of chapters. it's quirky and sarcastic but sombre all the same.

4. also, this guy is literally a Lan. like I'm sorry, he probably has a degree in the Lan Sect. he keeps explaining everything about them.

5. Sizhui already made such a huge impression on him that the first thing he thinks of when he sees Jin Ling is that he's of Sizhui's age.

6. Wei Wuxian IS traumatized about Jiang Cheng. His reaction is simply to run off into the distance. He DOES NOT like being around Jiang Cheng, and his opinion about him is not good, as he keeps adding comments about Jiang Cheng's arrogance, his anger, and comparing him to Lan Wangji (knowing JC hates being compared, and I personally think this was something he never allowed himself to do.)

7. Jin Ling was such a jerk under Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao's tutelage. Like, sincerely.

8. Lan Wangji does not even acknowledge Jiang Cheng.

9. Also, a comment that my friend and I made: MDZS is a book about Lan Wangji, with Wei Wuxian casually throwing some trauma on the pages in between. Like, goodness, the narration from Wei Wuxian's point of view rarely describes a lot. But come to the point of Lan Wangji and this guy won't shut up. His clothes, his face, his voice, his sword, their meaning, the clan rules, what they stand for - Wei Wuxian tells us more about Lan Wangji and the Lan Clan than about his own life.

10. Wei Wuxian was so in love with Lan Wangji. Since he saw the Lan Clan this guy was on his head. THE FACT WEI WUXIAN CAN RECOGNIZE LAN WANGJI JUST BY 2 STRUMS OF HIS ZITHER after 13 years of being dead!!!

11. When Lan Wangji held his hand, he was breathing hard and his notes on the flute kept cracking

12. Wei Wuxian is so good at meditating btw

13. Wei Wuxian describing Lan Wangji's voice as "deep and magnetic" and "stirring the heart" like bro trust me Jiang Cheng's not feeling any tugs upon his heart, and Jingyi is most probably just scared.

14. Wei Wuxian is such a flirt with women - his best flirting tactic is "give them space" 😂😂

15. Wei Wuxian did not ask, expect or even comment upon the absence of gratitude from the villager clan after saving them and instead even thanked them for providing him with information.

16. Wei Wuxian is so keen on people's behavior. Noticing the orb of souls that could've been saved if people were more focused on their duty than catching a prey like Wen Ning, understanding people's discomfort etc.

17. He's such a good teacher, earning the respect of Lan students just like that, asking good questions, not even complying with his own worship, and appraising them when they get things right and also playfully scaring them with Hanguang-jun's punishment (what a husband)

18. Wei Wuxian has great self esteem but poor self worth, but he's working on the second part.

@zenenini

#rereading MDZS #MDZS with fea and zene #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #my thoughts #lan wangji #wei wuxian #canon jiang cheng

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zombiewhor3 · 1 year

Text

SOUTH PAW?

carl grimes x fem reader

WARNINGS: mentions of character death (Abraham & Glenn), mentions of gore, traumatic events, mentions of amputation, begging, mentions of pregnancy (Maggie's), Negan, unedited work.

A/N: sorry for the long break, i've been so busy with a lot of things but i have a few scrap drafts i might put together and post so i'll try my best to update my queue this week.

a long night of violence is how she could describe it, a long night of tears pouring down everyone's faces as they watched a cruel man bash in two of their friends heads without even such an ounce of mercy for their poor souls in his mind.

the night felt like the eternity but as the sun had risen and the night faded it was still like a fever dream, like this wasn't all real and she was going to have to wake up soon from this nightmare.

except this was all real, Abraham and Glenn's dead bodies with their heads smashed in that was real, all of the blood splattered on y/n's face from the slinging of Negan's bat that was real.

she watched as Rick was tossed back out onto the gravel, his hands reaching to stop himself as he followed the man's forceful orders to get on all fours while he kneeled down to him.

"i'm giving you a choice Rick and this is your grand prize, what you do next will decide whether it becomes just those twos bad day or the rest of these lovely men and women sitting in front of us"

he gestured with his hands for his men to point guns at the back of their heads and y/n could feel the barrel pressed against the back of her head making her swallow harshly.

her knees started to ache from the rocks that pressed against them, the blood of a father figure had dried on her face and she could almost feel like it had been sinking into the pores of her skin.

she felt gross to have the blood on her, she felt sick each time she even looked at the dead man who was next to her, she felt sick knowing his pregnant wife was a sobbing wreck just a few feet away.

and Carl had hated to see her cry with each strike from Negan's bat that pounded into Glenn's head like he wasn't a person but yet just a piece of meat Negan used as his beating ground.

she watched as Negan had approached Carl making her heart sink as he rested his bat against his shoulder and she watched as some of the blood smeared out onto his leather.

he held out a hand to Carl who cocked his head hesitantly as he tried to ignore the gesture but Negan smiled and cleared his throat before speaking up "take my hand kid" he spoke bitterly watching as the teen finally gave in and took the man's hand.

he was stood up and Negan had waved his arm out to the side to where the boy's father rested on the ground, blood on his face, eye bags and his eyes red as his eye were still looking like they had been watering again, like they were on the brim of tears.

he pointed at the spot empty next to his father as Carl took a few steps watching as Negan stood in front of him taking a quite consideration to the gauze over his missing eye.

"you a south paw?" he asked watching as Carl looked clearly confused by a phrase he never heard before and it made Negan re-phrase his question to him, "you a lefty?" he watched as Carl shook his head while Negan pulled out a belt and un-raveled it.

he tied a belt against the boy's arm, "that hurt?" Negan remarked watching as the boy in the hat snapped back a quick 'no' before looking down at the leather tightened on his arm.

"on the ground next to Daddy and don't forget to spread your wings boy" Negan spoke as he watched Carl lay flat on the ground, his head turning in the direction to where he could see y/n and his father.

he could see the terror on his girlfriends face, the fear stuck in her eyes as her palms were flat and sinking into the same gravel the soft flesh of his cheek had now been resting against.

he could hear the crunching of Negan's boots against the rocks, and it stopped once he could see him crouch next to him thanking Simon for the pen that was given to him,

he himself was scared of what he had planned for him, what Negan had planned to do to Carl especially in front of his father and his girlfriend who had more tears pouring down her face.

he marked Carl's arm and apologized in such an sarcastic way that Carl had never even heard a human being sound so derisive in that way, even in the apocalypse.

he could hear his father start to beg as his girlfriend looked down at the ground using the back of her hand to cover up her sniffles, to cover up the rapid breathing spilling out from her.

he could see the harsh way her body rattled as she tried to manage to stay quiet in the fear that someone else would die, in fear that maybe it'd be her or even Carl that'd be next.

the word please was pouring like a continuous river in his head, the word his father kept repeating over and over as he begged Negan to show his son some mercy, to show he himself some mercy.

"don't beg me because i ain't the one doing shit" Negan spoke roughly patting Rick against the back before he gave his next order at the quite obvious traumatized man who was on all fours before him.

"Rick pick up your ax," he paused licking his chapped lips clean before continuing what he wanted Rick to do, "and cut off your son's left arm, now i know you're gonna have to process that for a second and believe me that makes sense so i'll give you a minute"

a loud gasp of air had erupted from y/n's mouth as she closed her eyes at the feeling of the barrel pressing even harder against the back of her head making her lip shake and her eyes flood.

he stood up and rubbed his hands on the denim of his pants watching as Rick's expression turn into now an even stronger pleading one, like it was just the ocean color of his eyes and the quiver of his lip giving off all the true emotion even more than his words that were spilled in such a babble of emotion.

"i am still gonna need you to do it though or all these people are going to die, then Carl dies, then the people back at your home die, and i'm gonna keep you living for a few years just so you can think about the decision you make right now"

Negan looked around at the men and women all lined up, and yet one had the courage to speak up, y/n to be exact only had the courage to speak up because it was her boyfriends life on the line.

"you d-don't have to do t-this, We understand! please we u-understand!" she looked down at her boyfriend who almost had a few tears slipping of his own as he looked at her,

as he looked at the shaking and sobbing mess this man had turned her into, he watched the sorrow tearing through her like a walker who was hungry for flesh.

he seemed to like the fear that ran though all of them, he liked the idea of watching them all tremble while they payed the price of wiping out one of his out posts because something about the pity and the terror gave him power, it gave him control.

"I'm not so sure Rick does. So i'm gonna need a clean cut right there on that line i drew out for you! now believe me this is a screwed up thing to ask, trust me i know but it's gonna have to be clean nothing messy so our doctors can fold something over."

he watched Rick tremble as he kneeled and continued to spew out his words, "we have great doctors the kid'll be fine, probably. and Rick we're in a time frame so this needs to happen now or i will crush this fella's head in myself"

"please i can take his place" Rick begged over and over as his throat felt sore and his mouth dry while his eyes ached and his head started to pound at the idea of hurting his son.

"please Negan please" Rick begged again watching as the man ran over some stubble of his beard and shook his head with a 'no' to answer Rick's pleas for it to be him instead.

"this is the only way, not making this decision is a big decision. Do you want to see everyone in front of you die? because if you don't pick up that ax you will, and you will see everything"

Rick cleared his throat as his hands remained planted in the rocks still in a pity of confusion from the whole situation, and now Negan had started to count loudly and once he got to one Rick had his ax raised while Carl was yelling at him to go through with it.

Y/n sobbed into her hands as she could hear her boyfriend cry out for his own father to cut off his arm, and when she could hear the soft chuckle of Negan and the soft gasping of Rick and not even a subtle yell or scream from Carl but yet she still buried her face.

Negan had taken the ax away from Rick's raised arm and he reached up a hand to pull Carl up from the ground, "you answer to me, you provide for me, you belong to me" and Rick nodded his head and agreed to the fact that he had now belonged to Negan and his men.

"see that look is the look i wanted to see! and man we did it, even those dead guys with the smashed in brains get a participation award for sure" he sighed as he tossed his bat over his shoulder.

"i hope for everyone's sake you understand how things work around here, things change and right about now they've changed whatever you had going for you is over, now i'll be back in a week Rick so use the truck i'll leave to gather my shit or someone else dies."

"I can't look, I can't, Carl please"

she mumbled feeling as someone in front of her had tugged on her hands softly, but she still held them against her face in fear she would see other blood being shed that she didn't want to see.

"look at me y/n, look at me"

he spoke finally being able to pull her hands away from her face once she realized that it was Carl and he had both of his arms, he furrowed his brows softly watching as she quivered and couldn't keep her eyes away from the line that he had drawn out onto his arm.

once he and his men had left y/n tried to stand but she could only drop back on her knees as she looked over at the dead man on the ground next to her, she gasped as her knees felt weak.

and it was Carl who lifted her up, it was Carl's arms that wrapped around her while he gave her the comfort of burying her face into the soft fabric of his flannel to shield herself from the damage and the violence that had been done to her friend.

she sobbed so hard that she could feel it shake both of their bodies, Carl stroked over her hair and watched as she shook under his grasp, she shook so hard her body started to wobble.

she couldn't speak because every time she tried to get a word out it was just a rush of tears, a rush of gasps for air, a rush of mutters that weren't even comprehensible to him or her.

her vision seemed blurry and her head was pounding so hard and her heart beat so fast she felt like she was dying, she felt like the world had been slipping away from her finger tips.

the only word that had been able to be heard was a loud gasp of 'no' as she looked at the line still on his arm, the line where Negan wanted Rick to chop off his arm, the line that now told trembling stories.

she squeezed her hand on it so tight that even the belt hadn't cut off that much circulation to his arm, she clung to his shirt as she could hear the sound of someone's shoes crunching against the gravel.

she could hear Maggie's cries and Rick who whispered something to his son who held out onto the shaking y/n, Sasha and Rosita frozen in such a terror and disbelief, Eugene still crying softly, Aaron and Michonne who were sitting in such a pity of silence.

and the two bodies around them.

y/n had slipped to her knees and Carl had let her, he let her bury her face into the ground and he rubbed her back as he tried to stop her from hyper ventilating at the shock around her but it was no use because it felt a ton of bricks were pressing against her chest.

She could feel a second hand on her back and she could tell it was Rick's by the wedding ring that she could feel through the cotton t-shirt she had been wearing,

"oh god, t-that c-could've been y-you" she sputtered out as she still felt like she could feel the specks of blood hitting her cheek with each and every strike from Negan's bat smashing into the pour mans head.

her body ached and it felt like her lungs had now finally collapsed in from the harsh beating her heart had pushed off, her bones ached from all the shaking and her cheeks were sore from the amount of tears that had been poured down them.

"i'm right here y/n, i'm right here" he had dropped to his knees and placed his hat down on the ground, he let his knees sink into the same rocks where the bodies laid.

where Maggie's tears had poured and where they knew the rest of the lives had just changed forever because they got the shit end of a deal they should've never even taken.

"Maggie" she managed to gasp out as she could feel her limp body being lifted up by not just Carl but his father, they had lifted her up so she could be taken to Maggie.

the widow's lungs gasped for air as she looked down at the ground, her knees ached and she felt sick even sicker than before, she could feel the teen reach out and place a soft but shaking hand a top of hers and to which she had finally spoken out.

"you need to go, you need to get everyone out of here Rick" Maggie spoke still sounding so brave, like she was keeping it all together when in reality she was spiraling in her mind.

spiraling at the fact her father, her sister and now her husband the father of her child had been killed in front of her, after they had begged and after they had tried their best to bargain.

"he's our family to, we'll do this together" Rick spoke watching as Maggie sniffled and the still distraught teen next to her had nodded along with the idea as her eyes filled with seeping tears.

"he's right we'll do it t-together because we're all family"

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handsomepear · 3 months

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Alex cackling maniacialy in rq towers, eyes flashing green and looming over the poor souls below, knowing he can traumatize us again

#tmagp

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oonajaeadira · 4 months

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I'll Leave a Light On For You

Fandom: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n. (There is a little description, but it’s still you. Believe me, it will make sense. We’re dealing with the supernatural here.)

Rating: T.

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.

Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons.

A/N: This is my entry for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. While I played one selfish card in my hand and wrote something of a companion to Light Only Shows You Where the Shadows Are, this can still be read as a standalone.

To my giftee, the amazing and wonderful @artemiseamoon : First of all, I admire you so much and I was really nervous to write for you. But I looked among your generous prompt choices (omgs thank you for so many good choices) and was surprised to find Max as an option. I wasn’t going to choose him at first but then my eye caught “past lives” and something in me zinged. Soul mates, angsty romance, second chance at love… and I’ve been itching to write an angsty Max. I know you are a fan of soft and whump, so all those elements had a party in my heart and here we are. I really hope you’re having a nice holiday and a good time off. Happy Secret Santa, Arte. <3

What we’ve been told is that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That’s almost correct.

The truth is…it’s not just your current life.

It’s all of them.

Max hardly remembers the fear, the pain, the cold of his draining. Even though he knew what was coming, bought into the cult, the human instinct of fight or flight is hard to dismiss no matter how well they’ve been prepped and it was to be expected. But it was a flash in the pan and once he came around to the undead side of things, those pesky human responses were all quickly forgotten.

For a time. Until he saw your light and–

Anyway. Human instincts. Pffft. Adorable. Trading the constant possibility of fear for that of glee, of rapture, of delight? Human instincts are trash. Not to mention their senses, poor suckers. The things they can’t see can’t hear can’t smell can’t taste? Tragic.

If only the feelings weren’t heightened too. It makes some things–some people–hard to ignore–

Feelings were something he could also have done without in his human life–the latest one anyway–and did whatever he could do to avoid.

It wasn’t until he died that he understood why.

As the life drained out of him and the delirium set in, there was a rushing sound, a pull through his soul like the drag of blood from his body, and he was laying, feeble, wailing, bloody and naked among the limbs of his mother.

But not the mother he so recently remembered, the one that showed her approval only when he provided her with some accomplishment worthy of crowing about to her society friends. No, this one was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she died of fever when he was only five years old.

Max saw it all, from within himself and without, remembered the pull of his heart and watched the tears fall down his little face as they nailed his mother’s body in a pine box and put it in a hole at the top of a hill under a tree.

He always imagined he heard her singing to him in the grasses after that.

The world welcomed a new century, and not long afterward, he was a young man, looking to take over his father’s wine fields. But the chance was stolen when an archduke was shot. Max–Pierre, as he was called then–and all of the close friends and cousins he had were thrust into a great war.

He was the only one to walk out of the fray. And when he came home, he found his father’s fields had been burned and that nothing remained.

That was a dark time. Ten years of looking back rather than looking forward. Ten years–it went by so fast–while he watched the world around him try to repair itself and find its footing again, not realizing that the roots of evil still grew beneath the soil.

He kept his head down and his hands working wherever he could.

But then he met a woman.

And she was Pierre’s life. Max’s life. Before he was Max.

It happened in the winter, just before Noël. And her name was Yaëlle.

Max remembered that before she even told him as he watched the story of this strange old life.

Yaëlle. It means “beautiful one.”

“It also means ‘goat,’” she’d said. “That seems more fitting.” She never thought of herself pretty, and perhaps she wasn’t fashionable and maybe she was stronger than she was dainty, with a weak chin and curly dark hair she couldn’t control. But the light in her eyes when she laughed–and what a laugh, like a little bird–the sway of her hips and the confidence in her carriage, her air of easy care and comfort caught his heart like a surly bear in the prettiest trap.

She’d simply been passing through the marché de Noēl, looking but not stopping, taking the kerchief off her head so the snow could land in her curls, when a child approached her selling buns in the shape of a cross and she gave the child a franc before sitting down at the statue of some cardinal or other in the center of the square.

She could have sat on any of the other benches, but she chose to plonk down next to Max. Next to Pierre.

“You want this?” she asked, offering the bun. “Not really my thing.”

How could she have known he was hungry? That he was lonely? That he was facing the market rather than the river because he was trying not to succumb to his inclinations, a pull to walk out onto the thin ice and let himself be taken by the stream?

He was instantly entranced by her. He felt himself smiling. Something shifted within. A destiny.

“You sure?” he asked.

She peered at him, scrutinized his whole self like she could see a glow around him and was looking for its source.

She found it in his eyes.

“Absolutely. I already ate three hand pies today. The last thing I need is more bread.”

He laughed for the first time in a long while. They talked. He ate.

On Christmas Eve when everyone was at the evening’s mass, she was there again, sitting alone, and this time it was he who had hot food and came to join her on the bench while the night was silent and cold and the stars were twinkling.

It was then that he learned why she was not in church–her folk did not observe Noēl. And she learned why he was not in church–he had lost his faith, that everyone he had ever loved was taken and there were not enough candles in the sanctuary to light for all of them.

“What if I lit one?” she’d asked.

“Who would you light it for?”

“For you. So you don’t have to sit in the dark.” When he was only silent, she said, “You fought in the Great War, didn’t you.” And when he looked away–when he shut her out–she continued. “My husband fought in that war. And he never could find his heart again. He said he loved me, but I don’t think he ever really did, not all the way. But I loved him all the way and when he put an end to his own life I thought I would have to do it too. Instead, I sat in the dark for a long time. It’s something I can see in a person. I can see you’re sitting in the dark.”

They stayed quiet for a time on the bench under the statue of the cardinal and when the church bells started to toll–signaling the magic of the empty square would soon be disrupted by the mass emptying into its streets–she stood and pulled her coat around her.

“My home is down that street, a little one with a red roof. It’s warm and I’ve plenty of hand pies--I made too many. I’ll leave a candle in the window until I’m asleep. You’re always welcome there, Max.”

And then she smiled and turned down the avenue where she’d pointed.

He blinked. Just before she reached the edge of the square he called out, “My name isn’t Max. It’s Pierre.”

She turned and gave a sly wink. “Good to know. I think once you get a belly full of my pies, you’ll let me call you whatever I want.”

He only sat long enough to watch the churchgoers file out of the holy service, many of them with people they loved, humming, happy, cheeks glowing in that way when one steps into a fresh cold world after being an hour or two soaking in the warmth. And once the square was empty again, he stood, gave only a fleeting look to the river, and then walked resolutely down Yaëlle’s street.

A little house with a red roof and a candle in the window.

He stayed for supper and came back many nights after.

And then one night he never left.

Max recalled the rest of that life with a lurking despair. While he couldn’t quite remember how it went, something in him carried it through to the life he’d just left…and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was yet.

A few years of joy, of the greatest love he’d felt since his childhood. Like the mother he’d lost, another woman who was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she couldn’t anymore.

They never celebrated Noël as the others did, but in their own way. For a handful of years they would go sit on the bench in the square and hand out pies to their neighbors and anyone who came to join them where they sat. They would listen to the singing in the church and watch the stars scintillate overhead. They would leave their shoes by the fireplace and wake up to find gifts they’d bought for each other with the little francs that they had. And they would never talk about what they would do in the future, because they knew it would be this and that’s all they aspired to and it would be a happy life.

And Max watched Pierre forget about the rot that still ran its roots through the soil.

And one day soldiers came to town when he was out in the fields and they took Yaëlle and some of the other dark-haired, joyful, bird-laughing folk about town and murdered them. By the time he returned for the evening, the soldiers had gone and left him nothing but a ravaged house and a body to bury.

There’s nothing he could have done, the mourning neighbors told him, the tide was rising. If he had fought them, they would have shot him too.

Pierre said that it would have been better that way.

Pierre stopped working in the fields when he started to hear his mother’s voice singing among the grasses again…now joined by Yaëlle’s sweet alto.

He had one more Noël in that life. He drank as much as he could take without falling over and stumbled out to sit on the bench in the square, weeping once the churchgoers had gone. He didn’t say a word, but Max remembered what Pierre was thinking then.

Love hurts too much. It is always taken. It’s not worth the trouble.

And then Pierre fell asleep on that bench and never woke up again.

There wasn’t much time between that first life and this one, maybe a few decades in the dark. Just long enough for a voice to reach him in the void–a voice he knew well and loved with his whole heart for only a short time–to say,

“That was a good first try, Max. Let’s give it another go, okay? Another place, another time, when it’s not so hard. I’ll leave a light on for you.”

____

Max’s life had been shorter this time. But he’d learned a thing or two and kept love at arm’s length. Sex was good and companionship was fine, but he wouldn’t invest in anything that could drain him in an instant and leave him destitute.

Now power, that could fill the void.

So when fortune smiled and he was given the choice, he swallowed hard and put his neck to the teeth, traded in his humanity for power that nobody could take away from him…and a heart that had no need for warmth.

He was wrong about that last point though.

And he didn’t even know it until he saw something that humans couldn’t see.

Heard something they couldn’t hear, a long ago and far away voice singing.

Smelled you on the wind.

Followed it to you–a woman, just another human woman–walking out of a bar along some street in the city.

And he saw a light glowing from within you.

You wore another face, another body, but all he saw was you.

Yaëlle.

Beautiful one.

He followed you that night, and several nights after. He was the reason that car swerved before it hit you, the reason you weren’t approached by that seedy guy at the club. He was the reason you kept looking behind you now and then and when you finally saw him–having dinner at the same restaurant, totally by coincidence, you on a friendly outing, him trying to charm a client into a contract–it broke his heart that you did not know him instantly.

He found he was surprised that he still had a heart to break. He’d been so fucking careful.

Max almost gave into the anger, the disappointment. Replayed the pathetic way Pierre let himself be brought down and tried to remind himself not to let himself be broken again.

But then he heard your voice in a way only those who walk in death can.

Let’s give it another go. I’ll leave a light on for you.

____

Heightened feeling is the one drawback of all this power. It’s one thing to latch onto a target, to fixate on some middle manager or accountant or IT specialist until there’s a good time to finally strike. That is an itch that can be satisfied with a well-timed, fear-seasoned, adrenaline-soaked kill.

But love sinks its fangs in and doesn’t let go. It sucks at something that can’t be drained, has no end, can never get enough. It can drive an immortal--a never-ending being of heightened existence--to madness.

There will come a day in the future when you’ll trust him for no good reason, when you’ll understand the monster he is and whisper under your breath against your better judgment, when you’ll invite him in. For dinner.

And he’ll come around again and again.

And then one day, he’ll stay.

And you’ll yawn ask him on the edge of sleep, “Why me? Of all these humans that you could easily enthrall and have without question, why choose this?”

Max will look at you in the darkness and see nothing but your light.

You won’t understand when he puts on a show of an irritated sigh and tells you, “You gave me another chance, sweetmeats,” but you’ll doze in his cold arms, absolutely confident as he is that nothing will ever hurt you again. Including himself.

And that night he’ll stay until you wake.

He won’t have you sit in the darkness alone.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader

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