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yueebby · 4 months

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4:36am – gojo satoru

synopsis. satoru is dying (he has a fever) and he needs his darling wife (you) to nurse him back to health

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, even in sickness gojo can still flirt, he yaps a lot abt marriage and he’s kind of perverted, but he’s just so in love why dont you just give him one chance?

notes. i tried to make this very shoujo-esque. cant have a good shoujo anime without a fever episode! this has also been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. enjoy yet another fic of me showering satoru with affection (sigh).

the cold wooden floors of your dormitory creak underneath your waddling feet. your sleepy haze does not deter you from the strong desire for a cold glass of water.

surprisingly, the usual dark communal kitchen is illuminated by the small lightbulb inside of the fridge. you hear shuffling of some items from the white icebox, removing any ounce of sleepiness from you. it was unusual for anyone to be up at four in the morning.

a tuft of white hair peeks over the refrigerator door, giving the culprit’s identity away.

“satoru? i thought you were still on that mission in sendai?”

the sounds of digging pauses. satoru’s rises to his full height, towering over the rundown refrigerator door. he gives you a crooked smile that you rarely see. it’s dopier than one of his signature cocky smiles.

“missed me? don’t worry, i tried to speed run it since i knew i had such a beautiful woman waiting for me back home.”

you placed a hand on your hip, scoffing at his pathetic attempts to flatter you. a snarky response was about to fall from your lips, but a series of painful coughs from the lanky male stopped you.

you recoil back to avoid his germs. “gross. are you sick?”

satoru sniffles, pointing his nose in the air. the same nose that was starting to turn pink from irritation. “i can’t get sick. it’s physically impossible.”

“don’t be stubborn, satoru. why didn’t you call for help?”

he huffs, eyes trained to the floor. “it’s too early. shoko’ll kill me for waking her up.”

sometimes you forget that satoru had an image to uphold. he was the great gojo satoru, after all.

but if you don’t take care of him, then who will? and despite your disdain at the thought of coddling his ego, it was only basic decency to take care of a fellow peer (or that was what you’d like to convince yourself).

silently, you place the back of your hand to his forehead. you’re not surprised by the warm sensation that you feel.

satoru’s hazy eyes watch as you move your hand from his forehead to his cheek.

you purse your lips in concern. with the way satoru was stubbornly denying that he wasn’t sick, you were nearly certain that he was indeed not fine. without warning, you grab the collar of his white t-shirt and pull him to your room.

“at least take me out to dinner before~”

“shut it.”

it wasn’t hard to get satoru to settle in your bed. in fact, he seemed giddy at the opportunity. while he was happy cuddling with your rilakkuma plushie, you came to two conclusions: either satoru had a wound from his mission that got infected, or he was simply sick.

knowing his pride, you lean towards the former.

the boy in question winces when you grab his shoulders to inspect the damage done to him. the sounds of furious pats and heavy breathing is the only thing you can hear over your rapidly beating heart as your hands run down his body to check for any injuries. satoru sucks in his breath when your hands cup his cheeks to loll his head to check for any damages done to that pretty face of his.

his body tensing up doesn’t go unnoticed by you. your imposing hands immediately retract, afraid of inflicting any more damage on him.

“where is the wound?!” your frantic eyes meet his blissed out ones.

satoru sighs happily, lazily grabbing your hands to bring back onto him, “there isn’t one, this just feels nice.”

your chest angrily puffs up before you shove him into your soft mattress. he grunts, but you know it didn’t hurt.

“[name]!” he whines, rubbing the arm that cushioned his fall.

you cross your arms angrily, “you scared me!”

gojo mimics your actions, crossing his arms while weakly glaring at you. his efforts to intimidate you prove futile as he shivers uncontrollably, resembling a newborn kitten.

sighing, you delve into your closet, emerging with an oversized black sweatshirt that you toss to him.

he catches it with ease, a chuckle escaping while he inspects the sweater, “i never took you for the type to wear this.”

“....that’s not mine.” you give a nod in the direction of the men’s sweater. the sparkle of amusement vanished from satoru's eyes, coinciding with his jaw dropping.

his grip on the dark sweatshirt tightened while his head darted back and forth from you to the clothing item. “then whose is it?!”

“suguru’s.”

you think that you’ve broken him when his face scrunches up in disgust. it’s laughable how his mouth had managed to stay wide open the entire time.

“sugu-suguru?!” he splutters. you slowly nod, careful not to make any sudden movements that could provoke him any further. “why– how– explain yourself!”

you cast an uneasy glance at the sweater, finding it challenging to summon any recollections of how you obtained it, especially with satoru's piercing cerulean eyes fixed on you. his scrutinizing stare has the power to reduce you into a puddle.

“well? go on,” he urges you when you stay silent.

“it’s nothing, really. i believe it was from that mission i had with suguru a while back. somewhere up north. i had packed light and suguru offered me his sweater.” you tap a finger on your chin to recall the memory. “i guess it just slipped my mind to return it.”

“slipped your mind, huh…” satoru sniffles before letting out a sneeze loud enough to wake up japan. you nearly jump out of your skin.

“suguru was just being friendly… and be quiet! yaga will have our heads if he finds you in the girls’ wing!” you warn the weary boy in front of you, prompting him to respond with a dramatic sigh.

“how mean!” he whines before making a pained expression. you quickly rush to his aid. when you make it to his bedside, satoru weakly hands you a clean tissue.

you stare at it blankly.

“be a darling and help me blow my nose?” he gestures for you to hold the tissue up for him. all you can hear are muffled whines when you shove him underneath your plush covers.

when your flurry of attacks ends, he cautiously lifts his head from beneath the sheets. to his surprise, a steaming bowl of bitter melon miso soup is presented to him. while the broth isn't your personal favorite, shoko appreciates its bold flavor, spurring your decision to prepare it the night prior. despite its bitter components, the concoction had a perfect track record of treating illnesses. you have your brown haired friend to thank.

perhaps it was cruel of you to take enjoyment while he eyes the bowl in horror. you know his sweet palate couldn’t handle it.

he looks up at you with big pleading eyes while shaking his head. you roll your eyes.

“c’mon, it won’t kill you.” the bowl inches closer to him by your doing. “please?”

satoru's pallid complexion contorts into a hesitant frown. "i’ll eat it…” he concedes reluctantly. however, his gaze lingers on the bowl with a mixture of uncertainty and reluctance. you respond with a hopeful smile, but it fades when he adds, "on two conditions."

“this is for your own health, not mine satoru.” you remind him.

“doesn’t it pain you to see me suffer?” he brings up, eyes glittering in the darkness.

you suck in a breath. “...not really.” lie.

“you wound me, love.” he clutches his shirt like he has been critically hit.

you bite your lip, tired of his theatrics. “what are the two conditions?”

just like that, gojo comes back to life.

“condition number one! you have to feed me.” he points one finger into the air, paired with an innocent smile. “and two: i want you to warm me up like that night in our first year.”

an unflattering appalled expression is cast over your face. no words leave your mouth for a good minute. “y-you’re disgusting. why are you the way you are?”

“love,” he sighs. “anyways, what kind of wife wouldn’t feed her husband while he’s dying?”

“satoru,” you warn. he was starting to babble nonsense again. “if i accept your conditions, will you shut up?” your eyes were starting to feel heavy. it was the middle of the night, after all.

he nods fervently.

carefully with the bowl of soup in hand, you gently squish yourself next to satoru on your full sized bed. the tight fit left you little room to move, forcing the two of you to nestle closely to each other. with a gentle maneuver, you rest your head on his chest. his arm slowly drapes itself protectively over your shoulder.

“your heart is beating awfully fast.” you whisper, tilting your head upward to take a glimpse of satoru’s feverish face. his breath hitches.

he takes a hand and holds your head back onto his chest to prevent your movement.

“shut it. i didn’t think you would actually accept my conditions.” he mumbles.

“don’t get used to it. this is another moment of weakness.”

you stir the spoon in the broth, basking in the silence of the night, save for satoru’s erratic heartbeat.

“this is very intimate isn’t it?” he gushes. “it’s almost like we’re married—”

“keep your side of the deal,” you remind him, lifting a spoonful of broth up to his mouth. satoru looks straight into your eyes as he opens his mouth to receive it.

his adam's apple bobs when he swallows, “i’m going to tell our grandkids that we were written in the stars.”

you shove another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

extra notes

satoru magically recovered from his fever the next morning.

his second condition (for you to warm him up like that night in your first year) refers to this fic from earlier on in the series.

satoru also made you promise to never accept another hoodie from suguru. if you needed one, satoru was more than willing to give you his! (you halfheartedly agree, only because he was acting all delirious because of his fever).

as of right now, there have only been three occasions where satoru has fallen asleep in your presence. he can testify that those were the best nights of sleep in his life.

shoko went into your room for a spare pair of stockings the next morning only to find you tucked into gojo’s chest. she chases him out of your room all while calling him a pervert . bless her heart.

#kt.writes.·:*¨༺#remember spring days!au #rsd!au #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x reader #jjk fluff #gojou satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x reader

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pearlsinmyhair · 2 months

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˖⋆˚₊⊹ his muse

hobie brown x fem!reader

this has been in my drafts for. forever. like it was summer when i wrote it on a whim. this initially started as a request for hobie with a reader that came from wealth. the vivienne westwood imagery picked up from there, and i just kinda had fun with it. and now im posting it- huzzah!

warnings: smoking (cigarettes). mentions of drinking. slight nsfw at the very end. meet-cute that leads to smut. hobie being a flirt. fem!reader.

hobie is in the midst of a creative rut that he can’t get out of, no matter how much he tries to. that is, until some inspiration walks through the door.

hobie was in a musical rut.

which never happened to him. never. if he needed a subject for a song, all he had to do was look outside for five minutes or watching the news for even less to have a subject.

that was the wonderful thing about hating the establishment: infinite cruelty, infinite song ideas.

but here he was, staring down at his guitar and picking at strings aimlessly. nothing came to him, no note or melody stuck out to him as song worthy.

he was sitting on the worn couch in his band’s makeshift studio, crosslegged and hunched over his guitar like a madman.

a soft knock came from the doorway, and he looked up to find one of his band mates hitting their knuckles against the doorway.

“you need to get out, man. you’re cooped up.” he said, stepping into the room to stand over hobie like a mother hen. “some fresh air will do you good.”

hobie scoffed, never one to take orders from anyone. but then he exhaled and leaned back, looking up at his friend with an exasperated expression.

“and where exactly do you intend for us to go?” he asked lowly, grumbling.

that’s exactly how he ended up here, in a music club full of bodies he didn’t want to touch and liquor he didn’t want to drink.

it wasn’t a traditional club scene by any means. It was a bit more artistic, leaning away from rave-style places that he’d gone to before. but it still wasn’t his preferred place.

he nursed a shirley temple, which his friend had shoved into his hand unceremoniously before disappearing into the crowd. hobie had decided that he would be the designated driver, and he understood that his band mates were going to take full advantage of that fact.

when they entered the place, his drummer had leaned over.

“maybe you’ll find a muse, hobes. i’m sure there’s plenty of pretty things in this place to give you ideas.” the boy wiggled his brows, and hobie promptly shoved him away with a chuckle.

now, he leaned against a counter and wondered what the hell he was doing. this wasn’t air. this was just distracting noise.

and said noise was becoming a little too much for his senses.

he made eye contact with one of his more sober mates, gesturing that he was going to go somewhere private. he sent a text to their group chat as well saying the same thing.

not a role model

-> heading to the back, text or call if you need me

little drummer boy

-> you’re no fun, man.

not a role model

-> 🖕🏿

he moved down a hallway, the sound of bass and electronic beats fading into a pleasant jazz sound that made its way through the speakers overhead.

the space behind the actual club was a kind of lounge, filled with warm ambiance and vinyl records and leather arm chairs. when his friends brought him here, he always inevitably retreated to this quieter space.

it was ironic really. the punk unable to handle crowds and noise. but this was a much different setting from his own shows, so he cut himself some slack.

he sunk into one of the armchairs in a side room, his head lolling back to look up at the ceiling. his head slightly throbbed, and he began to regret not drinking water.

he reached in his pocket to pull out a cigarette box.

he wasn’t a casual smoker, not by a long shot. it just helped to have something to drag on sometimes, something to burn his throat while he was thinking.

right as he put the cig to his lips, the door banged open and slammed shut once more, the lock sliding home.

his spider-senses told him to prepare, but when he looked up they stopped buzzing.

because a girl leaned against the wall across from him, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

she looked afraid, scared. the way her fingers trembled alerted him to the sheer amount of adrenaline running through her veins currently.

and she hadn’t even noticed him yet. he took a moment to glance over her.

she wore a pretty little lace dress, black and short, with straps that barely cling to her shoulders. his eyes drifted down her bare legs to the black platform gogo boots on her feet, and he was impressed with the height she was balancing on. he knew from experience that those shits weren’t easy to master.

he had been a model once, and he knew enough to see that the girls clothes were expensive. like, wearing his rent expensive.

she took an anxious step, only to wobble like a baby deer, legs too long to stand properly.

maybe not so stable after all.

when she still didn’t notice him (too busy listening to the door), he opened his mouth to make himself known.

“runnin’ from something, little fawn?”

her eyes snapped to him, and she jumped slightly when she realized that someone else was in the room with her. her wide doe eyes did nothing to help disapprove the nickname. she opened and closed her mouth to speak, struggling to get the words out.

“i’m not running.”

he chuckled.

“no? do ya’ slam and lock doors at clubs often then?”

she scoffed at him, rolling her eyes. she took a step away from the door, though he could tell she was keeping track of any noise.

“i’m just…catching my breath.” she said, pulling at the necklace around her throat.

hobie’s eyes drifted down to it, surprised to find a string of pearls with an all too familiar saturn pendent.

his curiosity got the best of him. “real or fake?”

her eyes darted up to meet his, and she looked away in embarrassment as she said “real.”

he let out an impressed whistle. “that’s why you’re running.” he mumbled as the pieces clicked together.

she gave him an incredulous look, eyebrows furrowing in a way that he found adorable.

“my guess” he said as he stood from the chair, taking a step towards the girl. “is that you definitely aren’t supposed to be here. rich girl, pretty dress, innocent look. this place is practically forbidden for your like.”

her gaze hardened into a glare. “and what exactly is my like, hobie brown?”

he smirked. “you know my name.”

a statement. she deflated slightly.

“i’ve been to your shows.” she said, voice lowering. it was just enough to make him realize how close they were. he registered her body language quickly, noting how she didn’t shy away. so he didn’t either.

“interestin’, doll. does your daddy know?”

“don’t condescend me.”

he took a step back then, raising his hand in an ‘i come in peace’ gesture. “easy there. just askin.”

he went to grab a lighter to light his cigarette, reaching down into his jackets pocket. when he found nothing, he groaned softly.

a click made him look up, only to be met with the girl holding up a lighter of her own. he leaned forward to light his cigarette, and she held his gaze as the sizzling sound breiflu filled their silence.

“as you can see” she said softly. “i am not quite ‘my like’.”

he let out a puff of smoke, making sure to turn his head so that it didn’t flow into her pretty face. she coughed anyway.

he chucked. “what you doin’ with a light if you don’t smoke?”

she flipped the lighter in her hand, and it took a moment to notice that it was one of the silver heart ones that were popular.

“you like vivienne, huh?” he said, looking down at her with half lidded eyes as he took another drag.

“what can i say, i have a thing for punks.” she replied, looking up at him through her lashes.

oh, he was going to eat her.

“s’that so?” he asked, wanting to drag whatever admission she was holding in. he leaned close over her, and she stretched her neck to look right up at him. this close, he could smell whatever shampoo she used.

she was off limits. but he never really abided by rules, did he?

“what’re you runnin’ from, doll?” he asked, tapping his cigarette out as he waited for an answer.

“my father sent a body guard out to find me. i snuck out, and the man’s in the club right now.” she said, watching the way his lips curled around the cigarette.

the air kicked on, and the girl below him shivered. he shrugged off his jacket with a sigh, pulling it around her. she accepted it gratefully, practically nuzzling up against the collar.

fuck, he was a goner.

“better get you out of here, then.” he said, using the edges of his jacket to tug her closer. she smirked, allowing him to pull her against his body. “that would be great.”

he leaned down as he texted the chat, brushing his lips against the top of her ear as he typed.

not a role model

-> hey, i got someone i need to take home. anyone sober?

little drummer boy

-> the fuck are you on about, why would anyone be sober.

fresh meat

-> i am, go enjoy yourself hobes.

thank god for tyler, he thought as he pulled back the collar of his jacket to press his mouth to the girls jaw.

as she snuck him into her room later, the lyrics of a song began to write themselves in his head.

and as he thrust into her, her hands fumbling against her silk sheets and her moans in his ear, he realized that he had found his muse after all.

hobie’s masterlist

#hobie my beloved #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown blurb #atsv hobie #hobie brown atsv

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junicult · 1 month

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hey girlie are you okay?

hey!!! first of all, thank you for asking, you’re very sweet. second of all, yes! i’m okay!

let me explain why i’ve been gone for a few months

i kinda mentioned this a few posts ago, i went through (still sorta am) a longterm breakup recently! it was just a bit hard to be able to find interest in a lot of things i used to love for a while, that’s just how breakups go! nothing too serious, it just so happened to be my first breakup and uhm if ur wlw then you know how that goes LOLL. so other then that, i’m doing just fine!

now here’s probably what you all wanna hear and please still believe me when i say this; i am planning on posting again😭😭

unfortunately, i’ve experienced a lot of burnout recently when it comes to my longer, listed hc posts. although i have written a loooaadd of drabbles based on singular characters (mostly harvey surprise surprise) but i’m aware that my hcs are what people really like, and i like posting what you guys are more interested in! i’ve sort of told myself that since i’ve taken such a long break by now, i need to post something that’ll make everyone happy. like it needs to be some “grand gesture” or whatever. whether or not that’s the case, my mind just tells me that lol.

soooooo therefore i have piles and piles of ideas and little one off thirsts / drabbles stacked up in my drafts, yet all of my hcs are untouched (bit of writers block, i’d say.)

it also just so happens that my one year of posting on this blog just passed the other day. i looked up what kind of things a 1 year old does, so my blog is apparently able to pull itself up to stand, can now walk while holding onto furniture, AND can officially say single words!! so proud.

i’m glad there’s still interest in my blog though! that means so very much to me!!!

#i promise i’m alive!#or am i🧟‍♀️#i also feel like i need a clean slate. new blog colors methinks🤔#˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ mail 💌#˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊ thoughts 💭

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 9 months

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battle of the sexes

pairing: lo’ak x female omatikaya!reader

WC: 1.5K

warnings: dont think theres even cursing. completely clean, well, theres a bit of tension.

summary: always have to one up each other

A/N: could i have choosen a better title? absolutely. i got inspired by 1x04 of That 70′s Show where donna and eric play basketball at the end of the ep. idk just some mindless fun.

@alecmores my editor💗

been in the drafts since april 2

masterlist / lo’ak sully

it was a pleasant midday in the forest of pandora. the sun was blazing brightly and a cool, steady breeze would caress the leaves and flora, giving a melodic tune around you and lo’ak.

your feet were dipped in the crystal clear water of a nearby pond with a tiny stream. your back laid against the plush green grass, arms cushioning your head as you kept your eyes closed and enjoyed the peace. the twittering and humming of the fauna buzzed in your pointed ears making them twitch at every noise.

a touch on your ankles made you flinch and lift your head, elbows pushing your upper body into a half-sitting position. lo’ak’s head peeked over the surface, water lapping at his chin. his eyes shined with a gleam that pulled a lazy smile upon your lips, he always made you feel weightless. he smiled back as he swam closer to the shore.

he crossed his arms as they rested beside your thighs, his head lolling to the side as he stared up at you with a slight raise of his brows and the smile that still sat on his lips. his braids fell over his shoulders, the two with beads covered an eye as they always did. on impulse you leaned over and moved them away, your fingers dragging down lo’ak’s face that stopped at his chin before pulling away.

“we should get back to practicing.” you blurt out as you pull your legs out of the water and move to grab your bow.

“what? oh, come on!” “we have rested long enough, we must train to be mighty warriors for the people.”

with a popped hip you set your hand onto the skin while you hold your bow and arrows beside you. you took the eye roll the boy gave to your reply but watched as he pushed out the water, droplets sliding over his stomach and stripes. they caught your eyes and you were transfixed until a nudge to your shoulder snapped you away.

“see something you like?” his cocky tone made you feel warm but you just rolled your eyes before walking back to the training grounds. his laughter followed behind.

you re-entered the area where lo’ak set up targets to practice your shooting. you did some quick cleaning as you waited for lo’ak to catch up to you, when he was taking forever you decided to start on your own.

so you notched an arrow along the string and pulled with your fingers. you sucked a breath in, making sure your stomach was solid and your arms weren’t wavering. when the moment felt right you released the arrow and it flew straight into the bullseye. you smiled.

“wow! nice shot!” his voice came from above and you looked up into the trees.

he was perched on a low branch with his legs swinging in the air and his tail swaying behind him. his forearms sat on his thighs and he hunched over with his hair dancing in the wind.

“why don’t you come down and show me what you got? Since you’re always bragging.” you held your chin high.

you saw the shake of his head but couldn’t see the smile on his lips or how his eyes sparkled as he stared down at you. he gathered his bow and arrows, and jumped his way down to the forest floor with a muffled thump. he pushed his braids behind his ears before taking your spot.

“watch and learn, syulang (flower).” he said cockily and got into his stance.

you rolled your eyes but ignored the rapid beating of your heart as you watched lo’ak. not taking your eyes off him for a second and letting them wander as he was distracted. you watched how his muscles flexed and his back pulled taunt as he was in an aiming position. his tail skimmed the grass by his feet and his ears twitched now and then if one of the forest creatures cried out.

he stayed in the stance for a while and you were about to speak up just as he let the arrow fly and sink into the bark of the tree, just beside your arrow.

“not bad, not bad. but you were supposed to hit the middle dead on,” you pointed a finger at the arrows, “that is not dead on.”

he scuffed and pointed to said arrow, “sorry, but there seems to be an object in the way. someone forgot to take their arrow back.” he walked to the target and yanked both arrows out, and walked back, handing yours over.

“maybe we should work on some combat. i think our shooting is at its best right now.” you put your bow on the ground and spun to face lo’ak. his eyes just watched you.

“lo’ak? are you fine with combat?” a step forward and he snapped out of his trance.

“y-yeah. combat is fine. but i won’t go easy on you.” he smiled and his fangs poked out. it made your tail waggle.

“wouldn’t be practicing if you went easy on me.” you crouched into a defensive position. the right arm pulled back with your left hand touching the ground. your tail swung low to the grass, shifting over the blades. your ears stood at attention and you watched lo’ak get in a similar position.

it was quiet for a few minutes, both of you waiting to see who would make the first move. when the silence stretches on too long, you get closer to lo’ak and hissed deeply with your fangs showing dominance. he looked thrown off by the display, but it vanished fast and he hissed back and lunged at you.

you rolled out of the way and kept your eyes firmly on his creeping form. your eyes roamed over his body to look for any points of weakness that would allow you to attack. his eyes didn’t look to be fully in the moment, his mind elsewhere and you took advantage. you pounced at the boy, hands latching onto his biceps and throwing him to the ground. the two of you tumbled in the grass and rolled to a stop with you straddling lo’ak and pinning his wrist to the ground.

“that was an easy win. i thought you weren’t going easy on me, syulang?” a smug smile on your face as you let your eyes bounce over lo’ak’s motionless features. your loose hair fell over your shoulders and formed a curtain, hiding your face from outsiders.

he didn’t fight against you or scuff or roll his eyes. he was a blank wall with his eyes following you. you tilted your head, smile slipping. you leaned in closer and peered into his eyes, his widened and you heard the sharp intake of breath.

“did- did i hurt you?” you let up on his wrists, moving back to give him space to breathe.

lo’ak started to shift a bit and you moved your hands from his wrist to sitting on the ground beside his armpits to keep you up. he moved his arms and then pushed himself to his forearms, upper body meeting you halfway.

you stared into each other’s eyes, lo’ak’s golden orbs hypnotizing you into a calm energy. you were so hypnotized that the smirk on his face went ignored by you and the feeling of his legs wrapping around your waist forced you to move off his lap, positions switched. lo’ak straddles you while pinning your wrist down. open mouth and wide-eyed, you were stunned into silence.

“gotcha, paskalin (honey)” lo’ak’s smirk never left his face.

you huffed a laugh, feather top shifting with your breaths. lo’ak’s braids swung in the air, his beads hitting each other as he tilted his head from side to side. you wouldn’t catch his eyes, knowing the heat from his touch would further spread to your face to the tips of your pointed ears.

“wanna go another round?” you heard the smile in his words as the warmth turned to a fire. “uh… uh…” your tail moved off the ground and the furred tip grazed over lo’ak’s leg.

when you made eye contact with the boy still over you, it was like you both could read what the other was thinking. how the sunlight peeking through the leaves shined on them and they were glowing, their eyes staring at each spot on their face making sure to memorize their details. how just a simple touch of skin-to-skin contact makes their heart race quickly. how they so desperately wish to move in closer, breath skating over lips and wishing to know the feeling-

you abruptly pushed lo’ak in the chest when he moved his hands away. he fell to the floor beside you and you quickly jumped off the grass and walked away. you shook your head free of any thoughts coming to fruition, hair tickling your back.

“hey,” his voice made you jump but you turned to him, “you okay? i didn’t hurt you or anything?” his hands reached out for you. his fingers a gentle caress on your cheek.

your eyes softened at the simple touch, “yes. everything is fine. i just- i just got tired suddenly.” a shaky sigh.

his eyes just studied you for a minute or two before nodding his head and picking up the bows and arrows. he handed over yours and the both of you headed back towards home. neither of you spoke up about those moments during combat training.

...

#lo'ak imagine #lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan #lo'ak sully #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fluff #lo'ak x fem reader #lo'ak x omatikaya!reader #lo'ak x omaticaya!reader #avatar imagine #avatar x reader #james cameron avatar #avatar the way of water

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pxlvrxs · 1 year

Text

CITY MOUSE, COUNTRY MOUSE walker, masters of horror

content warning(s); suggestive + dark content just to be safe!!!, kidnapping, implied murder (not reader tho), fem!reader and gendered anatomy, no smut, predator/prey dynamic, reader is nicknamed 'mouse' , written and edited in less than six hours

w/c; 2.2k

a/n; after making this post, i looked and there are hardly any fics for him. (s/o to the ppl who did write some, ily) hopefully the warren kole hype will give this ep more attention because i need more content. also, the entire time i wrote this all i could think abt was this edit. the brainrot is real.

It’d been two days. She could tell from the orange hues painting the horizon. The sun was dipping beneath the mountains for the second time since she’d been chained to the bed.

Her head pulsed with pain. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, thumping. It could have been from dehydration – she hadn’t had a sip of water in at least two days – or from the hard hit to the head. Her hair was matted with congealed blood. The wound had stopped bleeding by now, but she definitely had a concussion.

The mattress springs dug into her spine. A cold draft blew in from the windows and door. Gooseflesh prickled up all over her body. The clothes she’d been wearing had been stripped from her while she was unconscious.

He left her a pair of cotton panties, a bra, and the long socks she’d worn beneath her boots. Her sweater and jeans sat on the chair across the room, neatly folded and stacked. Her boots sat next to the door. He was mocking her.

He’d left her mostly unscathed. Save for some bruises and the nasty gash on her head, she was fine. Now it was just a question of what would kill her first: The cold or the dehydration.

She’d given up screaming a day ago. The only response to her cries was the hoots of mourning doves and the rattle of a woodpecker. There was no one to hear her, no one to rescue her.

It would be a torturous way to die; succumbing to dehydration and starvation. If the adventure books she read as a kid were correct, only one more day before her body would start to shut down. More than three days without a sip of water was a death sentence.

She wondered if he was watching her from somewhere. Watching her fade in and out of consciousness, writhing as hunger pains shook her whole body.

She was unconscious when she heard boots on the rickety porch. There was the steady creak of footsteps on the rotting wood before the door swung open. Her eyes fluttered, head lolling to the side. He was back. He was going to kill her.

Oh, god, I’m gonna die.

Thank god, it’s over.

Her mind flipped like a coin, unsure whether to feel fear or relief. Her heart began to thump against her ribcage.

“Oh, c’mon,” He slapped her a few times, not enough to sting but enough for her to open her eyes. She let out a shuddering breath at the side of him. “There you are, mouse.”

He’d taken to calling her that. He never got her name, he didn’t give her the chance to tell him. He’d introduced himself as “Walker” as he ducked into her passenger seat. The second the door had shut, he slammed her face into the steering wheel.

“Naive little city mouse.” He called her as he dragged her from the driver’s seat. “You trust too easy, darlin’.”

“You look rough.” Walker pulled a flask from his waistband, shaking it. Inside, liquid sloshed about. Reflexively, she jerked toward it. Pain tore through her shoulders and wrists. The ropes were tied too tight around her wrists, twisting her joints as she tried to lean up. “Easy girl,” He laughed breathily, pulling his knife from its sheath.

She shrunk away at the sight of it. The edge of the blade was still crusted with blood from when he sliced through her temple. He set the flask on the bedside table, leaning over her.

He gripped both of her wrists in one large hand, pinning her. The knife tore through the rope binding her to the bed frame. He ripped the duct tape from her mouth, her whimpers died in her dry throat.

He pulled away from her, standing up straight. He remained there for a moment. He watched with an amused grin as she lowered her wrists from the bedframe and sat up straight. She curled into herself, hoping to preserve what little modesty she still had.

She didn’t look at him, instead focusing on the ache in her shoulders. Bringing her arms to her lap made her wince in pain. Her heart was still beating like a rabbit’s. She was too exhausted to act on her fight-or-flight impulses. Sitting up made her head spin.

He reached for the flask again, uncapping the lid. He held it toward her, a silent offering. There was a smear of blood along the side. She looked up at him with wide eyes, her pupils dilated with fear.

“Oh so now you don’t trust me,” He took a quick swig from the flask, making a show of him swallowing. “Look, safe.” That was the only confirmation she needed. When he pressed the flask to her lips, she took greedy gulps of water, throat clicking with each swallow. It was warm and tasted slightly of dirt. There was a lingering aftertaste of malt liquor. He’d emptied the contents and filled it with water from the creek.

“Really, mouse, you think I would go through the trouble of bringing you here, just to poison you?” She soon fell behind, the water filling her mouth quicker than she could swallow. Her lungs began to burn with the lack of oxygen. He kept tilting the flask higher and pulling her head back by her hair. “Drink up.” He urged her, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Instinctively, she took a breath. Water filled her airway, burning. She jerked forward, coughing and sputtering as water spilled into her lap. He pulled the flask away, laughing. Water dripped from her nose and lips once the coughing fit subsided.

She took a shaky breath in, coughing once more. Her eyes brimmed with hot tears, but she refused to let them slide down her cheeks. Her bound hands gripped into her thighs in a futile attempt to stop her trembling.

Walker reached out, pulling the hair away from her face with unexpected tenderness. He dragged his finger down the cut next to her hairline, his touch featherlight. He lowered himself to get a better look at the wound. The gash had stained her face with streaks of browning blood and dampened the roots of her hair. It’d closed since he inflicted it, the edges glistening red with fresh blood.

Walker let out a low whistle, calloused fingers finding their way to her jaw. He twisted her head toward him, blue eyes boring into hers. His grip was bruising, threatening to mar the soft flesh of her cheeks. His hot breath fanned her cheek.

“Gotcha’ good, didn’t I, mouse?” Walker liked to admire his work, bragging about it even. He’d recounted his last kill as he tied her up in the trunk of her own car. The knots had been second nature to him, virtually muscle memory. His deft hands made quick work of tying her up, all while he watched her hazy expression. “Don’t worry, you’re still pretty,” He cooed mockingly, releasing his grip on her.

It wasn’t the first time he called her pretty. When she rolled down her window, he’d leaned in, asking what a pretty girl like her was doing traveling all alone. Then, the compliment made her face flush and smile. Now, it made her stomach churn and her skin crawl.

“Would it kill you to speak?” He asked, his irritation etched on his features. She shook her head. Walker cocked his head to the side, not needing to vocalize his demand for her to understand.

“No.” Her voice was weak from disuse and dehydration. Walker smiled again. He had a charming smile, even she couldn’t deny that. It was no wonder she’d unlocked the car door. Picking up a hitchhiker was the dumbest decision someone could make. Hitchhiking hadn’t been safe since the 70s, and even then, it was iffy.

“Good girl,” He mused, pulling his face away from hers. “So I was thinking, mouse,” He spoke casually — like she was a friend, not his prey. “I’m sure it’s been awfully boring in this cabin, all alone.”

Her stomach began to twist into knots.

“How about we make things exciting? Play a game?” Something told her he didn’t mean Scrabble.

He pulled her wrists toward him harshly, bringing the knife to the rope. The blade sawed through the rope with ease. It fell into a pile on the mattress, revealing the raw skin beneath. Walker dragged a finger over the red and bloody skin, ignoring her wince as he did.

“You run, I chase.” He said it so flippantly, like they were kids on a playground. “If you win, you can do whatever you want. Go to the cops, tell ‘em everything.”

He paused, licking his lips.

“If I win, I get to do whatever I want.” That sentence alone made fear grip her throat like a vice. “Whaddya say? Yes or no?” It wasn't a question of what she preferred, she knew that. There was a wrong answer.

She nodded and Walker let out a displeased groan. His hand shot up, wrapping around her throat. He didn’t apply enough pressure to cut off her breathing, just enough to get his message across.

“Words, mouse.”

“Yes,” She choked out, hand wrapping around his wrist in a weak attempt to free herself. He let go of her neck, standing to his full height.

“I’ll give you a five-minute head start, just to keep it fair.” His back was turned to her, his knife in hand. If, by some miracle, she collected her wits and strength, she could’ve taken him out at that moment. But she remained on the bed, unsure what to do. He looked over his shoulder expectantly. “Time’s ticking, mouse.”

That made her spring into action. She lunged for the clothing on the chair, hurriedly pulling the jeans and sweater over her body. She didn’t bother to lace up or tie her boots, just yanking them on and running through the open door. As she ran, she looked over her shoulder to ensure Walker hadn’t lied.

The leaves beneath her feet had been reduced to mush from the recent snow. The bitter cold made its way through her sweater, sending a shiver down her spine. She continued on her straight path until the cabin disappeared into the trees.

Going straight will make my path easy to follow. She stood still for a moment, looking in all directions. Her head start had surely run out by now. It wouldn’t be long before Walker was on her tail. She dashed to the right, hoping it would bring her to the edge of the woods.

The mud squelched under her boots and her heavy breaths fogged in front of her face. Night had fallen by now, shrouding the woods in thick, inky darkness. An owl hooted in the distance.

She ran in that one direction for a few minutes, weaving through the trees. Her bootlace caught on a stray branch, sending her tumbling to the ground. Mud splashed all over her clothes and coated her skin. She brought a sleeve up to wipe the dirt from her face to no avail.

Somewhere to her left, a branch cracked.

“I heard that, Mouse!” He was gaining on her. Fast.

She leaped up and continued running. Her chest burned and side stitch was beginning to set in. The adrenaline dulled the pain but didn’t completely end it. She took deep gasping breaths. Her malnourished body couldn’t keep this up forever. She needed to find the road, now.

The trees began to thin out, giving way to the pavement. She clambered up the bank on her hands and knees. Pushing herself to her feet was laborious, but she forced herself to do it.

“Help!” She shrieked. “Someone, please!” Down the road, headlights illuminated the treeline as a car approached the curve. She waved her arms above her head, ignoring the pain.

Before the light was cast on her, a body slammed into her right side. She fell to the ground, rolling down the bank. She cried out as her ankle twisted with a sickening crack. Even more mud smeared her face and she gasped for air. Briars tore shallow cuts through her skin and snagged her already-ruined sweater.

She landed on her stomach, face pressed into the wet leaves. Next to her, Walker lay face-up, in slight shock from the fall. The rumble of the car engine grew louder and the headlights grew brighter. Groaning, she dragged herself forward.

“Hel-” She was cut off with a calloused palm clapping over her mouth, the knife pressed against her throat. The knife traced over her pulse point. A warning.

With teary eyes, she watched the car roll past. Her only hope disappeared down the road, fading into the night. Once he was sure the car was out of earshot, Walker removed his hand from her mouth. He grabbed her shoulder, flipping her onto her back.

She weakly slapped him, yelling incoherently and flailing. He grabbed both wrists, pinning them to her chest. He moved to straddle her, thighs holding her in place.

“Please! Please don’t kill me!” She sobbed, thrashing in his hold. He laughed. A genuine laugh. It echoed through the desolate woods. His head tilted back and the corners of his eyes crinkled. He pressed even more of his weight onto her chest, keeping her pinned to the forest floor.

“Oh, who said anything about killing?”

#.pxlvrxs #im so normal about him #warren kole #walker warren kole #warren kole x reader #walker x reader #masters of horror #walker masters of horror #phillip graves #tw; dark content #phillip graves x reader #.my writing

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sparrowsworkshop · 3 months

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"Optimus Prime & His Feisty Little Two-Wheeler" by OneWingedSparrow

🏍️ First Draft: 2021 ⤵️

🚛🏍️ Main Tags: TFP, Arcee & Optimus Prime, Pre-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Hurt / Comfort, Found Family Summary: A tribute to Peter Cullen for striving to always keep Optimus Prime "strong enough to be gentle," told from the perspective of TFP Arcee towards her newfound leader, when she first comes to Earth and joins Team Prime. Made for the "To Be Gentle Zine," hosted by @allsparkzines ! Please check out everyone else's stories and artwork; they're all lovely! :D Read on AO3; paired artwork here Reblogs are appreciated! ~ Arcee refused to affiliate her name with anything. The Autobot faction was her lone exception. Her former leaders left her...and, after she lost Tailgate, the only teammate who respected her for who she was...she didn’t wish to be associated with any singular bot.

Her spark was broken, and no medic fixed sparks.

But over the years...Arcee realized there was one person she could stand to fight beside. One person she could fight for. One person she could depend on, and willingly link her name to.

His name was Optimus Prime.

The first time his name is affixed to hers, she is jolted with shock.

“It’s the Prime’s scouts! All units, fire!” The Prime’s—the Prime’s…? Arcee trips over her own feet.

Magnus had been the one she followed. Before that, Prowl. She is a stranger to this Prime.

Sure, the moment she forsook the wastelands of Cybertron, racing Cliffjumper through Shockwave’s space bridge, she rolled straight into the ranks of Optimus Prime, who sought refuge on this rugged rock called Earth.

...but is she already counted as one of his?

Their cover exposed, Bumblebee bounds towards a farther bunker, retreating from the Decepticons’ barrage, as Optimus directed.

As Optimus directed, as Optimus ordered, as Optimus would….

Hand flipping into a gun, Arcee shakes her head and follows.

Everything she does now will be in his name.

The first time he delivers a speech in her earshot, she cramps her neck looking up.

Arcee knew Optimus Prime was tall, but she never stood on level ground with him. Only now does she realize how truly massive he is; the tip of the pink tiara spike atop her helmet doesn’t even reach his hip.

This mission is futile. They’ll never see optic to optic.

No one ever does, with a two-wheeler like her.

So, she gives up, dropping her gaze to the Autobot insignia emblazoned on their new base’s floor.

The same symbol embossed onto her wings. The same symbol that gleams on the grill of the Earth truck form Optimus has chosen. A Western Star, she heard the human soldiers call it. Lumbering engine, muted paint job, lackluster tires...it’s surely a far cry from his regal Cybertronian form, but he steps into the disguise humbly.

Her thoughts are wandering. She’s lost track of the speech. She forces herself to focus on her surroundings. Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Bulkhead and Ratchet stand beside her, listening intently as Optimus continues. I’m part of the circle, she thinks, suddenly. This is new.

Will it last? She doesn’t know.

Only time will tell.

As always.

The first time he rolls with her, she feels her systems stall.

“Arcee,” he says. Her name lolls in the air.

She straightens her frame, flashing an urgent salute. “Sir!” “At ease, soldier.” He gets down on one knee.

This only stiffens her further; Ultra Magnus never adopted such a lax posture.

What’s more, Arcee decides, looking directly into Optimus Prime’s face is mildly frightening. Here is a Warrior who has plowed through fire and acid, shrapnel and rust, energon and terror—and captured the weight of all to carry forever. In those piercing, blazing optics, she can see the glory and the pain, the fervor and the fury, of a leader blessed by Primus….

And she knows, while she beholds, that he will brake for nothing in bringing this war to its end.

Arcee trembles under his gaze.

“I am coming with you,” he says.

Statement. Declaration. Fact.

In shame, her spark plummets to her feet. The Prime must have higher priorities than her safety. No one ever makes the effort to care. Why would he waste his time on a two-wheeler most bots look down upon?

Are you sure I’m worth it? Arcee blurts out, unheard.

Aloud, she stammers the scrap substitute:

“Sir?”

“You are in need of backup, and there is no one else to accompany you at this time. Therefore, be mindful of my presence.” Arcee wants to protest.

However, one glance at his decisive expression deactivates all argument.

You just can’t argue with Optimus Prime.

The first time he saves her spark, she flinches, and not from her wounds.

Bulkhead fell back. Bumblebee paused to reload.

A quick scan of the battlefield revealed only a “few” Decepticons. Her arm blades clicked from their casings. The enemy seemed distracted.

She thought she could take them all on.

Arcee speeds into the open. An ever dutiful partner, Cliffjumper attempts to provide cover fire. Dust billows in her path.

She flies, wings spread wide with the thrill of the hunt. Leap and dodge, flip and kick. Swipe and cut, scratch and slice. The Decepticons falter, unprepared for the frontal assault.

Until they get smart to her timing, and they stab her through the gut.

Her frame screams with pain. Something else roars louder.

Optimus. Her enemies freeze.

He charges, blasters smoking. Optics blazing.

They’re dead in seconds. Arcee’s lifted up, leaking energon.

Wordlessly, Optimus carries her home.

The first time he rebukes her, she wishes she could hide in vehicle mode.

Not hide as in “cower.” More like hide as in “transform, to then zoom away.” The best kind of hiding: speeding so no one can catch you. She’s already transformed. Engine’s running. Kickstand’s up. She’s already halfway gone.

But her wheels don’t roll.

Deep down, she knows barricading in vehicle mode while he has words to deliver would be incredibly rude, and she’s not sure she wants to disrespect him so, after he saved her tailpipe. With that, she mentally punches herself in the T-Cog, and stands up to face him.

“Arcee,” he says, so far above her, voice stern and edged. “Your judgment today was far from exemplary.”

She swallows.

“Make no further attempts to engage the enemy alone.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers.

Those optics meet hers, once again.

“We will fight on,” Optimus says quietly. “That is a promise…

“Stay with me.”

Arcee blinks something from her vision.

If he notices, he says nothing.

Now, whenever he summons her, she’s alert and prepared.

“Arcee, with me.”

She nods, and falls into step beside him.

Though one step for him is many for her, they march in the same time.

His massive, towering form no longer feels as looming or daunting as it did. She’s learned to rest in his shadow, to trust he will shield her. She’s not sure why she grew so comfortable with his presence so fast, but perhaps his mannerisms influenced this transformation.

He stands tall to intimidate, but not to belittle. He bends down to her level more than anyone else. In battle, he never abandons her. He even looks back for her, when his extensive strides travel farther than her shorter limbs can reach. And when he sends her ahead to scout, hidden well in lofty places, she always finds him watching for her when she returns with a report.

Quiet things. Subtle things.

Little things a great, big Prime needn’t trouble himself with.

But he wants to.

He cares.

So, when he says “With me,” she follows...

Because the little things have shown her that he is someone worth following.

#thanks for reading <3 #optimus prime & his feisty little two-wheeler #sparrow fics #maccadam #tfp #arcee #optimus prime #transformers fanfic #fanfic #transformers prime #transformers: prime #pre canon #found family #salt and light

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sonicfandomsecretsanta · 4 months

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Secret Santa

@w0lp3rtinger submitted for @silence-caravan:

A cold winter sun hung low in the sky the day Amy decided to wrap her Christmas gifts. It turned the white snowflakes silver, the ribbons in her hands glinting like the tail of a comet, and all the bits and scraps across the floor…

Well, she wasn’t that much of a romantic. They were still just scraps on the floor. She’d really need to clean up after this.

That didn’t matter though. The day was good. Thank goodness. She needed a good day.

Once more, she had gone overboard with the gifts, as she did everything. The Secret Santa had been designed in part so that they could all avoid breaking their banks, but Amy couldn’t help it. There was something so wonderful about finding just the right gift, and well, she was lucky. She had the ability to spoil her friends, and so she would do so to the fullest. Tails had his brick kits bundled neatly, individually wrapped before being lumped together with bows and tape. Cream got a new dress and a matching bowtie for Cheese, made by Amy (with a significant amount of help from Vanilla) tucked inside of a box made to look like a chao’s head. There was also the gift for Vanilla herself, an apron to replace the old one that got scorched. Knuckles got mitten warmers and a quartz Amy found in her garden that looked like a dagger, and Rouge would receive a barrage of orthotic inserts and cute thigh-high socks. Amy had got Tails’s help to burn DVD’s of the original Dragon Ball for Omega after borrow copies from the library (to which she gave a donation). Lastly, as always, she made jars upon jars of chili for Sonic, shelf-stable and locked tight in shatter proof jars, for him to use through the year.

Amy sighed, stretching from her place on the floor before leaning back into the footboard of the couch. She let her eyes close, head falling back atop the cushion while a blind hand drifted back and forth across the carpet looking for her hot chocolate.

There was only one more gift to wrap, and it was the one she had been worried about all year.

The dark chao-head mug sat atop her coffee table. She had bought it way before Christmas was even on her mind, had even told Shadow she had gotten it for them, but when by sheer dumb happenstance she got him again, even after Rouge was barred from drafting the Secret Santa list, well, it felt like fate. It was, by all accounts, adorable. The mug was round, perfectly shaped for a chao head, and thankfully, the lip of the mug was actually well-designed, so it wouldn’t be difficult to drink from. Its face was split into a sharp-toothed grin of mischief, on the other side of which sat the handle shaped to be the wings. Inside the mug, at the bottom, sat the little red spike ball, like a fun surprise at the end of a long sip.

It was perfect. The person she had worked with to custom-make it did a fantastic job.

So why was she so afraid to give it to Shadow?

Amy swallowed, breathing deeply before she opened her eyes to stare at her ceiling. After a moment, she let her head loll to look out of the window, up and into an endless grey sky.

A smile crept up her face. Shadow had already told her she would be receiving a pasta maker attachment for her mixer. She knew he wouldn’t wrap it. He wouldn’t even put a bow on it. He’d just hold the box with its scribbled-out price tag quietly off to the side until he’d hand it to her, not making eye contact, not saying a word, and yet…

Amy’s brow slowly knotted itself.

And yet.

She shook her head. This was stupid. She was looking way too hard into this. They were her friend, just like everyone else was. Shadow was sweet, and kind, and it was perfectly normal for a friend to get another friend a gift. Heck, that was why this whole orchestrated gift exchange thing was set up, and they’d been doing it for years. Why did it matter now? And what did it matter at that?

But Shadow didn’t do Christmas, ever. He only did the Secret Santa when Amy begged him to, all those years ago, and he didn’t even really like the party until Amy started hosting.

Amy shut her eyes, watching as the blue sphere that took the place of the sun dance there in the darkness.

She would not look deeper into this than she needed to. That lesson had been learned with Sonic, and really, she was lucky that they were still good friends. It had taken years to get to this point and in no way, shape, or form was she about to go and mess everything up by assuming things about people, least of all Shadow.

Besides, if Shadow wanted to tell her something, he’d tell her. She knew this, didn’t she?

But then… would they?

Amy ran her nails along the inside of her palm.

Would they really be honest with her? Would they sit down and pour their heart out, say how they feel, tell her what she meant to them, if she meant anything to them?

She shook her head. That didn’t sound like something Shadow would do.

No. If she had to guess, with something like this, Shadow would probably just keep doing what they were already doing. Maybe there would be small changes, but they’d be hard to catch, because Shadow didn’t just change for anyone. It might be that they would go out of their way a bit more, but just a bit, or maybe, they’d make some small concessions to try things they normally wouldn’t, but they’d never outright say why.

Yeah, that was more like them.

Maybe that was why this whole thing about the Secret Santa sat oddly with her.

Amy opened her eyes, lips pursed. It’s not like she was dumb. When Shadow said they’d be at the Christmas party, everyone was shocked, even more so when he agreed to do the Secret Santa. It had been years since that first one and he hadn’t let up yet, not even the one year he was going to be away in Holoska. He still Chaos Controlled home just long enough to give Amy her gift.

Oh yeah, they had been Secret Santa partners that year too. Damn, how long had Rouge been allowed to be in charge of that thing? How did nobody notice sooner?

Well, then that solved that one. It wasn’t like he was going out of his way to give ‘her’ a gift; he was just making sure to fulfill the promise he made when he signed up for the gift exchange.

Why did her heart sink at that thought?

Amy blinked back the prickling of her dry eyes as she sat up and reached for her mug of hot chocolate, now cold chocolate, from the table. She sipped it as she eyed the Dark Chao mug.

It’s not like any of this mattered. It’s not as if she-

Amy paused, then, she took in a sharp breath.

“Nope!” She downed her hot chocolate before rushing to stand. “We’re not doing that! We are nooot doing that. Nope nope nope!”

She moved to the kitchen and rinsed her mug out in the sink, setting it on the drying mat before looking out the window to the city street below. It hadn’t snowed yet, not enough to stick anyway. Instead, the streets were flooded with last night’s rain, the snowflakes that hung from the telephone polls and traffic lights swaying morosely in the chilly December air.

Shadow would have something to say about it. Or rather, he’d make a face, and Amy would understand, and she’d laugh, and then they’d get those little wrinkles around the corners of their eyes, and that’s how she knew they were happy.

Amy caught herself smiling and shook her head. “Don’t do it,” she muttered. “It’s not a good idea.”

Even as she said it, she could see in her mind exactly how those little wrinkles would crease their skin. Maybe there would be this little twitch in their lip- sometimes that happened, especially if they were trying to not laugh. Maybe they’d look at her with that twinkle in their eye and-

Amy gave a growl of frustration before stomping off to her room.

Fine. Whatever, stupid brain. Two can play this game.

Her tarot cards were in the drawer of her bedside table, kept in a nest of odd beads, pretty rocks, and the crumbling remains of flowers. She snatched them, catching her knuckles on the lip above the drawer as she did so, and hissed as she slammed it shut once more. Her hands shook as she flopped onto her bed as she furiously shuffled.

“This is dumb.” she muttered, drawing the first card. “I know this is dumb.”

Staring back at her was the high priestess, reversed.

Amy shook her head. “Don’t you start too. I’m not repressing anything.”

She shuffled the cards again. The next card she pulled made her snarl. It was the Ace of Cups, also in reverse.

“I’m not resisting anything!” She hit her pillow hard enough to pop some of the stitching. “Just give me a real answer! You’re not being fair!”

Amy took one breath, then the next. Her fingertips tingled as everything in her screamed to pull one more card, just one more.

So she did.

It was not the Lovers. That was good, had it been, she might have died. What she found in her hand as the star, upright. It showed a person sitting on a rock looking towards the sky. Above their head shone a brilliant star against the backdrop of inky darkness.

“Hope.” Amy said quietly, turning it as she did so that it caught the light from her window.

She lay there for a moment, watching the silver foil of the card flash in the soft darkness of her room. Amy gathered the other cards she had pulled and made them into a neat stack without looking. She could feel their weathered edges, little fraying pieces of paper that had come away with time, and she thumbed them gently as she stared into the ceiling.

And there, again, in her mind, against the backdrop of white paint, she swore she could see Shadow’s smile.

Amy took a deep breath.

The scream she gave startled the birds from their telephone wire outside. They took to the sky in a flurry, eyes wide, wings powered by a hundred furiously beating hearts.

#gift #amy rose #shadow the hedgehog #shadamy #silence-caravan

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pastafossa · 1 year

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Hi Pasta!! I have a question 🙃 What do you think Matt and Jane got each other for Christmas? I cant stop thinking about it. They’re so cute 🥹

BEHOLD. Like 1.1k so rest is behind a see more, but this was in my drafts for what their gifts would be. I didn't have time to get the whole scene done with everything, but I figured this would do!

It didn’t take long for Matt to make use of some of his Christmas gifts, and you found yourself standing by the couch less than an hour later, staring down in amusement at the happy, melted puddle that was Matt Murdock beneath the glow of a Christmas tree.

He’d burrowed down into his new hoodie, his eyes closed and his nose tucked down into the velvet-soft alpaca wool that lined the inside—some of the softest wool you’d been able to find, and something you’d searched long and hard for. Wrapped around the rest of him was a rich, red alpaca wool blanket, thick and warm and equally soft. You had a feeling that, under the blanket, he’d likely also slipped into his new fleece-lined sweats and fleecy socks, ninety-five percent of his body now cradled in soothing, warm comfort.

“So is that a yes on those?” you said softly, relieved now that it was obvious you’d chosen right when it came to this. It had been… a while, since you’d given anything for Christmas, much less given a gift to someone who meant as much to you as Matt did. Soft had seemed a good road to take, and you’d spent ages hunting for something that he’d be able to wear even when his senses ramped up to the point of pain. “Soft enough?”

A quiet sigh, almost a moan, was his response, followed by a glutted “Mhm,” before he lazily lifted his arms out from under the blanket, opening them to you. You quickly took up the invitation, climbing into his lap and letting him wind his arms around you. You dropped your head against his shoulder, reaching over to run your palm across the velvet-soft fabric covering his chest. His reaction was instant, arching up into your hand as he purred and melted further into the couch at the sensation of the fabric sliding on his skin, his head lolling back when you nuzzled in past the collar of the hoodie so you could press your lips gently to his pulse. Briefly, you passed over the new necklace chain he wore, the little braille pendant reading ‘Always Loved’ hidden somewhere beneath the fabric, its color a match for the key around your neck. That, at least, you knew was a success, but the rest...

“You really do like the clothes, don’t you?” you asked him, relaxing a little, curling your fingers to scratch a little as you ran them up and down his chest. “I had a good feeling on the necklace, but for these… I wasn’t sure.” “Why not?” he asked sleepily, fumbling one hand up until he could slip it up under the back of your shirt, palming the line of your spine like you were stroking his chest. You weren’t surprised; he always tried to reciprocate, or maybe he just... liked having an excuse to touch you back. “These are probably the softest things I own now. They’re perfect. They feel amazing.”

“I was worried it was too… I don’t know. Impersonal.” You drummed your fingers a little against his chest, tucking your legs up until you were more comfortable. “But you shouldn’t have to wear things that hurt on your bad days, or at all really, so I-I guess I just—”

“The hoodie smells like you,” he murmured, tipping his head to lay it atop yours. You went quiet, still and unmoving as he continued, “I can tell that you wore it for me a little after washing it, and that it made you happy to do it, because your scent’s different when you’re happy and when you love someone. And every time I move, nothing scratches. Nothing hurts. All of these feel soft and gentle, like how you touch me when I’m bleeding, and when I need you most.” His chest expanded and then dipped on a contented sigh, and then he reached up, brushing his thumb over your cheek, his thumb coming away wet. His voice dropped to something even softer, low and tender. “So much of my life is pain, sweetheart. How could the way you touch me, the way you want to take away some of that pain from me, be impersonal?”

You wound yourself a little tighter around him, hiding your face against his neck as you let out a shaky breath, and he pulled you in tighter with a soothing noise. You’d been so… so terrified you’d fuck this up, that you’d do this wrong after so many years of dodging it, of being alone, of being forced to avoid anything like a holiday, anything like friends or love. The idea that you’d gotten it right on your first try…

And you weren’t the only one.

You leaned away from him just far enough to pick up one of the two photo frames on the coffee table where it had been set atop a massive pile of books you’d wanted to read for years, years in which you’d been forced to pass them by, story by story, cover by cover until Matt hunted down those stories and placed them back into your hands. You laid back against his chest again after you’d brushed your fingers fondly over the books, and instead, you focused once more on the photo inside the elegant black frame.

Foggy had taken it at Josie’s at some point—a candid of you and Matt crammed into a booth, his arm draped around your shoulders as you leaned into him, a bright grin on his face, your head tipped back as you laughed at something he’d said. The warmth in your eyes and his smile was obvious as you stared fondly up at him beneath the dull glow of the bar, at the very same table Foggy had once worked at to ensure your friendship with Matt was mended. There was no disguising what this was. And…

“I can’t believe I can put this on my desk now,” you whispered, tracing your fingers over the frame.

And you didn’t… have to disguise it, did you? There was no need to hide, not anymore. You could have his picture on your desk, could hold his hand as he walked you home, could kiss him when he came to see you at your office or you at his or when you were both out in the rain. And he could do the same with the second picture, one destined for his own desk, all so that he could proudly gesture towards it whenever you came up.

A… a real life.

He lifted one arm and you sniffled, crawling back around to wrap your arms around him in return, burying your face against his neck as he held you close. Held you here at home—a home for you both, for your tree, for your books, for an actual life, lived fully and completely and wholly for the first time.

“I love you, so much,” he whispered. "Merry Christmas."

“Love you, too. Merry Christmas.”

There was no bigger gift he could give you.

#the red thread #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x f!reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil #matt murdock #reader #fic #ficlet #fanfic #x reader #fluff #christmas fluff #basically the two of them trying to give each other what they feel might mean most to the *other person*#jane looks for something that will help him hurt less and something that will remind him that he's cared for and ALWAYS loved #even when the dark voices say otherwise #and even when those voices (THAT SOUND LIKE FUCKING STICK) tell him he doesn't deserve the soft things that make his skin hurt less #now he'll be able to argue back 'she gave it to me because she loves me' and sort of circumvent it by latching onto #'she gave it to me so it's only right that i use it and i don't have to feel bad or weak'#and he gets her things she's missed out on while on the run #books she's always wanted to read along with a picture she can finally put on her desk to publicly say 'yes he's mine and i love him'#and he can do the same #there's also a very large stuffed penguin that matt put one of his shirts on so she can hold it while he's gone if she has a panic attack #but didn't really have time for that so prob just gonna work that into TRT

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sherlockxreader · 1 year

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Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Author: @proherogalahad (formerly realgreglestrade)

Words: 1,336

Warning: None

Author’s note: So it’s been a while, similar to my previous story post, I was going through my old drafts and found at the very end of the page. Figured I might as well upload it if there is still an audience for Sherlock fics ^^ This fic was based on a few prompts that were picked from a reader.

92. My kink is closing the fucking bathroom door because no one wants to see you pee!

95. Graduated top of my class from Hogwarts school of Bitchcraft and Misery

97. I’ll betray all of you in the Hunger Games

After a tough case and lots of drinking, you came to realize that drunk Sherlock was your favorite Sherlock. You’ve never seen the detective drink as much as he had the night after the case of the Dancing Men. He was the type to nurse a drink.

Both John and Sherlock arrived home, Sherlock still in his post-case high and John more so with a long face. Their case seemed to have taken a toll on him. Sherlock, noticing this, decided to show John a prize he recently procured. A very expensive wine that Mycroft kept hidden in his office. The pair opened it and began drinking, one bottle led to two which ultimately continued with them ordering dinner and finishing up whatever alcohol they had found in the kitchen.

You watched as your best friends argued over which Hogwarts house they’d sort Mrs. Hudson in with a big smile on your face. It was previously decided that Sherlock would be in Slytherin for his cunning ways and ambitions and John in Gryffindor for his bravery and nerve.

“Mrs. Hudson could scare the shit out of anybody,” John yelled in protest when Sherlock announced that she would be in Hufflepuff for her gentle nature. “You’ve known her better than I do, especially her past, and yet she’s placed in Hufflepuff? No! She’s in Gryffindor!”

Sherlock opened his mouth but didn’t say anything and raised his right hand with his pointer finger and thumb being pressed together, “but she’s so tiny!”

John raised both his arms and let out a loud sigh before turning to you. “(Y/N),” he slurred. You looked up from your phone as you sent a couple pictures to Greg and Molly. “You know a lot about Harry Potter. What do you think?”

“I don’t just ‘know a lot about Harry Potter’, I graduated top of my class at Hogwarts Bitchcraft and Misery.” Both John and Sherlock looked at you with weird expressions.

You sighed. “Mrs. Hudson is in Slytherin. We took a test a few months ago when you both left us for a case. We got bored, and she got sorted.”

“Impossible.” Sherlock frowned.

“It really isn’t.”

“But she’s so tiny!” You laughed at Sherlock’s interjection.

“(Y/N)! What about you? What house are you in?” Sherlock slurred.

“I’m in (Your/Hogwarts/House).”

The living room was silent for a few seconds until John spoke. “That makes sense.”

~~~~~~

After three cups of tea and a half a bottle of whiskey, the pair of crime solvers continued with their bickering…

“I think I would win the hungerrrrsss game,” Sherlock hiccuped. “I mean, I’m smart.”

“I don’t think so, mate. I have military training.”

“Shut up! I know I would win. I’ll betray all of you in the hungerrss game. Tell him (Y/N).”

“I’d take you both down, so shut up.”

“I’m not answering that, Sherlock.”

“Why not, Y/N? John answered.”

“I’m not John, I don’t want to.”

“John, have her answer.”

“Shut up, John.”

“Answer it.”

“No.”

“Y/N-”

“My kink is closing the fucking bathroom door because no one wants tO SEE YOU FUCKING PEE! Why do you do it so often, I don’t know, but you have to stop, it’s so gross!”

“No need to shout, Y/N.” Sherlock pouted. “It was a simple question. John, tell her to stop shouting.”

The pair finally grew tired.

You tried your best to stifle a giggle as Sherlock’s head lolled everytime he closed his eyes and woke up suddenly with a jolt.

John sat opposite him, telling an old story from being in the army with his eyes dropping with sleep. You took pictures on your phone and sent them to your mutual friends. The time was nearing four in the morning and you knew you had to drag your friends to bed.

John was the easiest. Yes, there were steps to tread up to get to his room, but John was a good sport and helped you help him to bed. He sang under his breath until you settled him onto his bed and covered him with a sheet. He was snoring right as you closed the door to his bedroom.

Sherlock was not as helpful. Being taller than you and John, it was a lot more difficult to carry him to his room. The detective muttered something unintelligent under his breath as you continued to try and drag him to bed.

“Come on, Sherlock! Help me a little!”

Sherlock leaned up slightly from your shoulder and lazily waved his free arm around the air before grabbing the doorknob that was attached to his bedroom door and jiggled it.

“It’s locked,” he whined. You rolled your eyes and groaned as you freed your hand and opened the door. Pushing Sherlock inside, he flopped on the bed and continued to mumble into a pillow. His slurred words were muffled by the pillow he landed on, not that you tried to decipher his words. Sherlock giggled as you started to remove his shoes. A small smile crept up on your lips at how ridiculous the “serious” detective was being.

After throwing the shoes in a corner, you adjusted Sherlock on his bed and threw a soft blanket over him.

“Don’t gooo,” Sherlock mumbled, eyes closed and his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist.

“I want to sleep too, Sherlock,” you groaned.

Sherlock gave your hand a sharp tug and pulled you onto the bed with him. You let out a soft yelp as you landed half on Sherlock and the empty space next to him. You wiggled yourself into a comfortable position, not fighting Sherlock because you were extremely tired to do so.

“Ssssleep.” Your body relaxed under the blanket you covered yourself with and your heavy eyelids fell shut on their own accord. The last sounds you hear before falling asleep were the soft snores that came from Sherlock.

John woke up with a sudden jolt as the rays of the sun peeked through from behind his curtains and blinded his eyes. The pounding of his head was evidence enough to regret the previous night’s drinks. He looked at his night stand and saw a glass of water with a few pills and a note.

Mrs. Hudson was a saint.

Drinking the refreshing water and pills, the ex-army doctor managed to crawl out of bed. He managed to find clean clothes that didn’t smell of the previous night's drinking activities, and went to take a shower with his head pounding with a little less vigor.

It was past noon when John stepped out of the shower feeling clean and 40% more like himself. Images of the previous night flashed through his mind but thinking back made his head hurt. It was best to just leave those memories in the past. John’s stomach rumbled in hunger as he finished drying his hair with a towel. He shuffled into the kitchen and placed a few pieces of bread in the toaster then set the kettle to boil. John sat at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea. The sounds of London entered through the open window, the flat was never this quiet when Sherlock was at home. The ex-army doctor relished the peace.

John heard the door to Sherlock’s room open and close and you appear from the hallway with your hair tousled and clothes disheveled.

You froze as you noticed John sitting at the table looking at you with wide eyes and half a piece of toast hanging from his mouth.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

Right at that moment, Sherlock decided to emerge from his bedroom wrapped in only a white sheet. John’s toast fell from his hand as he watched his friend walk towards the kettle, his bare shoulders giving the emphasis of nakedness under this sheet. You looked in horror as a smile crept onto John’s face and Mrs. Hudson walked into the kitchen.

“Sherlock! Shouldn’t you be wearing clothes?!”

“Not now, Hudders.” The detective muttered, sipping his tea with a satisfied smile. He headed back to his room but not before quickly kissing your cheek.

“Thank you.” Sherlock mumbled quietly for only you to hear.

You felt your cheeks flush.

“‘Not what it looks like’ my ass!”

#sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes #john watson #kat writes #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock imagines

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asablehart · 9 months

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it's been a long time since i've shared any writing on here, so here's the first lines of the drafts i worked on during workshop :)

I Cut the Bull from My Belly

Pasiphae’s body is mottled purple and yellow and red. The surgeon’s fingers, as gentle as they are, sink into her flesh as easily as if she were made out of figs.

A Ghost Hunts the Azurelark

A ghost rides in the misty fields of Velinore. Karta Mandal sees her in the early morning, as he pours his chai into a mug and gazes out of the bay window, intending to enjoy the subtle purple sunrise for the first time since he returned to his childhood home.

BRIDE / BUTCHER / DOE

A woman drags a white doe out of the ice room; it hangs from the ceiling rails by two brass hooks, one caught beneath its pelvis and the other behind the scapulae. As she pulls, all the while, the metal wheels whine.

The Wolf Risha Hunts the Stag who Cannot Die

In the fading shadows of dawn, a hunter meets a wolf with white eyes, a wolf whose mouth stretches open and in its growl there are three faraway voices, distorted as if heard through water, so the hunter shoots, once; he does not wait to see what he has done.

See, by the Moon’s Eye, the Hand of Astraea Returns

Tongue lolling, the soldier’s mare drops her head low and sniffs. A dismembered hand reaches up to stroke the velvet skin between her nostrils.

#writeblr #shorts #excerpts #my writing #cw gore

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direwombat · 1 year

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happy wip wednesday y'all

tagged by: @trench-rot, @socially-awkward-skeleton

tagging: @adelaidedrubman, @detectivelokis, @sstewyhosseini, @baldurrs, @strafethesesinners, @strangefable, @fourlittleseedlings, @purplehairsecretlair, @schoute, @gaeadene, @g0dspeeed, @sukoshimikan, @poetikat, @wrathfulrook, @josephslittledeputy, @madparadoxum, @euryalex, @clonesupport, @ivymarquis, @voidika, @nightwingshero, @aceghosts, @deputyash, @jacobsneed, @jacobseed , @confidentandgood, @inafieldofdaisies, @vampireninjabunnies-blog , and anyone else who has something to share today! (But as always no pressure <3)

have i finished drafting chapters one and interlude i of kneeling at the crossroads? no. is that stopping me from working on chapter two? also no. so have the intro to that :)

Hope County MT. September 13, 2018. Lamb of God Church. 9:14 a.m.

Were Father Brian not already dead, Sybille would ask if it were poetry or sacrilege that happened at the Lamb of God church. She doesn’t know him well, never spoke to him much — Irish priests are a little too ascetic for her taste — but she knows that no one deserves this.

She stares up at his corpse, nailed to and sharing the same cross as his Lord and Savior. Church makes crucifixion seem so much more beautiful than it actually is. The artists paint and sculpt Jesus with such exquisite ecstasy in his agony. But the stories she grew up hearing never talked about the immediate aftermath of his expiration.

Surely, Jesus didn’t reek of death while Virgin Mary held him as she wept. Surely, his body never bloated the way Father Brian’s has — feet swollen and gut distending as it fills with gas.

“Shit,” she breathes, and she pats Boomer’s head when he lets out a sad whimper.

There’s a thudding on the roof as Grace Armstrong leaves her nest in the belfry. Dust shakes loose from the rafters, raining down, tickling her nose and causing Boomer to errupt into a series of full body sneezes.

“Okay, okay,” she says with a small huff of laughter. She gives him another pat and gently nudges him to turn around and head back outside. “C’mon boy, let’s go.” They pass back through the entryway of the church, its doors partially blown off their hinges and riddled with bullet holes.

The air outside isn’t much more pleasant. Fresh though it may be, it’s still heavy with the coppery tang of freshly spilled blood. Bodies of Joseph’s followers are scattered across the ground, a few slumping over the headstones.

The Lamb of God has been led to slaughter, and all that remains is death and decay.

Sybille takes a seat on the concrete steps and breathes a heavy sigh. It’s not even noon and she’s already lost count of how many people she’s killed. Her fingers twitch, reaching into her breast pocket out of habit. They brush against the soft flannel, noting the distinct lack of cigarettes, before she remembers that she lost her current pack after Dutch fished her from the Henbane.

A shame. It was a fresh pack, too.

Boomer sits beside her, leaning his rump heavily against her hip. His tongue lolls from his mouth, breath coming out in hot, wet pants. Her nose crinkles at the smell; dog breath briefly overpowers the stench of dead bodies.

She ruffles the fur atop his head, causing his ears to flop. His eyes squint shut and his tail swishes against the concrete, whacking lightly against her each time it arcs her way. That panting smile of his widens.

It’s difficult to believe that it’s barely been an hour since she freed him from that cage, only to find his Mama — Rae Rae — shot dead and lying in a pool of her own blood.

So much blood.

On the ground. In the air. The county is hemorrhaging, and she has no tourniquet, no gauze, nothing to staunch the flow other than her own goddamn hands.

And she’d been so certain that moving to Hope County was her opportunity to finally wash them clean.

A shadow falls over her, accompanied by a clipped, “Hey.” Sybille looks up to find Grace standing before her, one hand on her hip while the other shoulders her rifle. “Where’d you serve?”

She huffs a small laugh. Soldiers. They’re all the same, herself included — she’d been wanting to ask her the same question. “Afghanistan,” she answers, rising to her feet. She shoulders her own assault rifle. “Eleven years. Discharged a few months ago.”

“No shit,” Grace says. The corner of her lips quirk up. “Must’ve missed each other.”

“Army’s big,” Sybille shrugs.

Grace snorts. “Ain’t that the truth.” She holds out her hand. “Name’s Grace”

Sybille takes it, giving her a firm handshake, one that’s returned just as firmly. “Armstrong — I know. Seen you on the billboards. I’m Deputy La Roux. Sybille.”

A wry smile stretches across Grace’s face and she nods slowly. “Ah,” she says. “So, you’re the one the Peggies’ve been scramblin’ to find.”

“Guilty,” Sybille says sheepishly.

“Well, if you’re on Joseph Seed’s shitlist, you’re fine by me. Thanks for the help, by the way. Ain’t no way I could’ve held them off on my own. I owe you.”

“Just doin’ my job,” Sybille shrugs. “Protect ‘n serve ‘n shit.”

#wip wednesday #wip: kneeling at the crossroads

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sir-davey · 7 months

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Writing a book wow ✍️

Alright, lemme introduce you to a project I’ve been working on for a few years now 😘

I have been very dedicated to it, and it’s been through many, MANY changes because of the concept for it, which has been hard for even me to develop and have it make sense lol

Also here’s some art I made for it, hehe

This novel in question is, “Saul,” a fictional retelling of, well you know, King Saul 🥶 Strictly through his perspective and how he sees the world around him, which is shown in a very symbolic way. Everything about this story is symbolic with it presented through symbolic imagery that Saul experiences. Within the story, Saul would go through seven visions, given by Ze’ev, his evil spirit, detailing his state of mind and his gnawing grudges.

Basically, this story brings light to Saul’s mentality in the Bible in other means of interpreting it, in which Saul is honestly never sane and he has a lot of issues lol. Also, the story goes through his entire life, and I mean going back to when he’s around 15, which is where the story starts (other than his traumatic flashback that I’m not going to talk about loll) So it’s an origin story as well, but it ties into the whole idea of what drives Saul forward in the life he lives.

Also, there’s generational trauma 🥶 that explains Saul’s abuse for Jonathan (although there are many more aspects to it, Saul’s past is partly the reason for Saul’s abuse) in which Saul’s father, Kish, is the biggest asshole you’ll ever meet lol. And yeah, there’s a reason why, and yet, he’s an asshole through and through and there’s no redemption for him. Kish doesn’t want to be associated with his son which spirals into endless abuse and neglect (kind of explains why Saul has little to no confidence in himself and is constantly paranoid).

There are also prominent characters I’ve come up with, such as Saul’s mother, Hodesh, and basically the character of Saul’s evil spirit, Ze’ev, who is a shift-shaping demon wolf that guides Saul to seek his truest intentions while bringing fear into his heart so Ze’ev can feed off of him. Firstly, Hodesh holds a special place in Saul’s heart. And it’s to the point where he becomes obsessive of her, trying to find answers through her since she is the bearer of his life (also she sings really well, making it the origin for Saul’s musical needs). Ze’ev, on the other hand, stems from Saul’s traumas/fears and becomes prevalent later on to weaken Saul and to bring him to a place of chaos and terror so much so it hinders Saul seeking for the answers he’s been looking for for all his life.

And some other things about the novel: Saul’s childhood is absolute garbage, yet Ahinoam has always tried to alleviate him from his burdens. His relationship with Ahinoam, however, is at first very, very strong but becomes unstable when Saul’s drama with Rizpah comes into the picture, which is all Saul’s fault by the way lol. Him and Ahinoam though have a strong connection, despite their troubled beginnings with each other, and Jonathan is basically a combination of them in good ways lol. Jonathan is really prominent in the story too, and I’ll maybe make another post discussing David/Jonathan’s relationship in the story, because I’m still trying to figure out a symbolic way to add them into Saul’s narrative.

One thing about Jonathan is that Saul in his visions constantly imagines a scary version of Jonathan, which is supposed to be serious, but I’ve always found it funny loll. Like Saul would be waking up screaming from Jonathan drenched in blood and then sees a perfectly normal Jonathan smiling at him.

So ANYWAYS,

I’ve been working on this novel for a long while, and it has gone through a lot of changes. I have written the first draft for it, but I’ve recently scrapped the entire draft because the whole story has entirely changed lol. The first draft actually dwelled on Saul’s childhood, but the narrative ended up being really pandering and stupid while not adding anything to the story, if I’m being honest 🥶 I mean, there was a chapter of 10k words of just little Saul talking to little Abner about some plan of sneaking out to go and see the Philistines. They’re like 7 btw. You’d spend five chapters of an annoying, 7 year old Saul who thinks he’s tough and brave in every sentence he says loll.

Alright that’s enough rambling 😭 I doubt anyone would read this other than me, but if you have, then you’re amazing and I applaud you greatly 😎👏👏 I ramble a lot because I’m a nerd, and I’m very passionate, and uh- DAVID FOREVERRR 😍😘✨🫶 EEEEEEEEEE

Also, any ideas/suggestions would be AWESOME 😎👍✨

#Something’s wrong with me #Midnight rambles #King Saul #Bible stuff #me lovee #Crazy writer things aaa #I’m just a nerdy writer #i talk too much #whoopsies #My novel will be extra gay too #We cannot forget the biblical gayss #Biblical gays #biblical #biblical art #Saul is canonically insane #Saul fr needs help #Rip Jonathan #bible fandom

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streaks-of-indigo · 11 months

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In the Summertime

Josh x female reader

NSFW - 18+ ONLY!!! Minors DNI

This one has been in the drafts for a minute then Tumblr kept deciding to ban it. So fingers crossed 🤞

The summer heat suffocated the both of you as you sat in traffic after spending the day in the city. Inch by inch the car moved forward. It would be about 45 minutes until you would be walking through your front door.

The air conditioning had not fully kicked in and any bare skin was sticking to the Jeep’s leather interior. Every few seconds one of you would pull forward to remove yourselves from the heated fabric.

“I’m sorry bubs,” Josh said from the driver’s seat, “we didn’t plan this very well.”

“I know, but we had to do something on your day off. We should’ve just gone to the beach. Or better yet stayed home, tanned in the backyard, drink sangria...”

“I'm glad we got out today, although....,” Josh's voice trailed off.

Y/n heavily sighed and leaned her head back against the headrest.

Josh glanced over at her, taking in her tanned skin and toned legs. Her nipples were getting hard through her thin t-shirt as the a/c began cooling the car off.

Josh couldn’t help himself and looked up at her soft pink lips and felt a wave of immense love and want pulse through him.

Y/n felt Josh’s intense gaze and turned her head to look at him.

“What?” she asked playfully.

“Nothing, you’re just gorgeous. You drive me crazy, I can’t wait to get you home.” Josh said as a smile slowly overtook his face.

Y/n laughed and took Josh’s hand in hers.

“I have an idea…” Josh began to say taking out his phone and plugging it into the auxiliary cord. “Remember this?”

Suddenly the car was filled with y/n’s breathy moans. Josh was playing one of their many recorded sessions.

“Tell me mama, how does that feel..” Josh’s voice came through the speakers along with the sound of Josh slapping y/n’s ass echoing through the car.

“Fuck, Josh” y/n groaned, her cheeks reddening as the video continued to play. “Thought it would make this ride a little better” Josh smirked, dimples dangerously on display.

Josh and y/n sat in a thick sexual silence as the sounds of y/n moaning while Josh ate her out enveloped them.

“Fuck I remember this night” said y/n fidgeting in her seat. Josh felt her palm sweating in his hand. “I came so hard. I always do with you.”

The sounds continued. Josh switched to another video.

“This was when we snuck into that closet after Marcus’s wedding.” Josh turned the volume up even louder.

Josh whispering “Shh, we have to keep quiet.” Whispers of y/n gently swearing as Josh fingered her silently within the dark closet.

Josh noticed y/n biting her bottom lip, her eyes closed, reliving the intimate moment behind her eyelids. They were still sitting in bumper to bumper traffic, no sign of moving.

Josh decided to play a different video.

“This is when I bought you your new toy.” The car was filled with the sound of you both groaning in unison. Josh had complete control over the vibrator snugly tucked away in your underwear. It was a surprise for your anniversary. Y/n sighed as the memory came flooding back. Josh was relentlessly edging you at the table having his way with you. The heat of the moment had you both clawing at each other in the backseat before you made the drive home.

Josh leaned over lifting y/n’s shirt, softly rubbing her stomach. Goosebumps erupted all over her skin as he traced designs with his fingertips back and forth across her. Josh saw the slight twitch of y/n’s hips. Knowing she was enjoying this more than she would like to admit, Josh slid his hand down, unbuttoning her shorts.

Y/n’s eyes sprang open, her eyes trying to adjust to the harsh sunlight.

“Who the fuck cares?” Josh said sliding his fingers through her wetness.

Y/n moaned and lolled her head to the side. Josh turned the volume up louder and louder and began making up and down motions on the underside of y/n’s clit. Josh marveled at how smooth and wet she was already, truly perfect. He craved to taste her, having her juices covering his body. Josh could not believe his eyes the first time he saw her squirt. It was an amazing sight and he could always expect to be slick from her within the first half hour of their lovemaking.

Josh began thinking about all the times he had brought y/n to climax. All the times she would be riding him on top and how his stomach and lap would be shining from her release. His cock was hardening at the thought.

“Shit,” y/n sighed. Josh gently kissed her neck. Y/n began grinding her core against his hand.

“Oh my god, Josh. Don't stop this feels too good,” y/n said breathily. She was hot to the touch. Josh couldn’t wait to have her in his mouth. To have her riding his face.

He wanted her on top of him. Josh gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles turning white as he felt her squirm beneath his touch. His pants tightening as her soft whimpers began to fill the car.

Josh began moving his fingers faster as the sound of their skin slapping became louder on the recording. Josh could tell that this was when y/n had finished.

“Baby,” y/n moaned as Josh slid his two fingers inside her. “Holy fuck,” Josh whispered, y/n beginning to slowly grind into his hand. Josh could feel her tightness around his fingers. He could imagine her perfect pink lips glistening up at him.

They were both practically screaming on the recording. The clip etched into Josh’s brain as he had used it many times to make himself cum while he was away.

Her legs thrown over his shoulders, Josh kissing her calf as he continues to thrust harder into her. Holding each other’s gazes for as long as they could.

Y/n thrusted herself on Josh’s hand harder. “Cum for me. Cum for me with all of these people surrounding us. Let go, y/n!”

“Oh my god,” y/n screamed as Josh curled his fingers upwards inside her. “Baby.. I-I’m gonna cum.” Josh made sure to grind his palm into her clit. Y/n cried out Josh’s name as she came hard. Gripping onto Josh’s shirt and bracing herself against the passenger window.

Josh felt the familiar burst of euphoria seep out of her body and soak through her panties and shorts. “Fuck, baby!” She yelled as her core throbbed and spasmed, releasing the end of her orgasm.

Josh removed his hand from y/n’s shorts and casually licked her off his fingers. Y/n pressed her forehead to the cooled window, trying to catch her breath and refocus.

She reached over and squeezed Josh’s hand gently.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard when we get home..” y/n said after some time. “Just wait,”giving Josh’s jawline a few kisses.

The traffic had finally began to break, and Josh couldn’t wait for what was to come.

#greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #fanfic #gvf fic #gvf x reader #greta van smut #josh greta van fleet #fanfiction #josh kiszka

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arlenianchronicles · 1 year

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Hello! I read your Dark!Maedhros AU a couple days back—thanks for replying to my tags about it and sharing it, it’s super cool! I hope you don’t mind me gushing about it? If it were a fic, I would leave a comment to show my appreciation, but in lieu of that I figured I’d send you an ask. I hope that’s alright (humble apologies if you’d rather just delete this).

The plot beats are so riveting and well thought out, also so in line with the heavy vibes and themes of canon! I love how it centers on Maedhros’s deterioration after so much trauma and loss—it’s heartbreaking, and imagining Maedhros on Morgoth’s side is terrifying! At the same time, the way you get him there is so painful and angsty!!!

I was really invested in the story, all the way from the initial loss of the twins and Maglor’s death. I could see it just getting worse and worse! Especially once the war was won for Morgoth. I think it’s such a clever twist/manipulation on the Oath that he would convince Maedhros that he’d basically fulfilled it by allying with his greatest enemies. That’s just so!!! Ah—scrumptious angst! Also I don’t know how you did it but the way you’ve crafted/told this story, it’s really got me thinking about how it must feel to be immortal, to be cursed to keep going and going. I feel like this AU really leverages the relentlessness of Elvish immortality, especially as it relates to lasting grief.

I love the idea of the twins being captives in Maedhros’s twisted, dark fae vibes court (which, that concept? Inspired!). The way his love has been twisted into something covetous feels so on-theme and so tragic! It’s like he’s been consumed by the thing that he lost/can’t have.

It was super exciting to see that you shared the entire plot breakdown/some of the best most gripping scenes. I read it all last week and knew I needed to send you an ask about it because it’s just such a good AU idea! Apologies if you’ve already answered this somewhere, but do you ever plan to write it out in full/post it anywhere? No pressure if not—thanks for sharing this AU, it’s amazing!

Hi there! Thank you so so much for your ask!! No need to apologize at all, I love receiving asks and comments (especially when it comes to my work hahaa It's just so much fun to see other people's reactions!) I had a big smile on my face while reading your thoughts loll So please feel free to gush as much as you’d like about the AU! :DDD

I’m really happy to hear that you were invested in the story, even when it was just an outline XD Maedros’ deterioration was lots of fun to figure out; the poor guy just can’t catch a break! And being immortal in this situation would definitely be painful, like, just being forced to watch the world deteriorate into a hellscape under Morgoth’s rule … It’s not a theme I thought of when I first started drafting this AU, but it’s definitely a welcome surprise! :''''D

I’m happy you like the dark fae concept for Maedros’ court! It’s one of those other things that I didn’t initially plan on, but once I started writing it out in my previous replies, it all just clicked (and I actually have a painting of his court coming soon, so keep an eye out! XDD)

Thank you so much again for sending me your ask, and for taking the time to read through my outline!! I love all comments, both in asks and tags <333 And please don’t apologize, it’s okay!! I currently don’t have any plans to write this AU out in a fanfic – the section with the twins isn’t fully outlined, and I usually get stuck while writing if I don’t have an outline to work off of loll ^^;; I’m also working on another fanfic at the moment, but once that one’s done, I could definitely look into working more on my dark!Mae AU! Thanks again!! <333

#asks #thefollow-spot #dark maedhros #kidnap fam #au #tolkien #silmarillion #man now i'm getting in the mood to work more on this au loll #figure out the twins' section and all #and then actually write it as a fic ... with art included ...#we'll see if i have enough energy for it after my god of war fic is done! XDDD

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chuuyamysunflower · 10 months

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Asheiji fanfic recs pt. 2

Pt. 1 and 3 , 4

In His Eyes by peachcitt(2k)

“This is how you see me?”

“Yes.” Pause. And then: “This is how you deserve to be seen.”

or: eiji uses up expensive photo paper while ash gets a little more comfortable with touch

Like Sea Glass by nightscrawls(6k)

In this regard, Eiji never asks, only takes what's given.

But because the ground is so much further from them now, because these aren't tides he can reel in, because this scene was never written in the script, "Do you think -" Legs tremble over the rough rope, the penultimate before he falls or flies. "Do you think he would have approved of me?"

Mourning is the undertow that tugs them to the seaside each year.

somewhere in dinky by selfetish(6k)

“I like being with you.” No holds barred. “You’re my buddy. You’re my pal. You deserve to hear it sometimes.” Eiji lolled his head to AJ's side, resting on his shoulder. “I feel like myself when I’m with you. I mean, who else will listen to me rant about the snooty dog piles I see on Architectural Digest?”

“That all I am to you? You goon.” He playfully pushed Eiji’s head off of him. He unfurled from his shelled position and melted into the cushions, staring up with a grin on his face. He laughed as he stared at their reflections on the disco ball. “Look at us. Two young stallions, rambunctious rapscallions, lonely on Valentine’s Day and pouring their hearts out to each other. Damn. It’s sad.”

“There’s gotta be some kinda subtext I’m not picking up on.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

He blinked slowly. “So, anything you’d like to confess to me, AJ?”

Friendship expressed through vellum drafts and sales pitches.

Work Experience by awesomecookies(41k)

Aslan J. Callenreese, CEO of Lynx Corp. Philanthropist, one of Forbes' top 100 richest entrepreneurs in the world, Time Magazine's cover in last month's issue, leading the protest in climate change and development of sustainable and green engineering/architecture, head of many environmental organizations, and apparently one of the most brilliant and influential minds of the 21st century.

To Eiji Okumura, he was Ash Lynx (as nicknamed by everyone in his office). Angry, tired, and was often kind of a bitch actually.

or alternatively titled: "What to do when your boss is a hot blond American with the craziest attitude and an even crazier mind)

I want to spend my life with you by orphan_account(1k)

Childhood friends AU. Just little moments here and there with two soft boys in love.

A New York State of Mind by hatakelynx, JadedLynx(26k)

Famed author Ash Lynx is struck down by writer’s block and has never felt less inspired. International student Eiji Okumura is desperate for a good grade on his assignment. Inspiration isn’t the only thing that blossoms when these two lonely souls cross paths.

A mixed Ash/Eiji POV fic that ticks every box (and then some) for wholesome AshEiji fluff.

Color my Skin by SuperChorifly(68k)

Okumura Eiji, his mother decided, would be greatly loved throughout his life. Time seemed to prove her right, since as he grew up; Eiji would grow colorful rings on his wrists as if he was collecting them.

Aslan’s father had once told him -a cheap beer bottle in hand and eyes trained on the TV- that he didn't come into this world to be loved.

Or: Soulmate AU where the first time you and your soulmate touch, a colored line shows up in your skin

Summer of Cicadas by suffragettecity(43k)

Ash comes home for summer vacation, working his way through university payments by fixing up old cars. Eiji visits a family friend in Cape Cod, tending to his failed athletic career by lifeguarding the locals.

The buzzing of a once dormant youth.

Smile, Ash! by tailoredlillies(3k)

Ash's days have been interrupted by recurring tooth pain. A trip to the dentist reveals that his wisdom teeth need to come out ASAP.

And he is not looking forward to it.

Of Pancakes and Pumpkins by Blueskylover(12k)

In the fifth avenue apartment, Eiji befriends some housewives, makes terrible pancakes, buys lots of pumpkins, and has some realizations about Ash.

uplifted by postingpebbles(3k)

Then Ash exhales, willing his pulse to slow. He’s still strangely aware of himself for a dream, and as he mulls over that thought, Ash takes in the sight of this person—this man—and is struck by the sense of looking into a mirror.

They have the same battle-hardened green eyes (though the other man’s are… softer, somehow, behind the wire-framed glasses), the same blond hair, the same efficient grace in their movements. It’s what makes Ash lower his guard slightly and say, “You’re… me, aren’t you.”

(or: ash dreams of a future with eiji and fights for that happy ending he absolutely deserves.)

Born from the Ashes by Kamikama(57k)

Ash and Eiji were just investigating Banana Fish. They never expected to go back with a baby in their arms.

In Which Ash Can't Spell Eiji's Name by mangra(7k)

“Hello, welcome to the Banana Fish café, how can….hngg.”

Ash felt like someone punched him in the gut. Hell, his whole being was disintegrating at that very moment and was swept away by the wind. Standing before him was the most gorgeous man he’d ever laid eyes on. Handsomely cute in one package.

Ash wants to go on a date with that man. Eiji just wants his name spelled right on the cup for once.

Dude I think he just caught ligma by equinoctial(1k)

“I-” Ash seemed chill, but Shorter could tell-- by the way his eyes ever subtly darted at him, the way he was blinking something furious-- that his genius brain was shutting down at the presence of The Eiji Okumura. The Big Crush. The Him.

And only Shorter Wong could salvage the situation.

“Ask. Him. Out.” He tried to physically convey the message, hand movements wild behind the boy of Ash’s dreams. Ash at least seemed to process his movements, giving his crush a soft smile, and then-

“Ducks are quacking. Eiji. Walk fast.”

Shorter wanted to pull out his own hair whenever Ash disastrously failed to ask his crush out.

He’s already bald dammit.

Burn baby burn by Royaltae(2k)

Ash is starving and can't cook for the love of god.

And so,he sets his kitchen on fire.

That one AU where A sucks at cooking and sets off the smoke alarm and B the neighbour comes to the rescue and oh shit he's cute and now I'm the one on fire.

[Pls read the tags before reading the fic<3]

#banana fish fanfiction #banana fish fanfic rec #banana fish fandom #banana fish #ash lynx #asheiji fanfic #asheiji #ash is taking a nap #eiji okumura #fic rec

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