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romanarose · 2 days

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About a Girl: Chapter 1

Beautiful header by my beloved @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Joel Miller x Trans!Fem!Reader (Nickname, Blue)

Summary: Joel is a simple man. He goes to work, he takes care of his kindergarten age daughter, he tries to make sure Tommy doesn't die and occasionally Tess comes over. He works on Frank and Bill's farm with Tommy, Tess, and another coworker, Max. For his birthday, Tommy drags Joel out to a local grunge band's show, music he knows Joel hates. Joel is surprised to find Tess's girlfriends best friend, a girl they all call Blue because of the blue in her hair, has caught his attention.

What he doesn't know is she is trans. When he finds out, he's very confused, not because he judges her, but because he's not sure what it means for him. Does it make him gay? What does trans even mean? He's very confused. Still, despite all the confusion Joel has an open mind and he just knows that he has a lot of feelings for you and he wants to try. Joel goes on a journey of learning, not only what your trans identity means but also how to take care of himself, how to set boundaries, and learning he doesn't need carry the whole world on his shoulders.

Joel loves country, is as yeehaw as they come. Blue loves grunge, and looking as edgy as she can get by as a school teacher. Can you and Joel make it all work with the one thing that bonds them both together; flannel?

Warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter: 18+ ONLY!! I cannot warn against everything, but these are major themes. Joel is a lil ignorant but not out of hate. He just doesn't know. He's trying his best. There will be smut. Penetrative sex, all of the anal play, oral. There will be transphobia from other people. Addiction and alcoholism. QUICK child neglect not by Joel but I promise, Sarah is fine and is having a great time in life. Fetishization of women attracted to women by a shitty guy. Will update as needed. Again, this is adult content. Expect adult content.

Immersivity: Reader is transgender, AMAB female, reader has had gotten bottom surgery, not top, and is on hormones. reader has visible hair and a blue streak in hair, but not described. Could be braids, could be natural hair, whatever. Header is for aesthetics only. Reader is about Joel and Tommy's height. Let me know if i miss anything!

A/N: I am not a trans woman, but I am trans. I am doing my best research! If I got something wrong or accidentally say something offensive, please tell me! Same with Sarah's hair. I learned a LOT about black hair care from living with my black roommate for 2 years, and watching a lot of youtube. Again, if im incorrect or offensive, let me know and ill correct! I just want Joel to care about his daughters hair <3

TRANS LIVES MATTER! TRANS YOUTH MATTER! TRANS ELDERLY MATTER! TRANS WOMEN MATTER! TRANS MEN MATTER! NON BINARY TRANS MATTER!

It all started with Tommy, as most adventures do. Joel was certain Tommy would make sure to mention that fact during his best man speech.

“You have got to get out more. You’re making me stir crazy just watching you sit at home.”

Joel rolled his eyes, packing Sarah’s lunch. He was happy to throw in some plums, Sarah’s favorite fruit, that he got from the food pantry. Since Sarah started kindergarten and he didn’t have to pay for nearly as much childcare, things had gotten less horrifically tight financially but now he was playing catch up. Catching pneumonia last winter had drained his little savings with an ER visit. Joel desperately wanted to not rely on charity, but he also didn’t want Sarah to go without.

“How would you know, you’re never even home.” Since getting out of the army, Tommy has not adjusted well. Joel was happy to let him live in the house he built for his ex-fiance on his parents land they gifted when Sarah was born. Tommy was a help with Sarah and was good company when he wasn’t out partying.

“Hey.” Tommy looked a little offended. “I’m here plenty. Just ask Sarah.” Sarah adored her uncle.

Joel sighed. “You’re right.” He wasn’t. “But I ain’t going. I can’t afford that, and I’d like to spend my days off with Sarah.”

Tommy tossed a cosmic brownie from the box he bought into Sarah’s lunchbox. “Come oooooon. Sarah loves the babysitter, and one night out won’t traumatize her forever. I’ll pay for the sitter, I already got tickets and I’ll even cover your drinks.”

Joel would rather the money go towards Sarah’s next dental appointment, but he couldn’t tell Tommy where to spend his money, and he knew there was no saying no to his brother when he gets like this. “How many bands are playing? I ain’t sitting through three openers, Tom.”

“Just one! You’re coming!” Tommy ran out of the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time before Joel could protest. “Sarah! Guess who gets to hang out with Jessica tonight!” Joel could hear the sound of springs bouncing as Sarah cheered and called out if the bed breaks, Tommy’s fixing it.

After getting Sarah dressed, he sat her down on a chair in the kitchen and looked at the clock. “Only got time for a ponytail, baby girl.” Joel had figured out some simple hair care for thick hair he wasn’t quite equipped to work with. Before Sarah was born, he didn’t know how to do a single braid. Joel had practiced a little before Tommy had to chop off his hippie curls for the army but he still was lost in a lot of ways. 2 years ago, Joel must’ve looked particularly lost in the ethnic hair aisle with Sarah in the cart and a kind woman guided him to some hair gel, argan oil, and an edge brush, scribbling a few instructions on some scratch paper. That’s what's gotten him through this far. Joel kept thinking he needed to reach out somewhere or maybe find a book… but with what time?

Kayla, Sarah’s mom, wasn’t much help either. Kayla was mixed and absolutely inherited the polish side as far as hair, where Sarah got her late grandma’s genes. Kayla wanted to chemically straighten Sarah’s beautiful curls last year when she had her over Easter, but Joel put his foot down. When she was older, if she wanted to do whatever she wanted with her hair, braids, relaxed, wigs, she could but there was no way he was letting all those chemicals into a 4 year olds head just to make it “easier.” Joel could handle it.

She looked cute with her little puffball on the top of her head, anyway.

“TOMMY! LETS GO!” Why was Tommy harder to get out the door than Sarah was?

Little hands tugged at his shirt. “Daddy I want coffee.”

“No baby”

“Why?”

“It’s not good for little kids.”

“Uncle Tommy lets me have coffee.”

Joel sighed loudly. “Of course he did. Well, Sarah, that’s an uncle thing, I don’t know what to tell you. TOMMYYY!”

Tommy’s heavy footsteps clomped down the steps, dashing out the door. “Come one Jojo, whatcha wait’n for?”

How did little kids have so much energy in the morning? Tommy included. Sarah was chatty as ever on her way, talking excitedly about the eggs in the classroom's incubator. He tried to pay attention, he really did, but he was busy trying to figure out what bills he still owes. It was only September, one month into not having to pay out the ass for Sarah’s daycare. Was he even gonna be able to catch up at all before the summer comes? Her mom said she wanted to take her for the summer, but she was single right now and slightly more involved. When she finds a new man, she suddenly becomes much less interested in her child. Joel didn’t want Sarah around strange men all the time either.

“Daddy? Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?”

Tommy nudged Joel, calling him name for Sarah’s attention.

“What?” Joel said, not unkindly but perhaps a little too harsh than he wanted to speak around his daughter.

“Happy birthday daddy.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly, wincing at his prior tone. “Thank you baby. I’ll bring home a cake, how about that.” He felt like he could cry, snapping at his sweet girl for trying to wish him happy birthday. He was so bad at this.

Both children in the car cheered.

Joel dropped Sarah off with several kisses on her forehead, then ran off to the truck. He might just be on time if he speeds a bit. He didn’t speed with Sarah in the truck, he was less careful with Tommy.

“Just in time!” Tess’s voice greeted them in the farm house. “You guys eat?”

She knew the answer. Sarah’s kindergarten had a free breakfast program, leaving Joel and Tommy on their own and god knows they didn’t take proper care of themselves. Luckily, they had great bosses.

Joel, Tommy, and Tess all worked for Bill and Frank on their farm. Joel had stumbled on this job shortly after Kayla left and God, what a blessing. Bill and Frank had trouble finding help being the only gay farmers on the planet to felt like, but Joel wasn’t really in a position to deny a good paying job, not in this economy, not with a baby who barely had a mom around anymore. This was before Tommy came back from the army, and Joel’s parents dead a few years prior. He was alone.

That’s where he met Tess. She was something else. A woman working as a farm hand alone was surprising enough, but she was the first openly bisexual person Joel had met. Hell, she was the only the third gay person he knew of and the first woman. He’d lived a sheltered life. Still, Joel didn’t really see an issue with none of it. Wasn’t his business what two grown adults did, that was his thought on the matter. Not that he really had enough time to have thoughts on much of anything other than keeping Sarah and Tommy alive. When Tommy came back, he started working on the farm too.

Tess slid the men some pancakes, stating she knew it and went ahead and made extra.

Frank entered the room with something in his hand. “Wait!” He placed the item, which Joel saw was a candle on the the pancake.

“Oh, no, you guys don’t gotta-”

“Shut the hell up, Miller.” Bill entered the room with a pack of cigarettes in one hand and a lighter in the other. He lit the candle, and then a cigarette.

Frank took it out of his hand, putting it out under the sink. “If you absolutely must smoke, you’re not smoking inside our home.” He then turned back to Joel. “Happy birthday, Joel.” The forth employee, Max, enters the farmhouse and then embarrassingly, Franks leads everyone (except Bill) in a very shitty rendition of happy birthday.

“Hey,” Tess nudged Joel as she attempted to fix the clutch without calling Bill up. “You coming tonight?”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Tommy convinced me. He also told Sarah it’s my birthday so now I gotta bring home cake and do a bit of the birthday thing with her. I was hoping to avoid it another year.”

She laughed at that. “Ah come on! It can’t be that bad.”

“She’s not, it’s my birthday that is.”

“I know.” Tess patted his back.

Joel and her worked in silence for a moment, but he figured this was as good a time as any. “Hey uh… so. You and Tommy.”

Tess smirked, but didn’t look at him. “What about my dear friend?”

“Well uh, that’s just it…” Joel cleared his troat, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just, you guys been spending a lot of time together, and I’m just… well you know he’s at tough spot right now…-”

“When isn’t he?”

“Right. Well. I’m just wondering… Well.”

With a chuckle, she put down the wrench and turned to look at Joel with a smile. “You’re wondering if Tommy and I are an item.”

Cringing hard enough his eyes were closed, Joel nods.

“Don’t worry about your baby brother, he can handle himself.”

“Can he?”

“Joel. Look at me.”

Joel forced his eyes open.

“Tommy and I fuck sometimes to blow off steam, don’t act you’re much different.”

“It was one time!”

“It was 4 times, glad to know that I’m that forgettable.” Tess continued with her teasing before Joel could protest. “Listen, I know you’re worried about him, but Tommy and I aren’t interested in dating each other. It’s just for fun sometimes. Tommy puts up a tough front but I’d eat that boy alive.”

Finally, Joel laughed. Yes, she would.

Tess went back to work. “Besides, you’re meeting my new girlfriend tonight, birthday boy.”

Joel was exhausted, washing his hands and forearms and face before leaving to get Sarah. He tried to stay as clean as possible for Sarah. She didn’t need to know how hard he worked for her.

“Hey Joel, I get to watch Sarah this fall don’t I?” Frank asked as he sauntered into the kitchen.

Joel tried to protest, as he did every year, but it was merely a formality to be polite. He couldn’t afford childcare in the late hours it took to get harvest done. Hopefully it wouldn’t be so bad now that Max was hired on, he didn’t see Sarah hardly at all harvest. Joel would come back to the farmhouse to find Sarah asleep on the couch with Frank, who was no help with farming. He handled the finances and paperwork, and functioned as a babysitter in pinches. Joel was forever indebted to the couple, inclduding Bill despite his facade of toughness.

“Nonsense Joel. I look forward to seeing her every time.” Sarah fucking loved Frank. He was teaching her painting and how to have a proper tea party, real tea and all. But with a lot of sugar.

Speaking earnestly, Joel tried to express his appreciation. “Thanks, Frank. I appreciate it. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Frank clapped Joel on the shoulders, sliding him a card. “Thank you for everything you do. We really value you. I know Bill doesn’t say it much, or at all, but we appreciate you here.” He walked off, knowing Joel would protest the $500 cash inside the card.

“Daddy! Daddy! I made a friend!” Sarah exclaimed excitedly, running up to her father still covered in her paint smock that quickly transferred the red and blue onto Joel’s jeans.

“Is that so? Who is it?”

Sarah pointed to a little brunette girl sitting in time out. “That’s Ellie! She’s in trouble because she pretended a block was a gun.”

“Oh.”

At home, Joel went through the evening routine with Sarah, Tommy having gone with Tess to pre-game. He fed her as much of the macaroni she’d eat, bathed her and made sure to make things as easy for the sitter as possible. When Jessica came over, a nice local teenager that was great with Sarah, he briefed her as he tried to clean up the kitchen.

“Daddy? Where’s the cake.”

Goddammit of course he forgot something. He just can’t do anything right, can he? He was a shitty dad, a shitty brother, a shitty boyfriend, a needy employee-

“Where's the birthday boy!” Tommy burst in, followed by a group of people, some he knew, some he didn’t. With him was Tess carrying a cake.

“TESS!!!!!!” Sarah shouted, but went more for the cake she carried.

“Hiya, love bug!” She patted her ponytail. “Ready to sing happy birthday at the top of your lungs?”

Hadn’t she had enough happy birthdays? She must’ve known he’d forget the cake. They hadn’t been pregaming at all, they were making him a cake.

Tess hands the cake to Tommy, then gestures to the women next to her. Dark skinned, tall, her hair in… locks? Were those called locks? He was cooked. He needs to learn hair. “This is Talia, my girlfriend.”

Talia smiled brightly, extended a hand which Joel shook. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Tess talks a lot about you Tommy and Max, it’s nice to put faces to the names.”

“Please, Joel is fine. I may ache like an old man, but I’m not one yet.” Joel joked with a soft but tired smile. He turned to tess. “Max coming?”

“Yup.” She shot him a look to be nice. Joel wasn’t fond of max. Good worker, shit head of a person. Joel knew he couldn’t really blame all Tommy’s shit on bad influences, but Max didn’t help. “And this,” She gestured over to another woman who he had just been too flustered to notice until now. “Is Talia’s best friend.”

You were absolutely fucking stunning, unlike anyting he’d ever seen in his life. Tight white tank top, tight leather pants and a leather jacket. In your hair was a streak of vibrant blue. Your eyes connected with his and for a moment, he forgot about all the other people in the room.

“Oh, um, hello,” Joel shook your hand when he snapped out of it, repeating your name.

You smile at him. “Actually, most people just call me Blue.”

A small voice from Joel’s hip. “Is that because of your hair? Why is it blue? Are you sick?”

“Sarah! Don’t be rude.”

Chuckling brightly, you promise it’s okay and crouch down to Sarah’s eye level. “I’m not sick. I actually dye it like that.”

“But why?”

Internally, Joel groaned, thinking you’d take offense at the line of questions Sarah’s certainly had ready, but you just answered. “Well, I think it makes me look pretty, just you’re cute hair style makes you look pretty.”

Sarah lit up at that. “My daddy did it!!!”

“He did? That’s so awesome! You have such a nice daddy.”

Sarah nodded in avid agreement. “He’s the BEST!”

Joel couldn’t help smiling at that. He always felt like he was failing her, but she loved him regardless. “I can’t do a lot, but I’m trying to learn. I can do a mean ponytail.” Joel caught Tommy smirking at him.

Once the babysitter took Sarah to wash up for cake, Talia quietly spoke to Joel, still attached to Tess's arm. “Tess told me her mom isn’t really involved. I’d love to help you learn how to care for black hair.”

Joel felt his heart drop. “Oh shit, does it look terrible? I really tried but I don’t even know where to go and-”

Talia cut him off with a laugh and a hand up. “No, not at all! It looks very healthy. I just mean if you’d like to learn how to do more, especially as it gets longer.”

Always embarrassed to ask for help, he always swallowed his pride for Sarah. “Yeah, yeah actually I’d really like that… I’ll play yuh, don’t worry I wouldn’t make you do it for free-”

She attempted to say he didn’t need to pay, but Tess told her it was useless to try and fight. Joel figured the bonus from Bill and Frank could pay for Sarah’s dentist cleaning and the rest he could pay Talia.

After a terrible happy birthday and saying goodbye to Sarah longer than really necessary, Joel was dragged out of the house to go to some shitty local grunge bands show for his birthday.

Joel fucking hated his birthday.

Thank you thank you thank you!!!!! I can't beleive people actually wanted to read this!!! We need more trans rep in this fandom <3

First chapter setting things up, then one chapter per week for 6 weeks for my Oscar/Pedro pride event!!! each chapter 2-7 will follow themes of the week until the happy end <3

MEET THE OC'S

Talia Monroe

Tess's girlfriend, Blue's bestfriend. Talia is joyfriend and high energy. She offers to help Joel learn black hair to properly care for Sarah.

Max Waltz

Works on the farm with Joel, Tommy, and Tess. Tommy likes him, Joel hates him, Tess ears towards liking him but tries to keep him in check. Max is a generally barzen man, hates his wife, is loud and annoying to Joel.

Kayla Carter

*no face claim right now*

Joel's high school sweetheart and ex-fiance, Sarah's mom. Kayla is in an out of sarah's life, lives out of town and is only around when its convinient, leaving Joel with alone.

I don't do tag lists for one shots but I do still for series so

How to keep up with the series:

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I really enjoy writing this series so I hope you like it too <3

KISSES

Please remeber to reblog or comment or engage in some way <3 community keeps us all writing and drawing

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @ashleyfilm @bumblepony @snnyc @casa-boiardi @del-ightfulling @joelsoftie

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smallest-clown · 5 months

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Oh….i fear I have the urge to make some comments that might give me a certain label

#you cannot judge me for loving a man this fine #i won’t him #d20 #dimension 20 #brennan lee mulligan #dropout #fantasy high #fantasy high sophomore year #fantasy high junior year #jawbone #jawbone o'shaughnessey #only a shamwow could clean up the slobber I’d leave on him

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p3terparker · 1 year

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𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆 𝗺𝗲 - 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: peter wants to be babied.

𝘄/𝗰: 0.5k

𝗮/𝗻: hey guys!! it has been nearly a year since i’ve last written and i just wanna say i’m sorry for leaving for so long </3 please do bear with me, this may not be that good judging by how long it’s been since i’ve last written. i hope you enjoy though! also for everyone who has requested something, i haven’t forgotten about you! i’m getting to those soon :)

“please hold me”

it’s nearly 1am and you’re sprawled out on your bed watching some random movie that was playing on tv. you’ve been up waiting for hours for peter to come by after patrol, and now he’s finally here sneaking in through your window.

“are you okay baby? you finished up pretty late” you question softly as you take off his mask and brush his hair out of his face.

“i’m fine. i just want you to hold me” he says tiredly and practically puts all of his body weight on you, causing you both to fall back onto your bed.

adjusting yourselves to get more comfortable, you’re now laid back on your pillow as you hug peters large frame while his face is nuzzled in your chest.

you two lay silently as you rub his back until you decide to break the silence.

“you know, you’re still in your suit. you’re getting my bed dirty.”

“you just want me to take it off so you can see me naked”

“you’re done” you say before attempting to push him off of you. peter quickly caught your hands before you could even try.

“how did you–”

“i’m spider-man, baby”

“clearly” you chuckle, referring to him still being in his suit.

“since you want to see me naked so bad, i’ll take it off” he groans as if it’s the hardest task in the world. “happy now?”

“very. now come lay back down”

you don’t have to tell him twice. he quickly gets back into the position you two were in before and enjoys the warmth and comfort you bring him.

“you’re so perfect petey, did you know that?”

“mmm” he groans into as he nuzzles his face further into your chest, enjoying the sudden compliment.

“i mean seriously. you’re so smart, so strong, so caring and so funny. you being handsome is just the cherry on top”

“stoppp” he whines. “i’m blushing.”

“okay fine, i’m done”

“nooo, i didn’t mean it! keep going please” he cries as he lifts up his head to look at you.

“you are truly such a big baby”

“i’m your big baby. now continue please, i love being praised by you.”

how could you deny him?

“i love how cute you are. you have the prettiest brown hair and eyes. your face is perfectly sculpted too. i don’t know how i got blessed with the most handsome boyfriend in the world.”

“mmm” he groans again in complete ecstasy. hearing your compliments is like music to his ears.

“you’re so cute, i just want to squish your cheeks” you say before lifting his head up slightly and squishing his cheeks together.

you cannot believe he’s letting you baby him like this.

“aww petey, you’re so adorable”

“thank you” he says with a pink tint on his cheeks as he rests his head on your chest again, suddenly feeling sleepy.

you two sat in silence for a few more minutes and he peacefully drifted to sleep.

you were definitely going to make fun of him for tonight in the morning.

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throwaway-yandere · 5 months

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𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting.

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either.

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white.

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?"

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man.

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts.

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species."

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

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blue-jisungs · 11 months

Text

best years

a/n. soft soob :(

warnings. alcohol consumption, throwing up (nothing too graphic), cursing

soobin woke up slowly, the sunlight dancing on his face and warning it up pleasantly. he crooked an eye open and noticed you’re gradually waking up from slumber too. you nuzzled your head further onto the crook of his neck, the smell of your hair hitting his nostrils.

“good morning” you mumbled sleepily, only to yawn after. your fingers started drawing hearts on his chest and his thoughts couldn’t help but wander.

he will never forget how shocked he was when one day he opened the door and saw… you. voice got stuck in his throat, lips parting in shock.

“are… what– y/n?” he whispered, the ability to form full sentences flying out of the window. why you, his ex of 3 months, are here? especially that he was the one who fucked up?

“i… i missed you” you murmured, looking at him. soobin’s heart swelled; he knew what he had to do.

he slowly swallowed, deciding to turn off his brain and just got things off his chest.

“you've got a million reasons to hesitate… but, darling, the future's better than yesterday” he breathed out. your eyes widened, realising that he still… loved you.

“soobin, i– I wasted so much time on people that reminded me of you and…” you started and he ran a hand through his hair nervously

“and i gave you a million reasons to walk away. but you’re here. give me one more chance, i won’t fuck this up” soobin pleaded.

you just pulled him into a kiss.

he noticed it a while ago; it was hard not to. your leg was bouncing up and down under the table, causing it to shake slightly.

he put a hand on yours, laying atop of your thigh, looking at you worriedly. the colors from your face drained, looking just like boiled sujebi dough in the soup on the table.

“i’m fine” you murmured, shaking your head. taehyun and beomgyu were standing strong, however your drinking companion – yeonjun – was mere moments from passing out.

soobin let out an airy breath and pulled away.

“let me know if you’re feeling unwell, okay?” he asked, voice stern yet soft enough to not make you feel uncomfortable.

as he leaned away and let you return to the conversation (if you were even able call it like that, based on the oldest’s incoherent answers). your boyfriend returned to discuss the ridiculousness of–

with a unpleasant screech of chair scraping against the floor, you ran out of the room.

soobin wasted no time rushing after you, ignoring the other customers’ judging looks. the door from the bathroom slammed loudly as you pushed them open, grateful that no one was occupying it.

soobin held your hair as you returned the consumed alcohol, the other hand stroking your back in a reassuring motion.

moments later he announced that you two are going home, meeting with kai’s sad pout.

“i have to carry her home, she cannot stand up” he sighed, pure care in his voice. you were blinking slowly, trying to fight the heaviness of your eyelids. before beomgyu asked why, he added with a tender smile: “she did all these things for me when i was half a man for her”

soobin held you tightly, hand on the back of your head. his heart was ripping apart with every sound of the sob leaving your lips.

“it’ll be okay, trust me” he whispered, for the nth time that night. lulling you, swinging gently back and forth your hands gripped tighter the material of his t-shirt “i know. i know…”

your pain was his pain too.

he leaned his head against yours, inhaling your scent to somehow calm down. his eyes were watery, your suffering piercing through his bones.

“i’ll build a house out of the mess and all the broken pieces” soobin whispered, your breathing slowly getting more steady “i'll make up for all of your tears…”

both of you were crying until the sun rose, shining tenderly on your tired faces. eventually you fell asleep in his arms and your heart at peace.

“–hey, you’re here?”

you were looking up, your chin resting on his chin, his hair were sticking in different directions, proof of how much he shifted in his sleep. that’s why he was so mentally absent right now…?

“oh, yeah. sorry, i zoned out” soobin giggled, dimples showing up.

“well, i noticed. you’ve been staring at me for like, ten minutes” a playful chuckle left your lips and he just pulled you closer, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

he fell silent again, his thumb drawing shapes on your skin.

“soob, what are you thinking about?” your soft voice made him grin.

“what if i showed you?” he asked before he could process what he’s saying.

you frowned, curious.

well, fuck it.

soobin pulled away, the duvet falling off his body. he rubbed his eye, still a bit drowsy from his slumber. as he looked through his night stand you peeked over his arm.

“i was thinking about you. us. and well, uh… i didn’t have a plan yet, but–“ soobin started and let out an excited gasp “here it is!”

he turned around, his bare face glowing with joy. soobin smacked his lips, frowning suddenly.

“i’m having second thoughts but…” he explained upon your confused expression.

his huge palm grabbed yours and handed you a small, velvety box.

it was just like someone took your breathing ability away.

“i’ll give you the best years” he hummed softly, his morning voice sending shivers down your spine. you traced the sides of the box, eyes watering “i promise, darling, you won’t regret”

you opened it but… it was empty.

“bin–!” you choked out, snapping your gaze at him. soobin let out a heart-warning laugh, the dimples making a guest appearance and making it hard to be mad at him.

“laying here with you made me feel at ease; you feel like home. i’ll give you the best years of your life. and i commit to you, and i love you, and i’ll nurture you no matter what” soobin said, putting the box away and grabbing your chin “but you’ll have to wait for the actual proposal, darling”

“i hate you” you laughed through your tears, hugging him tightly. soobin just grinned widely, heart thumping against his rib cage. he’ll take it as a future yes.

txt masterlist | event masterlist

taglist.@geniejunn ,, @luvhyun3 ,, @starlostseungmin ,, @elviransworld ,, @jnks6r ,, @sieunsgf ,, @ethereallino ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @duolingofanaccount ,, @slytherinshua ,, @stxrseungs,, @ka-ni-ma ,, @iliveforlixie ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @mark-geolli ,, @l3visbby ,, @w3bqrl ,, @ddeonudepressions ,, @yourfavoritefreakyhan ,, @cinnamoroxie,, @kazmura ,, @primoppang

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iamgodsoopsie · 5 months

Text

Astarion Headcanons (that you probably won't like) Pt. 2:

Part 1 link

Part 3 link

More Astarion headcanons! (that are mostly me projecting but with an Astarion flavored twist.)

BG3 does an excellent job at depicting SA trauma and the beginning of the healing process/journey. Many of the headcanons I've seen floating around (intentionally or unintentionally) gloss over the uglier side of healing from (prolonged) trauma. I'm not judging anyone for magically healing him, he's fictional after all, but I'd like to make some more ...realistic... headcanons.

Disclaimer: Everyone's healing process looks different, but they tend share commonalities. These headcanons are based on my own experiences. Not everyone who is healing from their trauma will experience what I have or have experienced it like I have.

[Please don't message me with explicit details about your trauma. I am at the point in my healing journey where I can share my experiences, and commiserate with other's similar experiences, but I am unable to support others in a more personal manner at this time. I wish you the best of luck in your healing process/ journey.]

Spoiler warning

Mental illness, SA, & DV Trigger Warnings: I cannot stress these enough this post is much more descriptive and potentially triggering than part one was.

These headcanons are based on an Astarion who is still a spawn and romantically involved with a Tav who honestly loves him and isn't abusive or manipulative. Also Cazador is dead and Astarion got to stab him. They also assume that he himself does not turn into Cazador 2.0 or Wish.com Cazador.

I hope you're ready for abrupt mood swings.

--- One minute he's codependent and can't make a decision on his own because he's overwhelmed, the next he's hyper-independent and will take offense at any suggestion you make.

----- Astarion is aware that staying in either of the two extremes is unhealthy and would eventually lead him to acting like Cazador.

^ This ties into point two: You need walk the fine line between patient and understanding while he processes "200 years of Shit. PURE SHIT!". And at the same time you need to be firm in your own boundaries with how you allow him to treat you.

--- He's gone 200 years without autonomy and has no memory of what life was like before Cazador turned him. He has no frame of reference other than romance novels and watching couples interact with each other from afar.

-----TBH the best thing for him is to stay in regular contact with Halsin. The man has the same flavor as trauma as Astarion while also having strong boundaries and open honest/ healthy communication in his relationships. He can unjudgementally help Astarion navigate the pitfalls of his healing journey through first hand experience.

Plus Ultra Catholic levels of guilt.

--- Guilt for what he did while he was a spawn. Guilt for how he started his relationship with you (even after you've told him you forgive him multiple times). Guilt for how he lashes out at the one person who has shown him unconditional love (you). Guilt because he feels like he's dragging you down into his darkness and tainting you. Guilt because he fears he's pulling you down to bring himself up. Guilt for feeling guilty because it doesn't absolve him of his sins and makes healing harder.

Self-esteem issues

--- He was SA'd for 200 years, he was forced into prostitution, he was tortured in every conceivable way, he was made to do reprehensible things and learned to find "joy" in them because he would've lost all of himself and his humanity otherwise.

------ His inner saboteur (who sounds like Cazador and himself simultaneously- adding to his self hate) tells him that he is disgusting, wrong, filthy, a burden, unlovable, undeserving of happiness, a monster.

------- Like everything else these thoughts will become less frequent and easier for him to handle as time goes on. All you can do is love him while he self-flagellates and hates himself. One day he'll see himself as you see him.

^ Tying into all the points above, especially the one right before this one. You're going to feel useless. Most of the time all you can do is demonstrate your love for him and sit there with him while he is bombarded with years of repressed feelings forcing their way out.

--- In the beginning your attempts to help him will frequently seem to have the opposite of their intended effect.

----- It's important that you be honest with him about how you're doing mentally. It does him no favors if you set yourself on fire to keep him warm.

------- You'll be angry on his behalf and can't exact revenge.

--------- That being said you are helping him so much more than you think you are. I cannot express in words how much just being there while Astarion slogs through the painful process of healing will help him.

^ ALL of these will get less intense and easier to deal with in time. He will heal and move on from his horrid past. But, it will involve a lot of trial and error. He will have periods of exponential growth followed by a hard backslide in progress. But he will get there.

I wouldn't say that loving Astarion is hard, but it does involve conscious effort on both his and your parts.

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yokiidokii · 1 year

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How would the gang react to a reader who constantly says sorry ? like for every stupid thing at the end of a sentence due to being Bullied majority of their life . So now I their adulthood it’s just kinda automatic “oop I’m sorry” even when it’s not necessary

My smile is immeasurable- I do this so often you have no idea. I have absolutely been worried about not knowing if I was gonna do the request just right. This is not one of those times. I did have a surprising amount of trouble with it though? Despite it being something I myself do constantly lmao, ah well I hope I did it justice!

Also hi! I was in college so this is so very late and I’m so sorry about that <3 My prof mentally threw me around like a rag doll and I came out with my brain fried.

Warnings: I don't think any? Maybe some general allusions to anxiety just because of the prompt itself? Andre mentions weed but uh- nothing else! Relatively safe<3

Reagan

I feel like she understands, I could see her thinking of it more in a like, a logical sense? Not like she doesn’t understand the more emotional side of it- she’s got her own issues. But in the like “Oh, usually when people do this it means they are scared of what people think and don’t like conflict. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She gets it, and I want to be absolutely clear- I cannot see her being one of those people saying “It’s fine.” Because like, for her it doesn’t feel like it ever really is? But she will be the person to help you feel like, it’s okay that you said it but know that you do not have to. You didn’t do anything wrong.

If you want to tell her the reason why you do this, apologizing and explaining she will feel for you. I mean we’ve seen her school experience, we had one friend and a buncha kids who were way older than you and treated her like shit. Also her father, very much her father.

She won't ever press you or act like you aren't trying harder to get better but she'll make sure in her own way that you know it's all gonna be okay one day.

One day you won't have to think about the past and everything will be okay <3

Andre

Andre may or may not have told you about his experiences with his family and how they really affected him.

You have probably also- at least once maybe seen him without drugs and how that can make him.

Long story short he is in no position to judge even if he for some reason wanted to.

Would offer you some weed

He means well and will not pressure you if you say no, though he will totally ask “Are you suuuureee?” because he cannot stress enough the wonders of medical marijuana

Whether or not you take it is up to you, but he will absolutely let you chill either in his office if you're at work or at his house- would come to your house to make sure your comfy if you need it<3

He is a loving man with lots of his own experience in this kind of regard and he will help you no matter what!

He is more than the drug guy though please literally let him be known for more than that he deserves it so any tips he's used to help himself out he will give to you.

A very caring man with his own issues and lots of advice and love to give if you'll have it~

Brett

Oh honey, this man? This man understands.

Brett will apologize after you do because both of you think that is is somehow both of your faults.

Though he will undoubtedly let you know in every way he possibly can that it is not your fault in any way and that he loves you.

He would absolutely mention therapy- it helps him! It might help you?

He would absolutely be holding your hand anyway and if you do apologize while it happens, he’ll squeeze it in his own and shoot you a quick “No need to be!” before continuing the conversation. He doesn’t wanna spend the whole time acknowledging it just in case putting too much attention on it in the open would embarrass you or make you feel worse.

But he will be there for you, and he will be listing off things that he’s learned to help him when he can’t stop doing it either.

Myc

I can see Myc start by just being a little bit sarcastic. Like he isn’t entirely sure why you do it just yet, but he doesn’t want you to be saying it and thinking that you did something wrong.

He gives those like “Oh yeah? You’re sorry?” and you know that if he had actual eyes, he would be giving you a look of ‘You really wanna do this rn?’.

And he will probably continue to do so even after he knows why.

He isn’t going to treat you differently per se, at least- he acts like he isn’t going to…

But you feel the tentacle that was already wormed around your waist squeeze just a little tighter before you end your sentence to remind you that you didn’t do anything, and you don’t need to apologize.

I mean he gets it, he got bullied. He ended with a different outcome for himself, but he still understands. It sucks, and even if you don’t want to think about it or you don’t want to constantly feel like life is repeating itself over and over again but sometimes it’s just going to feel that way even if it isn’t.

Though Myc will be there to help you understand and work through all the woes of getting to inside your own head.

Gigi

She would raise her brow at it at first.

Hit you with that “Honey you didn’t do anything wrong.” and make sure you know that it’s all okay.

Is teaching you how she ignores her haters constantly, if you say anything about it not being on the same level and you start apologizing again, she is going to lovingly slap you in the face with her words (She would not lay a hand on you ever-)

Comparing yourself gets a “tsk tsk” from her and a long list of all the parts about you she thinks are beyond stellar.

Gigi would be very honest -like the most honest maybe- about whether or not you actually have anything to be sorry about.

If you do, she’ll accept your apology but try to figure out a way to do it in a way that won’t encourage you to do it when you don’t actually have to.

And when you don’t, she places a hand on her hip and gives you a look, eyebrow raised just lightly in a ‘really?’ sorry of fashion.

She’s not questioning it; she knows it happened. But she’s asking if you really wanna do it, you know that she will no doubt spend her time talking your ear off about not doing this again.

She does it with the upmost amount of love I promise- but like,,

Do you dare question her? I wouldn't

Glenn

Okay. I don’t want to say Glenn doesn’t get it at first, but out of all of the people in the gang it feels right to say he might take the longest to adjust and learn how to handle it.

But just because he might not get it at first doesn’t mean he’s rude!!

It’s more of a “What? Why are you saying you're sorry? You didn’t do anything?” Kinda confused-

He’s a confused ol man, forgive him.

Though, he would understand the bullying thing like 100%

He’s no stranger to rude comments or being talked to as if he has no feelings, typical bully behavior even if he wouldn’t talk about it or call them bullies, just,,, assholes?

That and the feelings that come from thinking about those comments is something he understands, and something that he can try and a headspace he will gladly try to help you out of.

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imfinereallyy · 11 months

Text

Am I a Taylor swift girlie? No. Cannot I not resist the swiftification of steddie because of this post? Also yes. This is for all the swifties and @harringtonisms who inspired this post.

“You know, there was a brief moment where I thought about proposing to Nancy.”

Eddie almost chokes on his beer, and Steve has to lean over to pat his back. Steve can’t help but feel a little bad for startling him.

“Excuse me, what?” Eddie turns his head to Steve, finally calmed down. Steve thinks the pool lights reflecting off his pale skin makes him look even prettier than usual. It feels unfair.

“Sorry, we’re talking about life and stuff, and it felt natural to bring it up!” Steve shrugs his shoulders, regretting saying anything in the first place.

“I was talking about how we should all move to Indy, and you thought to bring up how you almost proposed to your high school girlfriend at, what? 16?”

“17.”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie wiped a hand down his face. “The longer we are friends, the more deeply unsettling things I learn about you. Just when I think there can’t be more, boom! You hit me with another thing, Stevie.”

Steve feels himself get prickly, “Hey man, no need to be a dick.”

Eddie’s face softens, “Sorry. Sorry. Took me by surprise. I am a little curious, though. If you’re…still willing to share.”

Steve takes in Eddie for a moment, debating whether to explain. He knows he can trust Eddie. He trusts him with his life, and, more importantly, the kids' lives, and he knows most of Steve’s secrets. And Steve looks at Eddie, like really looks at him, and knows that even though he will make fun of him, he won’t judge him.

Steve is starting to learn the difference.

“The summer between my junior and senior year, things with me and Nance started to turn sour. Right after the first round of the Upside Down, we broke up for like two weeks. I hadn’t known at the time, but I think it was because she was waiting for Jonathan to make a move.”

“Shit dude, that sucks.”

“It’s fine. Stupid high school love triangle. Felt like the end of the world at the time. The irony is not lost on me.” Steve pats around his pockets for his cigarettes. The one secret Eddie is privy to that Robin is not. He only does it when he is stressed or drinking, and now he is exposed to both.

Steve puts one in his mouth and lights up; he motions the pack to Eddie in offering. “Thanks, man.” Eddie takes the cigarette and leans into Steve, the motion familiar, almost routine. Like Eddie knows he shouldn’t bother to ask for the light, that Steve will do it for him.

Steve flicks the lighter open while Eddie cups his hands. Steve doesn’t move away when Eddie blows smoke in his face. Steve will take it. He wants desperately to take it directly from his lips, exhale the taste of menthol and Eddie’s tongue, but he can’t. So he’ll take this.

“So summer it turned sour?”

Steve clears his throat, leans back a little but doesn’t move away completely. He rests his elbows on his knees. “We got back together after those two weeks, and suddenly it was like Nancy was clinging to me. Well, in the most Nancy way possible, which isn’t much, but for her, it was a lot. It was like she needed to prove to herself she was making the right decisions. When summer came around, though, I think everything settled in for her. The Upside Down, Barb being dead, me being unfit for her.”

Steve takes a drag, “She started criticizing me a lot. Saying I wasn’t committed, telling me I’m unfocused. That I didn’t understand. That I was pushing things aside. It was a bit unfair of her, considering she didn’t really want to talk about things; she didn’t want to explain, she just wanted to do what she wanted. I mean, I can’t really blame her—her best friend died, and it was my fault—“

“Sweetheart,” Eddie tries to cut him off,

“Never mind, off-topic.” Steve waves his cigarette hand in the air. “Anyway, in the summer, I took that as she saw me not committed to her. That I wasn’t focused enough on her, and her wants. Which, in retrospect, probably was naive of me, but I was 17 and madly in love with her. So I thought about proposing. The thought maybe lasted a week, right before school started. I thought, ‘This will show her I care. That I am in this.’ It didn’t seem that crazy to me at the time. I mean my parents got married at 18, had me at 22. It wasn’t exactly out of the normal. I even bought a ring—“

Steve laughs manically for a moment, while Eddie stays silent.

“—which was insane of me. It wasn’t a nice ring, either. I had to use the money I saved from lifeguarding. Which wasn’t much, so it was a dainty little Diamond on a small band that I found in a pawnshop in Bloomington. But like I said, the idea only lasted about a week. Once school started, Nancy got really distant. And my parents came home, and I was reminded about why you shouldn’t get married at 18. So I just let the thought go, kind of. But I held on to the ring, because I think part of me still held on to the idea. And then the ‘bullshit’ incident happened, and well, you know the rest.”

“Jesus, Steve. I’m sorry.” Eddie’s cigarette is almost down to the filter, the ash building up at the end. He barely hit it the entire story.

“Not your fault, Eds. I think she was kind of, right anyway. We weren’t right for each other, and I was more worried about being normal, and moving on that I didn’t let her move on the way she needed. I wasn’t the best, even now. I get it. I…”

“What?” Eddie moves closer, their knees brushing against each other. Steve can’t look him in the eye. “What, Stevie?”

“I wouldn’t marry me either.”

Eddie takes in a sharp breath. The sound cuts through Steve so suddenly he wipes he head up to face Eddie.

When Steve’s eyes meet Eddie’s, he isn’t expecting the tears. He isn’t expecting the softness. He certainly isn’t expecting Eddie to cup Steve’s face with a tenderness he hasn’t known since he was a child. “You don’t really think that do you?”

Steve’s frustrated voice turns into a soft whisper. “Of course I do. Eddie, I wouldn’t want to stick around someone like me. I’m broken beyond repair, and the only thing I would have going for me is money, and it isn’t even mine. Like I said, the ring I bought isn’t even nice.”

“Show me it, trust me, if it’s anything like you, I bet it’s beautiful.”

Steve chokes back a sob, “I pawned it back, actually. Months ago, for Robin’s birthday. I bought her that chunky turquoise ring she wears on her pointer instead.”

Eddie laughs, a small wet one. Steve knows he’s thinking about how often Robin accidentally smacks people in the face with it, but adamantly refuses to take it off. “Good, Buckley deserves pretty things.”

“That’s why I keep telling her to take a shot at Nancy.”

Eddie gives a big laugh this time, his hands still clinging to Steve’s face. The laugh sends vibrations through Steve, making him feel warm and safe.

“That’ll happen, I guarantee it, but it will take ten years. Going to be some rom-com kind of story for them to get it together.” Eddie brushes the hair from Steve’s face. A thumb caresses his cheek. “Steve, I don’t think I’m the best person to unpack all of that. Truly I am a disaster of a human being when it comes to love. But I do know that anyone, and I mean anyone, would be lucky to have you. Nance didn’t see it—or maybe she did and knew she wasn’t right for you. I don’t know. But someday, someone will not just want to marry you, but need to. They are going to want to keep you forever and do their best to accomplish that.”

“I don’t have much, Eddie. I’m just an empty shell, with an empty wallet, going nowhere. Who would choose me?”

Eddie leans back, taking his hands away from Steve’s face. He doesn’t move very far, but he looks up at the sky and whispers, “Oh, Steve. You just don’t see how amazing you are. You don’t need anything for someone to want you.”

Steve doesn’t want to break whatever moment Eddie is having, so all he can manage is a simple, “Yea?”

Eddie looks back at Steve, really looks at him, and says,

“I’d marry you with paper rings.”

Steve breaks a little. In a good way, in a needed way. Like he is breaking himself open to see what’s inside. And inside is this unwavering love for a man who he calls one of his best friends. Steve isn’t sure what to say, really. Eddie’s unwavering stare says he understands. That he doesn’t have to say anything at all.

Steve grabs his empty beer bottle and peels off the label, and starts to roll it and twist it into a tiny circle. He grabs Eddie’s hand and puts the makeshift ring on his finger.

Steve brings their conjoined hands to his mouth and kisses the back of Eddie’s. “Me too.”

***

Sue me, the 10 minute version of All to Well is a masterpiece and it would be silly to not admit it.

also this is unedited…like I wrote this and ran. Thinking about doing another version with the quotes reverse because I have an idea.

#steddie #stranger things #taylor swift #i honestly don't know if I did this justice #but I hope you enjoy anyway #can't resist making these boys soft #Steve harrington #Eddie munson #hurt/comfort #happy ending

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hyperfixatedfandomer · 7 months

Note

Okay, I can't stop thinking about Richter getting a little bit older. He's in his early teens, like 13-14 and gets a puppy crush on someone. And he just like, absolutely cannot figure out how to navigate that.

So either,

1. He indirectly asks Olrox for advice. In that roundabout way because he is shy about that one thing. And will not admit he needs help.

2. Olrox notices himself

How Olrox goes about this I leave it up to you.

I'm obsessed with this AU.

(Young Richter gets captured by Olrox as revenge: a bittersweet found family AU introduction post)

Ok before everything let’s establish how Richter would have looked when reaching an older age in Olrox’s captivity care:

(Art by me obv)

As you can see, our peepaw’s influence is all over the place. He turned a rugged kid who likes running in the mud into a fine little gentleman (that still likes running in the mud, but Olrox holds out hope that he grows out of it), so normally Richie wouldn’t feel insecure about his looks, until he met her that is.

It was a girl his age, working part-time at her father’s bakery in the settlement near which he and his kidnapper father lived in their estate. They quickly grew fond of each other and proceeded to hang out almost every day, which alarmed Olrox at first, but seeing his son being happy out-weighted the anxiety and he let it go. Of course he did have certain suspicions, especially when Richter began spending a little too much time twirling in the mirror and fixing his hair, but still gave the kid benefit of the doubt. Until today.

“Um, papá…”

Olrox looked up from his paperwork. “Yes, Richter?”

“How do I look?”

The man almost did a double take. Alright, that was new.

“Perfect as always, my son.”

That seemed to give Richie some confidence, but not enough.

“Are…are you sure?”

“I haven’t gone blind just yet. I’d say I am.” He smiled.

“Okay, good, that’s…good. Anyway, I’m going to Elyna’s place, don’t expect me til’ dinner!” He turned on his heel.

Olrox smirked. “Can’t live without your little friend, huh~?”

Richter whipped his head. “I-we’re not a thing!”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Silence.

“Are you sick by any chance? Your face is burning.”

“You just love getting your nose into my business don’t you.” Belmont hissed.

“My child, you made it excruciatingly obvious what the business was. It’s not my fault you can’t hide your feelings to save your life. I won’t be surprised if Élyna already knows all about your crush.”

“What!?” Richter stared, wide-eyed.

“Although I’d say you’re safe, judging by the dreamy looks she keeps giving you.” Olrox propped his chin on his hand, paperwork completely forgotten.

“…wait, really?”

“Have you not noticed?”

“No!?”

“Or the way she keeps carving out more and more time for you?”

The boy’s jaw dropped to the floor as the puzzle assembled in his head and Olrox couldn’t help but laugh at it.

“Oh my sweet boy…” He sighed. “You know what? Take the horse. Ladies love animals.”

“Wait, really? I can take Carter??”

“If you’re planning on winning her heart, might as well court her properly. In addition, witnessing that you keep a steed will put you in favour with her father. He’ll be more lenient if he sees that her daughter’s suitor has a wealthy family.”

“Oh my—we’re not gonna get married!”

“Give it a week and you’ll see how quickly you change your mind.” Olrox smirked. It’s just how childish crushes went, after all.

#castlevania #castlevania au #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania nocturne #castlevania richter #richter belmont #nocturne richter #castlevania olrox #nocturne olrox #Olrox

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 4 months

Text

land softly

Summary: Ghost & Soap are snowed in at a bed & breakfast. Fleabag voice: This is a love story. Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Part 2 - Johnny performs a chore

When Johnny opens his eyes in the morning, he checks the time (0600), whips his head towards the bay window for a quick inspection (pure, blinding, snow white), and then groans. The weather app on his phone confirms what he’d suspected: there’s no way he’s making it to Glasgow—he’s not even making it out of Yorkshire.

But he does need to figure out his situation at the inn, and groans aloud at the idea of convincing the grumpy innkeeper to let him stay another night. Two, if the horrid weather persists.

His unasked question is answered when he ambles his way down to the kitchen at 0700, freshly showered, and the masked fella’s already there cooking streaky bacon. The table’s been set for two and the smell of fresh coffee entices Johnny to take (what he thinks) are sneaky steps, but he gets caught out anyway.

“Morning,” the grump mutters, and Johnny carefully returns the greeting. “Can’t leave in this weather, can ya, mate?”

“Uh…”

“It’s fine,” the man mutters. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere either, looks like.” He turns around and motions to the empty chair. “Sit. Eat,” he orders, brusquely, and sets a full English in front of Johnny.

Johnny can’t help but wonder about the abrupt 180 in the giant’s mood from the previous evening, but he lets it go, considering he’s being fed a mighty big breakfast. He’s shovelling eggs into his mouth with all the gentle decorum of a mountain bear pre-hibernation, when the giant takes the seat opposite him and stares. No food in front of him, no coffee.

Johnny squirms from the unblinking attention, on edge from the dark mask that hid his lower face—a mask adorned with the bottom half of a skull. Eerie and fucking weird, but who was Johnny to judge.

In his line of work—ex line of work, he corrects himself bitterly—he’d seen much worse.

“You dinnae have to do all this, ah appreciate it! Ye must have family tae go visit for Christmas and I’m holdin’ you up here, ah’m so sorry—”

“No family, s’ fine.”

Johnny’s eyes slide carefully to the ring on his left hand and back to his face, only to flush when he’s clearly been caught looking. “Ah, ah’m sorry, I just saw the ring and thought ye were married, sorry, that’s—”

“I was.”

“But the ring—” Johnny blurts, before he can help himself.

“Ring stays. Name’s Ghost,” the man says without missing a beat.

“Yer name is Ghost? Did your mam hate ye?”

“Dunno. She’s dead. Eat.”

Johnny nods absent-mindedly, and picks up his forgotten cutlery, sneaking glances at the—at Ghost.

His attention remains unwaveringly on Johnny, though, and he stares intensely at Johnny through the whole thing.

“I work ‘ere,” Ghost continues, as if the conversation had never stalled. “Maintenance ‘n that.”

“Okay…”

“The kitchen’s stocked, if y’need to eat. Help yourself anytime. There’s coffee, tea, all sorts in there. Stay as long as you need, there’s no drivin’ in this weather. Give me a shout if you need me, I’ll be around.”

Ghost flings facts at Johnny at hyper-speed and Johnny’s unsure about what to do with this information.

“Do—do ye need help? Ah’m no’ doin’ anything anyway. Be happy to help for yer lettin’ me stay—”

“Place needs a Christmas tree.”

Johnny chokes on his coffee. Ghost merely leans back on the chair and waits him out, while painful, hacking coughs leave his body.

“Ye want me to put up yer tree?”

“Christmas in a couple days, innit? Boiler needs lookin’ at too,” Ghost states and then narrows his eyes. “I’ll sort that,” he says quickly, when Johnny looks like he was going to offer to do that instead. “Pulled the tree ‘nd that outta the attic, it’s in the main room. If you want to help.”

“Alrate, I can decorate a tree.”

***

Johnny finds that he cannot, after all, decorate a tree. He really struggles with it, really struggles with a fuckin’ Christmas tree—he can’t remember the last time he’d done this, which comes as a nasty shock—and decides that a change of strategy might be in order.

He’s determined to do this right, though, and so he acknowledges (with a cringe) exactly what he needs to do.

He bounds up to his room and grabs his phone. It only rings twice before his sister answers. “Too early, Johnny! Wake my child and I’ll kill ye.”

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Alright love?”

“S’ all good, pup. But ye’re not gonna make it fer tonight either, the weather’s stirred up somethin’ awful.”

“I know! Never seen snow so bad this time o’ year.” Johnny has to pause at the irony. “Mother Nature herself isnae wantin’ me to meet my mother.”

“Yer not funny.” He hears his sister sigh. “Gonna be strange without ye here, y’know?”

“Ah know.” But Johnny knew what his sister was too polite to say—that it might be weird without him there, but not necessarily bad. He didn’t blame her.

“Anyway. Why’re ye calling so early?”

“Ah need your help…with a Christmas tree.”

“What?” His sister’s voice had taken on an incredulous tone, two octaves higher than usual but when he explained to her what he wanted to do, and about the mysterious weirdo Ghost that ran the bed & breakfast, she was beyond intrigued. “...kind of a name is Ghost? His mam hate him?”

“‘S what I said! But he’s lettin’ me stay here, even though the place is closed. Fuck, ah’ll decorate his tree for ‘im. Whatever. Doesnae matter, can ye help me?”

“Such a brat, Johnny. Fine. Here’s what ye need to do.”

As she speaks about tinsel placement and an even bauble to tree ratio, Johnny realises with a start that he hasn’t looked forward to a project like this for a long, long time. Johnny’s only looked out for Johnny for so long that something as trivial as putting up a Christmas tree for someone else’s benefit felt like an undeniably selfless act of charity. The thought disgusts him, he has to shake his head to distract himself from the dark line of thought.

The occasional glance out of the window reveals the constant, seemingly endless snow falling from the skies, but he’s grateful to at least be warm. And while he separates the baubles from the tinsel from the tree lights, exactly as instructed, Johnny finds his thoughts straying from him.

Nothing’s caught his attention, nothing’s made him want to do something for someone else for a while. Or maybe it’s just the gruff, stoic, kind of charming innkeeper. And that thought comes as a surprise, seemingly out of nowhere. Huh.

The only other constant apart from the snow seems to be the 80s music playing softly from upstairs. Johnny knows it’s where Ghost is fixing the boiler, and occasionally, he’ll recognise the cheesy song playing from the vintage radio that Ghost seems to carry around with him along with his tool box. It’s…beyond strange.

Come afternoon and Johnny finds that he’s still not made as much progress as he’d have liked to. The front room of the inn is so messy, he’s thankful for the lack of any other guests at the place—there was hardly any place to walk around in the room.

He doesn’t find that he has too much of an appetite—too engrossed in planning where he’d like the wreath to go in the room—but he hears Ghost rummaging around for something in the kitchen anyway. And of course, it seems like where Ghost goes, so does the radio.

And that’s it, isn’t it? Johnny finds himself completely intrigued by Ghost. He’s gorgeous under that mask, Johnny’s confident of it, but if he’s being completely honest, there’s only a few facts that he knows for certain about Ghost. Special Forces. Inn-keeper? Listens to The Police a lot. Cooks a decent breakfast. Ah, he’s worked with less in the past.

“Yer going to clean up after y’self, yeah?”

He’s a bad soldier for how the voice startles him and Johnny’s resentful to admit that he almost jumps a foot in the air from it.

“...yeh yeh, ah’ll clean up. Almost done here, how’s it looking?”

Ghost stands up straighter, almost like he didn’t expect to be asked, but he crosses his arms over his chest and uses his chin to motion at the tree. “Lights.”

“Aye, sir,” Johnny mumbles, rolling his eyes at the barely concealed command, and turns the lights on. When he does, Ghost’s eyes widen slightly, and Johnny has to turn away to hide his smile. “And?”

Ghost doesn’t say a word, but it’s like Johnny can see his entire frame melt. It starts up at his shoulders, makes him uncross his arms which fall down to hang limply at his sides. It’s like the entire tough demeanour falls away to the side, while he watches the lights of the tree and the decorations in the front room, and when he inhales, it’s shuddery. He appears shaken up by what he sees, and Johnny can’t even begin to guess why.

“Would ye like to put the star up on—”

“L-lunch is in the kitchen, help yourself,” Ghost mutters, then strides out, aiming for the front door. Just before he leaves though, with a hand on the door handle, he pauses, and turns halfway to address Johnny. “Thank you. I, uh. I appreciate it. You didn’t hafta.”

“It’s no’ a prob—” But Johnny doesn’t get to finish the rest of his sentence because the front door slams shut, and Ghost is gone. “Steamin’ Christ,” he mutters.

It’s only two hours later, when Johnny’s picking at his food in his own room, when movement outside the window catches his attention. He sets his plate down and walks over, only to choke on his own breath like someone had punched his throat, hard. He stands there, frozen, staring, wondering what on Earth was in his food that’s made him lose his mind.

But, no. Ghost stands there below his wind, his all-black attire contrasting starkly against the blanket of snow. In the middle of a snow storm, Ghost stands outside Johnny’s window, axe in hand, chopping wood.

It’s hypnotising, mesmerising, Johnny finds, watching Ghost and his movements. It’s surprising how none of it is surprising to Johnny—not the action, not the fact that Ghost is outside in a snowstorm to do it—but Johnny finds himself unconsciously holding his breath and clenching his fists while he observes the movement of Ghost’s body as he does it.

There’s nothing lean about his body.

He’s all powerful, rippling muscle under a healthy layer of fat, his chest gorgeously broad, expanding under a black hoodie that strains and relaxes under the movement. Even from two storeys up where Johnny looks down at him, nothing about Ghost fits in. Nothing about him looks like it belongs in this picturesque scene, and nothing about him can be glanced over. He demands Johnny’s absolute attention, even when he doesn’t know it. Especially because he doesn’t know it.

Johnny takes a deep breath, and runs shaky fingers through his hair with his exhale. The movement catches Ghost’s eyes because sharp eyes turn up to look at Johnny instantly. Johnny’s caught unawares and regrets his finger-wave and chin-nod combo as he does it, embarrassed at having been caught ogling at the man while he’s on the job.

And while Johnny can’t confirm it, not being able to see Ghost expression from the distance, when he gathers the logs of wood and walks them to the back entrance of the inn, Johnny’s sure Ghost stands taller and walks cockier.

It feels like the atmosphere in the inn becomes a bit more hospitable, and the ice between them melts a little. At least…that’s what the knock on his door on Johnny’s door in the evening indicates. It’s tentative, like even Ghost can’t believe he’s doing it. Except, unlike Ghost, Johnny has had an entire afternoon to accept that he’s got a stupid crush on the hot innkeeper, and he’s flinging the door open.

Ghost looks uncomfortable. There’s no other way to put it—Ghost’s open hands twitch at his sides, his foot taps a quick staccato on the floor and he looks at anywhere but Johnny.

So Johnny waits.

“I, uh, wanted to know. You want some dinner? We got some.”

“Bit early fo’ dinner, Ghost.” Johnny’s smile is wide, only widens when his hip leaning against the door frame catches Ghost’s attention.

“Got a bar we can raid.”

Johnny’s eyes sparkle with interest, before he pushes off the door, agrees easily. “Must warn ye though, Ghost,” he says, as they make their way down the stairs, Johnny trailing the bigger man, enjoying the view. “Best have a stocked bar. I’m a Scotch man, meself.”

“Shocking.”

“What? Not a fan?”

“I drink bourbon.”

“Like a good ol’ boy…”

Ghost’s sharp inhale makes Johnny hold his own breath for a moment, before they both relax. “I like Kentucky,” comes the small whisper, almost a defensive after-thought. Ghost rounds the corner into the kitchen with a quick stride and Johnny, rather unconvincingly, hides his sudden laugh as a cough.

Ghost’s scoff from the kitchen tells him how unconvincing that really was.

***

“Ye got me right pished,” Johnny accuses, finger pointing to where Ghost’s form doubles and triples in front of him.

“Only so I could ‘ave my way with you.” The completely deadpan response he receives sets Johnny off, and only the crinkles around Ghost’s eyes make the ugly snort that leave his mouth worth it.

They quiet after a while and then Ghost’s eyes lift and fixate on the hundreds of tiny lights around the room. They looked gorgeous, and Johnny was proud of himself. “You did well. With the tree and that. Thank you.”

“Ye…looked like ye didnae like it. Earlier.”

Ghost scoffs, but the sound is sad. “Sorry ‘bout that…didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. About yesterday too. It’s, er…’twas a strange day. Wasn’t you. Sorry.”

Johnny melts at the awkward sincerity in Ghost’s voice but freezes when Ghost turns his face to look at him. Oh. Oh holy fuck. His eyes aren’t brown, Johnny realises, horrified. He’d looked at them earlier, dismissed them as a generic “dark,” but fuck.

Holy fuckin’ shit, they’re not fucking “dark,” they’re actually—

“Green!” Johnny blurts. He’s sure getting shot at has been less painful than the hot, searing feeling of embarrassment that crawls up his chest and manifests as bright, embarrassing, pink across his face. Ghost stares at him blankly, and fuck, if Johnny isn’t in the most awkward three seconds of his life. “Alright, that’s enough of that,” Ghost mumbles finally and stands up, wincing at his cracking knees as he does. “Dinner?”

#ghostsoap #simon riley x john mactavish #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #codmw2 #lumi writes #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mctavish #land softly

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sinpathyforthedevilish · 5 months

Text

Baby... Take Me Home

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance

Warnings: Sexual tension, mutual pining

Words: 555

Summary: Frankie notices you dancing under the disco lights. And he completely falls apart.

A/N: Once again I got inspired by another amazing song, this time by the wonderful Sophie Ellis-bextor. Any disco song is also suitable for this story. Hope you like it!

Frankie is a man. He is a man who sometimes judges, criticizes, and doesn't trust people. He doesn't trust places, or sensations. He can feel uncomfortable and he can show it to you. to his friends. He doesn't mind expressing his awkwardness, his shyness.

But everything changes when he sees you. Across the dance floor. Awkwardly holding his red cup and drinking some alcohol hoping he can let himself loose a little bit. But everything changes when he sees you. His frown disappears, his facial expressions loose. Now his mouth is open, tasting the warm air of the club, the sweat, the smell of cigarettes and his drink. His ears are beating with the music and his eyes? his eyes are digging into you. Into the woman he can't stop staring.

Because right in the middle of the salon there's you. With a dress made of sequins, brightening your figure. Your long hair is flying through the air, and your smile is captivating every single person you look at. And when you look at him, you just know.

This man does not come often to this place. He does not belong here. He is all tense and his body is rigid as a stone. But his eyes, oh, his eyes are the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Black holes taking your being and slowly hypnotizing you. You are screwed. Your whole body betrays you. Your smile vanishes, and instead you gulp and try to calm your erratic breath. The desire is present and imponent. Him and you are the only ones in that place now. There is an invisible string involving you both.

Slowly, as if you are trying to tame an animal, you come closer to him. Walking straight steps so that he can notice your legs and your fine heels. You crave for his attention, for his devotion.

He also comes closer to you, as if there's an invisible force who units both of you. Each step he does is slower, gentler, softer.

The moment comes and before you can count it, you are standing in front of this man. There are multiple bodies around you but the only one who matters is this man over here. This man who is nothing compared to you. His clothes, earthy-coloured and soldier-styled. And you? a fucking sunlight. A disco ball full of colours and brightness.

You don't know what to say. You are enchanted, petrified, frozen. Those eyes are now holding you hostage.

"Do you..." He starts, with a raspy voice. "Do you come here, often?"

You just nod.

"What 's your name?"

Seductively , you stroke his shoulder, flashing him your brightest smile.

"Tell me yours first," You drag your words with a sensual tone.

"Francisco," He replies, cupping your hand on top of his shoulder and grabbing it so that he can kiss your knuckles.

"What a pretty name, for a very handsome man."

He blushes and you swear it's so cute you cannot wait to jump in his arms.

"Would you... would you like to dance with me?" He shyly asks.

You smirk. Fuck he is so cute.

"I would love to," You let him pull your hand and drag you to the middle of the dancefloor, letting both of you enjoy each other for the rest of the night under the disco lights.

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales fluff #pedro pascal fluff

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sky-kiss · 7 months

Note

hello it is me ehuehuehue. if your requests are open, can I ask for a uhhh Priest!Raphael x Tav who's come to pray for repentance? Something really evil and manipulative with double meanings >:3

(Also if it's not too much trouble, maybe some Brother!Haarleep and Sister!Korilla cameos :3)

A/N: I failed the secondary objectives, babe. I failed them. And I don’t know if this is what you want but it had a vibe, ya know? Followed that vibe.

_______

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Cliche words. They sound contrite, though Tav struggles to mean them. She thinks she does. The young woman worries her hands together, kneeling before the altar. It’s been years since she last straggled into a church. Just a girl, just as unknowing; the words had even less meaning for her then.

And now, it’s desperation rather than faith. She wonders what the gods think of that.

She wonders if the gods truly call such places homes. Tav doesn’t think they do. The church is cold and empty, and its beauty speaks to fading wealth and prominence. The statues are grim-faced, dour, and forbidding. She does not know them; she doesn’t want to know them.

But Tav prays. She remains prostrate in front of the altar until her knees ache from the cold stone. The silence is oppressive, a near physical weight. No one is listening, it says. No one hears you, little girl.

And from the shadows, an answering thought worming into her skull: ah, but I hear you, pet.

“Forgive me, Father,” she says, starting again. “For I have sinned.”

“So you have said,” a deep, smooth voice interrupts her petition. The richness suggests a natural warmth, like smoke and fire. But there is something else. There is an undertone she cannot place; it is that secret note which makes all the difference. Edged, something colder, crueler. It is poison slipped into a luxurious wine, nightshade mixed with black currant. “And at length, sweet child. But how can he forgive that which he does not understand?”

Tav stiffens, gooseflesh licking across her forearms. “Am I trespassing?”

“The hour is late, yes. But I have only just arrived. I have a sense for lost lambs, you see.” Fabric rustles behind her, a robe dragging across the stone. The nearer he comes, the colder she feels. The stranger moves until he stands in front of her, hands linked at the small of his back.“Tell me your name, lamb.”

Her mouth goes dry. And something else, something worse, twists in her guts. The priest's eyes are beautiful, she thinks, the warmest shade of brown, almost honey. She wants them; coveting is a sin, too. The right corner of his lips (full and lovely) twitch up. The priest is handsome. Tav chews the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. It grounds her.

He sneers. “God affords second chances, my dear, but man is imperfect; he will not punish me for judging you harshly. Answer me now, or begone from this place.”

“Tav,” she says, committing each of his features to memory.

“Good girl. I am Raphael,” he bows; the gesture is deceptively smooth. The fabric of his dark robes falls around him like water, hiding the bulk of his figure. “Overseer of this fine flock.” He motions to the empty church, chuckling.

“I’ve never seen you before, Father.”

“Is Father what you would call me, sweetling? There are other monikers I would prefer to trip from that lovely tongue.” She shivers, glancing up at him sharply. Raphael looks unrepentant. He leans on the altar, resting his chin in his right palm. With the left, he motions for her to continue. “Your sin, child. Elucidate, entertain, enrapture me.”

“And you offer forgiveness?”

“Forgiveness is outside of my jurisdiction, pet. Let us only say I may provide a...deferment.”

It is more than she currently has, preferable to the madness in her head, the hunger, the nightmares. Tav swallows. “I’ve killed, Father. I killed…” she flinches. “Gods above, I don’t know. I couldn’t control myself.” Her vision is red; her hands are red. The taste in her mouth is red.

Raphael clucks his tongue. “Tell me how.”

Agony in her voice, “Does it matter? I have taken a life, Father, many lives.”

“Mm, and you believe a few pretty words in an empty house will wash your hands clean?” He kneels before her, finger curling beneath her chin. “Lovely as you are, dear, do you believe a few crocodile tears equal to a mortal soul?” She has no answer. Raphael strokes her cheek. Exhausted and broken, Tav leans into the touch. She feels raw. Empty. His skin is warm by comparison, smelling pleasantly of cherries and musk. And brimstone.

Brimstone in the Lord’s house?

He presses his thumb to her lower lip, voice pitching lower. “And what if I told you, my sweet sinner, that the god of this house has fled? That the halls are empty, and there is no one to hear you?” His touch ranges back into her hair, fingers curling at the base of her scalp. Nails dig into her flesh, sharper than she would have imagined. “But I am listening. I hear you.”

She sags into his touch. He’s warm; Raphael coos.

“I would never judge you. You mortals are so delightfully messy. And you, my lamb, are no different. Only a product of your environment.”

She is innocent. No guilt. Not here with Raphael. Tav blinks her eyes open, staring at him. And how could she think his eyes were honey? They are gold. And a second set of gold eyes stares at her from the shadows on her left, waiting. Another priest, perhaps. “You forgive me?”

“As I said, I cannot forgive. But I might protect you.” His voice is silk. He leans in nearer, near enough that his lips track across her cheek. She turns into it. “And I would never ask you to change. To me, you are perfect.”

Pretty words. She’s drunk on them, swaying badly. Raphael's hand clasps her bicep. The pain is far away. “Perfect. Father, what must I do?”

“The eternal question, little lamb. And such a simple answer: swear yourself to me now. And I,” his tongue flicks out, tasting her skin. “Will deliver you. No more tears.” He corrects himself, laughing. “Well. For tonight.”

The church is empty and cold. Raphael is warm and present.

And she is tired, so tired, worn thin, hollow, and he looks at her with such promise.

Tav swears herself to him with blood. Raphael laughs. It is a high sound, wild and inhumane. The smell of brimstone intensifies, and the gravity of what she’s done hits home.

The gods had fled, yes. The devil remained.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #asks #my writing #priest raphael #ya'll and your priest Raphael #anyway #im pretty sure i failed the assignment

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that-one-creepy-hoe · 11 months

Note

Could we maybe get some headcanons on what a night with Tim/Masky, Brian/hoodie, or Eyeless Jack would look like? What they’re like before heading off to sleep, what they do as part of their routines, how they get comfortable, etc? 🫶

I love this ask because it lets me be delulu in my love for my three favorite men <3

Warnings: Mostly just fluff/ Mentions of sex in hoodie and EJ's part but no actual sex occurs

Brian/ Hoodie

I think that Brian/ Hoodie gets the most sleep out of these three men. While he does have nightmares about his past that plague him during his sleep he has no trouble falling right back into sleep

I also headcanon this man as an extremely heavy sleeper, like the kind where he Has to sleep with his phone right next to his head so that way he can actually hear when he’s being summoned.

Probably gets about 7-8 hours of sleep on a GREAT day and about 5 to 6 on average. He is also a morning person but isn’t happy about it.

Like he has no issue being awake early for work, but makes it everyone’s problem that he’s awake until he gets truly awake (which doesn’t happen til 9 am)

I also feel like he cannot stay awake at night for the life of him. Like the only way you could get this man to stay up late for anything is sex tbh

I also feel like Hoodie cannot sleep in for the life of him while Brian will have zero issues sleeping in til 9 or 10 am

This man does not know what a morning shower is. What do you mean ‘Just go to sleep after I get home?’ That’s disgusting! He HAS to shower before he sleeps or he feels dirty. While he wouldn’t judge you for it most times he definitely will (not so subtly) subtly ask if you wanna shower with him. He also probably has a mini skincare routine to wash his face bc it makes him feel Bonita

I also headcanon that he has a little autism in him (same) and HAS to do these things before he feels comfy enough to sleep. If he doesn’t then he gets a shit amount of sleep and feels like shit the next day.

This man can only sleep if he’s facing you, especially if he is cuddled up next to you. He feels restless if he doesn’t have you or something to curl up into. Probably sleepily mumbles to you about random things before he passes out mid-sentence.

Has one of those deep-in-his-chest snores that you can only hear against his chest

Tim/ Masky

Tim definitely gets shit for brain sleep. Like he has to take some STRONG-ass sleeping pills to keep himself asleep for more than 3 hours. Speaking of which, he probably doesn't get more than 5 hours of sleep on a good day because of this. His nightmares accompanied by the looming thoughts of work make it hard for him to truly relax.

He’s NOT a morning person and is a night owl by nature. Mostly because of all of the paperwork that he has to do before his day is truly over.

This man probably takes naps right after work before he starts all his paperwork so he can get all of his things done. Speaking of this, don’t ever interrupt his nap. He uses this time to decompress from the stress of being Slender’s bitch. Like even Tim is a pissy fuck when he cannot sleep after work.

The most you can get him to do right before bed is to shower if he is particularly gross but most times he just takes all of his dirty clothes off of him and leaves his boxers on and that’s it.

He is basically the opposite of Brian/ Hoodie when he is about to fall asleep. He cannot sleep facing people, it makes him feel too vulnerable but typically ends up waking up with you cuddled up to him. The closest you could get to him facing you is if he falls asleep on the couch next to you. In which case he just leans on you or lays his head in your lap.

Once he starts to get sleepy he just straight up stops talking. Like he only answers in grunts and he refuses to speak actual sentences.

Jack

I am in love with him and we’re married so I have a LOT to say abt this fine man

ANYWAYS

He also has a routine but he is less skincare and more like, I HAVE to check every door three times, take a shower, make sure every pillow is in order TWICE, and brush my teeth. Like he HAS to make sure everything is checked upon before he sleeps or else he either A) feels like he’s not safe or B) is too irritated to fall asleep

I feel like he will refuse to sleep unless your sleep with him. He will just straight up go days without sleeping until his body forces him to.

Like I feel like in general he doesn’t need much sleep at night to function at 100% he really only needs about 4-5 hours AT MOST before he’s ready for the day

Makes sure you are as comfortable as him before he sleeps

He’ll ask you what you need to do before you sleep and will either do it with you or do it himself so that he can spend as much time with you in bed

He probably just spends 5 hours a night sleeping and the rest of the night curiously watching you sleep just because it brings him comfort (And horny sometimes). Watching you be so vulnerable with him that you’d fall asleep by his side brings him comfort (and sometimes a hard-on)

He sleeps pretty easily and doesn’t really have dreams but when he does they’re nightmares from his past that keep him awake for the rest of the night

Sometimes if they’re really bad he’ll cry in his sleep and kick like he’s running in his dream. This will probably have you awake before he jumps awake from his dream in a cold sweat.

All it takes is to cuddle up by his side and comfort him as you lazily rub his chest before he can be soothingly be coaxed back into sleep

He is like a puppy where he makes grunts or growls and moves a lot from his dreams

Don’t mention it or he will be too embarrassed to sleep in the same bed as you again

I feel like he would have an old dog snore if he’s really exhausted or like a throaty snore regularly

#brian thomas #eyeless jack #creepypasta #jeff the killer #tim wright #hoodie #marble hornets #masky x reader #masky marble hornets #tim marble hornets #hoodie x reader #masky and hoody #eyeless jack x reader

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deanoheartspie · 1 year

Text

SOMETHING RED 4

Pairings: Reader x Soldier Boy (Ben)

Warnings: fluff, angst.

Summary: you knew soldier boy since you were young until the man had gotten tested he had become a whole different person. So when he comes back after Crimson and other supes send him away, it makes him angry

A/n: Sorry for the late update!

“Why do I have to wear a suit?” you ask with a frown, picking at the tight gold and white super suit and tugging it off your ass when you hear a low won't whistle. You didn't understand why you had to pretend to be starlight.

“Well look what we have here, is it my birthday or something,” Ben says with a shit-eating grin on his face as he grabs your waist spinning you around.

You huff with a cute pout on your face, which always seemed to make Ben fold no matter how mad or upset he was.

“Don't look at me with that face sweetheart” He bites down on his lip, looking at you like you were the most gorgeous woman in the whole world. If only he had said it more in the past maybe you'd believe it.

Glancing away, you walk towards Butcher with your arms crossed. “They know who I am, they aren't stupid,” you grumbled out, pissed off that you were going to be used as bait.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Once Ben had found out the reason you were wearing the super suit, he didn't like the sound of it. As much of a dick he was, he did have his overprotective moments which you had to admit... You kinda loved it showed he cared.

“Y/n... Y/n. I don't want you doing this.” Soldier boy grabbed your arm, tugging you back. The audacity of this man to think he gets to tell you what you can and cannot do.

So why you might continue this you might be asking? Petty. Ben hated pettiness and stubbornness, especially from you.

“Quit it. I'll be fine, Soldier boy~” You sang out, as you walked through the allys, not understanding why the man even bothered following he didn't care before so why now?

“You look like a hooker in a costume, am I supposed to just leave you here to be murdered by this cheap blonde knock-off me?” Without another word, the next thing you knew you were being tossed over a shoulder.

“We are getting you food and we'll figure out another plan.” He stated not allowing you to protest, oh boy... Butcher is gonna be pissed

“Can we at least get some normal clothes then? Wait! We can get you new clothes too, we both know how much you love to shop” you smirk, as you tease him skipping off to a store. Honestly, you were excited to see him in a nice outfit rather than the super suit or a baseball jersey even though he looked hot in both.

With racks and Racks of clothing, Ben looked stressed as ever rubbing his temple insulting shirts that men nowadays we're and how they were such pussys and blah blah.

Luckily enough, you were able to find something that suited dinner. A nice brown jacket with a white button-up, even though there were a few complaints Ben had to admit he cleaned up nice.

“Your turn sweet cheeks. Unless you want to wear that all night, I can't complain I get a nice view of your a-” You immediately cut him off, as the store owner was judging you and him from the moment the both of you stepped in.

Ben looked over seeing the old greyish-hard woman, sure he liked older women since he'd be around the same age as them. Oddly enough though, he didn't understand why you didn't age...yet his attraction for you never left.

He found a lacy black long skirt with long sleeved shirt so you wouldn't get cold. “You look beautiful...”

°•••••••••••••••••°

Dinner. Laughing. Olds times.

It was weird, the way Ben tossed his head back while he laughed and mentioned old memories and how great life was when they were young with no worries... It was like the old part of him was still there and you wanted to cling to it just for a little while longer.

Holding hands, while walking through the streets the nice cold breeze hitting your face thankfully hiding your blush.

Stupidly enough you mention Crimson... His breath hitches and he pulls away from you.

“Ben... I'm sorry I didn't mean to bring it up”

Before you knew it you were being tossed onto a wall, hitting your head on the brick wall. You see what you can muster out Ben being surrounded by cars, and Butcher's voice...

Trying your best to keep your eyes open... You just couldn't anymore.

“Y/n! Y/n!!”

•••••••••••••••••••••••

Tag list: @kat-nee @globetrotter28 @hobby27

#jensen ackles #soldier boy x reader #the boys #soldier boy x female reader #dean winchester #supernatural #dean x reader #dean x y/n #soldier boy #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy oneshot #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy smut

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issie-https · 1 year

Text

A-Z Headcanons

Axl Rose X Reader Headcanons

A/n: Heyyyy! First HC had to be the A-Z one(duh). Hope you enjoy xoxo

Word count: 1069(lol)

Warnings: SMUT, swearing😋

Masterlist

༺✩༻

A - Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

To be honest, he's not an angel when it comes to aftercare but he's not against it. You wanna cuddle? Sure! Wanna shower or have a bath? Fine. But he's not gonna go over the top with it if we're being real.

B - Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partner's)

Axl's favourite part of himself is his hair or his hips. Have you seen that man shake it like Shakira?! Like, wow! And for his hair, my little strawberry blonde princess adores his hair.

His favourite part of you is your legs. Idk why but I feel like that man would love to see you walk around in short dresses and heels just to see your legs. He also probs loves being in between them😋

C - Cum (anything to do with cum)

DIRTAY MAN! Will cum anywhere on your body and say sum like, "you look like a fucking work of art". Look, cum is a sign of a good orgasm and he likes to make you (and himself) feel GOOOOOD.

D - Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

That man has thought about fucking you in every position possible, on every piece of furniture at all times. He wants it all. Missionary on the floor, doggy on the bed, oral on the counter, 69 on the couch. Whatever you can do, he fucking WILL.

E - Experience (how experienced are they)

Very. Nothing more, just very. Sex machine if you will.

F - Favorite Position (self explanatory)

Doggy. Cannot convince me otherwise. He loves pounding into you from behind, slapping ass all day and watching yours and his cum drip down your thighs.

G - Goofy (are they more silly or serious in the moment)

He takes sex very seriously but if youse are both drunk, giggles will be let out at the sloppiness and the fact that on the way to the bedroom, you almost killed each other falling down the stairs.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they)

He trims but doesn't remove. He defo has a slight 80's bush going on but he keeps it clean. No bad smells here. And yes, carpet matches the drapes, maybe a tad darker.

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

Everyday sex isn't the most romantic thing ever but if it's a special occasion or you want it to be, he can be the most romantic love maker E.V.E.R.!!!

J - Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

I can see him being into you watching him wank or vise versa but he won't do it unironically. Possibly into phone sex...🫣

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Exhibitionism, slapping, dirty talk, voyeurism, etc. . He likes to show people how good he makes you feel whether it be one of the guys or public sex, he adores it.

L - Location (favorite place to do the do)

As stated above, public, against windows, on worktops, backstage. Wherever he can dick you down, he will.

M - Motivation (what gets them going)

You in general. That man sees you as sex on legs. You wear a certain outfit, boner. You look at him a certain way, boner. You breathe, boner. He worships you in a way.

N - NO (something they won't do, turn offs)

Piss play. Whether it be one of you pissing in or on the other or something like that, he won't do it. He won't judge you but he won't want to do it.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skills)

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE. This man goes f e r a l if he is nose deep in your pussy or if he's balls-deep in your throat. Absolute god with his tongue, like H E L L O?!?!

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual)

Speedy gonzales. Rough in a caring way, if that makes sense. He loves to ravage you. However, if it's baby making sex(because we all know this man was made to be a daddy), sweet and sensual Axl comes out and is caring and slow for Jesus.

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex)

50/50. If it's before a show, it gets his adrenaline going and he calls you his lucky charm. But if he doesn't have to, he won't.

R - Risk (are they game to experiment)

Yeah, I'd say so. But nothing too dangerous like carving names into each other.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for)

I'd say he has pretty high stamina but nothing unmanageable. He can go for 2-4 rounds before he calls it quits for the night(or until nighttime🫣).

T - Toy (do they own toys? Do they use them?)

Hear me out, butt plugs for you, vibrators, handcuffs(probably fluffy leopard ones💀), blindfolds and ropes. He doesn't use them every time but like once or twice a month, he treats himself to a play date😉.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Tease of the century award goes to...

Axl Rose!

You laugh a little too hard with Duff and he edges you like a madman. He loves leaving you until your legs are shaking, tears have ruined your make up and your just babbling for him to let you cum.

V - Volume (how loud are they)

I WANNA HEAR YOU SCREAM. We've all heard him sing, he is louddddd! Loves to make you scream. He moans, grunts, etc etc until he's lost his voice. Loves making you do the same thing.

W - Wild Card (get a random headcanon)

This man loves to make you squirt. Like, this man lives for it. The harder the orgasm, the more you squirt, the harder he gets.

X - X-Ray (let's see what's going on in those pants)

Not massive, let's be honest. But he's also not tiny. I'm saying 5-7 inches, slight curve to the right. But he knows how to use it, ya know.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

Forny hucker. Fuck, horny fucker. This man is hard almost all the time. He's constantly begging for you to suck him or fuck him and if not, he's wanking to your nudes he keeps on Polaroids.

Z - ZZZ (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards)

You defo fall asleep first but like 20 minutes after you, he's snoring louder than he sings.

#guns n roses #axl gnr #axl rose imagine #slash gnr #duff gnr #gnr #izzy gnr #izzy stradlin imagine #steven gnr #duff mckagan imagine #izzy stradlin #steven adler imagine

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justporo · 9 months

Text

A Night of Song and Laughter (Part 16)

In which Astarion and Tav do enjoy each other's company very closely indeed but Tav has the upper hand for once and lives out the moment to its full potential.

The middle of the day is a fine time to just drop a dirty little chapter full of smut, don't you think? (At least here it's the middle of the day, good timezones to you)

This felt actually a lot more naughty and intimate than the first real smut chapter in this - at least while writing. But I'll let you be the judge of that...

Two songs for this: Kiss Me You Animal - Burn the Ballroom and Shirt - SZA

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: Explicit content

You were riding Astarion languidly in your ginormous bed, chasing the third high of the night. You had taken him up on his words to make you think about other things and other things just happened to be straddling him and slowly driving him into madness. Another sudden change in mood that was by now probably fueled by more than just a tinge of hysteria from the seemingly unending night.

When you had expressed to him that you were inclined to go for yet another round after you had laid down on your bed with your towels still covering you up, his lips had curled into the most lewd and seductive smile: “I see, you might be taking on yet another one of my qualities accordingly: an insatiable need to devour you over and over. Your wish be my command, my love!” You had been immediately charmed by his words and his admission about his carnal and desperate needs for you, but you still had grabbed his hands which had immediately started to eagerly wander again. A thought had crossed your mind that you needed to voice: “I… Astarion… When you say stuff like that last part… I – just want to make sure that you know that I would never want you to do this were it not what you wanted as well. I mean, even if you wanted to turn your back on sex altogether because you’re done with it, that would be fine for me too, because being with you and loving you is the most important part and…” Astarion put a finger on your lips to softly silence you: “Love, you are rambling again.” He dragged you onto his body, so he was on his back and you were laying on your stomach on top of him – your towel holding on for dear life.

“Since you are worried about me, which, really, I cannot express how much I appreciate, my heart - ”, Astarion continued and let his hand drag through your hair, almost making you purr in approval “- I will have you know, that I am never getting on my back again if I do not deliberately choose to do so. And,” – he grabbed your fingers that had begun to tap an idle tune on his chest and kissed them “as far as I am concerned my hunger for you might be greater than you might yet realize.” The looks he threw you went from playful lust to sincere love in a heartbeat. “I’ve never had something like this, it might be almost as new to me as it might be to you. But” – his gaze turned hungry again – “if I were to unleash the full vastness of my needs and feelings for you, I fear I might actually break you or scare you off for good.” The sparkle in his eyes saying that let delicious shivers run down your spine – others might’ve been scared by a confession like this but considering the range of thoughts and emotions about this man that kept consuming your every waking thought… you’d probably just made the perfect pair.

You smirked at him and simply hummed contentedly now reassured that you were on the same page. “Now”, Astarion said raising his voice and giving you a light slap on your butt “be a good girl and sit on my lap!” You happily obeyed and basked in the admiring looks he threw you, when you sat up and slowly unraveled your towel to reveal your naked form beneath it.

Then you went to take his towel off from around his hips and immediately discovered that he must’ve enjoyed the view so far and was more than prepared for you to fulfill your needs.

So, there you were: sitting on his lap, grinding against him, his dick hitting deep inside you every time you lifted up your hips, simply to let them slam down again, while he kept desperately moaning and cheering you on with praise. He had his legs propped up to help you aid to get the most traction out of every single roll of your hips that he was holding onto, his thumbs lazily rubbing circles on your pelvic bones. The silk sheets were messily bunched up all around you and a sheen of sweat made your skin glisten in the light of the oil lamps on your nightstands.

You were ecstatic. His words of admiration and naughty praise in a deep and husky voice, while he was interrupted by his own moans and his voice kept breaking while worshipping you, turned you positively feral and made you feel powerful. Just knowing what power you held over this ethereal man that must’ve seen almost everything already but still seemed to lose his mind at you gleefully crying out his name. It took you to newly known heights; you’d never felt this good in your life.

You slowly picked up the pace and started moaning louder while you lifted your arms over your head and dragged your hair up while throwing your head back and arching your spine – very well aware that it would draw Astarion’s attention to your chest. “Gods, your breasts look amazing when you’re moving like that, love”, Astarion wasted no time to say and silently gasp in admiration.

You smiled mischievously at him, still toying with your hair and moved harder to give him more of the desired movement. “Gods”, he moaned and arched his head back with a hiss from the sensation of you coming down hard around him and enjoying the view of your jigging boobs that felt deliciously heavy with lust.

While the attention was on them you let your hair fall down again and moved your hands to squeeze your breasts, making yourself moan with the sensation and sending electric jolts down between your legs when you started to twist one of your hardened peaks.

Astarion lifted one of his hands and gave you a slap on your behind which made you gasp and clench your core which then made him gasp in return and arch his back. He looked almost completely out of it by now, his tone almost pleading, when he said: “You’re a goddess.” "Then keep worshipping me!"

You kept squeezing your breasts with one hand while you let your other hand wander down your body, over your stomach, then deeper, over your clit, but only remaining there shortly before letting it wander onto Astarion’s body. You noticed the markings on your arm glowing and pulsating slightly but kept focusing on the vampire’s prone body beneath you.

You hungrily drank in the shapes, lines and angles of his body. The muscles of his abdomen tensed under your gentle caress. You took him and his body in while you lazily kept rolling your hips to ride him: his well-toned upper body, his arms just as muscular, holding you firmly, those sinful long and elegant fingers on your hips and most of all: his beautiful face with its sharp red eyes that watched you eagerly and hungrily.

Astarion bucked his hips, making you gasp as much from the sudden movement as from the delicious friction it created. Seemingly you had gotten too lost in his features and slowed down too much for his liking, so he had opted to show you who was actually in charge. “Come, love, giddyup.” Excuse him? You clenched your core and earned a desperate moan from Astarion in response – just as you thought.

“Touch yourself for me, darling”, he demanded sinfully with a deep tone. You clenched around him again, ripping yet another groan from his lips. But you still obeyed and picked up the pace again, letting your hand wander from his body to yours again and this time remaining on your clit, starting to add to your own pleasure while you kept working your boobs with the other hand.

Things started to really move quickly from there on out. You could feel your orgasm coming up on the horizon being fully aware that after two very successful rounds already this one would really bring down the house around you. Astarion felt it too, his body almost painfully tensed and his hands on your hips motivating you to go more aggressively.

“Harder, my love, come on, destroy me”, he requested pleadingly but with just the right amount of authority in his voice that you couldn’t resist.

You rode him harder while his fingers pressed pleasantly painfully into your hips. There was no more space for chit-chat, only for heavy breathing and moaning and the sound of your two bodies coming together again and again. You held his gaze while you kept touching yourself and could see that he was trying desperately to hold on and not get lost before you did.

But you wouldn’t give him this pleasure this time. You moved yet harder and faster, arching your back and clenching around his hardness inside you while you could feel yourself starting to get lost.

But Astarion went over the edge first, his eyes rolling back into his skull while he moaned helplessly with opened lips that bared his fangs. Your own orgasm had you closing your eyes and throwing your head back while searing hot white light exploded inside you and made you cry out Astarion’s name again - loudly.

You rode out the waves and kept moving your hips lazily until you heard the vampire wince slightly. “Love… Please, stop?”, he said and coughed suspiciously. But you weren’t over enjoying having the upper hand for once. You rolled your hips again and giggled. Astarion winced again and made to lift you off of him, but you quickly did it yourself and moved out of his reach.

“Come back here, you disobedient woman”, Astarion shouted after you teasingly angry with furrowed brows, but you were already out the door.

You quickly walked downstairs – butt naked of course – and grabbed another bottle of wine from the kitchen and two goblets to drink it from.

When you returned to the bedroom, Astarion was still laying there in the middle of the bed where you had left him. He had one arm over his face, his breath still a tad faster than normal. You stood in the doorframe for a moment just taking in the gloriousness of this moment and this man. Then you tiptoed back in while casually offering: “You wanted me to destroy you.”

Astarion lifted his arm and only opened one eye to look at you: “Oh, consider me thoroughly destroyed, my love, a job well done.” You smirked at him, then put down the bottle and goblets on the nightstand next to your side of the bed. Astarion sat up again and leaned back on his hands watching you.

“What I did not want was you being such an insolent little thing in this precious moment of my weakness”, he spoke slowly and the grabbed you quickly from where you were just relaxedly standing next to the bed. He hauled you over it and made you kneel on the bed while on all fours and positioned himself over and behind you. He leaned on his one hand placing it next to yours and let his other wander slowly from your breasts, down your stomach in which lust already started to coil again, to the sensitive spot between your legs and finally down your thigh, causing you to shiver.

Astarion leaned over to one of your pointy ears and silently whispered: “And I’ll make you answer for your crimes, my pet.”

Tags: @daedriclys @angelofthorr @starved-kitten

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #a night of song and laughter

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